Work Text:
Chan takes a bite of his cake, glancing at the discarded birthday candles on the side of the plate briefly, before humming contently at the chocolate taste exploding in his mouth. He closes his eyes, savoring the delicate sweetness, before putting his fork back down and taking a napkin to wipe the remnants off his lips with a satisfied nod.
He reaches for his glass next, and smiles, a sickly sweet thing, sharp enough to cut through diamond. “Seungkwannie.”
Seungkwan perks up, and smiles back, none the wiser. “Yes, Channie?”
Chan takes a gulp of his wine, and readjusts in his seat as he sets it back down, leaning forward on his elbows menacingly. “You can drop the act and tell me what you want now.”
Seungkwan gasps, his smile falling almost immediately. “How— You! Why would you think we want anything?” he asks, shocked Chan would even think his birthday dinner has anything to do with Seungkwan’s wants and/or needs.
It all started rather innocently. Chan took Mingyu and Seungkwan to a nice restaurant to treat them to a hearty meal. He’s been wanting to take the two of them out like this for at least four birthdays now, but hasn’t had the chance to because his work schedule has been eating him alive.
Usually, the kids he teaches get the fussiest around February, already growing tired of the cold, solemn winter days and keeping their cute beady eyes peeled for any signs of spring approaching. It’s all sweet and lovely, until it’s not. They beg to go outside when they catch even a small glimpse of sunlight, and lose all the focus they desperately need to do their work properly.
This all leads to Chan taking the biggest hit, staying longer at the daycare and subsequently staying even later than usual to fill out paperwork. Every year he thinks this will change, and every year he’s proven wrong.
Which is why, for this birthday, he took precautions. He strategically took time off around the first two weeks of February, so he could efficiently dodge the fussy five year olds he teaches while also coming back just in time to help the other teachers battle the worst of it. If the start of February is bad— the end of it is a whole other story.
So, he's been mostly unassuming of his friend's good will, chalking it up to birthday antics and their solemn promise of behaving all throughout dinner. It only became apparent that their honeyed gazes and sweet words were all a mirage around the time the dessert tray rolled around, and Chan noticed Mingyu had been getting fidgety.
Mingyu only squirms when there’s something on his mind, and from the way he’s bouncing his legs, it seems it’s quite the load this time.
Chan quirks an eyebrow up. “We?” he asks, pointing out Seungkwan’s slip up. “I never said anything about Mingyu.”
Mingyu looks crestfallen as Seungkwan looks at him for help, utterly useless as his shoulders drop, putting the fork he’s been using to demolish the dessert Chan ordered for the three of them down onto his plate meekly before he mutters out a response.
“I mean,” he starts, lamely, “You didn’t.”
“Mingyu!” Seungkwan chastises, looking even more put off now, his eyes widening. When he continues, it’s almost childish, the words leaving his mouth through a pitiful pout. “I’m literally doing this for you! You could at least help out a little.”
“Kwannie, I can’t!” Mingyu says, groaning into his hand and shaking his head, miserable. “What if he says no?”
Chan leans back with a sigh, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. He rolls his eyes as his friends bicker, and interjects once Seungkwan coaxes an affronted gasp out of Mingyu when he slaps his shoulder lightly, scared that they’ll cause a scene.
“You could try asking him first.” he says, incredulous, after plucking his wine glass from the table and swiveling it suggestively.
The table falls into silence, before Mingyu takes a deep breath. He levels Chan with a look so serious it has him straightening up in his seat. “Chan-ah.”
“Mingyu-hyung.”
“What I’m about to ask of you will no doubt have a long-lasting effect on our friendship.," he says, Seungkwan nodding solemnly as the words leave Mingyu’s mouth. “But I’m desperate. I need you to know this. I’m truly desperate.”
Hardly true. Chan remembers the way he acted when he and Seungkwan were getting together. Sure, Mingyu looks pitiful now, but— desperate? If anything, he looks awfully sure that Chan’s reply will be affirmative, and is only using those puppy eyes of his to seal the deal.
Chan bites, because he’s a good friend, and also because he will probably cash in at least fifteen lunches all on Mingyu’s expense. He smiles, and nods, more smug than he means to be, already imagining the wagyu he’ll make him prepare in five different ways. “Let’s hear it, then.”
He’s distracted before Mingyu can even get his words out. Chan thinks of meat, tender and juicy, falling off the bone and melting in his mouth. Decadent dessert— chocolate or strawberry, of course, maybe even a mix of both— coating his tastebuds with sugary sweetness, sticky, borderline perverted as it sticks to his teeth and—
“I need you to teach my Valentine’s day chocolate workshop on the 13th.”
Chan blinks, his vision interrupted. “Pardon?”
By all standards, his trip to daydream land was interrupted quite harshly. Two pairs of hopeful eyes bore into his own, as if their lives depend on his answer. Ah, he thinks, once he finishes processing the request. Now Chan gets why Mingyu bounced his leg up so high.
Mingyu immediately responds to Chan’s lingering silence, and leans forward to explain in a frenzy. “Listen!” he urges, and takes Chan’s hands in his own. “It really isn’t hard! You’ve taken that class before and—”
Chan’s eyes narrow in Seungkwan’s direction, his fingers still linked with Mingyu’s. “I was blackmailed.” he corrects, “Mercilessly. For days.”
Seungkwan groans like he knew Chan would bring that up, and shakes his head. “You promised you wouldn’t get mad about that anymore!” he says, pointing an accusing finger towards Chan, “You know it was for the greater good!”
Seungkwan forced Chan into attending Mingyu’s Valentine’s day chocolate workshop ages ago, when they first started flirting with each other over Instagram. When CHan was asked to tag along, his response was, of course, no, not even in a thousand years, but Seungkwan wouldn’t take anything that wasn't yes for an answer.
He ruthlessly threatened to rip up Chan’s APink albums and collection of photocards, which led to him reluctantly attending the workshop. He was so shaken up he barely even remembers what they did there, or what chocolates they made. The rest is, well, history.
“How charitable of you,” Chan mutters, “Does UNICEF know that the greater good entails you getting into Mingyu’s pants and that they've all had it wrong this entire time?” Seungkwan gasps, affronted, but says nothing else as Mingyu decides to interject.
“Chan,” he beckons, and readjusts in his seat once he successfully gets Chan’s attention, “I— I’d really like it if you could do this for me. You’ll have Yerim with you the entire time, she knows what to do.” he says, with a reassuring nod. “You only need to instruct them, you don’t even need to know how to make the chocolates yourself! She’ll do that while you talk.”
Chan purses his lips as he thinks about it. If it’s only the technical stuff he needs to do, talking and checking up on people’s work, then it’s better than he initially thought. Frankly, he might not remember much about the workshop, but he remembers his chocolates sucked so much that Mingyu’s eyes literally widened in shock. He’s never seen him look so distraught, still.
Still, he presses. “Why can’t Yerim do all of it?” he asks through a pout, whinier than he meant to sound.
Mingyu sighs, and lets their linked hands drop down on the table. “She can’t.” he says, and then adds, “She’ll be late by like, thirty minutes.”
Chan's lips part into an o. Thirty minutes. Of Chan. Alone. Teaching others how to do something he doesn’t even know how to do himself. Sounds amazing, and unironically, a lot like some of the math lessons he gives his kids.
Mingyu probably senses Chan’s panic rising, or catches the manner in which his eyes widen along with his mouth, because he immediately backtracks. “I’ll make it less, though, I promise! I’ll— I’ll pay her to come earlier!”
Seungkwan chimes in then happily, attempting to encourage him, “Channie, it’s literally your job to teach! You’ll get by with no issues, I’m sure of it.”
Chan deadpans. “I teach kindergarteners.”
“Your point being?”
“Teaching a three year old that the sky is blue and teaching an adult how to tamper chocolate is not the same thing.”
Mingyu perks up then, and bounces excitedly in his chair. “See— Tampering! You even know the terminology!”
Chan’s eyes widen. Damn it. It seems he did retain something from that class. “Fuck,” he exclaims, “I guess I do.” He makes some more disgruntled noises, before declaring, “This is seriously the worst. I can’t even say no in good conscience with you two staring at me like your lives depend on it.”
His eyes narrow again suspiciously. “Why do you need me to do this in your stead in the first place?”
Mingyu blushes, and looks at Seungkwan as he gnaws on his lips meekly. It’s such a stark contrast to how he acted just seconds before, that Chan can’t help but let his eyes drift to Seungkwan too.
He sputters a bit at the shift in mood until he realizes he’s expected to explain, and meekly replies. “We’re going on our honeymoon. Mingyu booked the trip last night when he was drunk.”
Chan’s eyes widen a bit. “Really? Like, actually?” All Mingyu and Seungkwan do in response is nod cutely, in a way that has Chan’s heart tightening in his chest.
Mingyu and Seungkwan got married ages ago, but never got to have their honeymoon because their schedules barely ever matched up, so this is quite the shocking revelation. In a good way, of course.
Chan has been urging them to go on one for ages, but they never had the chance, either because of Seungkwan’s inability to let go of his idea of the perfect honeymoon that would demand at least fifteen years of saving up and eating nothing but white bread for every meal, or because of Mingyu’s equally expensive tastes.
To think that they’re finally going, does soften Chan’s heart up to the offer a little. If anyone deserves to rest, it’s them, and Chan really doesn’t have anything to do these days other than, well, make battle plans for when he goes back to work. Not that he’s doing anything for Valentine’s day for that matter, either.
With a sigh, Chan relents. “Fine. I’ll do it,” he says, “But! You owe me big time.” he adds, before pointing to Mingyu. He thinks of wagyu and dessert, as he commands, “I want home cooked meals at my address every day. Okay, no, you work a lot—” he trails off, muttering to himself as he realizes that Mingyu doesn’t really have the time nor the resources to cook for him every day.
What he settles for is, “Every week.” Mingyu nods, obviously excited he agreed to help out, urging him to continue. “Lunch and dessert. I want chocolate strawberry cake.”
Mingyu barrels down to his knees, next to Chan’s side of the table, coaxing a startled laugh out of him, as he continues nodding, ecstatic. He takes Chan’s hands into his own once more, and speaks, his cheeks flushed.
“I’ll make you anything you want, forever!” he picks up Chan’s palms and presses open mouthed kisses on the skin, tickling Chan and making him laugh even louder. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Okay, okay.” he says, after calming down. “Get up. People will think you’re proposing.” He listens and gets back up obediently, before his attention shifts to Seungkwan after he squeals.
“Is that what you want? Mingyu—” Seungkwan exclaims, just as excited as Mingyu— if not more— and slaps his husband’s arm repeatedly, “Get back down and propose to him!”
Mingyu almost stumbles down again, the adrenaline obviously getting to both of their heads, urging Chan to intervene. “Can you two— Oh my God, Mingyu get up! I don’t want you to propose to me!”
They laugh some more as Mingyu proclaims his undying love for Chan, before settling down to finish their desserts and talk more about what is actually expected of Chan during the workshop.
“So—” Mingyu starts, feeding some of his dessert to Seungkwan, his gaze on the fork as it enters his mouth. Once Seungkwan chews and swallows, his focus falls back on Chan. “It’s simple, really. The workshop lasts for an hour and a half, no more, and only the first part is difficult because it involves melting chocolate down the proper way.”
Chan nods, vaguely remembering his own attempt. He recalls a large pot with boiling water, and his milk chocolate melting in a smaller, metallic bowl situated inside of the pot, until it became smooth.
Mingyu leans back in his chair and recounts the steps. “After that, you'll pour the chocolate into molds and let it freeze for fifteen minutes or so,” he says, and flattens his lips into a line, “Our freezers are strong though, and the chocolate is meant to be super thin, so you can check even after ten. They should be done.”
“This is around the time Yerim will come in, right?” Chan asks, calculating the time that passed as thirty minutes. Truly, he thinks he can manage without her for the first bit. It’s the decorating that’s tricky. He retained none of the techniques, nor is he good at handling the colored, tampered chocolate filled pipe bags. He wouldn’t be of help whatsoever.
Mingyu nods, his eyes glittering under the mood lighting inside the restaurant. “Exactly. You can take the backseat at this point, she’ll show everybody how to handle the pipe bags. All that’s expected of you is to go around and check on people’s work, make sure no one messes up to, like, an unsalvageable extent.”
“Okay.” Chan says, oddly content about this situation. Mingyu seems very confident in his skill, and if Seungkwan’s expression is any indication, he looks just as consoled by the fact that Chan is taking over. “Anything else?”
“Oh!” Mingyu exclaims suddenly, “One more thing. Usually, we let the chocolate continue freezing and settling in our freezers overnight, and tell people to come pick it up on the 14th for the best results,” he adds, scraping some chocolate sauce off of his plate with the side of his spoon, “It’s a choice though, so just make sure they know they have an alternative."
“Wait a minute.” Chan says, his eyes narrowing. “Does this mean I have to be at the shop on the 14th too?”
Mingyu blinks, stilling as he licks at his spoon, before looking to Seungkwan for help. When Seungkwan speaks, he answers like it's obvious. “Well, yes.”
Chan crosses his arms, and contests. “And how do you know I’m free on Valentine’s day?”
Seungkwan wordlessly picks his phone up from the table, unlocks it impressively fast, and lowers it back down to slide it over in Chan’s direction.
Chan eyes Seungkwan’s expressionless face, and the device that’s been handed to him suspiciously, before leaning forward to get a better look at what’s on the screen. He tilts his head, confused, once he realizes it’s their text message conversation from the other day.
(you)
Channie
Are you doing anything for Valentine’s day?
my lo… cherished channie
No
(you)
Oh ok!! ^___^
my lo… cherished channie
Next person to flirt with me is getting killed
(you)
Oh
Chan leans back slowly, and decides to fight in a futile war. “This proves nothing.”
Seungkwan tilts his head, in a ‘are you serious?’ gesture. “Chan,” he chastises.
“Seungkwan.”
They stare each other down for what feels like an hour, before Chan relents, his eyes genuinely starting to sting. “Ugh. Fine,” he says, falling back into his chair in despair, “Whatever. I’ll be there on the— Wait!”
His eyes widen at once once he realizes something, as he straightens back up, before pointing an accusatory finger at Mingyu, “Why can’t Yerim do it?”
Mingyu’s lips fall into a flat line. “She has to go to our parent’s house and tell them Seungkwan and I went on a honeymoon without telling them.”
Chan slumps over in defeat. That’s an excuse if he's ever heard one. The Kim’s are… lovely people, but they wouldn’t take well to his son going on a surprise honeymoon trip without involving them in the process. Or, well, not telling them about it at all. He’s not sure which is worse.
It’s not that they’re controlling, they’re just oddly emotional. Not at all like their son, who cried when Seungkwan went back to Jeju and had to stay for three days instead of two. It runs in the family, the penchant for dramatics, Chan thinks.
Mingyu looks like he’s about to keep speaking, possibly get on his knees again, so Chan decides to cut it off before they actually get thrown out of the restaurant.
“Yeah, yeah— I get it.” Chan acquiesces, waving Mingyu off, not wanting to hear any more. He slaps his hands over his face and whines, exasperated. “God, you owe me so much. You might as well hand over a kidney right now.” The sound is muffled as it exits his mouth, but Mingyu and Seungkwan hear him all the same.
“There there,” Seungkwan consoles him, standing up a little, and reaching out to pat his head lovingly. “You’ll live through this and then I’ll rent Mingyu’s services out to you for the next month.”
Chan peeks out from between his fingers, and speaks through a whine. “Two months.” It’s childish, but he’s miserable. He doesn’t care. Seungkwan narrows his eyes, but Chan’s gaze is relentless.
“Fine,” Seungkwan spits out. “Two months. On a weekly basis.”
Chan lowers his hands, and tips his chin up with a hmph, proud. “That’s what I thought.”
Mingyu sighs, and shifts in his chair. “Do I not get a say in this?”
“No.” Chan and Seungkwan say, at the same time.
It’s all smooth sailing from there. They wrap dinner up, and force Chan into their car to drive him home, not letting him even think about taking the metro. Chan does try to make a point about how he could call the police since this could technically be considered a kidnapping, but they only ignore him as they blast Wonder Girls on the car speakers and coax him into singing along.
They drop Chan off in front of his apartment building, and say their goodbyes. Mingyu’s eyes flash, like he just remembered something, as he leans forward through his car window to get closer to Chan.
“I almost forgot— I’ll send you everything we talked about tonight on KakaoTalk, including the things you should check on before the workshop starts,” he says, eyeing if any cars are approaching in the rearview mirror, before focusing back on Chan, “It’s not much, you just need to check the temperature in the freezers and the—”
“Okay, okay!” Chan cuts him off with a chuckle, “Don’t worry. I’ll read and remember everything you send me. Relax, okay?”
Mingyu blushes a bit once he realizes his overeagerness, and falls back into his car seat. Seungkwan stifles a chuckle next to him, but is promptly shut up as Mingyu halfheartedly glares at him. It’s too cute to be called a glare, but its effect is the same. Or at least, attempts to be the same.
“Sorry,” Mingyu apologizes, sheepish, sending a cute grin Chan’s way, “I just don’t want to trouble you by forgetting anything.”
Chan snorts, and reaches a hand in to pat Mingyu’s head placatingly. “Mingyu-hyung. I handle four year olds for a living,” he says, in his kindergarten teacher voice, all rounded edges and soothing tones, “I assure you— Nothing could ever be more troubling than that.”
Once Mingyu looks like his ailments have been soothed enough, Chan slaps the side of the car, startling both Seungkwan and Mingyu. “Now, go!” he urges, “You have a flight to catch tomorrow!"
They finally part ways— tearfully of course, because Chan’s heartfelt goodbye made them emotional— after a bit, and Chan painstakingly makes his way up to his apartment, feeling already exhausted for his future self.
He unlocks the door and toes his sneakers off, wanting nothing more than to unwind in front of the TV while watching some cheesy dating show on Netflix he won’t remember the name of tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, skincare and a shower come first.
He beelines towards the bathroom after grabbing a change of clothes, and works on getting himself clean. The time practically whizzes by, as he finds himself tapping on moisturizer after what felt like five minutes. Maybe this exhaustion isn’t borrowed from the future, after all. It’s warping his understanding of time and space.
He walks out of the bathroom, and, like on clue, his phone dings from where he left it on the sofa. He tilts his head, confused by who could be reaching him at this hour, and exclaims in realization once he comes closer to the device.
The text is from Mingyu, a disturbingly detailed and unbelievably long explanation of everything he has to do. It has all of the instructions he was already given, followed up by a list of things he has to check up on before the workshop starts. It’s fairly simple, really.
All he has to do is check on the freezers, see if all the chocolate molds, bowls and utensils have been washed, and make sure the stovetops are functioning. There’s a cute little P.S at the end of the message, that has Chan chuckling.
mingyu-hyunggggg
P.S it’d be nice if you could deco the place a little~~ there’s a box with decorations in the storage room by one of the sinks. it’s not much, but it’s enough to give it a valentine’s day vibe.
thank you again, i owe you everythjng!!!!
Chan snorts at the typo, rolling his eyes at the sentiment and quickly types back a response, dropping his phone back down as it sends.
(you)
A kidney will do
He flops onto the sofa, and turns on the TV, but his thoughts drift before his hands can catch up and click on the Netflix button. Chan was never one to give much importance to Valentine’s day. He’s spent it with some people here and there, but in his opinion, if there’s love between two people, every day should feel like the 14th of February. Call him a romantic, but that’s simply how he feels about the subject.
What does feel special about Valentine’s day, is the time he spends with his kids, whenever the date falls on a work day. They’d decorate the classroom in hues of red and pink, badly cut out hearts and misspelled I love you’s gracing the walls, the children’s laughter reverberating throughout the space all the while.
They’d come up to him with their doe eyes and ask him to be their valentine, and he’d gasp like a shy maiden, all rosy cheeked and meek, accepting the many gifts they’d hand over to him. It’s usually trash— crumpled paper and art supplies that he gave them in the first place— but Chan holds them in his palms like they’re the most precious gifts he’s ever been given.
So, the promise of decorating does sound fun, in a pavlovian sort of way. He’d miss his little workers running around and giggling, but making Mingyu’s frankly dull workspace pretty, does sound awfully appealing.
He tries not to stress out about the possibly scarce amount of decorations Mingyu has in that box, but ultimately ends up thinking about the color combinations all throughout his first rewatch of Single’s Inferno season one. He comes up with nothing, and decides to sleep instead, lest he goes insane trying to guess what color the teddy bear on his and Seungkwan’s work station was. He gives up on it, shutting the TV off, and deciding to go sleep instead.
Chan’s trek to his room is slow as molasses, his fatigue from the day behind him catching up to him. He hums a little to himself, as he sets his comforter aside so he can slip in, and falls asleep quite quickly once he settles.
The next morning goes by quietly.
The birthday euphoria died down before it could even make itself known within Chan’s nervous system, so he trekked around his apartment slowly and contently as he packed up to go visit his parents. He carefully lowered some white chocolate matcha cake he had leftover from Seokmin’s and Sooyoung’s 12AM surprise into his tote bag, along with two packs of fresh, perfectly ripe strawberries he knows his mom adores.
He debated on bringing some of the iced yuzu tea he made for his kids for when he returns for his parents to taste, but decided to leave it home, since it’s a hassle to pack and he was running out of time. He put a pair of shades on, and left his apartment in record time.
The metro ride to his parent’s place felt quicker than usual, as did the first few hours of his stay at their house. In no time Chan finds himself in the kitchen after an afternoon spent eating and chattering with his parents about anything that came to their minds; the hydrangeas they’ve been trying to grow, the books they’ve been reading and most endearing to them, stories about the fussy little children Chan handles.
He washes the dishes as his mom carefully dries them and his dad puts them away. They work in sync, relatively silent other than the tune his dad is humming as he decides where to situate the plates he’s being handed. His mom breaks the tranquility, by posing a question nobody wants their mother to ask.
“So, any plans for Valentine’s day?” She tries to be casual, but Chan can hear the curiosity eating her alive.
“No,” Chan says, through a chuckle, having somehow expected this inquiry. His plan was to keep it simple with a short and sweet negation, but he remembers that he does, kind of, have plans for the 14th. “Well— Sort of?”
His mom and dad both stop what they’re doing to whip their heads towards him, before realizing how unnerving this behavior could be and returning to their tasks with two awkward coughs.
What is truly unnerving is how in sync they are, but he doesn’t get to ruminate on this as his mom speaks up once again.
“Well,” she repeats, mimicking his tone with a smile, “Who is this lucky person?” Chan passes her a small bowl he just finished washing, and shakes his head fervently.
“No, it’s nothing like that,” he says, and begins his elaboration. “Mingyu-hyung asked me to hold his Valentine’s day chocolate workshop— remember the one Seungkwan dragged me to?” he turns his head around to check if they do, and goes back to explaining once they both nod. “Yeah, that one. They’re finally going on that honeymoon trip, so he asked me to hold it in his stead.”
He goes on to explain everything Mingyu told him, from the check ups he has to do on the freezers and molds, to the fact that technically, he’s only busy on Valentine’s day because he has to be there when people come to pick their chocolates up in the morning, but the actual workshop is on the thirteenth. His parents listen intently, and Chan thinks that’s that.
However, Chan’s mom just shrugs, in a you-never-know manner, as she dries the bowl he handed her a bit ago. “Maybe you’ll meet somebody there.”
Chan blinks, his wet hands pausing mid air uselessly. “It’s a Valentine’s day workshop.” he starts, slightly confused by her words. “I doubt anyone making Valentine’s day chocolates is alone on, well, Valentine’s day.”
His mom, shockingly, only winks, and hip checks him. “Trust your mother’s instincts.”
Chan rolls his eyes fondly, about to retort back, before his father beats him to it. “Don’t. She thought you’d be a girl.”
His parents start bickering about how, technically, he also thought Chan would be a girl, because all the ultrasounds pointed to it. It evolves into his mom quite literally attempting to tackle his dad, at which point Chan had been laughing so hard he fell onto the floor along with them.
At some point, his phone makes itself known from the counter with a ding, signaling a text message. He picks himself up, chuckling here and there at his parents' continuous banter, as he unlocks his phone and sees the text is from Seungkwan.
It’s a picture of him and Mingyu, their faces smushed together at the airport, having finally landed at their destination. Mingyu’s gaze is stuck on Seungkwan, even with their heads so close together, and Chan can practically taste the honey that drips from his eyes on his tongue. He can’t help but smile softly, as he types up a reply.
He tries to swipe up and lock his phone, but he can’t help but linger on the photo, his thumb levitating uselessly over the screen. Chan feels it, in his chest, a sense of longing. His smile turns into something more melancholic, his attention stolen by the sudden onslaught of his parents’ laughter.
His dad seems to have taken a different approach to their argument, instead tackling his mom onto the floor and tickling her half to death. There’s that same look in his eyes that he saw in Mingyu’s, the cloying sweetness of love stuck to the roof of Chan’s mouth again.
Chan doesn’t think he’s ever been in love, not like that. It’s foreign to him, the type of love that changes you from the inside, that births stars in your eyes that glitter tirelessly whenever you look at someone you love as if they're the ones who put them there in the first place. He can’t lie and say he hasn’t dreamed of succumbing to such a feeling.
“Ah,” Chan exclaims to himself, his smile souring. His gaze is still on his parents, like transfixed, their laughter loud and giddy. “Maybe I’m not as immune to Valentine’s day as I thought.”
Chan probably didn’t have to wake up at 7AM for a workshop that starts at 12PM, but he took that route anyway. There were things he needed to check on, additional work material he had to prepare for his return to kindergarten, and he had to make sure— no less than six times in the span of an hour— that he memorized the instructions Mingyu painstakingly wrote out for him.
He repeated them in front of the mirror as he washed his face, once more as he cooked breakfast, and another four times as he ate it.
And, also, a fair contributor to his early morning could definitely be how in Chan’s head, an irrational fear arose that the building where the workshop was set to be held had burned down five times already during the night. Sleep didn’t exactly come as an easy task.
Not that Chan is stressed out, or anything.
So, he finds himself at the workshop two hours early, because three hours would be too much, and four would definitely signify that something is horribly wrong with his brain. Two hours gives him a perfectly appropriate amount of time to make due preparations for his 20+ year old kids.
He starts with what Mingyu labeled as high priority first. The freezers and their temperatures, the stovetops and their functionality, and the general hygiene of the chocolate molds, utensils, and work stations.
Everything seemed to be in perfect order, so Chan happily hummed, and with a satisfied nod, went to search for the box that holds the decorations.
It didn’t take him a while to find it, since behind the door Mingyu mentioned there was only one, big brown box, labeled ‘decorations’ with black marker in large, bold lettering. Chan rolls his eyes and snorts, before hauling the box up with a grunt and bringing it to his own workstation, situated at the very front of the room.
He opens the box, and immediately starts wishing he came here three hours earlier.
He puts his hands on his hips and sighs. The contents of the box are hardly satisfactory, and definitely not up to Chan’s teacher standards. It’s all ruffles made out of weird materials, in colors that hardly fit a Valentine’s day theme. Blue and yellow, red and green, and not a single trace of the cutesy pink Chan prayed would appear.
He nods resolutely, once he finishes assessing the situation. There’s an hour and a half until the workshop starts, and if the kids haven’t burned down the school or killed Junhui out of negligence, he should be able to bring Chan some of their own decorations from last year, since he's supposed to be on break now.
He’d go to the school himself, but he doesn’t drive a car and it’d take far too long if he went by bus. So, he phones Junhui, and hopes for the best.
“Jun-hyung,” Chan calls out, once the line connects. “Are you alive?”
“Depends,” Jun replies. “Do I have to be?”
Chan sighs, and looks at the sad box in front of him again, gaze filled with disdain at its contents. “It would be great if you were.”
“Tell me what’s the occasion and I’ll decide.”
Chan knew it wouldn’t be easy, so all he can do is follow his order. “I need you to bring some stuff over from my office to Mingyu’s work.”
“Oh!” he exclaims, like he didn’t expect it. “Sure. I can do that.”
Chan grimaces. “Hyung. What did you even think I was going to ask?”
“I dunno,” he says, and Chan can practically envision him shrugging, “Something sensible like— Can you turn FaceTime on and show me the kids?” Junhui teases, pitching his voice higher to match the subtle cuteness of Chan’s tone that his hyungs always tease him for.
He can’t help but roll his eyes at the mocking, but lets Junhui continue. “That wouldn’t work for me, since I’m literally hiding from them right now.”
“Jun-hyung! Be nice to them. They’re missing their favorite teacher,” Chan chastises, “And be here in twenty minutes. Please.”
Junhui, miraculously, comes within fifteen minutes. Chan has no idea how he managed it, nor does he pry, since he’d like not to be labelled as an accomplice if his hyung does end up in jail for breaking multiple road safety laws. Chan doesn’t even want to think about the red lights he ignored, as Junhui drops the box into his hands with a smile unbefitting of a criminal.
Chan plants grateful, way too wet, kisses all over his cheek, and within five minutes, Junhui is gone, citing the breakfast sandwich he left on the floor of the pantry he was hiding in waiting for him. There’s nothing else for Chan to do other than lug the surprisingly heavy box up the stairs, and begin the decorating.
Once he reaches the large kitchen, he sets it down with a huff and hastily opens it, not having to check what decorations it holds, since he’s memorized pretty much everything they made last year.
He does chuckle though, seeing it again, fond as he gazes at the many hues of purple, pink and red, clumsily cut out hearts and crumpled roses made out of paper. He quickly takes everything out, and begins arranging. Chan decides to keep it neat, since there’s a risk of chocolate dripping onto his kids’ hard work, or the larger ornaments obstructing the movement of his class goers.
The arrangement goes like this : one paper rose per work station, one heart with a handwritten note, and a couple smaller decorations scattered across the front of the stations. It’s perfectly measured for the situation, and quite frankly, more minimalistic than he wanted it to be.
Still, it takes him quite a while, and when he’s done, his eyes widen when he realizes there’s fifteen minutes until class starts and all of Mingyu’s students were told to arrive ten minutes early. He hastily runs back to the storage room after dropping the overly crumpled rose he was fixating on, and runs around the room to put an apron on every work station.
He takes the chef’s one— Mingyu’s— and marvels at how unbelievably large it is on his own body, having to twist the ribbon he’s supposed to tie it with around his torso two times. He looks a bit ridiculous, with the bow he tied sitting at the front, but he has no time to dwell on any of it because the first person is already walking in.
He bows in greeting, and by the time he straightens his back up, he realizes even more people flooded in, so he spends the next ten minutes sheepishly bowing more times than he probably should. It’s by no means a large group, but Chan already feels overwhelmed and tries to calm himself by taking a deep breath.
However, his attempt at reaching nirvana is— of course— cut short the second he sees Jeonghan and Seungcheol in one of the work stations. Chan only glares at their beaming faces, and hopes the look is threatening enough to keep them in check. Considering his four year olds only laugh whenever he tries to be stern, Chan doesn’t believe in his chances.
He feels somewhat tempted to throw the utensils in front of him in their direction and hopefully knock them out so the class would have to be cut short, but he realizes he’d rather not share a jail cell with Junhui after he’s inevitably caught by the police for his traffic violations, and gives up on the notion.
The clock shows 12PM, which gives Chan no time to ruminate on his friends' demise or his prison sentence, now having to focus solely on the instructions Mingyu gave him and the six years of teaching experience he has under his belt. He’ll deal with them later.
He takes a deep breath, and starts, with no lack of his usual kindergarten teacher tone. They’ll just have to get used to it. “Hello, everybody!” he says, beaming, “My name is Lee Chan, and I’m chef Kim’s… apprentice.”
They all say their greetings to him once again, in a more formal way, and they all seem to be smiling at him, so he takes it as a good sign. With a clap of his hands, and a satisfied nod, he concludes his greeting.
“I’ll be taking you through today’s workshop— with my colleague who will be joining us shortly— so, let’s begin, yes?”
To say Chan absolutely killed the technical part would be an understatement. He expertly monologued every single aspect of chocolate making, from the do’s and don’t’s of its melting, to some fun trivia he looked up online the night before, and absolutely aced it.
It’s a marvel really, as he overlooks the workshop goers pots, how well they're doing. He tries to take all of the credit in an attempt to boost his confidence, but, truly, melting chocolate is far from a Herculean task. Only Chan ever struggled to melt chocolate down.
Or so Chan thought, before he suddenly found himself standing over a pot much like his own from years ago, tilting his head in question at the chocolate that’s melting horribly slow. He quickly takes a look at the temperature rings and notices that they’re on the right numbers, which confuses him even further.
He draws his brows together, and tries, “Did you—” His eyes fly up to the person standing at the work station, and widen slightly, the rest of his sentence escaping him.
In front of him stands possibly the handsomest man Chan has seen in his entire life. His dark rimmed glasses slid down the bridge of his nose at some point, the sleeves of his button up rucked up to his elbow, his forearms straining as he leans on the counter in distress. His hair is in complete disarray, dark strands falling over his tired eyes messily. He looks like he ran here after just coming out of work, and Chan wonders how he didn’t see him when he walked in.
He definitely would've taken note of him, but the beginning of the class would not have gone as smoothly as it did without Chan noticing the horribly perturbed, handsome rumpled man, who is also, at least a head taller than him.
It’s just Chan’s luck that he meets the tall salaryman of his wet dreams at a Valentine’s day chocolate workshop, and not at some sloppy club in Hongdae.
He looks visibly stressed out by how comically solid his chocolate is, his shoulders slumped in dissatisfaction, and Chan can't help but note how even his misery is somehow attractive. The man bites his lips, like he’s lost in thought as he gazes at his failure, and Chan cheekily lowers himself so his face falls into his field of view. The man straightens up immediately, his eyes widening as he notices Chan, surprised like he didn’t even notice he was there.
“Ah— I’m sorry about that.” Chan says, through a chuckle, somewhat pleased. He always liked scaring handsome men. He smiles, and hopes it looks gentle. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” That’s a lie.
The man seems persuaded enough, as he chuckles sheepishly, the sound going straight to Chan’s gut. It’s perfectly deep, like pouring honey on smooth velvet, even more enticing as actual words leave his mouth.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving Chan off, “I probably deserved it. I should be the one saying sorry to the teacher for not paying attention.” Chan’s answering smile is almost too wicked.
He hmph’s jokingly and tips his chin up. “Apology accepted,” he says, and can’t help but laugh a bit along, before refocusing on the pot. “Now— What’s all this about?”
“Wonwoo.” The man— Wonwoo— interjects, Chan’s gaze flying back up to him, an eyebrow subtly quirking up once he realizes Wonwoo’s eyes have been on him the whole time, even as Chan was surveying the pot. He smiles cheekily, and repeats, “My name is Wonwoo.”
Chan’s eyes narrow slightly. This is not exactly the behavior of a man who has someone waiting at home. However, he’s— presumably— older, from what Chan can tell, with his demeanor and well, frankly, the size of the bags under his eyes, so maybe he’s just being polite in a way Chan isn’t used to?
Chan abandons this line of thought as he does, unfortunately, have other people to check up on, and focuses on the problem inside the pot. “Okay Wonwoo-ssi,” he starts, with a smile he can’t control, “What’s all this about?” Chan tries not to react at how pleased Wonwoo looks as the sound leaves Chan’s mouth.
“Oh, please, hyung is fine,” Wonwoo says, waving him off, before continuing once Chan nods, “I turned everything on the way you told us to, but for some reason, the chocolate just isn’t melting.” Chan hums, thoughtful.
It’s on his third look at the bowl, does he realize the problem. It’s frankly embarrassing that he didn’t notice at first, and can only be attributed to the fact that he’s been ogling Wonwoo since he first laid eyes on him, six minutes ago.
Wonwoo didn’t pour any water into the bowl, which is why the chocolate hasn’t been melting, well, almost at all. Chan screws his eyes shut, reprimanding his own lack of vigilance, before straightening up with the seriousness of a doctor about to give a diagnosis.
Frankly, Chan doesn’t know what’s more ridiculous, him not noticing the lack of water, or Wonwoo somehow missing the crucial step of the entire ordeal.
“Wonwoo-hyung.”
Wonwoo perks up. “Yes?”
“There’s no water in the bowl.” he says, pointing towards the bowl for emphasis, “The chocolate can’t melt without it.” Wonwoo blushes a lovely red as he realizes his mistake, his jaw going slack in disbelief. He’s about to sputter out something Chan is frankly dying to hear, but he’s, shockingly, cut off.
“I told you, appa.” a small voice calls out. “You didn’t do it right.”
Chan blinks confusedly, his gaze still on Wonwoo, before he refocuses his attention onto a pair of eyes he hasn’t noticed before, barely peeking out from the top of the counter.
Wonwoo— the father— sighs. “Appa can tell, Seulgi-yah.”
Seulgi’s arms rise up to support her on the counter so she can lean on her tippy toes. She looks at her dad more intently, before adding, “Now the teacher is going to think you’re stupid.”
Chan chuckles, endeared by this development, even if it inadvertently confirms his suspicions that Wonwoo most definitely does have someone at home and he’s only being friendly, so he leans forward onto his elbows to get closer to Seulgi to whisper in her ear.
“Your appa is trying his best,” he starts, before adding with a wink he knows kids find funny, “He's only a little dumb.” Seulgi chuckles cutely, and nods, her small braids bouncing along with the movement, before whispering back.
“Yeah, only a little.” she repeats, and giggles conspiratorially like she said a bad word. They both burst into stifled laughter, before Chan realizes he completely ignored Wonwoo throughout this entire exchange.
Chan gets up, catching traces of Wonwoo’s fond smile, feeling bashful before clearing his throat to speak. “She’s very lovely, Wonwoo-hyung.” He nods, agreeing, before biting his lip, uncertain.
“It’s not a problem that she’s here, right?”
“Not at all!” Chan says, with a shake of his head. He leans in close— closer than he intended to, in the end— like he’s about to let Wonwoo in on a secret. “Actually— I teach four year olds, so this is more up my alley than the whole chocolate thing. I suck at this.”
Wonwoo smiles in a way that bunches his cheeks up cutely, facial muscles straining like they can’t hold the force of it. “Well, then, that makes the two of us,” he says, and Chan can’t help but bite his lip to stifle a chuckle.
Wonwoo leans back and quirks an eyebrow. Chan swears he’s checking him out, leaning back to match his stance even if he finds himself missing the proximity. “You’re quite the actor though, Lee-ssaem,” it’s lighthearted teasing, but Chan can feel his blush deepening, “Could’ve had me fooled— I thought I made myself look like an idiot in front of a chocolate professional."
Chan grins, the corners of his lips curling in a way he knows is pretty. “Chocolatier,” he corrects, and bites on the tip of his tongue to stifle a chuckle before releasing it to add, “A chocolate professional is called a chocolatier— I mentioned it in the first part of the class.”
Wonwoo smiles, and it doesn’t look so friendly. “Sorry, ssaem,” an emotion Chan can’t name flickering through his eyes, “I was kind of distracted.”
Wonwoo’s gaze flickers back to that all-encompassing pleasantness Chan has grown familiar with, like the speck of something else he detected was never even there, before he can even process it properly.
He can only hum in reply, an ascertaining sound, attempting to hide the knot forming in his throat. This— This is dangerous.
“Seulgi, since you’re a big girl, why don’t you go and fill the pot with water?” Chan asks, refocusing his attention on her as he places his hands on his hips. He's always thought it’s really important for kids to build self esteem by being delegated random tasks. He looks at Wonwoo for silent permission, knowing how kids can get fussy when you ask their parents for it loudly. He nods affirmatively in reply, and luckily, Seulgi doesn’t notice.
She rounds the counter, excited as she almost stumbles over her untied shoelaces. She’s in denim overalls that, somehow, already have chocolate stains on them, even though they haven’t even successfully melted any of it. Her sneakers are mismatched, but the color coordination is there, which makes him feel like it’s intentional.
Chan, on instinct, lowers himself to the ground to tie the shoelaces for her, quick and efficient as always, since he’s grown used to this ordeal ages ago. He could practically tie anything with his eyes closed. It’s a perfect bow too, so he gets up, and nods to himself, proud of it.
In any case, if you make kids feel like a task is important, it becomes important. Makes them feel special. He sees it in the way Seulgi’s eyes light up now, as she nods fervently, before unexpectedly taking Chan’s hand in her small one. Chan perks up, before tilting his head in question.
Seulgi ignores his silent inquiry though, as she turns to her dad. “Can I take Lee-seonsaengnim with me to the sink?”
Wonwoo chuckles before crossing his arms, and Chan can’t help but focus on his forearm muscles. Again. He tries to snap out of it, and Wonwoo’s voice is no help as he speaks. “Don’t ask me, baby,” he says, before tipping his chin towards Chan, “Ask him.”
“Okay!” she chirps back quickly, before turning back to Chan, eyes rounded with excitement, shifting on her feet. “Lee-seons—” she tries, “Lee-seonsae—” she stumbles over her words, and shakes her head, pouting as she grows frustrated at her own inability to get what she wants to say to leave her mouth.
It’s common for kids her age to have a brain that works quicker than their mouth, it’s just important to let them know that—
“It’s okay sweetheart,” Wonwoo encourages, leaning forward across the counter. His voice is devastatingly soft, the sound of it reaching into Chan’s chest and squeezing around his heart. “Appa is here. Just try again.”
Seulgi seems to find it in her to refocus her frustration into something more productive as she nods, a pair of small, now determined, narrowed eyes boring into Chan’s. “Lee-seonsaengnim. Let’s go to the sink.”
It seems her determination got the best of her, as this does sound more like an order and less as a question, but Chan only nods just as resolutely in response and takes a second to grin in Wonwoo’s direction, endlessly endeared by this small kid brimming with enough fervor to power five grown men.
Seulgi dutifully makes her trip to the sink with Chan in tow, only getting the task done in the end because Chan remembers to bring the bowl she needs to fill. He props her up and hands it to her, chattering as they wait for it to fill up. It’s the usual small kid talk; bugs hiding under rocks, her favorite flavor of ice cream, a dutiful recounting of Seulgi's entire morning coupled with stories of dragons she claims she has slain— until she brings up dance.
“I like to dance, sometimes.” she says suddenly, like it’s a confession, as they walk back to the table. Chan sets the bowl down onto the counter, before turning to her. “In my room. Alone.”
“Oh?” Chan questions, as Wonwoo picks it up and continues to fulfill all the steps to melt the chocolate the proper way. Chan makes sure to eye the other stations from time to time, checking if anyone needs help, and relaxes once he sees everyone is doing quite alright.
He shifts his attention back to her, and ruffles her bangs lovingly. “Is that so?”
She nods. “Appa says I’m good.” Chan takes this chance to glance at Wonwoo, and only gets a wink in return. He stifles a chuckle, before turning back to her.
“I’m sure you are!” he encourages, ecstatic. “Do you have—”
“I also like to eat cake.” she interjects, blinking up at Chan. He can only blink back, his lips in an o. He’s used to kids changing topics rather quickly, but Seulgi really takes the— well, cake.
“Chan.” a voice calls out, and Chan immediately recognizes it’s Yerim, and a second later, recognizes the disdain she says his name with.
“Oh, you’re here,” Chan says, once he turns around. He deadpans, “Yay.” It takes serious effort to sound as unenthusiastic as he does, right now.
She squeals once Chan moves, accidentally revealing Seulgi, and shoves past him to get to her, always a fan of anything cute and small. Sometimes, when Chan is spent at work, he tells the kids that aunty Yerim is coming over to play, and then sits and stares at a wall as she entertains them until they quite literally drop dead from exhaustion.
“Hi, cutie!” she says, her tone pitched higher, “What’s your name?”
She looks at her dad for permission, and Wonwoo nods, letting her divulge the information. Chan tries not to swoon at how good of a father Wonwoo is, but it’s getting increasingly hard.
She turns back to Yerim, this time looking more relaxed. “Jeon Seulgi.”
“Do you mind if I steal Lee-seonsaengnim from you, for a bit?”
“I do,” she says, and Chan can’t help but suppress a squeal, “but appa always says I have to share.”
At some point, as he was trying to make room for Yerim and Seulgi to talk without her being distracted by Chan’s form, he somehow found himself almost shoulder to shoulder with Wonwoo.
He looks up at Wonwoo, as Seulgi continues chattering with Yerim, like he’s just been made aware of his presence and how close they are. Wonwoo looks in his direction suddenly too, sharp eyes boring into Chan’s, like Wonwoo sensed his gaze on him, and Chan can’t help but look away as if burned.
“Lee-ssaem,” Wonwoo calls out, getting closer to Chan’s ear, nudging their shoulders together, teasing with his voice pitched lower so Yerim and Seulgi can’t hear, “Don’t go all shy on me now.”
Chan can’t help but blush, his shoulders stiffening. He doesn’t know what Wonwoo is thinking, if this is flirting or if it’s friendly banter with somebody his daughter likes. He feels like he’s unlearned years and years of dating experience he’s acquired throughout his life.
“You—” he tries, and just narrows his eyes in Wonwoo’s direction. “Focus on the chocolate.” Wonwoo only chuckles in response and nudges Chan’s shoulder once more, lightly, as he obeys and stirs the almost fully melted chocolate in the pot.
Chan swears he’s catching a fever from the intensity of his blush, and thus, fever induced hallucinations, because he thinks he hears Wonwoo mutter out a ‘cute’ to himself. It’s the 13th of February, but Chan feels like it’s already Valentine’s day. If Wonwoo really does have someone at home, he better make sure to hide them. Chan doesn’t trust himself.
“Lee-seonsaengnim!” Yerim calls out cheerfully, “Let’s move onto the other couples!” Chan nods just as enthusiastic, and bids Wonwoo and Seulgi farewell, chuckling to himself as Seulgi seems to pout to herself, dissatisfied that her friend was stolen away from her.
“You are a whore.” Yerim says, suddenly, once they’re a safe distance away, knocking Chan right out of his fond gazing. “A shameless one at that.” He whips his head around, eyes wide and jaw slack, as he looks at her incredulous expression.
She starts perusing around the other attendees slowly, and Chan has to jog a little to keep up, after recovering from his stupefied state. “Hello?” he calls out, “Where the hell did that come from?”
“You so want to fuck that dad.” she says, without missing a beat, “You’re, like, not even trying to hide it.”
“I—” he tries, way too loudly, but fails, and brings his voice lower. “But— I am,” he says, through a pout, “Trying to hide it.”
“Ugh,” he groans into his open palms, before lowering them back down quickly, rounded eyes gazing straight at Yerim. “Am I that bad?”
Yerim looks at Chan in a way that makes him feel ridiculous. “You’re not being serious.” Chan blinks back, his gaze unwavering. She steps back, like she sees something in them, before slapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. You’re serious.”
“Lee-ssaem!” Jeonghan teasingly calls out, interjecting from the other side of the room, knowing well how much that would annoy Chan from his mouth, knowing even better how Chan wouldn’t be able to tell him off on it. “Please come over!”
Yerim somehow disappears into thin air the second Jeonghan calls out to him, but not before making Chan promise they’ll circle back to this later. He has to pass next to Wonwoo’s and Seulgi’s counter as he makes his way there, and catches Wonwoo’s eyes as she stirs the chocolate, probably entranced by its smoothness.
Wonwoo smiles at him, and the way his eyes crinkle paired with how tenderly he holds Seulgi, almost knocks Chan right off his feet. He smiles back, feeling the muscles in his face straining as he does, physically having to unstick his eyes from the man as he walks over to Jeonghan and Seungcheol.
“Hi, hyungs,” he says, although, his eyes flickering towards Wonwoo and Seulgi against his best attempts to focus on his friends. “Do you need something?”
Jeonghan leans on the counter, ascertaining Chan’s face with a hum. “Yes,” he chirps out, putting his head on his palms, “I just wanted to check— Is this the part where I pour the asbestos in?” Seungcheol chokes on a sip of water next to him, but Jeonghan only waits for Chan to answer.
“Yes, yes it is,” Chan hums out, not even hearing Jeonghan, smiling as Wonwoo starts fixing one of Seulgi’s braids that was slowly becoming undone, dexterous fingers quickly braiding the hair back together as he nods at something she’s chattering to him about.
“Okay, great,” Jeonghan answers, amused, “And also, should I make Seungcheol taste the dish soap to check if the temperature is right before adding it to the mixture?”
“Mm,” Chan says, tilting his head back so he can see what Wonwoo is doing with his finished chocolate, biting his lip as he stretches out his shoulders, the muscle straining against the fabric. “Looks perfect.”
Seungcheol tilts his head. “Isn’t it ‘sounds’ perfect?”
Jeonghan ignores his husband in favor of leaning back and clapping loudly, snapping Chan out of his Wonwoo induced daydream.
“Thanks, Channie,” he says, sarcastically, and links arms with Seungcheol, “If I listened to you my husband would’ve dropped dead in front of your new salaryman boyfriend and his kid by now. Yay!”
Chan quickly quips, his head whipping around to glare at where Jeonghan and Seungcheol fuse into one being. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Jeonghan lays his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder, and hums. “So that you can hear,” he says, “But you didn’t hear me saying I’ll force feed Seungcheol dish soap.”
“Can I have what’s left of it?” Yerim suddenly asks, clutching onto their work station the second she walks up to it, looking like she’s about to throw up. “There’s a couple in the corner I’d like to maim, and Mingyu doesn’t let me beat people.”
“Yerim-ah,” Jeonghan calls out, separating from Seungcheol, “That guy over there,” he starts, pointing towards Wonwoo subtly, “He’s—”
“Chan’s new salaryman boyfriend?” she interjects, finishing his line of thought, as she casually takes a look at their bowl, flickering her gaze back up to Jeonghan once she ascertains that they’ve done a good job. “Yes, he is.”
“No—” Chan says lamely, unable to control his blush as he stomps his feet rather childishly. “No! He isn’t!”
“You so want to fuck him.” Seungcheol says, through a shit-eating grin, like he has Chan completely figured out. “You always had a thing for older guys.”
“This is so unfair.” Chan groans out, and mutters dejectedly, “I can’t even say anything to you. You’ve only ever liked Jeonghan.” He sighs, and continues. “Yeah, he’s cute, but— Ah, it’s whatever.”
“There’s no way he’s single, anyway.” he says, a little sadder than he intended to sound. Curse his mom’s intuition. Why did she have to be right?
He shakes his head to free himself of these thoughts, and before his friends can say anything in— God forbid— an attempt to console him, and possibly make him cry, Chan speaks.
“Now, come on, Yerim,” he calls out, “It’s time for the break soon, we have to tell everyone. And, I need to, like, sit down or something, before I pass out.” Blushing as much as he did in the span of forty five minutes can’t be good for his health.
They tell everyone to pour their chocolate carefully into the molds, and Chan doesn’t miss how Wonwoo lets Seulgi pour the last bit of it in, wrapping his arms around her proudly as she jumps up and down when she manages to do it without spilling or wasting any of it.
He can’t help but fight off a chuckle, nor can he help the bashful smile he sends Wonwoo’s way once their eyes meet. Chan can feel Wonwoo’s gaze linger on him even as they put the molds on trays and into the freezers, and spends almost the entirety of the break wondering what it means as he monitors how the chocolates are settling down.
Within the last five minutes, he walks out of the building for some air, hoping he can use the short amount of time he has left until he has to go back in to get his act together. He can't be losing his head over a little— a little flirting! It's embarrassing!
“Oh,” a voice— Wonwoo’s voice— exclaims, forcing Chan to whip his head around, “Hello.”
“Hi,” Chan greets back, and doesn’t know whether he should curse his luck for bringing the one person he was attempting to recover from right to him, or thank it.
Wonwoo reaches into his pocket, sheepish as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Do you mind?”
Chan shakes his head, and pretends he’s not fighting off a whimper. “Not at all.”
As Wonwoo comes closer, Chan takes note that he’s got his suit back on, and a nice black, coat over it. He looks very put together, with his hair hastily parted, like Wonwoo took some time to sort it out before coming outside.
“Where is—”
“I wanted to—”
They chuckle in tandem at the awkward way they talked over each other, after which Chan motions for him to go first. Wonwoo ducks his head sheepishly. “Ah, I’m so bad at this,” he says, to no one in particular. Chan isn’t sure he even meant to say it out loud.
Before Chan can question it, Wonwoo raises his head back up to light his cigarette with a sigh. “I guess I just wanted to thank you for being so good to Seulgi,” he says, but something tells Chan that’s not what he wanted to say. He doesn’t push however, as he waits for him to finish. “It means a lot to her,” he says, before adding, “ And to me.”
“Oh, it’s really no problem,” Chan says with a smile, as he probably pays way too much attention to the drag Wonwoo takes, “I— I think she’s lovely.”
“Yeah, she was born that way, I think,” he says, fond, “She’s everything good in my life.”
“Wonwoo-hyung, you’re a really good dad,” Chan says, and it exits his mouth so quickly he almost interrupts Wonwoo. He feels the need to let him know, not just as someone who’s taken an interest in him, but also as someone who works with kids like Seulgi on a daily basis.
“I see the things you do for her, how you treat her like she’s her own little person and not just an extension of you. You should be proud of yourself,” he continues, soft soft soft, because sometimes, that’s what parents need. “If it means anything— I know I am.”
It seems to catch Wonwoo off guard, Chan’s honesty and the tendernessof his tone as he says it, because his cigarette falls limply on his lips. He hastily takes it from his mouth, and hums, like he’s trying to gather his bearings.
“Actually, your friends told me you went outside.” he says, and somehow, it feels impulsive in a way that has Chan’s gut coiling in anticipation, “I asked them— Because, um. I wanted to,” he closes his eyes, before reopening them, “I wanted to ask—”
Chan is clinging onto every word he utters, nodding in what he hopes is encouragement and not just a string of uncoordinated movement, and just as Wonwoo opens his mouth to speak, a voice cuts in from the door.
“Chan-ah!” Yerim yells out from the hall, “Come on, we have to— Oh,” she says, her lips in an o as she observes how red Chan is and how frenzied Wonwoo looks, “God— Please don’t kill me. I have to start decorating in a minute and I need you.”
“Why would Lee-seonsaengnim kill you, noona?” Seulgi says, peeking out from behind Yerim’s dress and making her presence known.
Noting Wonwoo’s panicked expression, Chan possibly crosses at least fifteen boundaries and/or lines as he takes the lit cigarette from his hand and chucks it to the floor, making sure Seulgi doesn’t notice.
“She said kiss, baby,” Wonwoo interjects hastily after sending Chan a look that spelled out gratitude, drawing closer to Seulgi and hoisting her up, “Please don’t, um, kiss me.” He parrots, and realizes how stupid it sounds once he repeats it, obviously, and Chan can’t help but flatten his lips into an unsatisfied line.
Great. Now Wonwoo has to explain in his words to his daughter why Chan is someone you’d never want to kiss. Wonwoo parts his lips to try and explain some more, but Seulgi cuts him off before he can dig himself an even deeper grave.
“Appa,” she starts, blinking up at him cutely, “Can we get ice cream after this?” All three of them sigh out in relief, as she obviously drops it. Yerim gets to live another day, Wonwoo gets to save face, and Chan officially has a favorite kid.
Ah. Children. This is why Chan loves them.
“Yes, baby,” Wonwoo says, and shoots Chan a look he can’t decipher, “Let’s go in now. Your Yerim-unnie said it’s time to decorate.” He walks back in with an excited Seulgi in tow, and Chan’s shoulders slump once they’re out of sight.
“He wants you so bad.”
“Yerim,” Chan chastises through a miserable whine. He absolutely does not want to think about any of this right now.
She walks closer to him and takes his hand in hers. “I’d so bother you about your new sexy dilf boyfriend but we seriously have to go inside.”
Chan can only groan as she drags him back inside, and doesn’t even attempt to stop his blush from spreading or force his smile to disappear. It’s a futile effort, and he’s right, because the second they walk in, Wonwoo’s eyes fixate onto the redness spreading down Chan’s neck like he’s wondering where the color ends.
Chan practically tunes out for Yerim’s part of the class. He felt slightly bad about it at first, but then, after he realized he’s practically useless, he just let it be.
However, just because he was tuned out during the lecture, doesn’t mean he wasn’t tuned into whatever Wonwoo and Seulgi were doing.
At first, it was a real struggle. Wonwoo and the piping bag were everything but acquainted, let alone friendly, with Yerim jumping in a few times to help him out with the very basics. He somehow managed to puncture one, with another one exploding out of nowhere and coating his dress shirt in a hue of pink that somehow— infuriatingly enough— suited him very well.
Seulgi, however, was a natural as much as a kid her age could be. From what Chan could tell, even Yerim was amazed at her skill.
Chan couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing, nor did he want to approach and break her concentration, so he redirected his attention to the other attendees, and tried to guess what— or more exactly, who— they were making chocolates for. It was fun, well, a bit too fun, because before Chan even realized it, they were all packing up and leaving.
He sits up fast as lightning suddenly, waving goodbye to Seungcheol and Jeonghan and making a promise of getting drinks with them sometime soon, checking if Wonwoo and Seulgi left without him realizing they did. He hopes not, if he’s destined to never see them again, his might as well bid them farewell properly.
When he turns around to check the other side of the room, it’s like they materialize out of thin air in front of him, and he can’t help but exhale in relief. Wonwoo is dressed up, the pink peeking out beneath his coat, and Chan tries to stifle a chuckle at the sight, but ultimately fails.
“Pink is a good look on appa,” he teases, crouching to boop Seulgi’s nose lovingly. “Don’t you think so, Seulgi?”
“Yes!” she says, excited, scrunching her nose when Chan boops it again and giggling. Chan chuckles along with her, before rising back up to his feet.
“I hope you both had fun today.” he says, pulling his sleeves over his hands out of anxious habit, and means it. “And I hope— um— whoever gets your chocolate will be,” he tries, and curses the universe for letting him fumble the one time he does need to appear casual, “Happy! With the result. Not that they won’t appreciate—”
“I hope so too.” Wonwoo says, interjecting and putting a stop to Chan’s blabber, Wonwoo’s eyes flickering across his face in a manner he can’t decipher. “It would make me really sad if they weren’t.”
Again, Chan is made aware of their height difference, and tries to suppress a shudder threatening to rise from the mere feeling of Wonwoo’s gaze on him. “I can imagine.” he says, barely able to get the words out.
“Appa.” Seulgi calls out, sadder now than she was before. “Can we go get ice cream now?”
“Of course, baby.” he says, hauling her up and turning to Chan, as Seulgi plays with his glasses and hair, obviously a little restless. “Ah— She’s getting fussy. We have to go now.”
“Thank you again, for everything.” he says, along with something else Chan doesn’t quite catch as they leave in a hurry, leaving a disgruntled Chan behind. He stews in his misery as the people file out, and sits back on his chair, leaning his head onto his open palms.
“He was so bummed out that you weren’t on standby.” Yerim says, closing the door behind her after the last person leaves. “I could see it in his eyes. Seulgi kept asking for you, too.”
Chan only hums in response. He’s too gloomy to form sentences.
“Oppa was so bad at decorating. Seriously.” She continues, oblivious to Chan’s dejectedness, or just choosing to outright ignore it, as she picks up a tray and collects all the utensils. “I thought he was faking it at first so you’d come to his rescue.”
Chan still doesn’t plan on responding, so the only sound that resonates throughout the room for a while is the sound of metal clanking against plastic, as Yerim picks up the spoons and piping bags to wash later.
“He’s coming tomorrow, by the way.” she says casually, her tone airy, like it’s not a big deal. Chan sits up straight, eyes widened. “To pick up the chocolate. And I told him you’ll be here.”
“What?” Chan asks, in disbelief. “Didn’t everyone choose to take it home?”
“Well, yes. They were given an option,” she says, still as casual as before, “He, simply, wasn’t.” She shrugs as she ends her sentence and Chan can’t help but gasp, borderline scandalized.
“Yerim!”
“You listen to me,” she orders, dropping the tray onto one of the stations and walking over to Chan, pointing an accusatory finger at him that forces him to sit back down lamely, “I have executed a wingwoman performance here today the likes of which haven’t been seen since Sooyoung gave Seungcheol Jeonghan’s number,”
Chan is kind of scared, so all he does is nod. He’s not sure what he’s affirming, but he’s hoping it satisfies her. Yerim might share her brother’s aptitude, but she does not share Mingyu’s temperament.
“So,” she continues, “You will drag your sorry self here tomorrow at 10AM, and give that man his chocolate, even if it kills you.”
“I don’t have to listen to you.” he mumbles out through a pout, trying to regain some dignity from how fast he sat down the second she approached him. “I do what I want.”
Chan drags his sorry self to the workshop the next day at 9:50AM and prepares to give Wonwoo his chocolate. It might kill him.
Not because Yerim said he has to, but because he wants to. There might be a wife or husband waiting for him at home, but Chan doesn’t care. This duty was delegated to him by Mingyu, and Chan would rather die a thousand deaths than betray his trust.
When he walks in— startlingly enough— Wonwoo is already there. He’s in the same black coat he wore yesterday, a lush, oak brown scarf wrapped around his neck, since it’s chillier today than it was yesterday. Somehow, even more shockingly, there’s no trace of Seulgi anywhere.
Wonwoo startles once he sees Chan, as Chan fails to announce himself as he walks into the room, but regains his wits quickly as he smiles in his direction, walking closer.
“Chan-ah, hi,” he greets, his voice as warm as Chan remembers. He must notice how Chan’s gaze flickers around to catch traces of the little girl he’s grown fond of, as he smiles even wider, “She’s at my dad’s today— I’ll be on my way there when I’m done.”
Chan grins, “Ah, am I that obvious?” he asks, bashful as he ducks his head. “She’s really just the cutest. I hoped I’d see her today.”
“She kept raving on about you, you know.” Wonwoo said through a chuckle. “It was all Lee-seonsaengnim this, Lee-seonsaengnim that. She was impossible.”
“Best compliment you could give a teacher.” he says, his laughter mirroring Wonwoo’s own. It feels a little clumsy, a little awkward as they chatter, like there’s something unspoken they keep toeing around.
Chan suddenly remembers what Wonwoo is here for, and his eyes widen as he walks towards the freezer, almost forgetting he’s not here to chat, but to give Wonwoo his chocolate. He walks back and hands it over— carefully wrapped chocolate Yerim tied with a cute, red bow yesterday after Chan left, that looks almost as perfect as Chan’s own ones.
“Here!” he hands it over, and Wonwoo carefully takes it in his hands. ”I hope whoever you g—”
Wonwoo interjects, like he can’t handle staying quiet. “It’s not for me,” he blurts out, cheeks tinted a light pink, “Or, I guess, it’s not supposed to be from me. I’m single,”
“Seulgi— She told me she has a crush on someone in her kindergarten group, but she doesn’t know how to confess and it was, ah,” he stops, rubbing his palm over his chin as Chan only listens intently, chuckling miserably before he continues, “It was hell for me. So I suggested we come here so I can reconcile with the fact that she will inevitably like people, and also help her confess by making chocolate she can give to them for Valentine's day.”
Chan processes this information. Wonwoo is single. Wonwoo declared that he’s single, like that is something he wants Chan to know. The more he thinks about it, and the longer Wonwoo’s gaze flickers across his face, the redder Chan gets.
“She doesn’t like them anymore.” Wonwoo adds, a quiet admission, after a few beats of silence.
“Oh.” Chan exclaims, not knowing what else to say, his head a mess.
“She likes you now.”
“Oh,” Chan says, a lot more breathier now, emotional as he thinks about the implications. He knows kids, but he knows parents just as well, so this has to mean that—
“It is, as you can probably guess, my fault.” he explains, and shoots an arrow right through Chan’s heart. He grows more desperate then, as he sets the chocolate down on the counter near them and takes Chan’s clammy hands in his. “I— I really, really like you Chan.”
Wonwoo chuckles at himself like he can’t help it, the sound almost crazed, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I laid my eyes on you,” he confesses, and Chan feels like he’s going to pass out, only the feeling of Wonwoo’s hands on his grounding him.
“Shit, I was so deterred by how pretty you are I forgot the very first step you wrote out on the whiteboard— I was so fucking embarrassed when you pointed out that I forgot to pour the water into the bowl,” he says, the expletives paired with the sentiment almost forcing a shudder to wrack down Chan’s spine. Wonwoo seems so proper, hearing him swear for some reason feels like being struck with a bolt of lightning. His hold on Chan’s hands tightens slightly, “And when you joked around with Seulgi— I didn’t know what to do with myself.”
Wonwoo's eyes flicker down to Chan’s mouth and he flinches like he's been burned once he sees how his lips are parted, dropping Chan’s hands then and shaking his head, backing off like he has to before he does something impulsive.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “I can’t be that close to you— You’re fucking with my head. I had, like, a whole thing planned out, and I didn’t say any of it.” Chan is in a haze as he watches Wonwoo look like he’s in pain just from spending time in his vicinity.
He blinks. “I thought you had a wife at home.”
Wonwoo stills. “What?”
“I— Sorry,” Chan says, expression still blank. “I’m still stuck on the fact that you’re single,” he explains, before leaning against the counter. “I don’t think I can even begin to process the other stuff you said.”
A beat of silence passes between them. “Was I acting like a man who has someone at home?” Wonwoo mutters, coming closer and leaning on the counter, expression just as blank as Chan’s now. He takes his scarf off, like he’s suddenly getting hot. “I was so sure I was being direct. I don’t think I’ve ever tried so hard to be, actually.”
Chan hums, and thinks about what to say. It comes to him quite quickly, actually. There really is only one thing to say.
“Wonwoo-hyung.”
“Yeah?”
Chan turns to him, and looks up at him, the stars hurting his eyes as he blinks. “I like you too.” Wonwoo exhales a sigh of relief, but doesn’t look too shocked at the admission. Maybe Chan was being a tad too obvious.
“Oh, thank G—”
“I’d like that chocolate now,” Chan interjects, placing his open palm in front of him, “Since you won’t be giving it to anyone else. Ever.” It might be a crazy thing to say, but Chan feels like Wonwoo won’t mind.
He’s proven right as Wonwoo hastily reaches for it like Chan will change his mind if he’s slow, and places it on his palm within record time. Chan can’t help but hum, pleased, as he unwraps it and looks at the decorations with a gasp, his eyes widening.
The chocolate is covered in a plethora of suns, all a beautiful vibrant yellow, along with a few pink flowers— probably exactly the color that caused Wonwoo’s mishap— beautifully scattered around lovely done calligraphy of none other than Chan’s name.
It’s so cute and innately sweet, that Chan can’t control the fond smile that overtakes his face, as he thinks about how focused both Seulgi and Wonwoo were when they worked on the chocolate.
“She— um, Seulgi told me fairly quickly that she wanted me to give the chocolate to you,” he said, before continuing his eyes flickering across Chan’s face again, a timid quirk of lips on his face as they fall on the large, yellow star dotting the chocolate in his palms, “When I look at you— I don’t know. You make me think of the sun.”
Chan chuckles, and nudges Wonwoo’s shoulder. “That makes you a sunflower, hyung~” Wonwoo somehow blushes even more at that, although he does look almost comically pleased.
He wraps his chocolate back up, and shakes his head once he realizes his predicament. “I can’t eat this!” he says, despaired. “It’s too cute.”
“I can give you something else,” Wonwoo says, but Chan can’t ascertain the quality of his voice. “Equally sweet. Hopefully.”
Chan whips his head around to ask what could possibly be sweeter than chocolate made by his sexy salaryman boyfriend and his cute daughter, but is caught off guard as Wonwoo holds his chin in place tenderly, placing a soft, barely there, kiss on his lips.
He backs off, and it takes all the willpower for Chan not to pounce on him, noting how shyly his gaze flickers across the room and not wanting to actually scare him. Chan can be a handful. He has to tease though, so he smiles in a way he knows is pretty.
“Hmm,” he hums, like he’s ascertaining the kiss, “I’m not sure. I think you’ll have to give me another one.” Wonwoo doesn’t wait, as he leans in and presses another, more chaste kiss to his lips, sliding his hand up Chan’s jaw in a way that leaves tingles on his skin.
Wonwoo leans back again, and Chan chases after him, whispering against his lips breathlessly, “Another,” Wonwoo obeys again, and this time, Chan all but climbs him, forgetting his promise of not scaring Wonwoo, as their kisses grow into something more fervent, almost depraved as they kiss like they’re trying to get into each other’s skin and—
Chan’s phone, the cursed thing, dings in his pocket, undoing the spell they were under and forcing them to part, panting harshly against each other’s lips. Chan leans his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder and whines petulantly.
seungkwannie
How was the workshop?? ^___^
Chan looks at Wonwoo and thinks about how to explain, but he has a strike of inspiration as he looks at how debauched Wonwoo looks, the glaze in his eyes and how pink his cheeks have gotten. His gaze lowers to his chest and how fast he’s breathing for a bit, until it refocuses back on his keyboard after he decides on a response.
He takes a picture of Wonwoo quickly, and somehow perfectly captures how fucked out he looks on camera, before quickly sending the picture to Seungkwan.
(you)
[Attachment : IMG_182189]
seungkwannie
Chan
Who the fuck is that
What the fuck
Chan
(you)
Man who flirted with me
About to get killed
seungkwannie
CHAN?????????
Chan lowers his phone back into his pocket with a grin after putting it on Do Not Disturb, and walks back to Wonwoo, smoothing Wonwoo’s over the lapels of his coat seductively. “Where were we, Jeon?”
Another text message is delivered to Chan’s phone quietly, the screen uselessly flickering on inside of his coat pocket.
mingyu hyung!!
DO NOT FUCK IN MY KITCHEN