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Summary
Haechan is like… bread fresh from the oven, maybe. The kind with a crust that crackles under your fingers when you press into it, caving into the soft, yielding crumb beneath. Watching him move around their kitchen in early morning light, golden and warm, Jaemin understands the hunger that drives people to tear into things with their bare hands.
The thought settles into Jaemin's mind and refuses to leave. There's something about the contrast, the smooth exterior hiding something tender underneath, that makes Jaemin's fingers itch to press, to test, to break through.