the art of being culinarily pretentious
rating: pg
pairings: none that matter to the story, but they're there because ship every block b
wc: 3.2k
my entry for the 2013 nuguseyo fic exchange. prompt by themeltyway and i'm sORRY ABOUT ALL THE TYPOS IN THE NUGUSEYO VERSION bluughhhhh... i rewrote and edited this so many times that by the time i was doing the final proofread my brain was numb to all the mistakes. OTL
this is the most dialogue-heavy thing i've written in ages so i hope i pulled it off. putting all my years of dedicated food network viewership and pretentious food magazine reading to work ahahaha...
"Hey." Taeil drops a magazine on top of the stack of essays Jaehyo is supposed to be grading, but isn't. "Have you seen this?"
"What is it?" Jaehyo asks without looking, brow furrowed in concentration. He's 2000 points away from three-starring this level with only six moves left.
Taeil rolls his eyes. "They mentioned your blog."
"What, where?" Jaehyo sets his phone down and snatches up the magazine - the University of Seattle's bi-annual alumni publication. More of a highly glorified newsletter, really, but the glossy pages make great lining for the bottom of his rabbit's cage, so Jaehyo keeps himself on the mailing list.
Taeil picks up the phone and perches on the edge of the desk. "Page twelve, College of Letters and Science. Remember when those guys from the alumni association were here?"
Jaehyo flips to the article. "That was way back at the beginning of the quarter, right?" He skims the columns until he spots his name - Jaehyo Ahn (class of '09), whose literary passion led him to major in creative writing and blah blah blah. There are a few lines about how wonderful his undergrad experience was that he vaguely remembers making up for the cute guy with the English accent assigned to interview him, some stuff about his food review blog followed by the url, and yep. There's the picture of him sitting with his laptop at the cafe just off the south edge of campus, pretending to write. He looks pretentious as hell wearing a cable knit half-zip in August, but he's fairly sure the planes of his cheekbones at this angle make up for it.
"How'd you even find out about this?" he muses out loud. "You've got what amounts to, like, negative school pride. Were you actually reading this?"
"One of your fan club members is in my eleven o'clock. She knows we're friends, so she showed me. Apparently it's a really popular photo."
"Ah," Jaehyo says. "I have a fan club?"
Taeil shrugs. "Most of us first year TAs have one. Where do you think I keep getting all those lollipops from?" A sad glissando emanates from the phone, followed by a series of bursting sounds as Jaehyo's candy is blasted in oblivion. "Oh, so that's what the bombs do."
"Get out of my room."
Kyung eyes Jaehyo's wretched, shivering form in the doorway with some cross between apology and amusement. "I take it the storm hasn't let up yet."
"I'm gonna kill you," Jaehyo declares as he steps inside the bistro, although it comes out decidedly less threatening with his teeth chattering. He peels off his jacket with stiff fingers and shakes the water from it, doing his best to hit Kyung without getting any on the wood part of the floor.
"I couldn't hear you knocking over the thunder!" Kyung says, shutting the door and quickly stepping back out of splash range. "Good morning to you too, by the way."
"Rain makes people nuts, I swear to god. I almost got run over on the way here trying to cross the street." Jaehyo examines the wilted faux fur lining his hood. One of these days he'll stop forgetting his umbrella on the floor of Taeil's car. "Twice."
Kyung heads back to the bar, where he's got the blackboard menus off the walls and waiting to be rewritten. "To be fair, people try to run you over when it's not raining too. I think it's just your face."
"My face has a fan club," Jaehyo informs him, pointedly ignoring the way Kyung snickers in response. He cups his hands over his nose and mouth and breathes on them, scrubbing them together to try and get some of the feeling back as he follows Kyung over. "Where’s Jiho?" he asks, glancing around the empty establishment. It's Monday and the bistro is closed, but it's still rare that Jiho isn't putting around in the kitchen working on something, even if it's just turning radishes into gay roses with his paring knife.
Kyung measures out ground coffee and tamps it down. ”What, upset you actually have to pay for your drink?”
"Eat twenty dicks, I always pay."
"Dicks are a seasonal item only, sorry," Kyung says, snapping the filter in, "and no, you really don't." He hits the on button and turns back to face Jaehyo, leaning against the counter as the machine starts to percolate. He looks like such a college student with his thick, plastic framed glasses, hair a wavy mess underneath his black lacrosse team hoodie, and Jaehyo feels a spike of nostalgic jealousy. Not that he ever sunk so low as to wear sweatpants with "score" written across the ass (he kept it classy in leopard print pajama bottoms with flip flops, thank you very much).
"Jiho's power napping in the storage room. Pulled an all-nighter with Jiseok working on the new menu." Kyung pauses, scratching contemplatively at a tiny pimple on his jawline. "Hey, don’t you have class right now?”
"Don’t you?" Jaehyo shoots back, torn between being annoyed and a little endeared that Kyung has his schedule memorized. "None of my students showed up again," he grumbles, just slightly resentful at being awake and drenched for nothing, but he can't really blame them - it's not like he was ever made it to any of his seven AM discussions when he was an undergrad either. Maybe come spring quarter he'll get lucky and land one of the coveted afternoon time slots.
“Third year summa cum laude," Kyung reminds him smugly. "I don't gotta do shit anymore.”
Jaehyo frowns. "Isn't your honor's thesis due, like, Friday?"
"Eh, I've still got," Kyung ticks off his fingers, "...most of four days." He shrugs.
"Jesus, how are you even alive."
"Caffeine and cybernetic enhancements, mostly."
"I knew it. No real person double majors in math. What are you even planning on doing with that degree?"
Kyung snorts. "Pretty sure that question is traditionally reserved for liberal arts majors." He turns his attention to the beeping espresso machine. "Speaking of which, how's your article going?"
Jaehyo blinks. "How did-"
"Taeil. Well, actually Taeil told Pyoji and Pyoji told me."
"Of course he did." Jaehyo literally has no idea why the two of them aren't dating already.
Kyung pumps syrup into a mug. "So one of the head editors of Saveur is UoS alum, huh? What's your topic?"
"Uh..." Jaehyo stares down the half-finished blackboard in front of him - kimchi shortrib noodles, spicy pumpkin bisque, and it looks like Jiho finally figured out a chocolate mousse he's satisfied with. "Comfort food, I guess? I don't exactly have a solid idea yet. They didn't really give me a lot of parameters besides a word count and a deadline."
"Which is?"
"About two weeks."
Kyung sets the steaming latte down on the counter with a pitying look. "Better get to work then."
"Thanks for your vote of confidence," Jaehyo says. He picks up a marker and draws a misshapen flower in the corner of the blackboard as revenge.
Yukwon sets a drink down on the table and drapes his apron over the back of the chair opposite of Jaehyo, flipping it around and straddling it with a lazy smile. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, leaning in close so that his mellow voice is audible against the evening clamor of people and dishware. "How's your article going?"
Jaehyo makes a distressed gurgling sound in the back of his throat.
"Ooookay, I'll take that as it's not?"
"I have ten days left and zero ideas," Jaehyo groans, slumping in his chair until he's eye level with his water glass. "I do food reviews and make dinner date suggestions, what about that makes them think I'm capable of free-writing a story piece?" He presses his face into the table.
"If it's that bad then why'd you say yes?"
Jaehyo's voice is muffled against the hard surface. "Um, because I enjoy being histrionic?"
"Well, yeah, obvi-"
"Shut up." He sighs, turning his head to one side. "Kwonnie, Saveur is one of the top food magazines in the country. Of course I'm gonna say yes. How could I not?"
Yukwon hums thoughtfully and pushes the drink towards him. Jaehyo perks up a bit and takes gratefully it with both hands, savoring the warmth against his palms before taking a long sip - and then promptly spitting it back out.
"Oh, god, what the hell is this?" he gags, grabbing a napkin to scrape the taste off his tongue with. "It tastes like liquid kidney failure."
"Leftover gayo drip with a triple shot, three pumps raspberry, one pump vanilla," Yukwon recites with a hint of a cheshire grin, "courtesy of Kyung."
"Ugh," Jaehyo informs him, and then, as an afterthought, "ugh."
The blonde shrugs. “What do you want for free?”
"I don’t want free. I want my cinnamon latte, not Kyung's crappy failed experiments.”
Yukwon laughs. "You know, Jiho drank, like, six of those last night."
"Jiho would drink gasoline if it'd help him work longer," Jaehyo deadpans.
Yukwon's eyes curve into amused crescent moons. "Surely you're not implying that Jiho is some kind of overachieving, workaholic freak," he says, glancing over towards the kitchen where the chef in question is simultaneously barking orders and dispatching a bok choy with an intimidatingly large santoku knife. On some sixth sense, he chooses that exact moment to look up, locking eyes with Jaehyo for a split second before waving Minhyuk over. He mouths something to him, pointing the knife in Jaehyo's direction. Minhyuk nods and comes jogging over.
"Dude, Jiho says you gotta move. We need the table."
"But I'm working," Jaehyo whines. "I need the inspiration."
Minhyuk glances at his laptop screen, arching an unimpressed eyebrow. "Hyo, you finished your salad three hours ago and I know you didn't pay for that drink. Unless you're gonna order something, move." He turns far more apologetically to Yukwon. "Babe, sorry to cut your break short, but we need you on three and four."
"'S okay," Yukwon smiles. He stretches as he stands, grabbing his apron and tying it back on with practiced flourish. "Good luck," he says to Jaehyo, giving him an encouraging little pat on the head.
"Thanks," Jaehyo grumbles, gathering up his laptop, backpack, and Kyung's abomination of a coffee. He shuffles over to the corner of the bar, setting his things down with a defeated sigh. His word doc is painfully empty, save for today's progress, which basically amounted to titling it "ASDFKSJFASKL;;SDF."
Kyung leans over the bar to peek at his screen. "Nice. Very professional."
"Shut up."
WHALE PYO (1:02 AM) : hows ur article goin
hyolzzang (1:05 AM) : don't. ask.
WHALE PYO (1:05 AM) : ????? ok
hyolzzang (1:06 AM) : i'm so fucked. sooooooooo fucked. i've been trying to work on it in between classes and stuff, but it's fucking midterms week so of course NOW all my students suddenly decide they need help. i've had to add extra office hours THREE TIMES already because these little shits never show up to discussion, or take notes on the things they're supposed to.
hyolzzang (1:06 AM) : I'M ONE WEEK AWAY FROM EMBARRASSING MYSELF IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE LITERARY FOOD COMMUNITY, I HAVE ESSAYS TO GRADE, I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS BULLSHIT, I HOPE THEY ALL FUCKING FAIL.
WHALE PYO (1:06 AM) : lol
hyolzzang (1:06 AM) : it's not funny asshole.
WHALE PYO (1:07 AM) : sorry :C
WHALE PYO (1:09 AM) : what kind of research u doin
hyolzzang (1:09 AM) : ?
WHALE PYO (1:09) : for ur article like ur basically writing an essay rite
WHALE PYO (1:10 AM) : so if ur supposed to be writing about comfort food why dont u go eat some comfort food idk
WHALE PYO (1:10 AM) : i guess thats pretty obvious tho maybe ur already doin that
hyolzzang (1:12 AM) : .........that's. a really good idea actually.
WHALE PYO (1:12 AM) : LOL ur welcome
WHALE PYO (1:13 AM) : u wanna help me wit my essay as thx :D
hyolzzang (1:14 AM) : what's it on?
WHALE PYO (1:14 AM) : um hold on
WHALE PYO (1:14 AM) : "An analysis of the effects of ethnocentrism on 17th century French literature."
hyolzzang (1:15 AM) : pass.
"Jihoon is an idiot," Jaehyo announces, collapsing on top of the bar in a gangly heap.
"Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that you're about to tell me something where, in fact, you're the one that's the idiot," Kyung says absently, wiping down the counter space around Jaehyo's body. It's long after closing and most everyone else has gone home for the night, save for the two of them and Jiho.
Jaehyo ignores him. "I spent the last three days eating every comfort food at every place I could go to - mac and cheese, apple pie, blueberry pancakes, crappy Chinese takeout, half a pizza, a lobster roll, a salted caramel mocha frappuccino, those little powdered sugar donuts that taste like cake, pot roast and mashed potatoes, chicken and waffles..." He swallows back the sour taste filling his mouth at the memory and clutches his stomach, feeling it church rebelliously. "I gained seven pounds. Seven pounds in three days, and I'm pretty sure five of those were just from that southern place on Fremont."
"Uh," Kyung gives him a vaguely concerned once-over, "you look exactly the same. Actually, you look a little thinner than before."
"BECAUSE I LOST IT ALL AGAIN DUE TO STRESS!" He grabs at the sleeve of Kyung's perfectly pressed button down, eyes wild. "Kyung."
"Hyo." Kyung patiently attempts to uncurl the writer's fingers without breaking them, despite how tempting an option it is at the moment.
Jaehyo oozes higher up his arm. "You're a genius, right? Give me your brain."
"Hyo," Kyung informs him serenely. "I am going to slap you. Right in the face."
There's a muffled groan from the direction of the storage room sounds suspiciously like fuck, followed by what may or may not be a body rolling onto the floorboards. Jiho comes shuffling out a moment later with half-closed eyes and a wicked case of bed head, the t-shirt under his open chef's whites riding up as he scratches at his chest.
"Sup," he grunts, lumbering past on his way to the kitchen. He gives Jaehyo a quizzical look where he's sprawled all over the counter, before pressing a sleepy kiss to Kyung's eyeball and yawning on his face, earning him a shove for his presumably awful morning-slash-evening breath. "You guys hungry?"
"Hell yeah."
"No."
Kyung plants his free hand against Jaehyo's face and gives him a shove too, sending him tumbling off the bar with a yelp. "Jaehyo's hungry too," he says, moving over to the espresso machine to start a fresh batch.
From inside the fridge, Jiho gives a thumbs up.
"Hyo, stop crying and get off of the floor."
Fifteen minutes and one surprisingly detailed penis chocolate-drizzled into the foam of his latte later ("Jiho, your boyfriend is sexually harassing me." "Take it up with the manager." "Jiseok isn't even here." "Then Kyung's the manager.") Jiho sets oversized wok on the table with a dull clang.
Jaehyo perks up. "Oh, you made fried rice?" Jiho's fried rice is his favorite.
Jiho nods. "Since you've been freaking out so bad the past couple weeks. Dig in," he says, grabbing a bowl and shoveling himself a massive first helping that's more like three helpings, although Jaehyo isn't really surprised - in all likelihood it's Jiho's first meal of the day, since he rarely gives himself time to eat during work.
The corners of Jaehyo's mouth curl into an appreciative smile. He serves himself a more photogenic amount, then whips out his phone and crouches so that his line of sight is level with the table.
Kyung snorts. "Such a hipster."
"Your glasses are fake, therefore you're not allowed to talk to me about being a hipster," Jaehyo says, angling his phone to catch the frame of the window in the background.
Kyung grins and pushes the empty frames further up the bridge of his nose. "Yukwon says they make me look smarter."
"Kwonnie says a lot of things." The shutter sound click-clicks and Jaehyo brings the screen to his face to review his picture. Satisfied, he straightens up and proceeds to apply different filters. "Toaster or earlybird?"
"Nashville," Jiho chimes in around a mouthful of rice.
"Ew, no," Jaehyo sniffs. "Nashville is for cityscapes and white people selcas, it's the absolute worst for food. Nashville could make a five course meal cooked by Mario Batali look completely unappetizing."
"Chen Kenichi was the best Iron Chef," Kyung says derisively. He squirts enough sriacha into his rice to turn the entire bowl bright red.
"Uh, no," Jiho says, reaching for Kyung's Americano and draining it with large gulps. "Statistically speaking, the best Iron Chef was Hiroyuki Sakai."
Jaehyo rolls his eyes. "Now who's being hipster?" He settles on toaster and hits upload, double checking to make sure it posts properly before pocketing his phone and sitting down to eat. Fried rice isn't exactly review blog worthy, but Jiho made it for him and Jaehyo likes to keep an Instagram of his casual meals for his own sake. He picks up his spoon and takes a bite.
"Statistics don't count for everything," Kyung counters peevishly, squeezing a glop of sriacha into Jiho's bowl.
"Says the math major."
"My other major is business psychology, drop out."
"This is amazing," Jaehyo says.
Kyung and Jiho cease their bickering to turn, stare, and ask "what?", all in their boyfriend synchronization that Jaehyo would normally find both nauseating and mildly creepy. As it is, he's busy fumbling with the zipper on his backpack, face lit up with awe like he's never eaten food before in his life.
"Your fried rice. It's amazing," he repeats, dropping his laptop onto the table hard enough to make Kyung cringe. He opens the "ASDFKSJFASKL;;SDF" word doc excitedly. "What's in it?"
"Um, hoisin pork loin from yesterday's special, watercress and edamame from the salad, eggs, onion, some kkakdugi..." Jiho rubs the back of his neck, more than a little dumbfounded. "I dunno, soy sauce? It's just leftovers, man."
"It's perfect," Jaehyo whispers reverently, fingers flying over the keyboard. "I can do this. I can write about this." He pauses to sample another spoonful, eyes glistening with emotion as he savors the salty-sweetness of the pork, the tender bite of the edamame and the way the eggs have absorbed the flavor of the- sesame oil? Sesame oil, yes. Yes. He fixes the chef with an intense gaze.
"Jiho, I need a quote."
"'You can't mess up fried rice,' he told me over the inviting sizzle of the wok. 'The whole concept was built on the idea of being able to use whatever scraps you had laying around to make a full, delicious meal. It doesn't matter if your ingredients come from the garden or the frozen food aisle, if it's caviar or three-day old leftover spam; if you can eat it, you can put it in fried rice. There's no formula because fried rice is personal. It's tailor-made comfort food, a second chance for ingredients mixed with a little bit of heart.' Jaehyo, did Jiho actually say this?" Taeil asks skeptically from behind the shiny cover of the January issue of Saveur.
"I may have helped him, ah, cultivate his words into something a little more suited to the target demographic," Jaehyo hums. He scrolls through the latest comments on the online version before switching tabs to his blog, where his inbox continues to explode with messages. The number of subscribers has practically doubled in the last few days since the issue came out. "So, what do you think?"
"It's pretentious as fuck," Taeil proclaims, fanning through the rest of the pages disinterestedly before setting magazine down and reaching across the desk for Jaehyo's phone. "Way worse than that time your wore a turtleneck sweater in August. I'm sure your fan club is gonna love it."
"It was a half-zip," Jaehyo corrects him between self-satisfied sips of coffee.
"Sure it was," Taeil says. "Hey, log in and send me lives."
"Get out of my room."
pairings: none that matter to the story, but they're there because ship every block b
wc: 3.2k
my entry for the 2013 nuguseyo fic exchange. prompt by themeltyway and i'm sORRY ABOUT ALL THE TYPOS IN THE NUGUSEYO VERSION bluughhhhh... i rewrote and edited this so many times that by the time i was doing the final proofread my brain was numb to all the mistakes. OTL
this is the most dialogue-heavy thing i've written in ages so i hope i pulled it off. putting all my years of dedicated food network viewership and pretentious food magazine reading to work ahahaha...
"Hey." Taeil drops a magazine on top of the stack of essays Jaehyo is supposed to be grading, but isn't. "Have you seen this?"
"What is it?" Jaehyo asks without looking, brow furrowed in concentration. He's 2000 points away from three-starring this level with only six moves left.
Taeil rolls his eyes. "They mentioned your blog."
"What, where?" Jaehyo sets his phone down and snatches up the magazine - the University of Seattle's bi-annual alumni publication. More of a highly glorified newsletter, really, but the glossy pages make great lining for the bottom of his rabbit's cage, so Jaehyo keeps himself on the mailing list.
Taeil picks up the phone and perches on the edge of the desk. "Page twelve, College of Letters and Science. Remember when those guys from the alumni association were here?"
Jaehyo flips to the article. "That was way back at the beginning of the quarter, right?" He skims the columns until he spots his name - Jaehyo Ahn (class of '09), whose literary passion led him to major in creative writing and blah blah blah. There are a few lines about how wonderful his undergrad experience was that he vaguely remembers making up for the cute guy with the English accent assigned to interview him, some stuff about his food review blog followed by the url, and yep. There's the picture of him sitting with his laptop at the cafe just off the south edge of campus, pretending to write. He looks pretentious as hell wearing a cable knit half-zip in August, but he's fairly sure the planes of his cheekbones at this angle make up for it.
"How'd you even find out about this?" he muses out loud. "You've got what amounts to, like, negative school pride. Were you actually reading this?"
"One of your fan club members is in my eleven o'clock. She knows we're friends, so she showed me. Apparently it's a really popular photo."
"Ah," Jaehyo says. "I have a fan club?"
Taeil shrugs. "Most of us first year TAs have one. Where do you think I keep getting all those lollipops from?" A sad glissando emanates from the phone, followed by a series of bursting sounds as Jaehyo's candy is blasted in oblivion. "Oh, so that's what the bombs do."
"Get out of my room."
Kyung eyes Jaehyo's wretched, shivering form in the doorway with some cross between apology and amusement. "I take it the storm hasn't let up yet."
"I'm gonna kill you," Jaehyo declares as he steps inside the bistro, although it comes out decidedly less threatening with his teeth chattering. He peels off his jacket with stiff fingers and shakes the water from it, doing his best to hit Kyung without getting any on the wood part of the floor.
"I couldn't hear you knocking over the thunder!" Kyung says, shutting the door and quickly stepping back out of splash range. "Good morning to you too, by the way."
"Rain makes people nuts, I swear to god. I almost got run over on the way here trying to cross the street." Jaehyo examines the wilted faux fur lining his hood. One of these days he'll stop forgetting his umbrella on the floor of Taeil's car. "Twice."
Kyung heads back to the bar, where he's got the blackboard menus off the walls and waiting to be rewritten. "To be fair, people try to run you over when it's not raining too. I think it's just your face."
"My face has a fan club," Jaehyo informs him, pointedly ignoring the way Kyung snickers in response. He cups his hands over his nose and mouth and breathes on them, scrubbing them together to try and get some of the feeling back as he follows Kyung over. "Where’s Jiho?" he asks, glancing around the empty establishment. It's Monday and the bistro is closed, but it's still rare that Jiho isn't putting around in the kitchen working on something, even if it's just turning radishes into gay roses with his paring knife.
Kyung measures out ground coffee and tamps it down. ”What, upset you actually have to pay for your drink?”
"Eat twenty dicks, I always pay."
"Dicks are a seasonal item only, sorry," Kyung says, snapping the filter in, "and no, you really don't." He hits the on button and turns back to face Jaehyo, leaning against the counter as the machine starts to percolate. He looks like such a college student with his thick, plastic framed glasses, hair a wavy mess underneath his black lacrosse team hoodie, and Jaehyo feels a spike of nostalgic jealousy. Not that he ever sunk so low as to wear sweatpants with "score" written across the ass (he kept it classy in leopard print pajama bottoms with flip flops, thank you very much).
"Jiho's power napping in the storage room. Pulled an all-nighter with Jiseok working on the new menu." Kyung pauses, scratching contemplatively at a tiny pimple on his jawline. "Hey, don’t you have class right now?”
"Don’t you?" Jaehyo shoots back, torn between being annoyed and a little endeared that Kyung has his schedule memorized. "None of my students showed up again," he grumbles, just slightly resentful at being awake and drenched for nothing, but he can't really blame them - it's not like he was ever made it to any of his seven AM discussions when he was an undergrad either. Maybe come spring quarter he'll get lucky and land one of the coveted afternoon time slots.
“Third year summa cum laude," Kyung reminds him smugly. "I don't gotta do shit anymore.”
Jaehyo frowns. "Isn't your honor's thesis due, like, Friday?"
"Eh, I've still got," Kyung ticks off his fingers, "...most of four days." He shrugs.
"Jesus, how are you even alive."
"Caffeine and cybernetic enhancements, mostly."
"I knew it. No real person double majors in math. What are you even planning on doing with that degree?"
Kyung snorts. "Pretty sure that question is traditionally reserved for liberal arts majors." He turns his attention to the beeping espresso machine. "Speaking of which, how's your article going?"
Jaehyo blinks. "How did-"
"Taeil. Well, actually Taeil told Pyoji and Pyoji told me."
"Of course he did." Jaehyo literally has no idea why the two of them aren't dating already.
Kyung pumps syrup into a mug. "So one of the head editors of Saveur is UoS alum, huh? What's your topic?"
"Uh..." Jaehyo stares down the half-finished blackboard in front of him - kimchi shortrib noodles, spicy pumpkin bisque, and it looks like Jiho finally figured out a chocolate mousse he's satisfied with. "Comfort food, I guess? I don't exactly have a solid idea yet. They didn't really give me a lot of parameters besides a word count and a deadline."
"Which is?"
"About two weeks."
Kyung sets the steaming latte down on the counter with a pitying look. "Better get to work then."
"Thanks for your vote of confidence," Jaehyo says. He picks up a marker and draws a misshapen flower in the corner of the blackboard as revenge.
Yukwon sets a drink down on the table and drapes his apron over the back of the chair opposite of Jaehyo, flipping it around and straddling it with a lazy smile. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, leaning in close so that his mellow voice is audible against the evening clamor of people and dishware. "How's your article going?"
Jaehyo makes a distressed gurgling sound in the back of his throat.
"Ooookay, I'll take that as it's not?"
"I have ten days left and zero ideas," Jaehyo groans, slumping in his chair until he's eye level with his water glass. "I do food reviews and make dinner date suggestions, what about that makes them think I'm capable of free-writing a story piece?" He presses his face into the table.
"If it's that bad then why'd you say yes?"
Jaehyo's voice is muffled against the hard surface. "Um, because I enjoy being histrionic?"
"Well, yeah, obvi-"
"Shut up." He sighs, turning his head to one side. "Kwonnie, Saveur is one of the top food magazines in the country. Of course I'm gonna say yes. How could I not?"
Yukwon hums thoughtfully and pushes the drink towards him. Jaehyo perks up a bit and takes gratefully it with both hands, savoring the warmth against his palms before taking a long sip - and then promptly spitting it back out.
"Oh, god, what the hell is this?" he gags, grabbing a napkin to scrape the taste off his tongue with. "It tastes like liquid kidney failure."
"Leftover gayo drip with a triple shot, three pumps raspberry, one pump vanilla," Yukwon recites with a hint of a cheshire grin, "courtesy of Kyung."
"Ugh," Jaehyo informs him, and then, as an afterthought, "ugh."
The blonde shrugs. “What do you want for free?”
"I don’t want free. I want my cinnamon latte, not Kyung's crappy failed experiments.”
Yukwon laughs. "You know, Jiho drank, like, six of those last night."
"Jiho would drink gasoline if it'd help him work longer," Jaehyo deadpans.
Yukwon's eyes curve into amused crescent moons. "Surely you're not implying that Jiho is some kind of overachieving, workaholic freak," he says, glancing over towards the kitchen where the chef in question is simultaneously barking orders and dispatching a bok choy with an intimidatingly large santoku knife. On some sixth sense, he chooses that exact moment to look up, locking eyes with Jaehyo for a split second before waving Minhyuk over. He mouths something to him, pointing the knife in Jaehyo's direction. Minhyuk nods and comes jogging over.
"Dude, Jiho says you gotta move. We need the table."
"But I'm working," Jaehyo whines. "I need the inspiration."
Minhyuk glances at his laptop screen, arching an unimpressed eyebrow. "Hyo, you finished your salad three hours ago and I know you didn't pay for that drink. Unless you're gonna order something, move." He turns far more apologetically to Yukwon. "Babe, sorry to cut your break short, but we need you on three and four."
"'S okay," Yukwon smiles. He stretches as he stands, grabbing his apron and tying it back on with practiced flourish. "Good luck," he says to Jaehyo, giving him an encouraging little pat on the head.
"Thanks," Jaehyo grumbles, gathering up his laptop, backpack, and Kyung's abomination of a coffee. He shuffles over to the corner of the bar, setting his things down with a defeated sigh. His word doc is painfully empty, save for today's progress, which basically amounted to titling it "ASDFKSJFASKL;;SDF."
Kyung leans over the bar to peek at his screen. "Nice. Very professional."
"Shut up."
WHALE PYO (1:02 AM) : hows ur article goin
hyolzzang (1:05 AM) : don't. ask.
WHALE PYO (1:05 AM) : ????? ok
hyolzzang (1:06 AM) : i'm so fucked. sooooooooo fucked. i've been trying to work on it in between classes and stuff, but it's fucking midterms week so of course NOW all my students suddenly decide they need help. i've had to add extra office hours THREE TIMES already because these little shits never show up to discussion, or take notes on the things they're supposed to.
hyolzzang (1:06 AM) : I'M ONE WEEK AWAY FROM EMBARRASSING MYSELF IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE LITERARY FOOD COMMUNITY, I HAVE ESSAYS TO GRADE, I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS BULLSHIT, I HOPE THEY ALL FUCKING FAIL.
WHALE PYO (1:06 AM) : lol
hyolzzang (1:06 AM) : it's not funny asshole.
WHALE PYO (1:07 AM) : sorry :C
WHALE PYO (1:09 AM) : what kind of research u doin
hyolzzang (1:09 AM) : ?
WHALE PYO (1:09) : for ur article like ur basically writing an essay rite
WHALE PYO (1:10 AM) : so if ur supposed to be writing about comfort food why dont u go eat some comfort food idk
WHALE PYO (1:10 AM) : i guess thats pretty obvious tho maybe ur already doin that
hyolzzang (1:12 AM) : .........that's. a really good idea actually.
WHALE PYO (1:12 AM) : LOL ur welcome
WHALE PYO (1:13 AM) : u wanna help me wit my essay as thx :D
hyolzzang (1:14 AM) : what's it on?
WHALE PYO (1:14 AM) : um hold on
WHALE PYO (1:14 AM) : "An analysis of the effects of ethnocentrism on 17th century French literature."
hyolzzang (1:15 AM) : pass.
"Jihoon is an idiot," Jaehyo announces, collapsing on top of the bar in a gangly heap.
"Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that you're about to tell me something where, in fact, you're the one that's the idiot," Kyung says absently, wiping down the counter space around Jaehyo's body. It's long after closing and most everyone else has gone home for the night, save for the two of them and Jiho.
Jaehyo ignores him. "I spent the last three days eating every comfort food at every place I could go to - mac and cheese, apple pie, blueberry pancakes, crappy Chinese takeout, half a pizza, a lobster roll, a salted caramel mocha frappuccino, those little powdered sugar donuts that taste like cake, pot roast and mashed potatoes, chicken and waffles..." He swallows back the sour taste filling his mouth at the memory and clutches his stomach, feeling it church rebelliously. "I gained seven pounds. Seven pounds in three days, and I'm pretty sure five of those were just from that southern place on Fremont."
"Uh," Kyung gives him a vaguely concerned once-over, "you look exactly the same. Actually, you look a little thinner than before."
"BECAUSE I LOST IT ALL AGAIN DUE TO STRESS!" He grabs at the sleeve of Kyung's perfectly pressed button down, eyes wild. "Kyung."
"Hyo." Kyung patiently attempts to uncurl the writer's fingers without breaking them, despite how tempting an option it is at the moment.
Jaehyo oozes higher up his arm. "You're a genius, right? Give me your brain."
"Hyo," Kyung informs him serenely. "I am going to slap you. Right in the face."
There's a muffled groan from the direction of the storage room sounds suspiciously like fuck, followed by what may or may not be a body rolling onto the floorboards. Jiho comes shuffling out a moment later with half-closed eyes and a wicked case of bed head, the t-shirt under his open chef's whites riding up as he scratches at his chest.
"Sup," he grunts, lumbering past on his way to the kitchen. He gives Jaehyo a quizzical look where he's sprawled all over the counter, before pressing a sleepy kiss to Kyung's eyeball and yawning on his face, earning him a shove for his presumably awful morning-slash-evening breath. "You guys hungry?"
"Hell yeah."
"No."
Kyung plants his free hand against Jaehyo's face and gives him a shove too, sending him tumbling off the bar with a yelp. "Jaehyo's hungry too," he says, moving over to the espresso machine to start a fresh batch.
From inside the fridge, Jiho gives a thumbs up.
"Hyo, stop crying and get off of the floor."
Fifteen minutes and one surprisingly detailed penis chocolate-drizzled into the foam of his latte later ("Jiho, your boyfriend is sexually harassing me." "Take it up with the manager." "Jiseok isn't even here." "Then Kyung's the manager.") Jiho sets oversized wok on the table with a dull clang.
Jaehyo perks up. "Oh, you made fried rice?" Jiho's fried rice is his favorite.
Jiho nods. "Since you've been freaking out so bad the past couple weeks. Dig in," he says, grabbing a bowl and shoveling himself a massive first helping that's more like three helpings, although Jaehyo isn't really surprised - in all likelihood it's Jiho's first meal of the day, since he rarely gives himself time to eat during work.
The corners of Jaehyo's mouth curl into an appreciative smile. He serves himself a more photogenic amount, then whips out his phone and crouches so that his line of sight is level with the table.
Kyung snorts. "Such a hipster."
"Your glasses are fake, therefore you're not allowed to talk to me about being a hipster," Jaehyo says, angling his phone to catch the frame of the window in the background.
Kyung grins and pushes the empty frames further up the bridge of his nose. "Yukwon says they make me look smarter."
"Kwonnie says a lot of things." The shutter sound click-clicks and Jaehyo brings the screen to his face to review his picture. Satisfied, he straightens up and proceeds to apply different filters. "Toaster or earlybird?"
"Nashville," Jiho chimes in around a mouthful of rice.
"Ew, no," Jaehyo sniffs. "Nashville is for cityscapes and white people selcas, it's the absolute worst for food. Nashville could make a five course meal cooked by Mario Batali look completely unappetizing."
"Chen Kenichi was the best Iron Chef," Kyung says derisively. He squirts enough sriacha into his rice to turn the entire bowl bright red.
"Uh, no," Jiho says, reaching for Kyung's Americano and draining it with large gulps. "Statistically speaking, the best Iron Chef was Hiroyuki Sakai."
Jaehyo rolls his eyes. "Now who's being hipster?" He settles on toaster and hits upload, double checking to make sure it posts properly before pocketing his phone and sitting down to eat. Fried rice isn't exactly review blog worthy, but Jiho made it for him and Jaehyo likes to keep an Instagram of his casual meals for his own sake. He picks up his spoon and takes a bite.
"Statistics don't count for everything," Kyung counters peevishly, squeezing a glop of sriacha into Jiho's bowl.
"Says the math major."
"My other major is business psychology, drop out."
"This is amazing," Jaehyo says.
Kyung and Jiho cease their bickering to turn, stare, and ask "what?", all in their boyfriend synchronization that Jaehyo would normally find both nauseating and mildly creepy. As it is, he's busy fumbling with the zipper on his backpack, face lit up with awe like he's never eaten food before in his life.
"Your fried rice. It's amazing," he repeats, dropping his laptop onto the table hard enough to make Kyung cringe. He opens the "ASDFKSJFASKL;;SDF" word doc excitedly. "What's in it?"
"Um, hoisin pork loin from yesterday's special, watercress and edamame from the salad, eggs, onion, some kkakdugi..." Jiho rubs the back of his neck, more than a little dumbfounded. "I dunno, soy sauce? It's just leftovers, man."
"It's perfect," Jaehyo whispers reverently, fingers flying over the keyboard. "I can do this. I can write about this." He pauses to sample another spoonful, eyes glistening with emotion as he savors the salty-sweetness of the pork, the tender bite of the edamame and the way the eggs have absorbed the flavor of the- sesame oil? Sesame oil, yes. Yes. He fixes the chef with an intense gaze.
"Jiho, I need a quote."
"'You can't mess up fried rice,' he told me over the inviting sizzle of the wok. 'The whole concept was built on the idea of being able to use whatever scraps you had laying around to make a full, delicious meal. It doesn't matter if your ingredients come from the garden or the frozen food aisle, if it's caviar or three-day old leftover spam; if you can eat it, you can put it in fried rice. There's no formula because fried rice is personal. It's tailor-made comfort food, a second chance for ingredients mixed with a little bit of heart.' Jaehyo, did Jiho actually say this?" Taeil asks skeptically from behind the shiny cover of the January issue of Saveur.
"I may have helped him, ah, cultivate his words into something a little more suited to the target demographic," Jaehyo hums. He scrolls through the latest comments on the online version before switching tabs to his blog, where his inbox continues to explode with messages. The number of subscribers has practically doubled in the last few days since the issue came out. "So, what do you think?"
"It's pretentious as fuck," Taeil proclaims, fanning through the rest of the pages disinterestedly before setting magazine down and reaching across the desk for Jaehyo's phone. "Way worse than that time your wore a turtleneck sweater in August. I'm sure your fan club is gonna love it."
"It was a half-zip," Jaehyo corrects him between self-satisfied sips of coffee.
"Sure it was," Taeil says. "Hey, log in and send me lives."
"Get out of my room."