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It hits Jaha out of nowhere one day; he hasn’t seen Sungtae in a long while. Two or three days even, which is strange when Sungtae was always around to bother him at least once a day – usually more – into signing this and that.
“Have you seen Sungtae?” He asks Chae Hyang when he passes her in the halls. In turn, she blinks at him in surprise, clutching her empty tray to her chest. “He’s been sick recently, Master,” she says carefully. Jaha blinks.
Sick? His Commander-in-Chief could get sick? How weak was that fucker?
He sighs, and flounces out of the hallway, leaving behind a confused Chae Hyang in his wake. Who was going to finish his paperwork now? That old bastard Byeok already has one foot in the grave; he’d probably die before he could finish!
Jaha could go to Moyong for a cure - or bring Sungtae to him - but that was too much effort. Jaha curls his lip, and makes up his mind; he locks himself in the kitchen and doesn’t come out for hours.
***
Later, he carelessly kicks Sungtae’s door open, balancing a bowl of chicken noodle soup and chopsticks in one hand. Sungtae stares at him, eyes wide with surprise as Jaha drops down into the seat by his bed, handing the bowl off to him.
Jaha notes the bags under his eyes, and the pallid quality of his skin. How sick was he? And why wasn't he informed sooner?
“What–” Sungtae starts.
“It’s chicken noodle soup. You’re sick, not blind, right?”
Sungtae ignores the latter half of his sentence entirely, peering into the bowl with some implacable emotion in his eyes. “From… where, exactly?”
Jaha clicks his tongue irritably. What’s with the sudden interrogation? That was what he did!
“Me,” he answers impatiently. “I made it for you.”
Sungtae finally averts his gaze from the bowl; only to stare at him as if he’s grown two heads. “You?”
“Yes. Make sure you finish it all,” he snaps. “This clan leader made it especially for you. I’ll wait until you're done.”
The other man opens his mouth, probably to question him, but Jaha cuts him off with an impatient glare. This bastard was supposed to be crying from how grateful he was to have such a kind master!
Forget it, he’ll let it slide once since Sungtae was so ill.
Jaha watches Sungtae poke the noodle soup with his chopsticks tentatively, an air of apprehension and bemusement emanating from him. Fucker. Can’t he just be thankful for once? He thins his lips, and, sensing his impatience, Sungtae shovels noodles into his mouth.
…And immediately gags.
Jaha frowns; could it be, Sungtae actually had a stomach flu? No wonder he was so reluctant to eat his food – he simply had no appetite at all. Nevertheless, this bastard had to finish it all. Who knew when was the last time he ate? He was probably the worst kind of patient.
Expectantly, he continues to stare at Sungtae, even as he coughs a little. The other man stares back, a little despairingly.
“Master…” He says weakly. “This… I don’t think–”
“Even if you think you can’t finish it, you have to eat at least half,” Jaha interrupts. “You’re weak enough already, if you don’t eat now, then you’ll probably die from this illness.”
“Master,” Sungtae says again, almost a plea. “It’s really not”
“Can’t you just accept this clan leader’s concern for you? I’m telling you to eat it, bastard,” Jaha snaps. “It’s good to eat these sorts of things when you’re sick.”
Sungtae opens his mouth to argue again; Jaha cuts him off with a glare. He can’t have his Commander-in-Chief sick and bedridden for so long. Imagine if other clans found out his was a weak bastard!
“Eat, or I’ll feed it to you myself,” he says righteously. Sungtae pales, choking down two more mouthfuls of noodles, probably too quickly for him to even taste it. Well, as long as he was eating.
“Make sure you drink the soup too,” he adds. “It’s good for you.”
Sungtae's face turns even greener. Jaha sighs again; was he not supposed to feel better once he'd eaten something, especially since Jaha had put so much effort into making it for him? Tsk, it’s really too much effort to take care of such a guy.
He leans over, hand stretched out to check Sungtae's temperature and that seems to be the other's last straw.
"If you want me to die sooner, just cut my head off!" He finally snaps. Jaha blinks at him. Sungtae only stares back, looking miserable and pathetic under the mountain of sheets piled on top of him.
He looks… like he'd break into tears at any second. Jaha opens his mouth– and then promptly closes it to reevaluate his words.
"I'm not trying to kill you," he says carefully.
Sungtae looks down at the bowl cradled in his hands with the most doubtful expression Jaha has ever been witness to.
"...Are you sure?"
"What?" Jaha frowns. "Of course not."
Sungtae doesn't even look up as he swirls the chicken noodle soup with his spoon. "You didn't put poison in this?" He says, in a voice filled with far too much disbelief for someone who was his supposed self-proclaimed right hand man.
"Why would I do that?"
“To torture me?” Sungtae shrugs, sniffling. He looks utterly pathetic; he’s only missing being soaked to complete the whole aura of being a wet kitten.
Jaha takes the bowl from Sungtae and squints down at it. Could this be the problem?
Sure, he skipped a few steps and substituted a couple of ingredients because he couldn't find them, but it should've been fine, right? So what if he didn’t have any garlic? A fuck ton of ginger should have substituted well enough!
And so what if he got lazy trying to pluck the feathers out of the chicken? A few (or a dozen) never hurt anyone. This ungrateful bastard was probably just not used to home cooked food. Even if it’s not restaurant quality, it’s still edible.
To prove it, Jaha brings the bowl up to his lips and takes a sip. The taste hits his tongue all at once, an unpalatable amalgamation of cooking. The thought crosses his mind briefly; he’d have considered this an attempt on his life too, if he hadn’t been the one to cook it.
He immediately spits it back out, coughing at the slight burn of ginger in the back of his throat. Somehow, it was overly sweet, salty, bitter, sour and yet somehow tasteless at the same time. And where on earth did the spice even come from?
He didn’t put a single flake of chili in there! Baffled, Jaha stares down at the bowl of chicken soup, and feels Sungtae’s vindicated stare on him. There was…. no conceivable way his cooking skills were this terrible.
Jaha purses his lip.
“So you were truly not trying to poison me…?” Sungtae asks, a hesitant thing. In answer, he shakes his head mutely. Fuck, even his own cooking has rendered him speechless — in a bad way, even!
Jaha stares down at the bowl with an expression that much be tinged with so much despair that it even incites pity in Sungtae. The other man breathes out a tired sigh, and leans over to pat him on the shoulder. Once, twice.
"Forget it," he says, "it's the thought that counts, right?"
Jaha almost wonders how he's still able to say that, knowing how terrible whatever this was - and he refused to call it chicken noodle soup, because surely, that was a lie.
"I mean, we all know that you really can't cook well."
It's said with so much cheer that Jaha debates wringing his hands around Sungtae's neck. Who was we ? Jaha can’t cook well? Nonsense! He breathes out, runs a hand through his hair and points at Sungtae, curling his lip.
"You wait," he says ominously. "I'll bring you something else to eat."
Sungtae blinks, then pales even more. Jaha is certain he looks more ill than when he'd come in. "No, it's fine, really. Chae Hyang already brought me some–"
"You wait," he says again, and stands to make his way out of the room, ignoring all of Sungtae's pleas behind him.
***
Sungtae sighs. How on earth did this happen? First, his maniac of a clan leader cooked him food while he was sick, now, that same clan leader was getting him something else to eat. This flu really wasn't deadly, but he feared that whatever Jaha was going to bring him next would kill him the moment he tried it.
He stares at the ceiling blankly, trying to make peace with his imminent death. The door opens with a creak, and he tips his head to the side, staring blankly at the intruder.
He thanks the heavens above for the fortune of it just being Chae Hyang, carrying a tray of medicine.
She frowns at him. "How come you look more ill now than before? I thought you were getting better?"
Sungtae blames Jaha entirely. "That crazy bastard suddenly decided to make food for me."
He doesn’t even have to explain any further before her previous bemused expression morphs into one of understanding; like he'd said, everyone in Ilyang knew Jaha's skill in cooking was... abysmal, to say the least. Chae Hyang leans over to pat his shoulder, much like the way he'd done to Jaha, pity in her eyes.
"He's going to bring me more food," he says helplessly. Chae Hyang takes a moment to process his sentence before she responds, solemnly, "I'll prepare the funeral arrangements as soon as possible."
"Chae Hyang! Chae Hyang! ”
She places the medicine down on the bedside table and leaves him behind, ignoring his calls. Fuck, everyone here really only hears what they want to hear.
Sungtae downs the medicine in one go and lays down once more, closing his eyes with the prayer that he doesn't wake up.
A while later, he's startled awake when his door is kicked open, bleary and disoriented. He keeps his eyes closed anyway, feigning sleep. Maybe, if he pretended he was asleep for long enough, Jaha would just leave?
Of course, he's not so lucky. He hears a bowl get placed on the bedside table, before a hand gently brushes the hair from his forehead, checking his temperature with the back of his hand.
Sungtae fights to hold still; this crazy bastard–
"I know you're awake."
Fuck. How could he forget that this guy was a martial artist who would probably be able to tell if he was truly asleep? Sungtae blames his incompetence in the kitchen for making him underestimate his clan leader.
He reluctantly opens his eyes, barely holding back a glare towards the other man. Jaha stares down impassively for a moment, then says, "Oh, you actually were awake."
Sungtae's eye twitches. Bastard. So very slowly, he pushes himself up into a sitting position, staring at the bowl sitting ominously on the table.
Jaha gestures at him. Sungtae sighs as he takes the bowl, only to have it yanked away instantly. Without even acknowledging him, Jaha picks up a bundle of noodles with his chopsticks and brings it up to Sungtae's mouth.
What did he do wrong in this life, Sungtae wonders, staring blankly at the offered noodles. Did this bastard just enjoy torturing him? It was probably that.
"Why," he says, too exhausted to even intone his voice as a question.
"Can you just eat?" Jaha snaps. Sungtae quietly leans over to take a bite, already preparing for the worst.
Then blinks, chewing slower.
It's actually edible? And it tastes like the noodles from the shop he likes? On instinct, Sungtae narrows his eyes at him.
"What now?" Jaha says, disgruntled. "Isn't this your favourite noodle?"
"You know my favourite noodles," Sungtae repeats.
"Of course," Jaha says, all self righteousness in his voice. "A good clan leader should know this much."
Sungtae stares at him. Then, slightly irked, he says, "Why didn't you tell me what your sect likes to eat when you made me order food for them?"
"How the fuck would I know that?"
The way he says it makes it sound like Sungtae is the fool for asking that. After the struggle Sungtae had gone through trying to guess what would be safe to serve those Jianghu maniacs without them taking it as an insult...
Sungtae's eye twitches.
...Forget it. This asshole's head didn't work like a normal person's.
Jaha lifts up another bundle of noodles, and Sungtae automatically leans in to take another bite. At least he knew how to properly treat someone who was sick. It was better than nothing, he supposed.
If only this bastard could treat him like this more often, instead of being so… himself . Sungtae is already mourning the loss of this Jaha come tomorrow when he heals fully.