Hold Me Close (You Are My Home Now)
Title: Hold Me Close (You Are My Home Now)
Pairing: Jongdae/Zitao
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,730
Summary: Living above a bakery, two people find their homes in each other.
Written for edae for sncj-santa.
Jongdae pulls a tray of chocolate cupcakes from the oven, and proceeds to drizzle chocolate glaze onto each cupcake, humming to himself as he does so. With that done, he arranges them nicely on the stand, smiling proudly at his work. The scent of chocolate permeates the air, bringing him back to days spent in his grandmother’s kitchen, when he realised that his love for baking was more than just a hobby. He supposes that he always knew, always felt it was a part of him, as certain as the earth beneath his feet. His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, spritely and quick.
“Hyung, you’re up early.” Zitao smiles as he adjusts the strap of his bag. From his mussed hair and casual attire - blue jeans and a black turtleneck - it’s obvious that he probably threw on the first thing he saw. He stops suddenly, sniffing. “Is that…chocolate?”
Jongdae tilts his head toward the stand in answer and watches Zitao’s eyes light up; chocolate has always been his favourite flavour. Despite the many arguably interesting flavours that Jongdae has experimented with, like last week’s frosted sugar mint cookies and the strawberry rhubarb tarts with a garnish of candied ginger from the month before (the bestseller that had everyone placing orders by the hundreds), he never gets the same reaction as when he does something chocolate-based.
“It’s because it reminds one of home,” Zitao had said once, when Jongdae had asked.
Before Zitao can reach for the cupcakes on the stand, Jongdae walks over to him and places a small brown paper bag in his hands. “I set some aside for you,” he mutters. Zitao’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Now off you go, you’re going to be late.” Clearing his throat, he turns to leave, but feels warm arms encircle his waist from behind, pulling him back against Zitao’s chest. Resting his chin on Jongdae’s shoulder, he whispers a simple “Thank you” that sends an inexplicable tingly sensation to the pit of his stomach, and then lets go just as quickly.
Jongdae walks to the door and watches Zitao mount his bicycle, paper bag of cupcakes between his teeth. The boy waves wildly before kicking off and riding away. Only when Zitao is just a black speck in the distance, does Jongdae flip the sign in the window from “closed” to “open”. He then busies himself with a cup of cappuccino (one sugar, with a dusting of cinnamon on the top), and picks up the day’s newspaper, skimming through its contents. The black letters swim across his vision and he tosses it just as the bell on the front door jingles, signaling the arrival of a customer.
It’s Baekhyun, always the first customer of the day, before the morning hustle and bustle kick in. He steps in, shrugging his coat off and greets Jongdae with a grin.
“The usual?” Jongdae doesn’t wait for an answer, instead grabbing a cup and saucer and pouring beans into the coffee machine. It's always the same anyway: vanilla latte with a bagel and cream cheese. Even in college, when Baekhyun and Jongdae used to frequent the café just a few blocks from university. Jongdae’s come to call it the Baekkie Breakfast Special, and he would include it on the menu if not for the potential backlash from his customers for favoritism and all that.
He sets the bagel and coffee on the table, and pulls up a chair for himself.
“How have you been?” Baekhyun sips his latte appreciatively.
“You asked me that yesterday, and the day before, and also the day before that.”
“Well, seeing as your answer was the same all three days, and every other time I ask you, I’m hoping for a little change myself.” Baekhyun ticks off his fingers, cocking his eyebrow.
“Charming, Baek. I see now why Junmyeon puts up with you, for nothing else but your inexorable charm.”
Baekhyun whacks Jongdae on the arm playfully. “Don’t change the subject. You’re acting all moody, almost like that time when Taeyeon beat you out for the lead role in the college musical production.” Baekhyun tears a piece of bagel and spreads more cream cheese on top.
“Don’t remind me. Those were dark and terrible days.” Jongdae chuckles at the memory. It has barely been a year since they all graduated from college, yet it feels like eternity. They’ve all moved on and grown up - Baekhyun is the customer relations manager at a successful IT firm, Junmyeon decided to read public administration at graduate school, and Luhan and Minseok have moved to the city to live together. He hasn’t seen many of them in ages, not since he opened “Caramel Spice” and started renting the place upstairs. To be honest, the days have flown by. Working day in, day out has taken its toll on Jongdae, and sometimes, he wishes he were in Zitao’s shoes, back in college as a freshman.
“Well, they’re not entirely behind us. Now instead of endless projects and exams, we have endless bills to pay. Still paperwork, just that actual taxes are factored into the equation.”
They both reminisce the good old days and lament the woes of adult life a while longer, and Jongdae reluctantly stands when Baekhyun has to leave to catch the train to work. At least he knows that his best friend will be back tomorrow for his daily morning cuppa.
Daylight has started to stream in through the window and likewise, customers trickle in. He rolls up his sleeves and sets to work, balancing service and baking, making sure to keep tabs on his pastries to make sure they don't run out.
*
It’s the afternoon lull, and Jongdae takes a break after the morning hive of activity. The chocolate cupcakes had been a hit with the customers, and he had had to bake a number of batches earlier. Now, he rests on the counter, thinking back to his conversation with Baekhyun and how all his friends are doing. It strikes him that Zitao is still a freshman in college, and is unbelievably young next to him and his friends. His life revolves around school, friends and parties. He hasn’t decided what he wants to do with his life yet, while Jongdae faces the onslaught of bills and rent at the end of every month.
It’s at times like this that he wonders why him, what Zitao could have possibly seen in him, a college senior, when the boy was still in high school. Two boys at different stages of their lives. They had met in this very bakery, one blistering summer afternoon. Jongdae had been piping icing onto cupcakes and decorating them with little toy trains made of sugar for a little boy’s birthday. At the time, a little girl and her mother were in the bakery, choosing pastries.
“I want the chocolate one!” The girl had exclaimed, pointing to a croissant with chocolate filling.
“That’s rather boring, don’t you think, honey? Maybe we could try a more grown up one, like the coconut pie. I’ve seen them do this on Masterchef.”
Jongdae couldn’t remember exactly how the conversation had transpired after that, but what he remembered was another voice. Deeper, entering the conversation quietly: “I think chocolate would be perfect.”
The girl had glanced up and upon meeting the stranger’s eyes, smiled, confidently grasping the chocolate croissant with the pair of tongs.
It wasn’t so much what the stranger had said, but rather how he had said it. His eyes had radiated that warmth, that same cocoa warmth that he had seen in his grandmother’s eyes, all those years ago. 5-year-old Jongdae had dipped his fingers into his grandmother’s chocolate batter - sticky, gooey chocolate that made him smile, revealing chocolate-stained teeth and lips, and his grandmother had laughed her cocoa warm laugh.
“Halmeoni, when I grow up, I want to bake chocolate cookies and chocolate cupcakes and chocolate everything, just like you!”
“That sounds wonderful, Jongdae.”
He felt, then, an instant connection, and that same day learnt the boy’s name.
Zitao.
Even the sound of his name was like chocolate - sticky on his tongue and smooth in all the right places - in the terseness of the first syllable and the round texture of the second.
Zitao, in short, was, no, is his home. But right now, he’s not so sure if it’s the same both ways.
It’s dark when Zitao gets back. Jongdae is busy wiping counters when Zitao steps through the door, flipping the sign to ‘closed’ first. “You always forget, hyung,” he admonishes. “It’s not good if customers come in expecting to be served and realise the shelves are empty.”
“Who’s the hyung here? And look at you, scolding me barely ten seconds after coming home.” Jongdae walks toward Zitao and ruffles his hair lightly. “Did you like the cupcakes?”
Zitao rolls his eyes in response and grabs a roll of bread in a basket, peeling a chunk off and popping it into his mouth. “Sehun ate half of it. He says he’s entitled to employee benefits.”
“Employee benefits? That brat only worked for me last summer, and spent half the time gobbling pastries instead of selling them, and the other half of the time flirting with the customers. You’d best tell your friend that his benefits expired along with any future career in this bakery.”
Zitao offers a hunk of bread to Jongdae. “At least the flirting brought you more customers?” Jongdae’s expression darkens. “Okay, okay, I was joking, hyung!” Zitao leans forward, kissing Jongdae on the forehead. “It’s late, and I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower, then sleep.” Zitao finishes the last of the bread, and makes to leave to go upstairs.
“Taozi.” Jongdae says, his tone serious. Zitao stops in his tracks and turns.
“Hyung? Is something wrong?”
“T-Taozi.” Words escape him. Jongdae only knows these two syllables; smooth like chocolate, like the first time he said it. He has only called Zitao this once before, when he had asked the boy to move in with him, when it was still summer and when everything was sure and certain.
He moves and reaches out, grabbing the boy by his waist. Burying his face in his shoulder, he whispers, “Sometimes, I-I wonder. I wonder if this is right, if you’re too young, if I’m too old. I see you with your friends, with Sehun, and I wonder if any of this makes sense. If you even see yourself living here, upstairs of a bakery, in the future.” He stops, in an effort to quell the quiver in his voice. His fingers that grasp the thin material of Zitao’s shirt are trembling, and he’s sure that Zitao feels it, too.
Zitao is still for a moment, before he wraps arms around Jongdae, hugging back tightly, rubbing circles on his back. It reminds Jongdae of this morning,when he had given Zitao the cupcakes. “Hyung.” Jongdae shakes his head furiously.
“Hyung, listen to-listen to me.” He pushes at Jongdae’s shoulders, looking into Jongdae’s eyes. “Remember when you asked why I loved chocolate so much, and I told you that it made me think of home? Well. That’s you, hyung. You’re my home.”
But. That can’t be right; Zitao is his home, not the other way around -
Zitao watches the flicker of uncertainty in the older boy’s eyes, and tugs him to the door. “You see my bicycle, there?” He gestures. “It may leave to take me to school, but it always comes back.”
He pulls Jongdae upstairs. “You see this?” Their bedroom is a mess of clothes on the floor, mingled together in heaps and piles. “I’m here, hyung. And I’m not leaving.” He cups the older boy’s face in his hands, and brings his lips to meet his own. It begins slow, but then Zitao deepens the kiss, flicking his tongue out, and Jongdae’s lips part under his, willingly. All he can think of is TaoziTaoziTaozi as they move in tandem with the other. Jondgae’s hands slide up to clutch Zitao’s, and he laces their fingers together. By the time they part, both are breathing heavily, and Jongdae still doesn’t let go of Zitao’s hand.
“What if Sehun does learn to bake fantastic chocolate cupcakes?” Jongdae replies gruffly.
“Not even then.” Zitao laughs.
*
There’s something about watching crimson skies, tinted light illuminating the blinds with a pinkish glow. The world is still asleep, and everything is quiet, peaceful.
Jongdae sits up in bed, leaning against the numerous pillows he has. His clock reads 0557; he always wakes a few minutes before his alarm blares. Stretching his arms above his head, he looks over to the bundle of sheets beside him, dark hair poking out from under the sheets. Jongdae reaches out, tugging the sheets off of Zitao, who responds with a muffled groan.
“Up,” Jongdae says, playing with Zitao’s hair that is sticking out in all directions.
“Umph. Alarm hasn't gone yet, hyung.”
Jongdae shakes his head. This is a daily routine of theirs, Jongdae trying to get Zitao out of bed and Zitao haggling for just a few more minutes. “On time is late, sleepyhead.”
It is Monday, the start of the week.
Zitao rolls over onto his back, and with eyes still shut, mutters ”But the class today is so stupid, the professor is just going to ramble on and on about prisons and Panopticons. Honestly, she needs to do a self-evaluation of her own class.”
Jongdae is thoughtful for a moment. “Zitao.”
“What.”
“What if you…skipped class. Just for today.”
Zitao sits up, suddenly awake. “Really?”
“Really.” Jongdae nods. “Just this once.”
“Are you sure you’re Jongdae-hyung? Jongdae-hyung who never even lets me skip yearbook club meetings? And what about the bakery?” Zitao gathers the sheets to his face, not quite sure how to take in the sudden turn of events.
“Well. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to close it for one day.” He exclaims as Zitao flings himself into Jongdae’s arms, squealing.
After washing up (which had taken ages, as Zitao insisted on them giving each other a bath), the two head downstairs. They have a breakfast of Eggs Benedict with lightly toasted baguette on the side, accompanied by hot steaming coffee. Their first weekday breakfast together. After eating their fill, Zitao enthusiastically takes out any ingredient and equipment - “Slow down, cowboy,” - that he can lay his hands on, eager to begin. Jongdae tells him the basics to most recipes: flour, sugar, eggs, butter.
They decide on (needless to say, chocolate) brownies, for obvious reasons. Zitao stirs the dry ingredients together, and gets flour all over the counter (as well as on Jongdae’s hair) when he attempts to sift it, and Zitao’s sheepish grin prevents Jongdae from taking further serious action beyond throwing flour in the boy’s face and watching him stare in astonishment. The two engage in a cat-and-mouse game that results in one of them grabbing the other and one pulling the other down, both of them collapsing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
For the sake of Jongdae (and his reputation as a master baker) Zitao relents when Jongdae is itching to try an apple tarte tatin. Jongdae is patient as he shows Zitao how to core apples, how to stir the mixture without overdoing it and enjoys the gleeful twinkle in Zitao’s eye as he watches the cake being flipped upside down to reveal the final product, caramelized apples glistening.
They eventually finish, and Jongdae lights a candle that he places in the middle of the table - “For ambience.” - and the two enjoy the warm apple tarte tatin that is the perfect dessert in the fall chill.
They keep the brownies for later, when they are snuggled up in the bedroom watching movies together. Their bodies are pressed against each other, and Zitao rests his head against Jongdae’s chest, listening to the other’s steady breathing. They eat their brownies à la mode, creamy vanilla ice cream the perfect contrast to the warm, fudgy goodness of the brownie. Jongdae can’t help but think of the two of them, two jigsaw pieces that fit together perfectly, like caramel and spice. Sweet and spicy, two different flavours that, when combined, somehow creates that tangy blend, neither overpowering the other.
And he knows that, here in Zitao’s arms, he is home.
Pairing: Jongdae/Zitao
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,730
Summary: Living above a bakery, two people find their homes in each other.
Written for edae for sncj-santa.
Jongdae pulls a tray of chocolate cupcakes from the oven, and proceeds to drizzle chocolate glaze onto each cupcake, humming to himself as he does so. With that done, he arranges them nicely on the stand, smiling proudly at his work. The scent of chocolate permeates the air, bringing him back to days spent in his grandmother’s kitchen, when he realised that his love for baking was more than just a hobby. He supposes that he always knew, always felt it was a part of him, as certain as the earth beneath his feet. His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, spritely and quick.
“Hyung, you’re up early.” Zitao smiles as he adjusts the strap of his bag. From his mussed hair and casual attire - blue jeans and a black turtleneck - it’s obvious that he probably threw on the first thing he saw. He stops suddenly, sniffing. “Is that…chocolate?”
Jongdae tilts his head toward the stand in answer and watches Zitao’s eyes light up; chocolate has always been his favourite flavour. Despite the many arguably interesting flavours that Jongdae has experimented with, like last week’s frosted sugar mint cookies and the strawberry rhubarb tarts with a garnish of candied ginger from the month before (the bestseller that had everyone placing orders by the hundreds), he never gets the same reaction as when he does something chocolate-based.
“It’s because it reminds one of home,” Zitao had said once, when Jongdae had asked.
Before Zitao can reach for the cupcakes on the stand, Jongdae walks over to him and places a small brown paper bag in his hands. “I set some aside for you,” he mutters. Zitao’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Now off you go, you’re going to be late.” Clearing his throat, he turns to leave, but feels warm arms encircle his waist from behind, pulling him back against Zitao’s chest. Resting his chin on Jongdae’s shoulder, he whispers a simple “Thank you” that sends an inexplicable tingly sensation to the pit of his stomach, and then lets go just as quickly.
Jongdae walks to the door and watches Zitao mount his bicycle, paper bag of cupcakes between his teeth. The boy waves wildly before kicking off and riding away. Only when Zitao is just a black speck in the distance, does Jongdae flip the sign in the window from “closed” to “open”. He then busies himself with a cup of cappuccino (one sugar, with a dusting of cinnamon on the top), and picks up the day’s newspaper, skimming through its contents. The black letters swim across his vision and he tosses it just as the bell on the front door jingles, signaling the arrival of a customer.
It’s Baekhyun, always the first customer of the day, before the morning hustle and bustle kick in. He steps in, shrugging his coat off and greets Jongdae with a grin.
“The usual?” Jongdae doesn’t wait for an answer, instead grabbing a cup and saucer and pouring beans into the coffee machine. It's always the same anyway: vanilla latte with a bagel and cream cheese. Even in college, when Baekhyun and Jongdae used to frequent the café just a few blocks from university. Jongdae’s come to call it the Baekkie Breakfast Special, and he would include it on the menu if not for the potential backlash from his customers for favoritism and all that.
He sets the bagel and coffee on the table, and pulls up a chair for himself.
“How have you been?” Baekhyun sips his latte appreciatively.
“You asked me that yesterday, and the day before, and also the day before that.”
“Well, seeing as your answer was the same all three days, and every other time I ask you, I’m hoping for a little change myself.” Baekhyun ticks off his fingers, cocking his eyebrow.
“Charming, Baek. I see now why Junmyeon puts up with you, for nothing else but your inexorable charm.”
Baekhyun whacks Jongdae on the arm playfully. “Don’t change the subject. You’re acting all moody, almost like that time when Taeyeon beat you out for the lead role in the college musical production.” Baekhyun tears a piece of bagel and spreads more cream cheese on top.
“Don’t remind me. Those were dark and terrible days.” Jongdae chuckles at the memory. It has barely been a year since they all graduated from college, yet it feels like eternity. They’ve all moved on and grown up - Baekhyun is the customer relations manager at a successful IT firm, Junmyeon decided to read public administration at graduate school, and Luhan and Minseok have moved to the city to live together. He hasn’t seen many of them in ages, not since he opened “Caramel Spice” and started renting the place upstairs. To be honest, the days have flown by. Working day in, day out has taken its toll on Jongdae, and sometimes, he wishes he were in Zitao’s shoes, back in college as a freshman.
“Well, they’re not entirely behind us. Now instead of endless projects and exams, we have endless bills to pay. Still paperwork, just that actual taxes are factored into the equation.”
They both reminisce the good old days and lament the woes of adult life a while longer, and Jongdae reluctantly stands when Baekhyun has to leave to catch the train to work. At least he knows that his best friend will be back tomorrow for his daily morning cuppa.
Daylight has started to stream in through the window and likewise, customers trickle in. He rolls up his sleeves and sets to work, balancing service and baking, making sure to keep tabs on his pastries to make sure they don't run out.
*
It’s the afternoon lull, and Jongdae takes a break after the morning hive of activity. The chocolate cupcakes had been a hit with the customers, and he had had to bake a number of batches earlier. Now, he rests on the counter, thinking back to his conversation with Baekhyun and how all his friends are doing. It strikes him that Zitao is still a freshman in college, and is unbelievably young next to him and his friends. His life revolves around school, friends and parties. He hasn’t decided what he wants to do with his life yet, while Jongdae faces the onslaught of bills and rent at the end of every month.
It’s at times like this that he wonders why him, what Zitao could have possibly seen in him, a college senior, when the boy was still in high school. Two boys at different stages of their lives. They had met in this very bakery, one blistering summer afternoon. Jongdae had been piping icing onto cupcakes and decorating them with little toy trains made of sugar for a little boy’s birthday. At the time, a little girl and her mother were in the bakery, choosing pastries.
“I want the chocolate one!” The girl had exclaimed, pointing to a croissant with chocolate filling.
“That’s rather boring, don’t you think, honey? Maybe we could try a more grown up one, like the coconut pie. I’ve seen them do this on Masterchef.”
Jongdae couldn’t remember exactly how the conversation had transpired after that, but what he remembered was another voice. Deeper, entering the conversation quietly: “I think chocolate would be perfect.”
The girl had glanced up and upon meeting the stranger’s eyes, smiled, confidently grasping the chocolate croissant with the pair of tongs.
It wasn’t so much what the stranger had said, but rather how he had said it. His eyes had radiated that warmth, that same cocoa warmth that he had seen in his grandmother’s eyes, all those years ago. 5-year-old Jongdae had dipped his fingers into his grandmother’s chocolate batter - sticky, gooey chocolate that made him smile, revealing chocolate-stained teeth and lips, and his grandmother had laughed her cocoa warm laugh.
“Halmeoni, when I grow up, I want to bake chocolate cookies and chocolate cupcakes and chocolate everything, just like you!”
“That sounds wonderful, Jongdae.”
He felt, then, an instant connection, and that same day learnt the boy’s name.
Zitao.
Even the sound of his name was like chocolate - sticky on his tongue and smooth in all the right places - in the terseness of the first syllable and the round texture of the second.
Zitao, in short, was, no, is his home. But right now, he’s not so sure if it’s the same both ways.
It’s dark when Zitao gets back. Jongdae is busy wiping counters when Zitao steps through the door, flipping the sign to ‘closed’ first. “You always forget, hyung,” he admonishes. “It’s not good if customers come in expecting to be served and realise the shelves are empty.”
“Who’s the hyung here? And look at you, scolding me barely ten seconds after coming home.” Jongdae walks toward Zitao and ruffles his hair lightly. “Did you like the cupcakes?”
Zitao rolls his eyes in response and grabs a roll of bread in a basket, peeling a chunk off and popping it into his mouth. “Sehun ate half of it. He says he’s entitled to employee benefits.”
“Employee benefits? That brat only worked for me last summer, and spent half the time gobbling pastries instead of selling them, and the other half of the time flirting with the customers. You’d best tell your friend that his benefits expired along with any future career in this bakery.”
Zitao offers a hunk of bread to Jongdae. “At least the flirting brought you more customers?” Jongdae’s expression darkens. “Okay, okay, I was joking, hyung!” Zitao leans forward, kissing Jongdae on the forehead. “It’s late, and I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower, then sleep.” Zitao finishes the last of the bread, and makes to leave to go upstairs.
“Taozi.” Jongdae says, his tone serious. Zitao stops in his tracks and turns.
“Hyung? Is something wrong?”
“T-Taozi.” Words escape him. Jongdae only knows these two syllables; smooth like chocolate, like the first time he said it. He has only called Zitao this once before, when he had asked the boy to move in with him, when it was still summer and when everything was sure and certain.
He moves and reaches out, grabbing the boy by his waist. Burying his face in his shoulder, he whispers, “Sometimes, I-I wonder. I wonder if this is right, if you’re too young, if I’m too old. I see you with your friends, with Sehun, and I wonder if any of this makes sense. If you even see yourself living here, upstairs of a bakery, in the future.” He stops, in an effort to quell the quiver in his voice. His fingers that grasp the thin material of Zitao’s shirt are trembling, and he’s sure that Zitao feels it, too.
Zitao is still for a moment, before he wraps arms around Jongdae, hugging back tightly, rubbing circles on his back. It reminds Jongdae of this morning,when he had given Zitao the cupcakes. “Hyung.” Jongdae shakes his head furiously.
“Hyung, listen to-listen to me.” He pushes at Jongdae’s shoulders, looking into Jongdae’s eyes. “Remember when you asked why I loved chocolate so much, and I told you that it made me think of home? Well. That’s you, hyung. You’re my home.”
But. That can’t be right; Zitao is his home, not the other way around -
Zitao watches the flicker of uncertainty in the older boy’s eyes, and tugs him to the door. “You see my bicycle, there?” He gestures. “It may leave to take me to school, but it always comes back.”
He pulls Jongdae upstairs. “You see this?” Their bedroom is a mess of clothes on the floor, mingled together in heaps and piles. “I’m here, hyung. And I’m not leaving.” He cups the older boy’s face in his hands, and brings his lips to meet his own. It begins slow, but then Zitao deepens the kiss, flicking his tongue out, and Jongdae’s lips part under his, willingly. All he can think of is TaoziTaoziTaozi as they move in tandem with the other. Jondgae’s hands slide up to clutch Zitao’s, and he laces their fingers together. By the time they part, both are breathing heavily, and Jongdae still doesn’t let go of Zitao’s hand.
“What if Sehun does learn to bake fantastic chocolate cupcakes?” Jongdae replies gruffly.
“Not even then.” Zitao laughs.
*
There’s something about watching crimson skies, tinted light illuminating the blinds with a pinkish glow. The world is still asleep, and everything is quiet, peaceful.
Jongdae sits up in bed, leaning against the numerous pillows he has. His clock reads 0557; he always wakes a few minutes before his alarm blares. Stretching his arms above his head, he looks over to the bundle of sheets beside him, dark hair poking out from under the sheets. Jongdae reaches out, tugging the sheets off of Zitao, who responds with a muffled groan.
“Up,” Jongdae says, playing with Zitao’s hair that is sticking out in all directions.
“Umph. Alarm hasn't gone yet, hyung.”
Jongdae shakes his head. This is a daily routine of theirs, Jongdae trying to get Zitao out of bed and Zitao haggling for just a few more minutes. “On time is late, sleepyhead.”
It is Monday, the start of the week.
Zitao rolls over onto his back, and with eyes still shut, mutters ”But the class today is so stupid, the professor is just going to ramble on and on about prisons and Panopticons. Honestly, she needs to do a self-evaluation of her own class.”
Jongdae is thoughtful for a moment. “Zitao.”
“What.”
“What if you…skipped class. Just for today.”
Zitao sits up, suddenly awake. “Really?”
“Really.” Jongdae nods. “Just this once.”
“Are you sure you’re Jongdae-hyung? Jongdae-hyung who never even lets me skip yearbook club meetings? And what about the bakery?” Zitao gathers the sheets to his face, not quite sure how to take in the sudden turn of events.
“Well. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to close it for one day.” He exclaims as Zitao flings himself into Jongdae’s arms, squealing.
After washing up (which had taken ages, as Zitao insisted on them giving each other a bath), the two head downstairs. They have a breakfast of Eggs Benedict with lightly toasted baguette on the side, accompanied by hot steaming coffee. Their first weekday breakfast together. After eating their fill, Zitao enthusiastically takes out any ingredient and equipment - “Slow down, cowboy,” - that he can lay his hands on, eager to begin. Jongdae tells him the basics to most recipes: flour, sugar, eggs, butter.
They decide on (needless to say, chocolate) brownies, for obvious reasons. Zitao stirs the dry ingredients together, and gets flour all over the counter (as well as on Jongdae’s hair) when he attempts to sift it, and Zitao’s sheepish grin prevents Jongdae from taking further serious action beyond throwing flour in the boy’s face and watching him stare in astonishment. The two engage in a cat-and-mouse game that results in one of them grabbing the other and one pulling the other down, both of them collapsing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
For the sake of Jongdae (and his reputation as a master baker) Zitao relents when Jongdae is itching to try an apple tarte tatin. Jongdae is patient as he shows Zitao how to core apples, how to stir the mixture without overdoing it and enjoys the gleeful twinkle in Zitao’s eye as he watches the cake being flipped upside down to reveal the final product, caramelized apples glistening.
They eventually finish, and Jongdae lights a candle that he places in the middle of the table - “For ambience.” - and the two enjoy the warm apple tarte tatin that is the perfect dessert in the fall chill.
They keep the brownies for later, when they are snuggled up in the bedroom watching movies together. Their bodies are pressed against each other, and Zitao rests his head against Jongdae’s chest, listening to the other’s steady breathing. They eat their brownies à la mode, creamy vanilla ice cream the perfect contrast to the warm, fudgy goodness of the brownie. Jongdae can’t help but think of the two of them, two jigsaw pieces that fit together perfectly, like caramel and spice. Sweet and spicy, two different flavours that, when combined, somehow creates that tangy blend, neither overpowering the other.
And he knows that, here in Zitao’s arms, he is home.