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Chan can’t believe how lucky he is to be blessed with the boyfriend that Lee Seokmin is.
Lee Seokmin, the one who constantly expresses his love with every fiber of his being and radiates it with the warmth of the blessed morning sun, is the one Chan gets to wake up to every morning and go to bed with at the end of every day. He’s truly grateful, even if it becomes overbearing sometimes. But it’s not something he’ll ever take for granted.
Seokmin is a polyglot when it comes to the love languages, and fluent in every one of them. He communicates most through acts of service: helping Chan make the bed every morning, preparing a quick, easily digestible breakfast, making sure Chan’s things are in order before he leaves for work, the occasional drive Chan to work when he accidentally runs late, a quick kiss before they part ways (yes, this is an act of service in Chan’s eyes), filling the little lulls with beautiful melodies, a longer kiss when they both return home from their workdays, helping him decompress after a stressful work day, preparing a bath when he’s exhausted after a dance workshop, and making sure Chan’s clothes are prepared for another work day. Rinse and repeat, he shows his love like it's a routine embedded in his body clock. And he does it with a smile on his face.
Food is arguably its own love language, and is a love language Seokmin excels in. A necessary skill turned into a hobby, Seokmin loves taking time out of his day to make his place in the kitchen. Whether it’s cooking a dish with a recipe passed down from his grandmother, or whipping up something following an online recipe he’s been keen to try, he’s wholeheartedly willing to do it all. To Chan, it’s admirable how he takes a lot of pride and joy in his cooking.
Besides, it’s said that the best, most delicious dishes are made when the chef pours their love into it.
He enjoys making food for Chan to take with him. Chan’s co-workers flock to see what his “personal chef” of a boyfriend prepared for his lunch. Packed so neatly and so beautifully, his lunch never fails to disappoint, even if it just happens to be last night’s leftovers. It tastes just as good as it looks, and Chan savors every bite in front of envious eyes. Which is why Seokmin cooks up a feast on the off chance the company holds a potluck lunch.
When Chan stops by the apartment to prepare to teach a dance class at his parents’ new Seoul dance studio, Seokmin sends him off with a tray full of freshly baked cookies to spoil the kids with. In response, Chan sends a video of the kids after the class is over, breathing heavily while drenched with sweat and enthusiastically thanking their uncle Seokmin for the goodies. There’s never been a need for Chan to take home any leftover treats. Chan recalls how one kid claimed they became a regular student solely for Seokmin’s bi-weeky treats, which inflated Seokmin’s ego for weeks on end.
The best part is that without fail, all the food Seokmin sends to Chan is accompanied with a bright blue sticky note.
MADE BY YOURS TRULY,
SEOKMIN ૮⍝• ᴥ • . ⍝ა
Also without fail, it makes Chan ten times happier whenever he finds it—another reason why his co-workers may be jealous. The puppy is so reminiscent of Seokmin, and Chan has become too fond of the cute puppy drawing to throw it away. (He stores all the notes he manages to save in a binder stored away in the closet, but he’ll never admit it.)
“Made by yours truly!” Seokmin cheers when Chan questions him about it the first time the note appeared. He motions to himself enthusiastically, his smile beaming with pride. “Because I’m your true Lee Seokmin!”
Chan seriously considers himself lucky to have someone like him.
—
The weather hadn’t been kind as of recently. The air quality has gotten worse, and the temperature drops bring a reminder of the winter season approaching. The forecast indicated a downpour the next couple days, bringing forth dreary conditions and dulling the sky gray. It was gloomy all around.
The cold had made its way around, and it had started to affect Seokmin too. He doesn’t have the will to do anything but sleep; his body won’t let him. Instead, he forces? himself out of bed, step by step, hauling a big fluffy blanket with him into the living room. Cautiously, he makes his way into the kitchen and boils water to make himself a cup of whatever tea he manages to find. After making himself as comfortable as possible on the couch, he takes a small sip of tea, the hot herbal liquid providing some much needed relief. Through his weak vocal condition, he leaves a hoarse, breathy voicemail calling in sick.
The sun doesn’t arrive to wish him a good morning, so Seokmin has to resort to residing in his fluffy yet dreary blanket mountain, which would be a lot more amusing if he wasn’t feeling icky. Once again, he wishes sleep could come to him soon.
–
Waking up to an empty bed was to be expected, as Seokmin was more of an early bird who would put all his daybreak energy into making breakfast. To “start the day right!” Seokmin would announce, mimicking the cereal commercials on TV. But Chan doesn’t wake up to oil sizzles or clamoring pans nor to a delicious aroma indicating what today’s breakfast would be. The peace and quiet of the morning is strange, and he’s unsure if it’s a welcome change.
Nonetheless, he gets up to start his daily routine. Briefly check his phone, sit up and stretch, do his morning business, and wash his face before he sets out to find Seokmin and drink a cold glass of water.
He does indeed find Seokmin asleep in a lumpy blanket burrito sprawled out on the couch. His rough bedhead barely peeks out from one end. It’s endearing, and a little funny how well he’s cocooned himself in. The tea Seokmin brewed earlier now cooled to room temperature, abandoned on the coffee table.
“Hi.” Seokmin manages to greet, having sensed his boyfriend’s presence. He only manages to keep one of his eyes open, but barely.
“Hi,” Chan replies with a small pitying smile. “Are you okay?”
“It hurts all over,” Seokmin croaks beneath the fluff. “I want it to go away.”
Chan smiles sympathetically, reaching in to pat Seokmin’s head. He’s warm. A little too warm.
Chan wants to do anything and everything to relieve Seokmin’s misery. So he too made the choice and called in from work, despite the sleepy, voiceless protests from Seokmin, to take care of his poor sick boyfriend. But Chan insists on doing so; how could he not, seeing his poor boyfriend all sick and sniffly and sleepy.
“I’ll make you breakfast, yeah?” Chan reassures, barely above a whisper as he strokes Seokmin’s head, combing and smoothing out his hair in the process. “It’ll be good for you.”
“Don’t want you to go,” Seokmin mopes, holding onto Chan’s arm, revelling in the physical attention. His sleepy, pleading eyes peer up at Chan, and he tries to blink away the slumber he desperately needs. “I’m not hungry yet.”
“But you have to eat something,” Chan frowns slightly. He hates imposing like this. It’s the least he should do.
“Can you hold me first, then,” Seokmin compromises, pulling Chan closer. He attempts to wiggle and make some room for Chan. “Just for a bit?”
And how can Chan resist that request?
Seokmin manages to sit up, even though he winces in the process, while Chan settles on the couch. It’s not the most comfortable position for either of them, but the closeness and comfort of the blanket enclosing them make up for it.
A small “thank you” passes through the low noise of the morning, grateful for the affection he’s getting.
Seokmin is radiating a lot of body heat. It shouldn’t feel this nice, but it feels so nice. Warm and comforting, almost like everything is at ease. It would be nice to spend the day like this. But Seokmin is sick, and Chan now holds the responsibility to make him feel better.
With plenty of back rubs and soft, reassuring kisses, it doesn’t take long for Seokmin to fall asleep in Chan’s embrace. Chan can’t help but take some time to watch Seokmin rest. He doesn’t usually have the time to, but he’ll indulge some time for himself.
Seokmin is beautiful; that is a given. His sharp features contrast his soft, sleeping face released of any and all tension he’s been fighting. His smooth skin is void of any impurities, having clearly been keeping up with his skincare. If he could come up with more words to describe how stunning his boyfriend and how much love he feels in the moment, he would. Truly beautiful his boyfriend is.
Seokmin’s slow rhythmic breaths almost lull Chan to stay with him, but he knows he has something to do. It’s the perfect opportunity to get up and make breakfast. As much as he would love to stay this way, he quickly and carefully breaks away.
The kitchen, the familiar place that Seokmin loved to occupy, remained weirdly empty, save for a kettle of water. Admittedly, it’s been a while since Chan has cooked for them, let alone himself. Chan briefly scours through the refrigerator and pantry to see what Seokmin had stocked up on. He’s overwhelmed with all the ingredients he’s noticing for the first time. Brie cheese, prosciutto, persimmon jam, an unfamiliar brand of fish sauce, sesame paste, truffle oil?! He doesn’t need to take anything he doesn’t know; it’s best for him to make something simple. He doesn’t even have to do much: microwave leftover rice from last night’s dinner, whip up a comforting soup of some sort, and in the end give Seokmin some antipyretics.
Chan pulls out all the necessary ingredients. It’s weird getting food ready accompanied with silence. It’s weird that he feels obligated to recreate the sounds that wake him up. But it’s also weird that Chan feels the need to go through all that to make Seokmin a good meal. So he focuses on what he needs to do. He impatiently watches the broth boil with the radish floating about, seasons it to his liking, prepares the proper utensils for the two of them, and scrambles eggs for the heck of it.
The worst part is having to wake Seokmin up. He hasn’t moved from the position Chan left him in.
“Seokminnie,” Chan coaxes as he lightly shakes his shoulder. “There’s food ready.”
Almost on instinct, Seokmin pushes off the blanket and rises from the couch, his footing unsteady. He doesn’t say anything–Chan’s not sure that Seokmin is quite frankly able to say anything–but he wraps his arms around Chan in response. Whether he’s seeking warmth, hugging Chan in gratitude, or silently asking for Chan’s assistance to their dining table, Chan gladly holds Seokmin. Maybe Chan is a sucker for physical touch.
“Just need a minute,” Seokmin hoarsely whispers as an explanation, even after Chan is sure a minute has passed. His hands lightly latch onto Chan’s soft hoodie, and he uses his forehead to lean onto Chan’s shoulder.
Chan waits patiently, scared that rushing Seokmin will worsen his condition. In due time, they make their way to the dining table, neither letting go of the other, their arms intertwined.
They quietly eat breakfast together, Chan deciding to take the seat next to Seokmin rather than directly across. He continuously glances at Seokmin just in case.
Seokmin savors the first spoonful of muguk . The fatigue washes away with a hearty sip of broth, warming his core right up. He holds restraint; it takes the newfound ounce of energy he has to not shovel food into his mouth.
Chan can’t help but ask for Seokmin’s opinion. It’s fine, he shouldn’t, but he does anyway. “How was it?”
If Seokmin could pinch Chan’s cheeks right now, he would. He holds back. Chan’s genuine, innocent question is so endearing, especially with those pretty eyes awaiting an answer. Seokmin shows Chan two thumbs as enthusiastically as he can, a little more life brought into him. “It can’t get any better than this.”
It makes Chan’s heart flutter.
“Thank you for the meal Channie,” Seokmin relishes, carefully leaning back while holding his stomach in contentment. “I’m so full. I don’t think I can move.”
Now playfully pouting, his puppy eyes staring directly at Chan. Knowingly staring, daring Chan to ignore his plea. Even his intentional, twinkling blinking is pretty.
A laugh slips out, Chan stunned at Seokmin’s silent boldness. He'll get a pass, because he’s Seokmin and fighting a fever.
But he can’t leave just yet.
“But you have to take your meds.”
Chan readily hands him the necessary medications and a cup of water. Seokmin dreads the necessity; he slowly takes each medication one by one. He grimaces when he finishes, really hating that weird lingering feeling in his throat.
“Want me to carry you?” Chan offers with a small laugh, arms ready and wide open.
“Yes please,” Seokmin says, his voice giving out.
They're both half joking, but it’ll happen anyway. Chan offers a piggyback ride, waiting for Seokmin to climb on. Seokmin clings on for dear life as they trek through the apartment. It doesn’t take long before Chan carefully sets Seokmin down on their bed and tucks him in as requested.
The rest of the morning goes smoothly after Chan brings Seokmin to bed. Seokmin opts out of lunchtime meal to continue sleeping off the sickness. (Or rather, Chan sees that Seokmin is out like a light; he hasn’t moved from his initial position so Chan decides not to wake him up. Lunch ended up being the rest of breakfast's leftovers anyway).
He cleans the house a bit, tidies up the living room, then gets to lounge around. It’s nice. A little boring, but nice.
He checks in on Seokmin on occasion, but Seokmin hasn’t stirred from his slumber, the sickness really having taken a physical toll on him.
Then comes the dilemma of what to make for dinner. He has all the time in the world to go full out and make a full spread for dinner, and there’s so many food options. He’s not as daring or innovative as Seokmin is in the kitchen, but maybe this time he could try something new.
There’s so many things that sound really good right about now, considering the gloomy weather has yet to clear. It started to rain, harshly pittering and pattering on the windows. The wind picks up as well, and he doesn’t have to open the door to feel how cold it is.
It’s only natural that he makes some sort of soup, right? Everyone craves soup when this type of weather comes around. But he already made soup for breakfast, so he shouldn't make another one. What else can be warm and comforting and healing but isn’t soup? Dakjuk is an option, but honestly Chan is not feeling up for it. Some sort of curry sounds delicious, but there’s something in him telling him no.
Maybe soup is the way to go.
Chan rummages through the kitchen, but it ultimately frustrates him more when he can’t come up with a cohesive meal. He mindlessly stares at the open refrigerator, hoping inspiration, an answer, a recipe, something can come to him. Maybe the block of tofu is staring back at him.
Why is he overthinking this? Seokmin loves doenjang jjigae. And it’s simple enough.
This is ultimately for Seokmin, not some cooking competition judge.
He carefully pulls out the ingredients, inspecting each one to ensure it is still usable.
He sighs, before softly chuckling in disbelief after realizing all the preparations he has to do. He stressed himself out so early, and the process has just begun. So many vegetables to cut and the pork has to be cut thin enough so it can cook quicker. Is there readymade anchovy stock available?
Chan pushes through and gets to chopping the vegetables one by one, trying his best to make them as uniform as possible. Then he’s unsure how thin is too thin of a slice of pork and if it’s even possible. He cleans up the workspace after preparing every ingredient before starting the cooking process.
He mindlessly stirs the broth, watching the broth gradually become more saturated in color as the potato and shrimp and zucchini swim. He adds more seasoning for good measure before tasting. Now it’s just a waiting game. Chan doesn’t like being told to wait.
It’s cathartic, and Chan only now realizes this is his first true day off in a while. He’s used to filling the empty slots in his schedule with more dance sessions, or going on an outing with Seokmin or their friends. It’s just him right now, and he’s understanding why Seokmin enjoys cooking so much.
Cooking is truly a labor of love.
Is this what Seokmin goes through? All this out of love? He’s gone through all the times Seokmin has cooked for them, all their friends bringing food for their potlucks, the countless times his parents and grandmother prepared meals growing up and…wow. He can’t be more grateful. It’s not even necessarily difficult, just tedious. Sure, they do it out of necessity, but they put so much effort into serving good food, to make sure everyone is well fed.
Now Chan fully understands why his co-workers look at his lunches with heart eyes. He smirks to himself at the thought of bragging to his co-workers tomorrow that he made his delicious lunch himself.
He is too preoccupied to hear the bedroom door open or the rustling of a blanket from afar or the soft shuffling of slippers towards him. He only notices when he is wrapped in softness held together by a pair of familiar, loving arms, and a warm body slightly leaning on him.
It’s the same blanket from this morning. Seokmin chooses to lean his head on Chan’s left shoulder, his mouth making contact with the nape of his neck, pairing soft breaths with small kisses. It doesn’t faze Chan as he adds the tofu in before stirring once again.
“I missed you.”
It’s barely audible, but Chan can hear it perfectly well. Seokmin has recovered some of his voice, now just rough from sleep. He’s still not going to use it much, not until he’s at 100%.
A soft smile widens across Chan’s face, and he has to fight the urge to turn around and hug Seokmin right there.
“I’m right here.”
Seokmin playfully smacks Chan’s arm under the blanket before inching closer, closing whatever minimal distance was between them. “Obviously.”
Chan giggles in response, the one that trickles out almost instinctively, the one that builds into a contagious laugh. It gets Seokmin to quietly laugh as well, so much so that he bursts into a fit of coughs. Seokmin’s discomfort brings in more laughter from Chan.
It’s really nice when it’s just them. Two guys keeping each other in happy company.
It subsides into pity laughter as he finds Seokmin’s hand to squeeze.
“You okay?”
“I’m okay. I’m okay. Is your doenjang jjigae okay?”
Instantaneously, Chan’s attention turns toward the bubbling stew, threatening to overflow. He immediately turns down the heat and stirs it slowly, hoping not to spill and waste anything.
He peeks over at Seokmin, who gives him a knowing look, and timidly smiles in response. “It’s okay.”
Seokmin holds back a laugh before planting one more kiss on Chan’s cheek. “I’ll leave you to it, chef Chan!”
He removes himself from Chan, taking the blanket with him as he patiently waits and observes at the dining table. He smiles fondly watching Chan finetune his cooking. It’s evident that Chan put more effort than necessary into this; he’s never the type to half-ass anything.
It’s not long before Chan moves away from his position at the stovetop and places utensils, rice, and various banchan in front of Seokmin with a played up smile.
“Thank you for waiting ever so patiently. Your dish will be served shortly, sir.” Chan immediately plays up a skit, portraying a character similar to the owner of their go-to family owned restaurant.
Seokmin lets out a laugh before playing along, gratefully bowing at Chan. “Thank you chef Chan!”
“In the meantime, would you like something to drink?”
“Water please, thank you.”
This whole skit endears Seokmin; it almost feels like a childhood game.
Chan nods and places a glass of water on the table before rushing back to the stovetop and giving the stew one last stir before spooning some into a bowl. He carefully serves it to Seokmin, who looks at it in awe.
“One doenjang jjigae , specially made by yours truly. Please be careful, the bowl is hot.”
The bowl is indeed piping hot as it sits in front of Seokmin. He spoons some of the broth and waits for it to cool down before taking a sip. It is exactly what he needed and more.
This time when Chan asks for Seokmin’s opinion, there’s an air of confidence he holds.
“It’s so good, seriously. Maybe the best I’ve ever had.”
Chan, still keeping up the skit, eyes the imaginary restaurant and imaginary customers as if he was being monitored. He leans in and covers his mouth, speaking in a loud whisper.
“Between you and me, the secret ingredient is love. Lots of it, too.”
Seokmin gasps in faux shock, having just learned the restaurant’s top secret. Chan nods proudly and assuringly, before leaning in closer, just mere centimeters away from Seokmin’s face. He’s aching to share another secret.
“I learned it from my wonderful boyfriend.”
He takes the opportunity to land a quick kiss on Seokmin’s forehead before sitting back in his chair, giggling at the astonished, flustered mess he left Seokmin in. He starts to get up from his chair. “And now I hope I can join my wonderful boyfriend and eat dinner together.”
Seokmin is now actually shocked, too stunned at his boyfriend’s statement. Is this a continuation of the skit? Should he continue?
Chan senses his uncertainty and officially drops the mannerisms and dialect. “Seriously. I learned this from you.” He makes his way back to the stovetop to get himself a bowl.
And there’s something so heartwarming about Chan wanting Seokmin to know how much love he put into his cooking in addition to the amount of care he’s providing. Seokmin wants to protest Chan’s overly sweet remarks, but any words he wants to say melt into puddles and he has to fight back the tears forming.
When Chan returns with his own serving and sees Seokmin carefully shove food in his mouth, he giggles before making his way around the table to give Seokmin a hug.
“I love you.”
“I love you too. And thank you.”
Seokmin wipes the tear that managed to escape and before taking a tissue and wiping his sniffly nose.
When Chan returns to his dinner, he exclaims in satisfaction and awe at how good the doenjang jjigae is. “Wow, I did so good.”
After dinner, Seokmin takes his final medicine dosage of the day and takes up the responsibility of washing the dishes, despite Chan’s protests. In the meantime, Chan runs a bath for Seokmin, ensuring it’s hot enough to be able to feel relaxed. In his keen observation, he even reminds Seokmin to take advantage of the steam for his throat. He gives Seokmin all the time he needs and helps him every step of the way.
As the night continues to wind down, Chan helps Seokmin blow dry his hair before they do their skincare routines together.
When they’re finally in bed together, carefully cuddled together, both on the brink of letting sleep take them into a new day, Seokmin whispers his thanks. He’s not sure if Chan’s awake enough to hear him, but he has all the time in their lifetimes for that.
He plants one final kiss on Chan’s cheek for the day.
—
The weather the next morning is a lot more desirable. The morning sun peeks through clouds, coloring the sky with delicate streaks of orange and yellow.
Seokmin wakes up feeling a lot better than yesterday, having slept in. Refreshed, recovered, and ready to take the day slow. He’s not heading into work today, decidedly giving himself an extra day to return back to normal.
It would also give him the opportunity to try making a new breakfast pastry he’s been dying to make for a while now.
By this time, Chan has already made his way out the door and is probably on the tail-end of his commute to work. Seokmin hopes Chan packed a decent lunch, especially after his fabulous cooking the day before.
He’s expecting to eat any leftover food from last night’s dinner or maybe quickly cook up some eggs.
He wasn’t expecting an already prepared classic Korean breakfast spread laid out on the table, some cut up fruit, plus some pancakes…just because.
IT’S ME, CHAN!!
I hope you enjoy today’s breakfast and lunch and dinner and dessert! ♡
MADE BY YOURS TRULY, CHAN!!
ʢ·͡ᴥ·ʡ∩๐า╭∩าﾉ\