Chapter Text
Chapter 1 : Delicacies in the Hands of Ignorance
The cold winds of Hokkaido's winter were sharp and direct to the skin. Consuming one's body to only feel numb. The early mornings were clear and calm without loudness ruining one's thoughts. Free of any distractions and opportunity for creativity. Which is why Suguru Geto found himself being suffocated by the cold winds at 3 AM to find his clearest creativity.
Standing outside of the bakery he worked at, waiting for his boss to arrive. Suguru knelt, plunging his bare hands deep into the icy cold snow. He began to admire the sensation because it didn’t just bring pain to his skin–it bit straight through to his bone, a searing, white hot agony that made his breath hitch.
The snow yielded smoothly beneath his weight, swallowing his hands. At first, there was nothing but the soft, damp weight of the drift. Then sudden bites came. It started as sharp prickling across his knuckles before sinking deer, looking for a sharper sensation. Crawling under his nails and gnawing directly at the joint. Suguru’s jaw tightened. A slow, silent breath hitched in the back of his throat. He didn’t pull away. Instead, spreading his palm wide to invite the freeze deeper until his skin pulsed with a fierce, intense heat. He whimpered quietly into the dark, biting his lip as he winced, a quiet shudder ran down his spine.
Embracing the searing burn for a few seconds, the sharp and heavy jingling of keys suddenly broke the dark quiet atmosphere Suguru was engulfed by. Quick and breathless steps came from behind the deep layers of the fluffy snow.
“Suguru!” Mr.Itoshi, his boss, panted, out of breath as he hurried up to the door. “I tried to get here as fast as I could! It’s freezing–let’s get inside before we freeze to death. The local farm trust is going to be here soon with our fresh produce.” Mr.Itoshi fumbled with locks as his thick wool gloves made it hard to unlock, finally opening the door and stepping inside to swap his boots for slippers.
Suguru slowly pulled his hands from the snow drift. The icy air struck his raw, dripping skin, sending fresh waves of sharp stings across his knuckles.
He followed inside. “Mr. Itoshi, what are we getting from the locals today?” Suguru asked, his voice stoic and calm as he looked down at his hands, looking at the now violent, blotchy red scattered across. Digging his short fingernails into his palm, he deepened the burning sensation, letting out a quiet breath. Savoring that lingering pain.
“Just the usual, but double the milk since they couldn’t fulfill last week’s order!” Mr. Itoshi called out in a high pitched, panicked rush, frantically moving around the kitchen to set up before the annoyed and busy delivery drivers arrived.
Ignoring the hectic energy of his boss, Suguru reached into his pocket for a hair tie, biting down on it before putting his hair up. He gathered his thick, luscious black hair, pulling it back tightly–enjoying the sharp, harsh tug on his scalp–tying it up into a neat, efficient man bun with a grin plastered across his face.
With his raw hands throbbing pleasantly and his hair pulled tight, he rolled up his sleeves. It was time to start prepping the kitchen for his beautiful baked goods.
The kitchen was cold, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long as the rest of the bakers would arrive.
Suguru was always first in the bakery before the rest. Making sure that everything was clean and ready to be used before the real art began. No detail was missed under Suguru's care, he was an efficient, detailed, and observant baker. Taking everything seriously, there was no time for foolish games. Baking was not a foolish game, it was his passion that he was utterly devoted to.
He bypassed the electric industrial mixers entirely. He dumped the flour, chilled water, and starter into the massive stainless-steel basin and plunged both hands inside. The dough was stubborn, cold, dense, and resisting every turn as the gluten structure started to build for the perfect proof and bake. Suguru leaned his entire body weight into the bowl, with force digging his swollen knuckles straight into the heavy mass, making sure his knuckles would hit the bottom as he kept kneading the dough. He folded, stretched, coiled, and punched the dough down, ignoring the sharp, stinging throbs firing up his wrists. He worked until his breathing became shallow and rhythmic against the quiet hum of the kitchen. .
By 6:00 AM, the rest of the crew joined in as he began to let the oven's heat blast the kitchen with its brutal, harsh heat. Suguru stood close to the ovens, making sure that his batches were taken out at the perfect time, for when they were taken out there was no need to rethink placing them back in the oven, they already met the standard of that famous bake.
“Suguru, offset spatulas are on the left–oh, jeez.” Maki paused, her eyes dropping to his hands as he reached for the oven mitts. The skin over his knuckles was flushed an unnatural, blotchy red, the cuticles dry and cracked.
“Did you forget your work gloves when you hauled the ice bags this morning?” she asked, frowning as she took her glasses off, placing them into her apron pocket. “The cold wind out there is brutal today. You really should put some ointment on before the skin splits.”
Suguru moved away slowly, putting on the oven mitts to take out the fresh milk bread before they overbacked. He offered her a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Breaking away from his smile, he took out the bread pans, placing them on a cooling rack. Taking off the mitts, he rested his palm flat on the cool granite, inspecting each and every bread.
“Just washed them in cold water before starting the batch, Maki. They look worse than they feel,” he said smoothly, as he looked at the fresh and shiny milk breads. “Your piping work on the fruit starts and chocolate tempering is looking sharper today. Let’s get the display case finished before the doors open.” Before leaving their short conversation, he placed a light, brief pat on top of her head to give encouragement for the day.
By 7:00 AM, the bakery smelled like buttery paradise. The glass display cases were filled with perfection : flaky, golden croissants, glossy matcha tarts, pillowy steaming milk bread, rich milk tarts, and fresh mochi. Suguru had just finished wiping down his station. His muscles stiff, his skin sensitive and tender to the touch.
Everything was in order. Under his watch. Pristine.
While helping their regulars, the bell above the front door chimed–not a polite ring, but a loud, violent rattle as the door was aggressively pushed open without a thought for others.
A blast of freezing Hokkaido’s wind swept into the warm shop, reminding those of the winter awaiting outside. The cold wind brought a ridiculously tall man with snow dusted white hair, dark sunglasses in the middle of winter, along with an obnoxiously bright smile.
“Good morniiiiiing! Lovely morning, isn’t it?” the stranger drawled loudly, startling Mr.Itoshi so badly that he spilled his morning tea onto himself.
Suguru’s eyes narrowed as the giant began to inspect the desserts in the glass case. Like a child, leaning against the glass, leaving fingerprints and fogging up the case that Suguru had just spent polishing a few minutes ago.
Suguru went to the display case to see that the childish giant was having fun.
“You should quiet it down. So others around here can be at peace. And go easy on the glass, sunglasses.” Suguru muttered.
The tall stranger didn’t seem to care. He continued to inspect the glass case to see which baked goods piqued his appetite. He began to point a long, pale finger at a row of fluffy, golden brown tarts.
“Oho? Sunglasses? It’s Satoru Gojo. What are these little cakes of yours?” the white-haired man chimed, his voice rich, airy, and entirely too loud for 7:00 AM. “Are they good? Vanilla?”
Suguru set his wiping rag down onto the counter with slow, deliberate, precision. His peaceful morning was crumbled in the hands of Satoru Gojo.
Clearing his throat “These are Hokkaido's best. Hokkaido Soufflé Cheese Tart.” His voice smooth and devoid of any warmth to Satoru. “And it’s not vanilla, nor a cake. It’s a rich, fluffy, light delicacy found in this prefecture. It’s made with perfection.”
“Okay. Give me three of those vanilla cakes.” Satoru replied. Clearly not listening to a word that Suguru had previously said.
After hearing his response. Suguru couldn’t help but make a face of annoyance with his eyebrows furring while trying to remain composed. “Sure. Anything else that I can get for you?” With restraint from his actual feelings, trying to make this customer go already by any means.
Letting out a big gasp “Aghhhh, I think I want more of these little cakes of yours. With this fluffy vanilla you talk about!” said Satoru in a playful tone.
“Sure. Go for it. Teru can help check you out.” Suguru replied dryly. He walked away to switch positions with a coworker just to hear that little jerk all the way from the cashier.
“Thank you so much Teru! I heard you guys have the best Hokkaido Soufflé Cheese Tarts from a friend of mine. I have to bring her sometime. They are so light and fluffy but better than a cake.” Satoru Gojo said with a smirk that widened as satoru had suguru in his line of sight.
Suguru, hearing this had begun to clench his raw hands into tight fists while trying to not act annoyed about the desserts that he so passionately made earlier.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” Suguru mumbled.
On his way out, Satoru Gojo couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear, making his exit “Yahoooo. I’ll be back tomorrow or soon. Trust me, I’m not kidding. Can’t wait to try these delicate treats.” he said, winking to Suguru. Vanishing into the cold winter.
As Satoru stepped into his car, he didn’t start the engine right away. He leaned against the headrest, twirling the bakery bag ribbon between his fingers, a low, quiet chuckle escaping his lips. Still fixated on the tall baker with the midnight blue gauges. He had noticed immediately the subtle, fraction of a second twitch in Suguru’s posture when he clenched his hands, the way his raw knuckles were already cracked and dry, making it easier for micro-cuts when being teased about his beautiful delights.
“Hokkaido Soufflé Cheese Tarts,” Satoru hummed to himself, a slow, intriguing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he put the car in drive. “What an interesting prickly baker.”
Back inside, Suguru stood alone in the quiet prep room, staring down at his hands. Being near the display case where Gojo had been inspecting every pastry, felt contaminated because of his obnoxiously bright presence. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a hot, ugly anger boiling in his stomach from the man’s sheer ignorance. Suguru gripped the edge of the freezing stainless-steel prep sink. The sharp bite of the cold metal seared against his tender skin, forcing a long, shuddering exhale from his lungs as he began to wonder about that brazen customer.
Satoru Gojo. Just the thought of him made Suguru’s blood boil–and his pulse race.