Chapter Text
Daesung’s mother taught him how to cook.
You need to learn how to feed yourself, she would say, before putting on some truly loud music (much to his dad’s dismay) and guiding him as he moved around the kitchen. She would pinch his cheeks, and tell him that food can, in many ways, mean love.
Daesung used to nod, as he always did, at whatever his mother said. He had no reason to doubt her—not even at twelve years old. He grew used to the sound of music and her laughter filling the kitchen whenever he stepped inside. She brightened every place she entered, and Daesung’s heart was no different.
Many people used to say Daesung inherited his mother’s smile. So when she passed away, the music in the kitchen faded—and so did Daesung’s smile. Still, despite her absence, he kept cooking. It calmed and comforted him in a way only a few other things could: reading, perhaps; building LEGO; and, of course, his cats.
Getting into the wedding business had been incidental, but there was money in it. There was also a lot of noise, which is why he always cherished the day before an event a thousand times more than the day of the event itself.
The venue he’s currently working on is mostly quiet, since it's still the day before. Daesung could hear the occasional dragging of chairs and tables as the people prepared the main hall for the next day, but now there's not much else.
He enjoys the peaceful silence of an empty kitchen. The only thing he focuses on is the sound of the knife in his hand hitting the chopping board as it slices a cucumber with precision. These are his most cherished moments, nowadays. Working quietly, and-
“No, no, don’t do this to me,” says a loud voice right outside, bringing him out of his thoughts.
Daesung’s forehead wrinkles. There shouldn’t be anyone here right now. All the tables are already set in place, and the workers have gone home at least one hour before.
A muffled, much quieter voice says something in response to the first one. Daesung tries to let it sink into white noise, and continues on with his work.
“I said tomorrow at 2pm!” the first voice says again.
Another quiet response.
“Where am I supposed to keep them? The wedding is tomorrow at six!”
It’s a man’s voice. Very loud. He’s not exactly screaming, and still, it carries through the venue and reaches Daesung’s ear with clarity.
Daesung twists his lips, trying his best to turn the sound off in his brain.
“Yah, what do you mean, pay extra? Are you joking?!”
Muffled voices.
“No. No fucking way.”
Daesung sets his knife down. Something is obviously going on outside, and until it’s done, he won’t get his peace back.
He wipes his hands on the dishcloth and throws it over his shoulder. He isn’t a curious man when it comes to other people's business, but if this person is gonna scream and ruin his quiet moment alone—the only one he gets before the mess of the wedding day—, he wants to see who it is.
His dad would scold him if he knew what he was doing. Daesung had always been prone to pettiness, and it wasn’t a trait he enjoyed about himself. Still, he can’t help the urge to memorize the loud person’s face, just so he can snarkily smile at them tomorrow, should they see each other. He opens the kitchen door.
In the middle of the main hall, between all the carefully arranged tables, are three men. Two of them, with their faces visible, are wearing caps and matching shirts with a logo over the chest, indicating they’re from the same company.
The other one, the one with the loud voice, has his back to him. Daesung can only make out the messy blue-dyed hair with black roots and the bright mint tone of his shirt.
“We can’t take these flowers back,” one of the uniformed men says. “They are the ones you asked for, correct?”
“I specifically said I wanted them on Sunday. Not Saturday,” the man in mint says. “These are already in full bloom.”
Daesung looks to where he’s pointing. Behind the delivery men are a few green buckets, all of them filled with two types of flowers. Big, round blossom ones, with too many petals to count, and little white ones, like a bunch of small cotton balls, more delicate. They seem normal to him. Pretty enough. Is this man really disrupting his day to complain about perfectly okay flowers?
“Sir, you asked for mature flowers.”
“No, I didn’t. I asked for almost mature. And for tomorrow.”
“This is the order we had for today. There’s nothing we can do.”
“Yes, there is,” the man in mint practically growls. “Give these flowers to someone else, and bring me new ones tomorrow. Like I paid for.”
“These are the last of the ranunculus we have for now. It’s the wedding season, they’re in high demand,” one of the uniformed men says. “We can bring you new baby’s breath…”
Daesung supposes the big round ones are the ranunculus the men are talking about, but he doesn’t know a lot about flowers. The tinier white ones, he decides, are baby's breath, because the name matches them better.
The man in mint lets out a thunderous, almost threatening laugh that fills the entire room. “Baby’s breath is the least of my concerns! They can last. Are you sure you don’t have it switched? Can you check your orders for tomorrow? It’s under Kwon Jiyong. I asked-”
“There are no orders under Kwon Jiyong for tomorrow,” one of the men interrupts him, quite rudely, raising his tone. “Sir, will that be all?”
“Are you serious right now? You won’t take them back and bring me something else? Roses, even?”
The man in mint sounds angry, which is understandable, but Daesung is absolutely not listening. He just wants to get a quick glimpse of his face, so he knows who he has to glare at tomorrow, and then go back to his work.
He leans over the door frame and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for the man to turn in his direction.
“We can’t. Sir, do you want the ranunculus or not? We have a schedule.”
The man in mint brings his hands to his temple and starts rubbing his head.
“I can’t believe this. I cannot believe this. This is a wedding. These flowers are too open. Tomorrow they'll be even worse! The bride will want to have my head, and she’s gonna be right.”
“Like we said, sir, there is nothing we can do right now. We really need to get going, so if you’re done...”
Daesung raises an eyebrow at the delivery man’s tone, at the same time the one in mint snaps his neck at him.
“Done?” his voice echoes through the place, dripping with frustration. “Is this really how this company treats their clients?”
The delivery men simply look at each other and shrug.
Daesung feels his lips twisting into a grimace. He isn’t taking any sides in this - because really, he isn’t paying attention - but even he has to admit that this seems like really poor customer service.
The man in mint takes a step forward, his hands on his waist, his entire body positioned in a way that’s supposed to be intimidating. Daesung has no idea if it works, but the two other men seem a little affected by it.
“Fine,” he says. “Yes, we’re done. Good luck getting any more business around here, since I do half of the events in the city,” he pauses, staring them down. “Go.”
When none of them moves, he speaks again. “Go!”
They rush to leave, and Daesung tilts his head, thinking the man in mint seems a little... intense.
This idea is quickly weakened by the sight of him collapsing onto a chair and leaning his head back. He rubs his hands on his face, exhausted, and lets out a loud sigh.
Daesung is almost turning back inside, tired of waiting, when the man raises his eyes and finds him.
For a second, he is frozen in place. The man catches him red handed, meeting his gaze head-on, and Daesung feels his ears blushing despite his frustration. The man looks confused, and then intrigued. Daesung thinks he will have no problem remembering him tomorrow. He has very… distinguishing features.
When the man’s face turns into a full grin, Daesung turns around and goes back inside. He got what he wanted, and now he has work to do.
He adjusts his folded sleeves to make them stay in place on his elbows and gets started on scraping the carrots. His experienced hands do a much faster job than he’d been able to when he first started learning, nearly 8 years ago. It’s repetitive work, but he stretches every day, careful not to put too much strain on his wrists.
“Wow, you’re really good at that.”
Daesung almost startles. Almost.
“Sorry, am I disturbing you?” the man in mint enters the kitchen, sounding incredibly loud even when he’s trying to speak quietly.
“A bit, yeah.” Daesung says before he can stop himself.
It probably isn’t what he should say to someone he just met, but it would be worse to take it back. And it’s the truth. He’s been disturbing him ever since he arrived.
“Oh,” the man says, but his tone indicates that he doesn’t really care. “I’ll be quick, then. Are you the cook?”
Daesung simply stares.
From up close, the first thing he notices is the smile. A bright and seemingly genuine curl of the man’s lips, making the corners of his eyes wrinkle. Daesung hadn’t noticed from that far before, but the man has plump red lips, and big shiny eyes.
The smile falters a little bit. Daesung realizes he hasn’t spoken yet.
“Yes,” he says again.
“Oh, thank god,” the man approaches him, going around the counter to stand right by his side. “What’s your name?”
Too close. Why is he so close? Daesung turns in his direction and takes a small step back, keeping a distance between them.
“I’m Jiyong,” the man says slowly, seeing that Daesung won’t talk. “And you are…?”
“Daesung.”
“Daesung! I need help, and only you can save me,” the man, Jiyong, says, eyes suddenly getting bigger and brighter. “This is gonna sound weird, and I hope you can understand I’d never ask this unless I absolutely had to, but it’s a matter of life and death.”
He gives a dramatic pause, letting the silence weigh between them. Daesung doesn’t answer. He's staring at the man’s ears, covered in earrings and piercings, and wondering how much jewelry one can fit on one’s ear before it starts getting heavy. He counts four on each, thinking that it seems very excessive. He himself has only had his ears pierced once.
“I see you have one freezer and two refrigerators,” Jiyong is still talking. “I’m gonna need to borrow a fridge.”
“Absolutely not,” Daesung says right away.
“Before you say no!” the man raises his hands, as if Daesung hasn’t already said no. “Please remember that us wedding workers have to stick together. I won’t even take half of your space! It’s just that, you see, the flowers were delivered too early, and there’s no way they can survive until tomorrow like this! So it really is life or death. For the flowers.”
Daesung raises an eyebrow at him. He’s sure flowers don’t die that fast. They might lose a few petals, but surely no one but a professional would notice.
“No.”
Jiyong claps his hands together in prayer.
“They will die! They need to be refrigerated, and the only place where I can keep them is here. The flowers are in your hands, Daesung. You have to save the wedding.”
“I’m sure the flowers will be fine,” he says, then turns back to his carrots.
The man stays quiet for a few seconds, huffing just under his breath.
“Come on, Daesung,” he goes around the counter again and leans over it to look at him head on. “You gotta help me. I’m new to this wedding business and I can’t get it wrong. Look, I don’t even need the good fridge. There’s always one that’s worse, right? Give me the worst one.”
Daesung narrows his eyes at him. He said to the delivery men outside that he did half of the events around here, and now he’s saying he’s new?
“I can’t spare any space. Two refrigerators are already a tight fit.”
He isn’t saying it just to be mean; the refrigerators will be or are already both full, and he might even have to double stack some things later.
Jiyong starts rubbing his temple again, just like he’d done with the men outside. He runs a hand through his very-much-fried-but-somehow-still-soft-looking blue-dyed hair, making it even messier. One of the strands strays and falls on the side of his face.
Daesung focuses on it, and how it frames his face. He has the urge to raise his hand and tuck it away, but only because loose hair in the kitchen is an absolute no. This could ruin his work. He has his own held in a tight net behind his head for this very reason.
“Why is everyone set on making my life hell today?” Jiyong whispers. “Look, man, I can concede a little bit. Give me half of one refrigerator, the lower part, and I’ll make do.”
Daesung twists his lips. He can’t help but feel a little sympathy, but the food needs to stay in the fridge. He hasn’t even gotten the mousse ready yet, and the individual cups will need a lot of space. He really doesn’t think he can spare any.
"I can't."
“Fine,” Jiyong says. He turns around, but before Daesung can think that he will finally leave, he opens one of the fridges and looks inside.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m checking to see if you’re full of bullshit.” Jiyong squats to open the bottom drawer. “Why does this need to be in here? It’s literally canned. And fruit? Yah! Why do you have apples in the fridge?”
Daesung doesn’t dignify that with an answer, setting his carrots aside and getting started on the potatoes. Let him look all he wants. He doesn’t need to justify his work to anyone, and his contract doesn’t say he needs to share the kitchen space with other workers.
Jiyong gets up and goes to the second fridge.
“Are you kidding me?” he turns to Daesung. “This is half empty!”
He waits for Daesung to say something, in vain. Of course it’s half empty. Daesung isn’t done prepping yet.
Jiyong gets up and stomps over to where he is, looking completely betrayed. His earrings dangle a little bit when he walks, and a piece of his hair gets trapped around it. Daesung forces himself to meet his eyes.
“Daesung. Do you know me? Have we met before?”
What an unusual question to ask. Daesung can’t hide his confusion.
“No.”
“Then why do you hate me?” he says it like a child, dragging the words into a whine and leaning over the countertop to peer at him. From his earlier intimidation tactics with the other men, Daesung was expecting a more aggressive behavior. Instead, he gets another puppy-eyed look.
Daesung puts the scraper down and decides that if he isn’t gonna help, he can at least try to explain.
“The vacant space is for the vegetables I’m chopping, and for the mousse,” he points at the bowl of pineapple cubes. “There won’t be any space left after I’m done.”
“Ugh,” Jiyong drops his forehead on the counter, his blue split ends touching its surface. “I’m doomed. I’m seriously, properly fucked.”
“Your hair,” Daesung says.
“What?”
“You’re gonna get hair on my food.”
Jiyong lifts his head up and stares at him. In the span of a second, his expression changes completely, going from absolute despair to something like mischief.
He puts his fingers on the top of his head and raises an eyebrow.
“Give me half the fridge, or I’m gonna do so many hairflips this kitchen’s gonna look like a hairbrush.”
Daesung blinks at him.
Is this guy… blackmailing him? For space in the refrigerator? He can’t be. Not with a huge smile on his face, like he’s just telling a big joke. Is he?
“I’m gonna do it,” Jiyong slides his fingers down a bit on his head. “What do you say?”
“Is this a joke?”
“Are you falling for it?”
“No.”
Jiyong lets out a loud grunt and lets go of his hair. “Fine! You win. I was bluffing! I can’t ruin food. It’s against my principles.”
Daesung frowns. Is this really how this man is, or is he putting on a show? It seems unlikely to him that anyone would go through so many emotions, change tactics so many times, just to put flowers inside a fridge. He feels like he just got down a rollercoaster.
“Okay,” Jiyong looks up for a second while fixing his hair, exposing a very detailed angel tattoo on his neck. Daesung does not look. “If the bride comes for my ass, I’m gonna blame you. I hope you’re fine with that.”
As if on cue, they hear a scream right outside.
“The worst has happened!” a woman’s voice says. And then, “Jiyong-ah, where are you?!”
“In the kitchen!” he screams.
Daesung closes his eyes. It seems that he isn’t anywhere near getting his peace and quiet restored.
The door to the kitchen opens and in comes the soon-to-be-bride, Vivienne, with tears on her face.
[A/N: Yes, producer VVN, the bride at the KUSH x VVN wedding BIGBANG attended a while ago lol]
“Oh, what will we do!” she throws her arms around Jiyong, and he doesn't even react to it, as if someone he works for touching him isn’t even a little bit weird. “The wedding is ruined!”
“Don’t worry, we’ll fix it,” Jiyong pats her back.
“What about my bouquet?” she asks.
“The hydrangeas are coming from a different place, your bouquet is fine,” Jiyong pushes her away. “The centerpieces though…”
“Don’t say it! Please tell me you have a solution?”
“Well...” Jiyong smiles, and points directly at him. “I was just talking to my good friend Daesung here, and he said he could help us find some space in the fridge.”
Daesung starts shaking his head at him with denial, his eyes getting bigger by the second. Jiyong meets it with a wicked grin.
“Really?” Vivienne says, eyes shining with tears as she looks from one to the other. “And that would fix it?”
“.... the cold would preserve the flowers for longer.”
“Oh, then you have to help us!” she walks over to Daesung and takes both of his hands, squeezing hard. “Save the wedding, Daesung!”
“Yes. Save the wedding, Daesung,” Jiyong echoes with a smirk.
Daesung is going to kill him.
In the end, he doesn’t get the quiet he hoped for.
Jiyong walks in and out of the kitchen, bringing in the bigger round flowers and arranging them neatly inside the fridge. Vivienne loses interest right at the beginning and goes home, wishing them the best of luck and asking for a picture when he’s done.
Daesung keeps doing his work, silently supervising Jiyong the whole way through. He moves a few things in the fridge, turning back to him from time to time to ask “does this really have to be here?”. Daesung always says yes, and Jiyong rolls his eyes each time.
"It's just like tetris,” the man smiles at him as he shoves the bowl with the carrots into a place that looks way too small. "I'm good at making things fit."
Daesung ignores his annoying jokes and innuendos only because he does a really impressive job.
He notices a few more things about Jiyong while he watches him work. First, he talks to the flowers as if they’re real people, much like Daesung does, occasionally, with his cats.
Secondly, he physically cannot stop talking. He’s never met such a yapper.
“Oh, you’re the prettiest, you’re my favorite here,” Jiyong says in a soft voice to a particularly big blossom, the color a little more vibrant than the others. “I’m gonna put you at the table with the parents, because they're the most annoying ones to please,” he sets it carefully inside, then turns in Daesung’s general direction and says a little louder, “I think I can get away with leaving the baby’s breath somewhere else. I’m gonna put them in a room with air-conditioning and set it to a really low temperature.”
Daesung keeps quiet. He is focused on his own work.
His silence doesn’t seem to faze Jiyong, who still narrates every single decision he makes, and announces himself in and out of the room several times.
At one point, Jiyong gets up from the floor, stretches his back, and comes to stand in front of him, watching him work.
“What is it?” Daesung asks, after a few moments. It feels unnerving to have someone looking at him while he cooks.
“Nothing. I just like food,” he says. “I don’t really cook, but I think it’s fascinating.”
Daesung hums in the back of his throat, actively answering him for the first time since he started. That cooking is fascinating, he can agree with. But for him it is less the food and more the act of cooking itself.
Jiyong goes on, seemingly encouraged by his response.
“My friend says I make everything too spicy. One time...” he starts giggling, as if the story is so funny he can’t even tell it. “... One time, I put extra pepper on his food, and dropped some chili oil on his glass of milk. When he drank it...”
He laughs out loud, the sound vibrating through the entire room. Daesung looks up at him just in time to see him throwing his head back.
“Ah, his face was hilarious,” Jiyong shakes his head a little, an easy smile on his lips.
Daesung’s hands have stopped moving without his consent. Jiyong’s face looks a little red from laughter, his eyes sparkling.
When their eyes meet, Jiyong’s smile gets a little bit brighter. Daesung stares, unblinking, as he leans over the counter again with a raised eyebrow.
“Do you use pepper on your food, Daesung?”
The question seems to bring him out of a trance. What is he doing, looking so intently at a stranger? An very distracting stranger, at that.
“No,” he says resolutely, and refuses to meet Jiyong’s eyes again.
It’s a little after 5 when Jiyong re-enters the kitchen, making an expansive gesture with his hands and claiming that he’s done. Daesung knows for a fact he could’ve been done in half the time, if he didn’t stop to gaze lovingly at each flower beforehand, and if he didn’t take half hour breaks to just stare at his cooking.
“The flowers are all safe,” Jiyong says, coming to stand right by his side. Daesung is focused on rinsing the cauliflowers, so he doesn’t notice Jiyong has something in his hand until he raises one arm and presents it to him.
“For you,” Jiyong offers him a single ranunculus stem.
Daesung drops the cauliflower he’s holding. Jiyong picks it up on reflex with his free hand, and sets it on the counter again.
“Ha. I picked up your bouquet.”
“What.” Daesung’s voice falters. His bouquet?
“Your bouquet,” Jiyong clears his throat. “Because cauliflowers are… flowers. Sorry, it was a bad joke. Here,” he offers him the ranunculus again.
“I can’t accept it.”
“Yes you can! It’s for helping. I know I can be dramatic, but you really did save the flowers. Even though we forced you. And even though I did everything alone.”
He winks. Daesung barely sees it, because he can’t bring himself to look at his face.
“I’m-”
“It’s just a flower because I want to say sorry, and thank you,” Jiyong says. “It’s no big deal, you can take it. It’s already way too open, so I won’t use it tomorrow anyway.”
Daesung finally gathers the courage to meet his eyes. Jiyong has a small, sideways smile on his lips, and somehow it looks more genuine than all the other smiles he has been throwing today.
“They’re the bride’s flowers,” Daesung says, even though, selfishly, he wants to take it. No one has ever given him a flower before. “I really can’t take them, they’re not mine.”
“It’s yours if I give it to you.”
“They’re not yours to give.”
Jiyong seems to find some amusement in that, because he just throws his head back and laughs almost as loudly as he did earlier.
“Fine,” he puts the flower down at the counter. “I’d like to state then, for the record, that I did try to apologize, but you didn’t accept it.”
Daesung wrinkles his eyebrows. He never said he didn’t accept his apology. But he also can’t take the flower.
Jiyong puts his hand over his heart and squeezes dramatically, feigning pain.
“I guess we’re just gonna have to stay enemies, Daesung,” he says. Daesung opens his lips to say they aren’t, but before he can, Jiyong is turning towards the door. “See you tomorrow!”
He leaves.
Daesung finishes everything he needs to do, feeling the slightest bit lightheaded. Mechanically, he cleans after himself and sets everything in place for the next day.
Before leaving, he glances at the flower, still sitting at the counter exactly where Jiyong left it. The first flower anyone has ever tried gifting him.
He takes it.