Archive of Our Own

“So,” Jeonghan huffed, hands on his hips as he stared long and hard at the mess that was Jisoo’s station, “I’m assuming this attempt didn’t go too well?” 

Jisoo had to try very hard not to kill him right then and there. “No, Han-ah.” 

Jeonghan nodded. “Right, right, right.” He pursed his lips, cocked his head to the side. He looked at Jisoo then, squinting at him. Anyone else wouldn’t have been able to see the spark of latent evil in his eye, but Jisoo knew him better than most. It was a continuing debate, internally, if that was a good thing or not. “Do you want a hug?” 

And Jisoo had expected him to say some bullshit. And, believe him, this still was some bullshit. But he also kind of really needed it. He’d put up with the inevitable teasing later. He was allowed his split-second of public indignity. 

He met Jeonghan’s gaze, glanced at the camera and then behind it. The crew were trying very hard not to act like they were sitting on tenterhooks. Fuck it. Fuck it all to hell.

“If I say yes,” he said, carefully, deliberately unfeeling. He could imagine the GIF compilations now. “Will you be normal about it?” 

He could tell that it took Jeonghan a bit before his words fully registered, the slow brightening of his face both gorgeous and infuriating to look at. “Wah,” he said, voice an almost whisper. Somewhat reverent. Jisoo was in active agony. “Wah, Hong Jisoo.” 

“I take it back,” Jisoo said, swiftly turning on his heel and stomping off to go, well—wash his hands, or something, whatever the fuck. “You’re gonna make it weird, I take it back.” 

“I’d argue that you like that about me, Jisoo-yah,” Jeonghan called from behind him, and Jisoo would smack the shit out of him if they weren’t filming and he didn’t have a reputation to uphold. Plus, his mother liked to watch these videos and she had a soft spot for Jeonghan for some godforsaken reason. She already got on his case about being too mean to him, which Jisoo rejected wholeheartedly; in his objectively correct opinion, he wasn’t being mean enough. “You like me weird, Hong Jisoo!” 

“In your goddamn dreams, Yoon Jeonghan!” he yelled back, feet taking him to the walk-in, which, sure. He probably needed something from here anyway. This was good and fine. “I don’t like you much less anything about you at all!” 

He could hear Jeonghan’s strange cackle even as he yanked the unit door shut. 

Jisoo loved his job. It was a dream come true, a never-thought-I’d-be-able-to-do-this-I’m-so-grateful scenario all around. He’d swear it on his life. 

It was also just that it was weird. 

He’d graduated from culinary school with the assumption that he’d spend a couple of years going through the gauntlet of restaurant life. The goal was a patisserie, of course, but it wasn’t a bad thing to build up experience at whatever place that could take him in. Plus, it paid well to be a restaurant pastry chef and he had loans to pay off. 

And it went that way for precisely eight months. 

Somehow, of all people, it was Lee Jihoon who managed to throw a wrench in his plans. A big, YouTube channel-sized wrench. 

Jisoo wished he could remember more of how it all exactly went down, but all he could say with confidence is that there was an event, and the restaurant he’d been working at had done the catering for it, and Jihoon had been there. Jihoon, who was editor-at-large for Bon Appétit Korea, and whose boyfriend, Seungcheol, was a recipe developer and starting to get involved with the then-burgeoning video production department. 

Jihoon had tried to talk to him during the event (an industry mixer of some sort; Jisoo had been surprised, at the time, by how often those happened), but Jisoo was on the clock so Jihoon had arranged for drinks at a nearby bar afterwards. 

He’d been so close to declining, honestly. Had a litany of excuses ready, and to be fair to himself, a lot of them were valid; he’d been up early for prep and had spent the better part of the evening on his feet, making sure his pastries held up well and assisting with other things wherever he could. All he’d wanted to do was get back to his little shoe box apartment and empty a good bottle of wine down his gullet while he lounged in his tiny bathtub. An evening he’d had many a time over, but one he was ready to have again. 

But Jihoon had insisted. And Jisoo knew him well enough to know that he’d just chase him down at another opportunity, and he was overwhelmed with a great feeling of fucking hell, just get it over with then, and that pushed him to agree. 

So they went to the bar. Jisoo nursed a couple of Manhattans while Jihoon gave his grand spiel. Bon Appétit was looking to expand their online content catalog and were looking for chef’s and recipe testers that would be good on camera. Jihoon had, for some wild, inexplicable reason, thought of him and Seungcheol had, for some wild, inexplicable reason, agreed. 

And then Jisoo had gotten a little drunk (he hadn’t eaten much and Jihoon could put liquor away like a fucking demon and was a terrible influence) and everything felt a little fuzzy at the edges from there.

He could vaguely recall going home. How exactly he’d done so, he wasn’t sure, but he at least remembered unlocking his front door. 

But the next thing he knew, he was waking up on his couch to his alarm, still in his slacks but blessedly dressed down to the tank top he had underneath his jacket. And waiting for him on his phone was an email from Jihoon with a contract offer, because you could accuse Lee Jihoon of being many things, but hesitant wasn’t one of them. 

And it took some finessing—Jisoo had to hash out the details, argue over fine print, and figure out his resignation on such short notice—but within three weeks, he found himself being toured around the newly built Condé Nast headquarters in Jongno-gu and meeting with Seungcheol to brainstorm for what his show would look like. 

The pitch for Gourmet Makes was something Jisoo had come up with while in line at the grocery store. His mother had been complaining about how terrible Twinkies were, even though she’d bought them of her own volition, all on her own, just because she was, quote-unquote, “Feeling nostalgic about Zombieland,” and it somehow turned into her asking him to make a better version of them. 

“Twinkies have so much promise to them,” she had said while Jisoo calculated the amount of time he had left before he would have to juggle this phone call and heaving his produce onto the cashier’s conveyor belt. “You should try and make your own, Soo-yah. I bet you’d make them so much nicer. Put Hostess out of business.” 

And that idea had Velcroed itself to Jisoo’s mind and refused to unlatch until he was in that small boardroom with Seungcheol and had the chance to verbalize it. 

They had to tweak a few things, of course, and it was Seungcheol who eventually came up with the name, but lo and behold, six weeks after Jisoo quit his restaurant job and three weeks after he became an official employee of Bon Appétit Korea, he found himself on a set, filming a video for the very first time in his life. 

The very first episode of Gourmet Makes, “Pastry Chef Attempts to Make Gourmet Pepero,” hit 500,000 views in a week. By the time they uploaded the next one (“Pastry Chef Attempts to Make Gourmet Waffle Mate”), the first video had already surpassed a million hits, and Jisoo’s Instagram jumped from a measly 234 followers to almost two thousand in no time flat. 

It was a strange, almost overwhelming thing, because Jisoo was definitely getting more attention than he’d ever had in his entire life, but he also wasn’t a celebrity by any means. He’d get stopped on the street sometimes, sure, by both dedicated fans of the show and those who’d seen a few videos in passing. But Seoul was a huge city, and Jisoo could still move around in relative anonymity. It was a weird kind of quasi-fame. 

He also had to find his sea legs with filming, too. Jisoo had some experience being filmed but it was by, like, phone cameras for the most part. And that one time a professor of theirs required them to make a tutorial as a midterm project. (He still wasn’t sure what exactly that was meant to accomplish.) 

And Jisoo was self-aware enough about what he had to offer. He knew he was a good-looking young man who had charm and wit to spare. He was methodical, funny, and a bit too high-strung, and that made for great entertainment. Part of the appeal of the show was watching, as Seungcheol had put it so gracefully, “A very pretty man lose his shit over the appropriate amount of salt that should be in Pringles seasoning.” He was, in a lot of ways, both a renaissance man and a court jester. He had welcomed the dual-role with open arms. 

It was just that he’d never had to think so hard about his face before. Or how his hair looked at particular angles. Or whether or not his posture made his body bend awkwardly whenever he was so focused on something he practically had his nose to the counter top. 

Jeonghan had caught him fussing once, when he’d went off to to the staff bathroom to try and fix his hair himself while the crew dealt with some lighting problem. He’d watched in relative silence as Jisoo ran agitated fingers through his hair before setting a (cold, freshly-washed) hand on Jisoo’s shoulder and turned him, gently, to face him. 

“Hong-ssi,” he’d said, raising his other (cold, freshly-washed) hand to press a finger low on Jisoo’s forehead, right where his furrowed brows were scrunching up the skin. “Can you breathe with me?” 

And Jisoo would never be able to tell you what possessed him to go along with it. At that point, he’d only known Jeonghan for a grand total of five weeks, and they’d shared maybe seven full conversations max. But he followed anyway. Inhale, hold for four, exhale for eight. Over and over until he felt okay enough that he was confident he wouldn’t throw up on the tiles. 

And then Jeonghan had smiled at him, and until that point, Jisoo had never really thought about his face. It was a good face. A very good face, actually. Symmetrical eyebrows and a nice nose. A thin slip of a mouth. Bone structure that could be used as a reference in a plastic surgeon’s office. 

“You’re all good, Hong-ssi,” Jeonghan had said, and his (cold, freshly-washed) hands were still touching Jisoo, and the strangest part about all of this was how Jisoo didn’t mind. “You’re doing well, okay?” 

And Jisoo had nodded. Breathed in deep one more time. And then he got back to work. 

(That might have been, in retrospect, the beginning of the end.) 

(It definitely was.) 

The weirdest thing Jisoo’s job had ever given him was Yoon Jeonghan. 

“So we’re making Kit Kats today, by popular demand,” Jisoo said, holding up a pack of ten to show to the camera. “I’m, uh, excited? I think I am, anyway. There’s a lot of chocolate involved which is the root of the bulk of my anxiety—”

“That’s the spirit!” Soonyoung yelled in support as he passed by, armed to the teeth with Tupperware containers. “Anxiety! Yeah!” 

“Thanks, Soonyoung.” 

“No problem hyung!” 

“Anyway,” Jisoo said, laughing weakly. “I’m not gonna provide any estimates as to how I think this will go, because I’ve made that mistake before and I decided that I’m going to love myself this week.” 

“Is this in reference to the Monaca episode?” Jeonghan asked from a station over. He looked to be preparing for a video shoot himself, his counter lined with bowls full of pre-chopped ingredients. “Everyone loved the Monaca episode, though. That narrative arc was some of your best work.” 

“Of course everyone loved that episode, why else do people watch this show if not to watch me suffer?” And Jisoo had suffered so much during the Monaca episode, had taken two weeks off filming just to recuperate. It was also their highest viewed video to date. He felt more than a little slighted each time he remembered that fact. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Soo-yah, you have plenty of other things to offer beyond your intense mental anguish.”

“My skills in the realm of pastry making?” 

Jeonghan hummed, never looking up from his chopping board. “That, and you are also very hot.” 

“Well,” Jisoo said, turning back to the camera and refusing to dignify that with a response, “regardless, this was the option you guys voted for the most. And it felt appropriate to have it be the Valentine’s Day special, since this does have some personal significance for me.” 

Wonwoo, Jisoo’s most frequent director, prompted him to explain. 

“My mom always gave me Kit Kats on Valentine’s Day growing up,” he said, opening the bag and taking a packet out. “It became our thing. And once I was grown enough to get an allowance, I would save up to get her one in return. So we’d swap Kit Kats and stuff. We still do that, actually.” 

The crew cooed in such uncanny unison that Jisoo couldn’t help but jolt.

“Hyung, that’s so cute.” Wonwoo said, hands pressed over his heart. 

Jisoo was sure his ears were bright red. “Yeah, yeah. We should get started now.” 

The problem with Yoon Jeonghan is that Jisoo still couldn’t quite get a handle on him. 

At this point, Jisoo had known and worked with him for almost three years. He was, unfortunately, begrudgingly, completely-against-Jisoo’s-will, his best friend here. Oddities and unconventional bonding rituals aside, things clicked into place where Jeonghan was concerned. Jisoo would never say it unless under immediate threat, but he couldn’t imagine working here without him. Disgusting as that was. 

And for a while there, like maybe two months into Jisoo being a full-time employee, he’d thought that it was going somewhere else. Somewhere, well—more. Because, while Jisoo didn’t like to broadcast his own vanity, he could tell when someone was interested in him. And for a bit there, he thought that Jeonghan might have been. 

Laying out the reasons he’d believed it now was kind of humiliating, but it was just that Jeonghan was so attentive. Remembered even the most passing of stories. Kept track of his water intake. Stepped in a few times whenever he felt Jisoo was feeling overwhelmed by filming. And sure, Jeonghan was the test kitchen manager, it was part of his job to make sure that everyone was in good condition, but Jisoo had felt it was different. 

Whatever. So it wasn’t the case, and Jisoo was wrong. 

Whatever. 

“Hm,” Jisoo hummed, staring down at the counter at the chocolate he’d been attempting to temper for the past forty-five minutes. The chocolate stared back, noticeably not shiny. As un-shiny as supposed-to-be-tempered chocolate could be. “So I’m hazarding a guess that this didn’t temper properly.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think it did,” Chan agreed. There was a note of sympathy in his voice that Jisoo would maybe be more receptive to if he wasn’t so close to ripping his hair out at the root. “Sorry, hyung, looks like you’re gonna have to try again.” 

Jisoo was trying very hard not to cry. “Chan-ah. This is my third attempt in two hours.” 

“I know, hyung.” 

“Chan-ah. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” 

“I don’t know either, hyung.” 

Jisoo took a deep, galvanizing breath. “Chan-ah.” His dongsaeng looked at him, eyes wide. “If I walked into the Han River and just fucking, like, sank, would you let me do it?”

“I can’t, hyung.” 

Jisoo nodded. Poked at a piece of chocolate and felt how unyielding and resolutely un-snappy it was. He nodded again. 

“Well,” he said on a long-suffering sigh, “fuck today, huh?” 

“...we’re gonna have to bleep that, Jisoo-yah,” Jimin, one of their producers, said from behind the camera.

“Ah, fuck, sorry.”

“We’ll be bleeping that too.” 

He couldn’t remember who told him about the third floor stairwell (it was either Seungcheol, Jimin, or Junhui) but he extended his spiritual thanks in their nebulous direction whenever he went out here. 

It was the perfect little hideaway. It faced an alley so the sometimes overstimulating noise of the main street was muffled to a distant buzz. It was so small that it could really only hold up to two people at a time (three if they were willing to squeeze), which meant that the smokers and day drinkers in the building would almost always choose to congregate elsewhere. And, perhaps the best and most important part, Jeonghan had all but claimed the space as his own, and for some reason, people at the office were intimidated enough by him that they steered clear of it if they knew he or one of his friends were there. 

Jisoo had abused this privilege more times than he could count, but he reckoned that deserved to do it again today. 

He didn’t smoke—a valiant effort on his part, by the way, when far too many things in his life made him want to romanticize nicotine—but he was itching for a cigarette. Or a puff off of Taehyung’s shitty vape that always tasted like some kind of dessert because A) he was a massive baby and B) Jimin downright refused to kiss him if he tasted like smoke. Hell, he’d even agree to one of Minghao’s special cigarettes. The ones with the custom blend that he rolled himself that may or may not contain weed and also dried roses. (He wasn’t sure what the roses were for.) 

But he didn’t do any of that. He only closed his eyes, rolled his shoulders back, and breathed. Breathed the way Jeonghan taught him to. Inhale through the nose. Hold for four. Exhale through the mouth for eight. Inhale, hold, exhale. He could handle this. He was a grown man, and he did not need to resort to alcohol during the day just to get past a stressful situation at work. 

He was breathing through his eighth repetition when the door to the stairwell opened, and—he should have known, really. 

“There you are,” Jeonghan said, and the soft look on his face coupled with the thermos in his hand felt almost too much for Jisoo’s strained nerves. “I thought you’d end up back here.” 

Jisoo made a noise of some kind. Acknowledgment, however indistinct. 

Jeonghan didn’t let his non-verbal response deter him and held out the thermos. “Made you tea. A lot of honey, like you like.” 

And Jisoo could only hope that his face was making an expression that could adequately express his thanks as he took the proffered drink. Even through the metal it was warm, sending heat through the heart of his palms. 

Things were quiet for a while, Jisoo sipping his tea (a lovely oolong that Jeonghan kept on hand in the staff break room) while Jeonghan played with his lighter. It was an old-fashioned one, made with silver and some kind of brushed metal. Jisoo loved looking at it. 

In the span of time it took for him to drink half of the tea, he regained his ability to speak. “You can smoke if you want.” 

Jeonghan looked at him then, surprised. “But you hate the smell.”

Jisoo shrugged, nodded down at the thermos he held close to his chest. “I can forgive it today.” 

And then Jeonghan laughed that weird laugh of his. He shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ve been meaning to quit anyway.” 

“If you say so.” 

“Mhm.” 

And later, they’d talk more. Jeonghan would catch him as he was trying to book a taxi at the curb outside the building (because fuck the borderline extortionate fare, Jisoo couldn’t bring himself to deal with the subway today) and he’d offer him a ride on his motorcycle. The same one Jisoo would never admit to finding hot. 

And then Jisoo would try and be coy about it, but Jeonghan would do that thing he liked to do with his face when he wanted something. He’d look at Jisoo a certain way, his eyebrows turning up ever so slightly at the inner corners, his lips jutting out just a bit. Just enough to get Jisoo to cave. 

And Jisoo would cave. 

And then Jeonghan would strap a helmet to his head, help him shimmy into the seat right behind him, and Jisoo would have to pretend that it didn’t matter to him that they were this close. That it didn’t matter that he could smell him right there, soapy and dry and floral and hitting Jisoo right in his throat. That it didn’t matter that he could feel Jeonghan breathe through his coat with his arms around his waist like this. 

Whatever. It’d be fine. 

And when they got to Jisoo’s apartment building, he’d ask Jeonghan if he wanted a nightcap, just the one drink. He was driving home after all. They needed to be responsible. 

And Jeonghan would say yes. And all it would take is one glass of a well-aged Sauvignon blanc for Jisoo to start babbling. Endless circles of self-doubt. Questions of skill and expertise. Self-directed accusations of fraudulence because he couldn’t possibly be a pastry chef, not when they were on day three of filming and he couldn’t even manage to temper chocolate, for God’s sake, Han-ah, imagine if my professors could see me now? Might as well hand in my diploma, rip up my chef’s whites. 

And Jeonghan would listen to him as he spilled over, and at the end of it all he would refill Jisoo’s glass because, in spite of what Jisoo liked to tell himself, he was a good man who understood Jisoo too well. And then he’d take one hand in both of his, run his thumbs over the knuckles, and he’d say, Soo-yah, you’re magic. A bad day is just a bad day. We’ll start again tomorrow.

And Jisoo was already in love. Had arguably been on the way there since that first moment in the company bathroom, his shoulders shaking and Jeonghan’s eyes so clear as he said, Hong-ssi, can you breathe with me? 

But in that moment, in the low, amber light of his kitchen, Jeonghan resembling a figure in an Edward Hopper painting in the chair across from him, Jisoo would fall again. He would fall again, and he’d wonder, distantly, if that would just be the new normal he’d have to get used to with Jeonghan from now on. Fall. Fall again. Rinse and repeat. 

But that was later. 

For now, they had this: Joshua leaning against the wall as he breathed, slow and steady and purposeful. Honey warm and fragrant on his tongue. Jeonghan at the railing, one hand curled over the metal while the other flipped and toyed with his lighter. The lighter he refused to use, because Jisoo hated cigarettes and he was already having a bad day and Jeonghan refused to make it worse. It was quiet, but it wasn’t oppressive. 

Everything else would come afterwards as it was always meant to, but for now this was enough.  

The first successful Kit Kat made Jisoo so happy he ended up hugging each member of the crew. 

And Mingyu made sure to have it filmed, standing to the side with his phone out, his own preparations completely abandoned on his station. Jisoo hugged him too, why not. He knew that by the next hour, Mingyu would have uploaded it to his Instagram story, all context removed save for Jisoo seemingly losing his mind and going around hugging people in relief. It’d be a fun thing for the viewers. 

“I am never going to make anything with chocolate ever again,” Jisoo exclaimed with a grin wide enough to split his cheeks as he walked back in front of the camera, holding up his beloved Kit Kat to it for a closer look. “I am never doing this again. I quit.” 

“Hyung, you still have to make more Kit Kats,” Mingyu reminded him, which Jisoo soundly ignored. 

“And Seungcheol would never let you quit,” Jimin added from where he was stood behind the camera. 

“Screw Cheollie hyung, Jeonghan hyung would never let him quit,” Soonyoung added, because if there was one thing you could trust him to do, it was to always be around to say something unnecessary within seeing and hearing distance of a filming crew. 

“Can we not talk about other people during my moment?” Jisoo said, cutting off the conversation before it could go any further. “Look at my beautiful baby! My child. I birthed her myself. Mom, if you’re watching, you have a grandchild now.” 

“And what exactly is happening here?” a new voice said. Jisoo whipped around and, at the sight of the newcomer, didn’t bother hiding his happy little noises.

“Han-ah, look, come here,” he said, tongue almost tripping over the words in his excitement. He held up the little plate where his Kit Kat rested. “Don’t eat it yet, I need to make more.” 

Jeonghan was still in his winter coat (he’d mentioned in passing last night that he had an outdoor shoot for a video on street food and was actively dreading it; Jisoo had given him a spare box of hand warmers and told him to get over it) but he waddled over anyway. His cheeks were ruddy and he smelled like a coal briquette, but he looked so excited. Excited for Jisoo. Excited on his behalf. 

Jisoo swallowed. 

“Wah,” Jeonghan said, extending the vowel as he looked from the chocolate to Jisoo. “Wah, you did it. You tempered chocolate.”

“I know!” Jisoo almost squealed. “Look at how shiny it is! I suffered so much! My God!” 

“You did great, Soo-yah,” Jeonghan said, running a gloved hand up and down Jisoo’s back. “Knew you could do it.” 

“Well, your belief in me is borderline unjustifiable so forgive me for being skeptical,” Jisoo replied, setting down his Kit Kat and beginning to gather his materials to clean up. They’d resume filming tomorrow, and his bigger molds (that he had custom-made, because Jisoo never figured out how to not half-ass anything ever) would be here by then, so he could make one big final batch and be done with this whole thing. He couldn’t wait. 

“See, you keep saying that,” Jeonghan said, leaning one hand onto Jisoo’s station and looking at him, eyebrows furrowed and mouth far too earnest, “but then you prove me right anyway, that my belief is justifiable. So I don’t get the self-doubt.” 

And Jisoo never knew what to do whenever he got like this, all sweet and full-hearted and too much to take in all at once. And in front of the cameras that were still rolling, no less. But he met his stare head-on for as long as he could, only looking away when someone adjusting a light gave him an excuse to look away. 

“Let me have my spirals, Han-ah,” he huffed, voice as glib as he could manage. “I’ll just keep going to you whenever they happen. Apologies in advance and whatever.” 

Jeonghan chuckled, a gentle thing. “I welcome it, Soo-yah.”

They wrapped for the day soon after that. 

Apparently, corporate thought it’d be a good idea to have a mixer on Valentine’s Day. A little morale boost for the occasion, since the New York office learned that couple culture was so huge in Korea and damn near everyone at the company had significant others. Jisoo reckoned that their higher ups only agreed for the chance to get free food and have the work day end two hours earlier. 

The very last thing Jisoo did before he went home to change was watch their editing team upload the Kit Kat video. 

“I feel like this will be a big one,” Beomgyu, their lead video editor, said as the video finished uploading. The rest of their social media team would be circulating the link and some promotional clips in no time.  

Jisoo laughed. “You always say that, Gyu-yah.” 

“Nah hyung, I mean like—it’ll be really big. Like, really big.” 

Jisoo patted his shoulder. “Well, let’s hope so. That’s a bonus in all of our paychecks.” 

Because fate was a cantankerous bitch to Jisoo in particular, he found Jeonghan in the hall as he was on his way to the elevators. 

“Ah, Han-ah,” he greeted, welcoming the short hug he was greeted with. “Happy Hearts Day and whatnot.” 

“You’re the only person I know who says that,” Jeonghan said, squeezing him once before letting go. “It makes you sound so weird.” 

“Rich coming from you,” Jisoo replied, “who routinely says even weirder shit just casually. Happy Hearts Day is a common saying.” He pointedly pressed the elevator button and equally as pointedly ignored Jeonghan when he started laughing. 

And Jeonghan kept laughing as the elevator came and they stepped in, giggling to himself as they got down to the ground floor. Jisoo would be more annoyed if he wasn’t so used to it, so he only bid his goodbyes to passing staff and the guard at the front door as he made his way out of the building, paying no mind to Yoon Jeonghan’s snickering ass as he stopped at the curb and waited for his cab. 

“You’re gonna just get another cab on your way back here?” Jeonghan asked after he’d finally calmed down, poking Jisoo’s shoulder. 

Jisoo nodded. “That’s the idea, yeah.” 

In the corner of Jisoo’s eye, he watched Jeonghan straighten. Square his shoulders, almost. “I can pick you up, if you want. I'm bringing my car.” 

Jisoo turned to him then, eyebrow raised and face carefully blank to disguise the sudden uptick in his pulse. “I’m out of the way for you, Jeonghan.” 

“That’s never bothered me and you know it,” Jeonghan pointed out. “Just say yes, Jisoo-ssi. I’ll just annoy you until you do, anyway.” 

Jisoo rolled his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, Yoon Jeonghan.” 

Jeonghan grinned. “I know.”  

Because Jisoo was the way that he was, he had planned his outfit the day the event was announced (last week, during a meeting where Seungcheol was going through their possible brand deals). (As a side note, Jisoo finally got the Le Creuset partnership; Jeonghan started whining that they should have given it to him as soon as it was announced and Jisoo (quite correctly) told him that they would never want their beautiful cookware near Jeonghan’s weird experiments.) 

He kept it simple with some slight flourishes, because he didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard. (Although he loved having the excuse to dress up.) A navy polo shirt with a wide, white collar, the splash of red at the back lending a nice pop of color. Graphite gray slacks that nipped in at the waist. Black brogues that his mother got him for his birthday last year. He styled his hair, put on a light layer of makeup, and reapplied his perfume. He stepped up to his mirror. Stared at his face in the glass.

He breathed in, deep. He was a good-looking guy. He knew this. Had been told this all his life. “Wah, that Jisoo, pretty and handsome all at once,” people often said. 

So why on earth was he so nervous? 

The doorbell rung, then. Jeonghan, surely. 

Ah, he thought, this might be why. 

When he got to his front door, he wasn’t sure what he’d find. Jeonghan, yes, but which Jeonghan exactly? Jisoo had met almost all of them, but you could never quite gauge the man. Always something tucked away, different cards slipped up the undersides of his sleeves. It made for a good game, normally, the way he’d have to guess which version of Jeonghan was in front of him—silly, or insolent, or impish, or quiet—but with Jisoo’s heart already in his throat, he didn’t feel like playing. 

So he just braced himself. Opened the door.

“Hey,” Jeonghan greeted, and he was leaning against the door frame like a fucking love interest in a movie, and Jisoo could count on one hand the amount of times that he’d felt viscerally attracted to a person (he wasn’t someone so easily phased, thank you very much) but all of them paled in comparison to this moment. 

Jeonghan had let his hair down from the low ponytail he favored at work, black strands hanging to his chin, one side tucked behind his ear. He was in a black pea coat that Jisoo had never seen before, with a dove gray turtleneck underneath tucked into a loose pair of matching pants. He was wearing the necklace that—he realized with a jolt—Jisoo had given him for his birthday last year. 

God, if you can hear me, Jisoo thought, please don’t fuck me over. And sorry for cursing. Amen. 

“You look,” Jisoo started, and then stopped, because that was completely involuntary. But then Jeonghan looked questioningly at him, and he had no choice but to continue. “Good. You look really good. You clean up nice, Yoon Jeonghan, who would’ve thought?” 

And he was dimly aware he was babbling a little bit, kind of was waiting for the ground to swallow him whole if it meant he’d stop fucking talking, but he watched pink start to crawl up Jeonghan’s face and decided that the babbling was worth it in this instance. 

“Well,” Jeonghan said, scratching at the back of his neck, “you look great, too.” 

“Seriously, I feel underdressed now.” 

“Yah, shut up. You look great. Beautiful. Just bring a jacket or something, it’s too cold to be in sleeves that short.” 

Jisoo raised an eyebrow as he turned to his coat rack. “You think I’m beautiful, Yoon Jeonghan?” 

Jeonghan’s laugh was a dry little thing. “You know I think you’re beautiful, Hong Jisoo.” 

Jisoo was incredulous. “No I don’t.”

It was Jeonghan who raised an eyebrow this time. “Do I not make it obvious?”

And Jisoo had to try very hard not to sputter. “No, you don’t.” 

And then Jeonghan did something infuriating—he hummed, cocked his head to the side, and looked at Jisoo. Just looked. And kept looking. 

And Jisoo had to pretend that he couldn’t feel his stare as he shrugged on his own coat, grabbed his bag, and tugged on his gloves. He double-checked his keys, if only to stall for time. He cleared his throat as faced Jeonghan again. “Shall we go?” 

Jeonghan smiled, mouth eternally soft. “We shall.” 

The drive back to the company building was only a little awkward, but they managed to paper over it once they started talking about work. Jisoo was thinking of making Choco Pies for the next Gourmet Makes episode, Jeonghan was going to be doing another video on street food, and his new batch of radish kimchi was fermenting nicely, Jisoo should try it next week or something. 

“Yeah, sure, Han-ah. For a video?” 

“Nah, it’s a recipe I’m testing. They want more fermented stuff for the next issue. The kimchi recipe I submitted last time was a big hit, apparently.” 

“Ah, it was! Even my mom tried it, you know?” 

“Wah. Did she like it?” 

“She did. She told me to tell you, but then I forgot. Until just now.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Guilty.” 

They were quick to lose each other in the crowd once they got back to the company. 

It wasn’t even intentional, since Jeonghan seemed determined to stick next to Jisoo the whole evening, but they were both pulled away in different directions by other people. 

Jisoo himself was in conversation with a few staff writers from Magazine F when Jihoon and Seungkwan appeared in the distance, looking at him with twin expressions of mischief that immediately set off every single alarm in Jisoo’s head. 

“Excuse me,” he said to the group, smiling winningly at them as he pulled away from the discussion as smoothly as he could get away with. Jihoon and Seungkwan inched ever closer, and if he could get away now, he could make for the bathroom and escape them somehow. 

“Not so fast hyung,” Seungkwan, the goddamn brat, hollered across the hall at him, and Jisoo could only glare at them as they reached him. 

“Boo Seungkwan, the mouth on you,” Jisoo reprimanded, pinching Seungkwan’s cheek and ignoring the younger’s ensuing whine. “You’re so lucky you’re likable. Half of the people in this room wouldn’t get away with the things you do in public.” 

Seungkwan had the temerity to snicker. “But you were trying to escape, hyung. Couldn’t have that, couldn’t we, Hoonie hyung?” 

Jihoon nodded with a smile so wide it made something in Jisoo’s middle clench. “Indeed we couldn’t. We just have news to share, hyung.” 

“Oh God. Will I hate it? I’ll hate it, won’t I?” 

Seungkwan hummed, already scrolling through his phone for whatever it was that he wanted to show Jisoo. “Depends.” 

“That’s not assuring at all.” 

“Because I’m not trying to assure you; I’m trying to prepare you adequately. And you prefer that, don’t you, hyung?” 

And Jisoo couldn’t even deny that. “Just tell me already.” 

“You’re trending,” Jihoon said, handing Jisoo his own phone. There on the screen was the trending list on Twitter, and there indeed Jisoo was, a few spots underneath #ValentinesDay. What the fuck. 

“What the fuck,” Jisoo mumbled. 

Seungkwan’s answering laugh resembled the cry of some great bird. “That’s the highest you’ve gotten! And that’s not all, either.” 

Jisoo blinked at him in disbelief, fingers almost gripless on Jihoon’s phone. “There’s more?” 

“Mhm. This is the bit where I’m not sure how you’ll feel.” He swapped Jihoon’s phone for his, and Jisoo stared down at it. It was open on Pann Nate, where a few trending posts bore Jisoo’s name. And another one alongside it. 

Jisoo frowned. He looked at Seungkwan. “Jeonghan and I? 

Seungkwan nodded. “So you know how people ship you two?” 

“Unfortunately.” Jisoo still kind of wished he’d never learned about it, especially because the way Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung had explained it all to him—with vivid descriptions of the, uh, fan content generally produced and a long, meandering list of reasons why people would want him and Jeonghan together in the first place—had left him perpetually troubled since then. 

“Yeah, well, it’s becoming a more popular thing now. To ship you two. Together. As a couple.” 

Jisoo blinked again. “Okay. Do I even want to know what made this time so different?” 

“You can’t really blame the audience, hyung,” Jihoon interjected. “I know you don’t like to watch the videos much, but you two are just so—” 

“So?” Jisoo prompted.

“So gross,” Seungkwan said. “Like, seriously. So married and gross. And you’re even worse in person. I have no idea how you don’t see it.” 

“Because that’s just how we’ve always been!” Jisoo said, slightly at a loss. “That’s what our friendship has always looked like, I don’t really know what else to say to that.” 

“Well, whatever it is that’s between the two of you,” Jihoon said, “the audience likes it. A lot. And so you’re trending on Twitter and Pann Nate. Because you were somehow grosser and weirder this time around, and the fact that it’s the Valentine’s Day video was just the icing on the cake for a lot of people.” 

Jisoo stared at the both of them. “What were you two even hoping for in telling me all this?” 

“A breakdown, honestly,” Seungkwan replied without missing a beat. “Some light yelling would also suffice. Or at least turn red enough to put a stop light to shame.” 

Jisoo decided then and there that he was no longer going to entertain this. “You people are fucking psychopaths, get away from me.”

And then he turned on his heel and, entirely resolute, headed for the bar.

“You can’t outrun your reality, hyung! No amount of alcohol in the world could—oh, sorry ma’am, no not you, please proceed.” 

“Boo Seungkwan, you embarrass me every day!” 

“I keep finding you in weird places these days,” a voice said from just behind him, and Jisoo didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. Because there was only ever one person who went looking, one person who knew him well enough to find him. 

Jisoo sighed. God, I thought I asked you not to fuck me over today. Is it because I cursed? Did that negate the whole thing? 

“You okay?” Jeonghan asked once he got closer, leaning against the concrete half-wall where Jisoo was resting his own arms. 

Jisoo shrugged, still looking out at the sky. Suddenly, he was grateful that there was no coat check for the event. The chill was still fierce, and this high up it was only even fiercer, and Jisoo would have frozen to death if he didn’t have his coat. 

Access to the roof was normally barred during events, but Jisoo was friendly enough with the guard stationed at the top floor that he was let in after some light persuasion. He reckoned that Jeonghan did the same, charmed his way right through. It’d be an easy enough thing for him to do; Jeonghan knew damn near every single person in this building by name. 

It was something Jisoo had found so admirable about him, when they first started hanging out and he realized just how shy Jeonghan was. This man that people found so intimidating that they avoided a stairwell just because he’d staked a(n unofficial) claim, who knew every single janitor and security guard and even knew stories about their families. This same man who’d hover behind Jisoo whenever a colleague from a different department would come into the test kitchen and strike up a conversation the way a child would hide behind their mother's knee. 

“Ah fuck,” Jisoo couldn’t help saying, low enough to be buried under the wind. Ah, fuck, Yoon Jeonghan. Would he ever stop sending Jisoo into a tailspin? 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jeonghan asked again, and he was looking directly at Jisoo now. “You like mixers, normally. Why’d you leave?” 

Probably not, Jisoo thought. 

And then, because he was about to burst—

“Do you know that people think we should date?” 

Silence, thick enough to smother a grown man to death. 

Jisoo might just be that grown man. 

Jeonghan blinked. “What?” 

“Fuck me,” Jisoo groaned, shoving himself off the half-wall and starting to pace. God, this was not how he wanted to do this. This was so—inelegant. Uncouth. Unbecoming. Other words and adjectives. 

And Jeonghan was standing so still. “Jisoo, what?” 

“This is all Seungkwan and Jihoon’s fault!” 

“What do they have to do with this?” 

Jisoo gesticulated in a manner less moderate than he intended. “You know, I’m trending right now. On Twitter. And Pann Nate.” 

“That’s good? Congratulations—” 

Jisoo shook his head so violently his ears rang for a bit afterwards. “No.” 

“No? What?” 

“No! We’re trending. The two of us. Us, together. Do you get it?” 

“Jisoo, I don’t.” 

“The Valentine’s Day special was uploaded today and people are convinced we’re dating, and that if we’re not, that we should,” Jisoo said in a rush, feeling his lungs deflate as he spoke. “There are so many people, Jeonghan, so many people who think that we’d be good together. Who think we’d make sense.” 

The look on Jeonghan’s face was carefully blank. Like he was holding something back, hands trying to keep water from spilling. “And is that a bad thing?” 

Jisoo threw both arms up in the air. “That’s the problem, I don’t think it is. It just upsets me.” 

A twitch in his left eyebrow, a slightly pained curl to his bottom lip. “Why does it upset you?” 

“Because! Because it—it forces me to have to think about what we must look like to other people, how we come across. And how close it is to something I really want but can’t have. It bothers me that other people see something unobtainable. That’s fucking upsetting, Yoon Jeonghan.” 

And then it was almost like a breeze tore through Jeonghan to freeze him where he stood. And Jisoo was—not heaving, but close to it. And he wanted to explode. Blow up this building. This damned day. This damned earth. 

But then Jeonghan moved, so sudden it was almost like all Jisoo had to do was blink and he was right there, brought closer to him. Right where he wanted. 

“Do you,” Jeonghan said, and then breathed. Deep and long, just like how he taught Jisoo. “Do you mean what I think you mean?” 

And Jisoo almost scowled, almost pushed Jeonghan back, because how dare he, how dare he ask that—but the look in Jeonghan’s eye stopped him. 

That slight shine, the way his brows turned upwards in the middle. That near-desperate, beseeching look. 

“If you’re asking if I like you,” Jisoo said slowly, enunciating each word as perfectly as he could, “then yes. For a long time. So either accept it or kill me.” 

Jeonghan burst out laughing so hard he almost hit Jisoo’s forehead with his. “Why the fuck would I kill you when this is all I’ve wanted to hear, Hong Jisoo?” 

And it was Jisoo’s turn to freeze. “What?” 

“I like you back, if it’s not clear yet,” Jeonghan said, and Jisoo wanted to pinch himself. Or punch something. Punch Jeonghan, maybe. “I love you, even.” 

Jisoo felt his jaw drop. “Love? What the fuck, Jeonghan.” 

“For a while. To quote you, for a long time. Since almost the very start, I think.” 

To say Jisoo was confused was a diabolical understatement. Shock and disbelief coiled so tightly together they were almost one entity. “Then why didn’t you—I thought. I thought for a moment, before, that you liked me. But then I disregarded it because you didn’t say anything, and I just assumed that’s how you treated everyone—” 

“Ah,” Jeonghan said, looking sheepish for the first time since this whole disaster started, “no, you were right, I did like you. Do like you, present tense, just to be clear, too. I was also just a coward. I still am, kind of. I was gonna confess today but then you beat me to it.” 

Distantly, Jisoo wondered how many shocks to his system he could take before he flat-lined. “What?” 

Jeonghan, if possible, looked even more contrite. “Yeah, I swear. I was gonna do it. I’ve been working up the nerve to ask you out since I first saw you, Hong Jisoo. I promise I was going to be brave this time around. But you’ve always been the first one to do anything between us, huh?” And the way his face shifted would stay in Jisoo’s mind forever, how Jeonghan looked at him like he was something life-sustaining. Like the very sight of him was enough to put oxygen in him. 

(He’d realize, later, that Jeonghan had looked at him like that all this time.) 

“My Jisoo,” Jeonghan continued, a hand going up to run gentle fingers through Jisoo’s hair, tucking it behind his ear. “You’ve always been the braver one.” 

And Jisoo just had to kiss him. He just had to. 

And he tasted warm. Like peach schnapps and sea salt and boy. Like puff pastry and orange rind. Like the sweetest parts of all of Jisoo’s best dreams. 

“Tell me,” Jisoo whispered once they separated, breathing him in. His nerves felt electric in his body, but in a good way. Less panic, more exhilaration. “Tell me how you would have confessed.” 

Jeonghan bit down on his bottom lip, and the visual was insane enough that Jisoo nearly leaned back in again, but then he reached into his coat pocket, ruffled around a bit, and pulled out, of all things, a Kit Kat bar.

“Before you laugh,” Jeonghan said, because he knew Jisoo too well, “I had a whole speech prepared. And I was going to be really cute. You wouldn’t have been able to resist me.” 

But Jisoo still couldn’t help laughing then, so fond he almost hated it. “All right, I’ll believe you, because I know for certain that I won’t be getting that speech now.” 

Jeonghan grinned. “When we get to our tenth year, I’ll tell you the speech.” 

“You’re that confident? That we’ll get that far?” 

Jeonghan looked at him like the answer should be obvious. “Duh, Soo-yah. I waited years for you. I’m not letting you get away from me at this point.” 

And Jisoo was struck by it, that kind of faith. He couldn't remember a time anyone besides his mother had ever believed in anything to do with him the way Jeonghan did. “All right, Han-ah.” 

But then he added, “Ah, wait, I did get two, though.” 

Jisoo looked at him, confused. "Two? Of what?"

Jeonghan looked sheepish again. “Kit Kats. I bought two. Because you give one to your mom every Valentine's to show her you care, and I thought, well." This close, Jisoo could see the different flecks of dark brown in Jeonghan's eyes. "Well, why not give one to her, too. Because I care about her son. And I want to show her that."

And maybe the world was renewed right then and there. Or maybe the orbit of the earth shifted a few degrees. Or it could be that the moon drew herself closer in the sky to eavesdrop. 

Or maybe it was just Jisoo, and how his heart would never learn how to behave around Jeonghan. 

“I hate you,” he said, shoving his face into his shoulder and trying to blink away the completely ludicrous urge to cry. “I hate you so much.” 

Jeonghan’s arms came to catch him, a warm circle for Jisoo to live in forever. “No, you don’t.” 

“I do.” 

“You really don’t.” 

“I really do.” 

“I love you, Jisoo-yah,” Jeonghan said, and Jisoo could feel him smiling into his hair. 

And he hummed, high and happy. So full of light he could die. So warm he could feel the heat-rush of blood as it coursed through him. “I love you too, you fucker.” 

Epilogue: 

"Oh wow, you really aren't subtle, huh," Jisoo mumbled in astonishment, watching the way Jeonghan trailed after him onscreen. The way he stared at him, eyes sweet and round. Bug-like. His boyfriend was a bug, maybe. Jisoo was dating a bug. "God, no wonder people think you're obsessed with me." 

Jeonghan had his face buried in his hands and had refused to surface since they put the video on (an older episode of Jeonghan's first series on proper kitchen prep; Jisoo had stepped in as a special guest to explain how to properly take care of baking equipment). They'd never really watched any of their own videos until now. He was having fun, he should have suggested this ages ago. 

"First of all," Jeonghan said, words muffled by his palms, "think? I am obsessed with you. Second of all, you're just as bad if not worse." 

Jisoo scoffed. "Okay, but it's not about me, so don't change the subject." 

"We're putting on a Gourmet Makes after this and you're gonna watch your own heart eyes, and it will be so good for me and so bad for you." 

"Acting like you don't pine after me on Gourmet Makes, too." 

"...Touché."