This was, for lack of a better word, quite bad. The day had already started off on the wrong foot, but it seemed to only be capable of getting much, much worse.

When she woke up, with him in her lap, he felt different. Hard. The crust had always been rather hard to the touch, but now it seemed that he'd break into hundreds of pieces if she dropped him—or even touched him the wrong way.

He was staling, and she was stalling.

Not wanting to hurt him, she suggested not putting him in view of everyone today. That would've been bad for several reasons, she reasoned—seeing a staling piece of bread in a bakery of all places wouldn't be very appetising, and if anyone touched him accidentally, or made him fall, she was certain he would either die instantly or be in a lot of pain; neither of which she wanted for him.

And when she had voiced this thought, he got angry.

Actually, angry was an understatement. He was pissed. She wouldn't have been surprised if he started foaming at the mouth with all the yelling (screeching?) he was doing.

It was not a nice start to her day. She just felt guilty, because in a way, he was right. He had told her the day before that he hated being alone, and now she had been suggesting to leave him alone for the entire day—which was also likely to be one of his last.

Except that she wasn't demanding he be alone, just not on the counter. He could be behind it, somewhere out of view, without having to be alone completely.

Yet, he didn't seem to understand that. He had just kept yelling.

So she left. She didn't completely understand him, but she did understand that she didn't want to take it. He started insulting her personally, calling her a moron for not understanding 'anything', as he'd said, and she just decided to leave it at that. She'd come back later when he, hopefully, like yesterday, came to his senses.

But he didn't. When she came back, she wasn't sure what she expected, but he started giving her the cold shoulder. Not wanting to leave him alone the entire day, she took him with her as she went back to her bakery, this time putting him just below the counter, so they could talk to each other, without being in view of everyone else.

The problem was now that he wouldn't shut up. She wanted to open up shop because there was a woman she recognised at the front, waiting, but she couldn't.

He simply refused to shut up. He even started singing at some point, making sure that she understood his message.

She was tired of it. He had come into her life completely unexpectedly, yet he expected it all. Now she regretted taking him in at all.

She picked him up to put him back in her room somewhere, and despite his protests, both vocal and physical, she dragged him all the way back and shut the door behind her.

She didn't like it. She knew he hated it. But he was, frankly, unbearable at the moment. She had a job to do, and a way to do it—which included not freaking everyone out with talking (yelling) bread.

So much for his kind words the days before. She leaned against the locked door from the outside. He had gotten quiet now, not yelling for what seemed like the first time in hours.

Sighing, she pushed herself off the door and got to work.

After the first customer left, she just couldn't take it anymore. She was, despite herself, worried about him. He did hate to be alone, and she hated giving him the punishment for it because he'd been off. She couldn't shake it.

She ran back upstairs, entering her place. He looked up from whatever he was staring at with cold, yet guilty eyes.

At least he hadn't started yelling the second she made herself known.

"So?" she asked him.

"So what?" he spat.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and folded her arms. "Are you going to behave?"

By the looks of it, no. Yet the hardness of his gaze softened considerably. "I… yeah."

"Good," she said softly, approaching him.

He stared at her with droopy eyes. He looked so incredibly exhausted, which was a weird look on bread. She patted him, not thinking much of him, but when he made a pained face and she took her hand away, a few pieces of crust fell to the side.

He could feel that. He could feel pieces of him coming off, getting ripped apart alive.

Okay. She shouldn't touch him too much. Carefully, she took him downstairs, like all the days before, and put him on a towel and put him out of sight. A few breadcrumbs surrounded him, and he looked at them mournfully. Despite the anger that he had shown before, now he simply looked pathetic.

Part of her wanted to close her shop and spend more time with him. Sure, he was a total jerk this morning, but that didn't mean he suddenly deserved to die alone.

Die. That's what was happening, wasn't it? He was dying now. She wondered if he knew it.

She tried not to think about it too much and focused on the customers. Her sadness must've been radiating off of her, because barely anyone stayed to talk for longer than 10 seconds. They passed the majority of the time in silence, only the ring of the bell cutting through every so often followed by an order with the fitting 'please' and 'thank you's that always accompanied them.

"Rose?"

She looked at him, silently acknowledging him.

"What's happening to me?" The tremble in his voice broke her heart.

She didn't want to believe it. She refused to. "What… what do you mean?"

He couldn't look at her anymore. "It hurts. I don't know why, it just hurts."

Her knuckles turned white from the grip in her hand.

Poor thing. That's all she could think.

She wondered if there was something she could do. She wasn't sure at all how bread worked, after all—but she reasoned that they couldn't take any medicine or painkillers. That just wouldn't make sense.

Part of her wanted to try.

She didn't. Obviously. She didn't even know where to begin with that.

Apparently she had been silent for too long, because he once again softly spoke her name, vehemently. "Rose?"

"Yes." As she sighed heavily and sat down, she turned to him and noticed something. Something fuzzy and white had appeared on his side. She leaned in, looking at it further, horrified of what it could be.

She hoped it wasn't—but it was. It had started. He was moulding. He looked at her worried face with his own terrified expression, probably not even understanding what was going on. The only thing he knew is that he felt sick, weaker, and in pain. A small pain at his side, bulging.

Completely forgetting the health hazard that it was, she reached for him. Her hand hovered over him, in fear of hurting him even more, but the movement was clear enough for him.

"Rose, please—"

She shushed him gently. She ruffled his hair—which was probably the only part she could touch without hurting him. His seemed to soften up at her touch, forgetting his painful predicament briefly.

She swallowed roughly. She felt faint, as if her head wasn't fully attached to the rest of her anymore. "You're dying."

He blinked at her. She could see the cogs in his head turn, the truth of what she'd said settling in that bread-head of his. He looked away.

She looked away, too. Perhaps it was selfish of her, but she couldn't stand the look on his face anymore. She didn't even understand why she felt this way. She'd only been with this bread for a few days, why was she so attached?

"Are you alright?"

Right. That's why. She had to cover her mouth to keep in a sob. She swallowed down the rest. "Yeah, thanks." She looked over at him and smiled to the best of her ability.

The Doughter did what he always did and smiled brightly at her, shining in challenge of the sun, never to be hidden or extinguished, knowing that eventually, in some distant future, it would stop. Except that the sun had billions of years left, but her son didn't.

Or, well… stepson. Or whatever he was. It didn't really matter. "Thank you," she said. "You've been… an amazing friend."

"Rather disappointed you only think of me as such," he said, and winked.

She rolled her eyes and pretended not to see how that wink had pained him.

"A shame. I'd have loved to …" he trailed off. For a moment, she was worried that his cognitive abilities were declining, but looking at him, he seemed fully conscious and aware. He just hadn't finished his sentence.

"To?" she asked.

"Anything." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

What was she doing? She had no idea how long they had, and she was waiting. Waiting for customers or until she'd ran out of time? She stood up. He looked at for as much as he was able to as she went up to the front and locked the door before lowering the blinds. A bit of light still seeped through, but the place was mostly dark. She fumbled around a bit for the light switch, which briefly blinded her when she turned it on.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She grabbed him as gently as she could, careful not to touch any of the mould, put him on a table and sat down next to him.

"Shouldn't you…"

"Who cares? I can miss a day." Frankly, she felt ashamed for not coming up with this sooner. This was the least she could do.

His eyes became troubled. "You don't have to, you know?"

She ruffled his hair gently, careful not to hurt him. "Of course I do."

He smiled gratefully, even though his eyes moistened, before closing his eyes and leaning into her touch.

After a bit of silence, he spoke up. "Why'd you start baking?"

"A few reasons," she started, sitting up a bit straighter. "The silence in the morning, the smell of it… I didn't really have anything else to do, since I failed my A-levels, so I took a gamble with this."

She mindlessly continued playing with his hair. "Mind you, when I say failed, truth is I never did them."

"They sound important. Why not?"

She shrugged. "Was chasing after a guy." She pulled her hand back. A lot of his hair had fallen out. She couldn't even do that.

She stared at the grey spots on his side. Fresh bread moulded so fast. Usually she wouldn't mind that much, but now… She almost couldn't believe it. Days ago, talking bread seemed nuts, but now that it came to fruition, it was so much more than nuts.

He opened his eyes again. "Rose?"

Dread filled her stomach at the look on his face.

"I don't want to go," he quietly said, his voice breaking. "I'm not bready."

She didn't respond. She thought she would scream.

"But I have to, don't I?"

She smiled softly, ignoring her vision getting blurry. "Suppose," she answered shortly.

"Thank you for everything."

"It's not over yet," she gave, trying to stop him.

"No." He gave a short nod. "But I need you to hear this. Thank you for everything. You have made my life, and you have made it what it has become. I am here because of you, in every single sense. And… I don't regret it for a second. I hope you look upon these days fondly, not with sadness, or with despair, but simply joy that it happened in the first place. Your personal miracle."

She couldn't believe he was honestly saying goodbye. She'd thought she had a few more hours with him left, so why was he… ? A tear fell from her eyes, down her cheek.

"I, er," he chuckled without humour, "I wish I had hands to wipe away your tears. But alas. That privilege is not mine."

She didn't know what to say. Generally, she already wasn't particularly brilliant with words, but now she was truly at a loss. She took him in her arms and held him as tightly as she could without hurting him. She held him so close she could feel his face against her cheek, where he lightly put a kiss.

She put him in her lap, in fear of getting her tears on him. That really wouldn't help anything. She pet him softly, a few crumbs coming off with her movements. He closed his eyes and smiled.

They sat there for a while, in silence. Rose got scared every so often that he had died, considering he wasn't saying anything anymore, but he always opened his eyes when she called for him. He explained that he simply wanted to enjoy her, and her presence. She let him.

And then he stopped responding. Rock hard. He wouldn't move, he wouldn't budge, and he never would again. Just a piece of stale, moulded bread, that had a peaceful face on it, immortalised. She poked him again, called his name desperately, but he would never respond again. Never smile brightly at her entering the room, never make weirdly charming flirts, never cry, never feel, never—

He was gone. Truly.

She gathered all her courage and put him in a plastic bag, which she put in another plastic bag, and threw it out.