♥ JEON JUNGKOOK | Kimchi Fried Rice ♥
The apartment is unusually quiet, which means that Jungkook is concentrating on something.
You follow the smell of butter and kimchi into the kitchen and find him standing at the stove in an oversized black T-shirt, wooden spoon in one hand, chopsticks in the other. His phone sits face down on the counter, music playing softly through the speaker.
He doesn't see you standing at the doorway yet as he tips the pan forward with an easy flick of his wrist, sending the rice tumbling over itself before catching it again.
"You could just use the spatula," you say from the doorway, "Like most people do."
He jumps, the rice landing back in the pan with a satisfying hiss. "You weren't supposed to see that."
"You look very proud of yourself."
A grin breaks across his face. "I've been practicing that."
"Mmmhm,” he says. “It’s a speciality. All the good chefs do it.”
"So you’re just showing off."
"I wouldn’t say that” he tells you, contemplating your words for a moment. “Well maybe a little."
You wander over, peering into the pan. The kimchi has caramelised around the edges, little bits catching just enough to smell smoky. Spring onions are lined up on the chopping board in neat, identical slices.
"You cut every single one almost the same size,” you observe. “Impressive.”
He shrugs. "It’s so they cook evenly."
"Did you measure them with a ruler?"
He looks at you incredulously. “Of course not!”
He laughs. "I've never seen you so suspicious."
"I'm with someone who alphabetises the spice rack,” you retort.
"You did it last week,” you correct him. “Twice.”
"I didn’t like the first order,” he explains. “It was getting messy."
You shake your head, smiling as you hold your hands up. “I stand corrected."
Jungkook reaches for a small bowl. "Here, come and taste this?"
You accept the spoon he offers. It's savoury and flavoursome, just spicy enough. "Mm,” you hum. “That’s really good."
He watches your face intently for a second. "What?" you say.
"Your eyebrows go up when you like something,” he informs you, gesturing at you. “Like that.”
"Really?” you say. “You’ve paid that much attention to my eyebrows?"
"I've known you a while,” he says casually.
You watch as he cracks two eggs into the pan beside the rice, the whites sizzling immediately.
"Do you always cook the eggs separately?" you ask.
"I like the edges crispy."
"You've really thought about this."
"I think about food a lot,” he reminds you. “You know that.”
He slides the eggs onto the rice, then disappears into the cupboard. When he comes back, he's holding two bowls, one plain white and the other a deep blue ceramic one with a tiny chip near the rim.
He hands you the blue one, which you recognise all too well. "I thought that one was your favourite."
"So why am I getting it?"
"Because I’ve noticed you eyeing it,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
You hadn't even realised you did as you look at the bowl. "I didn’t realise I was so obvious,” you say. “It’s a cute bowl, the chip gives it personality.”
He chuckles. “Then it’s yours from now.”
You smile as he takes the seat opposite you, a spoonful already on its way to his mouth without hesitation.
You eat in silence, broken only by the occasional clink of spoons. Jungkook suddenly reaches across the table without looking.
"Hold still,” he says, his thumb catching a grain of rice near the corner of your mouth. "There."
You give a soft laugh. "How long was that there?”
"Since your second bite,” he answers with a cute grin.
"And you let me embarrass myself?" you say playfully.
"I was seeing how long it'd take before you noticed it yourself," he says. “But I got impatient.”
You laugh. "Well, thanks anyway."
He nods. " I don’t think you’d have noticed until we were all done.”
You steal a spoonful from his bowl and he pretends to frown. "You've got your own."
"It tastes exactly the same."
You think for a moment. "Just because," you say vaguely. “Maybe because it’s from your bowl.”
Jungkook’s cheeks colour slightly and he bites back a smile. You smirk, it happens each time you say something he wasn’t expecting. You stand up and carry your bowl over to his side of the table.
He looks up, surprise registering in his eyes, but before he can speak, you lean down and kiss him, soft and quick.
When you pull back, he catches the sleeve of your sweater before you can move away. "I think you forgot something."
He lifts a spoonful of fried rice toward you. "Open."
"You kissed the chef, and the chef thinks that you should finish breakfast."
You obey, and he watches until you've swallowed, looking absurdly pleased with himself.
"Much,” he says, picking up his own spoon again as though nothing unusual had happened. After a few bites, he says, almost absentmindedly, "I bought extra kimchi yesterday."
He shrugs. "We were nearly out."
"I always check." He glances around the apartment. "I like knowing we've got everything we need."
The answer is so completely him. You look down at the bowl in your hands, at the blue ceramic you always reach for without thinking the perfectly crisp egg, and the spring onions cut with almost ridiculous precision.
Jungkook made sure you never had to wonder whether he was taking care of you, he always did.
♥ KIM TAEHYUNG/V | Truffle Carbonara ♥
When you wake up, Taehyung is already on the phone. "No, I know,” you hear him say. “I know that’s what you said, hyung.” He sighs. “I’m just asking is all.”
You linger in the hallway, listening.
"No, I haven't put it in,” he continues. "You told me not to." He listens for a moment to whoever is on the other end of the line, then laughs. "I'll call you later, okay."
He hangs up just as you walk into the kitchen. "Morning."
You nod towards his phone. "Who was that?"
"Jin-hyung,” he replies with a smile.
"What did you do?" you ask, a little suspiciously.
Taehyung’s eyes widen. “Nothing!” he exclaims. "I just had some questions.”
"What kind of questions?" you say, curiously.
He hesitates for a second. "Ones he didn't like.”
You look around the kitchen. The smell of butter reaches you before anything else, mixed with guanciale and freshly cracked black pepper. A pot of pasta bubbles gently on the stove while egg yolks wait in a bowl beside a generous pile of finely grated pecorino cheese. Everything is neatly measured and ready to go.
"Someone’s been busy,” you say, impressed.
Your eyes drift to a small wooden board tucked beside the chopping board. On it sits a single black truffle. You look back at him. "Taehyung."
He looks suspiciously innocent. "What?"
"Were you planning to put truffle in the carbonara?” you venture. “Is that what you asked Jin?"
He looks a little sheepish. "I might have hinted at it,” he tells you. “But he said no.”
"Are you going to use it anyway?"
"I already bought it,” Taehyung explains. “I don’t really want to waste it."
You can't help laughing. "So you called him after you'd already bought it?"
"I wanted to give him the opportunity to agree with me, but he didn’t.” He scratches the back of his neck, smiling to himself. "He said if I wanted to make truffle pasta, I should make truffle pasta. Not carbonara."
You glance meaningfully at the truffle. "So what are you making?"
He thinks about it for a moment. "Lunch."
“That’s a great answer,” you grin.
He drops the pasta into the pan with the guanciale, moving quickly now. The rendered fat coats every strand before he tips everything into the bowl of egg yolks and cheese.
You instinctively reach for the tongs. "I'll stir."
"You've done this before?"
"Enough to know if you stop moving, you'll have scrambled eggs."
He smiles. "I was hoping you'd help."
The two of you work together, passing the bowl back and forth until the sauce turns glossy and smooth. Nobody speaks, deep in concentration, there’s only the quiet scrape of tongs against ceramic.
Then Taehyung picks up the truffle. "I'm going to do it,” he says, eyes lighting up.
"Are you sure you want to do this?”
He shakes his head. "I learned his recipe first."
His fingers begin shaving impossibly thin slices over one of the bowls he has laid out on the counter.
"You didn't put any on the other one,” you observe. “Why not?”
He sets the truffle down. "I wanted yours to taste like yours."
"But you like truffle, don’t you?"
"Yeah,” he shrugs. “But you love it.”
Maybe that’s enough explanation.
The first bite is everything carbonara should be. Silky and peppery −the truffle barely there, but just enough to linger after the cheese fades.
"It's good, hm?" Taehyung asks softly.
You open them again. "It's−,” you start, searching for the right word. "Familiar."
His eyebrows lift. "I've never made it before."
"But it tastes like something I've always liked."
He smiles quietly. "I hoped it would."
You keep eating, but after a while, you notice he’s hardly touched his own bowl.
"You've spent more time watching me than eating," you tell him. “What’s up? Don’t you like it?”
He twirls his fork once. “I like to see you happy,” he says simply.
He reaches across the table and steals a shaving of truffle from your bowl. "You always save your favourite bite for last."
You look down to see that he's right. Absentmindedly, you’ve nudged the pieces of truffle to one side.
You giggle. "It’s a habit,” you state. "You always remember things like that."
"I like to remember things that make you happy."
You look at him for a long moment, before you lean over to take the fork from his hand.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"You said this bowl was mine."
You twirl a forkful of pasta, making sure it catches one of the last ribbons of truffle. Then you hold it out to him. "You forgot the best part,” you say.
“I knew you'd share,” he says with a smile as he moves forward to take the bite. "You always do."
But at the last second, you pull the fork back just enough to kiss him first. He laughs into it, surprised, one hand instinctively finding your waist to steady himself. When you finally let him have the pasta, he chews thoughtfully.
"Do you think this is worth getting told off by Jin?" you ask teasingly.
"The truffle?" he says, looking at you over the rim of his bowl. You nod. "No."
Your smile falters. "Really?"
"The truffle's nice, but watching you eat it,” he says, his smile almost shy. “That’s the part I was waiting for.”
Suddenly, his phone buzzes. It’s a message from Jin.
Taehyung glances at you, then at the bowl. "You know what?” he begins. “If I angle it carefully−.”
"Jin can't see the truffle?"
He grins. "I was thinking exactly that."
"You are never getting away with this."
He laughs softly as he picks up his phone. "I think he'll forgive me,” he says. “Eventually.”
♥ KIM SEOKJIN/JIN | Mulhoe ♥
When you walk in, there on the kitchen counter is the tablet, strategically angled towards the front-facing camera.
You smile inwardly, folding your arms −only one person you know would do that.
"Are you admiring yourself while cooking?"
Seokjin doesn't even look guilty. "I caught my reflection in the screen and thought, wow,” he says, matter-of-factly.
"I'd be disappointed if I didn't." He flashes you a grin so effortlessly charming that annoyingly it almost justifies the confidence. "World Wide Handsome has standards to maintain."
"I can’t believe you’re saying that with a straight face."
He pouts. "That’s because it's true."
The kitchen is bright with the scent of sesame oil and vinegar. Thin slices of sashimi rest over crushed ice while he carefully juliennes cucumber, pear, and perilla leaves with far more precision than you would have expected from somebody who had spent the last five minutes pretending the knife was accepting an award.
"You are suspiciously competent,” you tell him.
"I’ve done this multiple times before,” he quips, brimming with confidence even though he’s distracted by scooting things off the chopping board and into a bowl.
Seokjin laughs in a bright, unabashed way that always seems to bring out yours along with it.
"It’s all true,” he says.
“So what’s the occasion?” you ask.
“No occasion,” he states simply. “I just wanted to make mulhoe because it's getting warm." His tone has softened just enough to catch your attention. "You always look happier after something cold."
That was true. It just hit different. "It’s sweet you noticed that,” you tell him.
"As if I wouldn’t," he grins.
Seokjin pours the icy broth over the vegetables, adds the fish last, then pours in some gochujang before scattering sesame seeds over the top with a flourish. "There." He steps aside dramatically. "−The masterpiece."
"At least you're consistent,” you say with a playful shake of your head.
He places the bowl in front of you with exaggerated ceremony before sitting opposite, chin resting in one hand. "Go ahead, try it."
You lift a spoonful. The broth is bright and tangy, sweet pear balancing the spice, cold enough that it feels refreshing all the way down. Your eyes widen in appreciation. "Oh my God, this is−"
His broad shoulders relax. "I was worried the broth needed something."
"You’ve only had one spoon."
"Yeah, but I can already tell." You reach across the table for his hand. "You know it's one of my most favourite things you make."
His ears pink just slightly. "You've told me before once or twice," he admits.
"I mean it,” you reiterate.
He smiles. "I made this one thinking about you instead of the recipe." His eyes drift toward the little orange mushroom keychain hanging from your bag. "I almost bought one of those MapleStory slime-shaped fish cake moulds."
"No way!” you exclaim, genuinely excitably. “−Really?"
"But they were sold out,” he concludes, sighing with genuine disappointment. "I had an entire presentation planned about why the mulhoe would taste better if served by someone who has defeated Zakum."
You burst into laughter. "That doesn't even make sense."
"It makes perfect sense,” he insists, feigning affront. "To elite gamers."
You raise an eyebrow. “That’s you I suppose,” you say.
His smug smile answers you.
Suddenly he moves forward, reaching out to tilt your chin up with the crook of his finger as he looks into your eyes. His expression loses its playfulness for just a second. "It’s funny,” he begins quietly. “People joke that I love looking at myself."
You stare back at him, it’s very hard not to. You would look at yourself all day and all night if you looked like him.
"I do." He laughs. "I am very handsome."
"But−” His thumb lingers lightly against your cheek. "My favourite face to look at has always been yours."
You hear the confidence disappear from his voice as soon as he says it. "Careful,” you warn. “If you keep cooking like this and saying things like that.” You lean in, close enough that your noses almost brush. "World Wide Handsome is going to get spoiled."
He smiles before your lips meet his, smiling all the way through the kiss as though he had already decided this was the best part of the meal.
When you break apart, he looks entirely too pleased with himself. "I knew the mulhoe would work."
"You think the kiss was because of the mulhoe?"
"It certainly didn't hurt."
"What am I going to do with you?" you sigh dramatically. “You’re impossible.”
He smirks, finding your hand beneath the table. “I can think of a few things you can do…”
♥ PARK JIMIN | Tteokbokki ♥
You smell the gochujang before you even unlock the door. When you step inside, your shoes barely make it onto the mat before you hear Jimin calling out. "Don't come in yet!"
"No, I said don't!" he shrieks, higher now.
"You said it after I opened the door!” you reply.
He appears around the corner holding a wooden spoon as if he's caught you committing a crime.
"I was trying to surprise you."
"You've succeeded,” you tell him, giving him a suspicious side-eye.
"I haven't even plated it yet."
You laugh. "Should I go back outside?"
He considers it. "Maybe."
"You'll ruin the timing."
"You'll see,” he says mysteriously.
You decide to indulge him. Two minutes later, you’re recreating your entrance with a knock at the door. Jimin opens it almost immediately.
"You’re here," he says with exaggerated surprise.
"I've never met anyone so committed to a bit."
He steps aside with a flourish. "Now you can come in."
The kitchen is warm, every window fogged from the pot simmering on the stove. Bright red tteokbokki bubbles lazily, the rice cakes rolling through the sauce as Jimin gives it one last stir.
You glance at the counter where you see an open packet of rice cakes, fish cakes and some boiled eggs. Alongside it is a tiny handwritten shopping list with half the items crossed out.
"You went shopping today?" you ask.
"I thought we already had everything."
He picks up a small carton from the counter. "I needed milk."
You smile. "For the recipe?"
He looks at you as though you've said something ridiculous. "For you,” he says. “You always say it’s too spicy.”
"You pretend you're managing,” he says, placing the milk into the fridge. "I bought strawberry milk too. I know how much you like it.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” you say.
Jimin tastes the sauce, thinks for a second, then adds the tiniest spoonful of sugar.
"Yeah, just a bit,” he replies.
He looks at you over his shoulder. "You don't like it too spicy."
"I thought you liked it traditional."
He smiles. “I do, but I’m making this for you.”
The tteokbokki is ready a few minutes later and Jimin serves yours first. He picks out the largest boiled egg and places it in your bowl, followed by the fish cake folded into the neatest little ribbon. Only afterwards does he fill his own.
"You gave me the most perfect egg!” you exclaim.
You point with your chopsticks. "That one's bigger."
He glances between the bowls.
"You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” you say knowingly.
“I was distracted,” he says, smiling into his bowl.
The first bite is warm, sweet and spicy enough to tingle without overwhelming everything else.
It's perfect. You reach for another rice cake. Halfway there, Jimin quietly slides the glass of strawberry milk towards you.
"I haven't said it's spicy."
"You will,” he says firmly. "You'll eat three more, then pretend that your mouth isn’t burning.”
You shake your head. "Since when did you get so good at reading me?"
"You,” comes his confident answer.
The conversation drifts after that onto music, weekend plans and whether either of you could survive a camping trip. You say yes, but Jimin doesn’t agree.
At one point, you reach across the table for another rice cake. Your sleeve slips close to the edge of the sauce and before you even realise, Jimin catches your wrist. "Hang on,” he says, folding the cuff back neatly, smoothing it with his thumb before letting go. "There."
"You'd have been annoyed."
"Definitely,” you confirm. “How do you know everything?”
“Not everything, just some things,” he tells you. "Like, I still don't know why you like the ends of the fish cakes more than the middle."
"I've tried them,” he states. “But I still don't get it."
He watches you steal the last one from the pot. "I suppose that answers that."
After you are both done eating, Jimin reaches for the dishes, but you stop him before he can stand. "I'll wash up,” you state firmly. "You cooked. You shouldn’t have to.”
You lace your fingers through his gently. "I wasn't trying to win an argument,” you tell him quietly. “I was trying to say thank you."
His expression softens. "You don't have to thank me."
You lean across the small table and kiss him. It's gentle, lingering, and tastes faintly of sweet gochujang and strawberries. When you pull away, he looks at you with that familiar smile that reaches his eyes first.
After a moment, Jimin glances down at the untouched glass beside your bowl. "I was right,” he says knowingly, "You did need the milk."
You laugh. "I hate that you're right."
“You love it!” he says, bopping your nose with his.
"No,” you insist, squeezing his hand once, teasing smile at your lips. "I really don't."
♥ MIN YOONGI/SUGA | Hotteok ♥
You find Yoongi standing in the kitchen at midnight, hair pushed back, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, watching a pan with the concentration of someone mixing a song.
He glances up. "I was trying not to wake you."
"So you decided to secretly make food?"
"I got hungry,” he explains, "Then I thought you might be hungry too."
"You've made dough,” you say, surprised. “You hate dough."
He shrugs once. "So? You like it."
He presses the little rounds gently into the pan, the brown sugar filling beginning to melt inside. The room smells like cinnamon, toasted nuts and butter, warm enough to make the whole apartment feel like home.
"Ooh, someone’s being bossy,” you reply, but you obey, mostly because you know arguing will only earn you another look from him. The quiet one that somehow says I'm taking care of you whether you cooperate or not.
He places the first hotteok in front of you and immediately tears his own in half. "The first one's always ugly."
“You have questionable taste,” he comments.
You laugh into the first bite. The syrup burns your tongue just a little.
Yoongi nods in satisfaction, as if he had been expecting your answer all along. Then your foot bumps his beneath the table. He doesn't move it away, and instead, he hooks his ankle around yours without looking up.
"You made dough... because I like hotteok,” you murmur.
He hums in response thoughtfully "I figured some things are worth the hassle."
You reach over and steal the prettier half from his plate as he watches on. "You're lucky you're cute,” he says.
"You gave me the ugly one."
"I know." His mouth twitches into the smallest, fondest smile. "I planned for this."
♥ KIM NAMJOON/RM | Perilla Pasta ♥
You know Namjoon has burned the garlic before you even reach the kitchen, because you can smell it the moment you step out of the bedroom.
"I don't think cooking and overthinking should be allowed to happen simultaneously,” he mutters.
You lean against the doorway, grinning as you watch on. "Talking to yourself again?" you ask, amused.
He breaks into that dimpled grin that always feels like sunlight finding its way through clouds. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, one streak of flour somehow dusting his cheek despite the recipe requiring none. "You weren't meant to be here yet."
"I heard the existential crisis."
You cross the room and wipe the flour away with your thumb. Yoongi freezes for just a second, eyes softening. "I looked up six recipes," he says quietly. "Then ignored all of them."
"I figured I'd make something that tastes like staying home."
The pasta isn't perfect. Some noodles cling together stubbornly, and there's slightly too much pepper. But the perilla leaves make it fragrant, fresh, and unexpectedly comforting. Yoongi watches you take the first bite like he's awaiting exam results.
You hum dramatically, pretending to think. "It's awful."
Namjoon’s face falls. You steal another forkful from his plate. "So terrible I'm confiscating yours." His laugh escapes before he can stop it, loud and wonderfully unguarded.
He reaches over, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with absent tenderness. "I know I can't always make life easy," he says. "But I hope I can always make it feel safe, no matter what."
His words settle inside you deeper than any grand confession could. You squeeze his hand beneath the table. "The pasta's good," you admit.
"You believed me for exactly three seconds."
He smiles, that familiar smile that reaches his dimples before anywhere else. "I wanted to hear you say something nice first."
You lean over and kiss him. It's tender enough that you can still smell the perilla oil between you, warm and herbal, carrying the evening with it. You needed another taste…
♥ HOBI/J-HOPE | Strawberry Soufflé Pancakes ♥
You're halfway through answering an email when the apartment lights flicker and music starts to drift down the hallway. You smile to yourself, already knowing who's responsible.
Following the sound, you find Hobi standing in the kitchen with an apron tied crookedly around his waist, with a whisk in one hand and a spatula in the other. He spins when he notices you, his eyes widening when he sees you.
"No! Hold on!" he cries dramatically.
"I'm already here," you protest.
"You can’t be here," he says, pointing accusingly. “I’m not ready.”
He herds you backward with surprising determination, shoulders shaking because he's trying not to laugh himself. "Go and sit somewhere else please, just for five minutes."
You shoot him a suspicious look. “What are you up to?” you ask. "You have flour in his hair."
His hand immediately flies to his head. “Where?”
"You're so evil,” he pouts. “But you might as well stay now.”
He disappears behind the island, muttering playful complaints while you settle onto a stool anyway, where he pretends not to notice.
The pancakes take forever. Every few minutes he checks them with exaggerated care, crouching until his eyes are level with the pan. "Rise," he whispers dramatically.
"They can't hear you,” you tell him.
"They're pancakes, Hobi.”
"They’re special pancakes,” he corrects you.
When they're finally ready, they're impossibly fluffy, crowned with whipped cream and strawberries cut into little hearts that are almost the same size. Hobi looks at them through narrowed eyes. "They're uneven," he concludes with a tiny frown.
"They're handmade,” you say. “They can’t be perfectly evenly sized.”
"Hmm," he hums thoughtfully.
You take a bite. The pancake almost dissolves on your tongue, warm and airy, the sweetness balanced by fresh fruit.
He searches your face immediately. "It’s good?"
"I can’t believe you made these!”
He beams shyly. “"I may have watched a few videos and practiced a little..." he confesses. “Jungkook asked me if I was thinking about opening a café and my algorithm is convinced I’m some kind of chef in the making and feels the need to tell me about every new pancake hack since the last millennium.
You laugh heartily, and his expression softens into that radiant smile he gave that always lights up any room.
"I’m happy you like it so much,” he says in that soft, almost shy voice he saves for special moments. “All I wanted was to make you happy.”
It isn’t the pancakes that makes you the happiest, or even his sweet words, but just him. The man you love who is looking at you as if you were his whole world. Somehow, that makes everything sweeter.
You stand up and come round the island towards him, slipping your arms around his waist. "You always do,” you say.
He smiles instinctively. "You still haven't told me−."
You kiss him, and his sentence disappears into a surprised little laugh against your lips.
"You made me forget about breakfast,” he whispers, his expression bright.
You glance toward the table. "I did too."
"Your pancakes will go flat,” he says, kissing your brow.
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