Bake Off! ; Minsung Smut Oneshot

bake off!

Lasteria was a peaceful little village at the best of times. 

Much like any other, there was your average cars parked about, your average people going for a stroll, and your average shops. Two of those shops being bakeries— 'Give and Cheesecake' and 'Dough Re Minho's'. 

Now. To talk about the names of said bakeries is a whole different story. Usually, they make a couple of passer-by's raise an eyebrow or two, but that didn't bother Han Jisung. He couldn't care less. 

He knew right away when that spectacular bakery name came to him (immediately after he had dropped some dough on the floor), it would get him to the very top. Oh yes, he was cocky. He thought he had the right to be. 

Then there was Lee Minho. 

His commanding gait exudes an irresistible magnetism, drawing all eyes to his presence. The ability to adorn his surroundings with a masterful touch made Jisung twitch- even a perfect strawberry cradled between his index finger and thumb would pale in comparison to all his sharp, smooth edges and sun-kissed skin. Not like Jisung was looking. He hated him. Of course. 

He hated his smug grin whenever he claimed victory of an argument, the way it would grace those cherry lips and how they would curl to reveal that perfect set of teeth. He hated the hands that would run through those leonine, chocolate-covered tresses, how they would cascade between those slender fingers. He even hated the flour that had permanently clung to his worn-out apron. 

He just hated him. That was all. 

It's asinine; the locals tell him so. And yet, Jisung still clings on like that damn flour. It's pathetic. 

That is, what he tells himself, anyway. 

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"Jisung! We've got order forty-three at the till!" 

He's zoning out. This occurs at least three times a day, and Jisung has no idea why. All he can ever think about is- 

"Jisung!" 

"Sorry!" he splutters, latching himself onto the kitchen door and flinging it open. Once in view to all the customers, he walks at a leisurely pace, his strut resembling a proud flamingo's. He's trying to make a good impression, pretending like he hadn't just thrown himself at that door out of panic. 

He takes the box for order forty-three with careful hands, not forgetting to admire his own logo for the seven hundredth time, before passing it to the lady at the till with a warm smile and a "Thank you! Have a wonderful day!". The usual, of course. 

The lady spins on her heel with a returning smile, carrying the box out the door. Jisung stares after her, watching in horror as she shoves the box with little care into the basket of her bicycle. He shakes his head. Some people have absolutely no respect for apple pie; the poor thing. 

"Right, just a few more to go— with the exception of random customers— and we're done for the day!" he announces, brushing off the odd lone crumbs on his shoulder. 

The rest of his colleagues nod and smile, returning to business right after. Jisung has to pace to keep himself busy. There was nothing else left to do, except- 

"Oh yeah, Jisung, could you pop round to Minho's and give him this?" 

Maisie, one of his colleagues, shows him a receipt-based note with an outstretched hand. He freezes, imagines the all-too-familiar mixture of mock idiocy— which Jisung liked to think was real— to mock triumph, all of which would be displayed on Lee Minho's mocking face. It was his worst nightmare.