Work Text:
Early spring had arrived in Tokyo. The morning was quiet at JR Station, too early for the usual rush. The air still held the chill of last night’s drizzle, faintly scented with coffee from the nearby stands.
Dew wasn’t paying much attention, hands tucked into his coat pockets, until someone bumped into him.
Something fell and a soft thud barely cut through the announcements. Dew looked down.
A notebook. Brown leather, edges worn, with a single camellia pressed between its pages. He bent to pick it up.
“Wait!” he called.
The man turned, startled. For a second, the world fell away: the commuters’ voices, the echoing footsteps, the low hum of an arriving train. There was only him.
Red hair, pale skin, a face that looked tired but somehow soft. “Ah, thank you- ” he started in Japanese, bowing slightly, before the next words slipped out under his breath in Thai instead. “Khob khun...”
Like he hadn’t even realized he’d switched languages.
Dew blinked.
Thai? Here? In the middle of a crowded Tokyo station?
Something about it caught him off guard. Maybe it was the familiarity hidden beneath the stranger’s tired expression, or maybe it was the warmth in his voice. Whatever it was, Dew felt something inside him shift.
Before he could respond, the train doors began to close.
When the doors closed, the sound was cut in half and when Dew returned to reality, he was gone.
And Dew couldn’t shake the feeling that lingered, following him all the way home.
“Earth to Dew.”
Pond snapped his fingers in front of his face. “You’ve been stirring your latte for ten minutes.”
The cafeteria was busy with the sound of keyboards clacking, voices overlapping in chatter. Freelancers camped at tables for hours, tablets and dying chargers scattered around like tiny barricades.
Dew blinked, realizing he hadn’t drawn a single line on his sketchpad.
“Sorry,” he muttered, tucking the pencil behind his ear. “Just… thinking.”
“A story idea again?”
“Something like that.”
Pond leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing playfully. “Or… was it the guy from the station?”
Dew froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. “How-”
“You’ve been sketching random guys with red hair all week, Phi...”
Heat rose to his cheeks. “It’s a coincidence.”
“Uh-huh.” Pond took a lazy sip of his coffee. “A coincidence with a very specific obsession… huh?”
Dew flipped the page fast, pretending to focus on a half-finished drawing. He didn’t look up, but the memory replayed itself anyway. The sliding train doors, the soft voice, the face he couldn’t forget, even though it had been a week.
That evening, Dew found himself walking through the quiet streets near Setagaya Park with Pond. They had gone shopping for art supplies, but the rain had thinned to a drizzle, turning shop lights into soft, blurred halos.
The streets smelled of florists, old books from secondhand stores and cafés that carried hints of cinnamon and warm wood, the kind of comfort you only noticed when the air was cold.
They walked past a corner bakery, but the smell of fresh bread and butter stopped them in their tracks. The sign above the door read: Amai Hibi / 甘い日々 (Sweet Days).
Through the window, under the soft yellow glow, he stood there.
His red hair was a little messy, a few strands slipping loose as he leaned over the counter. An apron was tied around his waist, faint streaks of flour dusting his arm. He was laughing, eyes sparkling unlike the tired ones Dew had seen that morning but still radiating the same warmth that seemed to reach him even from afar.
Dew’s breath caught somewhere between awe and longing for someone he had met for only a few fleeting seconds that morning.
“Phi…?” Pond followed his gaze, then grinned. “You look like you just saw your muse.”
“Maybe I did,” Dew said and smiled a small, calculating smirk, as if already plotting how to see him again.
The next morning, the bell over Amai Hibi’s door chimed softly as Dew stepped inside.
“Welcome,” came a gentle voice from behind the counter, a red figure moved with calm, deliberate ease. Dew watched as he arranged croissants in neat, golden rows, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his apron dusted with flour. When the figure finally looked up and smiled, the warmth hit Dew like a physical wave.
Dew shoved his hands into his pockets, trying not to sound nervous.
His gaze darted everywhere except at those captivating eyes. He felt his pulse quicken as he finally squinted at the silver nametag pinned to the man’s chest: Tee Teeradech.
“Narak...” The word slipped out before Dew could catch it.
The baker’s eyebrows arched, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. “Hm?”
Dew’s cheeks flamed a brilliant red. “Ah, sorry! A matcha latte and a croissant, please,” he stammered, spilling out the words in Thai, desperately hoping the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
“Wait...” Tee said slowly, surprise flickering across his face. “You’re Thai?”
Dew scratched the back of his neck, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Uh... yeah.”
Tee stared at him for a moment. “How did you know I was?”
Dew looked at him, then pointed awkwardly at the silver nametag. “Your name.”
For a second, Tee just stared. Then, a quiet laugh escaped him. “Oh, right! I forgot.” Tee’s voice held that same warmth Dew remembered. He wrapped the pastry in wax paper with careful fingers, then slid the matcha latte across the counter with a small smile.
Dew murmured thanks and took a seat by the window. the damp street outside forgotten the moment his sketchbook fell open. His pencil traced the curve of that smile, carefully translating the baker's movements onto paper, now he could finally finish the drawing in full detail.
Dew’s eyes followed every small movement, the way Tee’s fingers brushed the edge of a tray, the subtle crease at the corner of his eyes when he smiled at a customer, the gentle rise of his shoulders as he leaned over the counter.
The effortless warmth Tee carried and the orbit of calm seemed to wrap around Dew’s chest. He felt a flutter like someone had pressed play on a song he didn’t even know he wanted.
When Dew risked a glance up, he caught Tee watching him. It was only for a heartbeat, but it was enough to make Dew’s heart do a frantic little freak-out.
By the third visit, a mix of courage and caffeine had blended into something reckless.
Dew lingered longer than usual, his pencil hovering over the page to capture the red strands of Tee’s hair catching the morning light.
For his part, Tee had noticed the quiet Brown haired man in the corner before, always sketching, always ordering the same drink, always absorbed in a world of his own. He didn’t know the boy’s name yet, but the sight of him had begun to linger in Tee’s mind long after the shop closed.
Today, after the boy finally gathered his things and slipped out the door, Tee stepped out from behind the counter to clear the table.
As he reached for the empty cup, he spotted a sheet of paper tucked beside the sugar jar. He picked it up to find a sketch of himself caught mid-laugh, a faint pencil line curling around his apron strings.
In the corner, a small, elegant signature: Dew J. Su.
Tee’s thumb brushed over the name, a slow smile tugging at his lips. Now he finally knew who his favorite customer was.
The next morning, the fourth visit, Dew stepped into the bakery.
“Morning,” Tee greeted him, a playful tilt to his head. “You left this behind, Dew..?”
Dew froze halfway through the doorway. “Ah- no, that’s…uh, i-it’s a gift.”
“Is that so?”
Tee’s laugh was soft, like distant chimes, “Then I’ll keep it. It’s the best tip I’ve received all month.”
A faint flush crept from Dew’s neck to the tips of his ears as he watched the red figure reach up. With a click of a magnet, Tee pinned the sketch to the fridge behind the counter riight next to his daily to-do-list.
From that day on, a quiet routine formed.
Every Thursday had one drink, one pastry and an hour of easy conversation. The conversations started small, like compliments on the crumb of a croissant or the weight of a fountain pen but soon they began to bridge the gap between their two worlds.
Tee learned that Dew had moved from Bangkok to chase his dream of publishing a manga in Japan. Dew showed him his rough storyboards, pointing out where the ink had bled because his hands were shaking from nerves.
In return, Tee shared the weight of running the bakery. He had grown up in Japan after being adopted by a Japanese family when his parents passed away when he was only six. He spoke of the sterile, high-pressure kitchens of the luxury hotels he’d left behind.
“You really quit everything for that?” Dew asked one afternoon, watching syrup drip slowly over a sponge cake.
Tee’s eyes softened as he set the plate down in front of Dew. He didn’t pull his hand away immediately; his fingers lingered near the edge of the saucer.
“In the hotels, everything had to be perfect, but it felt cold,” Tee said softly. “I wanted to bake something that made people feel safe. Like a comfortable place to land at the end of a hard day.”
Dew looked from the cake to the man behind the counter. Up close, he could see the slight fatigue in Tee's eyes, the mark of the baker who started his day at 4:00 AM but the smile remained effortless.
“You draw stories that make people feel something, Dew,” Tee said, meeting his gaze fully. “This is just my way of doing the same.”
He felt himself falling faster than he could catch himself, and as Tee held his gaze, Dew wondered if the warmth he saw there was meant just for him.
“I think you’re succeeding, Tee,” Dew breathed, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve never felt safer than I do here.”
Tee’s smile widened just a fraction, a look of quiet, focused attention crossing his face. For a moment, the bustling shop around them vanished, leaving only the smell of warm bread and the heavy, sweet tension of everything they hadn't said yet.
It had been six months since Dew first stumbled into the bakery.
The damp puddles of autumn had long since frozen over, and the morning light that used to catch on the window now arrived late and pale. But inside Amai Hibi, the world was changing color. By February, the shop had turned red with the season; ribbons danced in the windows, and heart-shaped cookies were stacked in neat glass jars like sweet, edible love letters.
By 7 PM, the shop was officially closed. With his apron already off and the "CLOSED" sign turned toward the street, Tee lingered in the silence. The radio played low, and the smell of sugar still hung in the air as he tied a ribbon around a small white box. Inside were two miniature strawberry shortcakes.
For Dew only.
He looked at the label for a long moment and sighed, the sound echoing in the empty shop. He slid the box beneath the counter and waited. Maybe he’s not coming, Tee thought, a trace of quiet disappointment tugging at him. Maybe it's just another Thursday for him.
But then…
It was nearly 8 PM when the bell over the door finally chimed. Dew stepped inside, looking breathless, his hair messy and damp from the wind.
“I'm so sorry,” he panted, still catching his breath. “The trains were stalled and I thought I'd missed you. I thought- ”
“Dew,” Tee interrupted softly.
He reached under the counter and set the box down between them. “Good timing,” he murmured, a small, relieved smile playing on his lips. “I was just about to lose hope.”
Dew blinked, his eyes dropping to the white package. “What’s this?”
“Something I’ve been working on.”
The label caught Dew's eye. He read it out loud, his tone teasing to hide the way his heart had started to pound. “‘For Dew only’? Didn’t know I had secret fans.”
Tee met his gaze, his usual composure wavering just enough to let the truth show. “Maybe not so secret anymore.”
Dew looked deep into his eyes, the same eyes he had sketched a thousand times from afar, tracing their shape until he knew every lash and every soft crease by heart.
But seeing them now, directed at him with such focused, undeniable warmth, hits different. Judging by the soft, expectant look on Tee’s face, Dew realized with a jolt that he wasn't the only one who had been pining. He wasn't the only one who had counted down the days until Thursday. The gravity between them had shifted and now, he had to be brave. He had to say it.
“Then...”
Dew’s voice finally softened, the teasing replaced by something raw and honest. “I guess I should admit mine. The cakes… they were just an excuse.”
Tee’s pulse jumped, visible in the slight tension of his neck. “An excuse for what?”
“For seeing you,” Dew whispered, his heart thumping so hard he was sure Tee could hear it.
To his surprise, Tee let out a long, shaky laugh that was half-relief and half-joy.
“Thank God,” Tee murmured, a genuine, wide grin breaking across his face. “I’ve been overthinking these strawberry shortcakes for three days, Dew. I was worried I was being too obvious.”
Only then did the tension finally snap, allowing Dew to laugh too. “Three days? I’ve been overthinking my order for six months.”
Tee’s eyes widened in total shock. He abruptly spun around, pretending to reach for something on the back counter to hide his face. He rubbed the back of his head, his fingers tangling in those Red-tinted strands as he let out a muffled, sheepish laugh.
Dew didn’t let him hide. He leaned slightly to the side, catching a glimpse of Tee’s profile. The man was completely Red, his blushing cheeks a perfect match for his hair and the Valentine's ribbons hanging in the window. Seeing this side of Tee so unraveled and real made Dew’s heart swell with a new kind of affection.
“Tee?” Dew teased, his own confidence growing as he saw how much power he had over the other man. “Are you... hiding?”
“Wh-what? Hiding? No!” Tee’s voice came back slightly strained, vibrating with another embarrassed laugh.
He took a deep breath, finally bracing himself to turn back around. His face was still flushed, eyes sparkling with a mix of embarrassment and pure adoration. Tee set down the two forks he’d grabbed, his movements still a little clumsy.
“In that case,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer register, “we definitely shouldn't let these go to waste.”
They shared the cakes at the corner table. Dew chuckled softly when Tee reached out, almost without thinking, to brush a smear of cream from his lip.
“You’re supposed to warn me,” Dew murmured.
Tee’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “You had cream on your face.”
“That’s a dangerous excuse, Khun Tee.”
“Maybe,” Tee whispered, his voice dropping as he looked at Dew. “But it worked, didn't it?”
His thumb was still resting at the corner of Dew’s mouth, damp with a bit of white cream. Dew didn't pull away, instead he caught Tee’s wrist with his fingers wrapping loosely around it to keep his hand right where it was.
Dew’s eyes dropped to Tee’s thumb, then back up, a challenge flickering in his gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and caught Tee’s thumb between his lips, tasting the sweetness of the cream.
Tee’s breath hitched at the touch. He felt the damp warmth of Dew’s mouth, a sensation that sent a jolt straight through him.
Dew let go of his wrist, but he didn't move back. The playful look was gone and replaced by something much heavier. He searched Tee’s eyes for a "no" that wasn't there. When he was sure Tee didn't pull away but instead held his breath in anticipation, Dew finally closed the gap.
The instant their lips touched, the world seemed to go quiet.
Tee’s lips parted slightly in surprise. He was nervous, but his body moved on its own, leaning back just an inch before he settled into the kiss. He tilted his head shyly, brushing his lips against Dew’s in return. It was a little awkward for both yet undeniably sweet.
As they explored the moment together, Dew’s senses were flooded with the faint, sugary scent of strawberries from the cake mingling with the subtle, intoxicating aroma of Tee’s skin, he could feel Tee’s warm breath against his lips. His own heartbeat hammered in his ears, echoing the nervous excitement fluttering in his chest.
As they moved together, the initial hesitation dissolved into something deeper. Dew’s hand rested lightly on Tee’s cheek, while Tee’s fingers brushed through Dew’s hair, tracing the line of his jaw as if memorizing every curve. The kiss deepened gradually, their movements growing more confident and in harmony. It was the kind of first kiss that made hearts race and feet want to kick in embarrassment, yet it felt so right.
Finally, Tee let out a breathless, slightly giggly sound and whispered, “That was... hmm... sweet.”
Dew chuckled softly, feeling his cheeks grow warmer. “Yeah,” he whispered back, his voice husky. “Yeah, it really was.”
They stayed close after that, cheeks still pink and hearts racing, both caught in the lingering warmth of it all. Every look and every quiet breath seemed to say everything they didn’t have words for.
For a moment, it felt like the world had slowed down just for them. Dew couldn't stop thinking about how right it felt and how every small touch made his chest tighten in a way he never wanted to end.
A few days later, a new sign appeared outside Amai Hibi:
New Special: “Sweet Tooth” 🍓 Inspired by someone who makes every day a little sweeter.
Passersby smiled as they read it. Tee pretended not to glance out the window, though a small smile tugged at his lips.
The bell above the door chimed, right on time.
Dew walked in and rested his elbows on the counter, leaning in as he faced Tee. “So… the new menu,” he said, eyes glinting. “Am I supposed to feel proud or embarrassed?”
Tee just let out a quiet chuckle.
And in just a blink, Dew leaned a little closer with a smirk. In one smooth, playful motion, he pressed a quick peck to Tee’s cheek. A few customers glanced their way, but Dew didn’t care.
“You’re so cute,” he whispered, catching Tee completely off guard. Tee froze for a moment, then instinctively rested his hand over the spot Dew had kissed, feeling an unexpected warmth that made him suddenly flush. Dew noticed immediately, finding the reaction utterly adorable and a small, teasing smile curved his lips.
Just then, Mark, Tee’s friend and fruit supplier, burst in without warning, only to freeze mid-step, completely dumbfounded by the scene he had clearly walked in moments too late.
“Tee!~ oh.” His gaze shifted to Dew, who was still grinning shamelessly. “So this is the guy you keep talking about.”
Tee groaned. “Mark. Not now.”
Mark only grinned wider as he set down a crate of strawberries. “He’s cuter than you described.”
Tee’s cheeks flared red instantly. “I didn’t describe anyone.”
“Sure you didn’t.” Mark winked at Dew. “Take good care of him, okay? He gets sulky when he’s flustered.”
“Mark!”
But Mark was already laughing as he headed back toward the door. “I’ll come by later for the invoice!”
When he finally left, Dew was laughing so hard he had to hold onto the counter. Tee covered his face with a towel. “He’s unbearable.”
“I like him,” Dew said, still grinning.
Tee peeked at him through his fingers. “Don’t encourage him.”
Sometimes Pond would stop by as well. He’d lean against the counter, watching Tee work for a moment before glancing at Dew with a knowing smile.
“So this is the famous ‘art reference,’” he said lightly. “I have to say, you captured him pretty well.”
Tee didn’t look surprised. He already knew. But hearing it said out loud still made warmth creep up his neck. “Pond…”
“It’s not like that,” Dew cut in quickly, nearly knocking over his drink. “He’s exaggerating.”
Pond raised a brow. “Exaggerating? You should see the way he looks at you while drawing.”
Tee let out a small laugh, though his cheeks were unmistakably red. “I’ll still take it as a compliment.”
Dew groaned. “Why are you like this?”
Tee only smiled, trying and failing to hide how pleased he actually felt.
* * * * TBC * * * *