Sweet Contagion

The living room glowed blue from the television, the volume low enough to be polite but loud enough for Y/N to keep track of the highlights. A sports anchor in a crisp suit rattled off match results and injury updates like it was life or death.

Y/N sat back on the couch, one arm draped over the cushions, eyes forward. He tried to look focused. He really did.

But the apartment smelled like strawberries.

Not the artificial kind, not the candy kind. It was warm and real, like fruit that had been cut open and left to sweeten the air. Beneath it was butter and sugar, that soft bakery smell that always made him think of mornings and slow days.

From the kitchen came a series of small sounds. A bowl being set down. A whisk tapping the side. A tiny hum that kept breaking into short little bursts, like Chaeyoung was making up a song and forgetting the words as soon as she sang them.

Y/N’s eyes stayed on the TV, but his attention drifted toward the kitchen doorway.

He heard her open a drawer, then another, like she was looking for something that had vanished on purpose. Then a quiet, dramatic little sigh.

He smiled without meaning to.

The anchor on TV switched to an interview, but Y/N barely registered it. He watched the kitchen doorway instead, waiting for her to appear, half expecting her to waddle out with flour on her face like she always did when she baked.

A minute later, she did not come out.

Instead, he heard the blender turn on for a second, stop, then turn on again with more confidence. The smell intensified, strawberries crushed into something smoother, sweeter.

Curiosity finally won.

Y/N muted the TV and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Baby?”

“In here!” she called back immediately, voice bright. “Do not come yet.”

That made him stand up.

He walked toward the kitchen with quiet steps, like that would somehow make him less guilty. The closer he got, the stronger the scent became, and the more he could hear her moving around, brisk and purposeful, like a tiny chef on a mission.

When he reached the doorway, he paused, bracing himself.

Chaeyoung stood on a small step stool at the counter, shoulders slightly hunched in concentration. She wore an oversized T-shirt that looked suspiciously like it belonged to him. The hem nearly swallowed her shorts. Her hair was tied up messily, a few strands escaping to frame her cheeks.

There was flour on the counter. Flour on the floor. Flour on her forearms. A light dusting of it decorated the tip of her nose like she had leaned too close to a cloud.

Y/N’s gaze followed the scene, bowl, whisk, strawberry puree, little carton of cream, and a plate of sliced strawberries arranged like they were precious gems.

He did not even have time to comment before she turned, saw him, and widened her eyes.

“Ah!” she said, accusing, like he had been caught committing a crime. “I said do not come yet.”

“I heard that and came anyway,” he replied, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you making?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, then glanced down at her bowl like it might reveal state secrets. “It is a strawberry thing.”

“That narrows it down to every food you’ve ever loved.”

Chaeyoung puffed her cheeks, then reached up with one floury hand as if to shoo him away. The motion was small, but dramatic. “It is important. It is for later.”

“What kind of later?” he asked.

Her gaze flicked toward him, suspicious and soft at the same time. “Later later.”

Y/N walked into the kitchen anyway. The space always felt smaller when he entered it, like the room had been designed for someone her size and he had to fold himself into it. He moved behind her, careful not to bump the stool.

“What is later later?” he asked again, voice lower, playful.

Chaeyoung’s ears turned a little pink. She tried to stay serious. “Later later is when you taste it and say it is delicious and you fall in love with me again.”

He paused. That hit him in the chest in that quiet way she always managed, like she said sweet things as casually as breathing.

“I already do,” he said.

Chaeyoung stared at him for a second, then blinked like she needed to reboot. “That was not the script.”

“It’s a better one.”

She made a sound that was half laugh, half squeak, then turned back to her bowl, determined to look focused again. “Go sit. Sports news is waiting.”

He watched her whisk. She was small, but aggressive about it, like the batter had personally offended her. Every few seconds she would tip her head, evaluate the consistency, then whisk again with renewed intensity.

Y/N leaned closer, peering over her shoulder. “It smells really good.”

“It is strawberries,” she said like that explained everything.

“Yeah. It always is.”

“It should always be,” she corrected.

Y/N folded his arms, amused. “Is this the addiction speaking?”

Chaeyoung finally looked at him fully, eyes bright with the kind of confidence she only had about two things: art and strawberries. “It is not addiction. It is passion.”

“Passion that makes you buy strawberry milk even when we have regular milk?”

“That is called being prepared.”

“Passion that makes you pick strawberry cake even when it’s not your birthday?”

“That is called self care.”

Y/N hummed, pretending to accept it. His eyes dropped to the plate of sliced strawberries. They were glossy, red, perfectly ripe. He could almost taste them just by looking.

Chaeyoung followed his gaze and immediately placed her hand over the plate like a guard. “No.”

“I did not say anything.”

“You were thinking with your mouth,” she said, very serious. Then she added, “You always do.”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “That’s unfair.”

“It is accurate,” she replied.

He leaned in again, closer. “At least tell me what kind of strawberry thing it is.”

Chaeyoung hesitated, then relented as if she were granting him a privilege. “Strawberry shortcake. But the cream is not normal cream. It is strawberry cream.”

He blinked. “You put strawberry in the cream too.”

She nodded, pleased with herself. “And there is strawberry syrup. Homemade.”

“Homemade?”

Chaeyoung pointed the whisk at him, warning. “Do not judge. You love it.”

“I do,” he admitted easily. “I just want to understand how you are still alive.”

She shrugged, then stepped down from the stool and held her arms out toward him.

Y/N automatically leaned back slightly, confused. “What?”

Chaeyoung lifted her hands higher, fingers opening and closing like she was summoning him. “Up.”

He stared. “Up?”

She nodded like he was the slow one. “Carry me. I need to get the bowl from the top cabinet. You are tall.”

“You have a step stool.”

“That is for decoration,” she said immediately.

He raised an eyebrow. “It is literally under your feet.”

“Just carry me,” she insisted.

Y/N stepped closer, hands settling at her waist. The moment his palms touched her shirt, she relaxed into him like it was her natural state. He lifted her without effort, and she made a tiny satisfied sound, arms looping loosely around his shoulders.

“Happy?” he asked.

“Very much,” she replied, cheek pressed against his for a second, warm and soft. She rubbed their cheeks together once, like a small affectionate stamp of approval, then focused on the cabinet.

Y/N held her steady while she reached up, grabbed the bowl she wanted, and set it on the counter.

“Okay,” he said. “Done.”

Chaeyoung did not move.

“Chaeyoung?”

She tightened her arms around his neck. “More.”

He sighed, but there was no real complaint in it. He shifted her slightly higher, and she giggled, face lighting up in a way that made him feel a little ridiculous for ever thinking he could say no to her.

“You are a toddler,” he told her.

“I am your strawberry toddler,” she corrected proudly.

“And I’m what?”

She looked at him like the answer was obvious. “My tall boyfriend.”

He stared. “That’s it?”

“And my carrier,” she added, patting his cheek with one floury hand. “My favorite.”

Y/N pretended to be offended, but his heart softened anyway. “If you get flour on my face, I’m putting you down.”

Chaeyoung paused, eyes sparkling with mischief. “If I get flour on your face, I will still kiss you.”

He opened his mouth.

She was right, and she knew it.

Chaeyoung leaned forward and kissed his cheek first, quick and sweet. Then she kissed the other cheek, just as quickly. Then she pressed her lips to the tip of his nose, the most ridiculous little kiss, and whispered, “See?”

Y/N’s ears warmed. He set her down gently, but before he could step back she reached up, grabbed his cheeks between her hands, and squished them.

“You are cute,” she declared.

“I am not cute.”

“You are,” she insisted, squishing again. “You are cute because you let me do anything.”

“That’s not cute,” he muttered, voice slightly muffled by her hands.

“It is love,” she said, satisfied, and released him like she had completed a ritual.

Chaeyoung turned back to her baking as if nothing happened. Y/N watched her for a moment, then glanced around the kitchen again.

There were measuring cups scattered like a small storm had passed. A bag of flour sat open with the confidence of someone who had never heard of resealing. Strawberry puree had splattered near the backsplash like pink paint.

“What happened in here?” he asked.

Chaeyoung did not look up. “Art.”

“This is not art,” he said, stepping closer to inspect a floury footprint on the tile. “This is a disaster.”

She shrugged. “It’s not a disaster. This is a masterpiece.”

Y/N leaned a hip against the counter. He had come in to satisfy curiosity, but now he felt that tug, that familiar pull of wanting to be near her while she did something she loved. Chaeyoung in the kitchen was different from Chaeyoung on the couch or Chaeyoung at her drawing desk. She was still herself, but louder in a quiet way, full of purpose.

He cleared his throat. “Do you need help?”

Chaeyoung froze, whisk mid air. Slowly, she turned to him, eyes narrowing.

“You want to help?” she asked, suspicious.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he repeated, trying not to laugh at her distrust. “I can do things.”

Chaeyoung’s gaze traveled over him like she was evaluating his usefulness as a kitchen tool. “Can you separate eggs?”

“I can learn.”

She pointed toward the sink. “Wash hands.”

Y/N did as told. While he washed, he watched her in the corner of his eye. She was already pulling ingredients toward him, setting up a station like she had been waiting for him to offer. Like she had known he would.

When he turned off the faucet and dried his hands, she handed him a bowl. “You will mix this.”

He looked into it. “What is it?”

“Dry ingredients,” she said. “Flour. Sugar. Baking powder. Love.”

“Love is not a dry ingredient.”

“It is for you,” she said, deadpan.

Y/N snorted, then picked up a whisk. He started mixing carefully, trying not to launch flour into the air.

Chaeyoung watched him like a hawk.

“You have to be gentle,” she instructed. “If you are rough, it will become angry.”

“It’s flour,” he said.

“It has feelings,” she insisted.

Y/N whisked a little slower. “Okay. Sorry, flour.”

Chaeyoung nodded, pleased. “Bravo.”

They worked side by side, her on the stool sometimes, sometimes not, moving between bowls with practiced confidence. Y/N tried to mimic her, but he was clumsier, his long arms awkward in the small space. When he reached for the sugar, his elbow bumped the open flour bag.

A soft white puff rose into the air like smoke.

Both of them stared at it.

Chaeyoung’s mouth fell open. “Oh.”

Y/N froze. “I did not do that.”

Chaeyoung looked at him slowly, then looked at the flour drifting down onto the counter, onto the floor, onto her strawberry slices.

“You did,” she said, voice strangely calm.

“I barely touched it,” he argued.

Chaeyoung hopped down from the stool and walked over to him with the seriousness of a judge approaching a guilty man. She tilted her head, eyes scanning his shirt.

Then she reached out and wiped her finger across his chest. Flour. She held up her finger as evidence.

Y/N stared, cornered. “Okay. I did it.”

Chaeyoung gasped in fake horror. “My kitchen. My strawberry cake. My strawberry life.”

Y/N tried to laugh it off. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it.”

Chaeyoung’s expression softened a little, but her eyes still glinted with mischief. “You will pay.”

“How?”

She reached into the flour on the counter and lifted her hand.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Baby?”

Chaeyoung’s smile grew. “Cheek.”

“No.”

“Cheek,” she repeated, stepping closer.

“Don’t you dare.”

She lifted her floury palm.

Y/N leaned back, but there was nowhere to go. The refrigerator blocked him on one side, the counter on the other. Chaeyoung, tiny and determined, advanced like a villain in a romantic comedy.

“You cannot run,” she told him.

“I can pick you up,” he warned.

“That is not a threat,” she said immediately. “That is a reward.”

Y/N exhaled through his nose, defeated. “Fine. One cheek. That’s it.”

Chaeyoung beamed, then reached up and pressed her floury hand gently against his cheek, leaving a clear white print.

She stepped back to admire it like she had just signed her work. “Perfect.”

Y/N stared at her. “You are evil.”

She nodded proudly. “Strawberry evil.”

He reached out, caught her by the waist, and lifted her before she could escape. Chaeyoung squealed, laughter spilling out of her.

“Y/N!” she protested.

“You started it,” he said.

Chaeyoung kicked her feet lightly in the air, not trying to get away, just enjoying being held. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and immediately pressed her cheek against his, smearing a little flour from his face onto hers.

He felt the warm brush of her skin and paused.

Chaeyoung went quiet for a beat too, then whispered, “Cheeks touchy.”

Y/N’s voice softened. “You’re getting flour on me.”

Chaeyoung blinked, innocent. “You already have flour.”

He held her closer, one arm secure around her back, the other under her legs. She fit into him perfectly, like she belonged in his arms. For a moment, the kitchen mess did not matter. The sports news did not matter. It was just the smell of strawberries and her breathing near his ear.

Chaeyoung’s fingers found his face again, gentle this time, tracing the edge of his cheek. “You came to help me.”

“I got curious,” he admitted.

“And you wanted huggies,” she said, very confidently.

He tried to deny it, but his arms tightened around her on instinct. “Maybe.”

Chaeyoung smiled and kissed the flour print on his cheek. “Good boyfriend.”

Y/N swallowed, feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with the oven. “Okay, strawberry toddler. Back to work.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes brightened. “Piggyback.”

“What?”

“I want a piggyback while we work,” she said, as if that was a reasonable request.

“You cannot bake on my back.”

“Yes I can,” she insisted.

Y/N stared at her. “You are going to knock over something.”

Chaeyoung pouted, her lower lip sticking out in a way that was unfairly effective. “Please. I will be good. I will just sit. Like backpack.”

“You are not a backpack.”

“I am strawberry backpack.”

Y/N sighed like he was carrying the burden of the world, then lowered her onto her feet. “Fine. One minute. Then you help properly.”

Chaeyoung immediately turned around and lifted her arms. “Piggy.”

He crouched slightly, and she climbed onto his back with practiced ease, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. She settled in like she had done it a thousand times. Her cheek pressed to the side of his head, warm and content.

Y/N stood up carefully, adjusting his grip under her thighs. “Happy?”

Chaeyoung hummed. “Yes.”

He took one step toward the counter. “Now what?”

“Now you bring me to strawberries,” she said, pointing toward the plate like she was giving directions to a taxi driver.

“You are already near the strawberries.”

“Closer.”

Y/N took another step and stopped right in front of the counter. “There.”

Chaeyoung leaned forward, peered at the strawberry slices, then made a pleased sound. She picked up one and held it near his mouth.

“Open,” she instructed.

Y/N opened his mouth and took the strawberry. It was sweet and cold, the kind that tasted like sunshine.

Chaeyoung watched his face closely. “Good?”

“It’s really good,” he admitted.

Chaeyoung nodded, satisfied, and fed him another. Then another.

Y/N chewed slowly, eyes narrowing. “Are you bribing me?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “So you will like strawberries even more.”

He swallowed. “I already like strawberries.”

Chaeyoung leaned closer to his ear, voice turning conspiratorial. “Not enough.”

Y/N felt her smile against his hair, then her cheek pressed against his again, a soft rub that made his thoughts stumble.

He carried her in a slow circle of the kitchen, partly because it made her happy, partly because he liked the way she clung to him like he was her favorite place. He stopped near the sink.

“Okay,” he said. “Strawberry backpack time is over. You have to help for real.”

Chaeyoung did not move.

“Chaeyoung?”

She tightened her arms, then murmured, “Two more minutes.”

Y/N tried to be stern. “No.”

Chaeyoung kissed his cheek from behind, quick and sneaky. “Yes.”

He went quiet, then sighed again. “You know you’re cheating.”

“It is not cheating,” she said. “It is being small.”

“That’s not a skill.”

“It is,” she insisted, smug. “I am cute. So I win.”

Y/N could not argue with her logic because it was, unfortunately, working.

He gently lowered her from his back and set her down. Chaeyoung immediately reached up and squished his cheeks again, leaving faint flour smudges on his skin.

“You are very easy,” she told him fondly.

“And you are very dangerous,” he replied.

Chaeyoung returned to the batter, and Y/N returned to mixing, now more careful. He tried to keep up with her pace. She moved fast, talking as she worked, like her thoughts needed to come out or she would burst.

“I saw this recipe online,” she said, pouring strawberry puree into a bowl of cream. “They said strawberry cream is optional, but that is a lie.”

Y/N watched the pink swirl fold into white. “Optional means unnecessary.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Optional means they are weak.”

He chuckled. “So anyone who does not add strawberry cream is weak.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, serious. “And pathetic.”

Y/N glanced at the fridge, remembering how many strawberry items lived inside it now. Strawberry jam, strawberry yogurt, strawberry milk, strawberry soda, strawberry mochi from the last time she had gotten excited at the grocery store.

He had thought it was excessive.

Now he was starting to wonder if it was just… normal for them.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” he asked.

Chaeyoung paused. Slowly, she looked at him like he had asked if she got tired of breathing.

“Tired of strawberries?” she repeated.

Y/N lifted a shoulder. “Yeah. Like, do you ever want something else?”

Chaeyoung’s eyes narrowed slightly, not angry, just intensely focused. Then she stepped closer, took his face in both hands, and squished his cheeks until his lips pushed forward.

“Listen,” she said, voice gentle but firm. “Strawberries are not just taste.”

Y/N tried to speak, but it came out muffled. “Mm.”

Chaeyoung nodded like she understood him perfectly anyway. “Strawberries are happiness. Strawberries are comfort. Strawberries are pink. Strawberries are cute. Strawberries are like love.”

She let go of his cheeks, and Y/N exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “That was a speech.”

Chaeyoung returned to stirring the cream. “It is truth.”

Y/N watched her for a second. “Is that why you like them so much?”

Chaeyoung glanced up, her expression softening. “Maybe. I liked them since I was young. When I was sad, strawberry milk. When I was happy, strawberry cake. When I wanted reward, strawberries.”

She hesitated, then added more quietly, “And now when I love someone, I want to share strawberries with them.”

Y/N felt the warmth in his chest again, that steady blooming feeling that always came when she said something honest.

He leaned closer, voice low. “So you’re trying to convert me.”

Chaeyoung smiled. “Yes.”

“And what if I resist?”

Chaeyoung tilted her head, eyes bright with confidence. “You cannot.”

Y/N laughed under his breath. “You sound very sure.”

Chaeyoung tapped the whisk against the bowl, then pointed at him with it. “Because I already see it.”

“See what?”

She stepped closer, lifted her hands, and gently traced his flour mark again, like she liked the proof that he had joined her in this. “You came to the kitchen. You asked questions. You ate strawberries from my hand. You let me carry you around with kisses.”

Y/N opened his mouth to protest.

Chaeyoung placed a finger lightly on his lips. “You are already half strawberry.”

He blinked. “Half strawberry?”

Chaeyoung nodded, very pleased with her diagnosis. “Soon full strawberry.”

Y/N captured her wrist gently and kissed her fingertip, making her freeze. Then he kissed her cheek, right where she had a tiny flour smudge. “If I become full strawberry, whose fault is it?”

Chaeyoung’s eyes softened, shy for a moment. “Mine.”

“And are you proud?”

Chaeyoung nodded, small and firm. “Very much.”

They went back to the cake, working in tandem. Y/N whisked, Chaeyoung folded, and somehow the mess got worse but the mood stayed light. At one point, Y/N spilled a little sugar, and Chaeyoung gasped like it was a tragedy. At another point, Chaeyoung flicked a dot of strawberry cream at his shirt and tried to pretend it was an accident.

He retaliated by dipping a finger into the cream and touching it to her nose.

Chaeyoung went still.

Then she slowly crossed her eyes to look at the dot of pink.

“You did not,” she whispered.

Y/N smiled. “I did.”

Chaeyoung lunged for him, hands reaching, but he caught her easily. She jumped, and he lifted her like it was nothing, her feet leaving the ground. She squealed, laughter bright, and wrapped her legs around his waist automatically.

“Put me down!” she demanded, but there was no real force behind it.

“No,” he replied. “You are too dangerous.”

Chaeyoung grabbed his face, squishing his cheeks again, trying to look stern. “I am not dangerous. I am small.”

“Small people are the worst,” he said, holding her firmly as she wiggled.

Chaeyoung pressed her forehead to his, then rubbed their cheeks together in a quick, affectionate nuzzle. “You love me.”

“I do,” he said, quieter.

Chaeyoung’s voice softened too. “Then give me huggies.”

He tightened his arms around her immediately, a full, secure hug that made her exhale like she had been waiting for it. Her hands slid into his hair, fingers warm, and she stayed there, resting against him like she belonged.

For a while, neither of them moved.

The oven hummed. The kitchen smelled like sugar and strawberries and home.

When Chaeyoung finally pulled back, she looked up at him, eyes soft and pleased. “Okay,” she said. “Now we finish cake.”

Y/N nodded. “Yes, baby chef.”

Chaeyoung smiled and kissed his cheek again, then slid down from his hold and returned to the counter with renewed energy.

Y/N watched her, then glanced at the TV in the living room, still muted.

He did not miss it.

He stepped closer to the counter, shoulder brushing hers. “So,” he said, trying to sound casual. “After this, can we make strawberry milkshakes too?”

Chaeyoung froze mid stir.

Slowly, she turned her head to look at him.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, then widened again like she could not decide what expression to wear. “You want strawberry milkshake?”

Y/N cleared his throat, suddenly self conscious. “I mean. If we have extra strawberries.”

Chaeyoung stared at him for a second longer, then her entire face lit up like someone had turned on a lamp inside her.

She made a small sound that was dangerously close to a squeal, then reached up and grabbed his cheeks, squishing them with both hands.

“You are getting worse,” she declared, delighted.

Y/N tried to protest, but his voice came out muffled again. “Mm.”

Chaeyoung giggled, then leaned up on her toes and kissed him, quick and sweet, tasting faintly like strawberry cream.

When she pulled back, she whispered, “My tall strawberry boy.”

Y/N felt his face heat up. “I am not.”

Chaeyoung tapped his cheek. “You are.”

Then she turned back to the cake, humming again, faster now, happier.

Y/N picked up the whisk and continued mixing, but his attention stayed on her, on the way she moved like joy was something she could hold in her hands.

Flour dusted the counter. Strawberry cream streaked the bowl. Their sleeves were a mess.

Y/N did not care.

He leaned closer, voice low enough that it felt like a secret. “After we’re done, you can have a piggyback ride to the couch.”

Chaeyoung’s head snapped toward him.

Her eyes sparkled. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirmed.

Chaeyoung smiled so wide it made his chest ache a little. She reached up, patted his cheek with fondness, and said, “Okay. Then we work fast.”

The cake cooled on the rack like it was proud of itself.

Chaeyoung hovered nearby, arms crossed, watching the sponge settle as if it might try to escape. Y/N stood beside her with his sleeves rolled up, flour on his cheek, strawberry cream on his shirt, and a look of concentration like he was guarding a masterpiece.

“Do not touch,” Chaeyoung warned.

Y/N nodded solemnly. “I won’t.”

Five seconds passed.

His hand inched forward.

Chaeyoung slapped the back of his wrist with a dish towel. “Yah.”

“I was not touching,” he said quickly. “I was just… hovering.”

“You are hovering with criminal intent.”

He sighed, then leaned down until his face was closer to hers. “But it smells so good.”

Chaeyoung narrowed her eyes, then softened, because he looked genuinely tortured. “You can lick the bowl.”

His eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Yes. That is your reward for being useful and not dying in my kitchen.”

Y/N immediately grabbed the mixing bowl and a spatula like it was the last food on earth.

Chaeyoung watched him scrape every last ribbon of strawberry cream with alarming focus. He even tapped the spatula against the bowl twice, then used his finger to get what remained on the edges.

Chaeyoung blinked. “You are… serious.”

Y/N swallowed and nodded, calm. “This is important.”

“It was not that important five months ago.”

He glanced at her, expression innocent. “I was younger then.”

Chaeyoung scoffed, but she was smiling as she cleaned the counter. “Okay, strawberry grandpa.”

“I am not old.”

“You are tall and dramatic, so you are old.”

He leaned down again. “You are short and dramatic, so you are a toddler.”

Chaeyoung made a small offended sound, then lifted her arms at him immediately. “Up.”

Y/N did not even hesitate this time. He picked her up under her thighs and set her on the counter like she belonged there, facing him. Her legs swung slightly, and she looked pleased, like a cat settling into a sunspot.

She patted his cheek. “Good.”

He leaned in. “Now kiss me. I did a task.”

Chaeyoung pretended to think about it, then gave him a quick kiss. “Okay. Now milkshakes.”

Y/N nodded too fast. “Yes.”

Chaeyoung paused. “Why are you so excited?”

“I like contributing,” he lied.

She stared.

He cleared his throat. “I like strawberry.”

Chaeyoung pointed at him. “You are changing.”

Y/N grabbed the blender and started rinsing it with purpose. “I am evolving.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes widened slightly, half proud, half wary. “Do not evolve too much.”

He looked up, serious. “No promises.”

They made strawberry milkshakes, extra thick, topped with whipped cream and tiny strawberry pieces. Chaeyoung took the first sip and made a happy hum that sounded like she was charging up.

Y/N took one sip and froze.

Chaeyoung noticed instantly. “What?”

He took another sip, slower. Then another. His eyes narrowed like he was trying to solve a mystery using only taste.

Chaeyoung leaned closer. “Is it bad?”

Y/N shook his head. “It’s… dangerous.”

Chaeyoung blinked. “Dangerous?”

He held up the cup like evidence. “This is how people lose their jobs.”

Chaeyoung laughed, then reached out and squished his cheeks with both hands. “Stop being dramatic.”

He did not resist. His cheeks were practically trained for this now.

Chaeyoung released him and took a sip again, satisfied. “Okay, we wait for cake.”

Y/N nodded, but his gaze kept drifting to the cooling rack. Like it was calling him.

Chaeyoung followed his line of sight and sighed. “You are going to be so annoying.”

“I’m already annoying,” he replied.

Chaeyoung stared at him, then smiled. “Fact.”

When the cake was finally ready to assemble, Y/N stood too close, watching Chaeyoung spread strawberry cream with careful strokes.

“You are breathing on it,” she said.

“I am supervising.”

“You are drooling.”

“I am appreciating.”

She turned her head and poked his cheek sharply. “Go. Sit. If you watch too hard, it will collapse.”

Y/N reluctantly backed up, then watched from two steps away instead. Still supervising. Still appreciating. Still obviously in danger of becoming a problem.

When Chaeyoung finished and topped the cake with strawberries arranged like a crown, she stepped back, hands on her hips. “Okay.”

Y/N appeared at her side instantly. “Okay?”

Chaeyoung sliced the first piece, small and neat. She held it up to him. “Here. One bite.”

“One bite?” Y/N repeated, genuinely confused. “You mean one slice.”

“One bite first,” she insisted, smiling. “Then we celebrate.”

Y/N leaned down and took a bite.

His eyes widened like someone had turned on a light behind them.

Chaeyoung waited, pleased. “Well?”

Y/N swallowed carefully. “I love you.”

Chaeyoung laughed. “That is not a review.”

“I love you and this cake,” he corrected immediately. “It is perfect. The strawberry cream tastes like heaven. The sponge is soft. The strawberries are sweet. The balance is correct. The mouthfeel is excellent.”

Chaeyoung blinked at him. “Why do you sound like a food critic?”

“I am awakened,” he said quietly.

Chaeyoung squinted. “Do not be awakened.”

“I am already awakened,” he repeated, then leaned in and kissed her cheek.

Chaeyoung smiled and kissed him back, quick and warm.

Then Y/N kissed her cheek again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Chaeyoung laughed, leaning away. “Okay, okay.”

Y/N followed, gentle but persistent, kissing her cheek like it was his new hobby.

Chaeyoung pressed a palm to his chest to stop him. “Why are you doing that?”

He looked at her with complete sincerity. “Because your cheek looks like a strawberry.”

Chaeyoung froze.

“What?” she said slowly.

Y/N cupped her face carefully. “It is round. It is pink. It is cute. It looks like strawberry mochi. I want to eat it.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes widened into pure alarm. “Do not say that.”

“I mean it romantically,” he said, completely unhelpful.

Chaeyoung slid off the counter and tried to walk away, but Y/N wrapped his arms around her from behind, lifting her slightly so her feet barely touched the floor.

She made an indignant sound. “Y/N!”

He buried his face near her cheek and kissed it again. “Strawberry.”

Chaeyoung flailed, laughing and suffering at the same time. “Stop. I cannot rest. You are too much.”

“You made me like this,” he said against her cheek.

“I did not.”

“Yes you did.”

“I only liked strawberry products,” she argued. “Normal strawberry products.”

Y/N finally set her down and turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders, eyes serious like he was about to reveal a secret conspiracy. “That is how it starts.”

Chaeyoung stared. “No.”

He nodded slowly. “First is strawberry cake. Then strawberry milk.”

Chaeyoung’s lips parted. “Stop.”

Y/N continued like he could not stop himself. “Then you think, what about strawberry croffle. Strawberry cheesecake. Strawberry cream bread.”

Chaeyoung blinked rapidly. “Okay, those are still normal.”

Y/N leaned closer. “Then one day you wake up and you think, strawberry matcha latte with strawberry cold foam.”

Chaeyoung hesitated. “That actually sounds good.”

Y/N nodded. “Yes.”

Then his eyes gained an unsettling shine. “Then you think about strawberry basil soda.”

Chaeyoung frowned. “Basil?”

“Fresh basil,” he clarified. “It cuts the sweetness.”

Chaeyoung stared, confused. “Why are you talking like you have tried it?”

Y/N looked away for half a second.

Chaeyoung’s eyes widened. “You tried it.”

“It was one time.”

“When?”

“Last week.”

Chaeyoung stepped back. “Without me?”

“It was research,” he said quickly.

Chaeyoung crossed her arms. “Since when do you research strawberry?”

Y/N hesitated, then quietly pulled out his phone and opened a note.

Chaeyoung leaned closer and read.

It was a list titled: “Strawberry ideas.”

Below it were categories.

1.Drinks.
2.Desserts.
3.Snacks.
4.Breakfast.
5.Late night.
6.Seasonal.
7.Emergency.

Emergency.

Chaeyoung looked up slowly. “Emergency?”

Y/N nodded. “In case strawberry cravings happen suddenly.”

Chaeyoung stared at him like she was looking at a stranger. “You are insane.”

Y/N looked mildly offended. “I am prepared.”

Chaeyoung grabbed his cheeks and squished them hard. “You used my words!”

He smiled through the squish. “Because I learned from the best.”

Chaeyoung released him and put her hands on her hips. “Okay. Tell me. How bad is it?”

Y/N glanced away, then back, like he was confessing something serious. “I thought about strawberry ramen.”

Chaeyoung’s soul left her body for a second. “No way.”

“I did not do it,” he said quickly. “I only thought.”

Chaeyoung pointed at him sharply. “Do not think it.”

“I cannot control thoughts.”

“Yes you can.”

He continued, unable to stop. “Also strawberry fried chicken glaze.”

Chaeyoung squeezed her eyes shut. “No!”

“With chili,” he added. “Sweet and spicy.”

Chaeyoung opened one eye. “Chili?”

Y/N nodded eagerly. “And sesame.”

Chaeyoung stared at him for a long beat.

Then she whispered, horrified, “Why does it sound like you could make it good?”

Y/N’s face brightened. “I can.”

“No,” she repeated. “No.”

He leaned forward, excited. “We can try a small batch.”

Chaeyoung grabbed his shoulders. “You are way worse than me.”

Y/N looked genuinely proud. “Thank you.”

“That is not a compliment.”

He shrugged. “It feels like one.”

Chaeyoung looked torn between pride and regret. “I created a monster.”

“A strawberry monster,” he corrected.

“A tall strawberry monster,” she said, pointing at him. “With cheek obsession.”

Y/N leaned down. “Your cheeks are still strawberries.”

Chaeyoung slapped his chest lightly, trying not to laugh. “Stop calling them that!”

“I will call them what they are,” he said, serious.

Chaeyoung turned away, but her smile betrayed her. “Okay. Eat cake. Calm down.”

They ate together at the small kitchen table, knees bumping under it. Chaeyoung ate with little happy hums. Y/N ate like it was a religious experience, pausing every few bites to say something unnecessary.

“The strawberry distribution is excellent.”

Chaeyoung sipped her milkshake. “Stop.”

“The cream is airy.”

“Stop.”

“The strawberries taste like love.”

Chaeyoung froze, then looked up at him, caught off guard.

Y/N met her eyes and smiled, softer now. “I mean it.”

Chaeyoung’s cheeks warmed, strawberry cheeks apparently. She reached across the table and poked his cheek. “Okay. You can say that one.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked to her finger on his cheek. “Now you are touching my cheek.”

“Because you are cute.”

“And you are strawberry,” he replied, immediately kissing the side of her finger.

Chaeyoung pulled her hand back fast, flustered. “Yah!”

Y/N laughed, low and warm. “You started this. You are the one who trained me with huggies and strawberries.”

Chaeyoung narrowed her eyes. “I did not train you.”

Y/N leaned back in his chair, completely confident. “Yes you did. You gave me strawberry cake when I helped. You gave me kisses when I carried you. Now my brain connects strawberries to happiness and happiness to you.”

Chaeyoung blinked at him.

His logic was annoyingly sweet.

She tried to stay stern. “So what happens now?”

Y/N’s face turned thoughtful. “Now we keep going.”

“Keep going where?”

“Forward,” he said.

Chaeyoung frowned. “Forward into what?”

Y/N tapped his phone. “Into new combinations.”

Chaeyoung’s face fell. “Oh no.”

He brightened again. “Tomorrow, strawberry pancakes for breakfast.”

Chaeyoung nodded cautiously. “That is fine.”

“And strawberry whipped cream.”

“That is normal.”

“And strawberry syrup.”

“That is also normal.”

“And strawberry butter.”

Chaeyoung blinked. “Butter?”

“It exists,” Y/N said, nodding like a scientist. “We can make it. Strawberry and honey. Maybe a pinch of salt.”

Chaeyoung stared for a moment, then slowly sat back. “I regret a little.”

Y/N reached across the table and gently took her hand. His thumb rubbed over her knuckles. “Do you really regret?”

Chaeyoung looked at him. He looked so happy, so earnest, like he had found a new world and wanted to share it with her.

She sighed, then smiled. “Maybe I regret one percent.”

Y/N nodded. “Acceptable.”

Chaeyoung squeezed his hand. “But you cannot do strawberry ramen.”

Y/N hesitated. “Can I do strawberry tteokbokki?”

“No.”

“Strawberry dumplings?”

“No.”

“Strawberry kimchi?”

“Absolutely not.”

Y/N looked genuinely wounded. “Why do you hate me?”

Chaeyoung laughed, leaning forward. “I love you. I just want you to stay alive.”

“I will stay alive,” he promised. “I will only do safe strawberry.”

Chaeyoung narrowed her eyes. “What is safe strawberry?”

Y/N thought, very seriously. “Anything with sugar.”

Chaeyoung nodded. “Good. Stick to sugar.”

He smiled. “Yes, boss.”

When they finished eating, Y/N stood and circled the table, then opened his arms. “Huggies.”

Chaeyoung immediately stepped into him, pressing her face to his chest. He wrapped her up completely, chin resting lightly on her head. She fit like she was made to be held.

Y/N rocked them gently, slow, content.

Chaeyoung’s voice came out muffled. “Piggyback.”

Y/N laughed quietly. “Now?”

“Yes. To couch.”

He tightened his arms once, then let her go. “Okay. Climb.”

Chaeyoung turned around and lifted her arms behind her, already ready. “Piggy.”

Y/N crouched and she climbed onto his back like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her cheek pressed to the side of his head, warm and soft.

He carried her to the couch with careful steps. She hummed, satisfied, then kissed his cheek.

“Strawberry carrier,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Strawberry toddler.”

When he lowered her onto the couch, she immediately reached up and grabbed his cheeks, squishing them. “My cheeks are not strawberries.”

Y/N leaned down until his face was inches from hers. “They are.”

Chaeyoung covered her face with both hands. “I cannot rest.”

Y/N gently pulled one of her hands away, then kissed her cheek. “Rest. I will guard you.”

“Guard me from what?” she asked, laughing.

“From sadness,” he said simply. Then, after a beat, he added, “And from running out of strawberries.”

Chaeyoung peeked at him through her fingers. “You are really fully addicted.”

Y/N nodded, proud and shameless. “Yes.”

Chaeyoung stared at him for a moment, then her expression softened into something fond, something a little stunned. Like she was looking at the consequences of her own love and realizing they were not so bad.

She patted the spot beside her. “Come here.”

Y/N sat, and Chaeyoung immediately crawled into his lap so their heights felt fair for once. She curled against him, arms around his neck.

“You are comfortable,” he murmured.

“I am small,” she replied, smug.

He kissed her forehead. “You are my small.”

Chaeyoung’s voice softened. “And you are my tall.”

They stayed like that for a while, quiet, warm, full of sugar and strawberry.

Then Y/N spoke again, thoughtful. “Baby.”

“Hm?”

“If your cheeks are strawberries,” he said slowly, “does that mean when I kiss your cheek, I am drinking strawberry juice?”

Chaeyoung jolted upright. “Stop. Stop right now.”

Y/N laughed, and Chaeyoung smacked his shoulder, but she was laughing too, trapped between affection and horror.

“You are such a menace,” she muttered.

Y/N pulled her into a tight hug again. “You like it.”

Chaeyoung sighed dramatically, then melted into him anyway. “Maybe.”

Y/N kissed her cheek one more time, softer now, less teasing.

Chaeyoung mumbled, “Okay. One more is fine.”

Y/N leaned down with a mischievous grin and gently bit her round cheek. Not a nibble. A proper bite.

“Ah!” Chaeyoung yelped, pulling back instantly. She pressed a hand to her cheek, eyes wide with betrayal. “Yah! You bit too deep!”

Y/N froze, realizing his mistake. “I was just tasting—”

“You bit me like real fruit!” she whined, sulking immediately. Her lips pushed into a pout as she rubbed the spot, looking exactly like an offended toddler. “It hurts, you giant strawberry idiot…”

Her sulky expression was so adorable that Y/N had to bite back a laugh. He quickly cupped her face with both hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cooed, voice sweet and apologetic. “Let me heal it.”

He leaned in and placed soft, gentle kisses on the bitten cheek. One. Two. Three. Each kiss slower and more tender than the last.

Chaeyoung continued sulking, but her pout slowly started to melt. “Still hurts…”

Y/N smiled against her skin, then tilted her chin up. Without another word, he captured her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Chaeyoung let out a tiny surprised sound before melting completely, her hands fisting his shirt as she kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, her cheeks were even pinker.

“Better?” he whispered, brushing his nose against hers.

Chaeyoung looked at him with sparkling eyes, still pretending to be mad but clearly failing. She poked his chest.

“…One more healing kiss. On the lips. And you’re not allowed to call my cheeks strawberries for a week.”

Y/N chuckled softly and leaned in again.

“Deal.”

Her boyfriend was fully addicted now.

And somehow, it only made him love her more.