There are plenty of odd people that filter in and out of the Master of Death's bakery, but none quite as odd as the tiny, blonde, Japanese man-child who keeps saying that he loves him. Harry/Hani

Crème Brulée

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Oh, angel sent from up above
You know you make my world light up

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The thing about Harry (just 'Harry', he says, as he introduces himself and it's simple, so very simple even if there isn't anything simple about the dark obsidian hair that curls at the base of his neck or the deep, vibrant green of his eyes) it's that he's beautiful –

That's the only word that can be used to describe him as Mitsukuni Haninozuka lays wide brown eyes on him.

He's beautiful in the shattered sort of way, like a broken porcelain tea cup that someone drops in haste and even as shards splatter across the floor, it still remains beautiful.

Mitsukuni is not a romantic, at least not as much as Tamaki, but, as the dark-haired boy turns to smile at him and greets him as a customer, the only thought that filters in his brain is 'this is love'.

"Hello." His voice is soft, wise, haunted. There is an apron tied around his waist, flour in his hair, dried sugar on his cheek (and Hani feels that hunger pool in his stomach, a flutter in his heart, the same type he gets when thinking about cake).

The blonde blinks, his mouth turned up in surprise, the expression probably making him look even younger than he actually is.

"Would you like some cake?" When there's no answer, the other teen sends a curious look his way. "I just took the chocolate cake out of the oven, so it's still warm."

It snaps him out of his trance and the former host finally nods his head, even if the only word he picked up is cake (this is a bakery and Hani distinctly remembers pushing open the door of the shop, but after that, it's all a blur).

There's another smile his way and Hani stands, transfixed by the counter, as the dark-haired boy walks and reaches for a three-layered chocolate cake, every step light and every movement seemingly calculated.

It's the best cake Hani has ever eaten, which is odd since he can't quite taste it.

He eats it on a table not too far away from the cash register, watches as customers filter in and out, some in pairs, some alone, some rushed and others just lingering for the saccharine smell in the air and the strong bitterness of the coffee.

Every time, the boy smiles that same smile, offers cakes and pastries and coffee to anyone who has the courage to ask, as if pretending that there isn't a tiny blonde Japanese man-child piercing holes in his back even if most people would feel uncomfortable being stared at for so long.

"Um…" Time passes by and when Hani blinks, he notices that the shop is empty and that the dark-haired boy is standing near him. "I'm closing soon and it's late." It is – late. And the blonde thinks that five hours passed by far too quickly, that it's unfair .

"Oh." He doesn't mean to look this crestfallen (truth be told, he has to leave soon, because there's people waiting for him and his cellphone beeps in his pocket, text messages from Takashi no doubt asking him where he is and his childhood friend means well, he really does).

"I open at eight o'clock tomorrow." The blonde feels the smile on his face before he can even think about producing one. He nods furiously and the green-eyed youth smiles right back, just a hint of amusement on his face.

"Okay." He beams at the other boy and bounces off the chair, waving goodbye as he opens the door and sends another smile towards the teen who watches him go with laughter in his eyes.

At seven fifty-seven the next day, Mitsukuni stands in front of the shop with his hand in his pocket and stares with impatience through the glass windows, tapping his foot on the ground eagerly.

When he hears the key in the door and catches a glimpse of the teen, Huni can't help the way his heart leaps and thumps in his rib cage. The teen – he'll introduce himself later that day as Harry, just Harry, with a British accent that makes every word sound whimsical – let's out a chuckle when he sees the blonde.

"You must have really liked that cake." And Hani smiles (it's shaky because he's not used to that feeling, to feel a hunger for something else than cake this strongly).

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For every answer Harry gives him, there's twice as many questions that come from them.

"Harry, what's your favorite?" It's been three weeks and Hani feels absolutely no shame in admitting that he's spent seven consecutive days in the boy's shop (when asked by Takashi, Mitsukuni brushes it off with a wave of his hand and mutters about cake under his breath – it's not that he doesn't want to share his newfound love of the baker, no, he doesn't want to share the baker).

"Uh…" Harry trails off, pushing round glasses up on his nose. "Probably the crème brulée. I remember when I was younger and I watched my aunt caramelise the sugar with a kitchen blow torch. I was never allowed any, of course, but I used to think that a dessert this complex was bound to be delicious."

He smiles then, dusting off flour from his apron and Hani wants to ask many more questions – why do you never talk about your parents and why weren't you allowed any and what's so complex about a dessert?

The blonde host keeps quiet and watches as the teen busies himself with cutting a piece of chocolate cake and slides it on a plate, carefully and gracefully, as if the cake is a newborn infant that needs to be treated with the uttermost care.

"But chocolate cake comes in a close second." Hani nods his head sagely, because if anyone understands how seriously cake should be taken, it's certainly him.

The boy reaches the tiny table the former host has claimed as his and hands him the plate of chocolate cake, the smell making the blonde's stomach rumble with glee. Harry chuckles and –

Hani thinks if he can hear that sound every day, he'll be happy for the rest of his life.

"Why are your cakes so delicious? Do you have a special ingredient?" Mitsukuni asks three bites in, chocolate at the corner of his mouth. He wonders, really, because the blonde has had many cakes in his life and none quite compare to Harry's.

There's a sparkle in the boy's eyes and his lips twitch up in a mischievous smile.

"It's all about the magic." He answers, as if the most obvious thing in the world and for Hani, who expected something along the lines of 'a little bit of love', his mouth curls in surprise.

"Magic?" He asks, incredulous.

"Yep. There's a sprinkle of magic in every single thing I bake." And he says it like it's the truth, so Hani can only stare with an eyebrow raised as the teen pats his hands on his apron and offers a secretive smile. "But that's a secret; you and I are the only ones that know."

That same warmth pools inside Mitsukuni's stomach, the thought of sharing a secret with Harry makes him almost fall off his chair with mirth. If Harry believes that there is magic in his cakes, then he'll believe it too. It would certainly explain why each mouthful makes his eyes roll back in his sockets, why everyone in the shop seems happy and joyful.

Hani thinks it's all part of what makes the baker eccentrically beautiful and doesn't realize just how wrong he is to just brush it off –

Until three days later, when he tugs at Harry's sleeve and asks him if he can see the kitchen (he wants a reason to stay late and while he doesn't want to impose, he thinks he can help Harry in some way or another while he closes the shop, so he lingers and tugs at Harry's sleeve and asks him if he can see the kitchen and maybe meet another employee because there's only ever Harry in the store) …

Green eyes blink at him, allowing him to hold onto the material of his black sweater, and he bites his lower lip (Hani has to tear his eyes off because he'll stare forever if he's allowed) before finally nodding his head.

"Okay." He says; soft, wise, haunted.

Double doors near the counter swing open, but there's no one there and Hani blinks as Harry nods his head – as if the convince himself that this is the right choice and it's just a kitchen so really, Hani doesn't know why the teen seems so hesitant –

At least, he doesn't understand, until his eyes land on the kitchen tools, floating about the room, cleaning themselves and then arranging themselves in their appropriate space.

"Oh…" This could be a scene from that Disney movie, the one where there's a beauty and a beast. Utensils and bowls and tables move around like they have a purpose, like human beings would, only there isn't a human being in sight –

Except for Harry, who tugs at the collar of his shirt and watches him with misty eyes.

"Oh." Mitsukuni says once again, this time softer as he watches with a morbid sort of curiosity a kitchen knife wash itself in the sink, dry itself on a rag and then fly away back in its holder.

For a second, there are no words, none, that could possibly explain what he feels (it's overwhelming and breathtaking and adds yet another layer to the mysterious boy with the dark hair and the vibrant green eyes and Mitsukuni, Mitsukuni is usually so strong, but right now his knees are weak, so weak).

But the second after, he turns wide brown eyes towards Harry and says;

"I love you." And the worst, is that he means it more than anything else he's ever said in the world and Harry blinks, clearly taken aback, which causes every kitchen tool to somehow jolt to a stop and hover in the air.

Dark eyelashes flutter, cheeks stained with a very faint pink blush (and just like that, the former host falls in love all over again).

a/n: So, yeah, I did it again. I was perusing the Ouran/Potter crossovers and I just thought to myself, hum, what's missing is Harry being the Master of Death and a baker seducing Honey-Sempai and this happened. I guess it could be read as a one shot or maybe I could add onto it, I'm not sure yet, but if you'd like more let me know. The time frame is Post Mori and Huni graduating, so yeah. I hoped you enjoyed, thanks for reading and drop a review ~