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“Okay… You got the sprinkles?”
“Yup.”
“Flour?”
“You think I’m so useless that I’d forget flour ?” Jisung scoffs
“I’m just going down the list!”
Jisung sighs. “Okay. What’s next?”
“You remembered the vanilla?”
“Like the juice?”
“Pardon?”
“The vanilla juice.”
“Extract, Jisung. It’s called vanilla extract .”
“Same difference!” Jisung rifles through the paper bag on the counter. He pulls out a small brown bottle and sets it down in front of Renjun with a very self-satisfied look on his face. “See, I didn’t forget the vanilla extract.”
Renjun knows that Jisung is expecting praise, so he begrudgingly mumbles out a good job before scrolling through the recipe that he had pulled up on his phone. The picture shows perfect little pink, red, and white frosted heart-shaped cookies, intricately decorated with food coloring and sprinkles. Renjun isn’t very optimistic that their cookies will look nearly as pretty, but Jisung doesn’t seem to have any doubts. He would call it confidence, but Renjun calls it naivety.
“So what’s the first step?” He asks, rubbing his hands together eagerly.
“First step is to get a bowl…” Renjun reads out, “and mix together the dry ingredients.”
“Which bowl should we use?” Jisung asks, peering into the cabinet where they keep their cereal bowls.
“Jisung, we need a mixing bowl.”
“Do we have one of those?”
Renjun groans.
“What? It’s not my fault!”
“I sent you the recipe and told you to get everything we needed!”
“How was I supposed to know we needed a bowl?” Jisung laments. He suddenly perks up. “Can we use Jeno hyung’s popcorn bowl?”
“I don’t see why not…” Renjun smiles, standing up on his tip toes as he reaches for the big bowl on top of the fridge that Jeno uses for his movie nights. “We’ll make sure to clean it.” Jeno’s popcorn bowl is a huge ceramic monstrosity that is, truthfully, the only bowl that can realistically hold the amount of popcorn necessary for when they have movie nights as seven (which has become increasingly less frequent as the years go on).
"Okay. Eggs first?"
"Are eggs dry?" Renjun asks amusedly.
"Flour, then." Jisung says confidently as he pulls the flour out from one of the bags of groceries. "And sugar?"
"Flour, baking powder, and salt."
"Isn't that a typo? Sugar is dry."
"I think we add it in with the butter."
Jisung looks at him skeptically, but shrugs his shoulders as he rifles through the drawers in the kitchen. "Where's the scale?"
"It should be in there," Renjun says absently as he furrows his eyebrows at the recipe. What in the world is a 'paddle attachment...'
"Well, it isn't," Jisung huffs. "How are we gonna measure out the ingredients now?"
"It can't be all that hard. The American measurement says one cup. Just get one from the cupboard."
Jisung shakes his head in amazement. "You're a genius, hyung."
"I do have my moments." Renjun smiles slightly down at the screen of his phone. "The recipe says we should use a stand mixer... we can just use the whisk, right?"
Jisung sets the cup down on the counter then flexes his biceps (Renjun barely sees it through the fabric of his hoodie). "We're big, strong boys. We don't need a mixer."
"Oh, shoot," Renjun groans. "We forgot to leave out the butter so it could soften."
"So? Just put it in the microwave for a few minutes."
"It's supposed to be room temperature, though. Won't that be too hot?"
"I don't think so. Just keep an eye on it." Jisung's eyes are intensely focused as he scoops up a generous amount of flour and plops it into the bowl. A cloud of white flour billows upward and onto Jisung's front. Renjun laughs as he watches Jisung grumpily wipe the flour off his sweatshirt and face.
"You klutz," he says fondly, unwrapping the butter and placing it on a plate before putting it in the microwave for six minutes. He walks over to the sink to wash the grease off his fingertips. He doesn't notice Jisung sneaking up behind him until it's too late, and he turns around unknowingly, hands still dripping wet, only to be greeted by a faceful of flour. Jisung is lucky he's wearing his glasses, otherwise he would be forced to exact painful revenge for the loss of his eyesight.
"PARK JISUNG!" Renjun yells in frustration, tearing off his glasses to find that he's already scampered away behind the kitchen island. He glowers at him, the sound of butter popping like fireworks in the microwave distant as his anger takes the reins. He chases him around the kitchen, screaming all sorts of empty threats. Jisung is laughing, and Renjun's desire for revenge only burns brighter.
"I'm sorry!" He laughs out, and Renjun knows that he is most certainly not sorry. "I'll do the dishes later, I promise!"
"I don't care about the dishes, this is about my pride!" Renjun goes back over to the sink, fills his cupped palms with cold water, then flings it at Jisung from across the kitchen. Some of it splatters across the counter, but it's all worth it to see Jisung's shocked, spluttering face as he wipes water from his eyes. Then, just to add a bit of salt to the wound, Renjun dips his hand into the bag of flour (it is at this moment that he has a moment of conscience, wonders if perhaps he is going too far, before he decides that this is Jisung and he deserves every bit of punishment that Renjun can inflict on him), he takes a big scoop into his hand and throws it into Jisung's face.
Some of it falls onto the floor by his feet, but a great deal sticks to the water on his skin, coating his face with muddled flour. Renjun laughs hysterically at Jisung's stupefied, open-mouthed stillness, head thrown back with tears of mirth collecting in the corners of his eyes.
"You think you're so funny, huh?" Jisung asks bitterly, but Renjun can hear the smile in his tone.
"Yeah, a little bit." Renjun grins, holding onto his side, cramped from how hard he'd been laughing.
"Yeah?" Jisung smiles mischievously. Before Renjun can even think of running away, Jisung rounds the corner and catches him by the wrist. He takes a finger and wipes the gloopy water-and-flour mixture from his skin and smears it on the tip of Renjun's nose.
"Gross." He cringes, wiping it away with the sleeve of his cardigan (it's Gucci, but Renjun can worry about that later).
Jisung smiles, and Renjun’s wrathful heart softens slightly. He pulls the sleeve of his cardigan over his hand and wipes away the flour around Jisung’s eyes. He wrinkles his nose in disgust, and Renjun pinches it fondly.
“I think the butter’s done,” Jisung says suddenly, rubbing his nose sheepishly as he moves over to the microwave. Renjun’s heart drops when he opens the door and smoke comes billowing out. He panickedly grabs a dish towel and rushes over to fan the smoke. Renjun can’t even imagine the kind of public embarrassment they would be subjected to if they set off the fire alarm and forced the whole building to evacuate because they burned butter in the microwave.
Luckily, the fire alarm doesn’t go off, but they do have a plate of burned, melted butter.
“How long did you put it in for?” Jisung asks, stifling a laugh behind his hand.
Renjun slumps defeatedly. “Only six minutes…”
“Google says you should’ve put it in for 30 seconds.” Jisung reads as Renjun unwraps two more sticks of butter. “No wonder you burned it… you did, like, six times that.”
“I microwaved it for six minutes, Jisung.”
“Exactly,” he says absently as he scrolls on his phone.
“Thank God you decided to become an idol,” Renjun mutters under his breath.
“What was that?” Jisung side-eyes him from across the kitchen.
“Nothing!” He sing-songs as he places the butter into the microwave (for 30 seconds this time, not six minutes). “Can you measure out the sugar?”
“How much is a ¾ cup?” Jisung asks, gazing at the drinking glass woefully. “These cups don’t have marks.”
“Just eyeball it, Jisung,” Renjun says. He’s peering into the microwave to keep a close eye on the butter, not wanting to make the same mistake as last time. When it’s done, he takes out the plate carefully, a little bit of melted butter sloshing over the sides and into the microwave.
“We need to add this to the sugar,” Renjun says, eyes glued to the plate as he focuses on not spilling any more butter.
“Okay, I put it in the bowl…”
“The bowl with the flour in it?”
“...Yes?”
“Jisung,” Renjun groans. “We’re supposed to cream the butter and sugar together and then add in the dry ingredients.”
“Well, it’s fine, right? They’re all being mixed together anyways so what’s the big deal?”
Renjun thinks about this for a moment. He can’t pinpoint the flaw in Jisung’s logic.
“Okay.” He shrugs and pours the melted butter into the bowl with the rest of the ingredients. “We might as well add the egg and vanilla too.”
“On it.” Jisung salutes and Renjun laughs slightly at the flour coating his cheeks. He probably doesn’t look any better, but Jisung already looks like a lost little lamb without his cheeks covered in white. It’s hilarious. And a little bit endearing. But mostly hilarious.
“You should go look at yourself in the mirror,” Renjun chuckles to himself as he gets a wooden spoon, brandishing it like a weapon as he waits for Jisung to bring over the eggs and vanilla (the glass bottle is balancing precariously on top of the egg carton and Renjun watches with bated breath as he walks over. Miraculously, the vanilla makes it in one piece).
“You aren’t looking so hot yourself.” Jisung ruffles his hair and pinches his nose. Renjun would be infuriated by the gesture if he wasn’t so preoccupied by how cute Jisung looks with his hair all mussed up. He should be used to the sight, considering they’re roommates and all…
But he’s not used to it. Especially not when he smiles at him like that.
“Are you gonna crack the eggs or what?” Renjun grumbles. He’s a master of deflection. If Jisung is going to weaponize his boyish cuteness then he will weaponize his near-violent passive aggressiveness. It’s only fair.
“Yeah, we need two, right?”
“Yep. Why in the world did you get the jumbo pack?”
“Well I figured just in case a few of them broke on the way home…”
“So you got a 24-pack?” Renjun asks incredulously.
Jisung smiles sheepishly. “I guess we’re lucky Jaemin hyung likes omelets.”
Surprisingly, Jisung is able to crack the eggs with no trouble. Renjun suppresses his pride, not wanting Jisung to think he has such little faith in him. Of course he can crack eggs. He’s twenty years old…
“Hyung, why won’t the vanilla come out?” Jisung has the vanilla tipped over the bowl, his brows furrowed as he peers at the small plastic pitcher screwed onto the mouth of the bottle.
Renjun sighs. “Give it here.” He takes the bottle from Jisungs hands, unscrews the cap, and peels off the little plastic tab on the lip. Twenty years old. He is a twenty-year-old adult.
“Ah, thanks Renjun hyung.” He says gratefully, not even having the decency to look embarrassed. “I think we’re almost done!”
Renjun peeks inside the bowl. It’s a big mush of flour and egg and vanilla. He spots a piece of shell in the dough, but Jisung starts stirring vigorously with the whisk and he doesn’t think it’s worth stopping him. He seems a little too delighted by their success. To be fair, Renjun is surprised they managed to make anything even resembling cookie dough. And yet, as Jisung stirs, the disgusting mass of butter, egg, sugar, and flour (and maybe a little bit of eggshell) has coalesced into a solid ball of dough.
“Alright, we just need to wrap it up and put it into the fridge for… three hours to a day,” Renjun reads off his phone.
The whisk clatters against the side of the bowl.
“What? Let me see that.” Jisung snatches the phone from Renjun’s hand, eyes growing wide when he reads the directions. “Do we really have to do that?”
“I think so. Why would it be in the directions if we didn’t have to do it?”
“Feel the dough, though. It’s not hot. Isn’t it cool enough to roll out?” Jisung prods at the dough with his finger. It does seem firm. Renjun tilts his head in thought. He is kinda tired of this cookie project. He’d love to be able to chuck them in the oven and slather them with some frosting so that they can recline on the couch with their sweet treats and watch old dramas (it’s Renjun’s turn to pick what they watch). In fact, the thought is so nice that Renjun has a truly remarkable lapse in judgement.
“Yeah, it should be fine. Let’s roll it out!”
“Can you do that? My arms hurt now.” Jisung pouts exaggeratedly, rubbing his arms gingerly. Renjun rolls his eyes at him, shoving him out of the way so he can reach their small drawer of miscellaneous kitchen tools (the tracks are slightly sticky, you have to jostle it at just the right angle to get it to open all the way). He pulls out the small, clunky rolling pin. He doesn’t think they’ve used it once since moving into the dorms. It was probably a gift from Jisung’s mom. She has the tendency to send over random bits and bobs with Jisung every time he comes back from visiting home. Renjun has a shoehorn thanks to her, and he says a silent thanks Mrs. Park every time he needs it.
Renjun rolls out the dough while Jisung stands idly by, picking crusted flour from under his nails and chatting to him about a new type of ramen he found at the nearby convenience store. The dough is warm from the melted butter, and Renjun resists the urge to just sink his fingers into it. He steals a glance at Jisung, who is still gazing down at his hands. Even though his own hands are covered in a greasy film of butter and egg, he gets the sudden urge to reach out and lace his fingers with his. Renjun bets his hands are warm.
“Okay!” He says suddenly, clapping his hands together and making Jisung jump out of his skin. “Did you buy the cookie cutters?”
“I thought you said you were gonna order them online…”
“I never said that!”
Renjun had, in fact, said that.
“I have the text message right here!” Jisung snatches his phone from off the counter and pulls up their text conversation, but Renjun grabs the phone away and holds it high over his head (not like that would deter Jisung, who has a few inches on him at least, but... whatever).
“That isn’t necessary. What’s done is done. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Renjun sighs, putting the phone on the counter as jisung looks at him tiredly.
“So what are we going to do?”
“We can cut the hearts out with a knife!”
“Woah, will that work?”
“Sure it will! They might be a little rough around the edges, but we’re smothering them with frosting anyways, right?” He grabs a knife and passes it to Jisung, and they get to work.
Turns out, “a little rough on the edges” is a bit of an understatement. The cookies look like they’ve been massacred then frankensteined back to life again, with holes crudely patched up with spare bits of dough and shapes barely resembling hearts. Renjun has to hold back a comment about them looking like little misshapen butts. Despite it all, Jisung seems happy with their handiwork. He even snaps a picture to send to Jaemin, which Renjun finds both endearing and utterly mortifying.
They put them onto a baking sheet and into the oven. Renjun washes his hands and sighs in relief. The hard part is over. Cuddles on the sofa, here I come…
Jisung pulls out some premade strawberry frosting and a plastic tube of heart-shaped sprinkles from the shopping bag on the counter. “Strawberry?” Renjun raises a brow. “Jaemin won’t be happy about that .”
“More for us,” he says playfully, scooping up some frosting with his forefinger and eating it. What a gremlin, Renjun thinks. He makes a mental note to save a plain cookie for Jaemin. Jisung’s tendency to hoard food is probably something they should work on.
“How much longer on the timer?”
“Three minutes,” Jisung says. “Can we check on them?”
“The oven light doesn’t work, remember?”
“I’ll just peek for one quick second…” Jisung trails off as he pulls open the oven door just a tiny crack, then slams it shut again. He turns around slowly. “Um. Hyung?”
“What is it?” Renjun asks, peeling the plastic top off the frosting container. “Do they look okay?”
“I think maybe you should come see for yourself.”
Renjun hesitantly sets the frosting down, walking over to where Jisung is standing by the oven. He gives him a questioning look, but Jisung only motions for him to open the oven and look inside.
When Renjun finally does open the door, he’s met with a wave of hot air burning his cheeks. He closes his eyes on impulse, but when he opens them again, he gasps at the sad sight of their cookies on the baking sheet. Well, Renjun doesn’t really think they can be considered ‘cookies’ anymore. Perhaps a more accurate description would be… soup? The cookies had all melted into a single mass, turning so liquid in the hot oven that it bubbles and pops like boiling broth on the baking sheet.
Renjun closes the oven.
“So what do we do now?” Jisung wrings his hands anxiously. “Can we fix them? We have extra flour--”
“Jisung.” Renjun places his hands on Jisung’s shoulders. “There is only one thing we can do.”
“What?”
“Give up.”
They end up collapsing on the couch together with the container of frosting and two spoons. Renjun knows Jisung is disappointed about the cookies, so he cheers him up by letting him pick which drama to watch. It doesn't seem to do much to help, though. He has a pout stuck on his lips even as he eats frosting off his spoon.
“I’m sorry the cookies didn’t turn out how you wanted,” Renjun says suddenly, during a boring scene centering on two side characters that neither of them care about. He sucks on his spoon pensively, trying to think if there’s anything he can say to cheer Jisung up. “We can always try again another day? This was just a practice round!”
“I’m not really upset, Renjun hyung,” Jisung says, eyes still focused on the screen but his cheeks are dusted with a soft shade of pink. “I’m- I'm just happy I got to spend some quality time with my boyfriend.”
Renjun’s cheeks burn. He can feel his palms getting sweaty. His heart rate increases tenfold.
The boyfriend thing… Well, it’s very new. Renjun isn’t quite used to it. “I’m happy too,” he says quietly, reaching over to hold Jisung’s hand in his own. It’s very warm.
“Hyung…”
“Yeah?”
“You have- You have a little bit of frosting.” Jisung taps the corner of his own lips shyly.
“Oh? Shouldn’t you wipe it off for me?” Renjun feels like he’s about to hyperventilate, but he does his best to seem cool. “Since you’re my boyfriend and all.”
“I’ll do you one better.” The last thing he sees is Jisung’s evil little gremlin smile before there’s a soft pair of lips pressed against his.
It was just a peck, but Renjun feels like all the air was stolen from his lungs. He stares at Jisung in shock. Their first kiss. It happened. He presses his lips together, savoring the residual tingle that Jisung left behind.
“The frosting’s still there,” Jisung says quietly, his confidence clearly having been depleted after kissing him.
“Well, maybe you should try again?” Renjun squeezes Jisung’s hand in his.
Renjun leans in this time, and Jisung drops his hand to cup his cheeks as he connects their lips in another gentle kiss. He can feel Jisung desperately trying not to smile under his lips, and it’s so goddamn sweet that Renjun’s afraid he’s going to get a toothache.
Just as they start to get comfortable, awkward fumbling turning into something adoring and absolutely wonderful, the fire alarm goes off. Jisung jumps so violently at the sound that his teeth knock painfully against Renjun’s lips, and a nearly-comical squawk of fear escapes his throat.
“Did we…”
“Forget to turn off the oven?” Renjun tastes blood in his mouth and his nostrils burn with the smell of smoke. “Yup.”