Chapter Text
It had been a long day of dreadfully boring classes and he was on his way home when he suddenly found himself standing in front of her apartment. Clearly, his feet knew exactly what he needed at that moment because even the prospect of seeing her was enough to ease the tension on his shoulders.
He knew that she was probably home - if he was being honest, he probably has her schedule memorized because of the sheer amount of time they spend together. But he texted anyway just in case. After five minutes of waiting for a reply, he decided to just go up - Ryujin gave him the extra access card six months ago when she got trapped in the bathroom after an unfortunate incident involving a gecko. When the security officer finally opened the door, he found her looking pale and speechless. It ran in contrast to the Ryujin he met six months prior in that godforsaken microeconomics class - the one who exuded an air of effortless coolness underneath all the nervous energy and jitters. It had been her first day in university and only two weeks since she moved to Melbourne from Seoul. There was something about her that intrigued him, so he introduced himself. Before long, they bonded over their mutual hatred for their major. When he found out that she was an international student, Chris played tour guide and she was an eager participant, drinking in the city with vigor. It didn’t take long for their relationship to blossom into the kind of friendship that he’s never had with anyone else.
In the present day, he dropped his bags on the floor cautiously and sat next to her, legs crossed to mimic her posture. He turned and observed the flour in her cheeks and hair. The black linen apron - the one he gave her for her birthday - had splotches of flour too.
He’s seen her like this a few times before - covered in flour and wholly consumed by the baking or cooking project at hand. He was always the giddy recipient of her handiwork. When he moved to Melbourne, he had accepted that he’ll probably never ever eat home-cooked meals and will most certainly gain the famed Freshmen 15 because of the sheer amount of junk food he would consume since he is absolutely hopeless in the kitchen. But meeting Ryujin meant that he’s been getting a steady supply of actual, human food because she’ll either cook or would insist that they go to this new restaurant or that new food truck in the neighborhood. When his mom came to town, she expressed her shock that he had kimchi and a few other banchan in his fridge. He quickly credited a blushing Ryujin for that and it made him inexplicably happy to see his mom nod approvingly. But this… her sitting on the floor in front of the oven is a first.
“So what are we doing here?” he asked.
He tried to make out what’s currently baking but fails.
“I’m watching my kids incubate,” she said, not taking her eyes off the oven.
“Kids?”
“Yep,” she answered without missing a beat.
He nodded.
“I’m making souffle,” she explained after a few moments of silence.
“I’m not even going to pretend to know what that is.”
She reached over to the counter and grabs her phone. A few seconds later, she showed him a picture of what looked like a mini chocolate cake with powdered sugar dusting on a white ramekin. She tapped her screen a few more times and showed him a video.
“That looks amazing,” he said as he looked at the oven with renewed excitement.
“Don’t get your hopes up. They will not look like that.”
“Don’t speak ill of the kids.”
She rolled her eyes but he saw a ghost of a smile on her lips. He nudged her shoulder gently before leaning back on his arms, “It’ll be great. I have been eating your food for a year now and I can say with absolute certainty that none of it has been less than perfect.”
“You forget the Brussels sprouts,” she gave a pointed look and he winced. His mind flashed back to the black morsels that used to be tiny green vegetables and the McDonald’s they ate shortly after.
“Yeah okay. So everything but that has been absolutely perfect.”
“The spiced cake.”
He winced again, “You have everything labeled now because of that.”
“The pina colada.”
“We had a really great time,” he could see her about to say something else and quickly continued, “The point is… you’re great at this. I can attest to it.”
“You’re also incredibly biased.”
“So what if I am? I like your food.”
She rolled her eyes but the smile has blossomed into a full-blown one, the whisker dimples on her cheeks on display.
She leaned her head on his shoulder as she sighed. “Please turn out good,” she clasped her hands.
At that moment, as he heard her plead so earnestly to an oven while sitting on the floor, covered in flour, it dawned on him that he probably loves her.