Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this fan fiction belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I just rented the character for a means of mangled non-profitable entertainment that I probably shouldn't partake in...but will, anyway. Except Sally, whom I invented for the purpose of the plot.

Written in response to all of those L fics out there that A) have "L love story" in either the title or summary; B) have the word "cake" or a synonym to it in either the title or summary; and C) pair L up with an OC. Which I really don't mind, but you know…

SHORTIE

He visited her every day. Sometimes in the morning, very soon after she opened up, he would show up. Sometimes he would be there before then, and she had to admit, it startled her at first to find him already there by the door at five or so, the dark lines under his owl-like eyes implying that that weird bugger may well have been waiting there all night. Most boys she knew would call it quits by five in the morning, or still be snoring out their nasal cavities at home.

She had nothing to complain about, though. He meant no harm; only to resume the delectable affair that had blossomed on the first day he had met her. With a nod in greeting, she took the key to the lock, the copper bell tinkling groggily as she swung the door open, inviting him in.

Ever one of few words, he followed her across the threshold, the soft pitter-patter of his battered sneakers barely audible to the naked ears. From behind her, the first thing he did as soon as he crossed the room was embrace her…

…counter.

And his was not the kind of embrace where the arms were flung around the glass. His kind was slouching against it by the arms, his fingers bent like spider legs as he eyed the selection of pastries behind the glass, particularly the dainty shortcake displayed in the middle, her strawberry crowns glistening under the light like precious rubies. All of the pastries were lovely, but she was the loveliest of them all, the cream of the stock.

"Come for the usual, I assume?" asked Sally, wiping off the top of the counter, her eyes glued to the top of his rebellious mane, as black as licorice.

"Yes." The boy's voice was unusually soft for one his age, but Sally heard him well enough. She reached behind the counter to guide dear Shortie onto the plate, careful not to tear her smooth buttercream gown, before giving her away to the boy on the other side, head tilted to one side like a cat waiting patiently for his milk saucer.

"There you are, little bugger: Shortie's been missing you something fierce!" teased Sally with a smile. An odd little bugger, he was: he always came alone, no friends or siblings to speak of or show for, or even a mother, for that matter (at first, she wondered if he were getting sweets behind his mother's back and whether she was doing wrong by obliging). Sally didn't even know his name, having referred to him throughout the whole time she'd known him as "the little bugger."

But how he adored Shortie! And Shortie adored him in return. No matter how much of her he indulged in, he never grew hyper, nor did he gain weight—on the contrary, he had to be the skinniest bean pole Sally had ever laid eyes on, her pity for him the motivation for obliging to his whims.

When he visited—sometimes twice or thrice during the day—Shortie welcomed him as eagerly as he welcomed her. They sat together at the corner of the shop, he crouched in his chair with his knees to his chest, she perched safely in his hands. No words were exchanged between the two, but Sally could see how much they enjoyed one another's company. Anyone could, from the way he held her as though she were extra-fine china, to the way he teased her with the tip of the fork—which he used with precocious dexterity—to the delighted grunts he made as her moist flesh meshed with his mouth, right down to the way he wiped up the remains with his fingers and sucked away, so that nothing of Shortie would be wasted. He saved her juicy strawberry crown for last.

As physical as their relationship was, what Shortie and the little bugger had was stronger and sweeter than most of the relationships of people that Sally knew. Shortie gave the poor boy solace from his grievances, softened the blows of life. She was the sugar to his lemons, lemons that Sally never knew about, nor asked about.

And he helped her to escape the confines of a glass prison, for cakes get very lonely after a while of watching people who lacked the kindness to take them into their stomachs. He was very protective of her, to boot. When Sally ran out of buttercream and decided to make the bold move of dressing her in a substitute, he knew it just from looking at Shortie's color.

"You used a substitute frosting," he murmured.

Assuming no trouble afoot, Sally looked up from the counter. "That, I did. How did you guess?"

"The frosting is sugar white, instead of usual creamy gold." He traced a finger across Shortie's side and came up with a smear of the imposter frosting.

A teasing smirk flickered through Sally's lips. "Well, aren't you the little private eye? I'm sorry, bugger: there'll be more buttercream icing by the time the cock crows tomorrow. You have my word of honor. Till then, you don't mind a substitute, do you?"

"Hmm…buttercream is best for shortcake." Sally didn't know whether this was a protest or a dry declaration of fact, but when it all boiled down to it, he loved Shortie, no matter what. That was more than what she could say about most men that she knew.

For this Romeo and Juliet, Sally was Friar Laurence. When idle, she would cradle her cheek in her hand, watching the pair from her space behind the counter, and imagine marrying them, right in her shop for all of the other pastries to see: he in a tattered suit far too big for him and with a thumb to his lips, she decked in layers upon layers of lacy buttercream elegance with strawberry crowns decorating her sides; almost like a regular wedding cake, but better.

That day never made it past fantasy, however, for without prompt or explanation, the little bugger disappeared. He slipped away like a shadow fleeing the dawn to wherever the shadows go, without so much as a vague farewell. Parting always was such sweet sorrow for the two, but this final parting was more bitter than baking cocoa from straight out of the can.

An air of emptiness draped over the store, the kind one would feel in a childless house that boasted only vacant rooms with faded spaces. Sometimes, when Sally concentrated hard enough, she could see a crouched silhouette in the corner her young regular used to occupy.

Poor Shortie was alone again, not quite as sweet as she was before. Her strawberry crowns shriveled up by the end of each day, her buttercream gown hardening into a crusty and haggard coat. As if she refused to look her finest, most appetizing, for anyone else but her bug-eyed beloved. Hoards of people passed by without sparing a second glance.

Sally watched her pine away from her place behind the counter, thinking to herself: Where did you go, little bugger? Shortie misses you something fierce. And so do I.

…

So it was for months, maybe a year or so—it might've been shorter than that, but Sally had lost track—until the day the copper bell heralded a new customer, the tinkle jolting Sally out of her trance in an instant. A man in a bulky trench coat and hat stepped up to the counter.

"Ah, good morning, sir! What can I get for you?"

For one lacking a name, a face, his voice sounded venerable. One who meant no harm, except to conduct whatever business he had in her store. He gestured towards Shortie—in fresh dressings—in the middle shelf, and asked:

"I would like your shortcake, to go, please."

With a nod, Sally reached behind the glass. "I see. And how much would you like?"

"The entire cake should do, thank you."

She gained a new regular from that day onward: a chauffeur without a name who came for Shortie to whisk the whole of her away. To where, Sally didn't know, nor did she ask.

But judging by the way Shortie rejuvenated before her eyes, her strawberry crowns once again a healthy sheen and her buttercream gown smooth and golden…it must have been somewhere wonderful. To a clean plate, appreciative eyes, an eager mouth, delicate hands, and an even more delicate heart.

END