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wonderlustlucas · 6 years

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saccharine - lee donghyuck

⇢ prompt “This is the only special part so far.” ⇢ pairing haechan x female reader ⇢ word count 2.1k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings none ⇢ summary One thing on top of another leads to one Hell of an emotional week. Luckily, the birthday boy with the sun under his skin and a passion when it comes to cinnamon buns is there to save the day.—highschool!au ⇢ a/n idrk what this is,,,,it started as one thing and ended as another BUT ITS OK cuz im so happy with this, i uwu, v cute, its kind of dramatic??and depressing??at first?? but low key relatable so UHHHHH enjoy! happy 18th birthday lee donghyuck ❥

The balance on which your patience and sanity sit on is far too close to teetering off the edge; one minuscule blow and off you will tumble, falling down into a hole of desperation and depression that only breakdowns and napping and pints of ice-cream can fix.

It’s simply an amalgamation of factors that will lead to your potential breakdown, a multitude of unlucky combinations that, in accordance with the universe, lunge upon you all at once. And while life could be much, much worse, it’s the overwhelming panic and desolation that makes it so unbearable.

The first, the least stressful but nonetheless one that has you sitting in bed at night on the brink of tears, is the reality that after a whole four years, one thousand four hundred and sixty days, high school would be over. All the set routines, all the unforgettable memories—all of it, cut off with a signed piece of paper and a handshake.

The second: your ex-boyfriend has someone new. While the breakup was months ago, a lengthy amount of time that allowed for the hopelessness and betrayal to finally diminish until you were back on your feet again, enjoying the life of not being tied down and being able to hook up with anyone you damned please, it hurts. It’s an odd sting, a wrenching in your heart that he has found someone else and you haven’t, a dull ache no matter how hard you convince yourself that you don’t care.

The third element to your disastrous undoing, one that every student faces and dreads: exams. You’re smart, undeniably smart, and that’s what makes exams all the more stressful. The honest-to-goodness want and need to do well, combined with the consequences of procrastination make for a week full of rushed studying and ‘I’ll be fine’s, followed by a two hundred question test slapped in your face at seven in the morning that only partially makes sense.

And the icing on the cake: you are premenstrual. It’s the final blow that makes your closing week of school so atrocious, one that heightens the sadness of this is it for school, the grief of a long ago broken heart, and the monstrous stress of finals. A voice in the back of your head always bitching, bubbling over in your mind that absolutely everything and everyone has to get on your nerves, topped with the undeniable horniness constantly aching in your brain and abdomen along with the wavering self-doubt, euphoria, despair, and irritability.

And even after the last day of school, the final exam, the cheering as you exit the building you’ve been a prisoner in for the past four years, the realization that it’s over, you still are in the grip of a silent panic, an unstoppable snowball fight in the pit of your stomach.

It’s an awkward time of the day once you arrive home from school for the last time, too late to make last minute plans but too early to crash no matter how much your heart calls you to.

Instead, you make a hasty decision to head back out even after you have changed into sweats, opting for a happy middle ground rather than choosing one and ending up disappointed. Off to the bakery you go, driving into the quieter part of town in impassive quietness and staring up at the baby blue sky.

It’s comforting in a strange sort of way, the soporific shade bringing a sense of luxury and serenity like warm milk and honey. However, all good things must come to an end, you realize after you park, abruptly exiting the car and slamming the door closed before making your way up onto the sidewalk.

Like a ghost in a world full of paper dolls you enter the bakery huddled between the bank and antique shop, a place where air is more delicious than any flavor and mouth-watering displays cause more regret than any drunken party ever could.

The cinnamon buns just so happen to be like your Achilles tendon; at the sight of one you’d stop dead in your tracks, the damned things are your nemesis and elixir all in one and there’s simply no denying a decadent treat like this on such a forlorn day.

Upon entering the bakery, you let out a mesmerized sigh at the beckoning aroma of fresh baked cookies and cakes and pastries and you hardly feel a hint of embarrassment when your stomach growls instantaneously. The impending hollow sadness quickly vanishes and is replaced with the sudden sense of tranquility. Finally, you think, stepping up to stand behind a young girl finishing her order, things can only get better from here.

However, just as you’re drilling optimistic thoughts into the confines of your brain, a customer with a dash too much pep in his step bursts through the door from behind you and, astoundingly, cuts in front of your spot with not even an ‘Excuse me.’

You’re flabbergasted, to say the least, sparks in your brain, desperately trying to connect the dots and instead just causing a short circuit. And suddenly you are underwater—everything is slow and warbled and you’re left unable to speak as the culprit has the audacity to move up in line and place his order as if nothing had ever happened.

And with a force like water bursting forth from a dam, brick by brick the walls come tumbling down, tears spilling down your face, struggling to breathe, you turn with a trembling chin to look toward the window, clawing for some sort of comfort in the light outdoors. However, the bustling of customers around you cannot mask the hushed sobs that shake your body, and no matter how furiously you wipe the tears from your cheeks or suck in air to calm your lungs, nothing can hide the fact that you are standing in the middle of a bakery weeping.

“Shit, that was not supposed to happen.”

The gentlest of hands grasping your own pauses your public breakdown, and for a split second, you jerk away from the tender touch until, no matter how hard it is to do so, you glance up.

“Donghyuck,” you hiccup upon recognition, “what’re you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? I should be asking you that,” Donghyuck chortles, “I went to buy you a cinnamon bun and then you started sobbing.”

Oh.

“You didn’t—you never,” you groan, “why didn’t you say hi first instead of cutting in front of me like an idiot?” You grumble, retracting your hands to messily rub away the remaining wet streaks down your cheeks, grossly heaving in oxygen and blinking out a few more tears. “I thought it would be cute and spontaneous, and then you turned to shit,” the tanned boy retorts, turning momentarily to grab the bag coasted across the counter to him before, suddenly, intertwining his fingers with yours and dragging you to a free table.

“So, why’d you go all batshit back there?” Donghyuck asks, rosy heart-shaped lips tugging up into a soft smirk even as he sits you down in the booth and takes a seat across from you. It’s dangerous, you realize; the mocking lilt to his voice paired with kindness that is more than out of place, and, of course, his overall handsomeness. From golden skin, warmer than any sunset you’ve seen, disheveled auburn hair dipping into black eyes with irises shimmering with all the stars in the night sky, cherry red lips that allow one-too-many smartassed words slip by. Lee Donghyuck is truly an enigma.

"Why’d you buy me a cinnamon bun?” You retort finally, reaching for the bag and tearing it open, eager for the delight inside. Donghyuck rolls his eyes, “Answer my question first.”

Stubborn. “I’ve had a rough week, and that was just the cherry on top,” you tell him truthfully, “also, how’d you know I was here?”

“One question at a time, tiger.” Snotty. “I didn’t follow you, you’re not that special, although I did see you walk in here with the most miserable look I may have ever seen and thought, ‘Hey, now’s a good time to rekindle what I had with the girl I’ve been crushing on since she dropped me for some fuckface baseball player sophomore year.’“

You blink once and then again, pausing your attack on the first bite of dessert to look up at Donghyuck. Candid. Processing his words, you stare at him blankly, his lips pouted into a smirk once more, “I did not drop you.”

“Babe, you definitely did.” A flirt.

“You’re the one that told all your friends I was a bitch!”

“God, ___, it was a joke. Ever heard of one of those?” Rude. “Can you just shut up and let me eat my cinnamon bun?” You grumble, peeling off a chunk, cinnamon glaze sliding under your nail.

“Technically it’s mine, but fine,” he chuckles, grinning devilishly as you pop the bit into your mouth, a hypnotized sigh escapes your lips and suddenly the golden boy isn’t so wicked. “Fine, I was a baby back then, I’ll admit it. However, if you’re trying to get me to fall for you again, this whole mocking me when I’m emotionally unstable isn’t gonna do it for you.”

Donghyuck processes your words, squinting as you go on with your feast, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning into the wooden table, “Why was this a rough week?”

“Well, let’s see,” you sigh, counting your fingers, “high school is over and university is going to be stressful, fuckface baseball player has a new girlfriend, exams made me lose brain cells, and my period is coming soon so I want to die.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” he comments, tearing a piece of the cinnamon bun off and you glare at him. “It’s not.”

“At least you have a cinnamon bun now,” beams Donghyuck, kicking your shins under the table and you groan. Childish. Licking your fingers clean you check your phone, glancing at the time and catching the date by chance. Then, “Isn’t today your birthday?”

“You remember?” He asks and your heart lurches at the innocent cloud that passes his features. You nod slowly, returning his smile, “Happy birthday, then.” Donghyuck‘s cheeks flush the faintest shade of coral and at the heat rising upon your own you turn away, clearing your throat and munching on another piece. Angelic.

“Anyway,” you cough, “how’s your birthday been so far? Any plans?”

Donghyuck shrugs, “None yet, just dinner with my family and I’ll probably hang with the boys tomorrow. This is the only special part so far.”

“Oh,” you quip, frantically searching for a spot to look at and settling on a grey pigeon outside, pecking viciously at whatever is on the pavement, “that’s good.” Glancing back to the cinnamon bun, mouth watering at the gooey center, you force the temptation back, “You can have that.”

His eyes light up. “Really?” You nod, laughing, watching joyfully as he instantly snatches the last bit up and shoves it into his mouth. “Fuck, man, that was good, thank you,” Donghyuck rambles, wiping the frosting from his fingers and reaching for your hands.

“So,” he sighs, nestling his hands into your own and squeezing them, “in all seriousness, since we’re going to the same school and all, could we maybe... try the whole dating thing again?” Determined.

Donghyuck grimaces, a fault you never thought you would ever see cross his face, for doubt simply did not exist in his life and here it is, spread out in front of you and your response is the next move in this game of chess. “Hyuck,” you chuckle softly, gliding your thumb across his palm, “I’d be dumber than dumb if I let you get away. Of course I want to try it again.”

“Really?” He squeals, you nod and he clutches you fingers once more. “That’s a relief, I was starting to worry I royally fucked up.” Entertaining.

You laugh again, eyeing him as he slides from the booth and throws out the bag before returning before you. “You certainly did not fuck up, you just made me happy for like, the first time in a week.” You follow him out, walking by his side to your car and squinting past the blinding streaks from the sunset, mesmerized by the melanin of his skin that suddenly seems to glow in the sunlight, reaching for his arm and curling your hand around his bicep. Breathtaking.

“Well, this was good,” Donghyuck gleams, a lighthouse shining out across the sea, pausing in front of the car, “I’ll call you soon?” A gentleman. “Okay,” you sigh blissfully, “I’ll be waiting by the phone.”

He kisses you too quickly, a rushed brush of his lips and then it’s gone with the wind; you have to tug him back, pulling him flush against your form, whispering a “Happy birthday,” because God, your week just got so much better and he’s just too sweet.

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