Work Text:
It’s the smell of strong spices wafting in the air that wakes Wonwoo up a good 42 minutes before his alarm.
The aroma is pungent, hitting the nose in an almost offensive manner as the spices stew in what he knows to be pork and river snail broth. He would be mad, but the scent isn’t something he’s unfamiliar with, so he shuffles out of bed, certain as to who’s in his kitchen.
“Hi. You’re home,” he starts when he sees a head of black hair and distinctly broad shoulders he would know to pick out from a crowd anywhere. It’s Junhui, and he’s in Wonwoo and Mingyu’s apartment first thing after flying in.
When he turns, the smile he gives Wonwoo is brighter than the rays of sunlight that filtered in through his curtains this morning. “Hi! Yes, I am! Good morning, did you get a good night’s sleep?”
“Mm. You know how I sleep without you,” Wonwoo says, a hint of lethargy remaining in his voice.
“It was only a few days.”
“A few days too long, yes.”
“Mm-hm.”
The conversation halts into a comfortable lull as Junhui busies himself with his task, snipping packets open here and there, adding ingredients to his stewing broth, and tasting his handiwork once in a while.
It’s luosifen, one of Junhui’s personal favorites. It’s also Wonwoo’s now, after countless late nights when Junhui would open a pack or two to cook for the both of them.
It’s luosifen, and it’s the aroma that Wonwoo’s come to love.
“Wonwoo? Come take a seat, this will be done in a few minutes,” Junhui finally says, taking Wonwoo out of his own head. Wonwoo obliges and settles himself at the small breakfast nook, readying himself for the bowl that Junhui places in front of him.
The first spoonful of broth always feels like the tenderness of a hand stroking his back. It’s a grounding sensation from the redolence of the star anise, heady and flavorful where the soup makes contact with his tongue.
“How is it,” Junhui asks.
Wonwoo swallows, puts his glass to his lips to take a sip of water and says, not without a reassuring smile, “Just the way I like it.”
What he gets from Junhui in return—a gentle caress of the hand to the nape of his neck—urges him to take another spoonful.
He catches a distinct earthiness in his second mouthful, the scent so potent it’s almost a taste. It nearly feels like a very tight hug with how heavy it is, but it’s not an unwelcome feeling. He continues taking bites, savoring the way this earthy fragrance warms him up with every inhale.
Wonwoo also picks up on the zing of the pickled bamboo shoots, the flavor a welcome burst of tartness against the weight of the many spices. The smell is almost overwhelmingly intense, but it’s fresh, the taste that it gives, and he’s grateful Junhui has the mind to add more of it to their simple meal.
He’s missed this, the air loaded with the essence of a blend of rich spices, every breath in feeling like his first—life-giving, nourishing.
He continues to relish each bite and each sip, and it’s as he’s enjoying his noodles this way that Junhui sits next to him with his own bowl, resuming their conversation.
“Have you been good while I was away?”
Glancing up at him with a slight smirk, he replies, “Of course. Finished my schedules diligently and all that.”
“Look at you,” Junhui says. “All grown up and working so steadfastly.” He fakes a cry, swiping his eyes with his fingers. “I’m proud.”
Wonwoo laughs before he continues, “I don’t just suddenly turn into a brat when you’re not here to keep an eye on me, you know.”
“Of course you don’t. You just turn into a sap who misses me too much he has to go on Weverse lest he shrivels from boredom.”
“Have you been monitoring my Weverse activities?”
Junhui giggles, says “I don’t need to. You’re not exactly subtle, dear.”
Like this, they continue eating, exchanging playful jabs and more serious stories from the time they were apart.
Like this, with the windows slightly open and the cool crisp air of early autumn in the late morning clinging on to them, the world is but a distant buzz.
Like this, comfortably close and with the smell of luosifen, vigorously fragrant, permeating the atmosphere, Wonwoo knows there is no other place he would rather be.
Home has been many different things for Wonwoo. Once it was Changwon, the high-rise of his childhood—the one with the scary dog—still stark in his memory. When he was a teenager, it was the dorms a mere walking distance from the old company building, cramped and always smelling of musk. He thinks maybe the hotel rooms for the greater part of a year might have been it, too.
But he knows now that home isn’t just the four walls that shelter him. Home is the warmth that envelops his chest when he smells strong spices boiling to a hearty and comforting mix in the kitchen—a concoction as intense as the feeling he gets when he knows whose hands that magic springs from.
“Jun-ah?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
There’s a smile blooming on Junhui’s face now, one that looks a lot like fondness. “Silly Wonwoo. It’s just packaged noodles,” he says.
Wonwoo gives him a smile of his own in return, one that lights his eyes up with unbridled affection. And he knows, with complete certainty and clarity, that Junhui understands what he does not say. That every spoonful to his mouth is a wordless thanks for the things that matter.
The world outside their little cosmos shifts from vibrant greens to subdued browns and reds as Autumn claws its way through the trees and through the ground, but as the scent of anise and fennel clings on to him more strongly, Wonwoo is sure he will feel nothing but the warmth of a love that is unchanging.