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A puff of flour ghosted through the dark air, the powder dusting the floor and countertops of the bakery kitchen. Two young boys giggled, one placing his hands over his mouth to stifle the delighted sounds.
“Trey! We’re going to get in trouble for sure now!” He whispered, hands still hiding his face. His long blond hair was tied back with a ruby ribbon, the wisps of baby hairs framing his eyes.
“Don’t worry about it, Claude. My dad won’t mind as long as we clean it up,” Trey said. “Besides, I’m doing this for you no matter what.”
Claude huffed, a pout on his lips as he dusted settled flour off his shirt.
“Fine,” he sighed. “But you still got me all dirty. The least you could do is help me up.” Claude pointed to the countertop. His sparkly nail polish glittered under the moonlight that poured through the kitchen window. Trey shuffled over with a little bench and placed it against the counter’s side.
“Here. This’ll help. Usually my sister uses it, but she won’t mind sharing,” he smiled. Claude stepped up onto the bench and leaned over the marble countertop, trying to get a peek at the dark street outside the window.
“It’s so dark outside. . . .” he whispered to himself.
“But the moon is pretty,” Trey replied. He wasn’t looking out the window.
“Pauline loves the moon,” Claude giggled, looking back at Trey. “Sometimes she talks to the moon, you know? The moon listens best.”
“Yeah. But. . .” Trey stepped up onto the bench next to Claude, his hands pressing into the edge of the counter. “Can the moon make raspberry tarts?”
“Nope! But that’s why you bake and the moon listens.”
“Well, let’s get baking. I just have to go get a new bag of flour.”
Claude sat in the dark cafe area of the bakery, Trey across from him. A single raspberry tart sat between them on the table, still warm. He couldn’t take his eyes off the pastry, lips stretched into an ecstatic grin.
“It looks soooo good!” Claude exclaimed in a hushed tone, his emerald eyes flicking up to Trey. “We did a darn good job.”
“Uh-huh. Staying up late was worth it,” Trey nodded. “Try it.”
“Don’t you want the first bite? It’s your hard work, Trey.”
The boy shook his head: “It’s for you. Happy super-late-birthday.”
Claude beamed brighter (if even possible) and picked up his fork, his free hand jittering at his chest, fluttering with excitement.
“Thanks, Trey!”
Claude’s fork stabbed into the side of the tart, a lock of steam curling up toward the ceiling, but fading a moment later. The first bite hit his lips, and his eyes lit up.
“It’s good?”
“Mm, yummy-!” he nodded to Trey, his tongue sticky with custard. His fork immediately dipped back down, then thrust toward Trey with the next bite ready for him. A bright raspberry awaited him, nestled in the sweet custard. “Try it!”
Trey took the fork from Claude, savouring the sweet rush of berries and custard.
“Wow. . . .” Trey mumbled, understanding Claude’s reaction now.
“You think we put too much sugar, though?” Claude asked, his pinkie fingering a raspberry before he plucked it up. It disappeared behind his lips.
“Maybe,” said Trey. “I still think it’s perfect.”
“Mhm! Your raspberry tarts are melt-in-your-mouth-perfect!”
Feeling brave in the dark, the two boys had gone out of the back door of the kitchen and perched together on the garden wall behind the bakery. The moon was ever-clearer from where they sat now, Claude leaning his shoulder against Trey’s. His fingers curled around his own sleeve, grasping the fabric loosely. His pointer finger (however) poked out at Trey’s arm gently, tapping the bone of his wrist.
Trey looked from the midnight scenery to Claude, his glasses shining.
“What?” he asked. “Still hungry?”
“No.” Claude shook his head. “All full.”
“Then what?”
Claude looked away from Trey, his eyes shy out of embarrassment as he subtly offered his hand to the other boy.
“Oh.” Trey looked the other way as well, his fingers groping for Claude’s palm. When he found it, Claude’s hand was soft, warm to the touch. The blond’s hand immediately closed around his, and his free fingers tucked his hair behind his ear.
“Thank you,” he whispered, not looking back just yet, “for the tart.”
Trey couldn’t hide his grin, a giddy feeling bubbling in his chest:
“It-it’s no problem! I promised you I would.”
Claude finally turned his face back to Trey, his cheeks noticeably pinker even in the dark.
“You still did. . .all of that for me. We could’ve waited until morning.”
“But this is more special.”
Claude couldn’t argue with that.
“You deserve a present back, though. You worked hard!” Claude rebutted instead.
“What? No way! It was your birthday I missed,” said Trey.
“So? Because of your stinking parents! And you owned up to it properly.”
“Okay fine!” Trey groaned in defeat, though he was smiling. “But what’re you going to get at this hour—”
Trey was cut off by a sweet touch to his lips, Claude’s hand squeezing his tighter. He had stopped breathing even as Claude pulled away, now a deep red, his hand limp in the boy’s sudden iron grip.
“Wh. . . .” Trey didn’t know what to say.
“There. A tart for a kiss,” Claude said promptly. “Just as sweet, right?”
Claude’s slender legs were crossed one over the other, touching up his highlighter in a hand-held mirror as Trey opened the oven, carefully removing a fresh batch of tarts from the heat. Tendrils of steam reached up into the warm air, little fingers stretching toward the ceiling.
“Toasty,” he chuckled, snapping the mirror shut.
“Hot,” Trey nodded, setting the pastry pan down and turning to Claude. He placed his hands on either side of the counter, grinning at the blond with a certain profoundness as he caged him in. “Don’t stick your fingers in my tarts, Claude. I mean it.”
Claude giggled. “I bet you wish I would,” he teased, one hand placing itself on Trey’s chest, over his heart. He fought the urge to dig his nails into his shirt.
“I’m serious,” he chuckled back. “They’re really hot. You’ll burn your hand.”
“Fine! As long as you promise to spare me one. You must; I insist.”
Trey shook his head, a sigh leaving his lips as he failed to resist. There wasn’t much he could argue past Claude, including tarts.
“They’re for the Unbirthday Party.”
“Please?” Claude pouted back, brows furrowing lightly. “Please, Trey?”
(please, Sir. . .just like tha-haah~)
The card soldier paused for a moment, his mind screaming yes! while he feigned a thought process. That look always shot right through Trey, and Claude’s soft hand shifted as it felt his heart quicken. He smirked. He always knew how to get it. And it could be anything from a sheet of parchment to
(oh, Sevens, don’t stop~)
special treatment.
“I’ll set one aside if it means that much to you.” It seemed Trey had lost the battle. Claude smiled, leaned forward to wrap his arms around Trey’s neck. His hands slid over his broad shoulders, raspberry lips brushing just barely past his ear.
“Thank you. I knew you’d come to a compromise~” Claude smirked as Trey’s hands squeezed his waist.
“Oh, don’t sweet talk me. You always get first grabs.”
“For a fair price, too,” Claude added. “Would you like your payment right away?”
“You know it.”
Pulling back to brush a lock of golden hair from his temple, Claude met eyes with Trey, a spark seeming to fly through the air. His eyes, emeralds set into his elegant face, were magical. Those emeralds made Trey do things, think things, feel things.
(ah. . .ah. . .Trey, please. . .)
“A tart for a kiss,” Claude breathed out, and Trey tasted fresh raspberries on his mouth. He chased the fruit tenderly, one hand sliding up Claude’s back. When they broke apart, Claude let out a small pant, his chest puffed just enough as he caught his breath.
“Just as sweet, right?” Trey mumbled, hiding his nose in the other man’s collarbone.
Claude nodded, his palm pressing into the nape of Trey’s neck. A euphoric smile perked at his lips as the line reminded him of a night just like this, years ago. . . .
“Always.”
.☘︎ ݁˖