Chapter Text
Jisung's apartment smelled like a dangerous mix of artificial vanilla extract, burnt sugar and victory.
The warm, yellow light from the floor lamp, strategically positioned in a corner of the living room, blended with the powerful white illumination of the ring light installed right in the middle of the open kitchen. The contrast created an almost scenic atmosphere over the dark granite countertop, where a three-tiered cake structure seemed to openly defy all laws of gravity, and physics in general. The cake was visibly tilted about five degrees to the left, but remained firm on the hidden metal support, which, in Jisung's private vocabulary, meant an absolute success of culinary engineering.
— Three, two, one... and we're live! — Jisung whispered in a dramatically high tone, making a millimeter adjustment to the camera before taking a light jump behind the counter. He flashed a smile so wide it made his eyes narrow into two adorable slits, highlighting the slightly mischievous posture his followers knew so well. — What's up, everyone! Welcome to another episode of our favorite weekly segment: "Will Jisung set the kitchen on fire today?".
On the other side of the counter, holding a state-of-the-art cell phone attached to a manual stabilizer that was already starting to weigh on his wrist, Minho tried to keep his hand steady. The real problem wasn't the weight of the device or the shaking of the equipment; it was the almost superhuman difficulty of maintaining professional focus when the cause of his daily sleepless nights was right there, less than three feet away, wearing a dark denim apron two sizes too big for him, with the sleeves of his green sweatshirt carelessly rolled up to his elbows.
— As you know, today we accepted the challenge from the comments on the last video and we're going to try to make the famous strawberry Zero Gravity Cake — Jisung continued, gesturing expansively with his hands, almost knocking over a jar of colorful sprinkles in the process. — And to prove that I'm not using editing tricks, visual effects or a professional culinary stunt double, I brought a special guest. My unpaid cameraman, production assistant, lighting guy and official test guinea pig... Minho! Say hi to everyone, hyung.
Minho turned the stabilizer slightly toward himself for two seconds, giving a timid wave and showing a cute smile that sank his deep dimples, before quickly returning the camera to the channel owner.
— Minho hyung only agreed to come here on a Saturday night because I promised free pizza — Jisung let slip to the camera, giving a mocking wink. — What he doesn't know is that he's only going to see the color of that pizza if we manage to finish this recipe before midnight and without calling the fire department.
Minho gave a low laugh behind the phone, shaking his head in denial. He could read the flood of comments rising at an insane speed on the support tablet screen fixed beside him.
Puppy: is the assistant looking at him or is he hypnotized???
Bbokari: minho's face looks like someone who would accept any blackmail for this boy lmfaooooo
FoxI.Ny: the cake is gonna fall in 5 minutes but the chemistry is 10/10
Dwaekki: minho has already become part of the channel's scenery, we want him permanent!!
Jiniret: minho's look at him oh my god i can't take it
WolfChan: just announce you guys are dating already
Minho's cheeks grew hotter with every message from his friends pointing out the obvious: he simply couldn't fake professionalism. His look gave everything away, transparent as water.
And it was impossible not to be fascinated by Jisung in his element. When the boy concentrated on measuring the flour or fitting the wire structure, the tip of his tongue would stay slightly stuck between his teeth, revealing a focus tick that Minho found to be the most graceful thing in the world. But when something went wrong — and many things went wrong in the last hour — Jisung simply couldn't hold back his laughter.
The peak of the chaos happened when Jisung decided to turn the stand mixer on at maximum speed without covering the bowl first. The high-pitched sound of the motor was followed by an instant explosion of white powder.
A dense cloud of wheat flour floated through the kitchen air, covering the top of the fridge, the ring light and, especially, Minho's face.
— My God, Minho hyung, you look like a pastry ghost! — Jisung laughed out loud, doubling over forward and resting his hands on his knees, letting out that loud, nasal laugh that filled the entire apartment.
Minho blinked slowly, feeling his eyelashes heavy with powder, and wiped the back of his free hand across his face, leaving a trail of flour on his cheek while laughing along. His voice came out gentle and resigned:
— I told you speed three was too strong, Jisung. You're a public hazard with an appliance in your hand.
— Technical details, my dear assistant! The public doesn't want to see surgical precision, the public wants entertainment and chaos! — Jisung shot back without losing his rhythm for a single second, grabbing the giant piping bag filled with vibrant bubblegum-pink strawberry frosting.
For the next forty minutes, the kitchen turned into a hilarious scene of culinary survival. Jisung alternated between reading the chat — letting out the worst dad jokes he found in the donations — and disastrous attempts to frost the base of the cake. Sprinkles bounced onto the floor like projectiles with every sharper movement, and the soft sound of an indie pop playlist played in the background on the Bluetooth speaker, muffled only by their constant laughter.
Minho did his best to capture the best angles of the cake, but the truth is that the phone lens inevitably orbited around Jisung. The way the warm lighting hit his brown hair, the sweet, permeating smell of strawberry and vanilla extract taking over the air, the cozy heat accumulating in the small kitchen... Everything there created a bubble so cozy that Minho almost forgot there were more than six thousand people watching everything live.
— And... all done! — Jisung announced with a dramatic flourish, giving a small jump and pointing at the final creation. The cake was visibly crooked, the pink frosting was dripping a bit more than aesthetically recommended, but it miraculously remained standing. — Ladies and gentlemen, behold! Contemporary abstract art! This is what the great culinary critics call imperfect perfection. Ending the stream in three, two... bye everyone, don't forget to like, subscribe and until the next culinary disaster!
Jisung gave the final touch to the phone screen to stop the data stream and, in the millisecond the "LIVE" indicator flashed and went out, the apartment seemed to change frequency.
It wasn't just the stream that ended; the air itself seemed to settle.
Jisung's energized posture broke down instantly. He deflated a few inches, the smile projected for the cameras relaxing into a tired, yet satisfied pout. He climbed down from the small stool where he was supported, let out a long sigh that made his bangs fly a little and rested his lower back against the edge of the counter, letting his arms drop heavily beside his body. The hyperactive character gave way to the real Jisung — quieter, a little needy from exhaustion, skin flushed from the oven's heat and with his soft gaze focused entirely on Minho.
On the other side, Minho did the same. He finally released the tension accumulated in his shoulders, lowering the stabilizer and bending his neck to pop his nape, which hurt from keeping the same position for almost an hour. The glow of the spotlights seemed less aggressive now, replaced by the warm comfort of the living room's yellow lighting. Minho turned off the device, placed it carefully on the table and took two slow steps toward the counter, closing the distance from production to return to their personal space.
The silence that fell over the kitchen was not uncomfortable; it was dense with intimacy, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioner and the ambient sound from the speaker that suddenly seemed much more present.
— Broke the viewership record. Six thousand two hundred simultaneous people — Minho said softly, breaking the quietness. His voice sounded deeper, velvety and without the expansive projection of when he spoke to the microphone. He leaned on the counter across from Jisung, his warm, sincere gaze fixed on the younger one. — You were incredible, Jisung. Truly.
Jisung slowly opened the eyes he had closed for a second, staring at Minho from under his long eyelashes. Little by little, that characteristic smile — without the live stream's excitement, but with a much truer sweetness and a touch of teasing — returned to shape his lips.
— Of course I was incredible, hyung. I was born to shine in the pastry world — Jisung said, puffing out his chest in a lazy attempt to maintain the pose. But right after, his gaze wandered through the complete disaster around them: dirty bowls piled in the sink, flour on the floor, messy spatulas and pink splatters even on the upper cabinets. He picked up a wooden spoon dirty with frosting that was on the table and pointed it at the older one. — But now look at this war zone. This is where the real nightmare begins. And since you are my official assistant, guess who's going to help me wash every last fork?
Minho raised an eyebrow, taking another step forward until he was very close to the counter, arms crossed over his chest and an amused expression on his face.
— And my reward? Where's the pepperoni pizza promised to me in the verbal contract?
— The pizza will only be ordered if you prove you deserve it and survive the cleaning process without complaining — Jisung teased, his eyes shining with a dangerous spark as he raised the spoon full of pink frosting, inches from Minho's chest.