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The interviewer turned to Changbin, asking, “So we heard your favourite dish is pizza; is that true?”
“Changbin answered with practiced ease, “Yeah, I particularly like salami,” his gaze already drifting in Chan’s direction, fond eyes meeting across the room.
It was technically a lie, even though it was his usual answer to anyone who asked; he did like salami pizza very much, it just wasn’t the whole truth.
But the truth wasn’t something he wanted to share with the interviewer or anyone, really. He’d rather keep the knowledge just to himself alone.
It was his favourite meal, because in the nights he ate it, he was alone with Chan, lost in the silent hours of the night before dawn, no intrusions, and more importantly, no one else there.
Changbin was convinced that telling other people would ruin their special thing. No one else could make the dish like Chan, who would make it just for them. He wasn’t ready to share that yet, so he kept his little secret to himself.
***
Changbin sat in the kitchen, staring blankly at the fridge door, the steady ticking of the clock on their wall the only noise disturbing the silence. The room was barely illuminated by the moonlight falling through the window and the city lights, casting the kitchen into a soft sheen.
Now clad in his pyjamas, hair still dripping wet from the shower, he waited for Chan to finish his turn in the bathroom. They had just come home from their evening workout, and now his final concern for the day was what they could eat for dinner.
Both of them hadn’t eaten yet, having missed dinner time at home in favour of finishing up a beat, but that had left them without food and plenty late. Although the track had polished nicely. Changbin was pleased with the result; it would make a good song for their next album.
Both Jisung and Hyunjin had messaged them hours ago that they would spend the night over at the other dorm, so they wouldn’t need to consider them in their meal plans. But thinking of something to eat for only two was difficult. He wasn’t even sure what they still had flying around in the kitchen.
Changbin was lost in thoughts when he heard the soft padding of feet on their floors, his head turning, finding Chan strolling into the kitchen, hair curly from his shower and lips curling into a smile when he spotted him, probably sensing his mood. Or maybe it was because his hair was bound to be a mop of fluff right now, having air-dried and all. He couldn’t be sure.
“What are you thinking about so hard, Bin?” Chan’s voice cut through the silence around them, stepping further into the kitchen and leaning against the counter, the soft light casting even softer shadows on his face.
Changbin sorted his thoughts out for a moment, as Chan patiently waited for his answer, head angled in his direction and gaze focused on him.
Finally, he said, “Well, I kept thinking about what to have for dinner, and after that workout I actually wanted something big, but you know, hyung, management told me again today to stop bulking up even more,” his exhale accompanied by a sigh, because apart from the fact that he liked his hard-earned body, he liked to eat delicious food as well. “So, I thought maybe just some Gyeran Bap.” Changbin couldn’t hold off the disappointment in his voice. It was nothing like what he actually craved.
Chan knew of the management’s “advice”, but he never stopped reacting the way he always did when they made comments about his weight. They did that a lot, and Changbin usually didn’t bother thinking about it too much, but when you heard something constantly, it would still get stuck in your brain sooner or later.
“Again? We're gonna have to schedule a meeting about that, Bin." A small sigh fell from his lips before he added, "That is crazy invasive and absolute bullshit. I hope you know that. Fuck them,” Chan replied, a muscle ticking in his jaw and his tone more forceful, and Changbin could see his fingertips turning white from how hard his grip on the counter was, shoulders tense.
He could fight his own battles, but he loved Chan for always having his back and fighting for them. It was reassuring to know that he wasn’t alone.
Taking another breath, it was his way to calm down, Chan added, eyes tracking Changbin’s every movement, voice now devoid of any anger, “I was actually thinking of doing my pasta?” That had Changbin listen up.
Chan only made his Marry Me Pasta for special occasions, always when it was just the two of them, when they had had a hard day, week, or month, when there was something to celebrate, or when they were down. It was their unspoken agreement to drop formalities—something they wouldn’t talk with the others about, not to keep it a secret, but to keep it between each other. It was their little retreat, their little thing.
Chan added pensively, tapping his chin, “We haven’t had it in long, and I’m kinda craving it, plus I think we deserve some fun tonight,” his eyes crinkled in mischief, dimples full on display as he shot Changbin one of his signature smiles.
He was immediately convinced, his mood lightening. Changbin really craved something delicious right now and not some random rice; he needed soul food. Chan’s pasta was the best. Not that Minho would ever get to hear that.
So, he replied with a smirk, effortlessly accepting Chan’s invitation, “You speak from my soul, Channie. Make a double serving?”
It wasn’t just an offer for food, it was their code for a night without responsibilities, detached from real life, resting for once. In those rare, late hours, they could just be Channie and Changbin.
“'Course, if I put in the work, I want to have something from it,” Chan said like it was a given, the laughter eminent in his voice.
Changin watched Chan get to work from his seat, not bothering to try and force his useless help onto Chan, so he sat back to enjoy the sight, he would just do the clean-up after.
Chan’s joy was so tangible, in his shining eyes, body relaxed. Changbin’s breath hitched at the sight of Chan finally letting go of responsibility, air stolen from his lungs, dazed because in the rare moments like this, Chan looked overwhelmingly beautiful, more so than usual, his radiant smile taking over his whole face. Changbin could swear it lightened up the dark room.
Chan wasn’t as good a cook as Minho, but Changbin knew that he took great pride in his Marry Me Pasta, guaranteed to come out perfectly every time. No one could beat him when it came to this, that was for sure.
Chan’s version somehow tasted different, even though it had been born from random stuff they had found at home, in their old dorm, when they still had been trainees without extra money to spend on fancy food. Now that was different, but Chan had never actually changed the original recipe.
Having made that dish for the both of them so often in their long years of friendship and the countless nights together in between, preparing it was basically muscle memory now, Chan moving through the kitchen in familiar ease.
Watching Chan cook was one of the best parts, his confidence as he prepared the sauce, adding the thick noodles into the sauce at the halfway point, letting it simmer on the stove while he chatted away with Changbin, the comforting smell already wafting through the whole room, filling Changbin’s heart with anticipation.
Changbin knew that it really wasn’t the recipe that made the dish so special, but the memories and promise of together, of Chan putting in all his love for him, until he could physically taste it. In those nights, far from everyday life, Changbin let himself bask in that affection without inhibition, in the taste of home and Chan’s hugs.
Heads bowed over their bowls, sitting at the counter long past midnight side by side, they stuffed their faces full, sharing the noodles directly from the pan, never bothering with bowls. Eyes meeting over their clashing chopsticks and midnight meal, blinding smiles directed at each other around mouthfuls of noodles.
With Chan’s side plastered to him, radiating a warmth that seeped into his tired bones, he could feel the worries of their hectic life melt away, leaving him in a nice, comfortable bliss, as he pressed himself even closer into Chan.
When they neared the bottom of the pan, bellies full, their laughter would get louder, ringing through the silence of the kitchen as they slowed down to savour the moment, giggling and fully relaxed by the end of their meal, staying up late even after they finished.
After clean-up, they stayed in the kitchen, lost in their world, Chan eventually leaning over to rest his head on his shoulder as they talked, cuddling closer until he could feel the matching smile that was etched into Chan’s face, until they were too tired to stay up.
Eventually they would stumble into bed, Chan’s breathy laughter in his ears as he inevitably stubbed his toe, ending the day wrapped up in Chan’s embrace, and a single press of soft lips against his in the darkness of the bedroom.
They never left any traces, except their glowing cheeks and bright eyes come morning, the pan cleaned and back in the cabinets before anyone woke to their next schedule.
Nights when Chan made the pasta were always his favourite kind of nights, with his favourite food and his favourite person.
Those little moments in the night time hours replenished him, filled his heart with the reminder of love, and kept him warm even through their busiest days, reminding him of why he was doing all of this.
Plus, he liked to think of the name Chan had chosen for his noodles as a promise for one day, far into the future.