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"Darling, is it not a rather hot day to be baking?"
Seonghwa was right, of course. He usually was about these kinds of things. Not that this ever stopped Hongjoong.
"I suppose."
The flat stare Hongjoong received made him roll his eyes despite the smile tugging at his lips as he turned back to where he'd been flouring the counter. Arms encircled his waist and a familiar weight pressed up against his back.
"They called to me, Hwa. The chocolate chips cried to be baked into cookies and the blueberries begged me to fold them into muffins."
Leaning back against the sturdy chest behind him, Hongjoong tilted his head to press a kiss to his fiancé's jaw.
"You'll live, my love, we have fans for a reason."
"But no air conditioning, still," Seonghwa muttered, despite silently conceding with the kiss he pressed to the nape of Hongjoong’s neck. Hongjoong smiled at his small victory, turning over the mixing bowl to allow the sticky ball of sourdough to land on the flour-covered surface with a soft plop.
"Mm, we both know you'll be thanking me in a few hours even if you're a little baby about the heat. Go open a window and put up a fan, old man, it's likely already cooler outside."
The smack Seonghwa delivered to Hongjoong's ass as he extracted himself from the younger was certainly deserved.
The muffins went in first, followed by the first of two sheets of cookies. The black frigidaire oven had always been just a bit too small, making these baking escapades of Hongjoong's all-day affairs of time management and strategic placement. On top of that, things seemed to only come out right on the higher of the two racks, further shrinking the size of the little oven.
Their whole apartment was a bit like this. A bit cramped, but they made it work. This was simply life for young adults trying to survive on junior salaries on the city-studded coast of California. Hongjoong had moved into the apartment with no intention to stay past attaining his degree until he met Seonghwa. Seonghwa had really been who'd made the place a home.
Seonghwa'd been the one to truly domesticate Hongjoong, as his friends so eloquently liked to put it. He'd managed to get Hongjoong to care about things like what metal finishes his cabinet pulls were in and which houseplants were or weren't tacky and whether he was folding his t-shirts right. All things that should have been annoying but weren't because it was Seonghwa.
Hongjoong had stayed for much longer than intended. Four years and counting, to be exact.
The first of many fans is clicked on in the living room after the telltale squeak of the sliding door to the balcony being pushed open.
Hongjoong kneaded the sourdough, folding it over and over to create the gluten bonds he didn't really understand the science of, but needed nonetheless. Satisfied, he deposited the dough into a little cast iron pot, a rather fancy dutch oven that Hongjoong's coworker, Chris, had gifted them as a 'pre-wedding gift' (whatever that meant), for its second rise. He could rest now until the cookies were done. The hurricane of cookware, flour, and eggshells that had hit the kitchen could wait. Hastily setting a timer on his phone, Hongjoong dusted his hands off and threw his apron down on the counter.
"Baby."
Seonghwa looked up from the book he'd been reading, gazing over the bifocals of his glasses as Hongjoong approached. He'd been sitting on their maroon, corduroy couch, legs crossed in his pristine cream colored cardigan and somehow lintless black jeans with an air of serene studiousness that Hongjoong fully intended to ruin. As Seonghwa set aside the book, Hongjoong got a glimpse of the cover -- something about British renaissance literature. Likely for his students. Hongjoong decided he didn’t really care to know as he gently removed Seonghwa's glasses, climbing into the older man's lap.
"Hi."
"Hi," Hongjoong responded, wasting no time as he dipped in to press his lips to Seonghwa's, smiling into the kiss when the other hummed and placed his hands on his waist in response. His eyes fluttered shut as he pulled Seonghwa’s face closer with the hands behind his head, more insistent now. Seonghwa’s lips were as soft as they always were, tasting like the coconut lip scrub Hongjoong had bought him on a whim a week ago on his way home after work. Somewhere in the back of his head Hongjoong recognized his own were chapped and likely not as pleasant but couldn't bring himself to care as Seonghwa lifted a hand to thumb at his cheek gently.
"Did you clean up, my dear?"
Hongjoong groaned and buried his face in Seonghwa's neck, refusing to give a straight answer. The warm vanilla scent he knew came from Seonghwa's conditioner made Hongjoong's senses feel fuzzy around the edges, the smell cozy and inviting and home.
"Hongjoong."
…
"Hongjoong Kim."
"That's Kim-Park to you."
"Not yet, it isn't, and it may not ever be if you let that all sit out and get stuck to our new granite counters."
Hongjoong whined petulantly and pressed closer to Seonghwa, making him chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest in a way that Hongjoong really felt rather than heard.
The monotonous whirring of the fan filled the silence that rested between them for a few moments.
"Come with me, I'll make it up to you," Hongjoong wheedled, batting his eyes up at Seonghwa, who leveled him an unimpressed look in response. "Please, Hwa, I only like doing stuff like that when you're there. It makes it less of a job. Please, my angel?"
"Joong- "
"My star, my universe, love of my life, my heart, please come to the kitchen with me," Hongjoong pressed on, a grin breaking out across his face as the telltale misty expression made its way across his fiancé's face. Seonghwa sighed and pressed a warm kiss to Hongjoong’s forehead, shaking his head.
“I don’t think there will come a point in my life where I’ll be able to say no to you, my pretty boy.”
Hongjoong giggled, feeling his cheeks flush pink as his mind struggled to catch up with the endearment.
“Not that you’re complaining,” Hongjoong said, faux serious, “right?”
“No, love. What would I have to complain about?”
Seonghwa stood, lifting Hongjoong with him, and gently set the younger on his feet before him. A twinge of what Hongjoong could only describe as melancholy that had been dipped, coated in nothing but pure affection passed through him as Seonghwa held his face in his hands, simply observing his facial features as the corners of his own eyes turned up in a fond smile of their own.
Hongjoong turned his head to the side, touching his lips to the palm of Seonghwa’s left hand in what could be loosely defined as a kiss. He flinched slightly when his warm skin was greeted by the cool metal around Seonghwa’s ring finger, huffing out a laugh at his own reaction. Either way it had the intended effect, provoking a wide, genuine smile to paint itself across Seonghwa’s lips.
“Still too warm?”
“Quiet, you.”
It was definitely too warm.
By the time the last batch of cookies had been taken from the oven and the bread had been sliced, Hongjoong was beginning to feel it, remarkable solely because he was one of those who never really could get too much sun, always tanning rather than burning and never complaining about the heat even when the California summers’ heats climbed to heights uninhabitable for most. Still, he wasn't quite yet wilting the way Seonghwa was, like a pretty flower that'd gotten too much full sunlight.
"My baby, I'm so sorry youre so uncomfortable," Hongjoong murmured, bumping his shoulder against Seonghwa's as the older took his place next to him to dry as the younger washed. Seonghwa shot him a small smile in response, picking up the dish towel.
"'M fine, I'll just take a cold bath."
Hongjoong's eyes flicked up mischievously at the statement, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying his thoughts, if Seonghwa's vaguely exasperated expression meant anything.
"Waiting for an invitation?"
"Mm, I don't think I need one."
Seonghwa scoffed but didn't dispute this, suddenly focusing very closely on carefully drying the whisk he was holding. Thick but comfortable silence spread over them, flavored warm and sugared by the aroma of the cooling sweets crowded onto the modestly sized oakwood table in the corner of the kitchen they called the dining room.
As he handed Seonghwa a spoon to dry, Hongjoong recalled a time he'd gone over to the apartment next to theirs to ask their neighbor if they wanted extra baked goods on a day that Hongjoong had gone slightly overboard with some raspberry-cream cheese danishes, making enough to feed a small army. The yelling next door had been so loud every day for weeks beforehand, and Hongjoong had marched himself over, hoping to quiet the angry voices if nothing else for at least a second.
Hongjoong would never forget the way the anger slipped off of the face of the woman who'd opened the door when he'd presented her with the tupperware container of danishes. The quick succession of anger-confusion-awe-joy was something he still saw when he closed his eyes sometimes. The woman had thanked him profusely, saying she'd desperately needed them that day.
Hongjoong believed her.
He never got that tupperware back. Not that it surprised him. The glance he'd gotten over her shoulder told a sad story of utter depression and suffocation; someone drowning and in need of rescuing. Overrun with stuff, cluttered in a way that was so very different from the comfortably close quarters of his and Seonghwa's own apartment.
"I want our summers to always be like this."
Hongjoong's voice startled himself as much as it did Seonghwa, who looked down at him in mild confusion. Hongjoong met his gaze, affection burning in his eyes.
"This kitchen, wrecked by love, our little table overflowing with baked goods, too-hot air being pushed around our apartment by the fans we've had for years, tripping over each other as we try to get around each other in the hallway. So be it."
Seonghwa's lips parted in surprise, eyes widening slightly. His eyebrows pinched together in a way that always meant he was holding in bigger emotions than he was letting on.
"Oh, Hongjoong…"
"Let us never be rescued from this mess."
Hongjoong barely had a chance to see the absolute galaxy of stars blooming in Seonghwa’s eyes before he was pulled into a warm kiss. The hands on the sides of his face were slightly damp, but so are his own as they wrap around Seonghwa’s waist, pulling him close to crowd Hongjoong into the corner where the two lengths of freshly granite countertop met. The nostalgic scent of ivory liquid soap flavored the kiss honey-sweet with memories. Hongjoong’s cheeks were suddenly wet. By whose tears, however, he didn’t know; when they broke apart, both had tear tracks running down their faces.
“I…” Seonghwa’s eyes were wet and dark, boring into Hongjoong’s in a way that made him feel an odd mix of utter nakedness and security that wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest. “Hongjoong, you…”
“Me?”
“You,” Seonghwa repeated, and it’s not a question this time. He pushed closer into Hongjoong, their noses bumping against each other as their foreheads met gently. “You’re it for me, Hongjoong Kim-Park.”
“Not yet,” Hongjoong whispered, lips brushing against Seonghwa’s as he spoke. “Not yet, remember?”
An emotional laugh bubbled from Seonghwa's chest as he shook his head, hands pressing Hongjoong even closer to him from their places on his cheeks.
“Of course, not yet.”
Closing the space between them, Hongjoong pecked Seonghwa’s lips before moving on to his cheeks, nose, and, with difficulty, his forehead. Seonghwa huffed a small laugh through his nose at the sight of Hongjoong on his tiptoes, bending down graciously to allow him easier access. Despite the scowl Hongjoong sent him for the silent teasing, he continued his shower of affection, intent on kissing every square inch of his fiancé's face. Seonghwa eventually pulled back, lifting Hongjoong’s left hand to press a soft kiss to the ring there, a warm gold to the cool silver of Seonghwa’s own ring.
“I am so unbelievably privileged to call you mine, my love.”
Oh.
Oh, and Hongjoong was really crying now. Full, body-wracking sobs as he allowed himself to be gathered up in Seonghwa’s arms. Hiccuping, stuttering breaths as Seonghwa whispered loving promises to him, only succeeding in making him cry much harder and bury his face in Seonghwa’s chest.
It took a while before Hongjoong could even produce a coherent sentence.
“I can’t fathom how to put it into words,” was all he could manage at first.
Seonghwa’s smile radiated fondness, patiently letting Hongjoong piece his thoughts together like the obscenely complex and pictureless thousand piece jigsaw puzzle they were.
"You make me want to be a better person. You make me want to be a person who people look at and say 'yeah, that makes sense' when they hear you're with me. I think I'm doing it, too. With you, I'm doing it. I love both you and myself more every-"
Hongjoong choked on tears he hadn't realized were already falling from his eyes.
"-every, every day."
Seonghwa's eyes were terribly intense in that moment, his hands tightening at their place on Hongjoong's waist. Of course, Hongjoong knew why. His love languages were all physical and emotional, not linguistically woven into daily life like Seonghwa's. Where Seonghwa easily peppered in 'I love you's and waxed poetic, Hongjoong would simply place comforting hands, make and give gifts, ask for physical affection. This was an outlier, and a welcome one if the stars that had found their way back into Seonghwa's eyes meant anything.
"I love you, too, Hongjoong."
Simple enough. Just enough to make Hongjoong's eyes water but not pressing hard enough to make him cry uncontrollably again. Seonghwa was a master at that, knowing just when to press forward and when to stop with Hongjoong, treating him gently as he held his heart, mind, and body like a particularly skilled musician would an instrument.
"Now, come. We have quite the variety of baked goods to sample here," Seonghwa broke the tension, tugging Hongjoong with him towards the table, who gratefully smiled at the diversion.
Seonghwa broke off a piece of a chocolate chip cookie and fed it to Hongjoong. He couldn't help but repeat his own words in his head as the warm chocolate melted on his tongue and the love of his life smiled down on him.
"Good?"
"Better than I expected, I don't usually like milk chocolate, these are really mostly for you."
"You… ah… sweet thing."
Let us never be rescued from this mess.