Sasusaku Stories - Lemons Included

Sugar pie

Sakura pov +alternate universe

You always had a knack for baking, even when you were young. You'd create grandiose cakes with your mother, host tea parties with your stuffed animals, bake cookies and cupcakes for your friends – it made you happy, filled you with a warmth that no other activity could mimic. 

As the years went on and you grew older, you became more adept in your skills. Everyone loved the treats you made; people would pay you to cater sweets to their birthday parties and the like. 

You'd often get compliments at work; many times children would fawn over your creations and beg their parents to buy more of your delectable goodies. You were undoubtedly a very skilled pastry chef, especially at your young age.

So why was it that your most frequent customer never tasted any of them?

You didn't know his name, not for sure, all you really knew about him was that he was some sort of businessman and his favourite place to stop by in the morning was the café you worked at. He'd always order one of your pastries, but never would he touch them.

 He'd always sit at the same table, typing away on his laptop or having his ear talked off over the phone, and every single time he'd pay for the food he didn't eat and leave. You weren't sure what his deal was, but he was starting to piss you off.

It had been months since he started regularly visiting the café, and not once did you ever see him acknowledge his food. 

As soon as you'd serve it to him, he'd give you a look and that was it from him. You could only assume he was loaded considering how much money he wasted on things he never even touched. 

Sometimes he just gave off an eerie feeling; he never started a conversation, never interacted with anyone other than to place his order, never acted different.

 You couldn't deny that it was hurtful that he never even glanced at the goods you'd bake for him – all that hard work just sitting on a table as nothing more than temporary decoration.

You caught on to his schedule – after seven months of the same damn routine it sort of engraved itself into your mind – every morning at seven o'clock, the tall man with the dark hair would sit at the table in the far corner. 

After this he would proceed to order any random pastry then do nothing for over half an hour before leaving for work. 

Things would go differently today, though, you were sure of it. You were sick and tired of this asshole wasting your food, you were going to confront him and demand an answer.

You waited as the time ticked by, it was nearing seven o'clock, and the short one would walk through that door any minute now.

Right on cue, you heard the sound of the front door opening, and there he was. Your eyes met for the first time in your not-quite acquaintance ship and you swore you felt a spark light up between you.