Recipe for a Frittata (You Fell for Me)
Title: Recipe for a Frittata (You Fell for Me)
Fandom: 2PM, Junsu+Chansung gen
Rating: G
Notes: restaurant!au #325676
Summary:Under the right conditions, a frittata will be forthcoming.
Preparations:
1. Abuse the snooze button on your alarm clock. You worked dinner last night; they'll understand if you're fifteen minutes late.
"It's too late for you to eat. We open in five! You'll have to wait until lunch is over."
Taekyeon doesn't pay any attention to Chansung's sad pout. Chansung wishes he spoke with Nichkhun, the nice manager. He whimpers. Taekyeon clamps his hands over his ears and drowns him out by reciting the day's specials.
2. Scavenge for breakfast. Any loose edibles unaccounted for are fair game.
"Whose omelet is this?" The item in question is halfway into Chansung's mouth before Wooyoung, the head server, shrugs.
Chansung slowly chews his newfound meal. His tongue tingles from the copious amount of black pepper, but walnuts and blueberry jam (he didn't even notice the toast hidden under the omelet) sooth his taste buds. He tastes butter - lots and lots of butter soaked into the fluffy egg and spread over the nutty, fruity toast. This is hands down the most delicious breakfast he has ever poached.
A metal bowl clatters on the floor.
"Who ate my breakfast?"
3. Acquaint yourself with uptight morning staff.
Chansung turns around and comes face to face with a chef he has never seen before. At least, he looks like a chef. He wears a server’s apron instead of the standard issue kitchen apron, and his jacket is oversized, missing two buttons, and has an elbow patch. He’s also holding a whisk like it’s a machete.
Chansung’s cheeks are still bulging with omelet. He wonders if this will be his last meal as he swallows the last bites. He regrets nothing.
He decides to try diplomacy and puts on his best smile. "Hi, I'm-"
"You. Stole. My. Frittata." Each word is punctuated with a step closer to Chansung.
Chansung's smile falters. He's sure this guy has 'detail-oriented' on his resume. He takes a step back from the menacing whisk. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know it was yours.”
“Get out of my kitchen, you- you Philistine!”
If it wasn’t for the whisk heading straight for his head, Chansung is sure he would have laughed at the guy’s whiny voice. As it is, he darts out before he is assaulted by any more kitchen utensils.
Repeat as necessary.
“Good job,” Wooyoung mutters to Chansung as he sets soiled plates next to the sink.
Chansung beams. He didn’t think anyone had noticed the extra squeak and shine in the dishes. Wooyoung slaps him on the back of the head.
“What are you so proud of?” Wooyoung asks. “Once Junsu’s panties are in a twist, it’s like undoing the Gordian knot.”
“What?” Chansung wonders what the lunch staff smokes to throw these crazy foreign words into conversation so early in the morning. He’s a bit upset that no one’s offered him any, and he begins to regret covering Jinwoon’s shift.
“How long have you been working here?” Wooyoung is now hissing into Chansung’s ear like they’re in some kind of hostage situation. “There are three unspoken rules in this restaurant: loose cigarettes are free for all, shit rolls downhill, and don’t mess with the dessert guy!”
Chansung winces when Wooyoung spits during his tirade. “It can’t be that serious. It was just a free- fur- an omelet!”
“There’s a reason why he’s separate from us-”
“Wooyoung! Chansung!” Head Chef Jaebum is glaring at them both. “Would you ladies please stop flirting and start earning your paychecks?”
4. Make amends.
He doesn’t expect a confrontation this immediately, but this time Chansung is ready when the crazy chef approaches. He grips his steel wool pad in one hand and sink sprayer in the other.
“Did you leave this in my kitchen?” the crazy chef - no, Junsu asks. He holds out a plate with a jiggling brownish yellow lump. There are shades of purple when the light hits it at certain angles. It has a dangerous, raw sheen.
“Yes, but I promise it didn’t look that ugly when I left it there.” Chansung bites his lip. It certainly didn’t look this unappetizing when he last saw it. “It’s an omelet. It tastes better than it looks! Just put a bit of ketchup on it!”
The corners of Junsu’s lips pull down, and he wrinkles his nose. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Chansung pouts. “Chef Jaebum wouldn’t let me use a stove, so I had to microwave it. It’s not a frappucino, or whatever you made, but if you give it a try, it’s -“
“What it is is inedible.”
Chansung’s eyes go wide as Junsu tosses the omelet, plate and all, into the trash. Junsu rubs his hands on his apron like he just disposed of radioactive waste.
“That was harsh, wasn’t it? S-sorry,” Junsu mumbles quickly and bows. He grips his apron so hard, the wrinkles look like they will be permanent. “It’s just that the white wasn’t cooked thoroughly. You could get food poisoning if you aren’t careful.”
“Oh.” Chansung takes one last peer in the garbage can at the menacing omelet. He shrugs. “Good thing I’m just a dishwasher, right?”
“Sorry.” Junsu bows again.
“Why are you apologizing? It’s my fault in the first place!” Chansung puts a hand on Junsu’s shoulder to make sure he keeps upright.
5. If executed properly, this will lead to bonding.
“Thank you,” Junsu says. “No one’s ever done that for me.”
“Nobody in a three-star restaurant has tried to feed you horribly cooked food?” Chansung raises his brows. “Shocking.”
Junsu shakes his head. “No. I mean -“ He holds his arms out, showing off his mix-and-match, secondhand uniform. “No one takes me seriously here. They won’t even give me a real apron because ‘dessert isn’t real food.’”
Chansung snickers. Junsu does a great impression of Taekyeon, whose only qualifications to work in a restaurant seem to be his really big teeth (“All the better to chew food with!”) and the fact he doesn’t mind wearing a suit every day. Junsu even throws in the finger quotations and Taekyeon’s creepy chortle, which sends Chansung into full-blown laughter.
“He really said that?” Chansung asks. “I love dessert!”
“Who doesn’t?” Junsu throws his hands in the air. “But if it doesn’t involve blood or fire, it’s not respected in this kitchen. Do you know I can hand roll Phyllo pastry?”
Chansung has no clue what anything in the kitchen is besides whether he is permitted to eat it or not, so he purses his lips and shrugs.
“You don’t know what Phyllo pastry is?” Junsu gasps. “Haven’t you had any of the desserts here?”
“I’ve tried, believe me. They’re totalitarians with the dessert case during dinner!”
6. Allow bonding to settle.
Chansung studies Junsu’s scandalized face.
“Maybe if I get a chance one day…”
Junsu grabs his wrist. “How about now?”
Glass shatters a few feet away. Chef Jaebum shouts every almost-but-not-quite-a-curse word he knows.
“Chansung!”
“I think I can make room in my schedule,” Chansung says as he grabs a broom and dustpan from under the sink. “Meet you at your place in fifteen?”
7. Under the right conditions, a frittata will be forthcoming.
Chansung presses his face as close to the broiler as possible before Junsu pulls a frying pan from inside. He squints at the waves of heat rolling over his face. Junsu slides the frittata out of the pan onto a large plate. Chansung stares at the perfect disc-shaped egg. There are perfectly diced cubes of vegetable and tomatoes held together by egg and gooey cheese. It hasn't been two hours since his breakfast, but Chansung’s mouth still waters.
“And there you go. Not so hard, right?”
Chansung grins and nods. He doesn’t remember much after Junsu’s lecture on the importance of cracking the eggs at the proper angle. Chansung isn’t made for intricate cookery, but he enjoys watching others do it. Junsu is bent over the frittata, garnishing his plate with the delicacy of a heart surgeon. He looks very much at peace while his hands are at work.
Chansung wants to ask questions (What is that green stuff? Is it edible? Are you going to eat that all by yourself?) but the quiet calm mutes him. There’s no urgency here, no chefs or servers rushing him to clean this mess, hand over a saucer, or yell about water stains on the silverware. He’s not sure how Junsu can be so uptight with such a peaceful space to himself.
“There you are!”
Standing at the door is Nichkhun, the nice manager. He’s the only sane person in the entire restaurant, and he’s everyone’s favorite because he hands out the paychecks. Even now, as he sighs at Chansung, Nichkhun doesn’t raise his voice or pinch Chansung’s ear like Taekyeon or Wooyoung are in habit of doing.
“You know you’re not supposed to take breaks without letting a manager know,” Nichkhun says to Chansung. “Wooyoung is having a fit because there aren’t any clean water glasses!”
“Oh,” is the closest thing to an intelligent response Chansung can muster.
“Let’s leave Junsu to his work, okay? It wouldn’t do if you ate up all his desserts!” Nichkhun already has his hands on Chansung’s shoulders, gently guiding him out of the kitchen.
8. Enjoy the fruits of your hard work.
“Compliments to the chef!” Chansung presents the frittata plates, warm and clean, to Junsu.
Junsu stares at them, then at Chansung, then back at the plates. Chansung wonders just how badly everyone treats Junsu if he’s speechless over a few clean dishes.
“Sorry to eat and run, but Manager Nichkhun’s got me on a leash,” Chansung whispers. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Nichkhun isn’t hovering behind him. He wants to leave Junsu’s kitchen without being chased out at least once.
“Thanks for the food! I’ll see you around, Chef!”
Chansung doesn’t miss the way Junsu smiles at the word ‘chef.’ He stays long enough to watch Junsu straighten his fraying apron and roll up his patched sleeves. For the first time since their meeting, Junsu looks comfortable in his uniform.
Fandom: 2PM, Junsu+Chansung gen
Rating: G
Notes: restaurant!au #325676
Summary:Under the right conditions, a frittata will be forthcoming.
Preparations:
1. Abuse the snooze button on your alarm clock. You worked dinner last night; they'll understand if you're fifteen minutes late.
"It's too late for you to eat. We open in five! You'll have to wait until lunch is over."
Taekyeon doesn't pay any attention to Chansung's sad pout. Chansung wishes he spoke with Nichkhun, the nice manager. He whimpers. Taekyeon clamps his hands over his ears and drowns him out by reciting the day's specials.
2. Scavenge for breakfast. Any loose edibles unaccounted for are fair game.
"Whose omelet is this?" The item in question is halfway into Chansung's mouth before Wooyoung, the head server, shrugs.
Chansung slowly chews his newfound meal. His tongue tingles from the copious amount of black pepper, but walnuts and blueberry jam (he didn't even notice the toast hidden under the omelet) sooth his taste buds. He tastes butter - lots and lots of butter soaked into the fluffy egg and spread over the nutty, fruity toast. This is hands down the most delicious breakfast he has ever poached.
A metal bowl clatters on the floor.
"Who ate my breakfast?"
3. Acquaint yourself with uptight morning staff.
Chansung turns around and comes face to face with a chef he has never seen before. At least, he looks like a chef. He wears a server’s apron instead of the standard issue kitchen apron, and his jacket is oversized, missing two buttons, and has an elbow patch. He’s also holding a whisk like it’s a machete.
Chansung’s cheeks are still bulging with omelet. He wonders if this will be his last meal as he swallows the last bites. He regrets nothing.
He decides to try diplomacy and puts on his best smile. "Hi, I'm-"
"You. Stole. My. Frittata." Each word is punctuated with a step closer to Chansung.
Chansung's smile falters. He's sure this guy has 'detail-oriented' on his resume. He takes a step back from the menacing whisk. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know it was yours.”
“Get out of my kitchen, you- you Philistine!”
If it wasn’t for the whisk heading straight for his head, Chansung is sure he would have laughed at the guy’s whiny voice. As it is, he darts out before he is assaulted by any more kitchen utensils.
Repeat as necessary.
“Good job,” Wooyoung mutters to Chansung as he sets soiled plates next to the sink.
Chansung beams. He didn’t think anyone had noticed the extra squeak and shine in the dishes. Wooyoung slaps him on the back of the head.
“What are you so proud of?” Wooyoung asks. “Once Junsu’s panties are in a twist, it’s like undoing the Gordian knot.”
“What?” Chansung wonders what the lunch staff smokes to throw these crazy foreign words into conversation so early in the morning. He’s a bit upset that no one’s offered him any, and he begins to regret covering Jinwoon’s shift.
“How long have you been working here?” Wooyoung is now hissing into Chansung’s ear like they’re in some kind of hostage situation. “There are three unspoken rules in this restaurant: loose cigarettes are free for all, shit rolls downhill, and don’t mess with the dessert guy!”
Chansung winces when Wooyoung spits during his tirade. “It can’t be that serious. It was just a free- fur- an omelet!”
“There’s a reason why he’s separate from us-”
“Wooyoung! Chansung!” Head Chef Jaebum is glaring at them both. “Would you ladies please stop flirting and start earning your paychecks?”
4. Make amends.
He doesn’t expect a confrontation this immediately, but this time Chansung is ready when the crazy chef approaches. He grips his steel wool pad in one hand and sink sprayer in the other.
“Did you leave this in my kitchen?” the crazy chef - no, Junsu asks. He holds out a plate with a jiggling brownish yellow lump. There are shades of purple when the light hits it at certain angles. It has a dangerous, raw sheen.
“Yes, but I promise it didn’t look that ugly when I left it there.” Chansung bites his lip. It certainly didn’t look this unappetizing when he last saw it. “It’s an omelet. It tastes better than it looks! Just put a bit of ketchup on it!”
The corners of Junsu’s lips pull down, and he wrinkles his nose. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Chansung pouts. “Chef Jaebum wouldn’t let me use a stove, so I had to microwave it. It’s not a frappucino, or whatever you made, but if you give it a try, it’s -“
“What it is is inedible.”
Chansung’s eyes go wide as Junsu tosses the omelet, plate and all, into the trash. Junsu rubs his hands on his apron like he just disposed of radioactive waste.
“That was harsh, wasn’t it? S-sorry,” Junsu mumbles quickly and bows. He grips his apron so hard, the wrinkles look like they will be permanent. “It’s just that the white wasn’t cooked thoroughly. You could get food poisoning if you aren’t careful.”
“Oh.” Chansung takes one last peer in the garbage can at the menacing omelet. He shrugs. “Good thing I’m just a dishwasher, right?”
“Sorry.” Junsu bows again.
“Why are you apologizing? It’s my fault in the first place!” Chansung puts a hand on Junsu’s shoulder to make sure he keeps upright.
5. If executed properly, this will lead to bonding.
“Thank you,” Junsu says. “No one’s ever done that for me.”
“Nobody in a three-star restaurant has tried to feed you horribly cooked food?” Chansung raises his brows. “Shocking.”
Junsu shakes his head. “No. I mean -“ He holds his arms out, showing off his mix-and-match, secondhand uniform. “No one takes me seriously here. They won’t even give me a real apron because ‘dessert isn’t real food.’”
Chansung snickers. Junsu does a great impression of Taekyeon, whose only qualifications to work in a restaurant seem to be his really big teeth (“All the better to chew food with!”) and the fact he doesn’t mind wearing a suit every day. Junsu even throws in the finger quotations and Taekyeon’s creepy chortle, which sends Chansung into full-blown laughter.
“He really said that?” Chansung asks. “I love dessert!”
“Who doesn’t?” Junsu throws his hands in the air. “But if it doesn’t involve blood or fire, it’s not respected in this kitchen. Do you know I can hand roll Phyllo pastry?”
Chansung has no clue what anything in the kitchen is besides whether he is permitted to eat it or not, so he purses his lips and shrugs.
“You don’t know what Phyllo pastry is?” Junsu gasps. “Haven’t you had any of the desserts here?”
“I’ve tried, believe me. They’re totalitarians with the dessert case during dinner!”
6. Allow bonding to settle.
Chansung studies Junsu’s scandalized face.
“Maybe if I get a chance one day…”
Junsu grabs his wrist. “How about now?”
Glass shatters a few feet away. Chef Jaebum shouts every almost-but-not-quite-a-curse word he knows.
“Chansung!”
“I think I can make room in my schedule,” Chansung says as he grabs a broom and dustpan from under the sink. “Meet you at your place in fifteen?”
7. Under the right conditions, a frittata will be forthcoming.
Chansung presses his face as close to the broiler as possible before Junsu pulls a frying pan from inside. He squints at the waves of heat rolling over his face. Junsu slides the frittata out of the pan onto a large plate. Chansung stares at the perfect disc-shaped egg. There are perfectly diced cubes of vegetable and tomatoes held together by egg and gooey cheese. It hasn't been two hours since his breakfast, but Chansung’s mouth still waters.
“And there you go. Not so hard, right?”
Chansung grins and nods. He doesn’t remember much after Junsu’s lecture on the importance of cracking the eggs at the proper angle. Chansung isn’t made for intricate cookery, but he enjoys watching others do it. Junsu is bent over the frittata, garnishing his plate with the delicacy of a heart surgeon. He looks very much at peace while his hands are at work.
Chansung wants to ask questions (What is that green stuff? Is it edible? Are you going to eat that all by yourself?) but the quiet calm mutes him. There’s no urgency here, no chefs or servers rushing him to clean this mess, hand over a saucer, or yell about water stains on the silverware. He’s not sure how Junsu can be so uptight with such a peaceful space to himself.
“There you are!”
Standing at the door is Nichkhun, the nice manager. He’s the only sane person in the entire restaurant, and he’s everyone’s favorite because he hands out the paychecks. Even now, as he sighs at Chansung, Nichkhun doesn’t raise his voice or pinch Chansung’s ear like Taekyeon or Wooyoung are in habit of doing.
“You know you’re not supposed to take breaks without letting a manager know,” Nichkhun says to Chansung. “Wooyoung is having a fit because there aren’t any clean water glasses!”
“Oh,” is the closest thing to an intelligent response Chansung can muster.
“Let’s leave Junsu to his work, okay? It wouldn’t do if you ate up all his desserts!” Nichkhun already has his hands on Chansung’s shoulders, gently guiding him out of the kitchen.
8. Enjoy the fruits of your hard work.
“Compliments to the chef!” Chansung presents the frittata plates, warm and clean, to Junsu.
Junsu stares at them, then at Chansung, then back at the plates. Chansung wonders just how badly everyone treats Junsu if he’s speechless over a few clean dishes.
“Sorry to eat and run, but Manager Nichkhun’s got me on a leash,” Chansung whispers. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Nichkhun isn’t hovering behind him. He wants to leave Junsu’s kitchen without being chased out at least once.
“Thanks for the food! I’ll see you around, Chef!”
Chansung doesn’t miss the way Junsu smiles at the word ‘chef.’ He stays long enough to watch Junsu straighten his fraying apron and roll up his patched sleeves. For the first time since their meeting, Junsu looks comfortable in his uniform.