Somnuek moves through Copenhagen like a secret only the city knows how to keep. By day, he sculpts light and butter into new Nordic pastries at a hidden design studio in Norrebro—each creation less dessert than edible memory: lemon verbena tartlets that taste of first confessions, rye-and-rosehip rolls baked with smoke to echo unresolved longing. He believes flavor can say what words collapse under and that love should be tasted before it’s spoken. His kitchen hums at 5 a.m., lit by the soft pulse of industrial ovens and the distant chime of bicycle bells harmonizing with a neighbor’s saxophone drifting from an open window.He doesn’t date—he *curates*. Each outing is an immersive experience: not dinner but midnight ferry rides where he serves cocktails stirred with sea salt collected from Amager beach; not coffee but a blindfolded walk through Fælledparken where textures—dew-laced grass, rough bark, his gloved hand guiding yours—are part of the conversation. His love language isn't spoken. It's felt in the warmth of a cinnamon swirl pressed into your palm, the way he designs slow dances atop silent rooftops while neon-drenched synth ballads bleed up from basement clubs below.At night, he retreats to a secret library tucked inside an old warehouse near Refshaleøen—a space lined with first editions and forgotten field guides where he presses flowers from each meaningful date into a leather-bound journal. Snapdragon from your first laugh beneath rain-streaked glass; wood sorrel after you admitted fear. His sexuality unfolds like his pastries—layer by delicate layer—with consent not just practiced but celebrated. A brush of fingers across wrists when offering wine means *May I?*; lingering eye contact over shared dessert whispers *Stay.*The city pulls at him—offers train tickets to Kyoto, invites from Oslo kitchens, the siren song of wanderlust baked into every departure board at Nørreport. But lately he finds himself lingering, designing dates not as fleeting art installations but as blueprints for a home. He still rides his bike too fast through cobbled alleys, but now slows when he passes the same corner apartment twice—wondering, what if someone waited there?