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It's not too late to call it off yet, he tells himself. Just pretend you got an urgent text and run away.
He quits entertaining the idea when a lady hands him a grey apron and a name tag. Behind the counters in the ample room, the other students enrolled in the cooking course prepare for the first class. Taehyung studies the piece of clothing hanging from his hands, head tilted to the side, wondering where to begin putting it on. From his chosen spot near the door, to make an easier escape and avoid attracting attention, he notices everyone’s ready. His cheeks burn. Should he be struggling this much before the class even starts?
"Need some help?"
A male voice from over his shoulder frightens him. He turns around to find a guy approaching his counter: he’s the same height as Taehyung, wears a navy blue apron and a tight-lipped smile that puffs up his cheeks and adds to the softness of his eyes, half covered by overgrown dark brown bangs. Taehyung feels his blush deepen.
Cute.
“Please,” he laughs breathily. The man takes the apron from his hands and guides his arms and head through their respective loops in swift moves. After tying the last straps around his waist, he pats Taehyung’s shoulder.
“There you go.”
Taehyung faces him again and takes a small bow. “Thank you.”
The kind stranger reaches for the name tag on the counter and plasters the sticker on Taehyung's chest.
“I’ll teach you how to do it after class if you want, Taehyung-ssi,” he says before walking away. Taehyung wonders if he imagined the wink he saw.
His eyes follow as the guy advances to the front of the room and turns around to greet the students.
“Good evening, everyone. I’m chef Kim Seokjin, your cooking instructor.”
Taehyung’s jaw drops. No way.
How wonderful, he gave out how much of a complete buffoon he is before the teacher could even introduce himself. Unbelievable. His whole existence was a prank.
He gulps, face blank, never mind how his neck and cheeks sizzle.
Seokjin gives them an overview of the course, speaking with confidence, perfect diction and intonation. He gestures the right amount and makes eye contact to ensure everyone is paying attention. Confident, but never snobbish.
Taehyung struggles to focus on Seokjin’s words instead of his magnetism. Intelligence is sexy, especially when it comes with such wide shoulders, he muses, then swats the thought away.
“Do not be ashamed to ask the most obvious questions.” Seokjin pauses to let his words sink in. Taehyung reckons he’s too far back to be noticed, but his sharp eyes find him nonetheless. “Of course, the least obvious questions are welcome too.”
Laughter fills the room, and Seokjin smirks. Taehyung risks a nervous smile, prays no one can read minds.
The class goes by in a blur. Most of it consists of Seokjin writing introductions on a flipchart while talking. Everyone takes notes and some students ask questions, which Seokjin answers diligently. Taehyung dares not breathe too loud. As soon as it ends, he peels off the apron as fast as he can and rushes out, in case Seokjin was serious about his after class offer.
The second class happens two days later. This time, he sits far from the door, and watches a girl nearby wear her apron before doing it himself. He sticks his arm in the wrong place twice, but succeeds.
They practice slicing and chopping. Taehyung feels stupid for not knowing where to begin cutting any ingredients, but Seokjin demonstrates before encouraging them to try. He makes it seem so easy, even chops an onion perfectly without looking.
On the other hand, when it's Taehyung’s turn to stand behind the teacher’s counter and slice a tomato, his trembling fingers fail him. The knife collides with the cutting board with a dry thud; the vegetable rolls off dejectedly, splatters on the floor. His face gets as red as the tomato, so fast it makes him dizzy. Someone laughs, but Seokjin shushes them, stern for the first time.
“Grab a vegetable each and go practice in your places. I’ll check up on you in five.”
The students hesitate before dispersing. Taehyung’s eyes are fixed on a random spot on the counter. His heart thumps, his mind begs a higher power to let him disappear, until gentle fingers wrapping around his wrist bring him back to reality.
“Taehyung-ssi,” Seokjin beckons, chest pressed against his shoulder. “Give me the knife.”
Taehyung looks at the cutting board and spots a thin smudge of blood. He jumps back and drops the knife with a gasp. A sharp pain radiates from his fingertip.
“I’m sorry. Oh, my God, I’m so clumsy…”
Seokjin shakes his head, smiling. “It's okay. Accidents happen.” He shows Taehyung an old scar across his own thumb. “Let’s take care of that.”
As if handling a toddler, he leads Taehyung to the sink, puts his finger under the stream, then dries it with paper towels, holding his hand the entire time. He leans in to take a closer look and winces.
“You’re gonna need stitches.”
“What? ”
Seokjin lifts his eyes to meet Taehyung's and grins.
“Sorry, I use humor to break the ice.”
Taehyung blinks at him for a moment, both shocked by his joke and stunned by how beautiful he is from up close. His brain glitches; the only reaction he can offer is a low chuckle.
Seokjin opens a cabinet under the sink and gets a first aid kit. When Taehyung hisses at the burn of the antiseptic, Seokjin blows on it to alleviate the pain. His lips look even plumper when puckered up, so much that Taehyung can’t look away until his brain registers they’re moving: Seokjin is talking to him.
“Huh?”
“Transparent or Super Mario?”
Seokjin points at the two Band-Aid options. Taehyung bites back a smile and picks the colorful one.
“Excellent choice,” Seokjin snorts. He bandages the injured finger with the utmost care, and even after it’s done, doesn't let go of Taehyung's hand. “Let's try not to get these pretty fingers hurt so often, shall we?”
Their eyes meet, both wide open, right as Seokjin realizes what he said. He places Taehyung’s hand on the counter, clears his throat. Taehyung notices his Adam’s apple bobbing and his ears reddening fast, but is too flustered himself to judge.
“I should probably, uh… Check on the others now.” Awkwardness buzzes in the air as Seokjin steps away. “You can go back to–” he bumps into the stool behind him; it almost falls, saved by his quick reflexes. He takes a deep breath and gives Taehyung a mortified smile. “You can go back to your place, Taehyung-ssi.”
Although Seokjin avoids him for the rest of the class, Taehyung doesn't mind, brain cooing too loud to care.
As the course progresses and his skills improve due to dedicated practice, Taehyung becomes more interested in cooking, to the point it becomes a hobby. His evolution is visible in class as well: he’s often among the first students to finish the challenges and exercises Seokjin proposes, and is praised by the colleagues who try his food.
“Taehyung-ssi, this is delicious!” A random girl whose name tag he can't read because her hair is covering it exclaims. She always bats her eyelashes and squeals too much, which freaks him out. He’s not an idiot, he knows the food is not the only reason for her constant fervor. He pays her no mind, however; it's not her compliments he wants.
Weirdly enough, Seokjin is the only person who doesn't pamper him. All he does is say congratulations with a forced smile and move on to the next topic. Taehyung expected him to be proud of how much he improved, but clearly, his efforts backfired.
He makes up his mind to confront Seokjin next class, but all his resolve vanishes when another man walks into the room wearing the teacher’s blue apron.
What?
“Good evening. I’m chef Min Yoongi. Due to schedule changes, I’ll be your instructor from now on.”
The blond, short man goes on talking, much faster than Seokjin does. Taehyung is too heartbroken to listen anyway. He looks down at the faint scar on his finger. Seokjin’s absence hurts a thousand times more than that cut did.
He completes the assignments Yoongi delegates with prowess, despite his low spirits. The same girl who always compliments him tries to woo him yet again; he just nods, incapable of fabricating politeness this time. She notices it and walks away, pouting.
Taehyung stays behind when the class ends, after mentally rehearsing how to approach Yoongi for the past half-hour.
“Excuse me.”
Yoongi doesn’t look up from the notebook he’s writing on. “Yes?”
“May I ask if Seokjin-ssi is okay?” He squeezes the strap of his backpack. “This change was so unexpected. I hope there weren't any issues.”
Yoongi’s feline eyes meet his at last, his curiosity piqued. “Seokjin-ssi is fine. His expertise was employed elsewhere, that's all.”
His heart breaks a little more. Seokjin really is gone for good, then.
“Oh.” He sighs. “I see.”
He shuffles his weight from one foot to another, unsure of how to proceed. Yoongi isn’t done talking, though.
“Elsewhere being room 12… In case you’d like to try your hand at baking.”
His words make Taehyung’s eyes dart up again. There’s a hint of a mischievous smile on Yoongi’s face, which he doesn't quite understand, but mirrors nonetheless.
“Thank you.”
“He was right,” Yoongi adds, when Taehyung is about to turn around and leave. “You learn fast. Keep it up.”
He stares with his mouth agape. Seokjin talked… About him… With Yoongi?
Pride fills his chest, mends all the broken pieces of his heart. He nods before rushing out, grinning, in search of room 12.
The door is ajar when he finds it, the lights are on. He peeks through the opening and spots wide shoulders by the front counter. Seokjin doesn’t see him, focused on his notes, until Taehyung is standing before him.
“Am I really that bad that you had to change courses?”
His voice startles Seokjin. Once recognition kicks in, he offers a good-humored smile.
“Of course not. The school changed my schedule.” He shrugs in hesitation, rather uncomfortable under Taehyung's gaze. “But Yoongi-ssi is a great teacher.”
“And an awesome rapper. I may learn fast, but he speaks faster.”
Seokjin’s eyes narrow slightly at Taehyung's familiar words and smug grin. For the time they keep staring at each other, his countenance remains unreadable, except for the rapid reddening of his ears.
“So, baking, huh?” Taehyung chuckles, changing the subject to let Seokjin breathe. “Can't be that hard. Can I still enroll?”
A short silence follows. Seokjin’s gaze hardens.
“I’d rather you didn't.” His voice is firm, detached. He waits for Taehyung's giddy smile to fall and continues. “I’m not allowed to flirt with my students.”
Taehyung’s lips part and his eyebrows go up while he processes the explanation. The fast progression from offended to dumbfounded, until he settles for cheeky, puts a playful smile on Seokjin’s face.
“What if I want to bake something?” Taehyung protests, using his best pout and whiny voice while placing both hands on the counter. “Like heart-shaped cookies! Pepero Day is coming, you know.”
Seokjin mimics his body language and leans in a bit as well, one eyebrow raised.
“I never said I wouldn't teach you… Just that I’d rather not do it in a classroom.”
Taehyung nods and bites his lip, eyes inevitably dropping to Seokjin’s mouth.
“Can I wear your blue apron during these private classes?”
Seokjin’s face is so close now he can distinguish each of his eyelashes. The cinnamon-scented breath he lets out when he huffs bathes Taehyung's face in warmth.
“That can be arranged.”
His giggles are soon muffled by Seokjin’s lips.