Your family ran the local confectionary.
As much of a dream as that may seem to be to others, it was somewhat torturous for you. Being the daughter of the owners, you had to help out in the store here and there – all the while not being allowed to sample any of the delectable sweets that were sold.
Ah, how you wanted to eat them.
On the middle section of the display sat the cakes, dripping with icing. Red velvet, chocolate mousse, carrot… you name it and your family store probably baked and sold it. Their fat bodies draped elegantly over their china resting plates as you mentally likened them to the classic Renaissance paintings of women, the soft lights of the store complimenting them perfectly. You wondered at how your parents managed to fit all those cakes into the bakery display – and into only the slim middle section at that.
To the right of the middle section sat the pastries. On the top row of this section were the éclairs, long, oblong-shaped pastries filled with choux cream and topped generously with icing. Next to the éclairs were the cream puffs, the little fat things brimming over with their inner goodness. You just wanted to sink your teeth into those things and nom on them 24/7. Petit fours and the like occupied the second row. And as to the third row… you weren’t even sure what it contained, but whatever the pastry inhabitants were called, they looked amazing.
On the other side of the cake section, to its left, were the cookies. Chocolate chip, snickerdoodles, gingerbread, sugar cookies, and the like were there. You loved nothing more than to recline in a big plush sofa, a mug of hot milk in one hand and a plate of cookies in the other.
Your mouth watered simply thinking about such sweets, until…
The somewhat sloth-like voice shook you out of your daydream, making you jerk up and wipe the drool that had dripped down your chin during your reverie. “Y-Yes?!”
“(Name)-chin, I want a pastry~”
You sighed and plopped down on the counter again, resting your cheek against the cold marble counter as your (hair length) (hair color) strands fell elegantly next to your head. Lifting a lazy hand, you waved hazily at the display. “You know what we have, Mukkun – you’ve been here so many times. Which one do you want?”
He leaned in, scrutinizing the various pastries. “Which do you suggest?”
“Try one that you haven’t eaten yet.”
“But I’ve eaten them all!”
You stifled a laugh at the adorable teen, so childlike and innocent in his fervor for pastries. Walking around the cash register to stand next to Mukkun, you pointed at a(n) (favorite pastry). “Why not eat that one?”
“But? Didn’t you like that one? Is there one you like more?” You cocked your head in confusion, curiosity etched in your expression.
He smirked and grabbed your hand, pulling you into his chest. The teen bent down and whispered in your ear, “You’re the sweetest one around. Can I have you?”
You stiffened and froze up, turning as pink as a raspberry macaron. “M-Mukkun?!”
He kissed your cheek softly, then let you go. “Just kidding~ Can I have an éclair?”
You turned around and stormed behind the counter, trying not to let the purple-haired youth see just how flustered he made you. “S-Sure..."
Wrapping and ringing up his purchase, you accepted his payment. As you counted the money in your hand, there was a small note taped onto a bill.
You’re so sweet, I almost thought you were a pastry.
“Read the other side, too.”
Obediently flipping the note over, you gasped.
On that note, I think you’re my favorite type of food.