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Chenle considers himself to be on the luckier side.
He’s managed to get through four terrible years of culinary school in just three and now manages his own YouTube channel doing what he enjoys the most - being famous.
Just kidding.
Cooking.
Yes, even after the grueling coursework and intensive apprenticeships, Chenle still loves cooking. It’s why he tolerates the early hours, probing fans, and judgmental netizens. During hard times, he tries to remind himself of the tough journey it took to get here.
Right now, while seven different cameras roll (and at least four GoPro’s crouch on the countertops), Chenle tries to remind himself he’s in it for the food. And not for the over-enthusiastic, puppy-eyed idol guest starring today’s episode.
“You’re so good at cutting that, Jeez.” His name is Mark Lee and he’s the leader of one of the hottest idol groups out of Seoul. Paying no mind to the concept of personal space, the guy presses onto Chenle’s side and makes an ooooh sound that reminds Chenle a little too much of his baby cousin.
Some of the staff on the other side of the room laugh at this. Which is good because it probably means they have no idea Chenle’s stomach just swooped. He throws Mark a half-grin. “I would hope so.”
For some reason, this makes Mark blush.
They’re making chicken. Mark has his fingers in a bowl of chopped cutlets doused in a cornstarch sauce and his eyes on Chenle’s knife. “I feel bad we’re making something so easy,” he says, eyes round.
Chenle shrugs. “Easy. Complicated. Doesn’t matter. So long as it’s delicious.” He dumps the newly-diced sichuan peppercorn into Mark’s bowl and tells the camera to start stirring. “If you don’t have sichuan pepper at home, do not substitute for chili pepper,” he explains, facing the lens. “In fact, don’t bother with this recipe at all. This stuff is crucial!” He takes the bowl from Mark’s hand and sways it in the air for emphasis. “Sichuan has a citrusy aroma and creates a tingly sensation in the mouth. You need this stuff.”
A low giggle escapes Mark’s mouth. Chenle turns and finds him beaming at him. He’s not sure what he’s done to warrant the radiant smile but he figures he should return it anyway. He grins back, focuses on the sharp points of Mark’s cheeks, and briefly forgets the cameras, all eleven of them. “You write your own music, right?”
Mark blinks. He does this thing - Chenle has noticed - he looks towards his manager often. Mark glances at the screen with the talking points his team set up for them that morning.
Album title and single
Concept for album (“Expression of youth…”)
Tour
Food habits (NO strict diet mention)
This last one makes Chenle roll his eyes. Idols don’t eat! He’s met his fair share of idols - has tried to feed at least a dozen of them - and he’s well aware of the ridiculous food restrictions. Mark doesn’t seem too caught up with that, though. He seems healthy enough. Very much alive. Especially now as his neck flushes. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s fun. But it takes time.”
“It’s, like, therapeutic?” Chenle multi-tasks as he talks. He grabs the pair of kitchen scissors one of his assistants laid out for them and begins cutting some red dried chilies.
Mark doesn’t answer right away. He takes time to gather his thoughts. Which. It’s kind of surprising, actually. Idols usually have this type of stuff rehearsed and memorized. Chenle stops cutting and listens. “It is. It can be frustrating, though. Some songs are easier than others. But it’s important for me to feel that they’re right.” He closes his mouth, then opens it again. “To feel like they feel right.”
It’s not the clearest way to say it, but it makes sense. Chenle nods. “Cooking is the same way. You have to feel it. After a certain point, you master things. You learn the rules. But the rest is about intuition and play.”
“Exactly!” Mark shuffles closer to him and peers down at the chilis. “Should I be doing something?”
“Oh right. Um. Here.” He hands over some scallions and tears his eyes away from Mark’s pout. “Guys, this recipe is easy,” he says to the camera. “Green onion is next. Chop ‘em up and set them aside for now. I’m gonna make some flavors now.” It’s just garlic and ginger. Chenle knows the editing team will add the measurements to the video afterwards, so he doesn’t bother with specifics.
The main thing he tries to promote on his channel is fun. Cooking should be fun. And spontaneous. Mark asks him about culinary school and Chenle shrugs off the subject with a joke. “Oh you mean military boot camp?” The joke isn’t that far off. Working in a kitchen is hierarchical and rigid and stress-inducing. Chenle was constipated and panic-stricken for three years straight. But! Now he knows how to make the perfect macaron.
It’s how he first went viral, actually.
He owes his flashy YouTube career to a chaotically unscripted macaron tutorial. It went viral on a saturday afternoon.
And now he gets to teach hot people how to make things like kung pao chicken.
Chenle quirks his mouth in a half-grin, and it’s genuine. School sucked ass. But his job now is pretty fucking awesome. Plus, he’s 80% sure Mark wants to fuck him. Or, like. Hang out, or whatever.
“It smells so good,” Mark moans, as he watches him mix the ingredients on the carbon steel wok.
Chenle hopes he’s facing a camera as he says it, so he can watch whatever face he just made later. The recipe is almost done which means they should finish getting through all the interview questions.
They talk about the new album and Chenle makes him choose a favorite track. The title of the song is in English and it rolls off Mark’s tongue easily. That’s right, the guy is Canadian - he’s one of those ambitious international idols. Mark rambles about it, which is unexpected, considering he’d been so uptight and proper at the beginning of the shoot. (Like all well-mannered idols who guest star on his show.)
But Mark is different. As Chenle’s wok sizzles, Mark’s layers melt. He gestures with his hands to explain the album concept - something about being stuck in a dream world and having to break out of it (“It’s a metaphor but also just, an opportunity to show a different side to an earlier album, y’know? Like wordplay.”) - while Chenle pours the chicken into a ceramic bowl picked out by one of his production assistants. He puts a piece in Mark’s mouth and watches the way his face morphs with delight.
“This is so impressive, oh my god. It’s spicy but not too hot.” Mark approaches the camera placed directly in front of the large counter and tips the bowl forward. “Look at how clean the peppercorn bits are. He cut it into a powder. Barely detectable. But it’s, like, really tasty.”
A bright laugh bursts from Chenle. Mark’s awe is too damn sincere. It’s almost insulting, lowkey. “You say that like you’re genuinely surprised! Did you think I was a phony or - ”
This time, everyone on set laughs with him - all clearly thinking more or less the same thing.
Mark throws up his hands, defensive. “No, it’s not like that, I swear,” he’s smiling. But his eyes have gone completely round. It’s disarmingly cute. Which is crazy, because Chenle’s first impression of him wasn’t cute but rather, handsome and serious. How can someone be all three?
“Should I show you my degree? Do you still need more proof?”
Instead of coming up with a rebuttal, Mark opts for taking another piece of chicken and putting it in his mouth. And then, when Chenle continues staring at him curiously, he grabs another.
Cute.
Chenle nods approvingly and gives a camera two thumbs up.
“I’m taking this recipe with me on tour. Not sure how I’ll make it work but I will.”
“You’ll need a kitchen.”
“And a chef,” Mark adds, staring back at him.
Chenle blinks.
It takes a half-beat for Mark to realize what he’s insinuated. Chenle knows when it happens because Mark’s mouth grows tense and his eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. It’s freakishly attractive. “So, um, next promotion cycle! I’ll have to come back.” He rushes out. “With my members this time.”
Because Chenle is a professional (sort of), he goes along with the sudden change in topic. “Oh yeah, that’d be awesome. But let them know I’m a real chef so they’re not caught off guard when I start saying things like chiffonade and acidulation.”
Mark shakes his head, shy. “I’ll mention it.”
Ending the show goes as smoothly as it can, considering. (Considering Chenle finds him really damn endearing.) Mark isn’t awkward, but he’s very…present. It’s hard to go through the motions of closing out the show with someone who seems so reactive. So sensitive. So into him.
It’s like there’s a chain reaction that’s been set in motion, waiting to stabilize. And it’s not until a half hour later, when Chenle exits the bathrooms out by the hall of the studio they rented, that he realizes just how much buzzy energy there is to contend with.
Mark hovers by the adjacent wall and raises his eyebrows in greeting when their eyes meet. “Hey, I just wanted to thank you again. That was really fun. You’ve just gained a fan.”
Embarrassingly, Chenle’s heart rate skyrockets. He knows what this is. Sorta. The cameras are off and most of the staff and crew are out of earshot. But Mark doesn’t seem like the type to say things just to say them. Nor does he seem like the type to do random hookups. So Chenle makes himself slow down. He does sneak a quick glance down Mark’s body, though. “Dude, any time. You’re cool. I was teasing you by the way, about the thinking I was a phony stuff.”
Mark chuckles. “Oh, I know.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
“When do you leave for tour again?”
“Two weeks.” Mark scans his face while waiting for his response.
Chenle hasn't been ogled at like this in a minute. He can't decide if it's flattering yet. “Oh, nice.”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
It’s like sinking further and further into quicksand. The air is heavy with tension, sucking him down. The logical thing to do is grimace and move on. A better luck next time sort of thing. But Chenle is stuck. Something about Mark is just really…real. He’s drawn to him - to that grounded pull - like a satellite falling into orbit after lightyears of high speed roaming.
Wordlessly, Chenle sticks his hand out and tips his chin at Mark’s phone. Mark fishes it out of his pocket in slow motion. He quirks his head, unsure. Chenle nods, as if to say yeah, that’s it. And so, Mark hands it to him.
Carefully, he puts his phone number in and texts himself with it (hi chenle this is mark lee please cook for me again).
When Mark sees it, he laughs out loud. It’s not a belly laugh, but it morphs his whole face. Getting him to do that feels pretty damn good. Chenle smiles. The tension breaks a little, gives him room to take in some oxygen.
“I’ll see you around?” Chenle asks.
“Soon. I’ll text you. Tonight, even.”
Woah. A man that knows what he wants, albeit a little awkward about it. Cute. And also, Nice. Chenle’s eyes flash. “Cool.”
He catches Mark staring at his mouth and decides that when it comes to luck, he definitely has a lot of it.
Too much even.
They part ways and Chenle makes a note to clean his apartment. And buy some condoms. Just in case.