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Jongdae is sipping his morning coffee and scrolling through his SNS, liking every cute animal picture he sees, when Minseok unceremoniously drops a newspaper onto his lap.

“Hey!” Jongdae cries, looking forlornly down at where his coffee spilt onto his shirt when he jumped. It’s already seeping in, and he was planning on wearing this out today. “Warn me next time!”

“Read that,” Minseok orders, not looking the slightest bit sorry.

“Who even uses newspapers anymore?” Jongdae grumbles, but he picks it up, instantly zeroing in on the article Minseok circled in bright yellow highlighter. “Baking classes?” Jongdae grins. “If you want to open a cupcake shop with me, you could just ask.”

Minseok stares at him patiently, waiting for him to stop joking around, and then explains, “Every good café sells desserts, too. It would save us money if we didn’t have to hire a baker or order from a bakery.”

Jongdae blinks at him. That— makes a lot of sense, actually. Their budget is already going to be tight as it is, and the more jobs at the café they can do themselves, the less money it will cost.

But still.

“You really want us to take baking classes?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Jongdae closes his mouth and sinks back in his seat because no, he doesn’t.

Minseok says, “That’s what I thought.”

So, baking class. This should be easy, Jongdae thinks as Minseok holds open the door to the building for him. He spent enough time in the kitchen with his mom as a kid (what better place for a seven-year-old to get raw cookie dough than the kitchen counter when mom’s back was turned?) that he knows the basics, at least, and while he might not be a five-star chef, he’s pretty sure he can handle an entry level baking class.

Minseok looks confident, too, but Minseok always looks confident. At least on the surface.

“Do you think we’ll get to bring home what we make?” Jongdae asks, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor. Minseok looks up from the slip of paper with the class’s information on it to frown at him as if he did it on purpose, and Jongdae pouts at him because so not his fault.

“Yes,” Minseok says. “It says so right here in our schedule.”

“We got a schedule?”

“I gave it to you last week, Jongdae, remember?”

Jongdae does faintly remember Minseok handing him a pamphlet and mentioning something about baking, but he also remembers he’d been reading a comic at the time and had stuffed it under an empty coffee mug on his nightstand to read later, and then he promptly forgot about it. It’s probably still there, now that he thinks about it. (He should really clean his bedroom when he gets home.)

“This is the room,” Minseok says abruptly, grabbing Jongdae’s arm to stop him. His sneakers squeak again, but this time Minseok doesn’t scold him for it. He’s too busy pulling at the bottom of his shirt, a subtle nervous habit that Jongdae only picks up on because he knows Minseok better than he knows anyone else in the world.

Minseok doesn’t have to ask; Jongdae has no problem going in first, grinning excitedly as he reaches for the doorknob and pushes open the door.

Inside, the room is a lot bigger than he’d expected. There are windows all along one wall (all closed) and ovens lining the other (all stainless steel). There’s a whiteboard at the back of the room with the words Baking For Beginners written in blue marker, smudged at the end like the person who wrote it was left-handed, and a grouping of tables in the middle— nine of them, by Jongdae’s count, separated into two even rows of four with the ninth centered at the back of the room by the whiteboard— each covered in an assortment of items.

There are also people.

“Hello!” greets an airy, feminine voice as a tiny, aproned woman makes her way toward them. There are lines around her eyes and mouth, and her hair is greying, but she has the kind of ageless smile that makes her look like she could be anywhere between fifty and seventy years old. “Are you here for the baking class?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jongdae says, suddenly feeling like a first grader again instead of the twenty-three-year-old college graduate that he is. He and Minseok both bow politely.

“You two polite young gentlemen can call me Mrs. Lee,” she says, the wrinkles by her eyes deepening as her smile widens, “and I’ll be the one teaching you the basics of baking for the next two months. Why don’t you find your nametags and stand at your stations while we wait for the rest of the class to arrive? We’ll be starting soon.”

Jongdae and Minseok quickly do as she says, hurrying over to the first table. There are bowls and whisks and dozens of baking ingredients littering the surface, but Jongdae easily spots the nametag (a peel-away sticker, the kind printed with the words Hello, my name is: followed by a blank space) and glances at Minseok.

“Are you Bae Joohyun?” he snickers, and the gentle whack Minseok gives his chest says stop joking around and be serious. He pouts again and rubs at the spot pitifully.

Moving on, Jongdae and Minseok shuffle up to the next table, but again, neither of their names are to be found. At the next, there are already two people standing there: one, possibly the tallest man Jongdae has ever seen, with a bored expression on his face and a pair of sunglasses tucked into the front of his shirt; the other, possibly the prettiest man Jongdae has ever seen, with his cute nose and soft mouth and bright eyes. The bored one doesn’t even glance at them, but the pretty one is staring.

“Next table,” Minseok murmurs. Jongdae nods.

At the front table on the left side, they find Minseok’s nametag. And one that says Byun Baekhyun.

“Any chance you registered me under a different name?” Jongdae asks, frowning down at the sticker.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know! How else do you explain—?”

“Is there a problem, boys?” Mrs. Lee asks, approaching their table.

“No,” Jongdae says automatically.

“We’re not at the same station,” Minseok explains, shooting Jongdae a look.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Lee says, and Jongdae waits for her to give them the go-ahead to find Jongdae’s nametag and switch it to Minseok’s table, but she doesn’t. “Well, that is unfortunate, but why don’t you consider this a chance to come out of your shell a little, meet new people, make a new friend?”

Jongdae can practically see the words I’m an adult, I don’t need to be told to make friends bouncing around in Minseok’s head, but he stays quiet, only his clenched jaw betraying his annoyance. The door at the back of the room opens and Mrs. Lee wanders off to greet the new arrival without another word.

“Do you want to just go?” Jongdae whispers, eying Mrs. Lee’s back as she talks to a tall boy with a wide grin and big ears. “We can duck out when she’s not looking.”

“We paid good money for this class,” Minseok sighs, shaking his head. “Just go find your table. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe I won’t,” Jongdae argues, but Minseok just waves him off, giving him a gentle shove away from the table. “I see how it is,” Jongdae says as he backs away. “Any excuse to get rid of me, huh?”

Minseok snorts fondly and Jongdae gives him one last smile before he sets off to find his own table.

And he does, a minute later— the second last one at the back of the row on the right. Jongdae picks up his nametag, affixing it to his black t-shirt just above the words Rock My Roll, and then he waits. And then he gets bored of waiting and picks up the other nametag at his table.

Kim Junmyeon.

It’s not much to go by. For all he knows, Kim Junmyeon could be a pimply, just-out-of-puberty teenager with a bad attitude, or an old, grumpy man with a barely functioning hip. Jongdae puts the nametag back and drums his fingers on the table.

Slowly the rest of the room fills up. The table in front of Jongdae is taken by two guys taller than him that seem to know each other outside of the class and somehow lucked into getting paired with each other, unlike Jongdae and Minseok, the two of them giggling together as they peel off their nametags and stick them to their shirts. Minseok’s partner also arrives in the form of a short guy with a red snapback on his head who literally runs into the room, panting, and practically shouts, “Am I late?!” the second he’s through the door.

Jongdae is so busy trying not to laugh at the look of disbelief on Minseok’s face that he doesn’t hear the door open again, and doesn’t notice someone coming up beside him until they say, “Hello.”

Jongdae startles a little, jostling the table, and looks over to find someone picking up the Kim Junmyeon nametag and attaching it to their shirt.

Oh.

“Hey,” Jongdae says back, but all he can think is cute.

Kim Junmyeon is not a rude old man, or a bratty teenager. Kim Junmyeon is cute, with his neatly pressed slacks and white button-up shirt, and his warm, welcoming eyes. There’s something about his classically handsome face that screams trust me, I’m reliable, and unlike some of the other giants in this class, he might actually be shorter than Jongdae. And there’s something about his perfect-teethed smile that’s just—

Yeah. Cute.

“I’m not late, am I?” Junmyeon asks, his eyebrows furrowing (cutely) in concern. “I couldn’t find the right room.”

“Nah,” Jongdae assures him. “We haven’t started yet.”

Just as he says it, Mrs. Lee makes her way to the front of the class and claps her hands together once, sharply, to get their attention. Jongdae and Junmyeon both stand up straighter. “Now that we’re all here,” she says, her voice carrying easily through the room, “why don’t I begin today by welcoming you all to Baking for Beginners. I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful two months together and make delicious things along the way.”

As far as introductory speeches go, Mrs. Lee’s drags on. Jongdae pays attention as best as he can as she goes over the guidelines for the class and explains to them the dos and don’ts of her kitchen (things, Jongdae guesses, which were probably covered in the pamphlet on his nightstand). The whole time she talks, Junmyeon stares studiously at the front of the room, drinking in every word, and Jongdae feels a little guilty for zoning out with him standing there like a model student.

“I think that’s enough of an introduction, don’t you?” Mrs. Lee asks, but everyone in the room is too polite to agree with her. “Why don’t we get to what you’re really here for?” She turns her back, picking up a marker, and quickly scribbles on the whiteboard, The Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookie. “The perfect chocolate chip cookie is, in my opinion, the most vital baking recipe in any baker’s repertoire. It’s probably the first dessert many of you remember eating, and one we all return to over and over again throughout our lives, no matter what age we are. And today, I’m going to be teaching you how to make them.”

Jongdae grins to himself, knowing he already has this one down.

“First,” Mrs. Lee continues, “I’ll demonstrate to you all how it’s done, and then you’ll each get a chance to make a batch of your own. While you will be working together with your tablemate on many recipes in the upcoming weeks—” Jongdae slants a glance at Junmyeon and can’t help but feel confident; no way can a guy that looks that impeccable be anything but great at baking. “—today we’re going to be working individually. You’ll find the necessary ingredients for this particular recipe already provided on your tables, as well as a recipe card. I suggest reading along with the recipe as I demonstrate.”

There’s a bit of shuffling as everyone finds their recipe cards.

“And, class, one last thing before we begin,” Mrs. Lee adds, smiling her grandmotherly smile. “Baking is supposed to be enjoyable. Don’t forget to have fun, okay?”

“Okay,” the class echoes back.

Once again, Jongdae sort of zones out, and once again, Junmyeon watches the instructor like he’s jotting down notes in his head. In Jongdae’s defense, though, he’s pretty sure he already knows how to make chocolate chip cookies, and besides: he’ll have the recipe to follow. That’ll probably be easier to learn from than watching Mrs. Lee at the front of the room dump chocolate chips into a large bowl while she explains to them the decision to use semi-sweet instead of milk or dark chocolate.

(At least Minseok seems to be paying as much attention as Jongdae, probably preoccupied with trying not to strangle his partner as he raises his hand and interrupts the class for the eleventh time to ask another pointless question— this time about how many chocolate chips they should aim for in each individual cookie for optimal deliciousness.)

“Jongdae,” Junmyeon says quietly, nudging him in the side, and Jongdae has a second to wonder how Junmyeon knows his name before he remembers, oh, right, nametags.

“Yeah?” Jongdae replies, trying to seem like he’d been paying attention this whole time.

Junmyeon smiles patiently. “We’re supposed to start baking now.”

“I knew that,” Jongdae whines, pulling his recipe card towards him. “I was paying attention.”

“Uh-huh,” Junmyeon says indulgently. He gives Jongdae a secretive sort of grin, and then rolls up his sleeves to the elbows and carefully removes his expensive-looking watch so he can get down to it.

(This time, cute isn’t exactly the word for it.)

“I’ve never actually baked before,” Junmyeon confesses a little while later, when he’s elbow deep in a bowl of creamed butter, sugar and eggs. He’s whipping them together vigorously, and he’s smiling like he’s just discovered a new passion. “I thought it would be harder than this.”

“You didn’t ever bake with your mom when you were growing up?” Jongdae asks, trying to imagine what that would’ve been like. So many of Jongdae’s childhood memories take place in the kitchen.

“My mother doesn’t really bake,” Junmyeon explains. “Or cook. Which is why I signed up for this class. I live alone and I wanted to be able to cook for myself, instead of ordering in every meal, and when I saw the ad in the newspaper I thought it’d be perfect.” He looks a little sheepish. “I didn’t realize cooking and baking were two different things until I got the class schedule and noticed there wasn’t any mention of anything but desserts and breads.”

Jongdae laughs, loud enough that the two giants in front of him turn around to see what’s going on.

“Well, at least you won’t have to order in dessert,” he says to Junmyeon when they turn back to their own bowls. And then, because he can’t help but test the waters a little, he adds, “Plus, girls like a guy who can bake for them.”

“Do they?” Junmyeon doesn’t sound bothered or thrilled by that idea, which leaves Jongdae with about as much information as he started with.

It isn’t until a little later, when Junmyeon reaches for the vanilla and starts measuring it out using the same wooden spoon he’d been mixing the dough with, that Jongdae gets his first inkling that Junmyeon might not be as good a baker as he looks like he’d be.

Jongdae bites his tongue, using one of the teaspoons provided to measure out his vanilla, but he can’t hold it in when Junmyeon goes to do the same with the baking soda. “Uh, Junmyeon—”

Junmyeon glances up at him, his face a mask of innocence. “Hmm?”

“Uh.” Jongdae licks his lips, not wanting to tell Junmyeon he’s wrong, exactly, just that he’s not doing this right. “I think you’re supposed to use a teaspoon for that. See?” He points at the recipe card where it says 1 tsp.

“Oh. I was just going to eyeball it. Isn’t that what cooking’s about? Experimenting?”

Junmyeon looks so confident in himself and his big wooden spoon that Jongdae doesn’t have it in him to tell him that he should probably measure properly, just to be safe.

Slowly, Jongdae starts to realize that not only is Junmyeon not as good of a baker as he looks like he’d be, he’s actually disastrous. It starts with the vanilla and the baking soda, and then he uses the same cup that he measured the butter with to measure his flour and doesn’t seem at all worried when half of it sticks to the sides of the cup in clumps. He doesn’t measure the salt either, adding it to the batter with abandon, and then folds in the chocolate chips like he’s trying to pulverize them into the batter.

The whole time, Jongdae just stands there watching him, trying to decide whether he’s horrified or endeared. Junmyeon is so enthusiastic about it, smiling happily, but he’s also so awful that Jongdae doesn’t know what to feel.

At least he’s a little more careful when he starts forming the dough into individual balls, but— “Here,” Jongdae interrupts, ripping off a bit of parchment paper from the roll on their table. “You’re supposed to put this on the cookie sheet first, so they don’t stick.”

“Thank you,” Junmyeon says sincerely, with little crinkles at the sides of his eyes. “I must have missed that step when I was reading the recipe.”

“No— no problem,” Jongdae stutters out, and then curses himself internally for it because, seriously? What is he, fifteen? When was the last time a cute guy smiled at him and he stuttered?

“Hey, do you guys have any chocolate chips?” asks one of the guys in front of them, sounding bored as he leans his hip against their table. His nametag says Oh Sehun. “Tao ate all of ours.”

“He ate… a whole bag of chocolate chips?” Junmyeon asks, stunned.

“Sehunnie ate some, too,” Tao defends, his chin jutting out indignantly. There’s a bit of chocolate smeared at the corner of his mouth. “And we didn’t get dinner before we came here.”

“I told you we’d go out to eat after.”

“But I’ve been hungry since—”

“You’re always hungry.”

“You’re always ugly!”

“Here,” Junmyeon says loudly, holding out their leftover chocolate chips. “We’re done with them. You can have the rest.”

Sehun grabs them and holds them to his chest like Tao might make a go at them if he doesn’t. “Thanks,” he mutters, inclining his head gratefully before he turns back around.

“A whole bag of chocolate chips,” Junmyeon whispers, more to himself than anything, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Jongdae smothers a laugh with his hand and then goes back to forming his own cookies.

Twenty minutes later, Jongdae looks at the trays of cookies in the oven and bites his tongue, chancing a glance over his shoulder at Junmyeon. Sehun and Tao are turned around again, this time with Sehun leaning lazily against his own table as Tao talks with exaggerated hand movements and a smile on his face almost as bright as Junmyeon’s. None of them are looking his way, which is good, because none of them notice when Jongdae quickly opens his oven and takes out his own batch of cookies and then opens Junmyeon’s and switches them.

“Junmyeon,” he calls, holding Junmyeon’s tray of cookies in his oven-mitt covered hands. The heat faintly seeps through them, and the room is swelteringly hot near the ovens, now that they’re on. “I think yours are done, too.”

“Thank you, Jongdae,” Junmyeon says, hurrying over. Unsurprisingly, the oven mitts look cute on him.

As he opens his own oven (the one with Jongdae’s cookies) he glances down at the tray in Jongdae’s hands. All of the cookies on it have flattened into one nearly unified blob of burnt, too-crisp edges and smears of chocolate. Jongdae had known when Junmyeon was measuring his ingredients that things were going to go badly, but he hadn’t realized just how badly until he’d looked into Junmyeon’s oven when checking on his own cookies.

Jongdae thinks, If he says something rude, I’m telling him the truth, but of course Junmyeon doesn’t. Jongdae is holding what is quite possibly the most pitiful tray of cookies to ever exist, and all Junmyeon says is, “Those smell amazing.”

And that right there is exactly why Jongdae sacrificed his own beautiful, perfect-looking cookies for this mess. Because Junmyeon is nice, and he looks so pleased when he opens his oven, and Jongdae always has been too generous for his own good.

The heat of the pan starts to sting his fingers a bit; Jongdae hurries back to their table, dropping the tray onto the table with a hiss.

“What is that?” Tao asks, leaning in to peer closely at Jongdae’s Blob Cookie. Sehun doesn’t even say anything, he just laughs.

“Shut up,” Jongdae whines, crossing his arms over his chest. “They’re not that bad.”

“I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t even feed those to my dog,” Tao laughs, and Jongdae can’t even defend himself by telling them that he didn’t actually make them because Junmyeon is coming back now, dropping his tray a little more gently on the table than Jongdae had.

“Have you two checked on your cookies?” Junmyeon asks, interrupting before they can insult Jongdae’s cookies again.

Tao and Sehun’s eyes widen, and a small, petty part of Jongdae secretly hopes their cookies are burnt, too.

“You’re supposed to let them rest first,” he warns when Junmyeon reaches for a cookie, before he can ruin all of Jongdae’s hard work. “They’ll fall apart if you try to take one now.”

Junmyeon yanks his hand back, sheepish. “They smell so good,” he explains, like he can’t help himself.

“They’ll still be good in a few minutes,” Jongdae teases.

“Unless I messed them up,” Junmyeon points out. “Maybe they just look nice but they taste awful.”

“I think they’ll taste okay.” That’s not bragging, right?

As they wait for their cookies to cool, Junmyeon checks something on his phone and Mrs. Lee starts making her way around the room, checking on everyone’s cookies, making a few suggestions here and there and dropping a compliment or two. When she gets to Sehun and Tao, she, like Jongdae, reminds them that they’re supposed to allow the cookies to cool, but Tao’s already eaten two.

When she finally gets to Junmyeon and Jongdae, her face falls before she can hide it. “Well,” she says, looking over Jongdae’s baking sheet. “Junmyeon, you seem to have handled the recipe well.”

“Thank you,” Junmyeon says, lowering his head politely.

“And Jongdae….”

“I must’ve read the recipe wrong or something,” Jongdae says, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck.

“That’s why I’m here,” Mrs. Lee says kindly. “To teach. If all of my students were perfect, I wouldn’t have a job, now would I?”

For the next few minutes, Jongdae gets the nicest lecture of his life, as Mrs. Lee goes over what he might’ve done wrong and how to fix it next time. She even jots a few things down on his recipe card for future reference, and encourages him to practice at home during the week. When she’s done, Jongdae thanks her and she moves onto the girls behind him.

“I still think they smell good,” Junmyeon whispers conspiratorially. “Looks aren’t everything, right?”

“Right,” Jongdae agrees, but he has a feeling that, in this case, they might be. “Does that mean you volunteer to taste them first?”

Junmyeon, for all his sincerity, hesitates. Not that Jongdae blames him. But still, he says, “Okay.”

Jongdae goes about breaking up his Blob Cookie with a spatula, and then he hands Junmyeon a vaguely cookie shaped piece and keeps one for himself. “On the count of three,” he says, bracing himself. “One.” He lifts the cookie. “Two.” Junmyeon swallows warily. “Three.”

Jongdae bites. Junmyeon bites. And then they both freeze as the “cookies” crumble in their mouths like a handful of sand. Salty sand. Salty, grainy sand with a few pieces of burnt chocolate mixed in.

“If we had some milk,” Junmyeon chokes out through his cookie, grimacing but, for some reason, taking another bite, like he doesn’t want to hurt Jongdae’s feelings, “they might be really good.”

Jongdae gives him a flat look, and then he snatches the cookie out of Junmyeon’s hand before the poor guy can torture himself any further for the sake of not hurting Jongdae’s feelings.

“So,” Minseok says later, on the drive home. The whole car smells like the delicious cookies Minseok made, packed up in a Tupperware container in Jongdae’s lap and looking as perfect as Jongdae’s had before he’d given them up. “How do you think it went?”

“It was okay.”

“Why didn’t you take your cookies home?”

“There was an incident.”

Minseok arches an eyebrow but doesn’t press for further details. “How was your partner?” he asks instead.

“Junmyeon?” Jongdae’s mouth curves into a smile without his brain’s permission. “He seems nice. Cute.”

“Cute?”

“Don’t make something out of it,” Jongdae warns. “I think you’re cute, too, and you’re the last person on this planet I’d want to date.”

“I never said anything about dating.”

Jongdae flushes, eyes narrowing. “What was your partner like?” he demands. “Baekhyun, right?”

Minseok’s mouth shuts with a clack, and his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“That bad, huh?” Jongdae teases. Minseok stays stonily silent. “Well,” Jongdae says, reaching over to pat Minseok’s knee, “there’s always next week.”

Minseok lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“How was your week?” is the first thing Junmyeon says to him next Thursday, before class begins. They’re both early, only a few other people in the room, including the two guys at the table across the aisle from theirs who keep laughing really loudly and open-mouthed at something on one of their phones.

“Have you ever tried to open your own café?” Jongdae asks him.

Junmyeon blinks in surprise. “I haven’t, no.”

“It’s a lot of work,” Jongdae sighs. “Did you know there’re, like, a hundred different types of coffee beans? And they all apparently taste different but you can’t tell after you’ve tried ten in a row. At least, Minseok says they all taste different, but I think he’s just trying to kill me with a caffeine overdose.”

“Minseok,” Junmyeon says, eyes flicking to the front of the room. “That’s who you came in with, right? Your… friend?”

“Did you hear the part where I said I think he’s trying to kill me?”

Junmyeon laughs at that, and Jongdae finds that the sound is just as nice as he remembers it to be. Not that he’s been thinking about it a lot in the last week. Not that he’s been thinking about Junmyeon a lot in the last week. Just a normal, healthy amount.

“What about you?” Jongdae asks, remembering his manners.

“It was a slow week,” Junmyeon says with a shrug. “I work an office job. There’s not a lot of excitement.”

“Ah.” Jongdae’s done the office job thing, too, and it was boring enough that when Minseok suggested the insane idea of them opening a café together, Jongdae decided to say screw it and threw in his life savings for a dream that might end up failing before it even really starts.

“Tell me about this café,” Junmyeon prompts, changing the subject, and Jongdae happily does. The café might’ve been Minseok’s idea, Minseok’s dream, but Jongdae’s put a lot of blood and sweat into it and he can’t help but get excited when he talks about it. The whole time he does, Junmyeon listens rapturously, hanging on to his every word, and that just makes Jongdae want to talk more.

He could talk to Junmyeon for hours, he thinks.

(Because he’s a good listener, he quickly adds to himself. Not a lot of people actually listen when you talk, but Junmyeon does. It’s got nothing to do with the way he leans in closer to do it, or how he smells like some kind of soft, expensive cologne. Nothing at all.)

Jongdae is eventually cut off in the middle of a dramatic re-enactment of the first time Minseok ever lost his cool when their shipment of chairs for the café turned out to be green instead of red, when Mrs. Lee makes her way to the front of the room and claps her hands together once, just like she had last time.

“Today,” she says to the class, when everyone’s quieted down, “we’ll be making cakes.”

This time, Jongdae doesn’t zone out. Cookies he could handle. Cakes are a totally different situation. He’s made the boxed kind before, where you just add eggs and throw it all together, but as Mrs. Lee starts to demonstrate, he gets the feeling that this is going to be a lot more complicated than that.

“So one of us is supposed to make a vanilla cake,” Junmyeon says, moving their recipe cards to the middle of the table, “and one of us is supposed to make chocolate. Which do you want?”

Jongdae quickly scans the recipes, thinking about the cookie disaster from last week, and says, “Why don’t we do them both together? As a team?” At least if Jongdae has a direct hand in whatever Junmyeon makes, he might be able to stop things from going south.

“Okay,” Junmyeon says, more than happy. “Should we start with the chocolate, then?”

Jongdae says, “Sure,” because he really doesn’t care either way, not because Junmyeon’s smile makes him want to agree to anything.

Baking with Junmyeon instead of alongside Junmyeon turns out to be a lot of fun, and for the first time, Jongdae starts to think that this whole baking class thing might be a good idea after all, even if he doesn’t wind up learning a thing. Junmyeon is surprisingly lighthearted for someone who dresses like he’s about to do your taxes, and he has a sense of humor that’s somehow both embarrassing and endearing at the same time. And he’s just—

Cute. Still cute.

Baking with Junmyeon also involves a lot of babysitting, but at least when they’re working together Jongdae doesn’t sound like such a bossy know-it-all when he suggests Junmyeon use actual measuring instruments instead of free-handing all the ingredients, and he manages to catch and correct all of Junmyeon’s mistakes long before he makes them.

Everything is going perfectly, and Jongdae feels comfortable enough to leave Junmyeon to finish the vanilla batter and fill the cake trays while he goes over to the ovens to preheat theirs. Minseok is there too, doing the same thing, and Jongdae can’t help but stop to talk to him when he spots the splattering of chocolate cake mix on his shirt.

“What happened to you?” he asks, reaching for Minseok like he’s going to swipe his finger through the batter and maybe eat it.

Minseok bats his hand away, his jaw clenching. “Baekhyun happened.”

Jongdae looks to Minseok and Baekhyun’s table to see if Baekhyun is still living and breathing with all of his extremities attached after what he’s done to Minseok’s shirt, but he’s not even at their table. He’s at the back, at the table beside Jongdae’s with the two guys that keep laughing together, and now they’re laughing with him, too.

“You two are becoming best friends, huh?” Minseok might be quiet and on the shy side, but he’s usually friendly, when he has to be; Baekhyun seems to bring out the dark side in him, and what kind of friend would Jongdae be if he didn’t find that at least a little bit funny?

Minseok looks down at his shirt in irritation. “This better come out,” he mutters, before shouldering past Jongdae to turn on his own oven.

When Jongdae returns to their table, the cake trays are filled and Junmyeon is once again chatting with Tao and Sehun. From what Jongdae has gathered, Sehun and Tao are college students and roommates, and they’re only in this class because Sehun thought the guy putting up the fliers for it around campus (“His name is Yixing,” Tao tells them, while Sehun hisses at him to shut up. “He’s the one at the table in front of us. The nice one, not the frowny one.”) was cute. The two of them bicker a lot, and when they’re not bickering they’re giggling together, and they both seem to like Junmyeon as much as Jongdae does.

“You shouldn’t eat raw batter,” Junmyeon is saying to them, but he’s grinning as he says it, and eying the wooden spoon resting in the empty bowl on their table. “It’s not good for you.”

“Tao eats everything,” Sehun says, wrinkling his nose a little when Tao licks his fingers. “He’s like a dumpster.”

“But a handsome dumpster,” Tao interjects.

“If you say so.”

When Junmyeon keeps eying their wooden spoon, Jongdae says, “It won’t kill you.”

Junmyeon picks it up and licks away the remaining batter, and that might kill Jongdae. You know, if he watched. So he doesn’t. He definitely doesn’t. They still have— icing, they have icing to make, and Jongdae focuses on getting that started instead.

“We’re supposed to melt chocolate for the chocolate icing,” Junmyeon informs him when he’s done with the spoon, leaning in close to point at the recipe card, right where it says melt chocolate over low heat. “There’s an electric burner for that, too.”

“Then we better get on that,” Jongdae says tightly.

Junmyeon beams.

No, Jongdae thinks, stomach sinking as he looks into the oven. No way.

Everything was fine. The chocolate cake is already out of the oven and looking perfect as they wait for it to cool so they can frost it, but the vanilla cake is a disaster. It’s sunken and overly browned on top and Jongdae has a feeling that when they try to take it out of the pan, it’s either going to be as solid as a brick or so fragile it just falls apart into little crumbles.

How? He’d carefully watched Junmyeon measure out all of the ingredients, and was just as careful when adding his own. He’d been there when they’d sifted in the flour, and then he—

He left. He left to turn on the oven, and somehow, in that short span of less than two minutes, Junmyeon did… this.

Or maybe, Jongdae thinks generously, it wasn’t Junmyeon. Maybe it was something he did. Or maybe there’s something wrong with their oven. That’s a possibility. A slim possibility, but a possibility nonetheless.

Regardless of who, or what, is at fault, their vanilla cake is a mess, and this time Jongdae doesn’t have a second one to switch it with. Unless….

Jongdae quickly pulls out his phone, sending Minseok a text, and waits impatiently, tapping his foot restlessly against the floor. A moment later Minseok weaves his way through the tables over to the ovens, the chocolate cake stain on his shirt smudged now like he’d tried to get it out and only made it worse. “What?” he asks, lowering his voice so no one overhears.

“I need you to trade cakes with me.”

Minseok stares at him. “You need me to… what? Why?”

“Just— please? I’ll let you pick the color for the café’s walls.”

“We already decided on a soft brown.”

Oh, right. “I’ll give you money?”

“All the money you have is going into the café.”

Right again. “I’ll— I’ll— Okay, I’m out of bargaining chips. Please trade cakes with me?” he whines. “Out of the goodness of your heart and your love for me?”

Minseok’s face softens and Jongdae knows he has him, but before Minseok can agree, someone else says, “I’ll trade cakes with you.”

Minseok jolts a little, and Jongdae whirls around to find the pretty one, from the table behind Minseok’s, hovering just behind them with a friendly grin on his face.

“You will?” Jongdae says, surprised.

“Sure,” the guy says, shrugging. “I’m not a big fan of vanilla cake anyway.” He steps closer, almost brushing Jongdae out of the way, and adds, “Luhan, by the way. I sit behind you.”

He says it like they can’t read the name on his nametag, and only to Minseok, really, like Jongdae’s not even there anymore.

“I know,” Minseok says.

Luhan brightens. “Really?” His eyes flick down to Minseok’s chest. “And you’re… Minseok,” he reads. “It’s nice to meet you, Minseok.”

Jongdae snorts, but Luhan doesn’t even seem to notice. Normally that might offend him, but right now Jongdae doesn’t really care. While Luhan is distracted and still talking to Minseok, Jongdae quickly opens his oven and steals his cake before he can change his mind, switching it with his own.

“Thanks for the cake,” he says, and Luhan just blinks at him like he’d forgotten Jongdae was even there.

“You’re welcome,” he says, perfunctory.

Jongdae leaves with the cake before anyone can stop him.

“Wow,” Junmyeon exclaims when Jongdae places the cake pan on their table, wincing a little from the heat burning through the oven mitts. “That looks amazing.”

“It does,” Jongdae can’t help but agree, even if Luhan had been more interested in trying to chat up Minseok than acknowledging Jongdae’s existence. He makes a decent vanilla cake, Jongdae won’t deny that.

“We make a good team, don’t we?” Junmyeon muses.

Jongdae feels something flutter in his stomach, and tries to ignore it. “Yeah, we do.”

In the end, their cakes look beautiful. Junmyeon might be an absolute disaster as a baker, but he’s decent with a pastry bag full of icing, piping on neat little rows of icing that only slightly melt because they didn’t wait long enough for them to cool.

This time, Jongdae actually has something to take home.

The following week, they make muffins. By now it’s become routine for Jongdae to check the ovens before Junmyeon has a chance to, and just like with the cookies, Jongdae winds up switching his and Junmyeon’s before Junmyeon notices the difference.

When he’s done, he checks to make sure Junmyeon didn’t see and finds Tao watching him with raised eyebrows. Jongdae stares back at him with wide eyes, feeling like an animal caught in a trap, but all Tao does is mime zipping his mouth closed, and then he goes back to teasing Sehun about whatever it is they were talking about when Jongdae left to check on the muffins.

And the muffins aren’t that bad, in the end. Even if they overflowed in the pan and all of the mix-ins sunk to the bottom and burnt a little.

“The butter must be kept cold,” Junmyeon reads a week later, his face scrunching up in concentration as he tries to hear himself over the rest of the noise in the room. “Be careful not to overwork the dough— this is especially important for those of you with hot hands. Hot hands? What does that mean? How do we know if we have hot hands?”

Impulsively, Jongdae reaches for Junmyeon’s hand, the way he would with Minseok, or any of his friends. Junmyeon startles a little but doesn’t protest, letting Jongdae squeeze their fingers together for a moment as he looks down at where they’re joined with a (cute, still cute) little frown on his face. His hands are hot, warm, and surprisingly soft, clean nails cut short and neat. His hand fits perfectly in Jongdae’s, comfortably; Jongdae lets go as soon as he thinks that.

“Maybe I should mix the dough,” Jongdae teases, letting his hand fall back to his side.

Junmyeon’s hand is still awkwardly outstretched, palm up, fingers curled like they’re still twined with Jongdae’s, and he’s staring down at it dumbly, frowning.

“Junmyeon,” Jongdae hedges, worried he’d crossed the line. He’s always been the type that gets friendly fast, and he’s touchy by nature— borderline clingy, even, according to Minseok. He shouldn’t have assumed Junmyeon would be okay with that without asking first, but the damage is already done and—

“What?” Junmyeon blinks at him, shaking his head softly, and then breaks out a smile “Sorry. Yes. You should— you can mix the dough. Good idea, Jongdae.”

From the table in front of them, Sehun lets out a snort, but when Jongdae looks up, he and Tao are both busy staring at something on the other side of the room. Curiously, Jongdae follows their line of sight, just in time to watch Luhan attempt to dump a cup of flour into a bowl and completely miss it, the flour puffing up into a cloud as it spills half onto the floor and half onto the counter.

The giant one beside him groans and says something in a language that Jongdae doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t have to. Sehun nudges Tao and instantly Tao translates: “He just said, Stop getting distracted.” Luhan says something back, and the giant mutters something under his breath that has Luhan gawking indignantly, and Tao relays, “Okay, and now the small one is saying, I wasn’t distracted! And the hot one—”

“Yifan,” Sehun sighs. “You know his name is Yifan.”

Tao glares at him, but continues. “Yifan says, If you weren’t so busy staring, and Luhan just said—” Tao cuts off with a laugh, not even bothering to try and smother it. “He said, I wasn’t staring, I was just admiring his baking technique, and now the hot one looks like he might throw up.”

“You don’t have to translate their facial expressions.”

“You asked!”

“Isn’t that your friend they’re talking about?” Junmyeon asks, nodding towards Luhan and the giant— Yifan— so Jongdae knows he’s not talking about Sehun and Tao.

“Minseok?” Junmyeon nods. “Probably. Everyone always has a crush on Minseok.”

At that, Junmyeon’s frown returns. “Do you?”

Jongdae nearly chokes. He has to grab the table to steady himself, and then he stares at Junmyeon like he’s grown an extra head. “Do I have a crush on Minseok?”

“Well, you said everyone,” Junmyeon reminds him, a little defensively.

Jongdae can’t help it: he laughs. Hard. “Sorry,” he says when Junmyeon looks affronted, primly reaching for a measuring cup. “It’s just— Minseok. I’ve never even thought of him that way. We’re practically related, and besides, we’re going into business together. I think that’d be a conflict of interest, don’t you?”

“I suppose so,” Junmyeon acquiesces, as he dumps an unlevelled cup of flour into his bowl.

“He did call me his wife once, though,” Jongdae remembers, smiling fondly at the memory. “But in his defense, we were both pretty drunk and I can’t remember why.”

Junmyeon is very steadily looking down at the recipe, not at Jongdae, when he asks, “So you two have never…?”

“Nah. Like I said, he’s basically my brother. And he’s not really my type.”

“Oh,” is all Junmyeon says to that. And then, “So what is your type, then?”

Maybe Jongdae’s hands are hot, too, because they’re definitely sweating right now. “Don’t put me on the spot like that,” he complains. “What’s your type?”

Junmyeon doesn’t hesitate. “Someone nice,” he starts, and Jongdae is so busy hanging on his every word that he doesn’t even notice the tablespoon Junmyeon uses to measure the salt instead of the quarter teaspoon the recipe calls for. “Good-looking, too.”

Jongdae raises his eyebrows, amused. “I didn’t expect you to be so shallow, Junmyeon.”

“It’s not shallow to want to date someone you’re attracted to,” Junmyeon argues. “Someone I could have good conversation with, too,” he adds. “Someone I could be a better version of myself with, who brings out good things in me, maybe.”

I could do that, Jongdae thinks. I could be your type. He doesn’t even bother trying to tell himself that he doesn’t want be Junmyeon’s type, because, at this point, he knows he does. He really does. He really, really, really does.

“Can you pass me the butter, please?” Junmyeon asks, changing the subject.

Jongdae does, and if he lets his fingers brush purposefully against Junmyeon as he does, well. Sue him. Junmyeon has nice hands.

Jongdae isn’t even surprised this time when he opens the oven and finds the pie he and Junmyeon made looking like a mess. It’s supposed to be lemon meringue, and the meringue part had been perfect (apparently Junmyeon is very good at preparing toppings, it’s just the base of desserts that he struggles with, because his icing had been great too), but that doesn’t even matter because it’s all separated on top of the weirdly curdled looking lemon filling.

The crust looks good, at least, but now that Jongdae isn’t so busy trying to figure out whether or not he’s the kind of person Junmyeon could potentially be into it, he’s aware that it’s probably going to taste like the heaping pile of salt Junmyeon dumped into it.

Just like with the cake, Jongdae doesn’t have a replacement for this one. He can’t switch it out for something decent-looking. He’ll just have make something up, take the blame for it, convince Junmyeon that he was the one who messed up because it’s not like Junmyeon would ever fault him for it anyway.

With a resigned sigh, Jongdae opens the oven, pulling out the pie, and nearly drops it on the floor when someone says, “Want to trade?”

Jongdae narrows his eyes suspiciously at Sehun. “What?”

“Want to trade?” Sehun repeats, rolling his eyes a little when Jongdae tries to act like he doesn’t know what Sehun means. “Tao saw you last week. We know you’ve been trying to keep Junmyeon from realizing he’s a shitty baker.”

“He’s not that bad,” Jongdae says, defensive on Junmyeon’s behalf.

All Sehun has to do is glance down at the pie, and his point is made.

“Okay, fine. But why would you want to help me?”

Sehun shrugs, his expression uncaring, but he mutters, “We like Junmyeon,” under his breath like he doesn’t really want Jongdae to hear it. “And Tao would probably eat that thing anyway, even if it does look like something an alien regurgitated.”

Jongdae bites his lips, considering. Maybe he should just tell Junmyeon the truth. After all, he’s in this class to learn, and how is he ever going to fix his mistakes if he doesn’t even realizing he’s making them? But on the other hand, Jongdae is fairly certain that Junmyeon’s mistakes aren’t the fixable kind. Some people just can’t bake or cook, and he thinks Junmyeon very firmly fits into that category.

And then he considers the look on Junmyeon’s face if he came clean, and he knows he can’t.

“Okay, fine,” Jongdae says, holding his pie out to Sehun. “Hurry up before he looks over here.”

“Don’t worry, Tao’s distracting him.”

Jongdae doesn’t know how to properly thank him for this, but Sehun seems like he’d rather Jongdae forget all about this act of kindness and act like it didn’t happen, so that’s what he does. Even if he sort of wants to ruffle Sehun’s hair and coo at him for being soft underneath that bored-faced exterior.

When Jongdae returns, Tao gives him the least subtle look ever, but Junmyeon is thankfully oblivious.

On the fifth week, something is different. He and Junmyeon are both amongst the first to arrive, and like usual, Junmyeon greets him cheerfully and asks about his week, and the café, and Jongdae asks Junmyeon about his week, and his life, as they wait for everyone else to show up. But something feels off, and Junmyeon keeps shooting him these indecipherable looks when he thinks Jongdae isn’t looking.

“What?” Jongdae finally asks when Junmyeon, for the first time, seems to be paying as much attention to Mrs. Lee’s demonstration as Jongdae is. He keeps glancing at Jongdae instead of the front of the room. “Is there something on my face?”

Junmyeon actually flushes. “No, no, there’s nothing on your face.”

“Then why—?”

“Please feel free to talk amongst yourselves after the demonstration,” Mrs. Lee pointedly interrupts, giving Junmyeon and Jongdae a significant look that has everyone else turning to look at them, too.

Junmyeon’s shoulders hunch with embarrassment, and Jongdae mutters a sheepish, “Sorry.”

But he doesn’t drop it.

“Seriously, what?” Jongdae asks after the demonstration is over, as Junmyeon reads over the day’s recipe card. They’re using the same recipe for the crust as they had last week, only they’re making smaller, individual tarts, with three different fillings.

Junmyeon flinches, like he maybe thought Jongdae would forget, and Jongdae feels a twist of guilt in his gut that makes him sort of wish he had until Junmyeon says, “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

Jongdae blinks. Unconsciously, he reaches up to push his glasses further up his nose, and now he’s the one flushing, probably. “I don’t, usually,” he admits, and he’d actually forgotten he was wearing them until Junmyeon mentioned it, “but I lost my contacts and I didn’t have time to go get new ones.”

“Oh,” Junmyeon says quietly. He glances up at Jongdae and then away, quickly. “They look nice.”

Yep. Jongdae is definitely red now. It’s not like he doesn’t like his glasses, too, but they’re so much more of a pain than his contacts that he rarely bothers with them. Maybe— maybe he should wear them more often, though.

“We should probably…” Junmyeon waves a vague hand at the recipe card.

“Huh? Oh, right. Yeah, we should.”

For the rest of the day, Junmyeon keeps shooting Jongdae discreet looks, and it takes everything Jongdae has to stay focused on the baking task at hand. It’s a miracle, really, that Jongdae’s tarts don’t wind up looking just as bad as Junmyeon’s do, at the end of the day.

(But they really don’t, so he does his usual switch before Junmyeon notices.)

“Wearing your glasses again?” Minseok asks him on the sixth week, on their drive to class. He has his eyes on the road, because Minseok is the most careful driver Jongdae has ever met, but he gives Jongdae a curious look when they stop at a red light.

“I need them to see!” Jongdae nearly shouts, defensive. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

Minseok looks alarmed. “I never said it was?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Minseok is quiet, for a moment, and then he asks, “Does Junmyeon like them?”

Jongdae stares resolutely out the window. “I don’t know why you would even ask me that.”

Minseok is a much better than friend than Jongdae, because he doesn’t even tease Jongdae for his obvious crush. Today, anyway. Instead, he says, “You know, you should invite him to the grand opening.”

The grand opening for their café is in a little over a week, and this is the first time Jongdae has heard Minseok mention it without sounding like he was about to have a breakdown. They’ve both been like that, anxious and nervous and excited, underneath it all, and it’s been stressful. It still seems like there’s so much left to be done, so much more they need to do before they’re ready to open for the public, but Minseok keeps assuring him that there’s not, and Jongdae keeps assuring Minseok that he’s not entirely insane for suggesting they do this in the first place, and they’ve already invited all of their friends and family and put up a big sign in the café’s window declaring the opening date.

The thought of inviting Junmyeon makes Jongdae feel even more nervous. “He probably wouldn’t even want to come,” he says, hoping Minseok will drop it.

“The more people that come, the better,” Minseok reminds him. “Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if we opened and only our parents showed up?”

It would, but still. “Does that mean you’re inviting Baekhyun?”

Surprisingly, Minseok’s expression doesn’t darken, the way it usually does at the mention of his baking partner. “I might, actually,” he says. “I mentioned it to Luhan already.”

Jongdae reels back at that, surprised. “You did?”

Minseok shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “We were talking about it last week, and I told him we were opening soon and that he should come, if he wanted,” he admits, not meeting Jongdae’s eyes.

“Minseok,” Jongdae says, reaching over to poke him in the side. “You know he likes you, right? Like, likes you, likes you?”

“He’s not exactly subtle.”

“And you’re encouraging him?”

In all the years Jongdae has known him, Minseok has never, not once, encouraged any of the many, many people that have had crushes on him. It’s not that Minseok is picky, or that he’s against the idea of dating; it’s just that Minseok is a Commitment Guy. He doesn’t see the point of putting effort into a relationship unless he genuinely thinks it’s going to amount to something, and since he never does, he’s been single for as long as they’ve known each other.

The fact that he hasn’t gently told Luhan to get lost yet is miraculous enough in itself; him inviting Luhan to the opening of the café is monumental.

“I’m not discouraging him,” Minseok corrects, as they pull into the parking lot. Before Jongdae can start teasing him or pressing him for information, he adds, pulling the I’m your elder, listen to me, Jongdae voice that he reserves for rare occasions, “Invite Junmyeon.”

“Fine,” Jongdae sighs, resigned and pouting a little, “but he’s probably busy.”

Junmyeon is not busy.

Jongdae waits until they’ve already started baking, when Junmyeon is intently focused on melting chocolate in the pan over their electric burner, to casually bring it up. “So,” he says, fiddling nervously with his whisk. “We’re opening up the café next Friday, and I was—” Junmyeon looks up fast, eyes wide, giving Jongdae his full attention, and it makes him stutter to a stop, mouth dry. “Uh, I was wondering if you’d want to come, maybe? It’s not a huge thing. Just friends and family mostly, and anyone who comes in off the street, I guess, if anyone does, and I thought, you know, if you’d like to come get a drink, or something—”

“I’d love to come,” Junmyeon says eagerly, and because he’s Junmyeon, and the nicest person on the planet, Jongdae knows he genuinely means it. “Just give me a time and a place and I’ll be there.”

“What if it’s during work hours?”

Junmyeon falters, but only for a second. “I’ll be there,” he repeats, firmly. “I want to come and see this café I’ve heard so much about.”

“What café?” Tao asks, turning all the way around and not even trying to pretend like he wasn’t eavesdropping.

“Jongdae and Minseok’s,” Junmyeon answers, and he almost sounds like a proud, bragging parent. “It’s opening next week.”

“Can we come?” Tao begs, excitedly grabbing Sehun’s arm and shaking it. “Sehunnie can post about it on Instagram. He has, like, a million followers.”

“Six hundred thousand,” Sehun corrects, sounding bored, but there’s a prideful tilt to his chin.

“Whatever,” Tao says, waving a hand. “It’d be good publicity, right? Please can we come?

Jongdae feels a little overwhelmed. The more people that come, the more people will be there to witness it if things go wrong. But the more people that come, the better chance they have of success. And it’s Tao and Sehun; the thought of them coming makes Jongdae’s chest feel a little warm, all of that fondness he’s built up during the weeks rushing through him, but it doesn’t make him nervous, like the thought of Junmyeon coming.

“Sure,” Jongdae says, plastering a smile on his face. “The more the merrier.”

Jongdae gives them all the address and the time, and Tao pulls out his phone as he and Sehun turn back to their own table, programming them in. It makes everything feel weirdly official. Like, this is actually happening. They’ve been working towards it for what feels like years, and it’s finally going to happen. Sooner than Jongdae thinks he’s ready for.

“Are you okay?” Junmyeon asks, leaning in close, sounding concerned. Somehow it makes Jongdae feel calm and flustered, simultaneously, his voice soothing but the proximity making his heart thud.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jongdae says, but it comes out tighter than he means for it to.

“It’s okay if you’re nervous,” Junmyeon tells him kindly, reaching out to put a warm hand on Jongdae’s arm, close enough to his wrist that all he’d have to do is curl his fingers around it to feel how fast Jongdae’s pulse races at the contact.

Jongdae drops the whisk in his hand abruptly, like an idiot. “Shit,” he curses, bending down to get it at the same time as Junmyeon, and their heads nearly knock together.

Junmyeon gets to it first. “Sorry,” he says, playfully knocking the whisk against Jongdae’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to whisk you away.”

Jongdae stares at him, horrified and a little, tiny bit in love. Unbidden, he feels a laugh bubble up in his throat, and he tries his best to smother it because no way is he encouraging a pun that bad, but he can’t help it, and he laughs anyway. Junmyeon laughs, too, eyes scrunching up with the force of it, and Jongdae is so, so gone for him. It’s been six weeks and there’s no way that’s enough time for his stomach to be fluttering like this and his chest to feel this tight, but it is and it does and there’s nothing Jongdae can do to stop it.

(Looking at Junmyeon’s bright, happy face, Jongdae doesn’t even think he wants to stop it.)

“Cute,” he hears Tao coo, and he looks up to find him and Sehun watching them, Tao grinning teasingly and Sehun’s nose wrinkled like he’s a little disgusted by them.

Jongdae and Junmyeon both flush. “Don’t you have baking to do?” Jongdae whines, resisting the urge to cover his face. He’s pretty sure it’d feel hot to the touch. “Pay attention to your own table!”

“I was just going to ask if you had any chocolate we could borrow,” Tao says, feigning innocence. “It’s not my fault you got caught flirting.”

Jongdae stiffens with indignation. “We weren’t—!”

“Here,” Junmyeon says, handing them the last of their chocolate. “You really need to stop eating the ingredients.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Sehun mutters, taking it.

Tao snarks back, voice rising in pitch while Sehun’s stays bored and monotonous, and Junmyeon watches them fondly as they turn back to their table. The whole time, Jongdae is distracted by the fact that Junmyeon hadn’t, not once, even for a second, tried to deny that they were flirting.

He has to bite his lip to fight his grin.

The next week, they make soufflés. Jongdae is excited for it, but he doesn’t retain much from the class. He’s too nervous, too on edge about the café opening the next day, and the only thing he really remembers clearly about the class is the comforting hand Junmyeon put on the small of his back when Jongdae finally confessed that he was scared about tomorrow.

Okay, that and the fact that Junmyeon’s soufflés are nearly as disastrous as his cookies.

The day of the café opening comes all too quickly. Jongdae wakes up in a nervous sweat, and forgets to put on pants before he slumps into the kitchen of the apartment he and Minseok have shared since university. He’s so tired after tossing and turning all night, and it’s so early that the sun’s barely even up.

Minseok doesn’t even comment on it. He’s eerily calm, creepy calm, almost robotic as he goes about his normal morning routine. The only difference is that he dresses a little nicer, taking the effort to neatly iron his button up, and he somehow manages to wrangle Jongdae into an actual dress shirt and tie when he tries to leave the house in a graphic tee under the one blazer he owns.

“Are you ready?” Minseok asks, jingling the keys in his hands as he poises them in front of the lock. There are people all around them, hurrying to get a cab or get to work, and the sun is shining brightly through the gaps in the buildings around them.

“Wait, wait, I want to take a picture of this,” Jongdae says, pulling out his phone. “For documentation.”

“We’ve opened this door a million times,” Minseok reminds him, but he patiently waits for Jongdae to open his camera before he finally slips the key in the lock and turns it.

Inside, the café almost takes his breath away. It’s exactly how Jongdae always pictured it would be: warm and comfortable, all wooden furniture and dark walls and soft lighting. Their expensive coffee machines shine behind the counter, and it’s almost surreal. This is theirs. They did this. Him and Minseok. And it might flop; this might be the greatest mistake either of them ever make in their entire lives.

But it’s worth it, Jongdae thinks. It’s definitely worth it.

“We have an hour until we open,” Minseok says, already moving towards the counter. “Don’t just stand there.”

“I’m not just standing here,” Jongdae argues, hurrying after him. “I’m appreciating. This place looks awesome. I wish it was here when we were in school. I bet I would’ve gotten a lot more studying done at one of these tables than I ever did in the library.”

“You didn’t get any studying done in the library, if I recall.”

“Exactly.”

Minseok snorts, reaching out to ruffle Jongdae’s hair as he passes, and Jongdae stops to lean into his side for a second. Minseok doesn’t even poke fun at his clinginess, for once, and Jongdae is thankful. He’s so happy they did this, the two of them, together. He couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else, and the way Minseok’s arm gently wraps around his waist says he couldn’t, either.

“Okay, come on,” Minseok says, eventually peeling Jongdae away from him. “We have a café to open.”

Hours later, Jongdae isn’t sure what he was so nervous about. His parents are here, drinking coffee at the table by the window, in the corner, the best table in the shop, laughing and chatting with Minseok’s parents. Some of their friends from school are scattered around the room too, a few familiar faces from early morning classes and late night binge-drinking smiling back at him every time he looks around the room. But more than that, there are so, so many people Jongdae doesn’t know, people who just walked by and thought, hey, this looks like a cool place to get a drink, let’s check it out.

Okay, sure, his hands are shaking from the amount of caffeine he’s downed today (Minseok’s had just as much as him, but he’s built up some kind of tolerance, Jongdae is pretty sure), and his feet are killing him from standing for so long because while they have just enough money in their budget to hire two baristas, they thought it wouldn’t feel like their café if they didn’t work behind the counter on their first day, but it’s worth it. He feels like he’s going to burst with pride.

And then Minseok nudges him in the side and says, “Your boyfriend is here,” and the nerves all come flooding back.

“Hey,” he says, wiping his sweaty hands on his slacks as Junmyeon approaches the counter, still looking around with something close to awe on his face. “You made it!”

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” Junmyeon says, his smile almost blinding. “This place is amazing, Jongdae. Really.”

“I heard the owner’s pretty amazing, too,” Jongdae says, before he can stop himself. “And handsome.”

Junmyeon laughs, and Jongdae is fairly certain that no one on the planet has ever had a cuter laugh than Kim Junmyeon. “Well,” he says through his chuckles, “I’d love to meet him, then.”

“I might be able to make that happen. I have connections, you know.”

“How about a drink first?” Junmyeon asks, eying the menu hanging on the wall behind Jongdae. “What’s good here?”

“Is it bragging if I say everything?”

“It’s good to be confident in what you do,” Junmyeon tells him, very seriously. “But how about a café mocha? Large. With whipped cream. And one of those cookies,” he adds, pointing at the dessert display case.

“Just a sec,” Jongdae says, holding up a finger like the dork he is. Minseok shoots him an amused look as he pours a large coffee into a to-go cup, and Jongdae hisses, “Shut up,” under his breath.

He messes up Junmyeon’s order twice, and nearly burns himself on the fancy machine that seems to hate Jongdae but loves Minseok. It’s embarrassing, and he keeps throwing looks over his shoulder to make sure Junmyeon doesn’t notice, but he’s watching Jongdae with a fond smile on his face that says he definitely does, and that just makes Jongdae mess up even worse.

Finally he gets the order right, and he wraps up Junmyeon’s cookie to go with it and then slides them across the counter. “On the house,” he adds.

Junmyeon immediately shakes his head, pulling a sleek card out of his wallet. “I want to pay,” he insists.

“But—”

“In a few years,” Junmyeon says, “when you’ve opened a dozen more coffee shops in the city and you wipe Starbucks off the map, then you can give me free coffee, okay? In fact, you better. I’d be very offended if you didn’t.”

He sounds so certain, so confident that Jongdae and Minseok will even still have a café in a few years, that Jongdae’s throat closes up and he has to blink a few times to keep his eyes from getting stupidly wet. Everyone else has been supportive too, but in the cautious way people always are when you open a new business. Don’t get discouraged if things don’t work out, his father had told him. It’s a hard business. Just do your best, and I’m sure things will be fine, but we’re here to help if they’re not. But here Junmyeon is, talking about years down the line like there’s no doubt in his mind that this is going to be okay, and Jongdae really, really wants to kiss him for it.

“Okay,” he says dumbly, ringing up Junmyeon’s order. “It’s a deal.”

“Good.” Junmyeon swipes his card and takes his drink and cookie. “Should I— I guess I should let you work, right?”

The door to the café opens and a few people walk in. Jongdae grimaces. “I have customers,” he admits.

“I’ll just— go sit. Over there. Okay?” He uses his cookie to gesture at a small, empty table near the counter. He goes and does just that, and Jongdae watches him take the first, hesitant sip of his drink. “It’s good!” he mouths, giving Jongdae a thumbs up.

“Uh, can I get a drink, please?” someone asks, and Jongdae jolts, remembering that he’s supposed to be working, not watching Junmyeon being his cute self.

“Sorry,” Jongdae says, smiling his best customer service smile. “What can I get for you today?”

It’s like the customers don’t stop. Every time Jongdae fills an order, the café doors open again. Tao and Sehun show up, finally, each of them ordering an overly complicated drink that Jongdae hands off to Minseok because he’s better at this whole thing, and he watches as Sehun snaps picture after picture of everything, from his drink to his table to the paintings on the walls and the foam moustache Tao gets when he sips at his drink. They spot Junmyeon and gravitate over to him immediately, and Jongdae is glad; he looked lonely, sitting there all by himself.

Luhan shows up, too, with Yifan in tow, and Jongdae gets his chance to get back at Minseok for the boyfriend comment. Chanyeol and Jongin, the two laughing boys from the table beside Jongdae’s, come, too, even though Jongdae has no idea who invited them, and he thinks he sees Yixing, along with his frowny-faced partner, sitting at a table near the doors.

When Baekhyun shows up, Minseok actually smiles at him. Jongdae is shocked, and he tells Minseok he’s proud of him for making friends. Minseok hits him for it.

Eventually, though, the flow of people starts to slow, and Minseok comes up beside Jongdae as he’s organizing the stacks of cups and says, “Junmyeon’s still here,” as though Jongdae isn’t ridiculously hyperaware of that. “You can take a break, if you want.”

Jongdae looks up in surprise. “Really?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Minseok warns. “That’s it. I still need your help.”

Jongdae hugs him impulsively, laughing when Minseok groans, and then quickly takes off his apron and stashes it away before he moves out from behind the counter.

“Hey,” he says, resisting the urge to wring his hands together as he walks up to Junmyeon’s table. “You’re still here?”

“I haven’t finished my cookie yet,” Junmyeon says, holding it up as evidence. “I’m savoring it.”

Tao snorts and mutters something under his breath that has Sehun laughing, and Jongdae shoots a glare at the two of them until he notices his mom watching him from the other side of the room. She has that look on her face, that knowing, amused, Who’s this cute boy you’re talking to, Jongdae? Introduce me to him look, and Jongdae panics.

“Do you want to see the back room?” he blurts, to Junmyeon only.

Junmyeon blinks up at him, a little startled, but he smiles amiably enough and says, “Sure. Tao and Sehun, too, or—?”

“We’ll stay here,” Tao says. “You two kids go have fun.”

“Brat,” Jongdae mutters, and Tao smiles pleasantly at him.

He has no idea what he’s doing as he leads Junmyeon behind the counter and through the doors to the back. There’s barely anything back here, he just had to get away from his mom before she came up to them and said something that gave Jongdae away before Jongdae’s even had a chance to make up his mind about whether or not he’s going to do something about his crush (more than a crush) on Junmyeon.

“So, uh, this is the storage area,” Jongdae says, awkwardly waving a hand at the boxes filling the small space. They’re piled high in some places, flaps gaping open in others, and he has a feeling Minseok is going to be in here after they close, organizing everything so it’s perfect.

“Ah,” Junmyeon says politely.

“There’s an office back here, too. I can— here, I’ll show you,” Jongdae says, pushing open the door.

The office is small and cramped. There’s a little desk inside, and a filing cabinet for files that haven’t even been made yet, and a board on the wall with an assortment of things pinned to it. It’s more Minseok’s office than Jongdae’s, really, and it’s obvious: one of Minseok’s sweaters is hanging on the back of the chair at the desk, and most of the pictures pinned to the board on the wall are of Minseok and his family, or Minseok at university with friends, or little notes Minseok pinned there, reminders for himself.

“Hey, there’s the pamphlet for our class,” Junmyeon says, munching happily on his cookie as he looks over the board.

“I didn’t even know that was there,” Jongdae mutters, coming up behind him.

“Speaking of,” Junmyeon says, turning around abruptly and nearly giving Jongdae a heart attack, “did Minseok make these?”

Jongdae looks at the cookie and sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck. Despite Minseok’s plans, they’d ultimately had to order a few things from the bakery down the street, but Minseok and Jongdae had baked a few of their own goods, too, including the cookies.

“Actually,” Jongdae confesses, “I made them.”

“Really? They’re amazing. Have you been practicing?”

And just like that, Jongdae knows he has to tell him. Junmyeon took that baking class for a reason, and now, because of Jongdae, he hasn’t learned a single thing. He shouldn’t have kept it up for as long as he did, but every time he thought about telling Junmyeon the truth, he couldn’t bear the thought of how sad and disappointed and, potentially, angry Junmyeon would be when he did.

This is the best time to do it, though. They’re alone, so if Junmyeon yells at him, it’ll be less embarrassing. And their last baking class is next week: at least this way, if Junmyeon is really mad, Jongdae has one last chance to apologize to him, and if that doesn’t work, he’ll only have to see Junmyeon’s mad, disappointed face one more time before they go their separate ways forever. (That thought has Jongdae’s heart sinking into his stomach, but it’s his own fault and he knows it.)

“Junmyeon,” Jongdae starts, pausing to take a dramatic, deep breath. “I have to tell you something.”

Junmyeon’s smile slips away, taken aback by the seriousness of Jongdae’s tone. “Oh,” he says. He carefully puts his cookie down on Minseok’s desk and then squares his shoulders. “Okay. What is it?”

Jongdae freezes up. The words stick to his tongue. Junmyeon is watching him so intently, and Jongdae chokes. “I—” He swallows. “I, um.”

“You… what?” Junmyeon prompts, smiling encouragingly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jongdae groans, turning away from him and clasping his hands together behind his head. “It’s hard enough to say this without you smiling at me all— all nice and— It’s really not helping.”

“I’m sorry,” Junmyeon says. Jongdae can hear the amusement in it.

“Don’t apologize,” Jongdae whines. “I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one who’s kept this from you for so long, and I know I should’ve told you sooner, I know, but I didn’t want you to hate me or something because I kind of really want you to not hate me, you know? But—”

“Jongdae.” Junmyeon touches his shoulder, gently forcing him to turn around. When he does, Junmyeon isn’t smiling anymore, but there’s something in his voice that makes Jongdae feel hot all over. “It’s okay. Just say it,” he coaxes.

“Easy for you to say when you’re not the one about to confess. When you’re not the one who’s been lying for weeks. It’s just— I wanted to make you happy, and I went about it in a stupid way, but I just really—whatever. Okay.” He takes another deep breath, steadying himself. “Junmyeon, I—”

Before Jongdae can get the words out, Junmyeon surges up and kisses him.

It takes Jongdae completely by surprise, and he lets out a shocked gasp, but he’s not an idiot. Junmyeon is kissing him, and Jongdae does the only thing a person in their right mind would do in this situation: he kisses back. He kisses back like his life depends on it, framing Junmyeon’s face with his hands and tilting his head, feeling Junmyeon’s nose brush against his cheek as their lips move together. Junmyeon’s mouth is so soft and hesitant, and his breath is chocolate-sweet; Jongdae would kiss him for hours, if he could, but then his brain starts functioning again (okay, semi-functioning) and he remembers that he can’t. Not right now, at least. Hopefully in the future, though.

“Junmyeon,” he whines, forcing himself to pull away, impressing himself with his own restraint. “Wait, Junmyeon, wait.”

Junmyeon pulls back, too, but only just barely. “Sorry,” he says, although he doesn’t really sound it. “I didn’t mean to jump the gun like that, but... me too, Jongdae. I like you, too.”

“Wait, what?” Seriously, what? Jongdae’s head is spinning, and he has no idea what the hell is going on right now. “You do?”

Junmyeon’s cheeks are a little red, and he’s not meeting Jongdae’s eyes, but his voice doesn’t waver when he asks, “You didn’t notice?”

“No,” Jongdae breathes. “I kind of hoped, but I didn’t want to assume—”

“Well, now you don’t have to.”

Jongdae can’t help it. He has to kiss Junmyeon again, so he does, reveling in the pleased sound Junmyeon lets out when he does. “No, crap, wait,” Jongdae curses, taking a full step back this time. Being too close to Junmyeon makes his head all clouded. “That’s not what I was going to tell you.”

“It’s… not?” Junmyeon takes a step back, too, eyes wide. “I thought— I thought you were trying to confess to me.”

“I wasn’t. I mean, I was, just not that.”

“Oh.” An awful, terrible look of hurt and embarrassment washes over Junmyeon’s face.

“But I do like you!” Jongdae says quickly, before he ruins this. “A lot! So much so that I’ve done some really stupid things because of it.”

“What kind of stupid things?” Junmyeon asks, frowning.

Jongdae bites the bullet. He has to, or he’ll keep getting distracted by Junmyeon’s… everything, and he’ll lose his nerve. “I’ve been switching all of our desserts for the last two months,” he says, all in a rush, the words melding together nearly incomprehensibly.

Junmyeon cocks his head to the side, like he’s trying to sort out what Jongdae just said. “You’ve been….”

“Switching all of our desserts. For months.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I didn’t want you to realize you were a bad baker,” Jongdae admits, realizing just how stupid it sounds when he says it out loud. “You were so happy all the time, and you really liked baking, and I didn’t want to burst your bubble. So, that first day, when we made cookies, I switched your tray for mine before you noticed and then I sort of, uh, kept doing it.”

“But that— that doesn’t make sense,” Junmyeon insists. “What about the cakes? We made those together. You couldn’t have switched them.”

“I traded with Luhan.”

“And the pie?”

“Sehun.”

“You switched all of our desserts?” Woefully, he whispers, “Even the muffins?”

Jongdae nods sadly. “Even the muffins.”

“Oh.” Junmyeon presses a hand to his forehead like he’s feeling a little faint. “How did I not notice that?”

“Because I tried really hard to make sure you didn’t.”

“All because you didn’t want me to be upset?”

Again, Jongdae nods.

“Even that first day?”

“Like I said, you were really happy and cute and I didn’t want you to be sad, and I’m an idiot.”

Junmyeon stares at him for a long, quiet moment. Jongdae wants to squirm under that stare. He can’t read it, can’t tell what Junmyeon’s thinking, so it catches him off guard when Junmyeon says, quietly, reaching up to toy with Jongdae’s tie, “You’re not an idiot.”

“I’m not?”

“Misguided, maybe,” Junmyeon admits, lips quirking up, “but sweet.”

How does a person like Junmyeon even exist? Jongdae is baffled and awed and so damn smitten. “Really? You’re not mad?”

“Do you want me to be mad?” Junmyeon asks, his hand smoothing down the length of Jongdae’s tie distractingly.

“N-no,” Jongdae says. “No, I really don’t.”

“Good. Because I’d like to kiss you again, and if I was mad at you, I don’t think I’d want to do that.”

Jongdae glances down at Junmyeon’s mouth, licking his own lips in anticipation, and that seems to be all Junmyeon can take because next thing Jongdae knows, he’s tugging on the tie and pulling Jongdae in, and Jongdae lets him because, really, how could he not? Junmyeon is an incredible kisser, just bold enough to send a shiver of longing down Jongdae’s spine, but soft and careful enough that Jongdae wants to hold him close and kiss him until he’s breathless and tugging at Jongdae’s shirt for more.

But again, Jongdae’s brain kickstarts back to life and he remembers that he can’t keep doing this forever, even if he really, really, really fucking wants to. “Uh, Junmyeon,” he says, drawing back slowly.

“What is it this time?” Junmyeon demands, cutely impatient.

“Minseok said I had fifteen minutes, and if he has to come back here to get me and finds us making out in his office, he’ll kill us both.”

“Oh!” Junmyeon looks horrified. “I forgot you were working.”

“Me too,” Jongdae says. He wishes he’d kept forgetting, too, because if he had, they’d still be kissing. “But I really should—”

“Right, of course.” Junmyeon hastily grabs his cookie off the desk. “Lead the way.”

Jongdae does. And when they step out of the back room together, it feels like every single person in the café knows exactly what he and Junmyeon were just doing, but Jongdae can’t find it in himself to care. Even if Tao and Sehun do snicker about it. Even if his mother does badger him about it later, after they close up the shop and go to get a late dinner with Minseok and his parents. Even if, when they get home that night, Minseok asks him very slyly if Junmyeon liked their office. He can still distinctly remember the taste of chocolate on his tongue, and he doesn’t regret it for a second.

Walking into their baking class on the last day feels like walking into an entirely different room than the one he’d walked into all those weeks ago. Each table isn’t just a table, it’s a pair of people that Jongdae knows by name and will miss not seeing every week. The ovens lining the wall aren’t just sleek, intimidating ovens. He knows now that the third one from the door runs hotter than the rest, and that the dial on the one closest to the front of the room always sticks when you try to turn it past 200 degrees Celsius. The smudged handwriting on the board doesn’t just look like it was written by someone who is left-handed, it was written by someone left-handed, and Mrs. Lee’s palm is always stained blue after she quickly scribbles something down.

Jongdae is, honestly, going to be a little sad to say goodbye to this place.

But, more importantly, he’s going to be sad to say goodbye to his one excuse to see Junmyeon.

Not that this is the only place Jongdae sees him. Not anymore, anyway. Every morning, without fail, at a quarter to eight, Junmyeon comes into the café and orders himself a different drink before work. And every morning, without fail, Jongdae tries to give it to him for free and Junmyeon insists on paying.

That’s the extent of their conversations, though. Junmyeon is always in a hurry to get to work, and the morning rush keeps Jongdae from stopping to talk to him. They haven’t had time to talk about the kiss(es), or what it meant. Jongdae hasn’t had time to work himself up to asking Junmyeon for his number. Every time he’s about to, someone impatiently asks for a coffee, or Junmyeon glances down at his watch and (regretfully, Jongdae thinks, but that might just be him projecting) tells Jongdae he has to go.

This class will be the longest time they’ve spent together since they were in his and Minseok’s office, and Jongdae’s stomach is knotted with anxiety and anticipation.

“Why do you look more nervous today than you did on our first day?” Minseok asks, his eyes glinting knowingly. (Jongdae figured it was time to stop denying his crush on Junmyeon after admitting to the office kisses, and Minseok, for all that he looks like an angel, hasn’t let him live since.)

“Shut up,” Jongdae groans, rubbing his sweaty hands on his shirt. “Go to your own table.”

Minseok laughs at him, but he is Jongdae’s best friend for a reason, so he gives Jongdae a reassuring look and a soft pat on the shoulder before he does just that.

Just like that first day, Jongdae drums his fingers restlessly on his table while he waits for his partner to arrive. Unlike that first day, however, Jongdae knows exactly who he’s going to get. He’s not anticipating grumpy old guys or lanky, moody teenagers. He knows all too well that Junmyeon is going to arrive with his warm, beautiful smile and he’s going to say nice, wonderful things and he’s going to smell like that soft, pleasant cologne he always wears, and he’ll probably have a loosened tie around his neck and a perfectly pressed dress shirt on and—

Oh, man. Jongdae is so in love with him he thinks he might choke on it.

“Hello,” an all too familiar voice says, and just like that first time, Jongdae startles at the noise.

“H-hey,” he says, unsteadily. “Junmyeon, hey.”

Junmyeon breaks out that smile. “It’s nice not to have a counter between us again, isn’t it?”

“Ha, yeah, it is,” Jongdae says, like the dumbass he is.

“How is the café, by the way? I haven’t had a chance to ask. We’re both always so busy in the morning.”

Why did Jongdae think things would be awkward? This is Junmyeon. He always makes Jongdae feel at ease, and talking to him is like talking to someone Jongdae has known his whole life. Before he knows it, he’s going on and on about how much harder running the café is than he ever could have imagined, even with the help of the baristas he and Minseok hired, but how rewarding it is, and how much he loves it anyway, and the whole time, Junmyeon smiles at him like nothing makes him happier than knowing Jongdae is happy.

“I’m glad things are working out,” Junmyeon tells him, with the utmost sincerity. “Not that I had any doubts.”

“I think you’re the only one.”

“That’s not true,” Junmyeon argues. “You should’ve heard Tao and Sehun going on about the place. They loved it. And there were so many people that first day! I could barely find a table to sit.”

“Stop,” Jongdae whines, in a way that makes it clear he wants Junmyeon to continue.

Junmyeon opens his mouth, no doubt about to do just that, but Mrs. Lee makes her way to the front of the room before he can, and at this point they know the routine enough to quiet down.

“Can you believe we’ve already spent two months together?” she begins, flashing her warm smile around the room. “It feels like just yesterday you all walked into this room for the first time. You’ve all improved so much since that day, and I’m sure you’ll go on to be amazing bakers when you leave here tonight!” she says cheerfully, and the rest of the class makes soft sounds of agreement. “But before you go, we have one more dessert to make together.” She picks up her blue marker, moving to the white board. “Brownies.”

In front of them, Tao lets out a happy little cheer, and Sehun elbows him in the side.

“I’m sure you all know the drill by now,” Mrs. Lee continues. “I’ll demonstrate while you follow along with the recipe card, and then you’ll have a chance to make your own. But today things are going to be a little different. It’s our last day, after all, so I thought we’d have a little fun with customization. So many recipes you’ve learned can be used as a base and tweaked until you get the exact dessert you want, and brownies are the perfect example of this. Once you’ve made your batter, you can come up to the front and add anything from the assortment of goodies I’ve put out. Chocolate chips, nuts, little candy pieces, crushed up cookies. Whatever your heart desires.”

Jongdae eyes the little collection of bowls at the front with interest.

“So let’s begin, shall we?”

Just like every other week, Junmyeon watches Mrs. Lee with rapt attention, and Jongdae semi-zones out while waiting for her to finish. Junmyeon is biting his lip in concentration, and that’s what Jongdae gets lost in this time, fixating on how soft that bottom lip looks caught between perfect white teeth, and how good it felt pressed against his own. Junmyeon has a really cute mouth, okay? It’s not Jongdae’s fault.

“Jongdae.”

Jongdae tears his gaze away from Junmyeon’s mouth, and realizes Junmyeon is watching him right back, eyebrows raised in amusement, fully aware of what Jongdae was just doing. “What? Sorry,” Jongdae says, praying he doesn’t blush.

“Your recipe card,” Junmyeon says, sliding it over to him, lips twitching.

“Oh, thanks.”

“Why is it that you never pay attention to the demonstrations, but I’m the one who always screws up?” Junmyeon wonders, more lighthearted than self-deprecating.

“Hey! I pay attention!” Jongdae argues. “Sometimes.”

Junmyeon shakes his head fondly, but doesn’t call Jongdae out again, even though they both know that ‘sometimes’ means one time. His eyes drift down to his recipe card, eyebrows scrunching up as he reads it over, and Jongdae suddenly remembers something.

“Hey, Junmyeon,” he says, and Junmyeon immediately looks up, giving Jongdae his full attention again in a way that makes him squirm a little, simultaneously amazing and awful. “I had this idea.”

“Oh?”

“I want to make these last few weeks up to you,” Jongdae explains, just like he’d rehearsed it in his head all night last night. “I know these classes aren’t exactly cheap, and I’m sort of the reason you haven’t really learned much, and I figured, you know, I have an oven, and I kind of know what I’m doing, so maybe I could give you private lessons? If you want. You don’t have to say yes. I just wanted to do something to make up for what I’ve done, and that’s the best I can come up with, so—”

“Okay,” Junmyeon says.

Jongdae cuts off abruptly. “Okay?” he repeats. He half-expected Junmyeon to shoot him down, or maybe decide that he is mad at Jongdae for what he’s done, but not an immediate agreement. “Really?”

“Sure,” Junmyeon says, smiling. “I really do want to learn how to bake, and I could use the help.”

Jongdae does not agree with him (out loud) because he likes Junmyeon too much.

“On one condition, though,” Junmyeon adds.

Uh oh.

“What condition?” Jongdae asks warily.

Boldly, Junmyeon says, “You let me buy you dinner afterwards.” But despite how confident he sounds, his lashes are low over his eyes and he won’t meet Jongdae’s, like he’s actually worried Jongdae is going to say no. Junmyeon is asking him out, and he genuinely seems to think there’s a chance that Jongdae won’t say yes. That Jongdae hasn’t been praying for this moment practically since the second Junmyeon said hello to him and Jongdae realized that all of the cute in the universe had converged into one small man.

Maybe Jongdae’s been smoother about this whole giant, visible from space crush on Junmyeon than he thought.

Playing it cool, Jongdae asks, “And what if I don’t?

“Then I guess I’ll be doomed to spend the rest of my life as a terrible baker,” Junmyeon says dramatically, “and you’ll have to live with the guilt of knowing that it’s all your fault.”

Jongdae laughs, feeling warm all over. “How could I say no, then?”

“You couldn’t, if you had any sort of conscience.”

“Does next Thursday work for you?”

Junmyeon nods. “But it might take more than one lesson to make me a good baker,” he warns. “It might take weeks. Months, even. Are you sure you’re ready to commit to that?”

“Yeah,” Jongdae says, way too quickly, his stomach doing an embarrassing, awful flipping thing, like he’s on the drop of a rollercoaster or driving too fast down a hill. “Yeah, I really am,” he realizes. Weeks, months, even years with Junmyeon. Jongdae would be so ready for that.

“So it’s a date, then,” Junmyeon says. “Or dates. Plural. We’ve agreed on plural, right?”

“We’ve agreed on plural.”

“Good,” Junmyeon says.

“Good,” Jongdae echoes.

From the table in front of them, Sehun leans over to Tao and, without trying not to be heard, mutters, “It’s about time.”

Jongdae feels his face burn, but Junmyeon just beams at him and says, “Maybe we should start those lessons today, though, before I commit any more crimes against desserts.”

Jongdae looks down at the giant spoon in his hand that he’s about to measure his butter with. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” he mutters. “You really don’t know the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, do you?”

Junmyeon blinks at him, tilting his head (cutely) to the side. “There’s a difference?”

Jongdae groans fondly. Clearly they have a lot of work to do. Fortunately, Jongdae doesn’t mind. (He really, really doesn’t.)