#your master—whom you loved more than your own existence—decided his work was finished and didn't need you anymore

[rcmclachlan]

what if i put my life in your hands? what if i took your life in mine?

[min-youngis]

breaking bread - l.dh

it's just me and my banners against the world

~ Pairing : Lee Donghyuck x Reader, non-idol

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour, Crack™

~ Summary : Does somebody want to be fake engaged to me for like two hours to try free wedding cake samples?

Strangers to Lovers

~ Word Count : 3.9k

~ Warnings : swearing, excessive simping over bread

~ A/N: looK AT HIM !!! i started writing this on my period but then my period got over before i could finish it so there's a steady decline in theatrics throughout the story.

i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

    The first time you pass the bakery, you’re with Hyejin.

    It’s newly opened, you can tell. There are balloons hanging from the ceiling inside, and all the counters look bright and shiny. But it’s the smell that arrests you, your feet stalling of their own accord as you take a deep breath in; so deep, you’re on your toes by the time you finally decide to exhale.

    Your friend doesn’t even realise you’ve stopped, continuing her story for her non-existent audience until she turns and sees you staring with alarming intensity at the new shop.

    If you could, you’d sleep in the smell.

    You feel a gentle palm on your shoulder, as she worriedly asks, “Y/N? You good?”

    A dopey smile. “I’m perfect, thank you, and you?”

    Slowly, you begin to inch toward the shop, almost creepily, not even looking at Hyejin when she snorts next to you at the fact that you’ve slipped into a food coma without even tasting any food.

    You’re close enough to read the bright board on top of the counter now, nose nearly pressed right up to the glass as you ravenously go through the menu and prices.

    If there were somebody behind the counter, they’d have born witness to all the stages of grief.

    “Hyejin,” you moan lowly, agony apparent in your voice, hands now on the glass even as the smell assaults you more the closer you get. “Hyejin, we can’t afford this.”

    Behind you, a firm hand wraps around your elbow. “I know, sweetie. I could have told you that from the font on the name board.”

    You let out another broken groan, palms sliding down the glass dramatically as you take a last long look at the pastries lined up inside.

    “There, there,” Hyejin comforts, tugging at your arm and rolling her eyes when you stop to inhale deeply one more time, the scent of fresh bread and sweetness filling your lungs. “I’ll buy you an ice-cream at that place next to the apartment, come on.”

    It’s a crappy substitute, but you’ll take it if you don’t have to pay for it. You can’t forget the smell, though. It haunts you until you fall asleep that night; fresh and delectable and sweet.

    The second time you pass the bakery, about a week later, you nearly give in. Nearly enter and order one of the pastries, like some kind of millionaire trust fund baby.

    You’re alone, on the way back from a meeting, and there’s no Hyejin this time to be your voice of reason and to drag you away from your own impulsive decisions.

    Dawdling on the sidewalk, you bend, pretending to tie your non-existent shoelace so the person manning the counter inside doesn’t get suspicious.

    Your fingers still in their exaggerated movements as you let yourself take a deep breath in, sinking into the scent, shoulders actually drooping a bit as the smell of freshly processed dough fills your lungs.

    It’s the sound of shoes slowing down and stopping close to you that snaps you out of it. 

    Too close.

    Hurriedly, you stand up, shaking yourself out of your bread induced reverie. You had expected somebody to be staring at you in judgement, waiting to question you about why you’re pretending to tie shoelaces on sandals on the middle of the pavement; but all you see is a man standing a couple of feet away, speaking into a phone as his hands move dramatically in the air, frustration evident on his face. 

    In the clearing of your haze, you can tell he’s cute. No older than you, messy brown hair and a plain black t-shirt with ripped jeans. Really, your only complaint would be his attitude toward the bakery that you’re slowly beginning to regard as a legitimate place of worship. If he’s intent on swearing at some poor sod on the other end of the line, would it kill him to do it a few paces to the left? Away from this culinary haven?

    He doesn’t seem to have noticed you, apparently comfortable with boring holes into the shop as he stands, and your plan to stall until he leaves so you can continue inhaling rarefied air doesn’t manifest in the next couple of minutes.

    With a disgruntled look in his direction, (he keeps moving closer to the bakery, still shouting into his phone, and it’s beginning to annoy you), you inhale one last time, hope it sustains you until your next visit to this particular patch of pavement, and continue on your way home.

    Day 3 involves a bench, a stranger and a revelation.

    You’ve had a shit day at work, and it’s imperative that you’re reminded of the good things in life. The detour you take to ensure you pass the bakery on your way home is really self-preservation.

    Strengthening your belief that only good things can happen on The Pavement, as you’ve come to fondly refer to it in your brain (and when you’re waxing lyrical to Hyejin, who just doesn’t get it), in a genius marketing move, there’s a bench that wasn’t there previously.

    Right next to the entrance, facing the road, like in McDonald’s but without Ronald.

    You try not to seem too excited at what’s basically an invitation for you to conduct your ritual, and casually slow down your pace as you near the area, trying to set up your subsequent action to seem like a nonchalant afterthought.

    Until you spot the man again, walking in your direction. The same person whom you saw the other day desecrating the shop, and who cut short your...sniffing. And he’s walking toward you, making a beeline for the bench.

    Screw nonchalant.

    Subtly speeding up, you walk closer, noticing that he does the same thing.

    Distantly, you’re amused at how the two of you have come to the same conclusion - that on an empty bench that can easily fit four people, only one of you can sit. Or maybe you’re competing for first, you aren’t sure.

    You both reach at more or less the same time, exchange a stiff, polite smile that speaks volumes (yours says you won, his indicates the opposite), and sit down, leaving enough space in the middle to fit another person.

    The first breath you take feels like being reborn.

    Next to you, the Dude (which is what you christened him when you had ranted about his insensitivity and disrespect to Hyejin), is back to shouting at somebody on his phone.

    You take yours out too, so you don’t seem pathetic. It isn’t like you’re stopping outside a bakery that you can’t afford just to smell bread on your way back from work.

    At that moment, the shop doors open on your left, letting a customer out, and along with her, a strong, delicious waft of chocolate.

    You’ve decided. This is heaven.  This is where you’ll get married, and this is where you’ll ask your friends to bury you.

    You’re soaking in the lingering after effects once the doors have swung closed, trying not to make your deep, quite frankly meditative breathing too obvious, while also trying to tune out the sound of the Dude ranting into his phone next to you, when you hear a mobile ring nearby.

    And it isn’t yours.

    You still. He stills. Marimba repeats one last, sad time and stops.

    The thought forms through no conscious decision or effort of your own, slowly becoming more and more concrete.

    You can feel him looking at you, as if waiting for you to call him out, and he opens his mouth to start talking at the same time as you do.

    And then the door opens again, releasing another delectable whiff of sweet pastry, making the words stop at the tip of your tongue.

    The two of you exchange a look, silent and full of gravitas, only breaking contact when he takes a deep breath and mutters, “Oh, shit, that’s so good.”

    “Are you here for the smell as well?” Never in a million years did you think you’d say that.

    He nods, sheepish smile on his face. “Yeah. I’ve been coming nearly every day for the last week.”

    You can swear, in that moment, with his bucket hat and his baggy jeans and his now more obvious small sniffs, that you’ve never met a man so attractive in your life.

    “This is my third time,” you reply, nodding in understanding even as a grin makes its way to your face unbidden.

    His eyes twinkle, and you aren’t prepared for his next words. “I remember you from that evening when you were pretending to tie your shoelaces.”

    “Were you faking the phone call then, too?”

    “I was hoping you wouldn’t bring it up.”

    Emboldened, you offer him your hand, weirdly endeared by the way his mouth curls up in a half-laugh. As he puts his palm in yours, you shrug, “No judgement. You gotta do what you gotta do, yeah?”

    “Absolutely. I’m Donghyuck.”

    “Y/N. Lovely to meet a fellow bread enthusiast.”

    When you spend twenty minutes talking about the bakery that night to Hyejin over dinner (she’s come to expect it at this point), the Dude has a name, and isn't so much of a dick as you had initially thought.

    "Y/N, no."

    "Y/N, yes."

    She huffs, exasperated, random wisp of hair on her face flying upwards before settling freakishly perfectly. "I am not pretending to be engaged to you for free cake."

    You're equal parts pleading and frustrated as you tug at her arm again, curling up as close to her on the couch as possible and batting your eyelashes as enticingly as you can. "Please? Am I not your very favourite person in the world?"

    "No."

    "Top ten at the very least?" you ask, undeterred.

    She gives you an unimpressed look, pries your hand off of her elbow and turns back to the television, pressing play on the sitcom.

    You don't even know what you're watching. You've been too busy concocting your master plan the entire evening, ever since you had passed the bakery and seen the newly installed sign outside that said FREE WEDDING CAKE SAMPLES!

    You didn't even linger on the pavement as long as you usually do.

    (Okay, maybe you lingered a little bit, hoping to run into your new acquaintance, but you had a plan, goddammit, and you had to convince Hyejin of it as soon as possible.)

    "Give it up, Y/N. It's wrong and deceitful, I'm not going to do it."

    You move away like you've been burnt, offense writ large on your face.

    "Wrong? It's for a good cause!"

    You admit, you probably deserve the eye roll for your theatrics. Recognising a lost case when you see one, you sigh slowly, settling back against the couch and resigning yourself to a cake-less existence.

    "Why don't you ask your new friend? Mr. Fellow Weirdo."

    "His name is Donghyuck. And I've only spoken to him once."

    She shrugs unsympathetically, letting it go; but in your brain, the gears are turning again.

    What about Donghyuck?

    It's come to a point where you're willing to start saving specifically for the express purpose of buying cake.

    Every time you pass the shop, your resolve weakens and your fingers inch closer to your wallet. The only thing that stops you is the fact that the end of the month is nearing, and expenses will hit you like a ton of bricks.

    But you've come up with the perfect routine now. Every Monday and Thursday, at exactly 6 PM, on your way back from work, you sit on the bench outside the bakery for fifteen minutes. You haven't met Donghyuck again, but paradoxically enough, the more you don't see him, the more inviting Hyejin's suggestion seems. Twice already, while conducting your ritual, you had decided that if he showed up that day before you left, you would propose the idea to him.

    You're in a similar headspace this evening, already planning out a conversation in your head and how you can bring it up if you meet him without sounding completely creepy, when you hear the devil himself, interrupting your monologue.

    "Hey! Been a while, huh?"

    You smile as he sits down next to you, a bit startled at seeing him in person after having fake conversations with him in your head, but nod happily. "How have you been?"

    "Good, yeah. A bit busy, so I haven't come around much. But man, it's good to be back."

    And there, as you watch his eyes close briefly in satisfaction and his shoulders rise and fall slowly as he takes a deep breath in, content smile spreading on his face when the smell hits him, you decide that Hyejin is one smart cookie.

    "Do you want to be fake engaged to me?"

    Granted, it isn't your smoothest work. And it completely derails any and all pointers you had come up with in your head for this exact scenario, but he doesn't get scared off.

    His eyelids do snap open, though, and his serene expression morphs into one of confusion, but with remarkable calmness, he asks, "Uh, excuse me?"

    Without a word, you point at the blackboard standing outside the shop on the other side of the doors. They've added balloons with green chalk now, as decoration. You hope they're better at baking than they are at drawing.

    You watch his face clear up, realisation dawning as his lips curve into a wicked grin, one you haven't had the absolute pleasure of witnessing before.

    Somehow, you don't think Ms. It's-Wrong-And-Deceitful would approve of this Donghyuck.

    "I like the way you think," he says approvingly, glint of mischief in his eyes.

    You can't stop your own excited smile from appearing, as the possibility of actually being able to have a taste of what you've been dreaming about becomes more of a certainty.

    "Okay, but we've got to figure some stuff out, though."

    "Agreed," he replies, all business. "Gotta make it believable. Which is your favourite Shrek film?"

    You barely manage to restrain yourself from snorting, but from the twinkle in his eye, you're certain that you're about as good of an actress as the bakery owners are artists.

    Calming down, you clear your head. "Okay, but for real, though. Basic things. What's your last name?"

    "Lee. Your favourite ice cream flavour?"

    "Mint chocolate. No, I don't take constructive criticism."

    He shuts his mouth abruptly, his obedient nod making you giggle. "What do you do, job-wise?"

    "I work at a record store."

    You can't hide the impressed look on your face, eyebrow cocking up. "Dude, that's super cool. I do freelance journalism."

    He nods, filing away all the information to whip out later. “What’s our proposal story?”

    “Uh, something simple so they don’t have too many questions. Just say one of us asked over dinner?”

    “Cool, yeah, makes sense. Summer wedding?”

    “Summer wedding,” you agree, nodding.

    Really, it shouldn’t be so easy to come up with fake wedding planning details with a veritable stranger.

    He straightens up, standing and offering you his upturned palm, mischievous grin making a reappearance. “Ready?”

    “Yes, yes, a million times yes.”

    His laughter at your exaggerated tone dissipates some of the nerves, as you feel his cool hand wrap loosely around your fingers. It’s time for the performance of a lifetime.

    "Let's get this bread," he mumbles, pushing the door open.

    You nearly slump at the first proper breath you take. As lovely as the air outside is, everything is so much more intense here. Your fake fiancé's hand flexes in yours slightly, and you know he's going through some kind of spiritual awakening as well.

    If the man behind the counter hadn't spoken, you're sure the two of you could stand there forever, just breathing.

    "Hi, how can I help you?"

    You snap out of your haze, slowly squeezing Donghyuck's fingers to get him back. It's show time.

    You plaster on the brightest smile you've got (it isn't hard), and walk with him to the counter.

    "Hey! We saw your board outside, about the wedding cakes."

    He nods before replying to Donghyuck's non-question question, smiling enough for you to feel a pang of guilt; but not enough to abort mission. "That's right. Are the two of you engaged?"

    You nod enthusiastically, impatient to start tasting. Maybe you overdo a bit when you giggle and say, "Yes!" with the brightest, most in-love laugh that you can manage.

    You hear a muted chuckle from next to you, and you hope Mark behind the counter (according to his name tag) passes it off as joy and excitement.

    "The bakery smelt so good from the outside, that we just had to come in and see if we could get our cake and desserts for the ceremony from here."

    With a fond smile, he says, "Why don't you take a seat there, and I'll bring out the samples. Are you looking for any particular flavour?"

    If you weren't nearly vibrating at the fact that you're this close to finally tasting what you've been dreaming of for weeks, you would have snorted at Donghyuck's very enthusiastic 'No preference whatsoever, bring them all!'

    "Is this really happening?"

    He squeezes your hand, excited grin and devilish smirk fighting for prominence on his face as he sits down next to you, whispering back, "Fuck, yeah."

    He comes back bearing a tray with two spoons and a bunch of plates, each one having a small slice of different coloured pastry on it. In the other hand, a pamphlet with options for customisation and tiers. You don't know how to tell him that you couldn't care less about how many levels a wedding cake should have.

    The moment he sets the tray down on the table, right in between you and Donghyuck, and the smell of the mixture of flavours and bread assaults your senses, you have to do everything in your power to not begin inhaling everything, to not grab a spoon and dig into whatever you can get your hands on. From the stiffness of his shoulders next to you, you know that your fake-fiancé is having the same problem in self-restraint.

    "If you're going for a summer wedding, I'd suggest the berry based flavours-" Mark points out one delectable section of the tray, "-and for winter, our customers prefer chocolate or coffee varieties."

    Donghyuck throws a subtle wink in your direction (and looks damn good doing it), before he asks, anticipation clear on his face, "Where would you like to start, baby?"

    The pet name throws you off for a second, and from his grin, you have a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what he's doing, but there's no time to analyse it now. There's a slice of red velvet directly under your nose that's practically begging to be eaten.

    You're thankful for the customer that walks in at that moment, making Mark move away; you aren't sure how convincingly you can pretend to be a normal, engaged couple that hasn't been camping outside the shop for weeks once you've actually tasted the goods.

    "Together?" Donghyuck asks, once you both have a spoon full of cake.

    Nodding firmly with a grin, you count down from three.

    The first bite renders you blank. The literal definition of no thoughts, head empty as the flavour bursts in your mouth, your eyes closed and spoon stuck inside. Next to you, you hear a borderline pornographic moan, but you'll be the last person to call him out on it. 

    Before you know it, you’ve dug your spoon into the cake again, right as he does the same, and you’re chewing another bite, practically floating in serenity. 

    It’s mostly silence as the two of you make your way through the ten odd pieces of pastry on the table, only punctuated by satisfied sighs and muttered ‘Oh, fuck’s, and you feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience, here in this expensive shop with your fake-fiancé who has the same (perfectly normal) enthusiasm for bread as you.

    “I can’t believe we thought sitting outside was good enough when this exists,” Donghyuck says after swallowing a large bite of chocolate raspberry truffle. His eyes shine in satiated glee, fingers tapping a steady, restless staccato beat against the surface of the table as he chooses the next slice to taste.

    Tucking your spoon into the strawberries and cream flavour that’s quickly become your personal favourite, you nod enthusiastically. “Very glad I met you. Who knows how long I would’ve sat outside otherwise, living unfulfilled, believing my life was complete?”

    His chuckle makes the cake in your mouth taste sweeter.

    You lick off your spoon once you’re finally done a few minutes later, audibly huffing as you settle against the back of the chair, satisfied. Next to you, Donghyuck does the same.

    “You’ve got some icing on your face,” he observes, settling his spoon down and handing you a tissue.

    “Here?” 

    “A little to the left.” 

    “Here?”

    Wordlessly, you watch as he brings his hand up and lightly taps the left corner of your mouth, pad of his index finger gently grazing your commissure, heat from his hand lingering for a just a second before he pulls away, his gaze suddenly holding a little less mischief and a little more intensity, and his knee briefly knocking into yours under the table as he tilts his body toward you. 

    You almost don’t want to wipe off the icing, but you make sure not to break eye contact when you do, the faint sugar rush making you bolder.

    “Oh, you guys are cute! Were you able to pick a flavour?”

    You’re startled at Mark’s sudden reappearance, uncharacteristically flustered as Donghyuck smiles brightly and smoothly replies, “They were all incredible, thank you. We’d like to try some other places and then decide. We’ll let you know!”

    You think you see a faint air of suspicion around Mark when you follow Donghyuck’s lead and stand up, and for good measure, you make sure to grab his hand while walking out, fingers easily tangling together. To his credit, he shows no surprise, playing along unceremoniously and even going so far as to lightly swing his arm as you open the door and step out.

    Leading the way a few steps away from the shop, once you’ve ensured that Mark won’t be able to see you, you let go. 

    It’s all a little awkward. What do you say to break up a fake engagement?

    “We can never go back in there without disguises again, that’s for sure.”

    That should do it.

    “Think he’ll notice it’s me if I wear a fake mustache?”

    The shared laughter at his comment lasts for maybe ten seconds before it’s back to a vaguely uncomfortable silence. You know this is it. You know you both probably won’t meet again because you’re done with this bakery. Why are you finding it so challenging to say goodbye?

    He opens his mouth slightly, looking a bit unsure even as he begins to talk, that same intense look in his eyes making a return.

    “There’s a small restaurant they’ve just opened near my apartment with a Valentine’s day two-for-one offer. Do you want to maybe see if we can get away with it again?”

    His voice pitches up hesitantly towards the end of it, as if mimicking your subtly quickening heartbeat. 

    “Or,” you start, shy smile creeping onto your face as you slowly take your phone out and hand it over to him to enter his number. “We could make it a real date, and have a meal with no moral repercussions.”

    That night, when you tell Hyejin your story (which is decidedly more interesting than all your previous stories combined, according to her), the Dude has a name, a cute face and a discount lunch with you next week.