A/N: This is the last chapter of extremely slow set-up... I promise. I hope everyone will hang in there with me and continue enjoying the story! Thank you all!
Devil's Food
Chapter 3: Strawberry Shortcake
There was always just a brief moment of total silence. Only a few seconds total, after the door closed and the sound of the car's engine faded off into the background, when Gwendal could enjoy complete repose. He always sucked in a large breath and held it, his eyes sliding closed, his muscles finally relaxing a little. Just those few seconds, and then he had to let all the breath back out again, and take the rest of the steps into the back of the café.
It was still pretty quiet back there, with only the reverberations of his footsteps as he made the rounds to start up the ovens. Certainly, it was a relief after the rather high tones of his baby brother snapping at a thankfully quiet Conrart that he had to endure all morning, every morning. Gwendal loved his family, let no mistake be made. But sometimes, he would find himself longing for the emptiness of the back room, when no loud voices drifted back to disturb his peace. But in a few more minutes, the ovens were all humming quietly, and the climate control whirred as it worked away the early Autumn morning chill. That was when Gwendal bid farewell to his silence. Sliding into his chair by the small table officially designated as his "office," which was in actuality a cramped corner of the kitchen, the baker allowed himself one last long sigh. Preparing himself for the worst, he pushed down on the ominously flashing red button on the telephone receiver. And no, it never failed to flash red—that would have allowed him too much peace.
"Five new messages," the automated voice crooned from the receiver. Gwendal grumbled a little and decided he needed a warm mug filled with something sweet a bit earlier than usual that morning.
By the time he returned to his seat, pastel pink mug (with a panda's face painted on the side, of course) firmly in hand, the fourth message was just about winding up. A complaint from the neighboring business concerning the sudden loud noises and possible explosions occurring on a daily basis, two inquiries about job opportunities, and one confused elderly lady looking for her nephew… Gwendal took a carefully measured sip from his hot chocolate. It was a little too hot against his tongue.
"Good evening, Gwendal!" a loud voice cut in immediately after the beep signaling the end of the fourth message. It was a voice that had long been engraved firmly into the recesses of Gwendal's mind, the dark and frightening corners that he tried not to think about. He barely repressed a shiver of dread. It was Anissina. "I'm calling to inform you that I've managed to hit up some great old contacts who are also right here in the city. Who would have thought? I went ahead and gave them the new address of the place. They could probably become a saving grace for the business… well, one of them at least. I can't babysit you three forever, after all!"
Nor do we want you to, Gwendal thought as his eyebrow twitched involuntarily. The mug shook a little in his hand, but he steadied it with some effort.
"And, you might not believe it, but I ran into Günter and Josak yesterday, too. Did you even know they're here? Honestly, one would think you've never even poked your head outside of that tiny little shop since you got here. I just have to do all the work for you, don't I? That's why I always say, men-"
We do have a business to run here, unlike you! Gwendal's finger swooped down to press the button with the word "delete" printed on it, cutting off the message prematurely. He simply was not feeling amiable enough that morning to sit through one of his fiery childhood friend's impassioned rants on the superiority of females.
It just wouldn't do to let himself boil over in frustration, however. His hands twitched a little as he stood up before striding over to check on the oven he'd loaded first and foremost. The small digital display proudly proclaimed 30 seconds until completion. Gwendal nodded, satisfied. This first batch of simple bread had become the most important part of his morning routine for the past days. No one else knew about this particular batch, either—and if Conrart did notice the slight discrepancy in quantities of bread used up in the day, he either assumed them to be casualties of Anissina's furtive attempts at "improving" the baking process, or simply deemed not to comment. Gwendal was glad, either way.
His thick oven mitts covering his huge hands, Gwendal was lifting the small tray out from the heat before long. His chilled nostrils filled up with the warm, sweet-smelling air. Moments like that helped him remember why he didn't regret his decision to go into baking, after all. But that wasn't the real reward of the endeavor, no. Despite himself, he swept the room with his eyes to make sure Conrart had not returned prematurely before making his way to the back door. He stuck out his foot, balancing the tray in both hands as he lifted the door open with one leg.
Sure enough, there he was. He greeted the large man with his usual call—a treasured part of their routine. Gwendal felt his cheeks heat up despite the chilly air outside as he heard the tiny mewl.
"Good morning," he muttered roughly under his breath. Only the quiet sound of paws padding across asphalt answered, the young cat traversing the alley to meet his benefactor. Ever so carefully, Gwendal slid the tray from his mitted hands to rest on the ground. "Did you get through the cold night okay, Marbo?"
The kitten, christened Marbo, opened his mouth wide to meow at the appearance of food within his line of sight. His little tawny ears twitched a little, his pink button of a nose working furiously to take in the pleasant smell of the fresh rolls. Gwendal's lips twitched into a small smile as the kitten put his paws on the tray, reaching out with his tongue to test out the closest roll. He sunk his still developing teeth into it after meowing in approval.
It seemed that Marbo lived in the little alleyway behind the café. Gwendal had only happened upon the small, malnourished cat by chance while closing the second evening or so that they'd been open. It hadn't taken long for the two of them to fall into this routine, although at first the baker had restricted himself to feeding the kitten left-overs. The fourth morning or so, however, a mysteriously unnecessary batch of rolls had found their way into his oven before opening. Would it not have been a tragic waste not to feed them to the hungry kitten waiting outside?
—-Tuesday, Evening-time—-
The bed rose up to meet Yuuri as he let himself fall onto it with a solid "oof." Fortunately his blankets were carefully maintained by his mother, and their soft fluffiness was like a blessing. Diving headlong into his first part-time job had certainly made the teen's life more interesting, but it wasn't easy on his feet. Most likely, he'd get used to it soon, but in the meantime he contemplated doing his baseball stretches before a workday. Wolfram would probably use it as a reason to yell at him. Still, even work wasn't as tiring as his mother's enthused questioning about it. She wanted to know all the gossip he'd overheard from customers, how he was getting along with that adorable co-worker of his, when he was going to bring his new friend over for dinner, and above all how that handsome owner was doing. Yuuri felt lucky for managing to escape after he'd scarfed down his dinner.
Just as he was letting out a huge intake of relieved breath, he noticed his bag shifting a little from where he'd slung it down on the floor beside his bed. He froze up, staring at it. Briefly, he considered the possibility that a rogue squirrel had managed to launch itself from a tree and land in his bag without him noticing it, hoping to stow away and eat them out of house and home. Nice try, ninja squirrel, he thought with a triumphant smirk. …I must be more tired than I thought, if I really just thought that.
There was only one other possibility: his phone had just vibrated because he had received a text message.
That was far more terrifying than the prospect of the ninja squirrel to Yuuri. The only person who knew his number and sent texts happened to be his brother, Shouri (Murata claimed not to have a texting plan on his phone, and Jennifer always preferred calls). Well, there had been that one time when he got an eerie text signed "BOB," but he wrote that off as a prank. He tried not to think about it too much. Dread in his heart, Yuuri stared at the innocuous bag from where he lay, cheek pressed to his blankets. It took a minute for him to gather up the resolve to push himself off the bed with a soft grunt and snatch the bag up off the floor.
Surely enough, the little screen on his old flip phone proudly proclaimed by means of a flashing envelope icon that he had one new text. He couldn't help but cringe as he opened the phone, expecting a reprimanding message from his picky older brother.
"Hello, wimp. I'm letting you know just because you might not have noticed, but you've been doing a pretty good job so far."
Yuuri blinked as if in slow-motion. He read the words again before rubbing at his eyes, just in case they had managed to get some sort of dirt in them that caused him to hallucinate text messages. The sender was simply listed as an unknown number, but he would have had to be daft not to realize who had sent it. Only one person was weirdly fond of calling him "wimp." His eye twitched a little, and not just because it had been so abused just now. Still, it was an almost weirdly… nice message, considering how scathing his co-worker tended to be face to face.
As the second wave of realizations hit him, Yuuri panicked briefly over how Wolfram had managed to get his number. Fortunately, it was only a short moment before he recalled the odd little scene from the other day, when he had practically forced it out of him. There were a lot of mysteries in this world, something Yuuri knew all too well, and Wolfram was pretty high up there on his list right now. He just didn't get him, even though he was another boy of the same age (he assumed, at least).
Well, he thought with a sigh, I may as well add his number to my contacts.
After struggling with the character input for the foreign name and leaving an awkward blank space where his last name should be, Yuuri was forced to consider how to reply. He couldn't just leave the attempt at contact as it was. After all, he'd been determined to fix their rather awkwardly tense relationship. And if Wolfram was reaching out to him, that meant there was some kind of hope. Did he need to still be rude about it though?
In the end, his irritation getting the better of him, he ended up sending, "Don't call me that! And if I did a good job, why am I still a wimp?"
Exactly sixty seconds of lying on his back and blinking up at the ceiling later, his phone vibrated again from its new resting place beside Yuuri. His eyebrow raised, he flipped it open. It all felt too calculated to him. "One good day doesn't change anything about you being a wimp. I don't call you that because you do a bad job, anyways. You're just a wimp."
He groaned softly, reading the flickering words on the screen. It just figured that Wolfram would type out his messages without taking any shortcuts, and reply in an extremely timely fashion. Heaven forbid he did anything imperfectly! Some nagging, suspiciously Conrad-like voice from the back of his mind supplied the idea that perhaps Wolfram acted like that because he was insecure and lonely. Most of his mind, however, was occupied with conjuring up the image of the blonde boy sitting daintily in some lavish room by a fire place, a full tea set on the table beside him as he typed away on his fancy cellphone with a smug smirk (nevermind that the cellphone seemed almost anachronistic in the very aristocratic setting his mind had dropped Wolfram into). The image actually made him smile just slightly, for some reason he couldn't place.
"Now that I think of it though," he mumbled to himself, content that no one was around to hear him, "I did promise to get along with him. And I guess I'm getting closer bit by bit to understanding him…"
Lesson number one being, of course, that he evidently didn't mean any of what he said the way he said it. Yuuri couldn't imagine living like that, but then again, everyone always told him that every single thought that popped into his head found its way out of his mouth. They didn't really know the half of it, though. Even if that was a rather discouraging starting point, Yuuri really did want to become friends with the other boy. Resolved anew, he set about composing a reply. At least twice as much time as Wolfram had taken to answer had already passed while he'd been contemplating life and the future.
"I'm trying my best! That's all I can do." Yuuri stared at the keyboard for a while, chewing his bottom lip idly. Text message conversations were unexpectedly difficult. It would really be a lot easier if he just called me, he thought with a sigh. In the end, he hit send with just those words after hesitating over adding anything more. He was suddenly grateful for Murata's (supposed) lack of a texting plan. It was actually frightening to imagine having to reply to whatever sort of enigmatic phrase his friend would most likely text him out of the blue.
The minute or so that passed before his cellphone shook again was spent in what seemed to Yuuri like an eternity of dreadful anticipation. After all, even if he wanted to get along, there was no guarantee that Wolfram wasn't just contacting him outside of work so that he could get in more time to make fun of him. What else would a rich European beauty like him want with the average baseball boy? Actually, once Yuuri thought of it that way, it seemed a little bit too much like the tagline for one of those romantic comedy movies his mother adored. With the idea that things were not progressing in that direction, not at all, firmly in his head, Yuuri flipped open his cellphone. "I know. But I thought you might need a little extra push. And despite how he may seem, Conrart's actually a tougher teacher than I am in many ways."
Despite himself, Yuuri almost smiled. As puzzling as the message was, he could almost swear that Conrad's advice had been right after all. Wolfram didn't hate him, and he meant well. That thought served as a sort of mantra for him as he typed rather nervously: "Thanks." Even though it was only a few characters, it took him a good minute of staring at the phone before he sent it. He was definitely thinking way too hard about this. Wolfram was just some (way too pretty) guy from work, and he shouldn't be worrying so much about all this.
It just would be nice if we could be friends, he thought as he tossed his phone aside, stretching his arms up toward the ceiling light. It failed to spill through his fingers in the picturesque way the sunset usually did in movies. He closed his eyes, allowing himself one last little sigh over the confusing matter. His workplace in general was just way too taxing on his mind, he decided firmly. Sadly, schoolwork didn't just disappear now that he had so much else to deal with, either. At the very least, there were only two more days until after-school baseball practice, when he could finally forget all his worries and play some ball out in the sun. His soul was already soaring at the thought! Morning runs were refreshing and all, but nothing compared to actually playing a few innings. The text he'd just sent (and his phone too, by extension) entirely forgotten in the wake of the mental pitches he was catching, Yuuri drifted off to sleep far earlier than perhaps he ought to have.
An hour or so later, when Jennifer stepped in with a tray of hot chocolate and cookies for her studious son, she thought she heard him mumbling softly in his sleep, but ignored that in favor of snapping a photo of the adorable scene he made.
—-Thursday, Late Evening—-
There was only the sound of the water sloshing back in forth in the bucket as Yuuri dragged it across the floor in the café for a long moment. The brothers were all holed away in the back still, apparently dealing with the more business-y aspects of a day's sales. While certainly sensible enough, this fact also unfortunately left the newest recruit alone with the task of mopping the floor.
Maybe I put in a little too much soap, Yuuri thought as he stared into the bucket. It certainly was sudsing up an awful lot. Conrad had given him a crash-course instruction on mopping a floor of this size, but perhaps the man had too much faith in him. Well, hey, at least I'll know for sure that it gets clean that way.
Just when Yuuri had gotten the bucket and mop successfully into the corner he'd designated as his starting point, he heard the back door opening again. He looked up in alarm, slightly worried that his incompetence was somehow immediately apparent, and was relieved to see it was only Wolfram, walking across to the cash register with an over-sized manila folder in his hands. It only figured that Wolfram got the comfortable job, while he was stuck with this big bucket and clumsy mop. Actually, maybe counting Japanese bills is weird for him, he mused, his gaze lingering perhaps a bit too long on his co-worker, who looked up from his task of flipping through the colored slips of paper to glare at him. It was only then that Yuuri realized he'd been leaning against the mop handle and staring, while said mop was resting at the bottom of the soapy water. Feeling sufficiently chastised, and with a sudden sense of urgency, Yuuri lifted the mop up and out of the bucket and rested it down on the floor again. By doing so, he sent a minor shower of water and soap droplets flying to the surrounding tiles. A river also appeared to be forming around the mop, which was over-saturated with sudsy water.
"I didn't mean anything by that, just so you know," Wolfram said out of nowhere while Yuuri panicked silently. Distracted from the soapy disaster unfolding at his feet, Yuuri blinked up at the other boy. He looked totally nonchalant for a few seconds, as if he hadn't spoken at all and was merely absorbed in counting the drawer. But then he tilted his head up, blinking right back at Yuuri, before clarifying, "The other night, I mean."
Yuuri was still terribly confused for a moment before the memories filtered back in. In total honesty, he had actually written off the odd exchange of text messages as a dream, what with its close proximity to actual sleep and all, despite the clue of the addition of Wolfram's number to his contacts. "Oh," was all he said at first, his mouth hanging open before he remembered the mop in his hand. Trying to divide his attention between the two things demanding it, he pushed the mop around in a frantic circular motion, hoping to do something about the severe water overload. In the mean time, he couldn't properly consider the enigma Wolfram had presented him with. Better to make a fool of himself and just ask, like always. "But, what didn't you mean?"
"It's not like I did anything you needed to thank me for," Wolfram answered evenly. Yuuri quietly thanked the Buddha, or the heavens, or whatever was above, that he didn't happen to glance across the café at him while they were talking. By now, the mop's circular force had created a sort of whirlpool of soap bubbles and sanitized water at his feet. Seeing that it was only making the problem worse, Yuuri switched strategies and pushed outwards with bold strokes to disperse the water. "I just felt like you've been giving me… a push in the right direction," he laughed quietly, both out of amusement and mild panic.
Wolfram hummed quietly, and Yuuri felt relieved to hear the quiet sound of paper rustling as he continued flipping through bills. He was sure that the sloshing noises were conspicuous enough that his mistake would be found out any moment, and yet Wolfram hardly seemed to notice as he replied, "I suppose you're right, actually. You do owe me."
Had he not been so preoccupied, Yuuri might have been righteously outraged that his gratitude was worth so little, considering that the other boy had not even thought he'd done anything of worth a second ago. As things were, however, he was busily flopping the mop around, hoping the soap situation would right itself on its own. The bubbles looked to be rising. By the time he properly remembered the conversation, all he could think to say was, "What?"
"I'm sure I can think of something," Wolfram said, sounding oddly proud. A minute or so passed while he counted intently, and at some point Yuuri forgot to look at what he was doing with the mop, ending up watching his co-worker instead. After he'd noticed that he was quietly mouthing the numbers to keep track as he counted, Yuuri had simply forgotten that looking away was an option. "Actually," Wolfram started hesitantly, looking up and catching Yuuri off-guard. What at first had only been pretending to be deeply focusing on his mopping quickly became sincere as he saw the new pool forming around where he'd left the mop idle. "If you're free this Saturday…"
Before he could stop it, the image of something he'd seen on television the other day while looking over his mother's shoulder popped into Yuuri's mind. It must have been one of those romantic comedies she was always watching (when it wasn't a fantasy epic, of course). A young woman, her eyes averted shyly, tugged on her braided pigtail as she asked nervously, "Are you free this evening?" while violin music blossomed in the background. Of course, she was asking an impressive, commanding business man (or perhaps a rugged, buff guy; it was generally one of the two, and they always secretly had a heart of gold). This sort of thing didn't happen in real life, to a totally average baseball loving high schooler, who had been completely unpopular his entire life. And Wolfram was a boy, anyways, not the timid heroine of a television drama. No, no, brain, stop! the part of his mind Yuuri dubbed as still sane cried out desperately, while the other part helpfully supplied the image of Wolfram replacing said heroine.
What neither side of his brain had thought to consider was what his body was doing at the time, or rather the state of the floor. At some point in his reverie, he had leaned heavily against the mop, which was already resting in a pool of sudsy water. Gravity, or some other equivalently evil force of nature, followed its course, and the mop slid in towards him, sending poor Yuuri falling face first to the soapy, soaking wet tiles of the floor.
"Yuuri!" Wolfram called out in what sounded like surprise and alarm, hearing the sounds of the fall (and okay, maybe Yuuri had made just the quietest of indignant squeaks as he hit the ground). He was crouching in front of the fallen boy before long, a blonde brow furrowed in confusion. "What happened?"
For his part, Yuuri had managed to catch himself on his elbows at the very least, rather than coming crashing down on his nose. In doing so, his unfortunate elbows also slipped on the wet tile, and his forehead wound up colliding with the floor, albeit with much less force than the initial impact would have had. Regardless, Yuuri groaned. "Nothing, nothing," he managed to reply, pushing himself back up against the slippery surface as best he could. "I guess I just wasn't paying enough attention."
"You…" Wolfram trailed off, his face looking undecided as to its reaction for a few seconds, as it flickered between thought and amusement, before settling on anger, the unexpected dark horse in the race. "You wimp! How do you even manage to fall on your face just because you weren't paying attention? And whose idea was it to put you in charge of mopping?"
Yuuri wrinkled his nose up, now planted firmly on his backside on the floor, feeling mildly betrayed. He had thought Wolfram was actually concerned for him for a second there. "What, do I seem like I can't handle mopping? It seems to me like you would be the one who hasn't had to do a single chore your whole life."
"Actually," Wolfram said around a smirk, "I'm more than capable at such basic activities. It's only practical."
Yes, well, I'm happy for you. Yuuri fixed a look of ire on his co-worker, his arms crossed. It didn't particularly help his case that his shirt sleeves were wet and had soap bubbles clinging to them. "Well," was all he could think of to say.
Much to his surprise, Wolfram actually chuckled. No, more than just chuckled, he laughed, unabashedly and honestly. Yuuri forgot to be offended in his amazement. A really cheesy thought about an angel's laughter flickered through his mind, but he pushed it aside with the reminder that Wolfram's usual laugh was actually rather on the obnoxious side. And, he did have to admit that he made a pretty silly sight, tangled up with the mop on the floor, where soapy water was still flowing rather freely. He couldn't help but chuckle, too, after blowing away a stray soap bubble rising up out of the mess. As they laughed together, Yuuri felt as if, despite how impossible getting along had seemed before, working with Wolfram wouldn't be so bad after all.
From where he'd been standing unnoticed by the back door ever since hearing Wolfram's yell, Conrad smiled. He'd need to step in to fix the situation before the café was inundated by a soapy lake, but for now he was happy to stand back and let the two teenagers have their moment.
—-Friday, Afternoon Time—-
The door closed behind Wolfram's retreating back, leaving only Yuuri and Conrad in the main area of the cafe. The last of the after-school crowd had just skipped out, satisfied and with a dainty cupcake in hand. As relieved as Yuuri was to have made it through the rush without making any notable missteps, he felt like sighing. It seemed like every time he thought things were going better with Wolfram, he would turn around and snap at him with some random insult (or the "wimp" one he was growing accustomed to) tacked on. For example, just now, when he had smiled and waved away the last customer, a nice young lady with perky curls, Wolfram had loudly declared that he was being unprofessional before storming off for his break. As far as Yuuri knew, there was nothing unprofessional about smiling at a customer! Conrad, as usual, hadn't seemed bothered or even surprised by his brother's behavior.
Normally, Yuuri would simply wonder in silence at Conrad's saint-like disposition. This time, however, he allowed himself the frustrated sigh longing to be voiced. "What exactly is his problem with me? I either don't know how to do my job, or I'm unprofessional! He's even worse than my older brother."
Conrad chuckled softly. If it hadn't been a relief, Yuuri would have whined that he found his misery amusing. "Like I said before, he's been going through a period of many transitions in his life. It's been hard for him," he paused, seeming to stop and consider whether or not to go on. "Especially since, in the first place, he isn't the type to let people into his heart easily."
His eyes upturned in deep contemplation of this statement, Yuuri frowned. "Transitions? You mean like, moving to Japan and all?" he asked.
For some reason, Yuuri could only interpret the look of hesitation on Conrad's face to mean that he had a lot he wanted to say, but wasn't sure whether or not he should say any of it. It was incredibly frustrating. "Yes, there's that," he answered after a pause, and for a few seconds Yuuri was afraid that was all he was going to say. Much to his relief, however, Conrad continued, "Try to keep in mind that he hasn't had the traditional Japanese upbringing you've been exposed to, also."
Traditional may not be quite the right word, Yuuri thought to himself, recalling his childhood spent with his enthused mother dropping frilly dresses over his head insistently. "But…" Confused and just a little dejected, Yuuri couldn't quite place what Conrad was trying to tell him. "What does that have to do with… his heart and all?"
It was weird to see Conrad frown. So much so that Yuuri felt deeply relieved when his question made him smile again. "I don't think you need to worry about that too much," he said, "seeing as everyone here already likes you quite a lot."
Now that completely upturned Yuuri's expectations. "Heeh!?" he practically shouted, the syllable dragged out in his earnest confusion. "Everyone? No way. That would even include Grumpy Ponytail back there."
Yuuri, naturally, didn't even think to ask himself if his title for the eldest brother would offend Conrad. Conrad just laughed, covering his mouth politely with the palm of his hand. Before he could answer, the bell over the door chimed to announce the entrance of some customers. As disappointed as he was to not hear the rest of whatever Conrad may have divulged, Yuuri was glad for the chance to practice for the perfect balance between "friendly" and "unprofessional" that, according to Wolfram, he was so bad at discerning.
"Welcome!" he called out as the two girls approached the counter. Their uniforms suggested that they went to the private academy a little ways away. Yuuri hadn't even seen the girls' uniforms for half of the area's schools before he started working—but he supposed that's what he deserved for only hanging out with his baseball buddies and Murata, more or less. It only figured that he'd never meet any girls. "How can I help you?" he finished with a smile that he hoped was warm and charming, his eyes closing as his cheeks rose up.
One of the girls giggled, and he almost thought for a second that he'd succeeded. But surely enough, when Yuuri looked again, he saw that her shy gaze was flickering toward Conrad and not him. Figures, Yuuri thought with a sigh. Not like I can blame her.
"Um…" the girl with cropped, dark hair posed a finger over her lips, examining the display, while the other one barely bothered looking. "We'll have two strawberry shortcakes, please."
Her friend beside her nodded in approval. A big smile plastered on his face, Yuuri got out the tongs to remove the pastries from the display. His eyes roved over a few of the treats before finding the row of strawberry shortcakes. To his dismay, there were only three cakes left on the tray, but he dutifully removed two of them for the customers before plopping them down carefully into the plain box for small orders. "Alright, that'll be…" he trailed off, hoping the price would pop into his head. A moment of silence passed as he thought deeply.
"Four hundred fifty yen, please," Conrad supplied from over by the register, grinning.
Yuuri watched the girls leave after they'd handed over the bills and received their change, only giving a little wave. He couldn't help but wonder if Wolfram had a point, and if there really was some sort of terrible flaw to his customer service technique.
Yuuri had gotten into contemplating practicing a perfect smile in the mirror alone at night when Conrad cleared his throat from beside him, gesturing towards the tray of shortcakes. "We'll be in trouble if some other customers come in looking for these," he said, a suspiciously mischievous-looking twinkle in his eyes.
"I guess you're right," Yuuri murmured thoughtfully, one hand rubbing his cheek. He was still mainly concerned with whatever was wrong with his smile.
If Yuuri hadn't known any better, he would have thought it was with total innocence that Conrad then asked, "Why don't you go ask Gwendal if he's made any more?"
Yuuri immediately froze up, his face looking positively terror-stricken. All that he could remember of interacting with Gwendal was the imposing man's positively stony glare. And that hadn't even been when he'd been doing anything to bother him! "Ehh," he cried in dismay, although he didn't have a single good reason to refuse. Maybe he could claim an allergy to pastry ovens.
"I'll take care of the counter," Conrad smiled serenely, almost as if he was unaware of Yuuri's distress. "Don't worry about it."
Will you take care of my medical bills, too? Yuuri's mind chimed in, but ultimately he gulped and nodded, "A- alright."
The same dramatic music that always seemed to play in foreign films when the character was about to walk into a dangerous trap playing in his head, Yuuri opened the door to the back as if in slow motion. He stepped in one foot at a time, as reluctant as if he were heading to his own trial. Had it been the blockbuster film his mind was making the scene out to be, the camera would have panned dramatically into the back corridor from over his shoulder, to capture his collision with the danger waiting beyond—
"Wolfram!?" he called out in surprise as his shoulder bumped into another. There was no mistaking whose it was, of course, but in the dim light Yuuri somehow thought that Wolfram's skin looked oddly flushed under his blonde locks.
"Yuuri!"
Wolfram sounded just as surprised as he was. Maybe it was just Yuuri's imagination, but he also seemed a little out of breath.
"Sorry, I wasn't… looking where I was going?" Actually, he had been, but there hadn't been enough time to do anything but let the collision happen after the door closed. Yuuri felt that he needed to apologize, regardless.
"Don't sound so uncertain about it, wimp," Wolfram snapped, but it only sounded halfhearted rather than actually insulting. "Be more careful next time."
Yuuri opened his mouth to say something, but before he could even form a syllable, Wolfram had already pushed by him and was stepping out from the enclosed space. The door closed shut with a soft click not long after. A bit bewildered, Yuuri turned his head to blink at the door. As could be expected, it provided no answers. After a moment of silence, he was forced to give up, shrug, and turn back to face the other door before him: the one leading back to the kitchen. He winced as he reached out and took hold of the handles of the double-door, trying to imagine just what Gwendal did back there all day. Probably just baking, making sure everything came out on time, dealing with the business paperwork, and plotting the death of any incompetent employees, Yuuri figured. Determined not to scare himself out of completing his assigned task, he pushed the doors open regardless.
He was expecting to see Gwendal's head turn sharply, a glare fixed on his intruding presence, but found the kitchen to be empty, to all appearances. Stepping further inside, Yuuri found that the baker really wasn't in his own workplace. He blinked.
"Hello…?" he tried, calling out in a quiet little whisper. He was more afraid of getting an answer than he was of not finding Gwendal.
Am I just that scared, or is there a chill in here? Yuuri thought, his hands rising to grasp at his elbows as he shivered slightly. His eyes soon found the source of the cold wind, too—the door to the alley out back was open. An elaborate scenario of a murder and get-away jumped into Yuuri's mind immediately. Oh, the innocent baker, slain while perfecting the designs in icing on his cakes! It would be the talk of the town. Stop it, brain, the more sane side of his mind retorted. I'd at least better check it out before coming to any conclusions.
Teeth chattering animatedly, Yuuri made his way over to the back door. Very little could have properly prepared him for what he witnessed in that alley, short of a time-traveling version of himself from the future grabbing him by the shoulder and describing the scene to him. There was Gwendal, his tall form bent as he stroked the fur of a kitten, who was busily munching away on some food laid out at the baker's feet. The truly astounding thing, however, was the look of complete rapture on Gwendal's face. Despite himself, Yuuri couldn't help but gasp rather loudly in surprise.
Instantly, Gwendal's mouth fell into a stern line, his eyebrows sinking into a glare as his head turned with an almost audible snap to lock his gaze on the intruder. It was much more terrifying than Yuuri had initially imagined, even—if one ignored the kitten, that is. A moment of silence passed while Gwendal glowered at Yuuri, who was struck dumb with surprise and terror.
"Do you have business with me?" Gwendal grumbled after it became apparent that Yuuri was simply going to gawk in astonishment forever if left to his own devices.
The question did manage to snap him out of it, however, as his brain switched gears from 'silent panic' to 'nervous panic.' "Oh, I, well," he gulped. "It's just that these customers both wanted strawberry shortcake, so suddenly we only had one left! And then, Conrad asked me to come back here and ask you if you'd made any more, or maybe it was to ask if you'd start making a new batch. But then something was up with Wolfram, and I thought you got murdered because you weren't in the kitchen, but… you were actually… here."
When the rant had run its full course, Yuuri shut his mouth and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. Gwendal looked completely unaffected by any of it. Almost as if he hadn't heard, he turned back to the little cat, who had just finished his meal. He ran his big hand over the small, furry back one last time before rising to his feet again. "I see," he said, turning back to Yuuri, who froze in place as he stepped forward. "I prepared an extra batch, since Wolfram mentioned that we were running low."
When Gwendal passed by him to return to the kitchen, Yuuri finally breathed out. He watched the white puff it created in the chilly air, feeling grateful for the sign that he was still alive and Gwendal's glare had indeed not killed him outright. As much as he wanted to work out the mystery of whether the man was truly terrifying or actually a gentle soul who fed kittens and doted on his youngest brother, Yuuri had the feeling that if he thought about it too hard, Gwendal would know somehow. The only solution he had come up with so far was that the only gene all three siblings had managed to inherit was a tendency for puzzling contradictions.