#all i want is to be left alone and wallow in my own misery pls | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sooibian · 4 years

Text

Flambé - I

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

chapter two | moodboard by the lovely @pororodks

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader ft. baekhyun, mark lee

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 9.7k

🍜 a/n: writing this makes me feel lonely and hungry and that, my friends, is a deadly concoction of emotions so while i wallow in my misery, i dearly hope you’ll enjoy this creation. i'd love to hear from you <3<br>

🍜 reference notes: yt channels: maangchi, one meal a day, bore.d; netflix shows: midnight diner, street food: asia, chef’s table

🍜 tag list: @changshapatrol @j-pping @kyungseokie @exosmuttytalk @his-mochi-cheeks @littleflowercrown13 pls lmk if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

Water bobs in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rises from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lift the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lower it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodges its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation, seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberates through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with a heavy-handed flick of the bladed-spatula.

All of a sudden, you’re swept over with a wave of unconsciousness, your skin tingles, and boiling water begins to fill up your lungs.

You are alone at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you stagger up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, now untied and hovering over you, roars jubilantly at your defenseless form.

Maybe the spell didn’t land, you think.

“Please, Chef!” you whimper as a last ditch attempt.

In one swift motion, it swooshes down to your eye level.

Bushy black brows sprout on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then comes the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarls at you.

zzzz…

“Late again?”

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinks.

In a sleep befuddled state, you reach out for the wailing device. ‘Late again?’ Chef’s cold, deep voice sounds in your consciousness as you wipe the droplets of sweat off of your forehead.

Chef.

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you’d boldly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called Chef. You’d seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner.

Your aunt.

“Aegiya, he has something that you don’t.”

“A dick?”

“YAH! A degree in culinary arts.”

“Imo, haven’t you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well land a job at Four Seasons like Hyunjin. Think, Imo. Think!”

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

Finally, she said in her no-nonsense, stern voice. "Chef. You’re calling him Chef.”

Every time the egotistical madman opens that darned mouth of his, it makes you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him.

But, counting to five, you always resist the temptation.

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you flounder out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt…and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

“Ah 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he says to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin.

The face of sourcing has drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, Imo had tie-ups with vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim…economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi: you were left to do the dirty work.

And required to tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he’d greet you with an accusatory ‘you killed my cat’ expression.

Groaning, you shift your weight from side to side. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases have long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urge him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glares at you like you’d asked him for a kidney.

Kyungsoo has a tendency to overbuy but never does he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ is his excuse. Which is pretty ridiculous considering he spends over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan at the stall.

But you know better than to argue.

Because as much as you loathe every fibre of his existence, he terrifies you a little. The man possesses the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he is in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he’s quite the sweet talker. Incredibly charming. And you can bet your life on the fact that every ahjumma - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman coos at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.”

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ends your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you say to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paces ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continue, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turns around to look you square in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!” You murmur under your breath.

“I heard that.”

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s Kalguksu stall was busier than usual.

It went by in a daze amidst the cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and Imo’s relentless vocalization inviting guests to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you rely heavily on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its massive chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market.

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well-being as well as your mother’s.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another rewarding day, you leave a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceed to tend to the dirty dishes yourself.

“Yahh!” Imo calls out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cry out in response, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you wash your hands and wipe them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt, flattening unruly flyaways, you rush toward the table but she’s already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a word with both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts, wagging a finger in your direction, face scrunched up in mock concern, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!”

An overtly saccharine smile spreads across your face and his jaw hardens in response.

“Aish….you two…I’m leaving now”, shaking her head, she sighs, “see you both in two hours.”

Kimchi jjigae, Pajeon, Tteokbokki, Jajangmyeon, some leftover Bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. Imo clearly has something important on her mind.

But the vibe at the dinner table just doesn’t sit right with you.

The reason for that could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that’s seated besides you in all black clothing but there’s something off about Imo.

She’s being a little too nice.

Fear gradually starts to settle in your bones. Is she finally closing down? Is this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts over five years ago and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. The elder one, Hyunwoo, is an investment banker and the younger one Hyunjin went to culinary school and is working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only makes sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she says coolly.

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aegiya”, she rests her chin on her hand, face clouded over with serenity, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of independence…a sense of pride. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons…but the Market gave me an identity. I continued to work even after my husband’s passing not because I needed the money but because this is something that I’ve created and I’m mighty proud of what’s become of it today. My name is a brand in itself. And a decade ago I couldn’t have imagined this even in the wildest of my dreams.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drown out Imo’s voice.

Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that would never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d never let you or even Kyungsoo for that matter whip up the hand-cut noodles. The two of you only ever helped with the ancillary tasks.

You soon come to the realization of not being the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s unwavering gaze is scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His miserable state gives you a fleeting sense of relief and it’s in that exact moment that he chooses to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine.

Nearly all food stall owners in Gwangjang have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s with his phlegmatic personality. Whereas you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes Imo hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

“Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughs, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically.

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighs, “put in the deposit…and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO”, you yell, “you didn’t have to scare me with that long winded speech! God, you’re so dramatic!”

“Well, it is a big move. I’m not sure either of you are ready to take the leap. It requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open. It’ll take the restaurant two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford scaling your salaries. On the other hand, what I can do is, help you secure a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo even stands a chance at managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane is the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved Imo believes that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager.

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you say firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Eomma will gladly pitch in, if need be…”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he is but his expression is stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl, filling you with insane hope.

He was going to jump ship…finally!

“Chef…”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us…I’m more than enough for Imo. You may…”

He shoots you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But wanting to rile him just a little more, you excuse yourself and bring out a bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it generously atop the stack of pajeon, you snicker maliciously.

Ketchup.

The tangy, unassuming condiment is the sole reason Kyungsoo abhors your very existence. But as this dinner marks the end of his torturous regime, you celebrate with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

Steam swirls in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickles your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a guest is clearly a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in life as a vendor.

A proper send-off is essential lest Kyungsoo decides to stay, even if it means creating a huge dent in your pocket. You plan on giving him a final tour of the Market where you could both say your goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs.

Lots of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, says Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in one hand.

Wanting to start with nothing less than the best in order to create a lasting impression, you shake your head in response. This was supposed to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grows stronger. You start your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which sets you back considerably but you’re far too elated to care, even refusing Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman sets the scallops ablaze with a blow torch.

“Do you know what this technique is called?” Kyungsoo gives a little nod in the direction of the flaming food.

A teachable moment. How does his own personality not wear him off?

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you reply, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé, minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma calls out for you and you nearly jump to collect the order, the slight upward curl of his lips coming into your peripheral vision.

***

The Market supposedly looks the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoy eating your way through it. The tour makes your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s vibe is akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year at Choi Yoonsun’s, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeeze you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others give you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you pay only with smiles and thank yous.

After a gastronomic fiesta entailing tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you end the day on a sweet note with hotteok.

The ahjussi wishes you both luck, making you choke back tears.

Your moist eyes don’t escape Kyungsoo’s attention.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not…erm”

The dam of your tears explodes.

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of Choi Yoonsun’s crew. You were going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers that had you sweating through every layer of clothing.

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffle, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile a little more, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” Eyes glinting, mouth agape, he chuckles.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He draws his words out in a question.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

A month from Grand Opening

It’s not just about food.

Food only makes for a fifth of a restaurant’s success equation. Management and promotional skills are essential because a restaurant is, first and foremost, a business.

Mark Lee, the young consultant from PCY Associates had imparted this crucial business knowledge to your compact team of three aspiring restaurateurs in exchange for an egg sandwich and watermelon juice. The enthu-cutlet has been overseeing the legal set-up of your humble restaurant for a month now.

However, according to Mark, the crème de la crème of the success equation is customer service.

Customer service.

Here’s where the crusty Chef was supposed to take a backseat and you - a real people person, a socially adept charmer - were to sashay in and shine.

These ideas were a bit too much for that thick, globular skull of his so you tried to educate him with a practical example.

He’d added a rule to the first draft of the menu - a shared document for brainstorming purposes. It read ‘No ketchup for you.’ This rule (or insolence as you called it) went against your belief system as the restaurant’s to-be-anointed Manager (a girl can always hope). ‘Never say no to a customer’ being the foundation of customer service, you slashed the rule with a strikethrough.

But the next time you tried to log in, you found yourself locked out of the document.

“Chef, why can’t I find the draft menu anymore?”

He’s aggressively julienning leeks, pretending to not have heard you.

“CHEF!”

“What?” Finally, he looks up. The skin between his eyebrows pinched and his arm raised to level his brand new 1-piece chef’s knife (initials etched into the blade) with his profile.

“Why-why did you lock me out of the draft menu?”, you stammer, gaze trained on the cutting edge glistening with tears of The Leeks.

Kyungsoo’s been visibly getting jittery by the day as opening day approaches.

He deliberately places the knife to the side of the board and you take a gutsy step forward. He uses a cold, serial-killer voice to ask, “What makes you think that I locked you out?”

You lean over from the other side of the granite counter, face barely an inch from his, “Who else could’ve? Imo is technologically challenged.”

“Fine”, he sighs, “I locked you out.” His lips curl up in a menacing smirk, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Grinning, you stare right into his dark eyes and let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, “IMO!”

This throws him back a few steps and he’s rubbing and pulling at his right ear when Imo walks into the kitchen.

“Yah! Am I your babysitter? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it. I am asking you”, she looks at you before spinning her head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “and you, to sort this amongst yourselves. For once!”

“But-but Imo!”, you protest.

“Aegiya, I really don’t want to ship you back to Bucheon.”

***

“Here’s your tax ID, liquor license… okay so this was a touch-and-go because the officer is transferring to another Department and the one that’s supposed to be coming in is a real piece of work….”

Mark Lee is here with the final set of documents.

Imo’s eyes are gleaming with excitement and sheer joy but she’s held a businesswoman-like composure. On the other hand, Kyungsoo looks very much like himself - like someone’s sucked the life out of him.

You bring Mark his usual egg sandwich and watermelon juice because there’s only so much your restaurant can offer at this point in time, feeling brutally overwhelmed with the volume of pending tasks until opening.

After practically inhaling his mini-meal, Mark dabs his mouth clean and says, “My work here is done. If you need anything you know where to find me. And good luck. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Imo looks worriedly at Kyungsoo and then at Mark and at Kyungsoo again which prompts him to ask rather uncomfortably, “What do you mean ‘you’ll need it’?”

Mark’s dramatically long sigh is an indication of a sermon to follow. As he leans back into his chair, Imo and Kyungsoo instinctively cower like an invisible weight has been plopped onto their shoulders. The sight is beyond pathetic: they are like peasants before a feudal lord. It makes you want to smash the know-it-all smirk off of Mark’s face.

What comes after, though, isn’t a sermon but a sentence and a half that leaves the three of you shaken.

“The dining business here in Gangnam is hyper-competitive and most restaurants fold in six months. And if that sandwich is any indication…”

Kyungsoo valiantly advances to rescue your team out of the dark bubble of Mark Lee’s words with, “What’s wrong with the sandwich? She makes a perfectly good sandwich!”

What was supposed to be a compliment somehow sounds very wrong in your head, but before you could give him the death stare he leaps to damage control, “What I mean is, we all ate the very same sandwich for breakfast. I don’t usually dissect food for novices but the egg was perfectly cooked, mayonnaise was just the right amount and the seasoning was balanced, too. So I’m not sure what you’re trying to say. We’re serving perfectly good food here.”

“The thing is, this is something even my mother could make and dude, believe me, she’s terri…her culinary abilities are highly questionable. Also, do you think your friend would’ve sold you this place if it were thriving, Mrs. Choi? She’d inherited it from her grandfather and she sold it to you at a dirt cheap price because she was neck deep in debt. I’m sure you know, real estate here is three and a half times the country’s average. So not only do you have significant funds locked into a possibly deadweight property but also your plan clearly lacks vision. Gwangjang’s Choi Yoonsun can keep you afloat for four…maybe six months but Gangnam’s Choi Yoonsun has to create an identity for herself. Look around you, everyone’s serving good food”, Mark tilts his head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “Here, people eat with their eyes first. Now, I’m not saying family-run restaurants serving traditional cuisines don’t do well. A lot of them have been passed down for generations. What I’m saying is…..find your USP.”

Mark squints, looks into the distance, and pinches the air a lot during this damp squib speech of his.

So the menu isn’t very different from what Choi Yoonsun served in Gwangjang. Her USP has always been homestyle cooking with a twist. But that was the demand of a Market that upheld traditionalism and Gangnam, being precipitously everchanging, would be quite something to keep up with.

The weight of Mark’s words manifests on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He lets out a sharp exhale and starts to clear the table, giving him plenty non-verbal cues to leave. You rush to help him out and meet his defeated form (crouched over the sink) in the kitchen.

The shuffling sound of your footsteps reaches his ears and he pivots to face you.

“We’ll be okay”, your voice is but a calm whisper prompting his creased forehead to slowly smoothen.

“We’ll be okay”, he forcefully echoes.

Grand Opening Day

A frisson of fear laced with excitement descends your spine.

Choi Yoonsun’s is enveloped in a pin drop silence save for the sound of Kyungsoo’s pacing. It’s grating on your nerves but Kyungsoo pacing is far better than Kyungsoo “going over the plan” for the umpteenth time.

The kitchen’s prepped for battle so you’re seated at the cash counter, cuddled close with Imo, placated by her soothing, motherly presence. The three of you are like ticking time bombs, ready to go off at any minute.

This, right here, is the perfect example of a pinch-me-it-doesn’t-feel-real moment. You allow yourself to feel the forces at play as your eyes take in every nook and cranny of the restaurant. The place is agreeably well lit and the ventilation hoods aren’t an eyesore either. The decor’s minimalistic with a sand and stone colour scheme and the floor’s been scrubbed spotless. Eight sturdy wooden tables, tactically placed, allow for movement and privacy yet the area has been optimally utilized.

Fifteen minutes for the ‘Open’ sign to light up.

Kyungsoo and you proceed to help each other out with crisp bright yellow aprons affixed with red name tags (handpicked by Imo, the aprons made you both look like dumpy chicks) and clear plastic masks and wish each other luck with curt nods.

***

Imo’s sons are the first to arrive with some friends in tow. They are served with Kyungsoo’s Yachae Twigim and Budae Jjigae, your Gyeran-mari and Kimchi Bokkeum-bap and of course, Imo’s famous Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu. Makes you wonder if they’ve had enough of it but they seem to be greatly enjoying themselves. Some of Hyunjin’s friends from Four Seasons are here too, their mighty presence driving Kyungsoo to the edge.

But a few compliments from them are enough to soothe his nerves.

Among the flurry of patrons through the day were vendors and stall owners from Gwangjang along with their family and friends, Kyungsoo’s acquaintances who you knew nothing about and neither did you care enough to ask, Mark Lee with his very handsome boss Park Chanyeol also dropped by sometime around noon.

Your mother couldn’t make it to the opening. It stung a little but as usual, you sucked it up and went on with the highly stimulating day that anyway left you with very little time to mull over any unpleasantness.

***

By the end of it, you were pretty sure you’d wake up with blistered feet the next morning.

It’d been a splendid opening with sales tallying up to KRW 2500,000: nearly two and a half times the estimate. Imo breaks into a dance at the figure, even Kyungsoo lips stretch into a reluctant grin.

You intensely wish Mark Lee were here to witness this euphoric win.

Six months later

Mark Lee had been right.

Choi Yoonsun was miles from creating an identity in Gangnam. Regulars from Gwangjang could make it to the restaurant only twice or thrice a week, support from acquaintances had been gradually trickling, and some negative reviews floating around the internet about poor table turnover had also been driving potential guests away.

You tried to mitigate this by hiring part timers at minimum wage but for several reasons, none of them managed to stay: anti-social hours and Kyungsoo’s hostility being two of the key causes.

On your best days, the sales would total up to KRW 1500,000 and the weekday numbers had been dismal.

***

“Dooly-dooly!”

Your eyes light up at the familiarity of that voice. Mirroring its excitement, you run into the arms of its owner.

“Baekhyunnie!”

Kyungsoo peers over his glasses while scrubbing the iron girdle, studying the floppy haired, cheerful man with a wide grin plastered across his face that’s pranced into the kitchen at closing time.

Byun Baekhyun has been your best friend since time immemorial. Growing up in Bucheon, he’d been the only family you’d known besides your parents and Imo’s family. You weren’t even as close with Hyunwon and Hyunjin as you were with Baekhyun. Since work always kept your mother busy, his parents had practically been the ones to raise you and not once did they make you feel like an outsider.

“Yah! Quit calling me Dooly we’re not kids anymore! Have you eaten? Let me whip you up something real quick. Look at youuuu, when did you get this skinny! How long are -”

“Not to interrupt, but you’ve left the water running”, Kyungsoo drones, lazily pointing in the direction of the sink.

You clearly remember turning it off before darting to greet Baekhyun.

‘Sonofa-’ exasperated, you mouth to Baekhyun, whose eyebrows have shot up to his hairline out of vicarious embarrassment, before turning around to face Kyungsoo who seems to be scrubbing the iron girdle to gold. “Chef, you’re closer to the sink.”

“Reiterating. You’ve left the water running. If you wanna go on tittle-tattling, by all means….this wastage is on you.”

“Make yourself comfortable”, too exhausted to pick a fight, you whisper to Baekhyun, gesturing towards the closest table, “I’ll be with you soon.”

***

“It’s bad”, Imo sighs, burying her face in her hands.

11 P.M., two hours past closing time.

The sparse lighting in the restaurant is causing you an eyestrain to look at the scribblings on the register. Your neck and shoulder muscles are tense from all the chopping, stirring, and scrubbing: a slow day does not translate to an easy day. You notice that Kyungsoo is growing weary, too.

Or maybe discouraged.

You communicate with each other in evasive glances as if the restaurant not doing well is, somehow, on the two of you.

“Imo”, Baekhyun speaks first so as to allay the looming dread, “I’ve been reading the online reviews and those who’ve visited here have been raving about the food - especially the Kalguksu. They say you’ve brought the flavours of Gwangjang to Gangnam. There’s this one thing, though - ”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts a zealous Baekhyun’s pitch, “I don’t think this is any of his business. We’ve been keeping track of reviews and such - ”

“Let the boy speak. He’s family.” She says softly, pressing her fingers to her temples, clearly clutching at straws now.

Kyungsoo clenches his jaw and nods in Baekhyun’s direction, indicating him to continue.

“There-there”, Baekhyun stutters, eyes fixed on Kyungsoo who’s vaguely fascinated with his cuticles, “are some complaints about slow service. Particularly between starters and mains.”

After an uncomfortably rich pause, Imo gently rests her hand atop Baekhyun’s “Baekhyunah, how long are you here for?”

“For as long as you need”, the apples of his cheeks rise as his eyes crinkle into a gleeful smile.

***

“Somebody is early. Also, the cart looks different…it’s..?”

Dressed in his usual black athleisure, round eyes framed with chunky glasses, Kyungsoo jogs lightly to match your out-of-character sprightly pace into the market.

“Bigger. I bought a new one.” You chirp, shooting him an out-of-character smile.

Even the dreary weather isn’t a buzzkill because today is supposed to be Baekhyun’s first day at work.

“How did you get Sajangnim to agree? She can be -”

“Miserly? Stingy? Close-fisted? Also, when will you stop calling her Sajangnim?”

“Just so that you can stop addressing me appropriately? Dream on. And I meant economical. Sajangnim is economical.”

“Chef, do you even listen? I bought it. With my own money. I figured since we’d need more ingredients now, we could use a bigger one.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Impervious to his smug tone, you step away to pick up a one kg bulk pack of dried shiitake mushrooms while he’s examining a small batch of zucchini.

“Because Baekhyun’s gonna be working with us now.”

“Temporarily. And we’re suddenly going to start doing better because of an inexperienced, unemployed -”

The wheels of the cart hit his ankle when you swivel it, making him wince in pain.

“Oops! Sorry.”

“You did that on purpose!” He chides.

Half-shrugging, you say nonchalantly, “Serves you right. Baekhyun may be inexperienced but he isn’t unemployed. If anything, he’s doing us a favour. He’s whimsical like that.”

“I know”, he states, forcefully taking control of the cart, “I know he isn’t unemployed. He owns a Hapkido training academy for elementary school children and is on a break these days. I looked him up. I, personally, wouldn’t have hired him if it were my restaurant but I’m sure Sajangnim -”

“Chef?” You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You’re on…” you wanted to say ‘social media’ but the words sounded almost blasphemous to be used in front of a very uptight Doh Kyungsoo: a man with absolutely no online presence.

“What is it?” His eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

“You know what else is different today?” He says on your way out, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmm?”

“You. You’ve showered.” He chortles, thinking he’s being funny.

But with a hardened expression, you let him know that he’s crossed a line.

“Too far?”

“A tad.”

“Let’s get you some coffee.”

“No.” You smile inwardly, relishing his apologetic tone.

“No?”

“We have to pick up Baekhyun’s apron and nametag.”

At first you thought you were imagining this.

A group of high school girls frequenting Choi Yoonsun’s must obviously be because they want to get healthy, homely meals instead of the trash served at fast food chains or the uneconomical subsistence of instagrammable cafes. They’re obviously not here for the charming server with an athlete’s body and a boyish grin.

“He should wear respectable clothing”, says Kyungsoo, indicating at Baekhyun’s skinny jeans and fitted black tee, hiss sharper than the sizzle of minced garlic in butter.

“Why, I don’t think his cleavage is showing”, you retort, scooping out a serving of rice from the cooker.

“You have absolutely no shame”, he states matter-of-factly, stirring the soup pot.

“What? Is my cleavage showing, too?” You ask in mock-surprise, fixing your apron theatrically.

“Forget I said anything.”

The aroma of Kimchi Jjigae had you salivating and you couldn’t wait to taste it for seasoning. Kyungsoo’s cooking amply made up for his drab, lacklustre personality.

“Chef, lighten up. Any publicity is good publicity.”

“You sound like a tabloid journalist”, leaving the soup to simmer, he turns around to face you, “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“I got a haircut”, scrunching your face you respond suspiciously, the fact that he noticed it despite the hair cover makes your heart palpitate.

Taking the unwarranted attention away from your hair, you ask hastily, “You think they’re here for Baekhyun and not your food, right?”

“Ye-yes”, he stutters, looking away.

“These people wouldn’t be here time and again if it weren’t for the food, Chef. You should know that.”

Moving closer to him, you lightly dust flour off of his shoulders.

“How did you get flour on your shoulders?”

His ears go scarlet.

Imo comes into the kitchen while Kyungsoo and you are preparing for the day ahead. Baekhyun has gone down to Bucheon to oversee the affairs of his training academy.

“There’s this new officer who’s reviewing all liquor permits issued this year. Be careful and make sure to check all IDs twice. I’m taking the day off. Will you two be okay by yourselves?” She swooshes out of the kitchen, not bothering with your incoherent replies.

“Can’t believe they’ve ditched us on a Friday.” You grumble, soaking clams in fresh water.

“We’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo reassures you.

***

It had been quite the day and nearing closing time, your feet were going sore. Baekhyun taking on the toughest role in the restaurant made you greatly appreciate his efforts. While most guests are civil, he’s experienced his fair share of rowdy ones firsthand and his ability to deal with them is unparalleled. He’s never, ever let any matter escalate to a point of embarrassment and has demonstrated the maturity to overcome every crisis situation with a smile on his face.

The fact that he’s only temporarily here suddenly starts to wear you out.

Kyungsoo sticks a handwritten note on the steel holder which reads - Yangnyeom - 2. It’s only been a little over eight months since the restaurant’s been fully functional yet the holder’s worn out more because of use and less because of time.

“About time we advanced to kitchen order tickets, right? Saves Baekhyun…or either of us unnecessary excursions to the kitchen. Also, billing will be simpler that way.” You offer while straightening your apron and getting ingredients ready for Kyungsoo to prepare the sauce.

“Yeah, it does”, he seems really out of it as he’s getting chunks of juicy chicken ready for the fryer. He’s moving around the kitchen rather clumsily, nearly tipping over the bottle of corn syrup.

“Wah, Chef, are you alright? Would you like me to do this?”

Resting his back against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor, face buried in hands. “Yes, please.”

While you’re preparing a sauce the recipe for which you know like the back of your hand, his instructions don’t cease. The only thing you’ve ever liked about working with this man is that contrary to Imo, he does not believe in micromanaging. But right now it feels like you’re in the kitchen with her and not with Kyungsoo.

The tension causes you to lower the chicken into the fryer hastily resulting in specks of flaming oil to splatter onto your arm.

He’s quick to rush to your aid with a cold towel.

“Yah, Chef, you’re making me nervous, what’s with all this nitpicking?” You almost yell at him as he’s gingerly dabbing the towel on the affected area.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. It’s just”, he pauses briefly, worrying at his lower lip, questioning eyes peering into yours, before helping you with the chicken - slightly more confident in his movements now, “whatever you do, don’t get out of the kitchen. Table number four, those guys there, are weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“Rowdy, mannerless and drunk. Really, really drunk. Steamrolled by the ‘Friday happy’.”

“Ah, Baekhyun’s well-versed with their kind. Don’t worry, just be polite. Are you sure you don’t want me to intervene?”

“Positive and whatever happens?”

“Stay put. Chef?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only thirty minutes to closing. We can get through this, okay? And don’t accept further orders!”

***

Twenty minutes after, you’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone to take your mind off the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. Simultaneously playing a little game of inventing the kind of content Kyungsoo would upload if he were a user on these sites only to be jolted with the realization as to how little you know about the man.

As the restaurant’s occupied with boisterous conversations and raucous laughter, you’re counting seconds to closing. Multiplying three hundred with every bracket of five on the clock.

The din comes to an abrupt halt when you hear a middle aged man bellow, “Yah, punk, do you have a death wish?!”

Gradually moving closer to the door, you try to get a view of the scene outside.

You see a polite but firm Kyungsoo bow before the man, “We can’t serve you any more alcohol, sorry, we’ll be closing now.”

The other two men along with the nasty vermin have long passed out. You quickly call for a cab, subconsciously grabbing a hold of Kyungsoo’s knife in the process.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO RIGHT NOW?” He thunders.

Kyungsoo recoils as the man grows louder by the second. “We cannot serve you anymore alcohol, sir.”

It happens in a flash.

So fast you almost feel like you’re astral projecting.

One moment, the man raises a hand to strike Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo swerves. You dash out of the kitchen with the knife in your hand. Face to face with the man, you scream until your lungs hurt, “GET OUT! I SAID GET OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!”

The vermin’s companions stir at the sound.

With frightened eyes they take in the scene as their drowsy brain is still trying to assess the situation for action. They soon pull the man by his shoulders while Kyungsoo’s tugging at your knife bearing arm that’s still raised in combat mode, simultaneously apologising to the rowdy guest.

Wagging his sausage like finger at the both of you he warns menacingly, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Slapping the tab on their table, you proceed to threaten him, “Settle this and get - the fuck - out of my restaurant before I call the cops.”

Throwing a couple of bills on the table, he staggers out, grumbling, “You just wait”, still wagging his finger and reeking of stale alcohol.

It was only then that your grip on the knife eases as Kyungsoo carefully draws it out of your hand and you see, just like you, he’s shaking too.

“What just happened?” He’s the first to speak as you sit across the table from him, dark orbs glinting in the dim light, forehead beaded with sweat. His hands are tightly wound together as he places them on the table. One day without Baekhyun and Imo and Kyungsoo and you had messed up real bad. By the looks of it, neither of you were ready to accept this fact.

“We did exactly what we were supposed to do. Stop worrying!” You say more to yourself.

He’s not convinced.

“Chef, that man’s reaction wasn’t something that you could’ve preempted or….controlled in any way.” Finding yourself getting mildly annoyed, you try your best to lay the edge off of your voice. All you wanted was for him to be alright because, technically, none of this was his fault.

“Would you have allowed him to take a swing at you?”

“He was far too drunk for that”, he exhales heavily and you notice his stance relax before clamping up again, “but you-you came out with a knife!”

His tone isn’t accusatory. He’s simply baffled.

“Fight or flight…”

“It’s my knife.”

“I’ll be sure to hide the murder weapon.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you need some water? Tea? A hug?”

You half expect him to scowl or groan or whatever it is that he usually does but he seems to be actually evaluating his options.

“A beer?”

“Down for Chimaek?”

Stood up to go into the kitchen, you awkwardly, and very, very slowly put an arm around his shoulders and give him a tight squeeze.

***

This was your first time having fried chicken and beer in complete silence - a few minutes felt like hours with the incident still hovering over both of you.

“Chef, you know we haven’t murdered anyone right?”

“The restaurant feels like a scene of crime to me. Also, what did he mean by ‘you just wait’?”

“Eh. Empty threats. Testosterone poisoning. Do you think they’ll throw me into prison for threatening him with a knife?”

“You should be sent in for pilfering stock”, he says gesturing at the tray between you, taking a chunky bite of the chicken, “you were going to take this home, weren’t you? It’s good, by the way.”

“Ah, this makes me happy”, you lean back into your chair, smiling discreetly at Kyungsoo’s messy fingers and mouth.

“A compliment from me makes you happy?” His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a swig of beer.

“Testosterone poisoning”, you say pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I couldn’t care less what you think. I’m pretty confident in my skills.”

“As you should be. Then what ‘makes you happy’? The thought of going to prison?”

“Yes”, you lie, “you think I’ll have a prison bitch?”

“I think you’ll be the prison bitch.”

You open your mouth to protest but what escapes is a mortifying burp.

Uncomfortable silence.

Meeting his eyes, you purse your lips, feeling your face flame. He smiles at you and says, ‘wait for it’, before belching. Loudly. Sending you both into fits of laughter.

“What happened here last week?”

Kyungsoo and you are seated opposite Imo like criminals before a cop in an interrogation room. Baekhyun is holed up in the kitchen, cleaning. For the most part, he avoids conflicts like these where Imo’s red hot beam of anger could be misdirected at him.

She’s glaring at the responsible child, Kyungsoo, to break first but since it was your idea to keep the incident from her you start to explain. By the time you’re done she seems angrier, but not at the two of you. Only after a tiny lecture on how you should learn to be more tactful in such situations does she spell out her real concern.

Turns out the man the both of you had a scuffle with last week is the new officer’s brother-in-law. Now, the restaurant’s received a notice from the liquor permit’s office for an “inspection” in the coming week. Although aware that this situation isn’t either of your fault, Imo is far from pleased with this development.

“Fix this”, she orders and disappears into the kitchen.

There’s only one person who can help you out of this mess, but neither Kyungsoo nor you possess the emotional capacity to deal with him.

“He’s our only option”, you deadpan.

With a heavy sigh, Kyungsoo dials Mark Lee.

***

Mouth stuffed with egg sandwich, Mark Lee garbles, “What do you want from me? It’s an inspection so let them come and - inspect.”

Imo’s taken off for the day and it’s just you and Kyungsoo trying to sort out the mess you weren’t entirely responsible for.

“You said we could call you if we needed help with anything”, Kyungsoo reasons with Mark who’s now ogling at him as if he just got spoken to in an alien language.

“Yes, but I don’t see how I can be of help here?”

“Tell us anything you know about this new officer. Don’t leave anything out.” You’re nearly begging at this point and Mark Lee, as always, is reveling in your misery.

He relaxes in his seat, swirling the glass of watermelon juice, “You know you can’t buy your way out of this right? He’s an uptight bugger and you screwed up! Big time! All you had to do was give his brother-in-law a bottle of beer.”

“Oh, we’re sorry we didn’t have his family tree handy”, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, “Besides, were just trying to abide by the rules - ”

The helplessness in Kyungsoo’s voice causes you to lose your cool at Mark. “Yah! Quit being cocky and just tell us everything you know!”

“Oh-oh feisty”, his mouth spreads into an annoying grin, “okay so he loves his wife, obviously, it’s why he’s doing this. Has an eleven year old daughter who is the apple of his eye. Erm, let’s see, he’s spent his teenage years in Japan and the country is all he’ll ever talk about. Piss him off and this inspection turns into a review and if things continue to spiral you’ll have your permit revoked. So be careful.” His eyes lock with yours making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“What are you planning to do with this information, anyway?”

“We don’t know just yet”, Kyungsoo starts clearing up the table, as usual, and Mark knows that his time is up.

“Dude”, he leans towards you, whisper-chortling, as Kyungsoo retires into the kitchen, “did you drive him out with a knife?”

Nodding, you grin gleefully.

“Fiery! You’re totally my boss’ type.”

***

“So what are we going to do?” Rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn, you ask Kyungsoo.

While the world sleeps, the market is awake. Buzzing with a contagious energy. Although you hate having to wake up this early, the moment you step into this space, you’re completely taken by its vigour and gusto for life.

It’s nothing short of a celebration.

Chefs, big and small, passionately scour every nook and corner for the perfect herbs, veggies, and meats. You may not know each other closely or even by name but you feel part of a community - part of a family. True to character, you won’t ever stop whining about this routine with friends and family and occasionally with Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and Imo but you know it in your heart of hearts, you wouldn’t skip sourcing for the world.

“So he’s spent his teenage years in Japan right?” Kyungsoo muses, lowering a crate of mudfish in the cart for today’s special, Chueotang.

“Let’s recreate his teenage years for him. Japanese dorm meals?”

Kyungsoo stops abruptly, “That’s a thought!”

“We can set the menu today after closing.”

“How about a coffee now?” He asks, averting your gaze as a slight smile forms on his lips.

On the morning of the inspection, Kyungsoo sneezed. Once. Twice. And on the third strike he was sent home by Imo because “this is not a good look”. Or forced out of the restaurant - depends on who you ask. He whined a little, even shed a few tears but Imo steeled herself and drew him out, anyway.

Although the menu is simple, the concept is layered and robust. The exercise is, after all, being undertaken merely to impress the officer in question. Well equipped for the inspection, the restaurant’s closed for the day.

This is nothing Baekhyun and you can’t manage but, obviously, Kyungsoo feels otherwise. He’s been calling to check in in intervals of five but seems like the medication’s finally kicked in and put him in a state of deep slumber. Good for him. And for you.

Two hours until showtime.

Under your close supervision, Baekhyun is labouring over the fairly straightforward stuff: tako sausages, potato and macaroni salad and egg sandwiches while you’ve kicked off the recipe for rolled omelettes.

Egg mixture aside, you start the rice cooker, leave green tea to boil for salmon ochazuke while the frying pan’s heating up for yaki udon.

***

Once you’d gotten all the dishes down, done exactly the way instructed by Kyungsoo: rolled omelettes, yaki udon, tako sausage, potato and macaroni salad, egg sandwiches and salmon ochazuke, it was time for you to take on the simplest but the most provoking dish on the menu.

Neko Manma. Or, cat rice.

“Ah, Dooly, shall I bring out the jar of bonito flakes?” Baekhyun prompts.

“The one Chef brought us this morning?”

He hums in response.

“I think we should use the store bought one instead.”

“But he’s worked on this recipe all week. You sure you wanna do that?”

“Positive.”

“He’ll flip out.”

“I’ll deal with it. We’re altering the recipe for Neko Manma, this ones too pretentious. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“So, what do you want to do with it?” Baekhyun’s tone is wary and questioning.

“Rice, soy sauce, store bought bonito flakes and just a faint drizzle of butter. Nice and clean.” You respond confidently.

“Are you really sure?”

***

“Why are you here?” You hiss at Kyungsoo while Imo is outside, busy greeting the motley of high-headed officials, giving them a brief of the restaurant, herself, her team, and going over the licenses and documentation.

Face flushed, Kyungsoo’s lips are swollen and his eyes are runny, puffy, and bloodshot. He’s clearly in the need for some rest.

“To see if everything’s in order.” His voice is hoarse.

He starts to closely examine the entrees laid out, a smile of approval gracing his lips until he stops short of cat rice.

“These bonito flakes -”

“I didn’t use the fresh ones. I thought -”

“There’s no miso soup?”

“No, Chef, I reckoned -”

“No grilled fish? Are you being lazy?”

“Chef, no, I am not being lazy. The original recipe just didn’t feel right. So i changed it up a little -”

“Changed it up? That decision was not yours to make!”

“It’s just a side, it’s not going to matter so much!”

Absolutely livid, he runs a hand through his hair and laments. “If we weren’t this close to serving i would’ve dumped this into the bin because that’s where it belongs.”

“Chef, please”, your voice quivers, “let me explain! This was supposed to be the lightest dish on the menu. We ended up styling it with… overwhelming ingredients, so I -”

“I’m utterly confused! What on earth led you to believe you’re qualified enough to teach me? I’ve trained at a diner in Tokyo for two whole years. I know exactly what I’m doing here!”

Eyes brimming with tears, you glance over and Baekhyun who has ‘I told you so’ written all over his face.

"Kyungsooyah? When did you come in? What’s going on here?”

Imo’s bewilderment cuts through the tension.

“Sajangnim, I was feeling slightly better so I thought of dropping by to wish you luck."

Courtesying, he quickly dashes out through the back door.

***

The inspection has been revoked. Unofficially, atleast. The restaurant is to receive a written order in a week’s time.

The officer was impressed to the extent of apologising for his brother-in-law’s behaviour. He even lauded Imo on teaching her staff to stick to the establishment’s principles which made you wonder if he was fully aware of the facts of the case: knife and all.

He also mentioned how, as a student, he’d eat a bowl of Neko Manma before every exam because at the time, to him, anything else was unpalatable.

And that, this was what he considered to be the perfect recipe.

You go through the rest of the day as if sleepwalking. How stupid could you have been believe you were “on good terms” with Kyungsoo or that this was an equal and productive partnership. The fact remained that he still thought of you as someone frivolous: some air-headed moron who has no idea what she’s doing.

Someone beneath him.

You made an effort to appreciate this victory but the day had only left you with a bitter taste. Your mother had been right. You’ve always been too soft. Too trusting. Letting people in too easily and allowing them to walk all over you.

Now, Kyungsoo’s always been like this: controlling, stubborn, absolutely thorough. He never deviates from his well laid out plans. But today was different. Today, you expected something out of him. You expected him to trust you. You expected him to understand your reasoning, to give you a chance. To comprehend the fact that you could have a mind of your own and that not everything has to be exactly by the book.

You loathe yourself for expecting this out of him.

Sailing rough seas together doesn’t bloom friendships. You were stupid to think of him as a friend while, in all these months, his opinion of you had remained the same.

Contrary to the Gwangjang days, you’d long stopped wishing him gone. In some farthest corner of your heart you were even grateful that he chose to say.

You’ve been so stupid.

Two months later

The kitchen has been fervent but hushed.

After all this time, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and you seem to have found a rhythm. You don’t need to verbally communicate to get through a workday.

But, you used to.

Sometimes unnecessarily even. Kyungsoo and you hardly saw eye to eye on most things but there would be some semblance of friendly workplace banter. He’d say a little something about a perfectly done piece of meat or a well seasoned soup. Baekhyun would take wickedly funny pot shots at some of the customers (to the utmost horror of Imo). Imo would sporadically push morsels of whatever was being prepared into your mouths.

Baekhyun receiving feedback in the form of grunts has shut him up altogether. And the busyness of the restaurant has seemed to have blinkered Imo into not being able to perceive the tension between Kyungsoo and you.

It’s a dance to no music.

Furtive glances. Measured smiles. Curt nods. Exceptional dishes. Decent earnings.

That’s it.

Maybe that’s how it should’ve always been.

“Ready to go?” Baekhyun asks, dressed in a well fitted black shirt and slacks.

You’re mopping the floor. Clearly not ready to go.

When you make this known with a sharp glare, Baekhyun giggles.

Nothing good can come out of that impish smile of his. But before you can sink your claws into him and drag him back, he’s already chatting up Kyungsoo who’s fixing the chairs.

“Kyungsoo, you coming?” He says a little too loudly and you groan. But you know Kyungsoo all too well. He’s one to decline offers involving socialising with you (unless of course, the offer is put forth by his dearest Sajangnim).

’You can do better than that’, you mouth to Baekhyun.

Incurious about Kyungsoo’s answer, you’re fully prepared to chomp Baekhyun’s ear off for inviting him.

“Sure”, Kyungsoo says plainly.

Sure?

Without taking the where-what-why route like normal people do? Just..sure?

“Great! We’re going out for drinks since it’s Dooly’s birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. But, Chef, you can’t come. I don’t want you there. I’m sor-”

Swallowing the apology crackling at the tip of your tongue, you dash into the kitchen, your periphery catching his lowered gaze and tight smile.

Regularising the erratic thrumming of your heart with deep breaths, you shove the mop into the storage area, take off your apron and throw it in the laundry bag (which you were to deal with the next morning), straighten your outfit, fix your hair, dab some rosy tint onto your lips, throw your tote bag over your shoulder, run back out, grab Baekhyun by purposefully lodging your nails into his arms, and take off.

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