Archive of Our Own

the disaster: a hefty amount of chicken nuggets, way too much cooking oil, a lack of cooking experience

Sunwoo is a mess, self-certified and peer reviewed through and through. But cursed by the starving, drained college kid life, who wouldn't be?

"You set the stove on fire? "

There are four sets of eyes on him, all of varying emotions locked in with collective disbelief. And normally, Sunwoo would deem all this attention a little unnecessary, but he had been terribly unsuccessful with his project today, setting the fire alarm off and clouding their entire suite with smoke. Given his culinary history of instant ramyeon and takeout, maybe he had overestimated himself.

Now, all but one of his dorm-mates crowd around him conspicuously in the living room. They had called this an intervention. Sunwoo isn’t sure if he’s secretly relieved that the only one missing is his roommate, not sure how he’ll fare with the disappointment that would be sent his way. He’s sure Chanhee has definitely already texted him the entire ordeal.

(On one hand, disappointing Changmin is the last thing he wants; the mere thought of it makes his chest tighten with worry. On the other hand, things have been rocky between them, and if disappointment will get Changmin to look his way, then he’s willing to take that plunge.)

"Lots of people start grease fires by accident," Sunwoo defends, staring right back at Chanhee's frown. 

His friend doesn't seem impressed. "You were frying chicken nuggets."

Sunwoo shrugs, even as the other three burst into laughter. "One of the most common types of kitchen fires."

Chanhee’s frown deepens at that, and Eric throws an arm over his shoulder. Like that will help with the charred countertops. Kevin is carefully poking a fork into the mess that was meant to be Sunwoo’s dinner.

“Could’ve been worse,” Haknyeon adds, not at all hiding his amusement. “At least we can still use the kitchen.”

As nonchalant as he tries to seem, Sunwoo does feel remorse at that statement. He might be a little clueless sometimes, but he’s no asshole. Especially not to the people he’s supposed to share a space with.

“Hak’s right,” Kevin agrees, and Sunwoo sighs. “Lucky you’re not hurt.”

“Lucky nobody else was there to see you take that colossal L,” Eric snickers, and Haknyeon high fives him. They share a devious look between them. “Lucky Changmin wasn’t there to see y—”

“If someone else was there, this wouldn’t have happened,” Chanhee interrupts them pointedly, scrunching his nose. He saves Sunwoo from further teasing, but it feels a little underhanded. He supposes he deserves that.

“I’m sorry,” Sunwoo says, “I’ll do better next time?”

Haknyeon looks horrified at that, Chanhee facepalms, and Eric looks uneasy. Sunwoo gets the idea that he’s made a mistake.

“Oh, honey…” Kevin trails off, patting his arm. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“I love you, dude,” Haknyeon starts, and this is the tell-tale beginning to him breaking Sunwoo’s spirit before he can execute any foolish idea he has. “But as funny as this is, I kind of like our stove… functional. Unless you learn how to cook, I’m banning you from the kitchen unsupervised.”

Sunwoo frowns at him. He can’t keep ordering in; the dent in his bank account is at a risky spot, and he needs to eat if he wants a fighting chance at getting through his studies. “How am I supposed to learn how to cook if I can’t go into the kitchen?”

Haknyeon points at Eric, who points at Kevin, who points at Chanhee, who shakes his head aggressively. He points right back at Haknyeon and Sunwoo can smell a brewing argument. 

“Well, I’m no chef,” says a new voice, and the tension is cut free, only to be replaced by something just as disquieting. “But I’ll take one for the team.”

His missing roommate stands in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, a frown along his face as he observes from afar. Normally, Sunwoo would be able to appreciate (from a safe, non-confronting distance) how terribly cute he looks in his fluffy jacket, the hood complete with little bear ears and all. But right now his mind is filling with dread while simultaneously processing Changmin’s suggestion.

“How long have you been here?” Chanhee asks, looking mildly spooked. “Nevermind. Thank you, lifesaver.”

Changmin puts down a plastic bag on their dining table, making his way over to the group. He rolls his eyes when Chanhee starts to walk away immediately.

“Hey! Dibs on the shower, Chanhee!” he calls, scowling when the other pretends not to hear him. He looks towards Sunwoo, never directly at him, conflicted. “I… I need to wash up. We can have your first lesson tomorrow, maybe? Don’t cook anything tonight, I picked up fried chicken on the way because I wasn’t sure about the state of our…” He glances at the kitchen. “... appliances.”

Sunwoo blinks. The amount of words in that exchange alone exceeds their daily quota lately. His stomach churns when Changmin starts to leave. 

“This appliance is doing okay, by the way,” Sunwoo jokes, pointing at himself. Desperate to keep him back just a moment longer, the wires of his brain overheating at this untimely interaction. “In case you were wondering.”

Changmin finally looks at him, face unreadable. Sunwoo wills himself not to break eye contact. He half expects a scolding but Changmin yields first, exhaling tiredly. “I’m really, really glad for that.”

“Oh,” Sunwoo mumbles, suddenly meek under the stare, cheeks heating up. He can see Eric elbowing Haknyeon. “Hyung, I—”

I’m sorry , he almost says. The sound of the bathroom door slamming shut snaps them both out of it.

“Choi Chanhee you bitch!” Changmin exclaims, and Kevin shoos him away, offering to set up for dinner. He turns back to Sunwoo very briefly to remind, “First lesson tomorrow, okay?”

Sunwoo bites back his unfinished apology, watching him scurry away before the shower starts running. He hasn’t had a proper conversation beyond hellos and goodbyes— and in the rare necessary case, a conversation beyond three word sentences—with Changmin in nearly a month. They’re supposed to cook together tomorrow.

“Okay,” he agrees, and he feels a pat on his head. He frowns up at the remaining two. “What now?”

Eric pulls back, and the curve of his mouth is nothing short of teasing. “Have fun tomorrow.”

Their suitemates know something’s fishy between them. But as far as Eric knows, this is just another one of their squabbles, prolonged by both their stubborn competitive streaks.

Sunwoo scoffs, getting up to push them away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” Eric laughs, right as Kevin yells for his assistance. Haknyeon hangs behind long enough to make Sunwoo feel on edge. He’s the only one that has been trying to play detective about the sudden strain in their friendship, but Sunwoo never lets him get too close to seeing the light.

“I can ask hyung to swap with me,” he offers quietly, “If you want.”

“It’s fine.”

“Sunwoo…”

“It’s fine! We’re roommates, I’ll have to face him sooner or later. Whatever, we win some, we lose some."

He doesn’t like the way Haknyeon’s expression mellows out into concern. Like he's not buying it at all. “You sure?”

It’s not at all convincing when Sunwoo shoots down the proposition, but the other leaves him be. The setting sun through the window looks lovely, so Sunwoo presses his cheek against the glass to observe, trying not to think about how he’s supposed to survive the shame of tomorrow.

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 1: chicken tenderloins, flour, an egg, oil, breadcrumbs, salt and pepper to taste, or other desired seasonings; a dash of hesitation

When Changmin said the word ‘lesson’, he wasn’t joking in the slightest. He gives Sunwoo the fright of his life the next day, shaking him awake and peering much too close at his face.

“Wake up, time to cook.”

His words are quiet, like he’s trying to tread carefully on a floor littered with pins. Sunwoo feels a little smug to know he isn’t the only one wading through dread.

“Who cooks breakfast?” Sunwoo blubbers, rubbing at his eyes. He sits up,  glancing around. “Cereal was invented for a reason. Hyung, it’s so early.”

Changmin looks to the closed blinds, and it’s then that Sunwoo catches just how bright the edge of it is, where the light lines it. Almost like—

“It’s one-thirty,” Changmin tells him honestly, and then he frowns. “It’s time for lunch.”

Sunwoo doesn’t resist when Changmin tries to pull him out of his bed and towards the bathroom. And while he’s tempted to take his sweet, sweet time freshening up, the thought of leaving Changmin to wait isn’t one that he’s fond of.

“What’s for lunch?” he yawns, sauntering in to find Changmin drying his hands.

He doesn’t look at Sunwoo, but he hands over a small notebook. When Sunwoo flips it open, he finds that Changmin has written out the recipe for him. Crumbed chicken, it says. “Thought we’d give you a chance to redeem your chicken nuggets before we move on to something harder.”

“This,” Sunwoo scans the recipe, and then his gaze drifts to the ingredients arranged neatly into shallow bowls on the kitchen island. One filled with white powder, one filled with yellow liquid, and one filled with fine beige granules. “This seems a lot harder than chicken nuggets.”

Changmin wordlessly pulls him towards the island. It’s a little touch, one that is gone too quickly, much to his dismay. He tries to shake away the ache it leaves behind, trying to focus.

Not for Changmin in particular, he tries to reason. No, he just wants to become less of a nuisance—to the whole suite.

“People think this will be difficult because it’s from scratch, but it’s very easy,” Changmin promises, reaching for one of the tenderloins. He places it in the first bowl, making sure the entire piece is coated white. “This is flour. I’ve added in salt and pepper beforehand.”

“Is it optional?” Sunwoo asks, watching him carefully transfer the piece into the next bowl with his other hand. He thinks he is prone to forgetting the details of cooking, especially when Changmin’s hands are so distractingly pretty.

“If you want unseasoned food, then sure,” the other replies, turning it over so that the liquid soaks into the previous coating. “This is egg, by the way.”

Changmin transfers the piece into the next bowl and does the same. Sunwoo worries he’s coming across as disinterested, so he stares hard at the contents of that bowl. “Is that seasoning?”

Changmin pauses to gauge if he’s joking or not. “Some, yes. But this is mostly breadcrumbs.”

“Ah,” he manages to get out, suddenly nervous. He has incredible luck that makes up for his lack of knowledge, but it isn’t quite working out in this scenario. “Right, yes. Of course.”

The real problem arises when Changmin nudges him towards the plate of chicken, as if to say, your turn. Sunwoo tries to recreate the sequence he had just observed, trying not to grimace at the feeling of raw meat in his hands. The end result is clumsily breaded chicken and a lot of goop along his fingers, and Changmin trying to hold back his smile.

“Try—” A ghost of a laugh still escapes with his breath. Sunwoo supposes he looks pretty ridiculous. “Sorry. Try using different hands for the wet and dry ingredients.”

He feels a tad self-conscious, but Changmin hasn’t smiled like this (or at all) at him in a while. He has half a mind to mess up on purpose, just to keep the expression on him a little longer. But he knows Changmin, and he knows that the other would find it to be a mockery of his efforts, and Sunwoo is the last person who would ever want him to feel that way.

So they try and try again, until every single piece is coated beige, each an improvement of the last. Changmin gives him pointers every now and then, and Sunwoo really admires him for putting aside whatever weird thing they’ve got going on for now. It makes up for the trouble Sunwoo is having with it, everything he’s tried to compartmentalise over the last month and a half coming loose and jumbling up all over again.

The fallout, their friendship, the feelings. His feelings, prior to it all.

“Now that we’ve drizzled them in oil,” Changmin explains, transferring them over into an appliance Sunwoo doesn’t use often, “we can pop them in the air-fryer for a bit. No burns or splashes to worry about.”

Sunwoo raises a brow at this. “Can’t I just do this with store bought nuggets?”

Changmin goes quieter again, and Sunwoo would worry he said something wrong but he recognises the way he purses his lips. He’s missed getting to see this side of Changmin.

“Well, yeah, but,” Changmin mumbles, watching the timer on the air-fryer. His ears are pink-tipped. “If I’m going to teach you, I might as well put in some effort, right? What if you run out of chicken nuggets one day?”

He doesn’t have to do that. Especially not for Sunwoo—but he does anyway. Something about that warms him up, melting away the first frost of his worries, and he so terribly wishes to tell Changmin how much he’s missed him.

“Education majors,” is what he ends up saying instead, shaking his head. Changmin frowns unsurely but it unravels when he sees Sunwoo’s smile.

They don’t really say much for the rest of their wait, but Changmin joins Sunwoo when the food is done. The chicken is overcooked, and its accompaniment—reheated day-old rice and leftover side dishes from last week—isn’t gourmet, but Sunwoo likes the silence between them as they eat, and the way Changmin lets him have the last piece because he’s the faster eater.

He likes the way Changmin hasn’t forgotten their rhythm, even if they’re both hesitant to fall into it.

“How is it?”

Changmin’s tone is careful and curious, but not reticent—so reminiscent of how they first met. Tilted head and mouth pressed tight enough that his dimple shows.

Sunwoo thinks he tears up a bit, mouth full of food when he admits, “It’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my life.”

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 2: hot water, soy sauce, chicken stock, ginger, chilli oil, frozen dumplings, green onions, sesame seeds; a sprinkle of nostalgia

Sunwoo stands, arms crossed, staring in disbelief. “But I’ve been cooking for the past few days all on my own.”

Changmin’s brows crease in genuine worry.

“Sunwoo,” he begins, very gently like one might speak to an upset baby, “Sunwoo you’ve been eating crumbed chicken for every meal for four days. I cannot allow this to be my legacy.”

“So you’re just going to teach me more recipes?”

The other nods in affirmative. Sunwoo groans, throwing his hands up in defeat and walking over. The notebook lays open on the counter, and the title of today’s dish has Sunwoo double-taking.

“Soup?” he reads, while Changmin rummages through their cupboards.

"Emergency dumpling soup," Changmin corrects, beckoning Sunwoo over. He holds out a deep pot. "Water."

Sunwoo takes the pot and stares back at him. "Huh?"

Changmin nods towards the notebook. "Can't you read? Lesson starts now, and soup is a liquid."

"I know what soup is!" It comes out something midway between a laugh and a huff.

"Really? Because you're not acting like it," Changmin shoots back, and then quietens down, stunned. Sunwoo is too—banter has been a love language, and it’s quite apparent how little of it they’ve shared in a while. "It was a joke."

Changmin's not looking at him again and Sunwoo's stomach does a stupid churning thing. It feels like the night sky has lost all its stars.

Hands full, he does the next best thing he can think of, bumping Changmin's hip with his own. "I missed your… your jokes."

He’s missed… nevermind.

There's a small smile and though it leaves, the light of it lingers in Changmin's eyes. Very muted, but hopeful still.

The process of making the soup is easy as Changmin promises, just a pot of ingredients boiling together. Sunwoo is more on standby this time, only fetching what he is asked of, watching as Changmin adds things in with practised hands. Sunwoo wonders how often Changmin has made this before.

“It was one of the first things I ever made, after moving out for college,” Changmin admits, watching their meal simmer. “I had it for months. I got sick of it, too.” There’s a soft laugh, a little bitter at its edges. “I save it now for whenever I feel like it’s a low-spoons day.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me, then.”

Changmin’s eyes flit to him, a little rounder, like he’s surprised that Sunwoo would be thankful. The thought brings a strange sort of hurt to his heart, and he realises he’s not the only one guarded and assumptious about whether he’s loathsome in the other’s eye. Whether the careful skirting around each other felt just as hopeless on both ends.

He’s still mulling over it when they’re having dinner, the warmth of it soaking his bones. He remembers when they’d first shared a meal together as roommates, midnight ramyeon on a homesick night. Changmin had pulled out a number of extra ingredients, claiming that store bought instant food needn’t be boring nor confined to what it was being sold as. Sunwoo remembers it being the best ramyeon he’d ever had.

Now, Sunwoo watches a lonely kimchi dumpling sitting in his soup, mourning.

Mourning how those two boys had progressed into what they are now, fragile footsteps along a crumbly road to each other. He hates himself for making Changmin feel such a thing, instead of being there to cushion him—like they had, prior to it all.

“I’ll cook for you, next time you’re low on spoons,” Sunwoo blurts out, and Changmin laughs, bright and disbelieving.

“Maybe when you learn a couple more recipes,” he jokes, but the crinkle of his eyes is fond. It makes Sunwoo’s heart twist in yearning for what was, and maybe beat dangerously for what could’ve been.

I miss him, he admits freely, not trying to pummel down the thought for once. I miss him so much it hurts.

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 3: bread of your choice, assorted toppings of your choice; a handful of repressed regret

“Then why don’t you tell him that?”

Haknyeon’s eyes are still half-lidded as he stirs his coffee, but the accuracy with which he looks in Sunwoo’s direction signals that he’s awake. Sunwoo shrugs, munching on his food. He’d walked into the kitchen five minutes past dawn to Changmin making himself breakfast.

(“Oh,” he’d said in surprise, cracking an egg into a frying pan. He was still sleep-stricken, a tuft of hair sticking up. Sunwoo thought he'd never seen someone more perfect. "You're quite the early bird today."

Sunwoo wondered if Changmin simply waddled out of their room with no recollection of Sunwoo glued to his laptop from the night before. He didn't have the heart to break it to him.

"Yeah," he laughed instead, reaching into the fridge for an energy drink. He'd grabbed a slice of bread too, and had shoved half of it straight into his mouth before realising that Changmin was now wide awake and staring at him in worry.

"Boy dinner?" he'd offered weakly.

Changmin had sighed, and cracked another egg into the pan.)

"I just," Sunwoo finally says, staring down at the remaining toast. It's layered with cream cheese and thin-sliced, smoked salmon. Sunwoo didn't even know they had such things in their inventory. "I just don't know if that's fair, y'know. It's kinda selfish, don't you think? For me to do that after how we've been for… a while."

Haknyeon adds an alarming amount of sweetener into his mug before he settles in the chair across from him. "Why did you stop talking anyway? I thought it was just you having your gay little crush on him at first, but—"

Sunwoo chokes on his toast, pounding on his chest. He takes a deep breath, face beet red.

"But whatever this is, looks like something else," Haknyeon finishes, sipping his coffee like Sunwoo didn't almost fucking die.

"I don't have a—I don't," Sunwoo babbles, but the lie dies down when he gets a pointed look. "Okay, I did." Another look of disbelief. "Fine, maybe I still do. A bit."

There's a satisfied nod and a noisy gulp.

"But it's not that," Sunwoo admits, ducking his head when he remembers his unfortunate series of events. Things he's quite embarrassed of by now. "I was… ugh, it's stupid."

"It's not," Haknyeon immediately rebuts. "Tell me."

And so tell him, he does.

Starting with a silly, gay little crush he'd had on one of the graduate students who had been the TA for one of his classes. Sangyeon had been a walking dream that Sunwoo had no thoughts on actually pursuing, blush-cheeked interactions stored away in some forgotten cabinet of his mind. He was the most charming man Sunwoo had ever laid eyes on, but as quickly as it had come, it soon got buried beneath his freshman workload. Sure, the possibility of it would occasionally resurface, but it wasn’t one he would dare hold onto.

Enter: Changmin.

Extroverted as he may be, moving into a suite full of strangers is not easy. Sunwoo had entered his room with cautious steps and a suitcase full of his heart that he was hesitant to hang up for strangers to see. His roommate had regarded him with wide eyes but a small nod of acknowledgement. Quiet and reserved, aloof almost—Sunwoo had been convinced Changmin hated him for a good few weeks before he realised the other was just terribly shy.

Within the time it had taken for them to eventually warm up to each other, Sunwoo had not only found in him a friend, but also a redirection of his heart—new and improved, this time sillier and gayer. As it turns out, your heart latching onto someone you see daily is another tough feat. Sunwoo really had thought he could nurse his feelings in secret, not wanting to jeopardise anything.

Until Changmin had, one day, very hesitantly announced to the dinner table that he’d got himself a boyfriend.

Now, Sunwoo isn’t someone who lets his jealousy get the better of him, nor is he someone who enjoys standing in the way of someone else’s happiness, but that was a moment that brought out his ugliest feelings—seeds of bitter growing into something venomous through him and, well—

Getting over a crush is hard enough on its own, but to witness them getting together with your previous crush? It was a sitcom issue come to life, a cosmic mockery of his heart’s secret desires, present and past.

So, out of the unbearable discomfort of his own heart, Sunwoo had decided to step back, if only to heal himself. He had to. They may have been friends, but to see and hear him speak of Sangyeon like that felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

But when heavy effort had turned into self-sabotage, into terrible thoughts telling him the more distance the better, he fell into them. Despite pleading looks of please, don’t shut me out , he couldn’t pull himself out of it. Changmin had noted his curtness and probably mirrored him; out of emotional exhaustion, or respect, he doesn’t know.

He convinced himself it was for the better, and that Sangyeon would never do this to Changmin.

Except, fast forward a couple of months, and Sangyeon and Changmin break up.

They break up, and Sunwoo doesn't know where they stand, so he wasn't even able to comfort him. He had tried, of course. He had wanted to be there for Changmin when he came home one night with a reddened nose and tired eyes, voice choked up. But Changmin had politely declined his comfort, shouldering it alone on his side of the room instead.

Now he lives with the delicate aftermath of his own doing.

Haknyeon is silent when Sunwoo concludes his spiel. Then, alarmingly calm, he says, "You know what, that is kinda stupid."

Sunwoo groans, head in his hands. "I'm saying."

The other points at Sunwoo’s breakfast. “Well, at least we know he doesn’t hate you.”

Sunwoo feels less delusional at this affirmation, but then again, guilt creeping in, he mumbles, “It’s… It’s just toast.”

Haknyeon sighs with the heaviness of an eighty-year old grandfather. “That he made voluntarily at the ass crack of dawn! Come on, Sunwoo.”

He raises his hands in a show of peace. He knows what Haknyeon is trying to imply. 

Sunwoo had watched Changmin layer toppings on toasted bread, naming his favourite combinations—endearingly going off tangent to vent about people calling toast boring—before presenting him with three different options. He’d even slid one of the fried eggs onto Sunwoo’s plate . The first rays of morning sun had shone on him as he’d huffed about how toast is a ‘versatile college staple’, and Sunwoo’s heart had clenched up with something familiar.

It isn’t the food itself, but the time and effort put into it—the fact that he thinks Sunwoo is worth any of these. Care rests on the shelves of the kitchen pantry, concern folded into mouthfuls of food; cooking is one way from a heart to another.

Forgiveness or something else, the fact that Changmin is trying must count for something.

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 4: gim, rice, salt, toasted sesame oil, carrot, cucumber, beef, garlic, soy sauce, sugar, vegetable oil, eggs, yellow pickled radish; a teaspoon of hope

He mulls over what Haknyeon says, tries not to let his more pessimistic thoughts cloud his judgement. But he also tries not to give himself too much of the opposite—false hope is the worst kind of killer after all.

But it’s difficult not to let such a thing bud when Changmin keeps cooking for him unprompted. He uses the excuse that he’s too busy to teach any recipes this week, but Sunwoo doesn’t know if it is all that much of a fair compensation. He can’t find it in him to complain though, not when it makes his insides warm and his heart full.

“Sunwoo,” Changmin says one day, as he’s got one foot out the door, backpack slung on his shoulder. “Uh, here.”

He scurries to the apartment’s entrance before Sunwoo can leave, pushing something into his hands. Sunwoo realises it is Changmin’s lunchbox. He looks up in confusion.

“You’re giving me your lunch?”

Changmin frowns like he’s spouting nonsense. “No, I’m giving you your lunch.”

“In your box?”

His brows knit tighter, incredulous, as he shakes the box at Sunwoo. “Don’t need it, I have no class today. And I figure this is better than stale corn-chips.”

He’s right, it definitely is. But there’s this part of Sunwoo that has missed pushing his buttons, gleeful whenever Changmin leans into flustered indignance.

“If you wanted to cook for me, just say that,” Sunwoo jests with a shrug.

Changmin, as expected, reacts immediately; determined scowl and pink marshmallow cheeks. He’s so cute Sunwoo could take a bite out of him.

“I just—!” he huffs, shoving the lunchbox into Sunwoo’s chest, grumbling as he avoids his eyes. “It’s easy to fall into the college kid vending machine diet. I just want you to eat well.”

It’s rare that he is so easily genuine, and Sunwoo lets him off the hook; he’s soft at the heart for sweet sentiment, even more so for Changmin. He takes the food, and their fingertips brush for a second too long. Nobody pulls away too quickly this time.

“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll make sure I remember to eat.”

The warmth of Changmin’s fingers eventually leave, but it lingers in how he looks at Sunwoo as he bids him goodbye for the day. It isn’t quite the same as what they had before, but it’s the closest to it since then. The image of it burns into Sunwoo’s mind for the rest of the day, setting off flutters in his chest when he eventually does eat lunch.

sunwoo
hyung
look i finished it all
[image attached]

chang(mini)
good!!! or i’d kill u
all my hard work…

Sunwoo buys another lunchbox on his way home. After washing it and leaving it on the drying rack, he realises it matches Changmin's, but in red instead of purple. It makes him smile, a little.

“Hyung,” he says, later that night, watching Changmin potter in the kitchen, scouring the pantry for snacks. “Hyung, teach me how to make kimbap.”

Changmin turns to look at Sunwoo, still hunched over one of the lower cupboards.

“It was good?” he asks, clutching a bag of Orion Turtle Chips, his eyes polished round with surprise. He's incredibly cute like this, emotions all animated on his face.

“Yeah, I shared with my project partner,” Sunwoo muses, trying not to laugh as he leans his cheek in his palm, “He said my girlfriend must like me a lot.”

Changmin drops the bag. He clears his throat, reaching for it again. “It’s very generous of him to assume that you pull bitches.”

And there it is, the chance. When Changmin starts jabbering things he doesn’t mean, his ears pink, Sunwoo knows he’s got him cornered.

“Oh, don’t worry, I cleared up the misunderstanding,” Sunwoo continues, readying himself for the absolute explosion of a scolding he’s about to get. “I told him my wife adores me.”

“Sunwoo!”

His yell is too shrill for this hour of the night, and Sunwoo barely has time to catch the bag of chips hurled his way.

“You’re right, you’re right, we shouldn’t have to hide from society,” Sunwoo starts up again gleefully, as Changmin is reeled right back into it, running right over with his fist up in mock-threat. “I should’ve just said my husband is a phenomenal cook.”

“You—!”

Changmin’s words get caught in the laugh that escapes him, his hands swatting at Sunwoo’s shoulder at an alarming speed. It reminds him of how cats pick fights with each other, but Sunwoo holds his tongue, in case Changmin gets murderous.

“Hyung, the kimbap,” he reminds, poking Changmin’s chest. His face is blushed warm and his mouth is trembling with a smile held back. His heart wraps up in layers of many things familiar, and somewhere within it all is awareness that he still thinks Changmin is beautiful.

“Fine, fine,” Changmin agrees, finally letting up. Sunwoo trails after him without being told or tugged, a strange eagerness in him. He wonders if a whole week and half without any cooking lessons has messed with his brain, and these are the aftereffects of his withdrawal.

Changmin does the harder parts, and Sunwoo follows through with the simpler bits under his meticulous instruction. They fall into sync easily, and he’s hit with the realisation that they’ve found a comfortable rhythm again. Even if it took a small fire incident and a forced intervention, they’re here now—speaking to each other, looking at each other, laughter between them.

“Sunwoo, keep an eye on the carrots for a bit?” Changmin requests, wrangling the beef in a bowl. “Just for a bit! And then take them off heat—put them next to the spinach. Where is the salt…”

He means to help, but instead, what spills out is, “I miss you.”

Changmin freezes, gloved hand smothered in soy sauce, the other awkwardly hanging in the air, half-way to the salt. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and Sunwoo doesn’t know what to make of the silence.

“I miss you,” he repeats, easier this time, words flowing out like he’s breathing.

"The… carrots," Changmin reminds, a beat too late, when Sunwoo's already transferred them off the heat. "Oh."

"It's alright," Sunwoo promises, moving on to chop up the pickled radish. "You don't have to say anything, I just… really thought I'd clear that up. I miss you, so, so much." And why can’t he stop? “I have missed you so much. I… miss you, even now.”

Changmin doesn’t say anything, and Sunwoo doesn’t blame him, doesn’t expect him to. It’s quite the revelation to drop on someone while making kimbap. It’s much too tense, much too silent as they finish preparing the rest of the ingredients. Eventually, Sunwoo nudges him with his elbow.

Please, look at me.

“Y—yes?” Changmin is startled too easily at this and Sunwoo tries not to dwell on it. The remnants of his sudden courage curdles into something less sunny.

Please look at me.

“How do we roll it?” he questions, trying not to lean right into Changmin’s line of vision. He has spread the rice on the seaweed sheet, has laid out the ingredients on it like Changmin taught him, has tried not to melt away into a pool of regret. “Don’t we need like a… bamboo mat thing? Whenever my grandma makes these, she uses one.”

Please, please, please look at me—

Changmin laughs, shaking his head, pointing down. His ingredients have, in fact, been rolled into a perfect cylinder with no bamboo mat in sight. Sunwoo must have missed it, wallowing in his thoughts.

“Can you show me again?” he asks, looking down at his kimbap, everything laid open for Changmin to see. It feels ironic, a little symbolic even. “Hyu—oh, hey.”

Changmin has come up behind him, arms snaking past Sunwoo’s waist to guide his hands. His chin hooks over Sunwoo’s shoulder, and maybe it’s his nerves, maybe it’s the part of him that’s incredibly fond of Changmin, but he hums in question.

“Are you on your tip-toes for that, hyung?” Sunwoo can’t help himself.

Changmin bites his shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for Sunwoo to mumble out an apology. It's a familiar little action, and for a moment it feels like the past months never happened at all. “Do you want my help or not, you brat?”

“Yes, hyung,” Sunwoo responds, so exaggeratedly demure that Changmin scoffs. But his palms press against the back of Sunwoo’s hands, fingers curling over Sunwoo’s to keep them in place. Touch soft and patient, despite his tone.

“There you go,” Changmin sighs, once Sunwoo’s kimbap is rolled. He even helps Sunwoo cut it without making a mess of the shape. “See? Easy peasy.”

Like he didn’t just do most of the work. Sunwoo has to laugh—affectionate, of course. He wonders if the little vibrations of it reach Changmin through where their bodies press into each other.

“I… I miss you too,” Changmin murmurs, so quiet that if he weren’t literally at his ear, Sunwoo would’ve missed it. “I’ve missed you, too. All this time.”

It’s an odd kind of warmth for someone to share your bittersweet sentiments. Sunwoo turns his head away from Changmin’s face and peeks down, out of the corner of his eye, at their feet.

“So you are on your tip-toes.”

Changmin screams, muffling it into Sunwoo’s shoulder. “You’re so annoying! So annoying, I can’t believe I missed that, too…”

“Well, I bet it’s been really hard reaching the top shelves all on your own.”

Changmin’s rebuttal is angry and garbled, but his arms squeeze Sunwoo’s sides in some semblance of a hug, grumbling eventually morphing into the loveliest laugh. And when Sunwoo finally looks at him, he’s looking back with smiling eyes, cheeks soft and risen up like fresh bread.

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 5: all-purpose flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda, salt, milk, oil, water, vanilla extract, additional toppings of choice; a dollop of comfort

Now that Changmin has let him into his space again, it takes Sunwoo everything not to simply dive right in. It doesn’t even matter that there has been a Sunwoo-sized opening left for him, he is still cautious. For fear of coming off too strong too quickly, for fear of scaring Changmin off, right when they’ve reconciled.

More than anything, there is lingering remorse he has for shutting Changmin out. And so he tip-toes a little more until he has to stop.

The day—or rather, the night—arrives in the form of his phone buzzing at some ungodly hour, as he's sprawled along the living room floor, laptop on the coffee table amidst scattered papers. Changmin's name flashes across his phone screen with each buzz, and Sunwoo picks up, confused. He thought the other was asleep.

"Hyung?" he greets, wondering if Changmin had slipped out of the apartment while Sunwoo was too focused. "What's up? Do you need a ride back?"

The prolonged silence worries him. "You've dyed your hair before, right?"

"Huh?"

"Can you come to the…" There's a small sound that Sunwoo doesn't want to recognise as a sniffle, "the bathroom."

It doesn't take much for him to drop everything and answer to the other. When the bathroom door creaks open, he finds Changmin standing with his hands on his hips and odd strands of white in his hair. There's a pair of gloves in the sink, along with a chunk of hair, and Changmin's frown hangs over teary eyes, ever-indignant. He looks a little crazed.

"Blue or green?" he demands, like that is all he needed help with. He shakes his head, and when he inhales, it's a pitiful sound. "Whatever. It's not working anyway."

Sunwoo's heart squeezes fretfully. And though he feels like there is more to it, he asks, "The hair dye?"

"It's not… it's not working," Changmin repeats helplessly, and that's when the first tear breaks free. Sunwoo slips into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. "My hair… my—my…"

Sunwoo pulls him close without another thought.

"Nothing's working." A sob finally wracks through him, and Sunwoo rubs his back. "My stupid assignment is half done, I can't go to sleep, I can't even dye my hair properly." The fabric over Sunwoo's shoulder is dampening rapidly. Quietly, he continues, "I can't even fix our fucking friendship… I'm scaring you away again. It's too much, isn't it? Too soon? I'm so sorry."

What, Sunwoo wants to deadpan, because if anything, he's been thinking space was what Changmin needed from him. He squeezes Changmin in his hold, chest to chest, no gaps for any more doubt to pool in.

"No, I'm sorry," Sunwoo murmurs into his hair. It smells lethally chemical, and a shorter tuft sticks up, broken tips bleached. He pulls away, meaning to simply look Changmin in the eye, but something comes over him at the sight of red-rimmed eyes. He cups Changmin's face, thumbing over tear-stained cheeks. "You can talk to me any time. I'm sorry for assuming you didn't want that."

Changmin stares dazedly, from his words or the tender little touch, or both. He blinks at Sunwoo, mouth opening and closing a few times. He sighs, rueful. "I can't even speak."

Sunwoo frowns at that, squeezing his cheeks. “Okay, you need to wash your hair and meet me in the kitchen. I’ll make you something warm to drink—earl grey? One spoon of honey?”

The line of Changmin’s mouth presses shakily like he’s going to cry again. He blinks it back, a weary smile blooming. “You remember.”

“Of course,” Sunwoo assures, palms falling away to rest on Changmin’s shoulders. “Five minutes, or I’ll come here to drag you out myself, okay?”

“Okay.”

And when Changmin does sit idly at the dining table, gaze unfocused and left knee bouncing, Sunwoo towels his hair dry. He remembers once, when Changmin had done the same, months back on a rain-soaked evening. It’s his turn now.

“It looks bad, doesn’t it?” Changmin murmurs over the lip of his cup. The steam colours his cheeks a lovely rose. “My hair looks like a bird pooped on it. I look terrible.”

Sunwoo laughs, combing his hands through it. Changmin couldn’t look bad even if he tried. “Nah, it’s cute. You could be a trendsetter.” Hesitantly, much quieter, he adds, “It looks like you’re streaked with moonlight.”

“You’re awfully sweet tonight.”

Sunwoo doesn’t know how to tell him he can still see the rapid, troubled blink of his eyes at the clock, or the jittery movement of his leg, or the stiffness in his silhouette. It’s much easier to make tea, or to squeeze the water out of damp hair, than to say you care about someone immensely.

“I’m hungry,” he says, drumming his fingers where Changmin’s neck and shoulder meet. It’s so tense; the tremors of his leg don’t stop. “I’m craving a snack so bad. Hyung, please.”

Changmin shakes his head, his smile fond. “There it is. Okay, let’s see what we can make without too much noise.”

Sunwoo doesn’t really care, he’s just glad to pull Changmin away from his overthinking for a moment, and push him into something he’s confident in. Between them, Changmin could feed him dirt, and he’d still thank him. Watching him flit through the kitchen, scavenging the cupboards for ingredients with ease, shouldn’t feel so calming.

“What are we making?”

“You mean, what am I making,” Changmin corrects, raising a brow at how Sunwoo stands, simply watching. “Mug cakes—c’mon, dry ingredients are all in, pass me the tablespoon and the milk. Oh, and get the vanilla essence.”

Sunwoo allows himself to be puppeteered, relieved when the tension breaks away a little more from Changmin’s voice with each command. Sunwoo thinks they’re in comfortable silence for the rest of their activities, until they’re sitting with a mug full of warm cocoa goodness in front of them, and Changmin’s spoon slips out of his fingers. The air is brittle, and the metallic clatter cracks it easily.

“What if I’m not a good teacher?” he muses. “Should I just drop out? What if the kids hate me?”

Sunwoo’s gaze snaps to him; his eyes are glazed over again.

“You’re a fantastic teacher.”

A scoff, a frown; born more out of self-loathing than his disbelief of Sunwoo’s words, but it stings nonetheless.

“I’m serious,” Sunwoo continues, picking up the spoon and digging cake out of the mug. He holds it out to Changmin. “Look, you just taught me how to make this.”

There is no reply, but his frown breaks into something less angry, something more worn out. Sunwoo pushes the spoon against his lower lip, and Changmin eventually opens his mouth. In midnight moonglow, no sound but them and the ticking clock, it feels unbearably intimate.

“How is it?” Sunwoo questions, taking a spoonful for himself. Normally, he’d get scolded for using the same utensil, but right now, Changmin just watches him. “Oh, hyung, this is good .”

“It needs more chocolate,” Changmin sighs, frown returning, and god , Sunwoo wishes he could stop it. “But the texture’s okay. It could be better, though.”

Sunwoo doesn’t try to retaliate or reassure for now. He lets him steep in his bitterness for a moment, feeds him cake to buffer with sweetness.

"Bed time," Sunwoo tells him, when his phone lights up with a reminder that dawn is around the corner. Changmin’s lips downturn and Sunwoo reaches for a stubborn crumb at its corner, drawing a bewildered look from him.

And then something flickers, in both the other’s eyes and Sunwoo’s heart.

It lights up into something glowing and alive, stays beating in him, even later as he guides Changmin into his bed against his protests. He climbs in after, draping an arm over Changmin’s chest, bodyweight resting on him. “Just in case you try to sneak out for a dye job again.”

He sees the eye-roll but Changmin doesn’t make a move to kick him off. The rigidity with how he lies still worries Sunwoo, but he’s not quite as overwrought, not quite as rushed with his breathing. He curls around Changmin’s side, relieved to feel how his body relaxes under Sunwoo’s. But the peace barely lasts, a common theme of the night.

“Did you mean it?” Changmin asks.

“What’s that, baby?”

It’s not that he means to, but it’s late and he’s tired and he cares so, so much. The endearment just slips past his mind and off his tongue. If Changmin is surprised, he doesn’t show it.

“That I’m a good teacher? Were you just being nice?”

Sunwoo laughs, resisting the urge to nose into his shoulder. “I swear on my life. You’re going to graduate and become the best teacher ever, and all the little kids will adore you. I know they will.”

There is silence after that, and Sunwoo thinks the other has finally fallen asleep, when he’s rolled over onto his other side by pushy hands.

“Hyung?”

Changmin nestles behind him, limbs twining around him like a koala. After a moment of thought, his face presses in between Sunwoo’s shoulder blades. 

“Shush—just. Goodnight.” Then, much softer, he mumbles, “Thank you.”

He sounds awfully embarrassed, but Sunwoo doesn’t have it in him to tease him and deny him of whatever comfort he’s finally caught in between his tired arms. Instead, he finds Changmin’s hand with his own, giving it a little squeeze, savouring the way their exhausted bones melt into each other, breaths falling into sync, eyes finally fluttering shut.

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 6: day-old rice, vegetable oil, assorted vegetables, onion, garlic, egg, salt, black pepper, green onions, soy sauce, oyster sauce; a reignited heap of ignored affections

In a fashion true to them, they don’t talk about that night, of course. But he feels the change, the lightness with which they meet, no longer dancing around each other.

“No no, Sunwoo! Make sure you keep the knife angled like this and your fingers like that.”

Changmin has taken to bidiurnal lessons instead, the elephant in the room being ignored for conversations about proper blanching etiquette, or the right method of seasoning, or the safest way to dice ingredients. It gives them both a valid reason to keep talking, to keep their hands on each other—even if Haknyeon rolls his eyes every time he walks into the kitchen.

“Like this, dumbass,” Changmin quips, making sure Sunwoo’s fingers fold away from the knife. “Slowly now, you’re a beginner.”

“I know how to cut things.”

“Not well.”

He cannot refute that. And he likes the security of Changmin’s fingers guiding his, he likes getting a reason to watch how they work without being asked what he’s staring at. Though he supposes, Changmin’s already caught him a few times.

"Shit,” he hisses, brought back to the present, only to realise Changmin has stepped away, left him to his own devices. Leading to the slip of his finger, maroon spilling out from where the blade had cut it. “Fuck—help.”

The moment Changmin sees blood he starts fussing, ingredients pushed aside. Making sure the cut is cleaned, making sure the bleeding stops. He rummages through the cupboards for their first-aid stash, worry stricken eyes darting back to him, and he can’t help but think,

This is nice.

Being under Changmin’s spotlight, being the central point of his warmth… his heart beats fast, with something shy and something else—a little greedy. Some insatiable part of him that wants to bask in Changmin’s attention, devour it until it’s all he knows, and then he realises, oh .

Oh, those feelings were there once, and they never quite left.

He didn’t give them a chance to grow, trying to snuff out their warmth, but now—when Changmin pastes the bandaid corners over his finger, eyes narrowed in concentration—he thinks those feelings are breaking loose all over again. Changmin’s hands still clasp around his, and Sunwoo’s mind is running on the hot sparks running through his veins, filling his heart with nonsense thoughts and—

“Aren’t you gonna kiss it better?” he finds himself asking, tongue in cheek, even now trying to see how far he can push Changmin’s buttons.

A laugh of disbelief escapes Changmin, but just as quick, his head tilts forward, mouth pecking over the pastel-green plaster.

“Oh?” he ponders, blinking in surprise.

Changmin cringes immediately, and Sunwoo takes great pleasure in the way he exhibits regret: mumbling to himself, swiftly ducking under his stare like he can’t believe what he just did. But it was so quick that Sunwoo almost thinks his delusions conjured it up, if Changmin weren’t clearly avoiding his eyes for the rest of the time with pinkened ears. He doesn’t assign him many tasks to do either; something about him being injured.

“It’s fine,” he assures, but it’s missing his usual punch. His voice is softened into something shy. “Fried rice isn’t too difficult. And besides, you should be watching and taking notes! This is still a lesson.”

Sunwoo is more than happy to just observe the cooking process—and well, the chef.

For the most part, he behaves, too busy coming to terms with feelings, and the undertones of Changmin’s reactions. It’s only when they’re doing the dishes that Sunwoo slinks around him; a snake wrapping around cornered prey.

“Thanks for earlier.”

Changmin stills, sponge in one hand, plate in the other. “Of course, you were bleeding.”

“My finger’s all better already,” Sunwoo muses, drying a spoon idly. “That kiss must’ve been magic.”

An exhale, followed by a click of the tongue. “Unbelievable. Leave me alone, it was a spur of the moment thing, okay?”

Sunwoo puts the spoon away, leaning against the counter. “Well, if any kids come crying to you with boo-boos, you know what to do.”

This sets something off in Changmin, who throws the damp sponge at him. It bounces off him, leaving behind a wet spot that Changmin eyes sourly, his free hand hanging at his side. “I don’t know why I’m so nice to you when you’re literally a nuisance.”

It’s got no bite to it, but it’s instigating enough that Sunwoo tries his luck, tests his depleting patience. He slides closer; their hands are within reach of each other. Changmin doesn’t move away, staring him in the eye like he’s daring him to try something.

“Oh? And here I thought we had something special.”

The other sighs dramatically, shutting his eyes. “I have a headache.”

Their pinkies touch, and Changmin’s hand is wet, kind of soapy even. His eyelashes are lovely, guiding Sunwoo’s attention to the mole under his eye. It’s pretty, so pretty, he’s so pretty—

Sunwoo dips forward, a soft kiss to his forehead stilling time around them. He manages to catch the plate before it slips out of Changmin’s other hand.

“For your headache,” Sunwoo explains, and the way Changmin’s cheeks colour up so fast is so, so cute.

“Shut the hell up,” he mutters, voice low, but his mouth stays pulled into a smile. A laugh escapes soon after, and Sunwoo lets his own ribbon through. “Come on, you’re on drying duty.”

“I guess kisses work on headaches too.”

“Sunwoo, I’ll stab you with a fork.”

Cherry-glazed cheeks, smile sugary sweet. Sunwoo drinks in this image of Changmin, locking it away in his heart.

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

“I can’t believe you’re in a grocery store,” Changmin says, strolling through the aisles.

“I can’t believe you’re acting like you didn’t ask me to come,” Sunwoo retorts, following closely behind with their trolley.

Changmin crosses his arms. “I needed a ride, that’s all.”

“Kevin can drive,” Sunwoo begins, watching with glee as Changmin tries to act nonchalant as he scans the shelves, “so can Haknyeon. So can Eric, kind of. Chanhee has a licence.”

“Eric cannot drive,” Changmin laughs, reaching for a bag of all-purpose flour. He reads the label and sets it in their trolley. “And Chanhee’s a liar—his boyfriend drives him everywhere.”

“Didn’t Sangyeon drive you around too?” Sunwoo asks, not thinking much until the words leave his mouth and the front of the trolley bumps against Changmin, who stands very still, eyes boring holes into a bag of brown sugar. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

He shakes his head, waving his hands. “No, no, it’s fine! We broke up a while back.” To Sunwoo’s surprise, he looks more embarrassed than pained. “And well, you’re right. He did…”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for… y’know.”

Changmin feverishly rushes to brush it off, busying his hands by transferring random things into their cart as they walk by. “It’s fine! I was a jerk, I pushed you away when you tried.”

Sunwoo frowns, putting them back as he goes. None of these things are on their shopping list. “Yeah, well I was an ass.”

The ‘before it all’  lays silent at the back of his throat, but he’s sure Changmin hears it anyway.

“Sunwoo, it’s really okay.”

The scarlet dusting his cheeks is clearer now, and it piques his curiosity. Nobody really knows the specifics of their break-up, and Changmin hasn’t really made a move to talk about it. Sunwoo had always mistaken it for post-heartbreak sadness, but now he’s not so sure.

“Why did you break up?” Sunwoo pries, and then holds in a laugh when Changmin blushes a darker red, unrelenting in his silence. “Nevermind, you don’t have to.” He puts back a can of baked beans. “But y’know, you can. If you ever want to. I’m not going anywhere this time, I promise.”

Changmin turns to him with a grateful smile, and even in the supermarket fluorescent lighting, he glows like a pink moon. “I know, thank you.”

“Now put back the taco seasoning, babe, it’s not on the list,” Sunwoo says and Changmin laughs, dropping the indifferent act. Something silly in his head wanders into dreamlike what-ifs, into a life where they do this weekly and return to a home under their names, into a kitchen where they own matching sets of bowls and plates and mugs, into evenings where he'd shower Changmin with endless endearments, into a night where he could lace their fingers together and let Changmin listen to how his heart beats for him.

Hopelessly romantic as he is, the pessimism sprouts up again, his mind unhelpful in its comparisons to Changmin's last romantic venture. Of how handsome, how much older, how much wiser Sangyeon is compared to him. How good, how gentle and how patient—how fondly Changmin still speaks of him, even in the aftermath, cheeks soft and pink like ripe peaches. Sunwoo wonders if he can ever compare to such a daydream.

“I’ll drive you anytime, by the way,” he proffers, much later, when they’re buckling up their seatbelts in the car. “If you want me to.”

The smile from before returns, ten-fold softer, a lot shyer, and Sunwoo wonders if he imagines something else flickering in there too; something he’s been hoping for.

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 7: all-purpose flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, milk, butter, vanilla extract, egg; a spoonful of closure and a sprinkle of secrets (mixed varieties of the flavours ambiguous and confusion)

Despite his willingness to do anything for Changmin, Sunwoo had bartered with him when asked to accompany him to the store. After promises of a pancake making lesson on the weekend, he’d been successfully lured into a trip to the supermarket. But Friday night comes and Changmin’s cancelling on their plans, incredibly apologetic. He is vague about his reasons, but how is Sunwoo meant to be mad at him when he plays his trump card—big, sorrowful doe-eyes unblinking as Changmin delivers his regrets. He even makes sure their hands are joined when he breaks the news, a tactic that Sunwoo normally resorts to.

“That’s alright,” Sunwoo assures, heart crumbling, hit with bricks of cuteness aggression. “Just make sure your friend moves in alright. We can always reschedule to another weekend.”

“I’ll be back on Sunday,” Changmin promises, with a level of earnestness that he doesn’t normally exhibit. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“I’m wilting away already,” Sunwoo jokes, and Changmin brightens up. Sunwoo has this insane thought of kissing his nose, which he shakes away by swinging their hands between them.

Sunday morning’s rays hit him with longing, and Sunwoo strides into the kitchen with every intent to make the pancakes on his own—perhaps send a successful photo or five to Changmin, just to make him jealous (and hopefully, proud of him). The problem arises after he’s scrolled through seven different recipes and he’s not exactly sure which one he should attempt.

sunwoo
mini hyung dearest
ik its early but
babe can we facetime the pancakes lesson pls
cutest most mini-est hyung

chang(mini)
was that a joke abt my height? 🤨

sunwoo
what… i would never 🥺
my darling short king 🥺🥺🥺

chang(mini)
u!!!!! i hate u
piss off ur not even that TALL 😠🤬

Two minutes later, he’s got Changmin propped up against the fruit bowl, unkempt bedhead behind the glass. Sunwoo almost coos as he blinks sleepily, instructing him over the phone on measurements and batter consistency. It’s not the most romantic of conversations but it feels domestic, and Sunwoo can’t fight the feeling blossoming in his chest. His first few pancakes are disasters, but Changmin cheers him on through the rest, clapping when Sunwoo’s final stack of pancakes turns out alright.

“Here,” Sunwoo laughs, holding up a forkful of pancake to the camera, and Changmin makes a sound of distaste at the corniness.

“Changmin-ah, I thought you’d be asleep.”

Sunwoo would recognise that voice anywhere, even distantly through his phone speaker. Changmin sits up, suddenly wide awake.

“I got us breakfast on the way back from my jog—oh, hello Sunwoo! You’re up early.”

Sangyeon’s smiling face comes into view, and Sunwoo can’t help but wave at him awkwardly. “Pancakes,” he explains weakly, lifting his plate up.

“They look great,”  Sangyeon compliments wholeheartedly. Changmin excuses himself to the bathroom, presumably to brush his teeth, but Sunwoo knows guilt when he sees it. He just doesn’t understand why Changmin feels that way—it’s not like he’s obligated to tell anyone where, or with who, he’s spending the night. Even if said person is his infuriatingly hot ex.

And he most certainly isn’t obligated to tell Sunwoo—so why does it feel like his heart is being torn to shreds? Why is his mind filling up with what-ifs labelled as ‘the worst possible’, even though he knows Sangyeon is the polar opposite of that? It’s not like he's doing something he isn't supposed to do.

“You don’t seem too pleased to see me.”

Even from the screen, Sangyeon’s warmth bleeds through and Sunwoo suddenly feels like a protostar dulled in the presence of a galaxy burning bright. Sunwoo forces a smile onto his lips.

“Not a morning person,” he states, but he knows they can both tell it’s a white-lie. “I didn’t know you guys still kept in contact.”

The elder shakes his head, corners of his eyes crinkling, and Sunwoo thinks, he can understand if Changmin fell back into the reverie that is his perfect former flame. “He’s just helping me move in, Sunwoo. We’re still friends.”

“I… I know, he mentioned something like that.”

“I’m just saying, it’s nothing to worry about.”

And his tone is so benign, and Sunwoo feels so stupid and childish when he grumbles, “Who said I was worried?”

“I didn’t, but you’re making that hard to believe right now.” Sangyeon says this, voice full of caution, but it isn’t unkind. If anything, he looks a little amused. “If it makes you feel better, he’s talked about you at least twice every hour.”

His heart hammers in his chest, and he hopes the budding glee doesn’t show on his face when he asks, “Why’re you telling me this?”

To his absolute horror, Sangyeon’s lovely, lovely laugh is followed by a gentle, “You're not subtle when you like someone, Sunwoo. I would know… you really didn’t need to ask for all those extra pointers in my class.”  When Sunwoo stares at him, shell-shocked, fork halfway to his mouth, he smiles. “Changminie is, though—shy, rather than subtle. Take him out sometime, you know he won’t make the first move.”

Sunwoo coughs, pancake and chocolate syrup lodging itself near his throat. “Sorry what.”

But Sangyeon’s smile widens into a grin, and he waves, crescent moon eyes and charming dimple and perfect hair. “I'm hanging up now. We should hang out again soon. Bye Sunwoo!”

“What, no—come ba—” And the screen goes black, reflecting his own stunned expression. “Gorgeous son of a bitch.”

It creates a terrible whirlpool of thoughts, Sangyeon's implications, and the memory of Changmin's guilty face, and Sunwoo's own efforts to decode everything. Not that it consumes his entire being or anything, but when Changmin returns, he finds Sunwoo sullenly burritoed under blankets.

"What are you doing in my bed?" he asks, a slight smile in the question. But there's a cautious edge to it that he can't conceal. "Did you miss me that much?"

Sunwoo peeks up at him from under his quilted safehaven. It smells faintly of Changmin's perfume, and he hates to admit the scent had been greatly comforting when he was going through his two-day Changmin withdrawal. "Do you have to ask?"

He’s in his pyjamas, hair still damp—Sunwoo feels foolish, taking up his space and his time when he is clearly here to sleep. Changmin pulls the covers down a tad to reveal his face. He kneels near the bed, gaze softening in a way Sunwoo hates. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Sangyeon."

"You shouldn't have to explain, actually."

Changmin peers at him with careful eyes, before saying, "But I want to. There's closure we've both been needing, isn't there? I'm ready to talk about it if you are, Sunwoo."

When there is no answer, his aura seems to dull, and he backs away. Sunwoo hastens to stick his hand out and pull him back.

"I'm ready," Sunwoo says, no, pleads, "I'm ready, I'm ready."

Changmin stares at him just a second longer, giving him time to back out if needed. Sunwoo tightens his grip.

“Alright, move over.”

Changmin ends up wiggling his way into the covers, too. Cocooned together in a proximity they didn't account for, they face each other, unsure where to start.

“Me and Sangyeon are just friends,” Changmin ends up blurting out, right as Sunwoo asks, “Why didn’t you think you could tell me?”

Changmin bites his lip. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Huh?”

Does he know?  Sunwoo’s heartbeat quickens at this, because why else would he say that, what else could that imply? Why would Sunwoo’s feelings be hurt unless—

“Well, and please don’t be mad at Haknyeon for telling me this but,” Oh, god he needs to murder Haknyeon, “I know you had a bit of a crush on Sangyeon.”

“Huh?”

Changmin hastens to explain, words frantic. “And—and! And I swear I wouldn’t have dated him if I knew that! I would never do that to you. Bro-code, or whatever.”

“Me and Eric made up the bro-code while we were shitfaced,” Sunwoo recalls, still confused. “Also, what are you talking about?”

“You liked Sangyeon,” Changmin repeats, the furrow of his brow very earnest. “That’s why things got weird between us when we dated, right? You… you must’ve been sad.”

This is not an outcome Sunwoo had considered at all, and it brings forth a surprised set of giggles from him. Changmin is so oblivious, and so, so cute.

“Hyung, you're so—I actually cannot believe you're real,” he laughs, harder the more Changmin’s frown deepens. He reaches up to pinch Changmin's cheek, at which Changmin tries to bite his wrist. “It was never a serious crush—goodness’ sake, he was my TA at the time—and I’d moved on when you guys dated.”

“But… but you stopped talking to me,” Changmin mumbles, accusatory, a finger jabbing into his stomach. Sunwoo fishes around under the covers to catch it before he can attack again. He holds Changmin’s hand instead.

He considers the direction the truth might push them, a shaky breath his only buffer, before revealing, “I’ll admit I was a bit jealous.”

Changmin looks downright miserable at this. “So, clearly you weren’t over it.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Sunwoo complains, and his pulse begins dancing quicker, and he fears Changmin can feel it through his palm. Not that it’s going to be much of a secret now. “I was jealous of you guys.” He shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut and allowing himself one last second of secrecy. “I was… I was jealous of him.”

Changmin is very silent, and Sunwoo wonders if he needs to spell it out for him. He’s about to break the silence when Changmin scoots closer.

“Do you know why we broke up?” he whispers, like it is confidential information. “Umm, so…” His eyes dart around, as if there’s someone else in the room. He lets out a frustrated little noise, and worms his way under the blankets, entire face squished against Sunwoo’s sternum.

“Hyung?”

“Don’t look at me,” Changmin groans, sounding utterly mortified. Sunwoo lets him be, finding his hand again. Maybe the tiny squeeze he gives brings Changmin some much needed encouragement. “We broke up because…”

The rest is muffled, Changmin’s mouth pressed hard against Sunwoo’s heart like he’s telling it a secret.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

“We broke up because I wouldn’t stop…”

And his voice goes much too quiet again and Sunwoo can’t hear a thing. He pulls back the covers a bit, much to Changmin’s dismay.

“Darling, I can’t hear anything you’re saying.”

“We broke up because all I talked about was you!” Changmin jabbers, shooting up into his vision like someone resurfacing from water for air. “I—I thought of you all the time, and, I mentioned you all the time and, it’s really so stupid and embarrassing, and we were doing all these things and going on all these dates and I kept wishing you were there, and well, Sangyeon and I weren't too serious anyway so he would ask me every now and then if—y’know, if we— you and me, can you believe? —were ever a thing or if I felt something but I denied it like a pro, of course, but also because I thought, hey , maybe I just miss my friend—”

“Maybe you did,” Sunwoo interjects, trying not to let his heart get ahead of his mind at this sudden burst of information. The last time he heard Changmin speak so much was when Chanhee had stolen one of his shirts and spilled red wine all over it. He observes him long enough that Changmin starts to go the very same colour of that wine stain. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Changmin’s gnawing at his bottom lip again and Sunwoo reaches out, gently setting it free with his thumb. The skin around it has reddened in ways that are terrible for his sanity.

Changmin looks like he would rather die than speak, but he eventually huffs out a breath. “We were bowling, and I told him you would really enjoy that.”

“I do love bowling,” Sunwoo agrees.

“That’s what I told him too!” Changmin exclaims. “And he said we should set you up with someone, so we could double date, maybe.”

Sunwoo starts to connect the dots. “You never set me up with someone, though.”

He looks extremely ashamed at this. “Yeah, because, well—I realised, I didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want you to date anyone.” He doesn’t meet Sunwoo’s eyes, fingers tracing the collar of Sunwoo’s t-shirt instead. “Not unless it was me.”

The sugar rushing through his veins starts boiling, and their cosy little space is starting to feel a little too warm.

“Ji Changmin,” Sunwoo begins, a smile creeping onto his face. They’re nose to nose, and the silliness of the entire situation starts to sink in.

“Please don’t,” Changmin begs, cheeks rosy as he fails to hold in a smile, a hint of dimple betraying him. “Please, this is so embarrassing for me. Don’t make it worse.”

Sunwoo listens to him, for once, choosing to spare him from any teasing. He leans in to peck Changmin’s forehead instead, just like the other night. "Better?"

Changmin makes one of his garbled high-pitched noises and buries his face right back into Sunwoo—somewhere between his shoulder and his heart. All Sunwoo can do is stroke his hair, wondering how he ever thought he could get over this man.

"I saved you a few pancakes," he eventually remarks, when the silence gets too thick and the love in his bones blares too loud.

Changmin stays put, and Sunwoo thinks he might get used to this. "Eric ate the last one."

"That motherfucker. I’ll make you an entirely new batch in the morning."

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 8: spaghetti, sausage, garlic, ketchup, oyster sauce, water, pepper, chives (optional); courage, freshly grated

"I’m... I’m sorry, I really can't."

Changmin has a hand over his mouth like he's worried about regurgitating what he swallowed at any moment. He reaches for the glass of water Sunwoo has half-downed.

"Same," Sunwoo agrees, pushing his still very loaded plate of food away, face twisting in displeasure. "God, yeah—this tastes like ass."

"Like you've ever eaten ass," Haknyeon mutters, from his spot at the table.

Eric snorts from beside him, putting down his takeout container to point at Sunwoo. "I hate to say this but he definitely has. You are what you eat, after all."

Changmin splutters, water dripping down his chin. Sunwoo decides an intervention would do the situation some good. Before it escalates into a worse conversation.

"Shut the hell up and eat your damn jjajangmyeon," he grumbles at them both.

Haknyeon raises an eyebrow at him, slurping a noodle obnoxiously loudly. "I asked if you wanted to order with us. This is on you for saying no."

"And also for being a terrible cook," Eric adds, always too happy to fuel the fire. "Who even messes up Napolitan spaghetti? It's in the top five easiest spaghetti dishes, like, ever."

In Sunwoo's defence, the recipe had looked so easy that he eyeballed half the measurements, which is probably where he went wrong. He also hadn’t made an effort to look into other versions of the recipe, and that’s on him. But considering Eric's culinary boasting points are 'a bomb instant ramyeon' in various forms, Sunwoo thinks he has no right to say anything. But he supposes that's also the reason Eric hasn't set the kitchen on fire.

“You stay out of this, Sohn Ramyeon” Sunwoo tells him, to which he sticks his tongue out. They are about to jump into a full blown debate, when a touch to his elbow saves him. Changmin’s fingers curl around his arm, and Sunwoo feels any trace of irritation deflate. Huh—love is a crazy thing.

"We could order in," Changmin suggests, still not looking too good. He leans on Sunwoo, cheek resting against his shoulder, and voice going quiet when he admits, "I'm kinda hungry."

And Sunwoo is just a weak man. He fights the urge to hug Changmin, brain working quickly to find a viable solution to this. He can't have his dearest feeling sick and hungry, no.

"Wanna go out?" he asks, and it's Changmin's wide-eyed reaction that has him backtracking. "I—I mean like, to eat. Like, outside. I'm down, I could eat out."

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you," Eric says, shamelessly stone-faced. Sunwoo is thinking of easy ways to get rid of him, when Changmin grabs a clementine out of the fruit bowl and makes a show of aiming straight for Eric's shoulder. This seems to do the trick.

"I ruined your dinner, so I'll pay," Sunwoo offers, and Changmin immediately cheers up at the prospect of free food.

He points down at the ketchup stain on his sweater, courtesy of Sunwoo's spaghetti disaster. "I'll be right back, this shirt is not a pretty sight."

"You're always a pretty sight—your shirts,” Sunwoo corrects, mouth drying up. “Your shirts are always pretty."

Changmin gives him a rose-blushed smile before leaving. It gives him enough time for his nerves to start buzzing and for him to mentally reassess the absolute buffoonery he just made of himself.

"What was that?"  Eric exclaims, gesturing wildly. “I’ve never seen him smile like that ever except when we got him that Annabelle doll for his birthday—what the fuck was that?”

Haknyeon nods sagely, arms crossed. "So you both grew a pair and started dating. Finally."

"What? No, we—we aren't…" Sunwoo trails off, realising how very romantic this rendezvous is about to feel. Eric battles his jjajangmyeon for oxygen, gawking in surprise.

Haknyeon, on the other hand, frowns. “I thought you guys talked about your feelings like big boys.”

“Kind of,” Sunwoo recalls, worry creasing his forehead. “I mean, we talked but…. we didn’t really… discuss what to call this.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Shit, is this a date?”

“Wait,” Eric cuts in, finally catching his breath, “wait, you like him? Hak’s not joking?”

Haknyeon is still staring at Sunwoo, unimpressed. “Everyone knew, except them. Anyone who wasn’t an idiot could see that.”

“I didn’t know!” Eric whines.

“Yes, because you’re also an idiot.”

Sunwoo’s heartbeat tunes out their bickering. There had been a noticeable shift between them since their vague confession of feelings, melting whatever was between them into something a little warmer, a little sweeter. But softer smiles and pinkies hooked under the table don’t answer his questions, and he wonders if Changmin is just waiting for him to make a move, like Sangyeon mentioned. He has a horrible thought, one that wonders if Changmin wanted anything beyond closure, if he wanted a label to this.

“I’m so sorry for talking about ass before your date,” Eric interrupts his train of thought. He holds Sunwoo by the shoulders, puppy-eyes and pout on full display. “It was just a joke! I thought hyung would be able to handle a joke about ass, Sunwoo, I’m so sorry… Oh my god, what if it made things awkward—”

“Dude,” Sunwoo sighs, “It’s fine. Go finish your food.”

Eric sits back down and holds his hands together like he’s praying. “Please let their date go well so Sunwoo can eat ass, for real.”

“One more ass joke, and I’ll show you what you can shove up yours,” Haknyeon threatens. Eric immediately goes back to scarfing down his dinner.

When Changmin returns, Sunwoo’s head is saturated with thoughts of dates and feelings and, regrettably, ass. It gets so much worse when he recognises the hoodie hanging comfortably off Changmin’s frame, just a tad baggier than the fit he’d normally buy, the asymmetrical zipper placements just a little edgier than Changmin’s usual clean-cut aesthetic. Sunwoo has been missing that hoodie for a month now.

“Let’s go?” Changmin asks, linking arms with him and pulling him to the door. Sunwoo looks back, for what he doesn’t know, because Haknyeon is giving him a stern thumbs up and Eric is wiggling his eyebrows.

They don’t have a destination in mind, and Sunwoo spends half an hour trying to stay strong with Changmin’s hand snug in his own, tugging him through the bustle. At some point, they come across a place that Sunwoo recognises from frequent nights of Changmin’s post-assignment cravings. Changmin takes both his hands, turning to look at him with starry eyes.

“Buy me tteokbokki,” he demands, head tilted. “Please?”

And who is Sunwoo to deny him such a thing?

He complies, of course, content to watch Changmin’s excitement to devour most of it, cheeks rounded and full, eyes sparkling like the city lights. They don’t leave for home once they’re done, Changmin continuing to wander through the streets, Sunwoo tethered to him by an invisible string and a wireless earbud in one ear.

The string leads them to buy ice-cream, and Sunwoo can see Changmin reaching into his pocket. But Sunwoo is quicker, whipping out payment like a victor. He wonders if his wallet returning to him lighter is all that victorious, but when they linger in an empty park like they’re two carefree teenagers in love, that measly worry disappears.

“This is nice isn’t it?”

They sit on the swings, nothing but the midnight calm and Changmin’s mellow song choices between them. And it’s not like they’re meeting for the first time, but this moment feels both familiar and new all at once.

“I love this,” Sunwoo agrees, so carefully, because if he doesn’t hold it in, he might just say more. I love this, and you.

He doesn’t realise that his ice-cream melts away off the stick, nor that Changmin has finished his, but the laugh Changmin sends his way bounces around behind skull for an incredibly long time. Music box melody, it loops through his head when Changmin hauls Sunwoo to his feet, not backing away when their chests knock into each other, winding his arms around his neck instead. Sunwoo’s cheeks heat up with Changmin’s face so close to his, and the song in his left ear croons about best friends in love, and things more clearly seen when left unsaid in the silence.

“Is this mine?" he manages to finally question, eyes darting down. This—you, tiny drop of heaven here in my grasp, that look in your eye, is it for me?  Sunwoo tugs at the hoodie’s strings. “You stole this from my closet didn’t you?”

Changmin’s eyes are soft with love but sharp with calculative inquisition. Waiting, watching.

“Hyung, I’m gonna kiss you,” Sunwoo blurts out, a rushed exhale leaving him after he realises he’s spoken out loud.

But Changmin just smiles, dimple winking. “Okay.”

And listen—Sunwoo’s not a bad kisser, he’s been told the opposite, but his hands are shaking and his mouth is trembling and he’s never quite liked someone this much. Their teeth knock together and Changmin pulls away, laughing and wincing all the same, eyes so incredibly bright, more than anything lighting up the night.

“Come back,” Sunwoo whines, cupping his face again—turns out, his entire world can fit into his palms. “Come back here.”

The other relents, lips slotting back in place against Sunwoo’s. Changmin’s skin has been under his fingertips before, but never has he wanted to trace it this delicately. And he tastes sweet, like home and comfort and secret dessert runs at 3AM—and it’s so much better than anything Sunwoo could’ve imagined it to be.

“This is yours,” Changmin confirms, when they break apart. His usual shyness blankets him again, and Sunwoo is happy to let him hide away against his neck. “The hoodie, I mean.”

Sunwoo perks up, joy all too evident when he teases, “Well, it’s a common practice to raid your boyfriend’s closet, isn’t it?”

Sunwoo hears it, the way Changmin’s breath hitches, right before he mumbles a ‘shut up’ into the spot under his jaw, up against his wild pulse. Sunwoo laughs, kissing the top of his head.

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 9: rice (short/medium grain), carrot, canned tuna, mayonnaise, salt, pepper, toasted sesame oil, seaweed flakes; a drop or two of doting concern

Against Haknyeon’s ‘better’ judgement, Sunwoo decides it’s alright to wait for a bit despite having talked about their feelings. This thing between Changmin and him is theirs and theirs alone, and it’s blooming at its own pace—even with the muddled lines and the open-ended statements.

“Hey bud, what’re you doing up? I thought you slept at two?”

Kevin stops in his tracks when he finds Sunwoo in the kitchen at six-thirty in the morning.

Sunwoo looks up from his dawn project: jumeokbap, made with hard work and multiple tries, after two or three, or seven youtube videos. Going to bed had proved to be futile.

“Just making lunch,” he says, finally transferring a successfully spherical ball of rice into the lunch box on his right. It sits snugly with three other less pretty attempts.

Kevin’s eyes narrow at it. “Isn’t this Changmin’s lunchbox?”

Sunwoo can feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, but he wills himself to keep his calm. He faces Kevin’s question, head on. “Yep.”

“He’s making Changmin lunch,” Chanhee calls from the living room, eyes on his laptop. He’s on his third coffee already, eyes bloodshot. “Love creates a changed man, or whatever.”

Kevin turns to him with a proud smile, patting his back goodnaturedly before getting his breakfast from the fridge. Two others stumble into the kitchen, Eric in just his shorts with a towel around his neck and a half eaten sandwich in one hand, and Haknyeon in his pyjamas carrying out three dirty mugs that the whole suite has been looking for. The final weeks of a semester really do turn their little home into a mess.

“Oh, Sunwoo, that's so cute, dude,” Haknyeon rasps out, as he sluggishly does his dishes. He stops halfway to rub at the dark circles under his eyes, yelping when he remembers his hands are soapy. Eric hurries to rectify the situation before he can injure himself.

The work overload and its pace, the utter chaos, of this week is more than enough of a reason for Sunwoo to be making his roommate lunch. Except he doesn’t think he really needs a white-lie to cover it up, if Changmin will have his truth—his heart presented on a silver platter for him. If he were more skilled at crafting with his fingertips, he would present it in this lunchbox, with cutely shaped pieces of food like in all the romance webtoons he’s obsessed with.

“It really is cute,” Eric assures, like he can read Sunwoo’s thoughts. He smiles, genuine and encouraging. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but Changmin’s lucky to have you.”

Sunwoo hopes he’s right, hopes whatever love and care he’s put into this little box is evident to the person it’s for. Sunwoo considers pacing the kitchen until Changmin emerges from their room, but Chanhee calls him out on making a ruckus too loud for his caffeine-infused brain, and demands he take a seat. He’s almost dozing off next to the other on the couch, when he hears someone shuffle into the kitchen.

“Chanhee, have you seen my lunch box?” Changmin calls from a distance.

“Ask loverboy over here!” Chanhee yells back, to which Sunwoo immediately shoots up onto his feet. Changmin pads into the living room, looking very confused.

“I’ve got it,” Sunwoo announces, holding it up. He immediately recognises Changmin’s choice of attire today. “That’s… that’s my shirt?”

Changmin rolls his eyes like his cheeks don’t immediately start staining pink. “Well, like you said. Some people steal other people’s clothes all the time. Bold words from someone who has my lunchbox in his hands, by the way.”

Sunwoo suppresses the giddy laugh trying to escape him, rushing to hand him the box. “Dangerous thing to say to someone who made you lunch, by the way.” Changmin’s slack-jawed silence has him wanting to melt into a puddle. “I didn’t poison it, don’t worry.”

“I worry about your creative liberties with recipes,” Changmin shoots back, putting the box into his bag, but Sunwoo can see the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Thanks, Sunwoo.”

Sunwoo allows himself a touch, palms against Changmin’s shoulders, rubbing in some notion of comfort—for them both, to last Changmin through a day of gruelling classes, and to last Sunwoo the hours when they’re apart. “Good luck with class. Remember to eat lunch.”

Changmin’s eyes crinkle in a way Sunwoo has only ever dared to dream could one day be directed at him. He runs a knuckle along Sunwoo’s cheek, and Sunwoo thinks he could fall into the feeling of it forever. “You get some sleep. You never came back to bed after you left.”

“Lord, save me,” Chanhee groans, snapping them out of it. “Why did we think this would get better if you sorted out your pining? Get out of here, Min. Sunwoo, go the fuck to sleep.”

Changmin tries to refute but his words twist into each other, and Sunwoo sends him off with a kiss to his cheek. Chanhee frowns throughout the entire exchange.

“Oh shut up,” Sunwoo tells him, taking his empty, coffee-crusted mug. Chanhee thanks him with a smile even with their squabbling. “Like you’re any better with Hoon-hyung.”

Chanhee simply waggles a finger at him. “We don’t makeout where other people make their morning coffee.”

Sunwoo flushes at the memory he’s referencing, a few nights back when they’d been discovered in liplock when Haknyeon had stepped out to grab an energy drink from the fridge. He had proceeded to make it everyone’s problem for the next two breakfasts.

Sunwoo grins, despite it. “Well, they say love is stored in the kitchen after all.”

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 10 (extra credit): all-purpose flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, milk, butter, vanilla extract, egg; a drizzle of domesticity

Sunwoo is still by no means a morning person, but for Changmin he just might become one. Nothing else can explain why he’s in the kitchen making pancakes again at daybreak. Changmin sits at the island, chin in his palm as he watches, eyes sweeter than the vanilla wafting through the kitchen.

Sunwoo flips over a fluffy pancake with ease. They’re a little browned when he finally presents a stack to Changmin, who simply accepts with a fond smile. There’s a radiance to him that Sunwoo could blame on the golden hour that creeps into the apartment, but he knows deep down that it’ll linger so long as Sunwoo’s the one looking.

“What?” Changmin asks, forking through his breakfast.

“Nothing,” Sunwoo assures, resting his palms on the counter. “Nothing—you’re just… sparkly… like glitter-dust. Star-kissed.”

He gets a playful look at that. “Sun-kissed, you mean,” Changmin corrects, eyes darting down to Sunwoo’s mouth. “I flew pretty close to it, after all.”

Oh. It’s not often Changmin returns his flirting with equal wit or strength and none of the usual exasperation. Sunwoo thinks maybe that’s for the best, currently rendered speechless.

“That’s just your morning-after glow,” interrupts another voice, as Eric enters to grab juice from the fridge, chugging it straight from the bottle. Sunwoo supposes that should be fine, considering he’s the only one who drinks it anyway.

“That’s not how the post-sex afterglow works, Eric.” Of course, of course; Chanhee would join in on breaking their peaceful morning. He whistles at the stack of pancakes, impressed. “Oh wow, you should’ve hooked up sooner. He’s a new man—he’s pretty decent at this cooking thing now.”

Eric nods, putting the juice back in its place. “He even does laundry regularly now, and not when he’s just down to one pair of underwear. He even does yours sometimes.”

Sunwoo doesn’t want to admit that they’re kind of correct. Changmin searches through his closet so often that Sunwoo has made an effort to have its contents fresh enough to lend. He’s bettering his cooking skills, lest Changmin gets too busy. He’s caring for Changmin, the same way Changmin would care for him.

“Well, if someone can’t do even that, they don’t deserve Changmin-hyung,” Sunwoo points out, shrugging. It takes three beats of silence for him to realise they’re all staring at him. “I mean, I’m only doing what any good partner would do.”

Chanhee has his eyes narrowed, and Eric’s mouth is rounded into an ‘o’. Changmin’s face is splashed scarlet again, strawberry syrup over delicate pastry.

“Oh, you’re in love love,” Chanhee concludes, his voice uncharacteristically affectionate. He pats Eric on the shoulder, tugging him away. “We’ll leave you to enjoy your breakfast.”

Sunwoo doesn’t know how he feels about Chanhee airing out his inner thoughts for him, before he’s even had a chance to try speaking them aloud. Not that he’s ready to vocalise such thoughts just yet. Judging from how quiet he’s gone, Changmin isn’t either.

“Don’t mind Chanhee,” Sunwoo finds himself saying later, when they’re both crowded under running water. Changmin’s hands work their way into Sunwoo’s hair, fingernails gentle against his scalp as he washes out the shampoo. Sunwoo hasn’t stopped thinking about their conversation cut short over breakfast. “Y’know him, speaking out of his ass all the time.”

“Sunwoo.”

He turns to face Changmin, who smiles at him in a way that’s much too soft. A softness that he knows hides right under all his snark, that he’s always dreamed of being on the other end of. And now that he is, it’s overwhelming, thoughts and feelings gathering up behind his teeth, always a second away from spilling out.

“He’s right though,” Sunwoo breathes out, against Changmin’s lips. “I… I like you a lot. I’m serious.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Changmin mumbles, pecking him first. That pretty curve of his smile returns, just for a bit. “Me too.”

The next press of their mouths together is unhurried, and he lets Sunwoo do as he pleases—a rare, momentous occasion for them both, where Changmin’s thorny exterior falls away to bare the sensitive heart hiding within. He’s sweet and yielding, going lax in Sunwoo’s hold; fairy floss melting into caramel under summer heat.

I love you, Sunwoo tries to say, without saying it out loud. Maybe he will one day, when they’re both braver.

For now, he presses Changmin against the side of the shower cubicle. He kisses him and he kisses him and he kisses him, until he’s maroon-cheeked and panting, cool glass fogging up under his back. He kisses him, slow but ardent, until whatever secrets laying at the tip of Sunwoo’s tongue fall onto Changmin’s.

I love you, Changmin seems to tell him back, fingers along Sunwoo’s waist. Assured and unafraid to linger, like he’s sure Sunwoo’s here to stay.

° . • ~ 🍜 ~ • . °

lesson 11 (self-evaluation): cookies you buy off your culinary arts friend; guilt

“What did you need these for?”

Younghoon holds out their agreed trade, pristine white box held together with silky sky-blue ribbon. Sunwoo looks around apprehensively, clutching bills in his fingers. Something is unravelling in his gut, very reminiscent of the shame felt at being caught red-handed. The money is just slipped into Younghoon’s hand, when someone joins them in the room.

“Hey love,” Chanhee greets, pecking Younghoon’s cheek, before frowning at their halted exchange. “Is there any reason you’re paying my boyfriend to bake you…” He takes a look at the box, “cookies?”

Younghoon shrugs. “I don’t care. He offered me cash so I asked no questions.”

Sunwoo takes the box from him and places it on the dining table, jabbing his thumb towards the kitchen. “Well, I meant for this to be dessert, but I messed up the tteokbokki, so this is… Plan B.”

Chanhee’s nose scrunches up in confusion. “Plan B? Plan B for what? Also how do you mess up tteokbokki?”

Sunwoo holds up his hands in defence. “Hey, I have heard horror stories from Changmin about your attempted tteokbokki when you guys were freshmen.” Chanhee’s mouth clamps shut. “And I dunno, I wanted to do something nice for him. He’s been holed up in our room all day.”

Younghoon’s expression drops, lips pursed in concern. “I thought he was joining us all at the ice-rink? Sure, he can’t join in on the skating, but Kevin said we’re getting food after.”

Chanhee shakes his head with a pout. “I tried, but Changminie says he’ll pass.”

Of course he did. Changmin is too stubborn to admit it, but he worries often about being a burden. To him, a sprained wrist amidst winter break is something to shoulder alone. Sunwoo knows that he doesn’t want to dampen the mood, and that he’ll probably sulk in low vibration, in the dimness of their room until they return. There’s no way he’s letting that happen.

“I’m staying back with him,” Sunwoo declares. “Make sure he doesn’t spiral into his thoughts, and at least has dinner.” He glances at the cookie box and sighs. “It feels more like Hoon-hyung’s efforts now, than mine.”

Younghoon hums, tangling around Chanhee’s lithe figure like ivy. “You could lie and say you made them.”

“You will not lie to my best friend,” Chanhee reprimands, swatting Younghoon’s arm. It doesn’t stop him from resting his chin comfortably on Chanhee’s shoulder. “Sunwoo, just… make him something from that little notebook you guys share. Or order in.”

Sunwoo had been focusing so hard on Changmin’s favourites that he hadn’t considered alternatives within his skill level. “You might have a point.”

“I always do,” Chanhee dismisses, clapping his hands and heading towards the door. Younghoon is dragged along like some oversized puppy glued to his back. “When I get back, he better be well-fed, Sunwoo. I’m so serious.”

Sunwoo yells back a guarantee that he will be, and begins hunting through the pantry for what he needs.

lesson 11.2 (surprise pop quiz!): hot water, soy sauce, chicken stock, ginger, chilli oil, frozen dumplings, green onions, sesame seeds; additional ingredient of choice: ramyeon and a heartfelt declaration

When Changmin shambles out almost an hour later, the kitchen is considerably cleaner, and Sunwoo is in the middle of lighting one of Changmin’s scented candles. He looks surprised to find anyone at home, and when he sees the steaming bowl on the table, his expression flits between apologetic and astonished. Sunwoo sits him down immediately despite his efforts to step back. He joins Changmin, picking up the soup spoon, and the other seems to realise where this is going.

"I can feed myself, thank you very much," Changmin says stubbornly, picking up his chopsticks with his left hand. They're the cheap disposable kind, from the jumbo-pack Chanhee keeps in their kitchen because he got sick of everyone using his own. They're not yet split, and Changmin seems to realise this only after he picks them up. Adamant to fold, he goes, "I'm ambidextrous."

"Be who you are, love who you love, whatever." Sunwoo can't help himself, and he's very glad Changmin isn't capable of throwing anything at him right now. He gently pries the chopsticks out of Changmin's hold, splitting them for him. "But you tend to use your right hand for utensils—yes, I've noticed. Also, how will you hold the soup spoon?"

"Oh, so you're obsessed with me," Changmin snickers.

"Completely," Sunwoo agrees, and it promptly shuts him up, his cheeks suffusing berry-red. And Sunwoo really should just let him off since he's unwell, but teasing him comes much too easily. "Does that make you nervous, hyung?"

"I… I can just have the soup after," Changmin says, but Sunwoo sees him waver, clear as day.

He sighs, halting his actions, trying to stare him in the eye. "You took care of me the entire past semester, why can't you let me do the same, for one break, at least? I can take care of you. Let me."

Sunwoo can take care of him. Sunwoo could be so good to him. Sunwoo wants to be so good to him. The best, if he may—and it’s crucial that Changmin knows that he’s allowed that.

"Fine," Changmin finally relents, and Sunwoo grabs onto the opportunity to play nurse once more. Spoonfuls of his care and affection to Changmin's lips, he doesn’t worry about the taste—he’d replicated Changmin’s emergency dumpling soup easily, tasting as he went along, just to make sure. What he worries about is Changmin’s stubbornness, and his sprained wrist, and his tendency to not ask for help until he’s halfway into a breakdown.

“I added ramyeon, I hope you don’t mind,” Sunwoo says, feeding him slowly. “You didn’t have breakfast… or lunch…”

Changmin swallows silently, eyeing the tablecloth. “I’m sorry you stayed back because of me.”

Sunwoo shushes him with more food to his lips, which he begrudgingly accepts.

“I don’t like ice-skating anyway,” Sunwoo lies, and the unimpressed expression he gets makes him stumble over his denials. “Besides! We can do something fun together, like watch a movie, or hang up Christmas decorations two weeks early.” When Changmin is silent, Sunwoo tries to bring in some sunshine again. “Or makeout anywhere we want while the house is empty.”

This does snap Changmin into something more alert, albeit flustered. He gestures to his injured arm. “I just didn’t think this is how I’d be spending winter break.”

“I know,” Sunwoo sighs, trying not to add onto his disappointment with his own, “I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

Sunwoo sees the flicker of something in his eye, the same flicker he sees every time Sunwoo directs an endearment his way. Something surprised and darling, right before it morphs into something conflicted. Sunwoo knows that look on him. He’s seen it too many times, when Changmin receives praise that he feels he is unworthy of.

“At least your wrist will be fine by the time classes begin again,” Sunwoo says, trying to disperse the cloud that seems to hang over Changmin’s head. “You’ll be all good in time for fieldwork.”

Changmin sighs at that, looking right at Sunwoo. “And you’ll start your internship soon, too. We’ll be so busy next semester.”

Sunwoo knits his brows at his tone. He puts the utensils down, to take Changmin’s good hand in his. “Hey,” he says gently, “hey, no, don’t worry about that. I’ll be here every day, first thing when you wake up, and last thing when you close your eyes.”

Sunwoo hadn’t pegged him as the clingy type. He’s pleasantly surprised that Changmin is comfortable enough to reveal this to him.  There are still words he’s shy to admit, and instead he taps the back of the other’s hand, holding out his pinky.

“Promise you’ll let me know if things get too much next semester?” Sunwoo is aware he sounds too serious for someone trying to feed his injured boyfriend soup on a snowy evening. “I need you to know this, hyung. I’m in this for the ups, but also the downs. And you don’t have to go through either of them alone. In health and sickness, or whatever.”

Changmin gives him one of his wide-eyed looks, like he can’t believe the florescence of their relationship from a mere bud of hope, into this . Sunwoo finds solace in the fact that it is dreamlike to them both.

“Only if you lean on me, too,” Changmin reasons, linking their pinkies. “We’ll take care of each other. Promise me.”

Perhaps he doesn’t need to say it out loud just yet. Perhaps when Changmin is done with his meal, he’ll realise there are three-word professions hiding in the steaming broth. Sunwoo pokes his dimple, nodding his head in the direction of the unfinished soup.

“Good. Now let’s get back to me taking care of you,” he reminds, and this time Changmin doesn’t protest. “And maybe, if you finish it all, I’ll give you a kiss.”

“You’ll do that anyway. Give me a better bargain.”

Sunwoo leans close to peck his cheek, grinning when he finds that Changmin’s faux-annoyance melts away at the touch. He meets Sunwoo’s gaze with trusting eyes and parted lips, as if to say, okay, go on. As if to let him know that he’s reaching out for a helping hand, laying himself out in Sunwoo’s palms, trusting them to care for him.

Sunwoo’s heart soars all the way up to Saturn.

“One kiss for each spoonful, then. Let’s go, my honey.”