Chapter Text
“So, what do you think?” Yeosang asked, spooning ice cream straight from the tub to his mouth.
Wooyoung and Yeosang were perched at their breakfast bar, heads bent together as they peered at profiles.
“Hm, I don’t think so. Says he throws lots of parties. Next.” Wooyoung reached over and grabbed the ice cream and spoon from Yeosang, digging out his own bite.
“What about her?”
“Looks like she’s seeing someone from what she’s said in her bio. I am not getting myself involved in that again, thank you very much. I’m still scarred.”
“I know you are,” Yeosang patted his head sympathetically and snatched the ice cream back. “Do you want to keep looking? Or wait until after dinner? Jongho should be here soon with the chicken.”
Wooyoung slammed the lid of the laptop maybe a little harder than necessary, annoyed that he had to go through this process again.
They weren’t dating profiles, although sometimes it felt like they might as well be. Wooyoung was a private chef, currently on the hunt for his next client. He put his profile up on a website that hosted private chefs looking for work, and prospective clients would respond with their own circumstances and specifics. This allowed Wooyoung to select for traits in people he liked working for, and avoiding what he knew he didn’t. For example, he didn’t like having to do large catering too regularly, and he had gotten unfortunately embroiled in unhappy couples’ deteriorating relationships twice now, and he didn’t feel like he needed to make it three times.
He’d been with his previous clients, a lovely family of five, for almost three years before the mother had been relocated for work. Wooyoung had been hoping to stay with that family long term, at least until the small kids grew up and moved out of home. He liked the permanency of the longer jobs, liked establishing a relationship with the members of the family he nourished every day. He was ideally looking for another family to blend in seamlessly to. They were usually more welcoming.
He was careful though, always careful. He knew that the relationship, no matter how close and familial it felt, was really Wooyoung providing a service to a paying client. It helped if they got along, sure, but if he boiled it all right down to the most unsavoury bones, at the end of the day he was just the help.
Which was why when he had a good thing going, it was so annoying to lose it. Finding another client was like navigating a minefield, and was as exhausting as going on first dates after connecting with people on an app. You were on your best behaviour, you were trying to figure the other party out, you were both a bit uncomfortable. Wooyoung wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, but that meant trawling through the profiles on the site.
Yeosang and Wooyoung’s heads perked up when they heard the front door opening.
“I have hunted and gathered,” Jongho’s voice intoned gravely, dangling a bag of fried chicken aloft.
“What would we ever do without you,” Yeosang retorted, voice flat as he grabbed the bag and moved towards the living room.
“Hi honey, lovely to see you to. How was your day? Mine was great–”
“Get your ass in here, Choi,” Yeosang called, “Wooyoung, would you grab the beers from the fridge?”
Both Wooyoung and Jongho complied, and eventually the three of them were strewn around the living room for a very typical weeknight event of eating takeout and watching TV. Wooyoung was Yeosang and Jongho’s obligatory third wheel much of the time, but he didn’t mind as long as they didn’t. Yeosang was his best friend of more than ten years who had been dating Jongho for four of those.
“How’s the client search going, Wooyoungie?” Jongho asked, earning a dramatic sigh and eye roll.
“Awful. I need to at least get a trial locked in with someone this week or I’m going to have to start dipping into my savings,” Wooyoung pouted, all attempts to not think about the unfortunate situation coming to nought.
Instead of goading Wooyoung, Jongho fell peculiarly quiet. Both Yeosang and Wooyoung swivelled their heads to stare at him curiously.
“What?”
“Spit it out,” Wooyoung demanded.
“I was just thinking,” Jongho tilted his head, “my older brother is moving back after being overseas for the last few years. I know he had a chef when he was abroad, he might be looking for one here if he hasn’t found one already?”
Wooyoung hummed in thought, “Is that the brother I met a couple of years ago at your birthday dinner?”
“No, this is my oldest brother.”
“San?” Yeosang asked, earning a nod from Jongho.
“Is he nice?” Wooyoung asked, “What’s he like?”
Jongho bobbed his head from side to side as he pondered, “He’s nice enough, but we’ve never been very close. He has a chip on his shoulder the size of the Mariana Trench, but I’ve never been able to figure out why. He worked his ass off to get into a good university overseas and once he got in on a full scholarship he kind of never looked back. I haven’t really seen him in years – he didn’t visit – but he was always a bit of a recluse.”
Wooyoung tried to think of how to boil all the red flags down into something polite. “He sounds like he might be pretty demanding.”
Jongho shook his head. “That’s the last thing I think he’ll be.”
“Is he single? Lives alone?”
“Unless his cat counts,” Jongho shrugged again. “Look, I know I’m not giving you much, but I promise that, to the best of my knowledge, he’s neither a complete asshole nor a serial killer. Just a bit shy and awkward sometimes, and a workaholic.”
Wooyoung usually steered clear of singles, partially because he liked the pace and demand of a larger family and partially because a client early on had taken advantage of having Wooyoung alone to come onto him in a way he certainly did not welcome. It had left him unsettled and he’d laid down a blanket rule that he’d only work for families. But that didn’t sound like it was going to be a problem with Jongho’s brother. Wooyoung liked to chat, which was another reason he liked the buzz of a family household, but having a client that wasn’t really interested in talking too much probably wouldn’t kill him. Probably. He liked building some sort of rapport with the people he was feeding, but maybe that didn’t necessarily mean they had to be friends.
He also really didn’t want to dip into his savings.
So he nodded at Jongho. “Alright. If he’s looking for a private chef in Seoul, tell him to text me.”
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Unknown number
Hey, this is San, Jongho’s older brother.
I’m looking for a private chef and he recommended you, if you’re still available?
Wooyoung peered at his phone a couple of days after his discussion with Jongho, honestly pretty relieved to hear from San. He hadn’t had any further luck with the profiles online and he’d been starting to get worried.
Hi San, I’m Wooyoung
I’m assuming Jongho told you that
!But yes
?I’m available to take on new clients. Are you free one night this week for a short trial
Choi San
That’s great. Does tomorrow work for you?
Tomorrow, huh? Well, the sooner they figured this out, the sooner Wooyoung would know whether he had a stable source of income.
Tomorrow works for me. If you send me your address, I’ll arrive at 5.30 if that suits you
?Do you have any preferences or allergies I should know about
Choi San
No allergies. See you tomorrow evening.
Wooyoung blinked at the blunt message and the address in Gangnam sent through underneath. San seemed a bit rude, but Wooyoung remembered Jongho saying he could be a reserved, so he tried not to hold it against him.
So the next evening Wooyoung put on a dark button down shirt tucked into a pair of neat slacks and packed his apron in his bag and trooped off to the supermarket to pick up the ingredients for the spicy pork rib he planned to make for San, before navigating his way to San’s apartment building. He stepped into the lift and realised that the button for San’s floor, which was the twenty-fifth of thirty, was locked to guests, but there was a little intercom button. Wooyoung immediately cottoned on to the fact that it must be one of the buildings’ prestige floors, which Wooyoung had seen his fair share of in his time. He just hadn’t realised San was quite so well off. Jongho said he was the eldest, maybe there was quite an age gap?
Wooyoung buzzed for San’s apartment.
“Hello?” A deep voice crackled through the intercom.
“San, this is Wooyoung. Here for the chef trial?”
“Come on up.” Wooyoung successfully pressed the button for the floor, and told himself the swooping feeling in his stomach was because of the pressure changing as the elevator climbed. The elevator opened and he stepped out into a short, sparse hallway with a door on either end. The one to his left swung open before Wooyoung had a chance to check which door correlated with the number San had given him, a man standing in the doorway.
“Wooyoung? Come in,” the man spoke, stepping backwards to let Wooyoung past. He couldn’t have been much older than Wooyoung, somewhere in his mid or late twenties, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and sharp eyes. He was in suit pants and a white shirt, the tie pulled slightly loose and the top button of his white shirt undone to release the pressure from his neck. His dark hair looked as if it had been styled back to look tidy for the office, but the holding gel had come undone where fingers had run thought it. He was a very different kind of handsome to Jongho. Wooyoung wasn’t sure if he could see much family resemblance at all.
Wooyoung managed to only falter for a second before striding down the hallway and stepping into San’s apartment. It was spacious and modern, with an open-plan and floor to ceiling windows looking out over the city. It was the kind of luxury Wooyoung would never be able to afford himself, but it was the norm for his clients. People hiring private chefs usually weren’t wanting for much materially.
“The kitchen is over here,” San said, gesturing needlessly at the expansive, sleek kitchen that flowed seamlessly from the central living area.
“Thanks,” Wooyoung nodded politely, placing his grocery bags on the counter and dropping his tote bag, quickly extending a hand for San to shake. “Nice to properly meet you.”
San blinked at Wooyoung’s hand for a moment before clasping it with his own, giving it a brief, firm shake and dropping the contact immediately. “Likewise. The pots and pans are in that draw over there–” San averted his gaze from Wooyoung and pointed, voice flat, “and the utensils are over there. The bin is under the sink. How long will you take?”
Wooyoung forced himself to keep his expression cordial. “About an hour and a half. I wanted to make something nice for you as an introduction to my cooking. Is that ok?”
San lifted his brows in what Wooyoung suspected was heavily disguised dismay, but nodded. “Fine.”
Wooyoung expected him to say more, but San yanked his tie all of the way off and discarded it on a sideboard near a hallway and turned to the living room, which Wooyoung had an uninterrupted view of given the layout of the apartment. Wooyoung watched as San sat down on the oversized leather couch and hunched over a computer, immediately pretending Wooyoung didn’t exist.
Wooyoung felt his blood boil. He knew he was a hired hand, but did San really have to ignore him like he was a servant?
But as Wooyoung started to go through the motions of preparing the spicy braised pork belly and the plethora of sides, he felt the irritation drain out of him. The kitchen was a dream, if he was being honest, with ample counter space and nice appliances. The fridge was huge and the pantry was well stocked, which meant Wooyoung wouldn’t need to bring anything else from his own collection of miscellaneous cooking ingredients and utensils. The kitchen was on the other side of the apartment to the city view, but Wooyoung could still admire the sky changing colour and the lightscape of Seoul’s skyline as the day drained to night. The only sound in the apartment was San’s fingers hitting the keys of his laptop and the sounds of Wooyoung’s cooking, but it was peaceful. Wooyoung reminded himself that he wasn’t there to befriend San, he was there to cook for him. San didn’t sign up for a companion, he just wanted a meal, and Wooyoung could provide that. Jongho and Yeosang and Hongjoong would just have to absorb the extra babbling Wooyoung suppressed during shifts.
That is, if San hired him.
“Dinner’s ready,” Wooyoung called gently, trying to project his voice while remaining professional and polite. He rubbed his palms on his apron and tried to keep his heart steady as San closed his laptop and walked over to the kitchen island, pulling out a stool and sitting down as Wooyoung placed the pork dish in front of him, spreading the small portions of sides around for San to pick at as he pleased.
San picked up his chopsticks and looked ready to begin when he raised a brow at Wooyoung. “You’re not eating?”
Wooyoung’s eyes widened, but he shook his head. “I wouldn’t usually eat with a client, no.”
“So, you’re just going to watch me eat?”
“No,” Wooyoung’s tone was maybe a bit snappy, and he forced himself to reel it in. Normally he’d maybe chat with the client a bit, get to know them or ask them about their day. Instead, he said, “I’ll clean up.” Wooyoung usually liked to at least hear a first impression from the client, or watch their facial expression as they took the initial bite, but it didn’t seem like San would appreciate that. He turned quickly to the pans on the stove and started bustling around the kitchen. He cleaned while he cooked, but there was always some washing up to do at the end of the process, regardless. He studiously avoided looking at San, not wanting to make the man uncomfortable in his own home. Wooyoung would only get hired if he could blend seamlessly into San’s lifestyle. It wasn’t his ideal, but if San wanted to pretend Wooyoung wasn’t there, then Wooyoung would oblige.
By the time Wooyoung was finished and was just beginning to wonder what he should do with himself until San was done with his food, San’s voice startled him. Wooyoung thought it was a deceptively smooth voice to pair with such a cold gaze.
“This is really good,” San said. Wooyoung thought he sounded as if someone was holding a gun to his head and making him read from a hostage script.
“I’m glad,” Wooyoung made sure to smile, wiping the counter down one last time for good measure.
San was leaning on his elbows against the island, handsome face completely blank as he looked at Wooyoung. It felt like San was staring straight though him. “I’d like to hire your services. When can you start?”
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Every client had different needs, and Wooyoung’s value-add as a personal chef was that he could cater to someone’s specific routine. And honestly, San was pretty low maintenance. He worked full time and informed Wooyoung that he didn’t need lunches prepared for him during the week, so Wooyoung only needed to make breakfast and dinner and had the middle of the day free. Wooyoung’s typical arrangement for weekends was to work Saturdays but to take Sundays off. San had frowned when Wooyoung explained it to him.
“One day off a week?”
Wooyoung shrugged. “Unless you’d prefer I don’t interrupt your weekend. Six days a week is pretty normal. And if I’m not needed for lunch I’ll have extra hours off during the week, anyway.”
And so San had given Wooyoung the code to his apartment so that he could let himself in in the mornings and in the evenings if he was out, and Wooyoung double-checked there were no dietaries or things he should know, or things that San wanted to know from him.
San had shaken his head before he seemingly remembered something, “Oh, I have a cat.”
Wooyoung had poorly hidden his shock, because nothing about Choi San suggested ‘cat person’ or even ‘animal person’. He vaguely remembered Jongho mentioning San owning a cat, but Wooyoung thought it was more likely a trick of his memory than actual fact.
San had disappeared down the hallway and returned moments later with a siamese cat in his arms. “This is Byeol.”
The cat eyed Wooyoung distrustfully. Wooyoung returned its wary glare. “She’s very pretty.”
San nodded, grim faced but apparently satisfied. “She is.” As soon as he placed her on the ground, Byeol scampered back down the hall and into a bedroom. “She doesn’t really like people, though.”
Wooyoung nodded. Animals really were like their owners.
And so San and Wooyoung fell into a pretty easy routine. Wooyoung would wake up early to be at San’s by 6.15 am every morning, letting himself in and getting to work to ensure that there was a hot breakfast ready for when San returned from his regular early morning gym session at 7.00 am. San would eat while checking emails on his phone, Wooyoung would clean, and Wooyoung would bid San a good day as he went to get ready for work, Wooyoung heading out to collect more ingredients or run errands or take a midday nap. Early mornings and late nights were part and parcel of being a chef, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the sleep deprivation every now and then.
Then, at about 5.30 or 6.00 pm, Wooyoung would let himself back into San’s apartment. It would appear the trial evening had been an exception to San’s routine – he was rarely home before 7.00 pm – so Wooyoung adjusted to San’s schedule and tried to time it just right, so that the food was ready when San had come home and changed out of his suit and had a minute to breathe after a long day. San would eat, sometimes at the kitchen island, sometimes on the couch, and Wooyoung would clean, wish San a goodnight, and head off.
San’s complete lack of engagement grated on Wooyoung, but that was more about Wooyoung’s personality than any act or omission on San’s part. He was cold but always reasonably polite. Wooyoung just would’ve appreciated not being quietly rebuffed every time he attempted to ask how San’s day had been, or stared at like he had sprouted a second head if he tried anything beyond a ‘good morning’ at breakfast time.
It really was a simple routine, Wooyoung orbiting around San, never getting any further away but never getting any closer, either.
When Jongho and Yeosang had asked if Wooyoung liked San, he didn’t really know what to say.
“He’s a pretty easy client,” Wooyoung answered honestly. Unfortunately, his friends could see right through him. Yeosang just raised a brow. “I don’t dislike him.”
“But you don’t like him,” Jongho didn’t ask it as a question.
Wooyoung blushed a little, “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care whether I like him or not, that’s extremely clear. I’m just there to make sure he gets fed, and that’s fine. He’s paying me my usual rates for much less work than I was doing for the last family, I almost feel bad.”
Jongho scoffed, “Don’t. He earns lots of money and is very boring. He can afford you.”
“It’s not about affording,” Wooyoung frowned, although he knew Jongho was right.
The first Saturday of his contract with San rolled around, and Wooyoung was a bit nervous. The mornings and evenings were pretty easy, but he would be at San’s for pretty much the whole day, today. He wore his usual quasi-uniform, always a pair of slacks and a button down and a clean navy apron in his bag. When he let himself into San’s apartment a bit later in the morning than usual – closer to seven – San was perched at the kitchen island, reading something on his laptop with a coffee in his right hand, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie.
Wooyoung’s brain almost short circuited.
Wooyoung didn’t let himself dwell on it much, because he was being paid to be there and it was deeply unprofessional, but he was neither straight nor blind. Choi San was handsome in an almost alarming way. He was well-dressed and took care of his body and had the kind of cheekbones and brow and eyes and jaw that would have him covering magazines if he was maybe a little bit taller. But that was also paired with glacial demeanour and a pretty obvious aversion to talking to Wooyoung. Sometimes it seemed like San didn’t even want to look at him, if Wooyoung was being honest, and it stung every time. San had hired him, after all.
But seeing San sat there at a little after seven on a Saturday morning, face a bit puffy with sleep and hair in disarray, the only word that Wooyoung could think to describe him was soft. If you’d told him even ten minutes earlier that he would ever describe Choi San as soft, he would have offered to have you institutionalised.
“G’morning,” Wooyoung recovered from the near calamity going on in his mind, drifting naturally over to the stove and setting his bag down on the counter. “Happy with some pancakes, this morning? Something different for the weekend?” Wooyoung expected a one syllable assent, or maybe nothing at all.
“Good morning,” San’s voice was deep and still tinged with sleep – a different tone to match his different appearance. “Pancakes sound great.”
Wooyoung forgot himself for a moment – San had given an inch, Wooyoung would take the entire mile – and spun to San with a near-mocking smile. “Chocolate chip or blueberry?”
There was a beat of silence, and Wooyoung braced himself to be shunted right back into the ‘silent servant’ category. But San tilted his head to the side in a mannerism Wooyoung hadn’t seen on him all week, and the corners of his lips titled upwards slightly in the faintest shadow of a smile. “Chocolate chip, please.”
Wooyoung should really have been embarrassed with the way his heart sung at the minor victory, but he couldn’t help it. He enjoyed making pancakes, they were simple and mindless and he had his recipe down pat. He lost himself in the process of whisking the wet and dry ingredients together, carefully doling out the perfect serve into the pan and waiting until they were golden and fluffy before carefully flipping. He didn’t realise he was humming to himself until San, remarkably, spoke up again.
“Would you like to put some music on?”
“Excuse me?” Wooyoung turned to San, an embarrassed flush rising to his cheeks when he realised what he had been doing. “Oh, I’m fine. Whatever you prefer, it’s your home.”
San didn’t say anything and Wooyoung turned back to the pancakes, biting his lip and focusing on the chocolate chip distribution in the batter to give his mind something to do. And then he jumped slightly as gentle, easy listening music started playing over surround sound speakers built into the ceiling. It wasn’t loud, but it immediately made Wooyoung self conscious. San hadn’t listened to music once all week, so it probably wasn’t his norm. Wooyoung hated feeling like he was disrupting how San preferred to live his life.
But he had to admit the music was nice to cook to, that it filled the vast, sleek, almost too spare space with something that took the edge off, just a bit.
“Here you go,” Wooyoung said as he plated a few pancakes and passed them over to San, who pushed his laptop aside to bring the plate in front of him. Wooyoung piled the extras on a plate and perched them on the counter in case San wanted more, the rest easy to keep in the fridge if San wanted them the next day when Wooyoung was off. Wooyoung turned and made to start cleaning when San cleared his throat.
“Have you had breakfast yet, this morning?”
Wooyoung tried not to stare, wide eyed at his employer. Wooyoung honestly didn’t usually eat breakfast. It was normally a coffee or maybe a protein bar if he was hungry, and then he was swept up in his morning shift, and by the time he finished and ran errands it was usually lunchtime before he ate anything. “Um, no, I haven’t. But that’s alright.”
“You won’t have any of the pancakes?” The way San asked, it sounded almost like an accusation. Wooyoung’s ears burned. Something about talking to San always made him feel like he was slightly off kilter. He always wanted to say the right thing, but hardly ever knew what that would be. Most of the time, it seemed like it was saying nothing at all, which was not who Wooyoung was. But he couldn’t defeat the burning desire he had for San to like him. Wooyoung was generally well-liked, but he also knew he wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and he’d come to terms with that after a particularly difficult period in high school. He hadn’t felt this desperate compulsion to be liked by someone in years, and it was more than a little bit disconcerting.
Wooyoung froze for a moment, but the smell of the pancakes had been tempting when he’d been cooking them, and he hadn’t had anything to eat yet that day, so he grabbed his own plate and pulled two of the leftover pancakes onto his plate. He didn’t take one of the seats next to San, figuring even if San was moving the line, that would overstep it.
“Feel free to use the coffee machine for yourself, as well,” San spoke before putting another forkful in his mouth.
“Oh,” Wooyoung was still blushing, “thank you.” How much leeway he had in someone’s home was always up to them, but he hadn’t expected San to grant him any privileges like that at all.
They ate in what was to Wooyoung awkward silence, San still reading on his computer and Wooyoung trying to eat as quickly as possible without choking on his food. Once he’d inhaled his breakfast he began cleaning up the kitchen, glancing up at San who was still chewing slowly.
“Um,” Wooyoung blurted to grab San’s attention. Sharp eyes immediately zoned in on Wooyoung, who fidgeted slightly under the gaze. “Would you like anything in particular for lunch? I can run out an grab any ingredients I need, so really whatever you feel like.”
San chewed slowly, but his face was impassive as usual. “Whatever you feel like making today, surprise me. And make enough for yourself as well.”
Wooyoung tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. “That’s really not–”
Something flickered in San’s gaze, but it was under too many layers and too fleeting for Wooyoung to know what it was. Probably irritation. “I feel weird watching you make all of this food but not eat any of it,” San offered as what he seemed to think was an explanation.
Wooyoung leant against the counter, deciding to make the most of the opportunity while San seemed willing to talk. “I have to say, it’s not good practice for a private chef to eat with the client. It would be more normal for me to take a serve and eat it once I’m off shift. Jongho said you had a chef when you were living overseas, did you usually eat with them?”
San shook his head, “No, she had young kids to look after, so she was always dashing off after cooking, or left me food to reheat. It worked well for both of us.”
Ah, that made sense. San wasn’t actually used to his private chef being in his home at the same time as him, lingering in the kitchen as he ate. Wooyoung didn’t doubt San had preferred the other system.
“I could adapt more to that style if you’re prefer?” Wooyoung offered, “Be more out of the way?”
San shook his head again, strong brow furrowing slightly, “No, you’re not in the way, that’s not what I’m saying. Just– Please feel free to cook for yourself while you’re cooking for me, and food is best had when warm, right?”
Wooyoung blinked at San and tried to maintain the last vestiges of his professional facade. His mind was whirring, but he just nodded jerkily. “Ok. I’ll make lunch for both of us, today.”
Wooyoung ducked out to get ingredients for a carbonara sauce, as well as grabbing some fresh fruit to cut up and leave in the fridge. A pasta dish was another good one, because even if Wooyoung had some as well for lunch, there would be plenty of left overs the next day. Normally Wooyoung wouldn’t worry so much about a client on his one day off a week, but Wooyoung was yet to see San do anything other than go to work and go to the gym. He would ask whether he had any plans, but Wooyoung came up against an iron shield anytime he tried to ask a vaguely personal question of his employer.
He let himself back into San’s apartment late morning and went directly to his usual spot at the stove. San seemed to have gone out, and the music from earlier had stopped and the apartment was once again eerily quiet, just the sounds of the kitchen filling the space.
When San returned just before lunchtime, Wooyoung caught San do a quick double take, as if he was still startled by seeing Wooyoung in his space. It made something ridiculously close to guilt twist in Wooyoung’s stomach, which was silly because San was quite literally paying Wooyoung to be there. He shook the thought from his mind.
San had evidently been at the gym, if his sweat-damp hair and clinging attire were telling the truth. San was in gym shorts and a compression top that was so tight he may as well have been naked for how little it left to Wooyoung’s imagination. Wooyoung forced himself to avert his eyes, reminding himself for the nth time that he was not allowed to find his boss attractive. Before he could help himself, words were automatically leaving him mouth. “Good workout?”
San had been heading towards the hallway where Wooyoung assumed the bedrooms were, but paused, seeming to debate for a moment, before walking into the kitchen. Wooyoung tried not to actively watch his movements like a gazelle worried it was being stalked, only barely relaxing when San grabbed a glass and filled it up with cold water from the fridge. San then lent a shoulder against the fridge door and peered at Wooyoung’s work on the stove.
“It was, today was a cardio day so I did some miles on the bike.” Wooyoung almost couldn’t believe he was getting more than the bare minimum answer from San, but he found himself smiling automatically, feeling like he had won another small victory.
“Pasta is a good recovery meal, then. Must have been my sixth sense,” Wooyoung joked tentatively and kept his eyes on the sauce, but thought he heard a small huff that may have been a laugh. “You were at the gym every morning this week. Do you give yourself time to rest?”
San pushed himself off the fridge and set the glass of water down, moving stiffly towards the hallway. “I can take care of myself, you don’t have to worry,” he said, voice clear and firm, before he disappeared towards the bedrooms. Wooyoung felt as if the kitchen tiles below his feet had dropped out beneath him, and embarrassment curled through his stomach and up his chest until his face was burning and he put his spoon down and took a step away from the heat. Maybe San was an asshole, after all, because that had been a perfectly innocent question that San had launched back in his face. Wooyoung felt as if he was being played with the way a cat plays with its prey before it kills. Why would San give Wooyoung these crumbs of civility, and just as Wooyoung reached out to meet San halfway he was smacked back into his cowering place?
San emerged fifteen minutes later, freshly showered and clean, just as Wooyoung plated up a bowl of pasta and placed it on the counter close to San.
“This smells great,” San said, tone flat, “Do you want to eat at the table? You’ve been on your feet all morning.”
Something throbbed in Wooyoung’s chest at the kind words, but it was the same something that was bruised from the whiplash not twenty minutes ago. San’s behaviour was both enraging and exhausting.
“Actually, I’m going to head out to run some errands after all,” Wooyoung said, forcing his voice not to waver, not looking up from where he was putting the rest of the pasta into a container, careful not to spill on the counter. He desperately did not want to sit and share a meal with San. He didn’t think he could manage it without snapping. Wooyoung needed this job. “I’ll let you get on with your day and come back around six to get started on dinner, if that works? I was thinking steak?”
San didn’t say anything in reply, and Wooyoung eventually had to turn to look at him. San’s brows were drawn together and there was the slightest pout on his lips. Wooyoung steeled himself against the sudden influx of guilt in his chest. Fool me once…
“Oh, ok,” San said eventually, picking up the bowl and drifting towards the living room. Wooyoung refused to read anything into that tiny pout or the curve of his shoulders and forced himself out the door.
San did not ask Wooyoung to eat dinner with him, so it was a quick affair of rare eye fillets and roasted vegetables and Wooyoung was packing up after his first Saturday spent as San’s private chef. Wooyoung was glad it was over, that he would have a day to rally himself, to better prepare himself for next week. He needed to get a hold of his emotions, which were swinging like a pendulum and giving Wooyoung a headache.
“Good night, have a nice day tomorrow,” Wooyoung said on his way to the door, bowing slightly in San’s direction.
That same frown pinched San’s face, but he just said, “Thanks. Enjoy your day off.”
Wooyoung nodded and slipped out the door. Wooyoung would spend his day off figuring out a strategy to survive Choi San.