Radiant Short Story Collection

Our two-person baking studio

Thanks to the gentle hum of the commercial oven and the sweet, rich vanilla scent filling the air, the private baking studio felt like a true sanctuary. Outside, it was the hour when the city was completely asleep, but inside, the heat had left every window fogged with white condensation, warmly isolating us from the rest of the world’s noise.

Chanyeon oppa had finally achieved his wish, and he was throwing himself into this task completely, as if his whole being belonged to it.

Oppa stood in front of the big wooden worktable, wearing a simple white T-shirt and a dark apron, which made his broad shoulders stand out incredibly. His black hair was slightly tousled, and the delicately made artificial cochlear implant gleamed in the warm amber light of the overhead lamps. There was no sign tonight of his usual upright, polished image as the group leader. He was so thrilled to finally be learning something that he looked ready to chatter all day long. With flour still being sprinkled over the lump of dough again and again, oppa eagerly spilled out a happy, endless stream of stories.

“See? I did tell you that resting the dough is the most important part, but kneading is a lot harder than it looks on TV,” Chanyeon oppa whispered. It was that low, melting voice that always made my heart tickle. He stopped what he was doing and looked at me, a big, sunlit smile spreading across his face. Then he held out both flour-covered hands. “Am I doing okay? Or am I completely ruining the bread?”

“You’re doing great, oppa.” I answered with a soft smile. My wheelchair was comfortably parked at the edge of the counter. “Just don’t press too hard. Treat it gently, like you would a baby.”

“Gently. Got it.” Even as his ears turned a pretty rosy shade from my small compliment, oppa murmured under his breath. He let out a shy, chatty laugh, adjusted his apron, and then turned back to the dough with even more intense focus.

I leaned forward in my chair and reached toward the high shelf above the counter, stretching for the small bottle of cinnamon needed for the glaze. Just as my fingertips barely grazed the edge of the glass bottle, I shifted my weight to pull it a little closer.

Oppa didn’t waste even 1 second. Before the bottle had even finished wobbling, he had already rounded the corner of the table and stepped right into my personal space. His big, warm hand reached up, gently guiding my outstretched arm back down to my lap without the slightest bit of pain. At that very moment, his other hand naturally and steadily supported my waist. Holding me against the back of the chair so I could keep my balance, he used his long arm to snag the bottle from the shelf with ease.

Oppa didn’t let go right away. He bent down until he was at eye level with me, and in that gaze was a pure, deep tenderness that always made my reason fall apart completely.

“You could have just told me to get it for you,” oppa whispered in the quiet room, his warm breath brushing my cheek. He held my waist lightly as if supporting me, his thumb tracing a small, gentle line over my hip through my sweater. “What did I say earlier? Tonight I’m your personal bodyguard. Since you’re the teacher, just sit back and tell me what to do.”

“I was just trying to see if you were concentrating.” I teased softly, looking up into oppa’s warm eyes.

Chanyeon oppa’s breath caught for just a moment, then that big sunlit smile bloomed again, full of devotion around the eyes. He set down the cinnamon bottle, but he didn’t loosen the arm around my waist, pulling me an inch closer into his embrace so there wouldn’t be even the smallest gap between us.

A few minutes earlier, oppa had picked up a small, warm pastry fresh from the oven and broken off a tiny, perfect piece. He leaned in and carefully placed the sweet bite into my mouth, the tip of his warm fingers brushing my lips. “I’m always focused on you alone,” Chanyeon oppa whispered in that deep voice that seemed to melt my heart. It was a low, secret murmur, dissolved into the heat of the studio. He left a soft, lingering kiss near my temple, and a satisfied sigh full of happiness drifted from his chest over my shoulder. “Now tell me what to mix next. I’m not letting you step out of this kitchen until I’ve mastered this recipe perfectly.”