That morning, the air was strangely quiet.
Jun-seo was wiping the bakery windows, but he couldn't shake off his thoughts. Kwang-su was silently kneading dough in the kitchen—no humming, no teasing. The silence made Jun-seo miss even their flirty banter.
He sighed.
"Did something happen?" he finally asked, unable to hold it in any longer.
Kwang-su didn't look up.
"No. Just tired," he mumbled.
Jun-seo frowned. That wasn't the Kwang-su he knew.
"You've been weird since yesterday," Jun-seo said, stepping closer. "Are you mad at me or something?"
Kwang-su's hands stopped moving.
He turned, eyes meeting Jun-seo's, intense and unreadable.
"I'm not mad. I'm just... trying to figure out if I should do something stupid."
Jun-seo tilted his head. "Like what?"
Kwang-su took a breath, stepped forward—and kissed him.
It wasn't long. It wasn't rough.
It was soft, quick, like a question that begged an answer.
Jun-seo's heart stopped for a second. Then, it raced.
Kwang-su pulled back, his cheeks flushed. "Sorry. I—"
Jun-seo cut him off by pulling him back in.
This time, the kiss wasn't a question.
It was an answer.
And in the warmth of the bakery, between flour and sunlight, something new began to rise—like perfectly proofed dough, full of promise.