#15 [EXO, D.O./KAI, D.O./SUHO] PT 1
Fandom: EXO
Title: Recipe for Disaster
Rating: PG-15
Pairing(s)/Focus: Kyungsoo/Kai, Kyungsoo/Suho
Length: 11,340w
Summary: Add a sprig of lies to a bowl of innocence. Watch it as it becomes corrupted. (best served chilled)
Warnings: None
Notes: Well I hope that this isn’t too out of point. And that it isn’t too strange or awkward because OMGOSH CHEESE AND AWKWARD TURTLES EVERYWHERE.
Remixee author: 921227
Title of work you remixed: the stepford wife
Link to work you remixed: http://think-december.livejournal.com/4820.html
It all started with a comment, three weeks before Joonmyun’s birthday, when they were walking down the street and checking out the Labour Day discounts.
“I think that kimchi spaghetti would taste nice,” Joonmyun had said, when they were walking past a glass display of assorted pasta dishes. Kyungsoo’s head snapped up and he stared hard at the glistening plates of fake noodles garnished with plastic herbs.
“What makes you think so?”
Joonmyun wound an arm around Kyungsoo’s waist. “Well, whatever it turns out to be, it still sounds nice, doesn’t it? Fusion food is pretty cool. Maybe we should give it a try next time, yeah?”
Kyungsoo shrugged and raised an eyebrow. Bizarre as it sounded, Kyungsoo knew that he had an idea of what he would be preparing for lunch three weeks from now.
♨♨
Perhaps it wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be. Kyungsoo slapped the limp pile of pasta with the back of the spatula in frustration. The dish just wasn’t responding well to his attempts, and the past few rounds were complete failures, with the kimchi turning dry or the meal being too watery. The smell of kimchi and tomato sauce clashed together in the air; Kyungsoo could feel both ingredients fighting for dominance on his taste buds.
“Why would they put up these kind of recipes if they don’t work?” Kyungsoo muttered under his breath, crumpling yet another online recipe into a loose ball and tossing it into the bin. “Did they even try cooking before they wrote these recipes?”
He really hadn’t wanted to buy a cookbook, since he didn’t expect to try his hand out with other fusion foods, but it seemed like he would have no other choice. Unless… unless he watched the cooking channel?
Still dressed in a soiled apron, Kyungsoo leaned against the counter and switched the mini-television set, which was balanced precariously opposite him, on. Japanese food, Chinese food - oh, that wanton noodles looked good - Western food… Kyungsoo continued his channel surfing spree, eyes glazing over with boredom.
It took a while before he finally settled on a channel. The chef was young. Real young, but with a rather mature face and… body. Kyungsoo didn’t know what it was that the chef was preparing, but he thought that it would help. And, it had nothing to do with how good the guy looked in a white collared shirt. Nothing at all.
By the end of the show, Kyungsoo had learnt five things. One: the chef’s name is Kim Jongin, and two: he was teaching the masses how to prepare spaghetti marinara. Three, four and five had something to do with how well Kim Jongin could pull off greasy winks and sexy smirks while being able to cook well at the same time.
But while Kyungsoo had learnt those five very valuable pieces of information - that he had stored away in his mind for future references - he still knew nothing on how to prepare a mean kimchi spaghetti. Perhaps it really was time to head to the bookstore and spend a bomb on cookbooks. After all, aren’t all cookbooks a complete rip-off?
And so, Kyungsoo found himself in the fusion food section of the bookstore, mindlessly flipping through books filled with pages of strange combinations. Kyungsoo was in the middle of glancing through a recipe that described the culinary delights of dubu jjigae with oriental herbal chicken when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a wall at the far end of the store with Kim Jongin’s face plastered all over it.
Kyungsoo frowned and shoved the volume back onto its shelf before heading towards the other end of the bookstore for a better look. Multiple posters were tacked to the walls, and flyers were piled neatly on a table to the side. Kyungsoo took a flyer from the stack and scanned it quickly.
“You a fan of Kim Jongin?”
Kyungsoo hadn’t noticed the man standing next to him and he quickly crumpled the flyer into a small ball and hid it in his pocket. He stared at the fairly tanned tall youngster standing next to him, cap hiding half of his face. Kyungsoo could see the corner of the stranger’s mouth quirked up in a smile.
“N-no,” he stuttered, backing away quickly from the stranger. The guy was standing too close to him for comfort. “I just wanted to see what’s up with all these posters. I mean, isn’t this a bit over the top for just a chef? He can’t be that big a celebrity, can he? I’d say that he’s going a little too over the top with the advertising.”
“Well, are you going? The meet’s tomorrow, after all.”
Kyungsoo scratched the back of his neck and frowned. “It’d be interesting to see how many people actually turn up to these kind of events. Plus, popular or not, I have a few questions that I think that he might be able to answer. After all, his cooking skills should be better than mine and I need help with a dish. What about you?”
The stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it over to Kyungsoo, the side with his information facing down so all Kyungsoo could see was the pristine white backing of the card. “I’ll see you there tomorrow, then.” The moment Kyungsoo took the card from him, the tall man turned on his heel and strode down the aisle, joining a middle-aged man before leaving the bookstore.
Kyungsoo really wanted to die when he flipped the card over and read the words ‘Kim Jongin’ printed neatly at the top.
♨♨
He told himself that he was here for the recipes, and because it would be rude not to show up after he had told the chef himself that he would be coming.
At least, that was what he repeated in his head, as he clutched a new copy of Kim Jongin’s cookbook on western foods and stood in line, waiting for his turn to approach the charismatic grease ball.
Before he knew it, he had begun to believe it, too, and all thoughts of the chef in tight-fitting clothing had flown out of his head. Well, until he saw said chef in skinny jeans and form-fitting office shirts. He unknowingly stared hard at the tanned youngster and only looked away when Kim Jongin returned the gaze and even threw in a knowing wink.
For the first time ever, Kyungsoo thanked God for his height. It meant that he could hide behind the tall girl in front of him and keep him out of Kim Jongin’s line of sight. Or, at least until it was his turn to get his book signed, which Kyungsoo thought came a little too fast.
“What’s your name?”
Kyungsoo told him, and watched as Kim Jongin scrawled out his name on the front page of the cookbook. “Do you have anything to ask me?” He asked, eyes twinkling mischievously at the flustered Kyungsoo.
Kyungsoo replied rather intelligently by snatching the book out of Kim Jongin’s hands and stammering a quick ‘no’ before running away. He flushed an interesting shade of magenta when he heard the boy’s boisterous laughter filling the air, and ignored the stares that the other people in the queue gave him.
It was when he was at home when he received a call that thoroughly freaked him out.
“Hello, Kyungsoo? This is Kim Jongin,” the voice had said the minute he had picked up the phone. Kyungsoo dropped the headset twice and tripped over the extension cord before answering.
“What are you?” Kyungsoo practically screamed into the phone. “Leave me alone you stalker!” He immediately hung up and buried his head in his hands, ignoring the sounds of Joonmyun padding out of their bedroom.
“Something wrong?” Joonmyun asked, kissing Kyungsoo on the forehead.
“No,” Kyungsoo groaned, and Joonmyun chuckled, trailing kisses down Kyungsoo’s neck.
He smiled as Kyungsoo’s breathing quickened. “Just everything in life is wrong, isn’t it?” They shifted, and Joonmyun lay atop of Kyungsoo, sucking gently at the younger man’s lower lip.
“Something like that,” Kyungsoo replied between kisses.
They were quiet for the next few minutes, with only small sighs of satisfaction breaking the silence. It was also when, in those next few minutes, that the phone rang once more, eliciting a loud curse from Kyungsoo. Joonmyun picked it up and put it on speaker before continuing to snake a hand down the waistband of Kyungsoo’s jeans.
“So you never asked me the question,” came Kim Jongin’s voice, the man picking up from where they had left off, as if Kyungsoo had never hung up on him.
“I don’t give a fuck, honestly,” Kyungsoo gasped out, eyes rolling into the back of his head while Joonmyun gave him an evil grin.
There was no reply for a while, and Kyungsoo tried his best to stay quiet while Joonmyun tried his best to make him cry out. “You don’t give a fuck?” Kim Jongin finally said, the smile apparent in his voice. “More like, you’re having a good fuck right now.”
Joonmyun howled with laughter, and Kyungsoo slammed the receiver back down onto the set, hanging up on Kim Jongin effectively for the second time in a row.
“You’re evil,” he told Joonmyun, who only smiled back innocently and increased the intensity of his ministrations, chasing all thoughts of what had happened out of Kyungsoo’s mind as he clung tightly to the older man in a tangle of limbs.
♨♨
Kyungsoo was convinced that Kim Jongin was stalking him when he received the seventh call in a matter of two days. There was something about having a total - and completely hot - stranger listening to Joonmyun fucking him that left Kyungsoo avoiding all thoughts, mentions, and those fucking creepy calls like the plague.
And it was also, on the ninth call, that Joonmyun picked up the phone, ignoring Kyungsoo’s stares of disbelief that were tinged with betrayal.
“Oh sure, he’d love to!” Joonmyun replied in a sickeningly happy tone of voice that made Kyungsoo think that he enjoyed torturing Kyungsoo a little too much. He jumped up from his seat on the couch and clawed desperately at the phone in Joonmyun’s hands, but was only handed the receiver without any resistance. Kyungsoo stared at it like it was a time bomb with only 30 seconds left on the clock. He slowly brought it to his ears and said a tentative ‘hello?’ only to be greeted by a flat beeping tone.
Kyungsoo cracked the extension cord in the air, yanking it out of the phone and chasing the idiot around the house. “What did you agree to?” Kyungsoo demanded the moment he had caught up, waving the extension cord in a threatening manner.
“Chill,” Joonmyun said, eyeing the cord in Kyungsoo’s hands. “It’s nothing to be strangled over.” Kyungsoo slowly lowered his hands to his sides, trusting that Joonmyun wouldn’t have done anything too stupid. “All I did was to agree for you to appear on one of his shows as a guest.”
Kyungsoo was wrong. Joonmyun really was stupid, he thought, as he whipped the idiot with the cable.
♨♨
“This is a big mistake. I can’t cook for nuts,” Kyungsoo lied blatantly, trying to explain to the producer why he shouldn’t, wouldn’t and couldn’t be on the show.
The middle-aged man, whom Kyungsoo recognized as the person with Kim Jongin in the bookstore on the day he got tricked, smiled widely. He had introduced himself as Kim Jongin’s ‘irreplaceable manager’ and now he looked down at Kyungsoo with a gaze that looked much like how a lion would look at a lamb. “Oh, that’s quite all right,” he countered. “After all, it’s Jongin who’s doing the teaching, not you. You’re just there to assist him and act like you’ve been enlightened.”
He gave Kyungsoo a light push, and somehow, Kyungsoo got caught up in a whirlwind of make-up artists, hairstylists and scriptwriters, and got whisked away to a dressing room against his will.
Great. So not only will he be on television with a person who he can’t even look in the eye. He still has to act like a dumbass.
“How’re things?” Kyungsoo looked up from where he was seated, and immediately was scolded by the make-up artist who ended up getting a streak of eyeliner from Kyungsoo’s lower lash line to his jaw. He glared at Jongin’s reflection in the mirror and scowled.
“Everything’s just fine and dandy, thank you very much,” he sniffed. “I mean, isn’t it normal to have someone who you don’t even know call you and ask you to star in a television show where you have to act like a complete idiot? Plus, I don’t know how you got my number. But just in case you didn’t realise, it’s plain creepy to do things like call complete strangers when they didn’t give you their number.”
“Oh yeah, it’s pretty normal, isn’t it? It happens all the time in showbiz,” Jongin laughed, lifting himself to sit on a crate in a corner of the room so Kyungsoo couldn’t see him. “Kidding, you idiot,” he finally said, when Kyungsoo gaped at him with a scandalized expression, “I got it from the form that you filled out when you first joined the autograph queue. Besides, it’s not like you’re not kinky yourself. Who answers the phone during sex?”
Kyungsoo flushed a bright red to the roots of his hair, and the make-up artist floundered around a little, wondering whether she had over-applied the blusher before realizing that it was embarrassment and not rouge that coloured his cheeks. “It was Joonmyun,” he muttered under his breath, “it was all Joonmyun.”
Jongin shrugged and made a small sound in the back of his throat that seemed to be a mix of an uncaring grunt and an amused chortle. Kyungsoo wondered how he did that. Every time he tried, he ended up sounding like a frog with a sore throat.
Before he knew it, he was standing behind the shiny steel countertop, in front of an intimidating number of cameras and beside a confident Kim Jongin that positively reeked of beauty products and charisma.
Kyungsoo tried to wave away said charisma, tried to clear the cloud of bad judgment that clouded his mind and made him think that Jongin was handsome despite everything that had happened. Jongin wasn’t handsome; he wasn’t a gentleman. Jongin was hot, he was sexy, and he was a complete bastard for making Kyungsoo feel so damn uncomfortable about everything.
Somehow, the presence of cameras - and mostly Jongin, really - threw Kyungsoo off balance and he seemed to be unable to concentrate even on the most simple of tasks. He found himself cursing when he couldn’t chop some vegetables without his motions being shaky. His hands were much like his legs. They both went wobbly with anger every time Jongin looked down at him with an expression that seemed both condescending and amused at the same time. He flinched a little when Jongin leaned in a little too close for comfort, directing him on how to make roasted zucchini and grilled lamb.
Kyungsoo really couldn’t care less about zucchini and adorable animals being turned into meals. He really just wanted for it to be over, especially whenever Jongin rubbed against him in ways that made him thankful that the counter hid his lower body from the cameras.
At the most inconvenient times, Joonmyun would pop into his mind, and Kyungsoo would scoot a little further away from Jongin. Far away enough not to be in full body contact, but not enough to be completely separated from the dark-skinned youth.
During the shoot, Kyungsoo was aware of the grins that Jongin sent his way. While it would have looked like nothing but a friendly chef teaching his guest how to cook from the viewpoint of other people, there was something about the way that Jongin moved a little too close and the way his lip curled back a little too much that made his smile seem almost predatory. A leer neatly wrapped behind an innocent quirk of the lips.
It also made Kyungsoo want to drop everything, including the knife, on the floor and kiss Jongin’s pouty lips right there and the-
Kimchi spaghetti! Kyungsoo thought, blinking hard against the studio lights and staring into the black holes that were the camera lenses. Kimchi spaghetti and Joonmyun. Kimchi spaghetti and Joonmyun.
The corners of Jongin’s mouth only stretched higher as Kyungsoo shuffled quickly away from him the moment the director called for the end of the shoot.
“You’re a terrible cook.” Jongin commented, his arms folded across his chest in a casual manner, and he watched as a muscle in Kyungsoo’s jaw twitched.
“Am not,” Kyungsoo shot back almost immediately. “It’s nothing. Normally, I can cook pretty well. It’s just that something happened today and I’m not quite myself.” He kept his back turned to Jongin, inhaling and exhaling quickly. He couldn’t wait to get home and have a cold shower to wash away the smell of onions, pepper and arousal.
He hadn’t even noticed when Jongin had approached him silently from behind until a strong arm circled his waist. Kyungsoo stared down blankly at the arm around his middle, and he couldn’t help comparing the gorgeous brown to the pale milky skin of Joonmyun’s thin arms. “I could help with that. Help you relax, I mean.” Jongin whispered into Kyungsoo’s ear, which snapped the older man out of his daze.
He jabbed his elbow into Jongin’s side, and made the chef double over, more surprise than pain on his face.
“I’m attached,” he said plainly, staring down at Jongin, who was still clutching his belly in disbelief.
Jongin straightened back up, right arm lightly massaging the spot on his middle. “Not for long,” he grumbled. “Not with your current standard of cooking.”
Kyungsoo bristled and fixed a hard stare on Jongin, willing himself to look the man in the eye. “You don’t even know what I can do. It’s because of the cameras, and because I didn’t want you to look stupid when your guest can cook better than you.”
“Impossible.”
“Highly possible,” Kyungsoo countered.
Jongin stuck his lower jaw out, and for a moment, he looked nothing like the charismatic man that Kyungsoo knew and more like an obstinate child. “Than prove it.”
“Fine, I will,” Kyungsoo immediately blurted without thinking. “Five-thirty PM, two days from now. My place. I’ll cook, you’ll eat. And you’ll be sorry.”
A slow smile crept onto Jongin’s face, and Kyungsoo’s skin began to prickle. He had just basically invited the guy to his house. And Joonmyun might be there!
“I’ll get your address from the form,” he told Kyungsoo over his shoulder as he walked to his dressing room.
Fuck.
♨♨
Joonmyun paused, turning around slowly to stare at Kyungsoo, who immediately hid behind a magazine. “Is there a reason why you’re watching me like a hawk today?”
“No, no, none at all,” Kyungsoo murmured, “just that you made me go on a show and look like an idiot in front of millions of people and now I have to battle against an award-winning chef who I swear is a complete pervert.”
Joonmyun slung a bag onto his shoulders and adjusted his collar. “Sorry, what were you saying? Didn’t quite catch that.”
“Oh, erm… Were you going to go out?” Kyungsoo asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. Saturdays were normally Joonmyun’s stay-in days, where the older man indulged in his literary interests like the old man he is inside. It was strange that he was even walking around the house instead of curled up on the couch with one of his thick books on… colons.
“Why colons?” Kyungsoo had asked one day, and Joonmyun had looked at him and said, in complete seriousness, that colons were a sensitive and important part of the body that were often neglected. Kyungsoo never asked anything about that afterwards. He would much rather have his Saturdays free to read magazines and watch television shows than be educated on the many merits of the large intestine.
“Yeah,” Joonmyun sighed, “I ran out of reading material, so I’m going to head down to the city to buy some more books.” He made a face and turned back to the table to search for his keys. Even though there were many bookstores nearby, Joonmyun simply would not settle for a small shop and preferred the selection in large establishments. Kyungsoo couldn’t figure out the difference in variety, though. There were just so many authors willing to dedicate their life works to colons.
It didn’t matter this time, though, not when Jongin was an hour late. At least maybe once God was showering him with luck. Maybe Joonmyun would be out of the house befor-
Joonmyun frowned when the doorbell rang. “Did you invite someone over?”
Oh, fuck.
“Well,” Kyungsoo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying his best to explain the situation as the doorbell rang repeatedly - he would have to educate the brat outside that there is actually a period of time between when the doorbell rings and when the door actually opens. Not that he’d know. After all, Kyungsoo got the feeling that he had never had to wait for anyone before. After a while, he gave up trying to explain and just walked to the front door.
“Oh, how punctual,” Kyungsoo intoned flatly the moment he had opened the door. Jongin immediately squeezed past him and headed for the couch, ignoring Joonmyun’s puzzled expression.
Kyungsoo walked stiffly into the room and gestured to the young man sprawled on the couch. “Joonmyun, meet Mr. Arse Jongin,” he continued despite the indignant ‘hey!’ that came accompanied with Jongin’s glare. “Jongin, Joonmyun.”
“Nice to meet you,” Joonmyun extended a hand, which Jongin lazily shook. Kyungsoo watched as Joonmyun’s eyebrows knitted together and he stared disapprovingly at the rude man on their couch. “I’ll be back later on,” he turned to Kyungsoo and gave him a light peck, “don't cook for me.”
Kyungsoo waved a quick goodbye as Joonmyun left the house, feeling a little too aware of the eyes burning holes into the back of his shirt.
“Sweet,” Jongin snorted, turning back to the television that he had switched on.
Kyungsoo made a move to head to the kitchen, then stopped and turned back. “Aren’t you going to watch me cook?”
He waited as Jongin’s eyes swiveled up to stare at him. It was the first time Kyungsoo had seen the younger man’s eyes so blank and unseeing. “No,” he mumbled, turning back to the moving images onscreen. “I just have to taste it, that’s all.”
Grumbling slightly under his breath to hide his disappointment, Kyungsoo walked to kitchen, deliberately banging the pots and pans as loudly as he could, but Jongin still stayed fixed to the couch.
Finally, he gave up and stared around the shiny kitchen. He’d been so preoccupied with how to keep Joonmyun and Jongin apart that he had completely forgotten to think about what to cook. He had at least ruled out all western dishes. That was a recipe for disaster, like dancing spasmodically in front of a professional ballerina and calling it a work of art.
Korean dishes seemed a tad too dull, too, but it really was the only thing that Kyungsoo could prepare well. In the end, an hour later, he found himself preparing black bean noodles with kimchi, stirring the sauce absentmindedly conflicting thoughts flitted through his head. Most of them were centered on Joonmyun, and getting rid of Jongin. But there was the part of his mind that whispered to Kyungsoo, devising ways to keep Joonmyun in the dark.
A burning smell wafted in the air, and Kyungsoo focused on the sauce that he had been repeatedly stirring and let out a groan. The sauce was charred through and through, and some of the black beans stuck to the sides of the pot. He ended up pouring away the sauce and checking on the noodles, which to his dismay, had been overcooked as well.
He stared dismally at the side of kimchi and opened the cabinet, hoping for another packet of noodles. He seemed to be out of luck that day, though, and ended up boiling a packet of spaghetti.
With nothing but kimchi left - he really had to stock up on their supplies, Kyungsoo decided - he had no choice but to prepare the one dish that he just couldn’t get right. Kimchi spaghetti.
Kyungsoo cringed a little when Jongin stabbed the red pile suspiciously with the silver cutlery. He winced when Jongin shoveled the noodles into his mouth and started to chew, but frowned when the chef apparently showed no interest in commenting on the food by turning to watch a cartoon of a cat chasing a mouse on television. His gaze slid downwards to focus on lips glistening with kimchi sauce, puckering repeatedly as the younger male chewed.
“You’ve been with him for long?” Jongin asked, and Kyungsoo immediately looked away and then to where Jongin’s gaze had alighted on. A framed picture of Joonmyun and him standing by a metal fence with multiple lockets hanging onto the metal grilles stared back at him. They both had their arms around each other, and looked a lot younger in the photo. Kyungsoo was pretty sure that if it had been unprotected, the edges would have been faded and yellowed from age.
Kyungsoo swallowed hard and gulped down some water, hoping to relieve the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “We’ve been together for about four years now.”
“Wow,” Jongin stared hard at the picture. “The both of you matured a lot since your teenage years. Well, you did, he didn’t, not really.”
Kyungsoo stabbed a loose leaf of cabbage kimchi and stuffed it into his mouth, washing down his guilt with a side of self-hatred and foreign spices.
Jongin shifted in his seat so that he was snuggled against Kyungsoo, whose eyes widened to sizes that he never knew possible, and he stiffened in his seat.
“What’s wrong?” Jongin asked, playing with the fingers on Kyungsoo’s right hand. Jongin smoothed his fingertips over Kyungsoo’s knuckles, and he found himself stroking the back of Jongin’s brown hand; pale biscotti against a warm café latte. Jongin let out a soft sigh and leaned heavily against the older man, back curving against Kyungsoo’s shoulder.
At that moment, Kyungsoo wished that he had never met Joonmyun, had never met the one man who had brought so much laughter and joy into his life for the past few years. Because at that moment, he was almost certain that he could colour his world with vibrant rainbows and unknown shades that would open his eyes and live anew, if he could stay with this man beside him.
Yet, almost immediately, he was seized by regret and guilt that stuck to him like odour to a dumpster. How could he have thought of that? How could he have even contemplated, even if it were for that short a moment, to throw everything away that he had for this one person that he had just met a few days ago? He closed his knees and breathed in deeply, his thumb stilling against the back of Jongin’s hand, causing the man leaning against him to twist around and look at him inquisitively.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Kyungsoo finally said, pushing Jongin gently but firmly off of his shoulder and angling himself away from the other, trying hard to ignore the questioning stares that were sent his way.
Jongin looked as if he wanted to say something, but ended up turning back to the television, the lighthearted cartoon long replaced by an action movie that clearly held no interest for the both of them. Kyungsoo didn’t get up from his seat when Jongin was ready to leave. He only pointed at the key on the table and watched as Jongin let himself out of the house, pocketing the key instead of returning it.
Joonmyun came home to a dark house, and two cold plates of kimchi spaghetti, sauce congealing over the starchy strands.
♨♨
Sometimes, Kyungsoo doesn’t even understand why he puts up with Jongin’s shit. He doesn’t understand why he keeps on agreeing to meet up with the idiot who doesn’t know how to shut up and spews inappropriate opinions left, right and center.
So a few days after the kimchi spaghetti incident, Do Kyungsoo finds himself sitting outside a museum - a ramyun museum, of all things - waiting for the creeper to show up.
And show up he does, thirty minutes late and with a wide grin on his face dazzles Kyungsoo more than a little and sends his heart aflutter. Jongin strides up the marble staircase two steps at a time, long legs effortlessly covering the distance between them in a matter of seconds.
And all of a sudden, Kyungsoo is finding Jongin standing too close to him, chests almost touching. He stares up at him with huge eyes, and Jongin winks like the grease ball that he is, fingers ghosting up the length of Kyungsoo’s arm and finally gripping the shorter man’s shoulder.
“Been waiting long?” He asked, holding up the tickets before Kyungsoo’s eyes and spinning him around to face the building before dragging him through the ornate doors of the snobbish ramyun museum.
Kyungsoo has never, in his life, thought that he’d be impressed or even interested by a freaking ramyun museum. Art pieces, yes, astronomy, yes. Modern art? Eh… maybe. But ramyun? No. Fucking. Way.
Hasn’t everyone eaten ramyun at least once in their life? I bet you have. Don’t say you haven’t, you fucking liar. What is there to be impressive about instant ramyun in red cardboard cups coated with wax and all the unhealthy things in the world?
Yet, the way that Jongin acted in the museum somehow sparked a little interest in Kyungsoo. Somehow.
(Well, it wasn’t really the ramyun that he was interested in. It was the way the normally charismatic Jongin had turned into a little kid, tugging at Kyungsoo’s sleeve, eyes sparkling and smile genuine.)
“To be honest, I never liked cooking. I only came here because I had free tickets. And cause it looked cool.” Jongin said later on, when they were perched precariously on a ledge licking ramyun flavoured ice cream - yes, that’s right. Ramyun flavoured ice cream - from a street vendor nearby. There were the weirdest flavours ever; an entire array with flavours ranging from cabbage to saccharine sweet bubblegum that had a chewy texture. They chose the ramyun flavoured ones because, well, it seemed fitting. (No duh, ramyun museum anyone?)
Kyungsoo looked at him like he was crazy. No, he looked at him more like Jongin had donned a dress and had slathered hot pink lipstick all over his face. “But you’re a western chef. With your own show. And cookbooks. And freaking fans queuing up down the block to get your fancy-ass signature and to shake your hand.”
Jongin licked his ice cream cone absentmindedly. “It had to be done. The parents wanted me to continue the generations of genius chefs that had been in the family. The fact that I’m not as good as they wish is a disappointment already. I guess that’s why they kicked me out of the house. There’s no way they would have ever let me be what I wanted to be. That’s why I never commented on the kimchi spaghetti. I cannot properly gauge its standard. I’m a phony chef, someone who’s taught behind the scenes to replicate someone else’s techniques.”
He scrunched his nose when a drop of ramyun ice cream trickled down the cone and onto his hand. “Ugh, gross,” he said, wiping the cream onto Kyungsoo’s cheek, who jerked away in surprise.
“Jongin!” Kyungsoo began to scold, but stopped when he saw the vacant look in Jongin’s eyes. It disappeared quickly enough, though, when he looked up and fixed Kyungsoo with his trademark smirk, all signs of longing gone.
“Finish your ice cream, it’s dripping all over the place. It’s gonna get on my shoes.” Jongin complained, gesturing at Kyungsoo’s soggy cone.
“You’re the one who has been wiping ice cream on my face!” Kyungsoo gasped indignantly, but quieted down quickly when a harsh bark of laughter escaped Jongin.
He watched as Jongin laughed loudly, a little too loudly, and watched as his eyes stayed flat.
It was the first time that Kyungsoo felt that Jongin wasn’t as confident as he always seemed to be. Maybe, just maybe, he needed to be protected too. And when it came to it, Kyungsoo wanted to be the one who would be there for him.
♨♨
Kyungsoo was confused. Confused by how, after they had left the ramyun museum, they had gone on to bar after bar. Confused by how, after many rounds of drinks that he had worriedly watched Jongin down, he had made the decision to take Jongin home. Confused by how, now that he was ready to leave, Jongin had reached out, fingers catching on his sleeve, asking him to stay for the night.
“But, Joonmyun,” Kyungsoo had muttered, and he had noticed the corners of Jongin’s lips dragging downwards in a heart breaking manner.
Kyungsoo stood staring at the boy splayed on the couch in front of him. The boy, weighed down by his parents’ expectations. This selfless boy who would not go fight for his dream in order to keep his parents happy. This selfless boy, who would not insist that Kyungsoo stay because he’s worried about how he would have to explain to Joonmyun. This selfless boy, who would rather hurt than watch anyone else get hurt.
And it was in that state of mind that he found himself leaning forward and kissing the corners of Jongin’s mouth until they would ease and arch upwards, until a little part of Jongin’s heart didn’t feel abandoned.
♨♨
He didn’t know what had driven him to stay over that day, to fall asleep on the couch in the living room after he had managed to drag a drunk Jongin to his bedroom. Didn’t know what had made him lie to Joonmyun when asked about it a day later.
Went out of town to meet an old friend from high school, he had explained, eyes shifty and fingers dancing desperately on the countertop.
He could tell that Joonmyun hadn’t really believed his story. He wasn’t surprised. Kyungsoo had never really been the best liar, had never been able to spin stories and hide his emotions. Had never been able to stay strong and resolute in his decisions, unlike how Jongin had managed to bottle up his bitterness for years.
One consequence of Kyungsoo’s actions was how Jongin sought him out day after day. He seemed to have gotten a little happier; Kyungsoo had noticed that from the boy’s springy gait and the way his eyes lit up whenever he smiled. Or more like, whenever Kyungsoo was around.
Jongin had dreams that lay buried within him. Dreams covered with dust and cobwebs, but still there nevertheless. Kyungsoo saw that when Jongin danced to a backing track in a room in his house that had been converted into a dance studio.
He had noticed how the pristine kitchen stayed pristine - left untouched and cold. The only personal touch that could be seen would have to be the pink kitchen towels that had appeared in a corner of the cabinet. Even so, it wasn’t even Jongin’s own idea. Kyungsoo had brought one roll from his own house when he had spilt a drink on the floor and had found nothing to clean it up with.
“How do you even clean up the place after cooking?” Kyungsoo asked in exasperation, rubbing at the stain with fragile, delicate 2 ply facial cottons. There should be grease caking the walls if he never cleaned up after cooking.
“I don’t actually cook,” Jongin replied sheepishly. He opened the refrigerator and gestured at the disposable utensils tossed haphazardly on the dining table. Kyungsoo stared at the numerous boxes of microwaveable dinners in the freezer and shook his head, muttering something about spoilt rich kids while sneaking concerned glances out of the corner of his eye.
Kyungsoo stood up and stretched, then sighed. “Well, you might as well learn to make some food. Just in case you decide to eat healthy for once.”
Jongin screwed up his nose for a moment and in a gesture that Kyungsoo found absolutely adorable, he blinked rapidly and pursed his lips. “What’s the point?”
“Your health is the point,” Kyungsoo shot back, opening several cabinets and staring at the empty spaces in disbelief. He ignored Jongin’s loud sighs and began to complain about the general lack of food in the kitchen. “We’re heading to the supermarket,” he announced, shoving his wallet into his pocket and yanking Jongin along by the wrist as he walked with quick steps out of the house.
For someone with such short legs, Kyungsoo walked surprisingly fast, and Jongin found himself stumbling over his own long lean legs as he was pulled along behind by the shorter man.
Several passersby shot them curious glances but Kyungsoo ignored them, and before long, they were standing at the pasta aisle in the gourmet supermarket nearby. Jongin shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels while Kyungsoo browsed through the racks of stiff noodles to search for a packet of angel hair pasta.
“Can we go now?” Jongin whined for the hundredth time, and Kyungsoo shot him a hard look.
“We barely got here,” he replied curtly. “Stop trying to rush me. What kind of chef can’t cook, anyway?”
He immediately regretted saying those words when he saw Jongin’s face fall. The younger slouched a little more and turned his face from Kyungsoo, but it didn’t hide the hurt frown that had settled over his features.
“Hey,” Kyungsoo said softly, resting a hand on Jongin’s arm. “I was just joking, yeah? Don’t take it to heart.”
“Yeah I kind of knew that,” Jongin replied, laughing weakly in a manner that made Kyungsoo’s heart ache. He abandoned his search and grabbed the first pack on the shelf, pulling Jongin behind him to counter, and finally all the way back to the apartment.
By the time they had reached the apartment, Kyungsoo could see the frown beginning to ease from Jongin’s face, but its shadow was still there, and he mentally berated himself for being insensitive.
“Well,” Kyungsoo said, hands on his hips, “if you’re not going to cook for yourself, you’ll at least allow me to cook for you, right? I’ll make kimchi spaghetti for you, okay?”
“Sure,” Jongin smiled, unexplained sadness colouring his eyes. “I love kimchi spaghetti.”
Kyungsoo was determined to make Jongin the best plate of kimchi spaghetti that he has ever tasted. He ripped open the packet and dumped its contents into a small pot of boiling water, watching as the noodles slowly sank to the bottom.
When he was in the midst of testing the pasta’s texture, Jongin walked into the kitchen and did a double take. “What,” he asked, eyes wider than Kyungsoo has ever seen. “In the name of Gordon Ramsay are you doing?”
Kyungsoo paused, his right arm raised high up over his head with alphabet pasta pinched between his index finger and thumb. “Testing the texture,” he replied, casually tossing the pasta at Jongin’s fridge. The letter ‘W’ bounced right off the shiny exterior and Kyungsoo turned back to the pot, stirring the noodles. “Looks like it needs to soak a little longer,” he muttered under his breath as Jongin shook his head at the stiff pasta sitting on the floor.
Within minutes, Kyungsoo was aware of Jongin standing behind him, staring over his shoulder at the pot of sauce. “I think it’s boiling over,” he commented, pointing at the sauce, which was, in actual fact, smoking in a rather alarming manner.
“No!” Kyungsoo wailed, pulling the pot off the stove and placing it at the side. “Stupid high-powered stoves,” he grumbled, and Jongin took the pot from him. He took the ladle and sipped the sauce, and immediately opened his mouth in panic and fanned his tongue.
“Ittttt burnsssssss!” Jongin cried, flailing around as the hot sauce proceeded to smother his taste buds like molten lava.
“Of course it burns!” Kyungsoo hit Jongin over the head with a clean wooden ladle, before handing him a cup of water.
Jongin whimpered softly before sipping slowly from the porcelain cup with floral patterns on it. “I can’t feel my tongue now.”
“And this is the suave Kim Jongin that has girls swooning over him left, right, center.” Kyungsoo rolled his eyes.
After another test of texture in which Kyungsoo whipped a letter ‘M’ at the fridge - and it stuck! - Jongin helped to mix the sauce into the noodles. Kyungsoo saw some form of the chef that everyone saw on television when Jongin stirred the sauce in with expert flicks of the wrist.
“I learnt this a few months back when we started a series on pasta dishes,” Jongin informed him happily. And at that moment, Kyungsoo saw the young, innocent boy who tried so hard for other people. People who didn’t even appreciate his efforts.
They sat down at the table, with Jongin prodding at the small lump of kimchi arranged neatly on the pile of alphabet noodles. “It looks so different from what you made the last time,” he said in wonder. “It’s like a completely different dish. It even tastes like kimchi this time.”
“You can’t even taste anything,” Kyungsoo said, eyebrows raised. “You practically killed your tongue just now.”
“But I can imagine how it tastes like,” Jongin closed his eyes. “It tastes like kimchi and happiness and warmth.” He smiled. “I like homemade food.”
“It must have been nice, being able to eat all sorts of delicacies since young,” Kyungsoo quickly said, shoveling the kimchi pasta into his mouth and trying to hide his smile.
Jongin licked his lips and shook his head, eyebrows pulled into a small frown. “Sure, the food was amazing, but it didn’t taste like this. Those were made with perfection in mind.” He inhaled deeply and sat back, a smile of content on his face. “But this,” he looked up and at Kyungsoo. “This tastes of love.”
Kyungsoo bit his lip as elation made his heart swell. He was suddenly thankful for the way Jongin seemed to be too engrossed in the pasta for any more conversation. He didn’t think he could take it if Jongin continued to talk to him like this.
As Kyungsoo washed the plates at the sink, Jongin played with his hair, fingers threading through thin brown strands. Kyungsoo shivered when he felt Jongin’s fingers ghost down past his neck and rest on his shoulders before beginning to knead his muscles gently.
“I guess Joonmyun will have a great birthday.” Jongin said softly. Then, his hands slipped from Kyungsoo’s shoulders and he padded quietly out of the kitchen.
It took a while before Kyungsoo realised that he had never said anything to Jongin about Joonmyun’s birthday present.
Part 2
Title: Recipe for Disaster
Rating: PG-15
Pairing(s)/Focus: Kyungsoo/Kai, Kyungsoo/Suho
Length: 11,340w
Summary: Add a sprig of lies to a bowl of innocence. Watch it as it becomes corrupted. (best served chilled)
Warnings: None
Notes: Well I hope that this isn’t too out of point. And that it isn’t too strange or awkward because OMGOSH CHEESE AND AWKWARD TURTLES EVERYWHERE.
Remixee author: 921227
Title of work you remixed: the stepford wife
Link to work you remixed: http://think-december.livejournal.com/4820.html
It all started with a comment, three weeks before Joonmyun’s birthday, when they were walking down the street and checking out the Labour Day discounts.
“I think that kimchi spaghetti would taste nice,” Joonmyun had said, when they were walking past a glass display of assorted pasta dishes. Kyungsoo’s head snapped up and he stared hard at the glistening plates of fake noodles garnished with plastic herbs.
“What makes you think so?”
Joonmyun wound an arm around Kyungsoo’s waist. “Well, whatever it turns out to be, it still sounds nice, doesn’t it? Fusion food is pretty cool. Maybe we should give it a try next time, yeah?”
Kyungsoo shrugged and raised an eyebrow. Bizarre as it sounded, Kyungsoo knew that he had an idea of what he would be preparing for lunch three weeks from now.
♨♨
Perhaps it wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be. Kyungsoo slapped the limp pile of pasta with the back of the spatula in frustration. The dish just wasn’t responding well to his attempts, and the past few rounds were complete failures, with the kimchi turning dry or the meal being too watery. The smell of kimchi and tomato sauce clashed together in the air; Kyungsoo could feel both ingredients fighting for dominance on his taste buds.
“Why would they put up these kind of recipes if they don’t work?” Kyungsoo muttered under his breath, crumpling yet another online recipe into a loose ball and tossing it into the bin. “Did they even try cooking before they wrote these recipes?”
He really hadn’t wanted to buy a cookbook, since he didn’t expect to try his hand out with other fusion foods, but it seemed like he would have no other choice. Unless… unless he watched the cooking channel?
Still dressed in a soiled apron, Kyungsoo leaned against the counter and switched the mini-television set, which was balanced precariously opposite him, on. Japanese food, Chinese food - oh, that wanton noodles looked good - Western food… Kyungsoo continued his channel surfing spree, eyes glazing over with boredom.
It took a while before he finally settled on a channel. The chef was young. Real young, but with a rather mature face and… body. Kyungsoo didn’t know what it was that the chef was preparing, but he thought that it would help. And, it had nothing to do with how good the guy looked in a white collared shirt. Nothing at all.
By the end of the show, Kyungsoo had learnt five things. One: the chef’s name is Kim Jongin, and two: he was teaching the masses how to prepare spaghetti marinara. Three, four and five had something to do with how well Kim Jongin could pull off greasy winks and sexy smirks while being able to cook well at the same time.
But while Kyungsoo had learnt those five very valuable pieces of information - that he had stored away in his mind for future references - he still knew nothing on how to prepare a mean kimchi spaghetti. Perhaps it really was time to head to the bookstore and spend a bomb on cookbooks. After all, aren’t all cookbooks a complete rip-off?
And so, Kyungsoo found himself in the fusion food section of the bookstore, mindlessly flipping through books filled with pages of strange combinations. Kyungsoo was in the middle of glancing through a recipe that described the culinary delights of dubu jjigae with oriental herbal chicken when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a wall at the far end of the store with Kim Jongin’s face plastered all over it.
Kyungsoo frowned and shoved the volume back onto its shelf before heading towards the other end of the bookstore for a better look. Multiple posters were tacked to the walls, and flyers were piled neatly on a table to the side. Kyungsoo took a flyer from the stack and scanned it quickly.
“You a fan of Kim Jongin?”
Kyungsoo hadn’t noticed the man standing next to him and he quickly crumpled the flyer into a small ball and hid it in his pocket. He stared at the fairly tanned tall youngster standing next to him, cap hiding half of his face. Kyungsoo could see the corner of the stranger’s mouth quirked up in a smile.
“N-no,” he stuttered, backing away quickly from the stranger. The guy was standing too close to him for comfort. “I just wanted to see what’s up with all these posters. I mean, isn’t this a bit over the top for just a chef? He can’t be that big a celebrity, can he? I’d say that he’s going a little too over the top with the advertising.”
“Well, are you going? The meet’s tomorrow, after all.”
Kyungsoo scratched the back of his neck and frowned. “It’d be interesting to see how many people actually turn up to these kind of events. Plus, popular or not, I have a few questions that I think that he might be able to answer. After all, his cooking skills should be better than mine and I need help with a dish. What about you?”
The stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it over to Kyungsoo, the side with his information facing down so all Kyungsoo could see was the pristine white backing of the card. “I’ll see you there tomorrow, then.” The moment Kyungsoo took the card from him, the tall man turned on his heel and strode down the aisle, joining a middle-aged man before leaving the bookstore.
Kyungsoo really wanted to die when he flipped the card over and read the words ‘Kim Jongin’ printed neatly at the top.
♨♨
He told himself that he was here for the recipes, and because it would be rude not to show up after he had told the chef himself that he would be coming.
At least, that was what he repeated in his head, as he clutched a new copy of Kim Jongin’s cookbook on western foods and stood in line, waiting for his turn to approach the charismatic grease ball.
Before he knew it, he had begun to believe it, too, and all thoughts of the chef in tight-fitting clothing had flown out of his head. Well, until he saw said chef in skinny jeans and form-fitting office shirts. He unknowingly stared hard at the tanned youngster and only looked away when Kim Jongin returned the gaze and even threw in a knowing wink.
For the first time ever, Kyungsoo thanked God for his height. It meant that he could hide behind the tall girl in front of him and keep him out of Kim Jongin’s line of sight. Or, at least until it was his turn to get his book signed, which Kyungsoo thought came a little too fast.
“What’s your name?”
Kyungsoo told him, and watched as Kim Jongin scrawled out his name on the front page of the cookbook. “Do you have anything to ask me?” He asked, eyes twinkling mischievously at the flustered Kyungsoo.
Kyungsoo replied rather intelligently by snatching the book out of Kim Jongin’s hands and stammering a quick ‘no’ before running away. He flushed an interesting shade of magenta when he heard the boy’s boisterous laughter filling the air, and ignored the stares that the other people in the queue gave him.
It was when he was at home when he received a call that thoroughly freaked him out.
“Hello, Kyungsoo? This is Kim Jongin,” the voice had said the minute he had picked up the phone. Kyungsoo dropped the headset twice and tripped over the extension cord before answering.
“What are you?” Kyungsoo practically screamed into the phone. “Leave me alone you stalker!” He immediately hung up and buried his head in his hands, ignoring the sounds of Joonmyun padding out of their bedroom.
“Something wrong?” Joonmyun asked, kissing Kyungsoo on the forehead.
“No,” Kyungsoo groaned, and Joonmyun chuckled, trailing kisses down Kyungsoo’s neck.
He smiled as Kyungsoo’s breathing quickened. “Just everything in life is wrong, isn’t it?” They shifted, and Joonmyun lay atop of Kyungsoo, sucking gently at the younger man’s lower lip.
“Something like that,” Kyungsoo replied between kisses.
They were quiet for the next few minutes, with only small sighs of satisfaction breaking the silence. It was also when, in those next few minutes, that the phone rang once more, eliciting a loud curse from Kyungsoo. Joonmyun picked it up and put it on speaker before continuing to snake a hand down the waistband of Kyungsoo’s jeans.
“So you never asked me the question,” came Kim Jongin’s voice, the man picking up from where they had left off, as if Kyungsoo had never hung up on him.
“I don’t give a fuck, honestly,” Kyungsoo gasped out, eyes rolling into the back of his head while Joonmyun gave him an evil grin.
There was no reply for a while, and Kyungsoo tried his best to stay quiet while Joonmyun tried his best to make him cry out. “You don’t give a fuck?” Kim Jongin finally said, the smile apparent in his voice. “More like, you’re having a good fuck right now.”
Joonmyun howled with laughter, and Kyungsoo slammed the receiver back down onto the set, hanging up on Kim Jongin effectively for the second time in a row.
“You’re evil,” he told Joonmyun, who only smiled back innocently and increased the intensity of his ministrations, chasing all thoughts of what had happened out of Kyungsoo’s mind as he clung tightly to the older man in a tangle of limbs.
♨♨
Kyungsoo was convinced that Kim Jongin was stalking him when he received the seventh call in a matter of two days. There was something about having a total - and completely hot - stranger listening to Joonmyun fucking him that left Kyungsoo avoiding all thoughts, mentions, and those fucking creepy calls like the plague.
And it was also, on the ninth call, that Joonmyun picked up the phone, ignoring Kyungsoo’s stares of disbelief that were tinged with betrayal.
“Oh sure, he’d love to!” Joonmyun replied in a sickeningly happy tone of voice that made Kyungsoo think that he enjoyed torturing Kyungsoo a little too much. He jumped up from his seat on the couch and clawed desperately at the phone in Joonmyun’s hands, but was only handed the receiver without any resistance. Kyungsoo stared at it like it was a time bomb with only 30 seconds left on the clock. He slowly brought it to his ears and said a tentative ‘hello?’ only to be greeted by a flat beeping tone.
Kyungsoo cracked the extension cord in the air, yanking it out of the phone and chasing the idiot around the house. “What did you agree to?” Kyungsoo demanded the moment he had caught up, waving the extension cord in a threatening manner.
“Chill,” Joonmyun said, eyeing the cord in Kyungsoo’s hands. “It’s nothing to be strangled over.” Kyungsoo slowly lowered his hands to his sides, trusting that Joonmyun wouldn’t have done anything too stupid. “All I did was to agree for you to appear on one of his shows as a guest.”
Kyungsoo was wrong. Joonmyun really was stupid, he thought, as he whipped the idiot with the cable.
♨♨
“This is a big mistake. I can’t cook for nuts,” Kyungsoo lied blatantly, trying to explain to the producer why he shouldn’t, wouldn’t and couldn’t be on the show.
The middle-aged man, whom Kyungsoo recognized as the person with Kim Jongin in the bookstore on the day he got tricked, smiled widely. He had introduced himself as Kim Jongin’s ‘irreplaceable manager’ and now he looked down at Kyungsoo with a gaze that looked much like how a lion would look at a lamb. “Oh, that’s quite all right,” he countered. “After all, it’s Jongin who’s doing the teaching, not you. You’re just there to assist him and act like you’ve been enlightened.”
He gave Kyungsoo a light push, and somehow, Kyungsoo got caught up in a whirlwind of make-up artists, hairstylists and scriptwriters, and got whisked away to a dressing room against his will.
Great. So not only will he be on television with a person who he can’t even look in the eye. He still has to act like a dumbass.
“How’re things?” Kyungsoo looked up from where he was seated, and immediately was scolded by the make-up artist who ended up getting a streak of eyeliner from Kyungsoo’s lower lash line to his jaw. He glared at Jongin’s reflection in the mirror and scowled.
“Everything’s just fine and dandy, thank you very much,” he sniffed. “I mean, isn’t it normal to have someone who you don’t even know call you and ask you to star in a television show where you have to act like a complete idiot? Plus, I don’t know how you got my number. But just in case you didn’t realise, it’s plain creepy to do things like call complete strangers when they didn’t give you their number.”
“Oh yeah, it’s pretty normal, isn’t it? It happens all the time in showbiz,” Jongin laughed, lifting himself to sit on a crate in a corner of the room so Kyungsoo couldn’t see him. “Kidding, you idiot,” he finally said, when Kyungsoo gaped at him with a scandalized expression, “I got it from the form that you filled out when you first joined the autograph queue. Besides, it’s not like you’re not kinky yourself. Who answers the phone during sex?”
Kyungsoo flushed a bright red to the roots of his hair, and the make-up artist floundered around a little, wondering whether she had over-applied the blusher before realizing that it was embarrassment and not rouge that coloured his cheeks. “It was Joonmyun,” he muttered under his breath, “it was all Joonmyun.”
Jongin shrugged and made a small sound in the back of his throat that seemed to be a mix of an uncaring grunt and an amused chortle. Kyungsoo wondered how he did that. Every time he tried, he ended up sounding like a frog with a sore throat.
Before he knew it, he was standing behind the shiny steel countertop, in front of an intimidating number of cameras and beside a confident Kim Jongin that positively reeked of beauty products and charisma.
Kyungsoo tried to wave away said charisma, tried to clear the cloud of bad judgment that clouded his mind and made him think that Jongin was handsome despite everything that had happened. Jongin wasn’t handsome; he wasn’t a gentleman. Jongin was hot, he was sexy, and he was a complete bastard for making Kyungsoo feel so damn uncomfortable about everything.
Somehow, the presence of cameras - and mostly Jongin, really - threw Kyungsoo off balance and he seemed to be unable to concentrate even on the most simple of tasks. He found himself cursing when he couldn’t chop some vegetables without his motions being shaky. His hands were much like his legs. They both went wobbly with anger every time Jongin looked down at him with an expression that seemed both condescending and amused at the same time. He flinched a little when Jongin leaned in a little too close for comfort, directing him on how to make roasted zucchini and grilled lamb.
Kyungsoo really couldn’t care less about zucchini and adorable animals being turned into meals. He really just wanted for it to be over, especially whenever Jongin rubbed against him in ways that made him thankful that the counter hid his lower body from the cameras.
At the most inconvenient times, Joonmyun would pop into his mind, and Kyungsoo would scoot a little further away from Jongin. Far away enough not to be in full body contact, but not enough to be completely separated from the dark-skinned youth.
During the shoot, Kyungsoo was aware of the grins that Jongin sent his way. While it would have looked like nothing but a friendly chef teaching his guest how to cook from the viewpoint of other people, there was something about the way that Jongin moved a little too close and the way his lip curled back a little too much that made his smile seem almost predatory. A leer neatly wrapped behind an innocent quirk of the lips.
It also made Kyungsoo want to drop everything, including the knife, on the floor and kiss Jongin’s pouty lips right there and the-
Kimchi spaghetti! Kyungsoo thought, blinking hard against the studio lights and staring into the black holes that were the camera lenses. Kimchi spaghetti and Joonmyun. Kimchi spaghetti and Joonmyun.
The corners of Jongin’s mouth only stretched higher as Kyungsoo shuffled quickly away from him the moment the director called for the end of the shoot.
“You’re a terrible cook.” Jongin commented, his arms folded across his chest in a casual manner, and he watched as a muscle in Kyungsoo’s jaw twitched.
“Am not,” Kyungsoo shot back almost immediately. “It’s nothing. Normally, I can cook pretty well. It’s just that something happened today and I’m not quite myself.” He kept his back turned to Jongin, inhaling and exhaling quickly. He couldn’t wait to get home and have a cold shower to wash away the smell of onions, pepper and arousal.
He hadn’t even noticed when Jongin had approached him silently from behind until a strong arm circled his waist. Kyungsoo stared down blankly at the arm around his middle, and he couldn’t help comparing the gorgeous brown to the pale milky skin of Joonmyun’s thin arms. “I could help with that. Help you relax, I mean.” Jongin whispered into Kyungsoo’s ear, which snapped the older man out of his daze.
He jabbed his elbow into Jongin’s side, and made the chef double over, more surprise than pain on his face.
“I’m attached,” he said plainly, staring down at Jongin, who was still clutching his belly in disbelief.
Jongin straightened back up, right arm lightly massaging the spot on his middle. “Not for long,” he grumbled. “Not with your current standard of cooking.”
Kyungsoo bristled and fixed a hard stare on Jongin, willing himself to look the man in the eye. “You don’t even know what I can do. It’s because of the cameras, and because I didn’t want you to look stupid when your guest can cook better than you.”
“Impossible.”
“Highly possible,” Kyungsoo countered.
Jongin stuck his lower jaw out, and for a moment, he looked nothing like the charismatic man that Kyungsoo knew and more like an obstinate child. “Than prove it.”
“Fine, I will,” Kyungsoo immediately blurted without thinking. “Five-thirty PM, two days from now. My place. I’ll cook, you’ll eat. And you’ll be sorry.”
A slow smile crept onto Jongin’s face, and Kyungsoo’s skin began to prickle. He had just basically invited the guy to his house. And Joonmyun might be there!
“I’ll get your address from the form,” he told Kyungsoo over his shoulder as he walked to his dressing room.
Fuck.
♨♨
Joonmyun paused, turning around slowly to stare at Kyungsoo, who immediately hid behind a magazine. “Is there a reason why you’re watching me like a hawk today?”
“No, no, none at all,” Kyungsoo murmured, “just that you made me go on a show and look like an idiot in front of millions of people and now I have to battle against an award-winning chef who I swear is a complete pervert.”
Joonmyun slung a bag onto his shoulders and adjusted his collar. “Sorry, what were you saying? Didn’t quite catch that.”
“Oh, erm… Were you going to go out?” Kyungsoo asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise. Saturdays were normally Joonmyun’s stay-in days, where the older man indulged in his literary interests like the old man he is inside. It was strange that he was even walking around the house instead of curled up on the couch with one of his thick books on… colons.
“Why colons?” Kyungsoo had asked one day, and Joonmyun had looked at him and said, in complete seriousness, that colons were a sensitive and important part of the body that were often neglected. Kyungsoo never asked anything about that afterwards. He would much rather have his Saturdays free to read magazines and watch television shows than be educated on the many merits of the large intestine.
“Yeah,” Joonmyun sighed, “I ran out of reading material, so I’m going to head down to the city to buy some more books.” He made a face and turned back to the table to search for his keys. Even though there were many bookstores nearby, Joonmyun simply would not settle for a small shop and preferred the selection in large establishments. Kyungsoo couldn’t figure out the difference in variety, though. There were just so many authors willing to dedicate their life works to colons.
It didn’t matter this time, though, not when Jongin was an hour late. At least maybe once God was showering him with luck. Maybe Joonmyun would be out of the house befor-
Joonmyun frowned when the doorbell rang. “Did you invite someone over?”
Oh, fuck.
“Well,” Kyungsoo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying his best to explain the situation as the doorbell rang repeatedly - he would have to educate the brat outside that there is actually a period of time between when the doorbell rings and when the door actually opens. Not that he’d know. After all, Kyungsoo got the feeling that he had never had to wait for anyone before. After a while, he gave up trying to explain and just walked to the front door.
“Oh, how punctual,” Kyungsoo intoned flatly the moment he had opened the door. Jongin immediately squeezed past him and headed for the couch, ignoring Joonmyun’s puzzled expression.
Kyungsoo walked stiffly into the room and gestured to the young man sprawled on the couch. “Joonmyun, meet Mr. Arse Jongin,” he continued despite the indignant ‘hey!’ that came accompanied with Jongin’s glare. “Jongin, Joonmyun.”
“Nice to meet you,” Joonmyun extended a hand, which Jongin lazily shook. Kyungsoo watched as Joonmyun’s eyebrows knitted together and he stared disapprovingly at the rude man on their couch. “I’ll be back later on,” he turned to Kyungsoo and gave him a light peck, “don't cook for me.”
Kyungsoo waved a quick goodbye as Joonmyun left the house, feeling a little too aware of the eyes burning holes into the back of his shirt.
“Sweet,” Jongin snorted, turning back to the television that he had switched on.
Kyungsoo made a move to head to the kitchen, then stopped and turned back. “Aren’t you going to watch me cook?”
He waited as Jongin’s eyes swiveled up to stare at him. It was the first time Kyungsoo had seen the younger man’s eyes so blank and unseeing. “No,” he mumbled, turning back to the moving images onscreen. “I just have to taste it, that’s all.”
Grumbling slightly under his breath to hide his disappointment, Kyungsoo walked to kitchen, deliberately banging the pots and pans as loudly as he could, but Jongin still stayed fixed to the couch.
Finally, he gave up and stared around the shiny kitchen. He’d been so preoccupied with how to keep Joonmyun and Jongin apart that he had completely forgotten to think about what to cook. He had at least ruled out all western dishes. That was a recipe for disaster, like dancing spasmodically in front of a professional ballerina and calling it a work of art.
Korean dishes seemed a tad too dull, too, but it really was the only thing that Kyungsoo could prepare well. In the end, an hour later, he found himself preparing black bean noodles with kimchi, stirring the sauce absentmindedly conflicting thoughts flitted through his head. Most of them were centered on Joonmyun, and getting rid of Jongin. But there was the part of his mind that whispered to Kyungsoo, devising ways to keep Joonmyun in the dark.
A burning smell wafted in the air, and Kyungsoo focused on the sauce that he had been repeatedly stirring and let out a groan. The sauce was charred through and through, and some of the black beans stuck to the sides of the pot. He ended up pouring away the sauce and checking on the noodles, which to his dismay, had been overcooked as well.
He stared dismally at the side of kimchi and opened the cabinet, hoping for another packet of noodles. He seemed to be out of luck that day, though, and ended up boiling a packet of spaghetti.
With nothing but kimchi left - he really had to stock up on their supplies, Kyungsoo decided - he had no choice but to prepare the one dish that he just couldn’t get right. Kimchi spaghetti.
Kyungsoo cringed a little when Jongin stabbed the red pile suspiciously with the silver cutlery. He winced when Jongin shoveled the noodles into his mouth and started to chew, but frowned when the chef apparently showed no interest in commenting on the food by turning to watch a cartoon of a cat chasing a mouse on television. His gaze slid downwards to focus on lips glistening with kimchi sauce, puckering repeatedly as the younger male chewed.
“You’ve been with him for long?” Jongin asked, and Kyungsoo immediately looked away and then to where Jongin’s gaze had alighted on. A framed picture of Joonmyun and him standing by a metal fence with multiple lockets hanging onto the metal grilles stared back at him. They both had their arms around each other, and looked a lot younger in the photo. Kyungsoo was pretty sure that if it had been unprotected, the edges would have been faded and yellowed from age.
Kyungsoo swallowed hard and gulped down some water, hoping to relieve the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “We’ve been together for about four years now.”
“Wow,” Jongin stared hard at the picture. “The both of you matured a lot since your teenage years. Well, you did, he didn’t, not really.”
Kyungsoo stabbed a loose leaf of cabbage kimchi and stuffed it into his mouth, washing down his guilt with a side of self-hatred and foreign spices.
Jongin shifted in his seat so that he was snuggled against Kyungsoo, whose eyes widened to sizes that he never knew possible, and he stiffened in his seat.
“What’s wrong?” Jongin asked, playing with the fingers on Kyungsoo’s right hand. Jongin smoothed his fingertips over Kyungsoo’s knuckles, and he found himself stroking the back of Jongin’s brown hand; pale biscotti against a warm café latte. Jongin let out a soft sigh and leaned heavily against the older man, back curving against Kyungsoo’s shoulder.
At that moment, Kyungsoo wished that he had never met Joonmyun, had never met the one man who had brought so much laughter and joy into his life for the past few years. Because at that moment, he was almost certain that he could colour his world with vibrant rainbows and unknown shades that would open his eyes and live anew, if he could stay with this man beside him.
Yet, almost immediately, he was seized by regret and guilt that stuck to him like odour to a dumpster. How could he have thought of that? How could he have even contemplated, even if it were for that short a moment, to throw everything away that he had for this one person that he had just met a few days ago? He closed his knees and breathed in deeply, his thumb stilling against the back of Jongin’s hand, causing the man leaning against him to twist around and look at him inquisitively.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Kyungsoo finally said, pushing Jongin gently but firmly off of his shoulder and angling himself away from the other, trying hard to ignore the questioning stares that were sent his way.
Jongin looked as if he wanted to say something, but ended up turning back to the television, the lighthearted cartoon long replaced by an action movie that clearly held no interest for the both of them. Kyungsoo didn’t get up from his seat when Jongin was ready to leave. He only pointed at the key on the table and watched as Jongin let himself out of the house, pocketing the key instead of returning it.
Joonmyun came home to a dark house, and two cold plates of kimchi spaghetti, sauce congealing over the starchy strands.
♨♨
Sometimes, Kyungsoo doesn’t even understand why he puts up with Jongin’s shit. He doesn’t understand why he keeps on agreeing to meet up with the idiot who doesn’t know how to shut up and spews inappropriate opinions left, right and center.
So a few days after the kimchi spaghetti incident, Do Kyungsoo finds himself sitting outside a museum - a ramyun museum, of all things - waiting for the creeper to show up.
And show up he does, thirty minutes late and with a wide grin on his face dazzles Kyungsoo more than a little and sends his heart aflutter. Jongin strides up the marble staircase two steps at a time, long legs effortlessly covering the distance between them in a matter of seconds.
And all of a sudden, Kyungsoo is finding Jongin standing too close to him, chests almost touching. He stares up at him with huge eyes, and Jongin winks like the grease ball that he is, fingers ghosting up the length of Kyungsoo’s arm and finally gripping the shorter man’s shoulder.
“Been waiting long?” He asked, holding up the tickets before Kyungsoo’s eyes and spinning him around to face the building before dragging him through the ornate doors of the snobbish ramyun museum.
Kyungsoo has never, in his life, thought that he’d be impressed or even interested by a freaking ramyun museum. Art pieces, yes, astronomy, yes. Modern art? Eh… maybe. But ramyun? No. Fucking. Way.
Hasn’t everyone eaten ramyun at least once in their life? I bet you have. Don’t say you haven’t, you fucking liar. What is there to be impressive about instant ramyun in red cardboard cups coated with wax and all the unhealthy things in the world?
Yet, the way that Jongin acted in the museum somehow sparked a little interest in Kyungsoo. Somehow.
(Well, it wasn’t really the ramyun that he was interested in. It was the way the normally charismatic Jongin had turned into a little kid, tugging at Kyungsoo’s sleeve, eyes sparkling and smile genuine.)
“To be honest, I never liked cooking. I only came here because I had free tickets. And cause it looked cool.” Jongin said later on, when they were perched precariously on a ledge licking ramyun flavoured ice cream - yes, that’s right. Ramyun flavoured ice cream - from a street vendor nearby. There were the weirdest flavours ever; an entire array with flavours ranging from cabbage to saccharine sweet bubblegum that had a chewy texture. They chose the ramyun flavoured ones because, well, it seemed fitting. (No duh, ramyun museum anyone?)
Kyungsoo looked at him like he was crazy. No, he looked at him more like Jongin had donned a dress and had slathered hot pink lipstick all over his face. “But you’re a western chef. With your own show. And cookbooks. And freaking fans queuing up down the block to get your fancy-ass signature and to shake your hand.”
Jongin licked his ice cream cone absentmindedly. “It had to be done. The parents wanted me to continue the generations of genius chefs that had been in the family. The fact that I’m not as good as they wish is a disappointment already. I guess that’s why they kicked me out of the house. There’s no way they would have ever let me be what I wanted to be. That’s why I never commented on the kimchi spaghetti. I cannot properly gauge its standard. I’m a phony chef, someone who’s taught behind the scenes to replicate someone else’s techniques.”
He scrunched his nose when a drop of ramyun ice cream trickled down the cone and onto his hand. “Ugh, gross,” he said, wiping the cream onto Kyungsoo’s cheek, who jerked away in surprise.
“Jongin!” Kyungsoo began to scold, but stopped when he saw the vacant look in Jongin’s eyes. It disappeared quickly enough, though, when he looked up and fixed Kyungsoo with his trademark smirk, all signs of longing gone.
“Finish your ice cream, it’s dripping all over the place. It’s gonna get on my shoes.” Jongin complained, gesturing at Kyungsoo’s soggy cone.
“You’re the one who has been wiping ice cream on my face!” Kyungsoo gasped indignantly, but quieted down quickly when a harsh bark of laughter escaped Jongin.
He watched as Jongin laughed loudly, a little too loudly, and watched as his eyes stayed flat.
It was the first time that Kyungsoo felt that Jongin wasn’t as confident as he always seemed to be. Maybe, just maybe, he needed to be protected too. And when it came to it, Kyungsoo wanted to be the one who would be there for him.
♨♨
Kyungsoo was confused. Confused by how, after they had left the ramyun museum, they had gone on to bar after bar. Confused by how, after many rounds of drinks that he had worriedly watched Jongin down, he had made the decision to take Jongin home. Confused by how, now that he was ready to leave, Jongin had reached out, fingers catching on his sleeve, asking him to stay for the night.
“But, Joonmyun,” Kyungsoo had muttered, and he had noticed the corners of Jongin’s lips dragging downwards in a heart breaking manner.
Kyungsoo stood staring at the boy splayed on the couch in front of him. The boy, weighed down by his parents’ expectations. This selfless boy who would not go fight for his dream in order to keep his parents happy. This selfless boy, who would not insist that Kyungsoo stay because he’s worried about how he would have to explain to Joonmyun. This selfless boy, who would rather hurt than watch anyone else get hurt.
And it was in that state of mind that he found himself leaning forward and kissing the corners of Jongin’s mouth until they would ease and arch upwards, until a little part of Jongin’s heart didn’t feel abandoned.
♨♨
He didn’t know what had driven him to stay over that day, to fall asleep on the couch in the living room after he had managed to drag a drunk Jongin to his bedroom. Didn’t know what had made him lie to Joonmyun when asked about it a day later.
Went out of town to meet an old friend from high school, he had explained, eyes shifty and fingers dancing desperately on the countertop.
He could tell that Joonmyun hadn’t really believed his story. He wasn’t surprised. Kyungsoo had never really been the best liar, had never been able to spin stories and hide his emotions. Had never been able to stay strong and resolute in his decisions, unlike how Jongin had managed to bottle up his bitterness for years.
One consequence of Kyungsoo’s actions was how Jongin sought him out day after day. He seemed to have gotten a little happier; Kyungsoo had noticed that from the boy’s springy gait and the way his eyes lit up whenever he smiled. Or more like, whenever Kyungsoo was around.
Jongin had dreams that lay buried within him. Dreams covered with dust and cobwebs, but still there nevertheless. Kyungsoo saw that when Jongin danced to a backing track in a room in his house that had been converted into a dance studio.
He had noticed how the pristine kitchen stayed pristine - left untouched and cold. The only personal touch that could be seen would have to be the pink kitchen towels that had appeared in a corner of the cabinet. Even so, it wasn’t even Jongin’s own idea. Kyungsoo had brought one roll from his own house when he had spilt a drink on the floor and had found nothing to clean it up with.
“How do you even clean up the place after cooking?” Kyungsoo asked in exasperation, rubbing at the stain with fragile, delicate 2 ply facial cottons. There should be grease caking the walls if he never cleaned up after cooking.
“I don’t actually cook,” Jongin replied sheepishly. He opened the refrigerator and gestured at the disposable utensils tossed haphazardly on the dining table. Kyungsoo stared at the numerous boxes of microwaveable dinners in the freezer and shook his head, muttering something about spoilt rich kids while sneaking concerned glances out of the corner of his eye.
Kyungsoo stood up and stretched, then sighed. “Well, you might as well learn to make some food. Just in case you decide to eat healthy for once.”
Jongin screwed up his nose for a moment and in a gesture that Kyungsoo found absolutely adorable, he blinked rapidly and pursed his lips. “What’s the point?”
“Your health is the point,” Kyungsoo shot back, opening several cabinets and staring at the empty spaces in disbelief. He ignored Jongin’s loud sighs and began to complain about the general lack of food in the kitchen. “We’re heading to the supermarket,” he announced, shoving his wallet into his pocket and yanking Jongin along by the wrist as he walked with quick steps out of the house.
For someone with such short legs, Kyungsoo walked surprisingly fast, and Jongin found himself stumbling over his own long lean legs as he was pulled along behind by the shorter man.
Several passersby shot them curious glances but Kyungsoo ignored them, and before long, they were standing at the pasta aisle in the gourmet supermarket nearby. Jongin shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels while Kyungsoo browsed through the racks of stiff noodles to search for a packet of angel hair pasta.
“Can we go now?” Jongin whined for the hundredth time, and Kyungsoo shot him a hard look.
“We barely got here,” he replied curtly. “Stop trying to rush me. What kind of chef can’t cook, anyway?”
He immediately regretted saying those words when he saw Jongin’s face fall. The younger slouched a little more and turned his face from Kyungsoo, but it didn’t hide the hurt frown that had settled over his features.
“Hey,” Kyungsoo said softly, resting a hand on Jongin’s arm. “I was just joking, yeah? Don’t take it to heart.”
“Yeah I kind of knew that,” Jongin replied, laughing weakly in a manner that made Kyungsoo’s heart ache. He abandoned his search and grabbed the first pack on the shelf, pulling Jongin behind him to counter, and finally all the way back to the apartment.
By the time they had reached the apartment, Kyungsoo could see the frown beginning to ease from Jongin’s face, but its shadow was still there, and he mentally berated himself for being insensitive.
“Well,” Kyungsoo said, hands on his hips, “if you’re not going to cook for yourself, you’ll at least allow me to cook for you, right? I’ll make kimchi spaghetti for you, okay?”
“Sure,” Jongin smiled, unexplained sadness colouring his eyes. “I love kimchi spaghetti.”
Kyungsoo was determined to make Jongin the best plate of kimchi spaghetti that he has ever tasted. He ripped open the packet and dumped its contents into a small pot of boiling water, watching as the noodles slowly sank to the bottom.
When he was in the midst of testing the pasta’s texture, Jongin walked into the kitchen and did a double take. “What,” he asked, eyes wider than Kyungsoo has ever seen. “In the name of Gordon Ramsay are you doing?”
Kyungsoo paused, his right arm raised high up over his head with alphabet pasta pinched between his index finger and thumb. “Testing the texture,” he replied, casually tossing the pasta at Jongin’s fridge. The letter ‘W’ bounced right off the shiny exterior and Kyungsoo turned back to the pot, stirring the noodles. “Looks like it needs to soak a little longer,” he muttered under his breath as Jongin shook his head at the stiff pasta sitting on the floor.
Within minutes, Kyungsoo was aware of Jongin standing behind him, staring over his shoulder at the pot of sauce. “I think it’s boiling over,” he commented, pointing at the sauce, which was, in actual fact, smoking in a rather alarming manner.
“No!” Kyungsoo wailed, pulling the pot off the stove and placing it at the side. “Stupid high-powered stoves,” he grumbled, and Jongin took the pot from him. He took the ladle and sipped the sauce, and immediately opened his mouth in panic and fanned his tongue.
“Ittttt burnsssssss!” Jongin cried, flailing around as the hot sauce proceeded to smother his taste buds like molten lava.
“Of course it burns!” Kyungsoo hit Jongin over the head with a clean wooden ladle, before handing him a cup of water.
Jongin whimpered softly before sipping slowly from the porcelain cup with floral patterns on it. “I can’t feel my tongue now.”
“And this is the suave Kim Jongin that has girls swooning over him left, right, center.” Kyungsoo rolled his eyes.
After another test of texture in which Kyungsoo whipped a letter ‘M’ at the fridge - and it stuck! - Jongin helped to mix the sauce into the noodles. Kyungsoo saw some form of the chef that everyone saw on television when Jongin stirred the sauce in with expert flicks of the wrist.
“I learnt this a few months back when we started a series on pasta dishes,” Jongin informed him happily. And at that moment, Kyungsoo saw the young, innocent boy who tried so hard for other people. People who didn’t even appreciate his efforts.
They sat down at the table, with Jongin prodding at the small lump of kimchi arranged neatly on the pile of alphabet noodles. “It looks so different from what you made the last time,” he said in wonder. “It’s like a completely different dish. It even tastes like kimchi this time.”
“You can’t even taste anything,” Kyungsoo said, eyebrows raised. “You practically killed your tongue just now.”
“But I can imagine how it tastes like,” Jongin closed his eyes. “It tastes like kimchi and happiness and warmth.” He smiled. “I like homemade food.”
“It must have been nice, being able to eat all sorts of delicacies since young,” Kyungsoo quickly said, shoveling the kimchi pasta into his mouth and trying to hide his smile.
Jongin licked his lips and shook his head, eyebrows pulled into a small frown. “Sure, the food was amazing, but it didn’t taste like this. Those were made with perfection in mind.” He inhaled deeply and sat back, a smile of content on his face. “But this,” he looked up and at Kyungsoo. “This tastes of love.”
Kyungsoo bit his lip as elation made his heart swell. He was suddenly thankful for the way Jongin seemed to be too engrossed in the pasta for any more conversation. He didn’t think he could take it if Jongin continued to talk to him like this.
As Kyungsoo washed the plates at the sink, Jongin played with his hair, fingers threading through thin brown strands. Kyungsoo shivered when he felt Jongin’s fingers ghost down past his neck and rest on his shoulders before beginning to knead his muscles gently.
“I guess Joonmyun will have a great birthday.” Jongin said softly. Then, his hands slipped from Kyungsoo’s shoulders and he padded quietly out of the kitchen.
It took a while before Kyungsoo realised that he had never said anything to Jongin about Joonmyun’s birthday present.
Part 2