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Wonwoo had spent all 29 years of his life trying to change who he was. People didn’t like that he was quiet; they didn’t like that he was observant , actually, many called him judgmental (a side effect of being a food critic, he supposed). They scowled when he didn’t laugh at their jokes or when he paused too long before speaking, always carefully measuring his words. He could list every flaw they had ever pointed out, but why bother? His own voice was harsher than theirs, a constant, hushed murmur in his mind, never allowing him to just be.
There wasn’t anything in particular that he loved about himself; maybe he was judgmental after all, not with others, but with his own self. He had even tried to soften his edges, knowing it would make life easier, but the effort always left him hollow and it felt like he was just putting on a performance. This sharp, bitter version of himself was all he had, all he knew. He didn't know how to be Wonwoo in any other way.
It was a regular Wednesday when the thoughts crept back into Wonwoo’s mind. He was proofreading a scathing restaurant review (his least favorite part of the job) when his doorbell rang. This was definitely unusual, he rarely got visitors, especially not on a Wednesday at 11:00 a.m. With a sigh, he adjusted his glasses and got up, scowling before he even reached the door.
The reason for this interruption stood in his doorway. There it was, a blonde man probably about his age, slightly taller, with hair that curled just past his ears. When Wonwoo looked at his face, he was met with a blinding smile: impossibly wide, all gleaming teeth and crinkled eyes. The kind of cheerfulness that made Wonwoo's skin prickle. He knew how to deal with many things: overcooked pasta, pretentious chefs, even his own self-loathing, but unapologetic brightness wasn’t one of them.
It seemed the man had been talking the entire time Wonwoo had spent observing him. "Sorry? I wasn't paying attention," Wonwoo interrupted, cutting off the cheerful monologue.
“Oh…” The blonde man didn't seem offended. If anything, his smile widened as he extended a hand. “I'm Junhui, your new neighbor. Nice to meet you!”
“So that’s where all that noise was coming from.” The words left Wonwoo's mouth before he could stop them, accompanied by an automatic eye roll. He could tell he was being rude, he knew he should apologize.
But Junhui beat him to it, he laughed, bright and unbothered. “You're the first person here who doesn't fake-smile at me. It's refreshing!” He lifted a small container. “I brought lemon bars. As both a hello and an apology for the noise I didn’t realize I was making.”
Wonwoo stared at the lemon bars, their glossy surface looking inviting. And before he could respond with something witty, his stomach betrayed him with a quiet growl. In a weak attempt to salvage his dignity, he muttered, “I don’t like sweets.” It was mostly a lie, he actually enjoyed the occasional sweet treat, especially while reading. But this whole situation was already too embarrassing.
Junhui’s smile didn’t waver. “Good thing these aren’t sweet. You see, I live for sour flavors." He nudged the container forward until Wonwoo had no choice but to take it. “One bite. If you hate it, no worries. I’ll just cry into my mixing bowl for five minutes next time I make them,” he said with a giggle.
“You expect me to try these now?” Wonwoo asked, quirking an eyebrow. Junhui’s unwavering stare was answer enough. Fine. If eating this damn lemon bar would end the interaction, he’d just do it.
He took a bite. A citrus flavor took over his tongue, a hum escaping him before he could stop it. This was easily the best dessert he’d had in years. Junhui wasn’t wrong; the bars weren’t sweet, they had the perfect balance between flavors, letting the lemon’s acidity shine.
“Wait, I changed my mind!” Junhui said suddenly. “Don’t tell me if you hate them.” Wonwoo couldn’t tell if he was serious or just teasing, but Junhui was already turning away, heading towards his apartment. Pausing at his door, he glanced back, a pout forming. “Hold on… I never got your name.”
“Wonwoo,” he replied, baffled by the human whirlwind that was his new neighbor.
“Perfect! See you soon, Wonwoo.” Junhui winked. “I’ll try to keep the noise down.” The door clicked shut, leaving Wonwoo standing there, lemon bar in hand, more confused than ever.
🍋 🍋 🍋
Wonwoo had devoured the lemon bars in two days, an embarrassing fact he’d never confess. Especially not to his cheery neighbor.
Junhui hadn't knocked again, but his presence made itself known through the walls in the form of off-key singing and loud sneezes at random times. Tonight was no exception. At 11:03 p.m. on Friday, the relentless thwack of dough being pounded vibrated through the apartment. This wasn't cooking. This was dough assassination.
Wonwoo marched next door and knocked. He didn’t know why this bothered him so much, after all, he’d grown up with the sounds of constant cooking, both of his parents being chefs.
It didn’t take long for Junhui to open the door, and the sight that greeted him was… unique: Junhui, shirt dusted in flour, long legs on display (thanks to a pair of shorts adorned with kittens), and the poor, defenseless dough clutched in one hand.
Wonwoo giggled.
“You look ridiculous,” he said without thinking, so caught off guard that he momentarily forgot why he’d been angry about the noise.
Junhui grinned. “Hello to you too. I have to say, you’re quite blunt. I like that.” He tilted his head. “What brings you here?”
“Right... I was worried someone was getting murdered. That dough-pounding could be heard all the way in my bedroom, it made it impossible to sleep," Wonwoo said, laying on his best sarcastic tone. Though he wasn't sure it would land with Junhui.
“You thought murder instead of fucking? Boring,” Junhui replied, a smirk never leaving his lips. He was teasing Wonwoo. No one ever teased Wonwoo.
“I actually knew you were kneading dough," Wonwoo said, bracing for the inevitable follow-up question about why he recognized the sound. But Junhui just blinked at him, flour dusting his lashes.
“You fuck like you’re beating dough? Impressive,” Junhui joked, giving the poor dough in his hands a final, violent squeeze.
That was definitely not the question he was expecting. “Can you stop talking about fucking?” Wonwoo rolled his eyes.
“Sorry, I say stupid shit when interacting with hot guys,” Junhui muttered, probably not meaning for Wonwoo to hear, but he did, and the comment was making him go insane.
Junhui finally broke the silence. “Are you coming in? I’m cold, and we’ve been talking on the doorstep for five minutes now.” It was true, five minutes of banter that Wonwoo wouldn’t entertain with anyone else. Why was this weird, cheery man making him act like this?
“You’re cold because you’re wearing shorts in the middle of November,” Wonwoo pointed out, stepping inside anyway. The warmth of the apartment hit him immediately, the scent of the filling for the dumplings making its way to his nose. He closed the door behind him.
“My washing machine hasn’t arrived yet, and I ran out of warm pajamas. I had no other option,” Junhui explained, guiding Wonwoo to the kitchen. The layout was similar to Wonwoo’s own apartment, but it felt inexplicably warmer, it felt lived-in. Even with the gaps where furniture was still missing, it felt like home.
“Also, these are my favorite shorts,” Junhui added, oblivious to Wonwoo’s internal panic. The kittens on the fabric seemed to grin at him, as if mocking him.
Once he took a real look at the kitchen, all he could see was chaos. Flour dusted every surface, abandoned ingredients cluttered the counter, and a single wooden spoon stood upright in a bowl of half-mixed filling. This was Wonwoo’s mother’s nightmare. Yet despite the mess making his fingers twitch with the urge to clean up, he found the scene inexplicably charming. Very Junhui. And though he’d only known the man for two weeks, the scene fit him perfectly.
His eyes then landed on two distinct piles: a batch row of golden-fried dumplings resting on a wire rack (clearly ready to eat), and another tray of freshly folded ones that looked like they’d been shaped by a toddler.
"Stop judging," Junhui said, as he reached the cupboard to grab a couple of colorful plates. "The pretty ones are for us. The ugly ones are for my students tomorrow." He placed the recently fried dumplings on the plates. "Kids don’t really care about presentation.”
They sat at a tiny table with only two chairs. Wonwoo hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the strong flavor of garlic and ginger hit him. He took a bite and immediately frowned. "Too much ginger," he muttered before he could stop himself.
Junhui leaned in, chin propped on one flour-dusted hand. "I’m always open to constructive criticism, I just didn't realize I was being judged like a Micheline-star restaurant.” He stretched across the table, stealing Wonwoo’s half-eaten dumpling and biting into it, oil glistening on his lower lip. “Mmmm, it’s perfect. Sharp ginger flavor, thick wrapper, the filling is strong enough that demands attention.” Junhui’s grin widened. “It’s kinda like you.”
Wonwoo froze, chopsticks suspended mid-air. "I'm being compared to your dumpling?”
Junhui dipped his own dumpling in sauce, the rich brown glaze clinging to its surface. "Yeah. Strong flavors aren't for everyone," he said, holding Wonwoo's gaze as he took a deliberate bite. "But they're unforgettable for the right people." A drop of sauce lingered at the corner of his mouth while he added, "You don't need to change the flavor, just find someone who tastes it right."
Wonwoo’s grip on the chopsticks weakened. "Are we still talking about dumplings?" His deep voice resonated through the half-empty apartment, louder than he'd intended.
"Of course," Junhui grinned as he reached for another dumpling.
Wonwoo looked down at his plate, then back at Junhui's sauce-stained lips. He took another bite; the ginger's sharpness expanding across his tongue first, then mellowing into the rich, savory pork. To his surprise, the flavors harmonized perfectly now, it had transformed into something complex, yet deeply satisfying. It was strange how the same ingredients could taste completely different when... when what? When shared with someone who made him see things differently? When he stopped analyzing and simply let himself taste?
🍋 🍋 🍋
Junhui had discovered Wonwoo’s blind date plans entirely by accident. Soonyoung had insisted on dressing him up for the occasion, completely unnecessary, in Wonwoo’s opinion. He was perfectly capable of picking a decent outfit to make a good impression. Soonyoung, of course, disagreed.
"Thank god I stopped by. I can’t believe you were about to leave looking like a retired history teacher," Soonyoung said as they headed toward the door. Wonwoo was heading to a café to meet his date, and Soonyoung had a Zumba class at 6:00 PM.
"I think the hat looked nice. You just have no taste," Wonwoo replied, a bit offended. The hat had been expensive, and the salesman had assured him it suited him perfectly.
"I have no taste because I’m not a 65 year old man," Soonyoung laughed. Wonwoo didn’t find it funny. "This is exactly why you haven’t gotten laid in forever. Maybe tonight will be your lucky night!" he practically shouted down the hallway.
"Shhh! Do you have to announce it to the entire building?" Wonwoo hissed. "And for your information, it hasn’t been that long." That was a lie. It had been nearly a year, but he preferred not to dwell on it.
Just as he opened his mouth to argue further, he nearly collided with Junhui stepping out of the elevator. Oh god. This was mortifying. Hopefully, Junhui hadn’t overheard Soonyoung talking shit.
“Oh, hi,” Wonwoo said, his voice cracking slightly. He could feel his friend grinning like a maniac and he couldn’t even see him. This was bad.
Before Junhui could reply, Soonyoung extended his hand and introduced himself. “Hello! I’m Soonyoung, Wonwoo’s best friend and wingman,” he said, his voice still too loud.
“Nice to meet you! I’m Junhui, Wonwoo’s neighbor,” Junhui replied, then glanced at Wonwoo with a teasing grin. “Look at you, having friends. See? It’s not just me who likes you.”
Wonwoo didn’t know how to react. Beyond the teasing, Junhui had just admitted he liked him. He couldn’t wrap his head around that fact. Junhui was such a bright person, how could he like someone like him?
“Oh… It seems like Wonwoo’s getting popular,” Soonyoung chimed in, nudging Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Look at you! Befriending your neighbor, going on blind dates. I barely recognize you anymore.” One thing about Kwon Soonyoung? He was definitely an oversharer.
Junhui’s eyes widened for a quick second. “You have a blind date?”
Wonwoo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah… A coworker basically forced me into it.”
Junhui stepped closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Good luck." His gaze fixed on Wonwoo's outfit. "You look great. Your date's lucky." With a wink, he headed toward his apartment, leaving Wonwoo rooted in place, cheeks burning.
“Don’t say anything,” Wonwoo warned Soonyoung. Miraculously, and for the first time in history, Soonyoung obeyed.
🍋 🍋 🍋
The date didn’t go well. Minghao hadn't lied, his blind date was objectively gorgeous, with soft features and a cute smile. But within five minutes, Wonwoo knew… they had nothing in common. The man lived for extreme sports and spontaneous trips; while Wonwoo preferred quiet evenings and well-planned schedules. He hadn't even been excited about the date, yet still felt disappointed when he said goodbye to the guy who clearly would not call him again.
All he wanted was to shower, lie in bed, read a book, and forget about his pathetic love life.
However, the universe had other plans. Just as he entered his building, he came face to face with Junhui, of all people.
“Convenience store run!" Junhui announced, waving a bunch of scallions. “Can you believe I had none of these left in my fridge?” Junhui said, immediately launching into a ramble about wanting to make the perfect spicy beef noodle soup, a recipe he learned from his grandma. For reasons beyond his understanding, Junhui's rambling made the weight on Wonwoo's shoulders lighten, and a small smile appeared on his face.
“So, how was the date?” Junhui asked, looking at him as the elevator doors slid shut.
“No comment,” Wonwoo muttered, pressing the button for their floor with more force than necessary.
Junhui raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
Wonwoo exhaled, watching the floor numbers go upward. "It was me who was bad. Probably the most boring date of his life."
"Don't say that." Junhui turned fully towards him. "You're a very interesting person. And you look great today… Well, you always look great, but today especially. Your hair… it frames your face nicely, it makes your features pop. Wow, okay, shutting up now." He cleared his throat. "Want to come over for spicy beef noodle soup?" He asked, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.
"Sure." He didn't overthink it this time. He was hungry, and Junhui's company felt… easy.
The cooking process was chaotic. Wonwoo meticulously sliced vegetables into symmetrical pieces while Junhui hacked at his like he had a personal vendetta against them, at some point he nearly cut off his fingertip. "Would you slow down?" Wonwoo scolded, grabbing his wrist.
By the time they sat down to eat, the failed date was a distant memory in Wonwoo’s mind. He meticulously added exactly ten drops of chili oil into his broth. It was just enough to deepen the flavor without making it impossible to eat.
"You know," Junhui mused, eyes fixed on Wonwoo’s face. "I like that about you."
Wonwoo glanced up. "That I don't drown my food in spice like you?"
"That you pay attention," Junhui corrected, while blowing on his own broth. "You always seem to know exactly what you can handle. That’s rare. I wish I were a bit more like that," he sighed dramatically. "It’s a shame your date couldn’t appreciate it."
Wonwoo tensed. He wasn’t used to speaking this openly, but something about Junhui made him feel safe. "He was...exciting. The kind of person who goes bungee jumping for fun. My stories probably sounded boring in comparison."
Junhui shook his head. "You’re not boring. Maybe he just wasn’t the right person for you." He slid the chili oil towards Wonwoo with a nudge. "Sometimes, you just need someone who makes you want to risk a little."
Their eyes met. Junhui’s gaze was soft but challenging. "You don’t have to empty the whole jar. Just two extra drops."
Wonwoo exhaled. Then added two more drops of chili oil to his bowl.
Junhui’s laughter resonated through the kitchen. "Look at you, taking risks! Honestly, this is way more exciting than bungee jumping."
After finishing their meal they moved to the couch, where Junhui immediately claimed two cushions. Junhui recounted his latest classroom glue disaster, and Wonwoo noticed how his hands moved wildly when he talked. He found it endearing. When Junhui yawned mid-sentence, his eyes watered slightly. "I'm not sleepy, I swear," he insisted, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.
Wonwoo checked his watch, it was already 12:17 AM. "I should head out," he said, standing up. Junhui scrambled to his feet too, nearly tripping on a box (yes, he still had boxes scattered around ever since he moved in). "Thanks for dinner. And… for everything." He hesitated, then added quietly, "I know you like me. It's obvious."
Junhui's eyes widened. A sweet, lopsided smile spread across his face. "Of course you figured it out," he said, taking a step closer. "Should've known you'd notice. Just like you noticed how my soup was too spicy and got a glass of milk for me even before I said anything." He ducked his head slightly. "Or how earlier you reached right across me to turn off the burner when that cat video distracted me."
Wonwoo felt warmth spread across his chest, a sensation he had never felt before. He'd always thought people found his attention to detail annoying. His ex had even called it "overbearing”.
"But," Junhui continued, tilting his head, “if you’re that observant…" His tone suddenly turned serious. "You must have noticed how I spent all night wanting to kiss you."
“I did,” he admitted, voice barely a whisper. His eyes traced Junhui’s face, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the twin moles that he had noticed ever since he first met him.
“And?” Junhui asked, eyes shining with expectation.
Wonwoo exhaled, all caution disappearing. “And today I learned… some risks taste good if I take them with the right person.” Then he closed the distance between them, hands settling at Junhui’s waist as he gave in to the moment. Really letting go for the first time in years.
Junhui made a small, surprised noise before kissing him back, his fingers twisting into Wonwoo’s jacket.
When they finally pulled apart, Junhui’s grin was huge, a little too pleased. "Wow," he breathed, thumb brushing Wonwoo’s hip where his hands rested. "And here I thought I would need to cook at least three more meals to get this far."
Wonwoo rolled his eyes, but his expression stayed tender. "Shut up," he muttered, with no real heat behind it. His attention dropped to where Junhui's sweater had ridden up under his touch, revealing a sliver of warm skin. "I just..." He hesitated, then met Junhui's gaze. "I like being with you. It's scary how easily I let myself go when I’m with you."
Junhui's usual teasing faltered. For a moment, he seemed genuinely speechless. After a bit he spoke and said with a soft tone, "I meant what I said. You're a very interesting person. You're different. Special.” His grip tightened in the fabric of Wonwoo's jacket. "I’m still going to make those meals though. Now with bonus kissing breaks while I chop vegetables."
"You're insane if you think I'm standing near you with a knife," Wonwoo deadpanned, but couldn't resist stealing one last kiss.
The twelve steps between Junhui's door and his own had never felt so significant. He paused for a second before he unlocked his apartment door, letting himself savor the memory of Junhui's taste. When he finally stepped inside, his meticulously organized apartment felt strangely new, almost foreign after hours immersed in Junhui's comfortable chaos.
After his shower, Wonwoo studied his reflection while brushing his teeth. The face in the mirror looked the same as it had that morning, but the man staring back felt undeniably different, he looked lighter, happier, alive in ways he didn’t believe were possible.
Just as he settled into bed, his phone buzzed. A photo of their empty noodle bowls in Junhui's sink. The text read:
"Photo evidence that tonight wasn’t a dream.”
Wonwoo wasn’t sure he could put all his thoughts and feeling into words, so he kept his reply simple:
“Sleep well! <3”
🍋 🍋 🍋
The accusation that their relationship developed quickly was objectively true. Soonyoung loved teasing Wonwoo about it. He would say things like “Turns out I was dressing you up for the wrong date! Thank god you didn’t wear the grandpa hat.” Wonwoo would roll his eyes, while Junhui laughed so hard he’d snort.
It would be an understatement to say dating Junhui had helped Wonwoo relax. He still measured chili oil in drops, but now he let Junhui steal bites off his plate. He still got annoyed by loud noises, except Junhui's laugh. That one he had learned to crave.
Three months in, shared meals and messy countertops had become their routine. Junhui called it their love language; Wonwoo insisted "eating is a basic human necessity", though the way he secretly hoarded Junhui’s leftovers told otherwise.
That’s how Wonwoo found himself on a Saturday at 5:18 AM, standing in his flour-dusted kitchen. Twelve failed batches of hotteok stared back at him (Soonyoung’s Zumba class would get those). Batch thirteen sizzled in the pan: golden-brown, perfectly round, with the crisp edges, just how Junhui had once described his first taste of Korea.
His notebook lay open:
Hotteok: Attempt 12
✓ 15% glutinous rice flour for chew
✓ Brown sugar ratio 2:1
✗ Burned edges = oil 10°C too hot - MUST BE 180°C
He still remembered Junhui's voice, soft with nostalgia as he told him the story for the first time. "An ajumma near the bus terminal gave me hotteok my first week here. I burned my tongue on the hot sugar, but it tasted like I belonged here."
He poked Batch Thirteen with his chopsticks, the dough had cooked perfectly. Finally! This felt like the biggest victory after three sleepless nights of failed attempts. Batch seven had definitely been the worst, not even Soonyoung and the zumba ladies could eat that.
His phone buzzed.
J: why is there a cinnamon smell coming from your apartment?
Wonwoo wiped a mix of sugar and cinnamon from his cheek, then took his phone and typed one-handed.
W:: Go back to sleep. It’s too early!
J: can’t. my stomach is grumbling because of the smell
J: are you BAKING??? 👀
W: Not baking. Go back to sleep.
Silence followed. Apparently exhaustion had won against hunger.
Wonwoo carefully arranged the six golden hotteok in a familiar container. The one with the "New neighbor + smiley face" tag still in its lid. It was Junhui's lemon bar container. The one he'd "forgotten" to return for nearly four months. Now, dusted with flour and filled with steaming pancakes, it was finally getting back to its owner.
He hesitated for a minute before deciding to include a note. His pen hovering over the paper, unsure about what to write. Three tries later, he settled on:
I hope you taste this and know you belong here.
—Wonwoo ♡
The heart felt too cheesy, but he didn’t care.
After a quick shower and changing into soft sweatpants, he took the container and headed to Junhui’s apartment. He hesitated at Junhui's door, the container still warm against his palms. He could hear the faint sound of off-key singing, he could recognize it as the Chinese ballad Junhui had been obsessed with lately.
Before he could knock the door swung open. Junhui stood there in his kitten-print pajamas, hair sticking in all directions… he looked perfect.
"You—" Junhui's sleep-rough voice cracked as his gaze dropped to the container.
"Don't." Wonwoo shoved the hotteok towards Junhui.. "It’s just a nice gesture from your neighbor."
He didn’t wait for Wonwoo to step inside and he kissed him in the doorway. The container of hotteok became an awkward barrier between them as Junhui surged forward, one hand tangling in Wonwoo's still-damp hair while the other clung to the plastic container. Their mouths collided, Junhui tasted of sleep and mint toothpaste, Wonwoo of cinnamon and sugar.
Junhui pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, "Just a nice gesture from your neighbor," before kissing him again, this time slower, lips barely grazing the other’s.
They ended up on Junhui’s couch, knees knocking, the container balanced on Wonwoo’s lap. Junhui tore a hotteok in half with his fingers, sweet steam curling between them. “Open,” he teased, holding a piece to Wonwoo’s mouth.
Wonwoo rolled his eyes but let Junhui feed him. The flavors burst across his tongue—crisp edges, molten cinnamon, the faintest hint of salt he decided to add at 3 AM. It was perfect.
Junhui had finally acknowledged the note. His smile softened as he read it aloud, “I hope you taste this and know you belong here.”
His thumb brushed over the little heart, then he stroked Wonwoo’s cheek. “I hope you’re not writing this type of note for all your neighbors.” touch lingering.
Wonwoo huffed a laugh, then stole the last bite of hotteok right from Junhui's hand.