Chapter Text
Kageyama works quietly in the kitchen, his focus entirely on the texture of the dough he is kneading with his bare hands. Soft classical music plays on a small Bluetooth speaker on a nearby counter. He isn't sure of the composer, but it was one of the ones Kazuyo used to listen to, maybe Mozart or Bach. The melancholy timbre of the violins causes Kageyama to feel a nostalgia for his grandfather that is somehow simultaneously pleasant and sad.
He is lost in his own world, his mind occupied with pastry dough and fillings, ingredients and baking times, on which special recipe he wants to make for the weekend. He works alone, as usual, his only words of the day spoken sparsely with customers who come to buy his treats and praise his goods as if they tasted like a piece of heaven.
Kageyama is used to the silence, embraces it most times. He is comfortable in the kitchen he grew up in and feels like he belongs here, if nowhere else. Among the ovens and mixers and counters of his childhood, he can imagine that his life is fine, no more than he ever expected, no more than he deserves.
He inherited the business, the building, and the upstairs apartment when Kazuyo died. The bakery allows him to feed himself and pay for necessities. He has no debt, minimal bills and modest needs, so the unexceptional income from the small operation is sufficient. He has no family besides his sister, whom he talks to and texts with every day. He has a long-haired calico cat named Mikeneko, whom he dotes on. He doesn't go out to bars or restaurants, rarely shops or ventures out for no reason. He has no friends to speak of, only the regular customers who greet him like an acquaintance.
He has no life beyond the bakery and the apartment.
But as long as he has his baking, as long as he can envision and create sweet concoctions with his bare hands, as long as he can sell them for enough to live, there is nothing else he needs in life.
At least that's what he tells himself.
The bakery's bell chimes indicating a customer has entered. Kageyama quickly rinses his hands and wipes them off on the towel hanging from the belt of his white apron that he wears over worn jeans and a faded blue t-shirt that Miwa bought him years ago.
He exits through the door to enter the area by the counter. He is greeted by a sight that fascinates him. A short red-haired man standing by the doorway, his eyes closed, his head tilted back.
The man is beautiful, mesmerizing like that, as if frozen in time, a look of ecstatic joy on his face. His messy hair is tousled with unruly curls, his nose is cute and perfectly proportioned for his face, his eyebrows the same ginger hue as his hair. But it's his lips that capture Kageyama's attention. They are plump and pink and slightly parted.
They are perfect for kissing.
As Kageyama stands silently gawking, the redhead opens his eyes and looks at Kageyama across the small expanse of the room. He smiles and Kageyama takes in a sharp breath.
The man's eyes are a deep, rich golden brown, alight with mischief and delight and excitement, and his smile is wide and blinding. It lights up his whole face, and whereas before he looked peaceful and ethereal, now he looks blinding and joyful and absolutely captivating.
Kageyama's heart skips a beat, and he feels a foreign flutter in his gut. Though he is embarrassed at his body's reaction to the man, he is unable to look away.
"It smells amazing in here," the man remarks, locking his amber eyes with Kageyama's, seemingly holding him hostage with the intensity of his gaze alone.
Despite his warm feelings, Kageyama snorts. "Of course it does. It's a bakery." Kageyama immediately regrets his harsh words as the voices of his grandfather and sister echo in his head, telling him his words are too blunt and not at all tactful or friendly.
The man seems unperturbed by Kageyama's gruff, almost rude reply. He continues to smile as he approaches the display case where Kageyama has artfully arranged his offerings. The man's eyes scan the items greedily, his hands tracing lightly on the glass as if he'd love to touch as well as see what's inside.
The faint smell of cinnamon and sugar wafts into Kageyama's nostrils, which momentarily confuses him because he didn't make cinnamon rolls today. It takes him a moment to recognize that the sweet scent is coming from the man in front of him. An omega then. Kageyama is somewhat relieved to discover this fact, attributing his strange reactions to his alpha instincts rather than anything that he might have control over.
"Everything looks so good!" the man exclaims, almost with a whine.
"Everything is good," Kageyama responds, without arrogance. He is just stating facts. He knows his pastries and cakes are superb in every sense. But again he wonders at his tone, questions his response, considers what he should have said instead. What would Kazuyo have said in this situation?
The man tears his eyes from the case and meets Kageyama's gaze. He laughs then, and the sound is full and rich and makes Kageyama's stomach tighten in an unfamiliar fashion. The omega orders four different types of pastries and Kageyama has barely passed him the small box before the man shoves the first one into his mouth. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, humming with satisfaction. Kageyama's stomach betrays him and flips again.
"Did you make all of this?" the man asks, opening his eyes. He now looks fascinated and impressed and Kageyama feels the familiar pride in his work. The omega has a small dusting of powdered sugar at the corner of his mouth.
Kageyama wants to lick it off.
"Yes," Kageyama answers simply, ignoring strange impulse.
"Gwah! I want to make all of these pastries and more. I'm going to have my own bakery one day. I don't have the right equipment yet, but I do my best with what I have. I'm going to learn everything I can, and I'm going to be a better baker than you someday!"
Kageyama snorts again. "You're going to make pastries better than mine?" For some reason, Kageyama's heart is beating too fast. Instead of worrying about his mocking tone and offensive words, a particular memory of his grandfather rises to the forefront of his consciousness. He forces it away, and focuses on the challenge in front of him.
"Yes, I will," the man says as if this is a trivial thing.
Kageyama feels his hackles rise. Who is the guy anyway? He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. He sees the man's eyes flutter down to his arms and then back, and thinks he sees the flush of pink on the man's cheeks. Kageyama guesses the man is embarrassed by his careless and frankly unrealistic proclamation.
"You? Are going to beat me? Even if I'm the best in Tokyo? The best in Japan? Even the world?" Kageyama's voice is harsh and scornful. Again, he knows his tone is off-putting, offensive even, but right now he doesn't care. He knows he insulted the man, but instead of looking angry, the short redhead just appears determined.
"If that's what it takes to beat you, then yeah, I'll be the best in the whole world! I don't care how long it takes, ten or twenty years or whatever."
"Yeah, well, you have a long way to go, so you better get going."
"How do you know that?"
"You said you don't even have the right equipment."
"Not all of us have the opportunity to work in bakeries at such a young age." The bitterness in the man's voice causes a strange emotion to bubble to the surface. Kageyama doesn't have a name for it.
"So?"
"So, I know I've got catching up to do. But I will. You mark my words."
Kageyama is trying to figure out how to respond when the man hastily wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, erasing the dusting of sugar from his lips. Kageyama is focused on the corner of the omega's mouth where the sugar used to be, strangely disappointed.
"How much do I owe you?" the man asks, breaking Kageyama from his bizarre train of thought.
It takes Kageyama's brain a few heartbeats to catch up with the conversation. He feels heat rise to his cheeks and ducks his head to hopefully avoid detection. He tells the man the total, then takes the money and tucks it into the cash register. The man hesitates before leaving.
"I'll be back. And I'll prove you wrong." He looks so intense right now that Kageyama's breath hitches. The man's eyes blaze with determination, with rare conviction. He looks like an avenging angel, a warrior. Kageyama is unable to look away.
"I'll be waiting." Kageyama doesn't know where the words came from, and adamantly refuses to attribute any significance to them. It was just a manner of speaking, meaningless words, empty promises.
The only kind of promises there are.
The man continues to the exit, throwing one last look over his shoulder as he reaches the door. For a second, Kageyama thinks he is going to say something else, but he doesn’t, just turns and walks away. The bells over the door fall silent after a second and Kageyama is again met with the quiet atmosphere he is used to.
But now the quiet seems deafening, like the man's exit caused a massive void or a black hole. It was as if the man stole the electricity from the air when he departed, took the energy in the room with him as he went. The bakery feels colder and dimmer now.
Kageyama shakes off the peculiar sense of loss. Although the interaction with the customer was unusual, it was just that. A customer came to buy his pastries and left. There is no more significance to it than that. He often gets repeat customers, so there is a chance the man will come back again.
Kageyama hates that he hopes he will.
He scolds himself for his fanciful and irrational thoughts about the stranger that he will likely never see again. He forcefully pushes away the poignant memory of his grandfather's premonition. He heads to the kitchen to finish the batch of pastry dough, back to his boring, predictable, lonely life, and adamantly refuses to give any thought to the intriguing omega. He knows that the meeting was only a brief aberration in the trajectory of his pathetic life, worth no more thoughts, no more energy.
No more hope.
He continues with the only thing that brings him comfort and satisfaction, working with the dough, throwing himself into his recipes, his craft. If he focuses on this, his life, such as it is, is enough for him.
At closing time, he cleans his work area and checks again that the ovens are off. He locks the front door and turns the sign so the "Closed" is visible from the outside. He turns off the lights and makes his way to the back stairwell that leads to his apartment upstairs. He greets Mikeneko as she curls around his legs, practically tripping him as he fills her food bowl. He fixes himself a simple dinner of oyakodon and eats it in front of the television, which is almost constantly tuned to cooking channels. The apartment is quiet except for the droning from the TV and the occasional meow from Mikeneko.
After dinner, he texts Miwa and they share snippets from their days. She lives across town, and they sometimes have dinner together, but she is working late today.
A few hours later, Kageyama readies for bed. He turns in early since he wakes up before five o'clock to start baking for the day. He lies in his bed, staring into the darkness. Against his will, images of the beautiful man fill his brain, his blazing eyes, his ample lips. Kageyama rolls to his side, trying to push away the errant thoughts, but he is unable to do so. Perturbed, he blames his stupid alpha for his reaction.
Forcing his eyes closed, he tries to distract himself by listing everything he has to accomplish tomorrow, but he only gets partway through before his thoughts drift back to the omega with the intoxicating scent and the determination and confidence of an alpha. The juxtaposition is what intrigues him, Kageyama decides. Again, his grandfather's words from that fateful day ring clearly in his brain. Kageyama squeezes his eyes tighter and wills away the preposterous, tenuous hope that threatens to plant itself in his subconsciousness and ultimately wound him.
He will not think about the omega. He will not think about the future.
He spends some time fortifying the wall he has erected around his heart, cataloging all the reasons why his life is fine.
He falls asleep to the low hum of the fan and the soft, comforting purr of Mikeneko asleep by his side.
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