A/N: I changed a good chunk of things so I thought it would be better to just reupload it. Chapter 3 will be out soon - fingers crossed!

Thank you to all the people that favorite and followed last chapter!

Alter Ego Bob: I was actually really surprised that I wasn't able to find a single story about them being a couple. i thought it would be a go-to. Glad you like it!

Chapter 2

What was the weather like? How many customers had come in before him? What time? What did he order? What did he say?

I couldn't remember these things.

In all honesty, I could barely even remember what he had been wearing; everything faded down to the dark, dreary tone of his suit, the way that the colors made him look even more tired than the dark circles under his eyes.

His hair had been pushed back in an odd part, some sort of gel marking the honey strands darken to an unflattering brown.

I hated it. I hated the way that everything around him seemed to move at a different speed - like a movie that he had walked onto but ultimately knew the outcome of. He looked around my tiny bakery like he didn't particularly have any thoughts on how everything was. Like he wasn't impressed nor interested in anything other than what he wanted and how he was going to get it.

Jelly squished into my palm, hot from bursting through the freshly baked exterior of the bun and I blinked. My fingers had tightened inadvertently on the buns, the tray still balanced precariously in my other palm as I tried to fill the display rack. A few customers were talking animatedly with Riku at the checkout counter, Sora's dark, kinky curls bobbing just behind her as she tried to fill drink orders.

"Excuse me." Ah, so that's what he said. Something metallic stung my nose, the rough material of his jacket brushing my forearm as he leaned around me to grab up something from a case right next to me. My reflection in the glass display case seemed small, his much bigger frame dwarfing mine in a way that went from endearing to terrifying in the warped reflection.

He had shrewd eyes - just this side of angry like he was tired of pretending like he enjoyed the company of others. And they didn't waver from mine as he grabbed up his order and pulled back. I can't remember any connection then - maybe a curious sort of understanding like meeting a tired gaze from across the subway and acknowledging it. Two people who were infinitely overworked but didn't know entirely how to get out of the cycle and didn't particularly feel like trying either.

Here's where I should have apologized. Maybe gently scolded him for not minding my personal space. But all that came out was a silent breath, my brows furrowing as I tried to determine what that scent was. It wasn't ordinary.

His gaze drifted to my shoulder briefly, watching as I twitched under his scrutiny, the tray quivering as I tried to not let on that the ache hadn't gone away like I thought it would in these last weeks.

That was it.

The first interaction between me and a man that should have walked through my door and never returned. But though an odd series of events the world brought us together, our realities clashing like two cymbals being forced together.

He went to the counter without a backward glance, his fingers moving to tug at his tie as he left like he was fighting off mounting impatience.

It was later when Sora cut her palm open dicing fruits for strudels that I realized.

Blood. He had smelled like blood.

I was sure he was a Yakuza. Maybe a boss. Maybe a right-hand man. Definitely someone powerful.

"Get to the back," I whispered to Ruki, yanking her through the kitchen doorway and into the sweltering oven area. "I don't need you manning the counters right now."

Her hair was orange today and it was frankly atrocious paired with the red contacts. I wasn't sure if she wanted to look like a pixie banished to the depths of hell but she was definitely making a run for Satan's newest mistress with her alarming scarlet corset and heels.

Sora slammed down an impressive wad of dough, the muscles in her arms bulging as she kneaded into it. An errant curl fell across her face, the oven lights illuminating the soft planes of her rich ebony skin. Between her college classes and another job, I wasn't entirely sure how she had the time to come and work for me - or whether she ever slept between those activities.

"Oh thank god," Sora breathed, smearing flour and sweat across her forehead as she slouched forward. "I need a break."

"You stay back here too," I said sharply and she gave a pathetic whimper, tossing the dough into the proofing cabinet.

Riku gave a snarl, her eyes darting around the area with the rising awareness of a cornered animal. Sweat was already starting to bead at her temples, milky from the layer of foundation coating her face and neck. Scarlet eyes burned into me. "You know I have a date tonight."

She had a date almost every night.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, reaching forward to tighten the bow of her apron. "Bake some snickerdoodles," I murmured, smiling sweetly. "You'll smell like a cookie for your date."

Sora's burst of laughter followed me back to the front punctuated by a string of cursing.

"Good morning!" The words felt too cheery and I winced, fumbling for something to make me sound less hysterical.

His eyes narrowed slightly, the dark depths deepening to something that felt a lot like drifting to the bottom of an ocean. I gulped, trying to find something else to say - something to make him not want to come back and burn my shop down - and came back with a sharp "hm", jerking the tray toward me and taking out some tongs to put it in plastic wrapping.

What did you say to a yakuza member? Did I even need to say anything?

"700 yen."

"Thank you."

He had nice hands. There were old scars at his knuckles and skin was roughened from manual labor. My stomach tightened. Nice hands for a yakuza.

It went that way for a bit. He came in and got the casse-croute and said a few short words to me. I would shuffle Riku and Sora to the back - so often that they started to peer out from the window and watch as I took his order.

He never stayed too long or made unnecessary comments. And for some reason, I understood his lack of interest almost painfully.

He didn't have time to worry about me.

He didn't want to make a personal connection.

He wanted to get his meal in silence and be done with it. I respected that. I even understood it. It was easier to not have these sort of obligations - easier for others and especially easier for us. He handled our meetings much the same way as i handled walking past a window of puppies and kittens: quickly with focused ignorance.

I respected that he didn't care who was behind the register or how we made our baked goods or even if there was anything better to be had at the shop.

So why… Why did I have to do it? Why - when I knew what he wanted..?

Without meaning to, I had stopped just outside of the pet shop and started tapping at the window.

"You're using a new bread for the casse-croute?" Sora's brows furrowed, my hands pausing as I folded in another bundle of thyme and rosemary. Clustered in organized groups around the long table were other herbs - ginger, parsley, cumin - all waiting patiently for my fingers to tear them apart and stuff them in the sitting dough.

A bead of sweat dribbled down my temple, my shoulder throbbing anxiously along with my tension. "I...thought it would be a good idea. To change things up."

Sora frowned but didn't say anything more, tugging off her dirty apron in favor of a clean one not crusted in globs of icing and pie innards. She didn't need to say anything. We both knew that the same five people got the casse-croute and three of them were craggy old men.

Different breads: He didn't notice.

Different meat: He didn't come back for a week.

Different cheeses: I thought his frown would disintegrate me on the spot.

"You changed the recipe." A shock went through me, tingling along my belly button and through my gut. His voice was deep - how had I not noticed that before? It rolled through the air with no-nonsense authority and made my grip on the bag loosen enough so that I almost dropped it.

His eyes sharpened on me as I blinked up at him, gulping. "I - ye - yes." From the silence that followed, I was assuming that he wanted an explanation. "I added a different dressing to it… If you don't like it, I can make it the original way. Or - or just…" Or I could just shut up. I shut my eyes, giving my head a short shake before opening them again. "You're total's 700 yen."

I could feel heat starting to burn at my face. It was stupid of me to change something that didn't need to be changed. I had been testing out different olive oil infusions for the past month. The casse-croute was one of our lowest sellers and I had wasted so much unnecessary time…

"It's good." I blinked, taken aback. The bag crinkled, the sharp tap of his shoes drifting to the door. The bell on the door gave a final jingle, a car horn bursting into the shop as he left.

"Awwww. Someone got a compliment from Mister Suits."

"Shut up, Riku."

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