Sweet Temptations - 2. Chapter 2 - Shiro

“My, my, what a… selection we have here.”

Shiro smiles as he approaches the gingham alter, the eleven eight-stranded-plaited loaves laid out upon it in an anonymous order, the nervous contestants on their stools a little further off. Instantly his eyes flick along the row and he picks out one which is so perfect and tightly plaited it was as though he’d done it himself. He has no reason whatsoever to suspect that it was made by his favourite contestant, but he really wants it to be. Before he’s even realised what he is doing, he finds Keith in the line-up, perched on his stool like he’s ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble – and smiles.

And Keith smiles back.

Shiro is confident he’s not imagining the reaction, because whilst the rest of the contestants look varying degrees of terrified and nervous, one corner of Keith’s mouth tilts upward in a little lopsided smile Shiro can’t help but find completely endearing. It’s one thing for the boy to look like the culmination of every lonely, late night fantasy Shiro has ever had, but he’s also so sweetly earnest. Serious is a very good look on him, and Keith marshals his features back into it as soon as Sanda starts talking.

“Well, let’s start at this end. The plaiting isn’t great, they seem to have become a little confused at this end…”

Shiro has the bread knife, and he feels almost mean as he saws through the loaf.

“In fairness, it is baked all the way through though. Good crumb structure.”

“Indeed.” Sanda steps aside and they move to the next one. “Oh dear.”

Oh dear is right, because the plait in front of them is… wonky, and that’s being kind. Shiro says as much, but doesn’t dare look up to see which baker is trying not to cry into their apron. It cuts like a brick.

“The glazing is very good,” Shiro offers, grasping for something to be nice about before sipping some water to get the taste of whatever that was from his mouth.

The pretty loaf is second from the end, and Shiro can hardly wait to get to it.

“Now, this is an extremely pretty loaf.” Sanda says, practically glowing as she speaks. “Look at that shine.” She actually holds it up for the cameras, caressing the neat and even bumps of the intricate plait.

“And look at that,” Shiro says as he turns it over, “super-even along the back too, and a lovely colour all round.”

Inside, the loaf is gorgeously baked, the structure perfect, the rise sublime. If Shiro was being super picky, it could have maybe done with five minutes less in the proving drawer, but really, it’s a moot point. It’s wonderful.

“On to the last one.”

Honestly, Shiro’s not expecting anything mind blowing from the last loaf, but though the plait is obviously a bit too loose – the baker was clearly nervous of over working the dough – the taste is excellent. As good as the previous one.

“You should all be very proud,” Shiro says as he addresses the team of bakers, having conferred in hushed whispers with Sanda about the ranking. “It was a difficult challenge, and you all produced a finished, edible loaf. It’s nice to see that several of you followed my words of wisdom before you started the recipe.” He sees the eye rolls, which is fine. Most people don’t understand that for him patience yields focus is about much more than baking. “Well, let’s start here at the bottom. Who’s is this?”

The loaf which is a brick belongs to Kinkade, who somehow didn’t add the yeast to his dough despite it being the major ingredient. The wonkiest one is Nadia’s, which Shiro thinks is about standard for her, and so they go up through the names as he or Sanda explain their reasoning and the faults in as nice a sway as possible. Or at least, Shiro tries to be as nice as possible, tempering Sanda’s harsh tone with his own almost-compliments. When they reach the final two and only have Hunk and Keith left to name, he can feel his co-judge tense beside him.

“Second is… this one.” Shiro points to the loaf on the end, and Hunk blushes hard as he sticks his hand up to claim it. “It was really excellent Hunk. Such a good flavour, it just needed slightly tighter braiding.”

The back and forth of the show means it should be Sanda who talks about the winning loaf, but one sideways glance shows him that a muscle in her eyelid is visibly twitching. They both know Keith has come first in this technical challenge, and for some reason, Shiro knows his co-host really doesn’t like Keith. Shiro has no idea what it is about him that rubs her the wrong way, but they’d finished the first episode and she’d muttered something about not being able to wait until they were rid of the ‘bad boy of baking.’

Keith’s not a bad boy, though the idea of him in a leather jacket is one which causes Shiro to wish his trousers weren’t so tight. The gingham alter of bakery isn’t actually high enough for him to hide behind. Keith’s an oddity maybe. A little quiet, though not shy per se; maybe reticent, guarded. He doesn’t have a last name on file and Shiro knows from reading through all the baker’s personal histories gathered from their application forms and mini interviews, that Keith’s is very nearly barren. He is an enigma with talent, purple eyes, cheekbones which could cut glass, and strong, slender hands which Shiro has certainly not visualised wrapping around long cylindrical shapes. And not just rolling pins-

Shit, they’re waiting for him.

“Which means our winner, is Keith.” Shiro beams as the young man raises two tentative fingers in a little salute. “Congratulations Keith. I couldn’t have braided that better myself… and I suppose it’s you Romelle has to thank for her hair?”

Keith nods, blushing furiously as Romelle flips her hair over her shoulder to show off for the camera now trained on them. A quick elbow in Keith’s ribs has him stuttering out a thank you.

The end of the technical challenge is also the end of the first day, and now that the judgement is over, the camera techs want all the contestants out on the greens lawns surrounding the marquee for their exit interviews. Shiro carves another slice from Keith’s loaf as the technical catering assistants begin the mammoth job of clearing the marquee and removing all the food. Between the two challenges, a lot of bread has been produced today, and Shiro knows there will be a van and a staff member from the local orphanage here to collect it all. Baked goods aren’t the healthiest of foods – this is a given – but Shiro has been proud to donate as much food as is safe and sensible on every season of the show he’s worked on. Right at the beginning he had it written into his contract, it’s non-negotiable.

Which hasn’t seemed to matter to the new producers working on bringing the show over to another network. Shiro munches his pilfered slice of bread, and refuses to dwell on sad thoughts as he steps out the back entrance.

Only years and years of long hours in fast paced, high energy kitchens stop him before he smacks directly into the black clad figure heading the other way. The young man has lightning fast reactions too, but as Shiro raises an arm to brace for the expected impact, he steps aside and they both end up half stuck in the doorway to the marquee. And then a pair of violet eyes look up at him, and Shiro genuinely forgets all of the words in the English language.

“Konnichi wa,” he manages, then cringes internally. It’s been years since he failed this miserably at talking to a cute guy. “Sorry.”

“It’s no… it’s fine?” Keith looks unsure why he’s turned the words into a question. “Hi.”

“You did really well today Keith. You should be very proud.”

At such close range, Shiro has a front row view to the way that Keith blushes, the colour blooming across his high cheekbones as his dark lashes flutter closed. The pink of his lip pressed by pointed white teeth is sweetly endearing. As he did during the morning’s signature bake, he ducks behind his bangs, and the motion makes him seem small.

Shiro frowns.

“People don’t tell you your food is good often, do they?”

Keith shrugs. Shiro is aware that the boy must know he’s talented, he applied to the show after all. He waits, not pressing, and deliberately eats the rest of his slice of Keith’s bread where the boy can see him. The silence between them is far from uncomfortable, and eventually, Keith shuffles from one foot to the other and digs his hands into his pockets as he speaks.

“You have to actually have people for that.”

Shiro makes a noise to show he’s heard, but not one of inquiry. Either Keith wants to tell him, or he doesn’t, and Shiro knows better than to press. His curiosity can wait.

“I grew up in the system. You get used to not having people around to tell you you’re good enough.”

“You are good enough Keith.”

Keith turns, if possible, and even richer shade of red.

“Oh.”

Shiro touches his wrist, just to get him to look up, and only when Keith’s eyes land on his does he realise quite how close they are standing.

“I’ll keep telling you until you believe me.”

“As many times as it takes?” Keith asks, the tiniest hint of a smile playing over his lips. Shiro beams back.

“As many times as it takes.”

*

Hunk’s eyes light up when the showstopper challenge is announced. The baker’s have had time to practice their festival loaves, and several of them are clearly delighted with their recipes. Shiro fights his instinct to simply gravitate towards Keith’s workstation, as though he is the centre of the solar system, and head’s for the big Samoan’s bench instead.

“So, a good challenge for you then, Hunk?”

“Oh yes! I love this recipe, and so does my family. My tinamatua has been a very vocal critic – she always is – and we may have missed out on a lot of sleep trying to get this one right.”

Hunk’s excitement is infectious, and Shiro finds his cheeks plumping with a grin as Hunk talks him through his ingredients. There is coconut cream, palm sugar, and fresh coconut flakes which Hunk shaves off a halved fruit with a special peeler for him to try. Plus a whole range of dried and candied fruits which will be embedded in the loaf. The sketch is no less wondrous – though Hunk is clearly not a natural artist.

“So, you roll the dough out in a sheet, then paint it with the sugar and fruit mix and roll it up. Then it’s cut nearly all the way through – see I have these little wooden sticks to stop me from cutting too far.” Hunk holds out two batons which have already been well used as cutting guides judging by the knife marks along them. “And then we simply turn it into a ring and splay out the discs on their either of the main spine, glaze and bake.”

“Simply?” Echoes Pidge from the next bench, and the camera pans to them as the colour drains from their narrow features. “Simply, he says like that’s not an entire feat of engineering right there. Damn, I need to up my game.”

Shiro glances over at Pidge’s bench, and baulks at the sheer variety of ingredients strewn across it. Already, Pidge’s bakes have tended to have one too many elements, and Shiro wishes Hunk good luck before wandering over to join by Coran. The self-styled Handsome Man of the tent seems intent on dipping a finger into every ingredient, and Pidge appears to want to enable him in this. Shiro is practically in stitches by the time they are done, and retires to a stool at the side of the marquee to recover, sip some water, and observe the bakers and their work.

His attention drifts all too readily to Keith. There is something utterly mesmerising about watching the young man knead his dough. He’s taken off his over shirt, the red cotton simply flung over a nearby chair, and his apron is tied – unconventionally and technically against the producer’s regulations – around his waist. His plain black slim-fit tee shows off the long lines of his body, so taut and svelte as he stretches and pounds his dough into submission. The motion is fluid and speaks of many, many hours of practice – turning, pulling, folding, squishing – with a rhythm Shiro knows he could easily fixate on. Just watching Keith is akin to meditation. And each movement requires his muscles to stretch or bunch, and Shiro can’t help but think thoughts better reserved for the privacy of his bedroom, as he watches the way Keith bites his lip, eyes half shuttered in concentration, lashes fanning across his cheek.

Kolivan and Coran move around the tent, giving the contestants plenty of time off from trying to think, bake, and talk, in order to simply work on their showstopper festival loaves. Shiro is free to watch his favourite participant, with quick glances around the marquee to ensure no one has caught on to whom he is concentrating on. He smiles as Keith gets his dough into the proving drawer for its first rise, and begins to prep his fillings.

His festival loaf is going to be a traditional harvest wheat-sheaf, but with a wonderfully sweet twist. Shiro is very much looking forward to the apple and blackberry filling, the rosehip infused baked mice, and the other spiced pumpkin-dough critters which will hopefully adorn it. It’s a lot to do in five hours – considering each baker needs to let their bread prove twice – but Shiro has faith that Keith can manage.

“Could you stare any harder?” Kolivan asks, arriving at Shiro’s elbow and taking up a water bottle of his own as he steps out of range of the cameras.

“What?” Shiro snaps his spine ramrod straight, choosing to fix his gaze one somewhere, anywhere, other than Keith. He blinks, because apparently Lance is making an octopus, and Shiro’s definitely never been presented with a cephalopod in the tent before. “I’m not staring.”

“Uh huh.” Kolivan arches an eyebrow at him. “And I am an eight-foot-tall purple alien. See, we can both lie terribly.”

“Oh…” Shiro feels cowed. He fingers comb his fringe, before he glances up at Kolivan. Over the years that they have done this show together, he has come to think of both the hosts as friends, and Shiro feels cowed by the expression on Kolivan’s face. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh Shiro...” Kolivan smiles kindly. “Transparently obvious to everyone. Everyone, except Keith that is.”

“What are we talking about?” Coran chimes in without warning as he wanders over. He’s eating something – filched from one of the baker’s benches no doubt – and Shiro hopes it isn’t any of Kinkade’s rare and exclusive chocolate. They do not need another lack-of-ingredients disaster.

“The silver fox’s crush,” Kolivan replies.

Shiro shudders with distaste at the nickname. After his accident when his hair had started turning prematurely white, the two-toned look had been kind of cool. And then it had accelerated, giving him a full head of silvery hair in his early twenties, and the jokes had started. He’s managed to leave the ‘old timer’ nickname behind - having basically refused to speak to anyone who ever greeted him that way – but everyone loves to have a pop about him being mature and dignified and sensible. Sometimes, Shiro wishes he could be much less sensible.

“Shiro my boy,” Coran slings a friendly arm over his shoulder. “He’s half your age.”

“No, he’s not. He’s nineteen.”

“You checked?”

This is not a good time to divulge that he has memorised the entirety of Keith’s application form.

“I am not that old, Coran.”

“Golly, look at the time.” Coran rolls back the psychedelic print sleave of his mod-cut suit to check his imaginary watch. “Let’s go talk to the baker’s whilst their loaves go into the oven.”

Shiro watches the hosts as they depart, and – of course – he ends up looking at Keith. Keith who is snipping the spines onto a doughy hedgehog before glazing his loaf. Romelle sidles up to him as he gathers his glaze ingredients and grins, mirth overflowing from her features. They are fractionally too far away for Shiro to hear clearly, but so many years working in a second language has gifted him impeccable lip-reading skills.

He sees the shape of his own name, and watches as Keith’s cheeks pink up quickly.

“You should say something to him.”

“Melly…. What the heck could I offer him?”

Romelle gives Keith an unmistakable up and down, and Keith tries to hide behind his hair. He picks up an egg, ready to make his glaze.

“You know...” Her entire demeanour is casually conversational. “He is only nine years older than you. Like, I know it falls foul of the French rule, but it’s not that much. He’s looking again, by the way.”

Keith glances up, sees him, and the egg in his hand cracks – noisy as a gunshot. Egg white and yolk drips out though his slender fingers.

Coran coughs, and the camera swings to him.

“Well, that’s one way to get a rise out of a guy.”

Keith looks like he’s about to faint, and Shiro begins to stand, trying to work out how to rescue him from the developing situation.

“Please tell me not all of this ends up in the episode?” Keith asks weakly.

“Just remember we’re not allowed to swear,” Kolivan says loudly from his position by Griffin’s bench. “The producers have to edit out anything where anyone swears.”

“Fuck,” Keith intones with feeling.

Kolivan smiles brightly.

“Good boy.”

Forty minutes later at the end of the showstopper challenge, Keith’s loaf is a thing of beauty, Hunk’s is the most delicious thing Shiro has ever put in his mouth, and Romelle has managed to deliver something spectacular inspired by traditional samosas but which is still most definitely a loaf of bread. In discussion, Shiro cannot press Sanda into giving Keith the star baker award, despite the fact that he clearly is in this round having won the technical and done so well in the final bake, and the title instead goes to Hunk, who is still so incredibly deserving.

Kinkade goes home, there was just no coming back from the brick loaf. Everyone is sad to watch him leave.