The New Year's breezes had been rolling in, feeling much different from yesterday. The ground was frozen solid, the bare snow of last night sticking and becoming solid on top. I'd tentatively smashed through many of these snowbanks, remembering how silly we'd been last night. Wanting to retain that child-like sense of wonder. It was far from running in the street with him, but cracking the snow tops was like a sin. Such a pleasurable one. 

That freedom. It was unparalleled. Yelling with him, making as much noise as we wanted with little regard to others. Holding him in my arms even though many people could see us from their windows. They'd think, "oh, they're just drunk, it's New Year's." Yes, we'd been drunk, but it was much more than that. Letting myself go. Doing what I wanted. It resonated with me, because it's what Seo-Yoon had told me at the airport. That I do anything I want here. That wasn't true, but it was becoming that.

In front of me, the hot oven was on. Almond cookies were baking in there, meant to be boxed later for people to take home. It seemed like something French Cup did a lot for special events. Behind me, there were adorable noises and a cooking video on. I didn't want to stare, or he might get too nervous.

"Place your yakgwa into the oil," said the dreamily wandering voice in the cooking video.

"Huhhh?" Came Kazuya's innocent response to it. "But it's not hot enough yet. Wait, wait. Ehhhh? My yakgwa?"

The way he kept saying "yakgwa" was adorable. Yah-ku-gu-wah. I turned, hearing this cuteness again. 

"It's yak-kgwah," I said, unable to help it anymore. He was making my heart melt every time. I wanted to teach him. My cheek went in my hand as I rested my elbow on the table. There would be many more batches of almond cookies that I could "monitor" for him. This I had to do. The potential...

"Huh?" He paused the video and sat on the stool opposite mine, his hands folding earnestly on the table. My other hand reached toward them, touching them preciously. I tapped them.

"Yak-kgwah," I pronounced for him, my smile curling at his innocent expression. His eyes were so big at this, his unsureness.

"Yah-ku-gu-wah," he said slowly. 

"Yakk-kgwah," I giggled. How was he this adorable? His lips went into his mouth, his eyes going impossibly bigger as he tilted his forehead toward me. 

"Yakk-wah!" He burst out loudly, grinning at me. My pose collapsed on the table, my forehead meeting the cold metal gently. I stayed there as he laughed at me. It was like an impossible alternate universe. It was with this that I knew he was playing with me. I started laughing, too, just like last night in the street. Helpless, my shoulders going up and down. "Did I say it right?" He asked. 

"No, it's-"

"Yakk-wah!" Like an army shout. 

I snorted hugely, finding small tears at the edges of my eyes in my laughter. 

"Did I do good?" He asked, using cute language. 

It was like the high we'd had last night never ended. We were still like little kids. He made cute "tee-hee" giggles and his hands left mine. "Yakk-wah, yakk-wah," he repeated over and over, knowing this new word made me laugh. His purposefully high, cute voice was too much with it. I wiped tears from my eyes as the yakgwa touched the now hot enough oil, sizzling as they most likely went to the bottom of the deep pan. 

Being playful like this with each other. I wanted it all the time. Every morning, I wanted to be here. Yesterday, when he'd said he'd left French Cup without his coat to try to find me? I knew what that meant. It was just like when I'd tripped down the stairs of the hotel last night, too in my thoughts about him to notice my steps. I'd caught myself on the railing, but my heart had been beating a million miles per hour for more than the scare of almost falling. 

They'd been talking earlier about going to a local shrine for New Year's blessings and fortunes after the brunch. Everyone would be in their formal best, and I wanted to see Kazuya in a kimono. It was the sort that men wore for important events here. I couldn't even imagine him in one of those. I had to see it. I'd wear my best suit and tie as well. 

I'd decided that after we received our fortunes, I'd take him to a beautiful spot. I'd sit him down and explain my feelings. How important he was to me, to my own changes. How I'd never have been able to do it without him, or even have recognized that I needed to. That I'd never have found this world without him, and that made him more special to me than anyone else in the world. How wonderful he was, teaching me something new everyday. How I couldn't survive a day without seeing his smile. 

I would tell him, in that nice quiet spot as I held his precious hands, that I wanted him to be my boyfriend if he wanted that also. If he'd accept me, even though I didn't know much about his world yet. That I'd be a patient student, and also the most loyal boyfriend he'd ever know. That I wanted him in my life absolutely, and I just hoped he'd allow it. 

Maybe it was too formal, but I had to ask this way. He was too important to treat casually in this. As soon as they began discussing that shrine, I knew the perfect way. Everything between then and the shrine was just a bonus, millions more reasons why I loved him. Teasing me about the yakgwa was another perfect example. How he made me feel in this kitchen, warm more so than that there were cookies in the oven. He made it that way, filling me with warmth. He did so every day when I entered French Cup. 

I'd long known that he was the magic in French Cup. It was just pastries and coffee otherwise. He was the reason this place was home. He was my home. I'd left Korea, trying to find the place for me. I thought that place was French Cup. How wrong I was. The place was him, he was all of it.

"Yakk-wa, yakk-wa," he whispered under his breath, clearly still smiling while turned away from me. He swayed his butt a little, the tail ends of his blue and white apron swaying with it adorably. My hand went to my mouth, trying not to disturb his cooking. Was this cooking or baking? Maybe both? It didn't matter. It just mattered that he was doing it. 

Behind me, the oven dinged. 

"Oh- oh," he gasped. Without being asked, just like before I rose out of my seat quickly. I located his kitten oven gloves and shoved them on just as fast. In a flash, the oven was open and I waited for the burst of hot air. In seconds, this batch of almond cookies was out. Then the one from the top rack, and the one from the bottom. Every time I placed one on the table, he was there staring at me open mouthed, the cookies sizzling behind him almost forgotten. "I- uhh," he sputtered. Any teasing was gone, just shock like the last time I'd done it. 

I blew air upwards out of my mouth, making the hair dance on my forehead. I brought another large cookie sheet from the metal wire rack on the wall and placed it on the table. Just as I'd seen him do six times today already, I took the flower shaped cookie cutter and began pressing out cookie shapes in the already rolled out dough, wiggling the cutter to really get through it, matching his movements. The almonds inside the cookies crunched as I went through them, such a satisfying sound. 

"Ahh!" He gasped, and I looked up immediately in worry. He was squirming his body now facing to the stove, frantically flipping over the yakgwa. 

I was giggling again. He'd totally forgotten his cookies as he'd watched me work. His surprise so evident, overwhelmed that I was helping him again. Why did he have to be surprised? I wanted to help him for as long as he'd let me. Being in this kitchen with him was paradise. It was all that I wanted. I longed for it when I was at work, daydreaming about the times we'd been here alone. 

Holding him in my arms last night, his face so close to mine for such a long time. Staring into his eyes, seeing his faint blush at being so close. The ticklings in my heart as I held him like that, making sure he was safe and didn't fall in the snow anymore. That's how I knew I was certain. He felt the same way about me. Not trying to get down out of my arms, not asking to be let go. How he'd hugged me earlier in the night had been my clue. Now, I was sure. 

In no time, the almond cookies I'd pressed were long done baking. I was working on boxing the chilled batches of cookies into neat little boxes. I looked up as I heard a familiar sound. Little tinklings like when you pour cereal into a bowl. 

Before me, he was pouring the yakgwa into a metal bowl full of honey syrup. As a child, my mom had let me mix these and coat them thoroughly. She'd been critical, saying I wasn't covering them correctly and would take over. But, I was patient. I wanted to see what kind of yakgwa he made. Already, he'd made a huge mistake even before he'd started, but I hadn't said anything. Even though they weren't perfect, they were his. I wanted to eat anything he made. 

I got up at this, pausing in my boxings. I stood with my head over his shoulder. He stiffened up, and my arms went around him from behind. My chin poked his shoulder and he relaxed completely, just like in the hug from last night. It was like this, I let him know. 

"By the way," I whispered into his ear. "Um...you're supposed to soak those in the syrup overnight. They're going to be delicious, though."

He jumped hugely, making my arms go loose, but I tightened them again. 

"What- Ehhhh?!" He gasped hugely. He was way too cute. I began laughing, unable to help myself just like earlier. His hands dropped to the table and he let out another deeply dejected sound in his seriousness. 

"I want to eat them," I said, no joking. "They look delicious."

"But, the syrup- oh, if they soak for that many hours, it'd soak all the way through, right? That's why? Ohh nooo, Gyeong-Wan I made a mistake! They're not yakk-wah now, right? Ohh nooo... I'm so sorry."

"No, they are yakk-wah." I pronounced it incorrectly, like his cute pronunciation. "They're not perfect, just like your word for them. But, they're still delicious."

I squeezed him more, and it took everything I had not to kiss his cheek. To comfort him and love him. I pressed my cheek to his instead and he stayed this way, not moving, too. His hands found mine and went around them, holding them to his stomach. We stared at his still soaking cookies. 

We wouldn't be eating them until dessert, anyway. They could still soak for a few hours. What was important was that he'd made them for me. Wanting to specially make them for me, no one else. This was how I knew, too. There were only eight cookies here. Not nearly enough for anyone else. These were my cookies, just for me. To make me feel special.

As I held him, I began laughing again. He made another adorable dejected noise. 

"Gyeooong-Waaan," he whined, devastated. "My cooookiiiies..." But, soon he was laughing, too. Catching mine. 

I swayed with him, just like last night. Loving him in this hug. Showing him it was alright. That I was endlessly happy, seeing these imperfect cookies he'd made just for me.