We worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the rhythmic thunk of my knife against the cutting board and the sizzle of something Min-jun was starting on the stove. It was peaceful in a way I hadn't expected — domestic and simple and somehow exactly what I needed.
"Keira." Min-jun's voice broke the silence, and I looked up to find him watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read, his head tilted slightly as he studied my face. "Can I ask you something?"
"Depends on the question." I set down my knife, giving him my full attention, something in his tone making me wary.
"You seem different today." He said it carefully, like he was picking his words with precision, his hazel eyes searching my face for something. "Not bad different. Just... different. More relaxed. More..." He paused, searching for the right word, his brow furrowing slightly. "More yourself, maybe?"
The observation hit closer to home than I expected. I looked down at the half-chopped vegetables, trying to organize my thoughts into something coherent, my hands stilling on the cutting board.
"I'm trying." I said it quietly, the admission feeling vulnerable in a way that made my chest tight, my voice smaller than I intended. "With Hwan and Jin-ho and Tae-min... I kept catching myself doing the thing I always do. Retreating into my head. Overthinking everything. Looking for reasons to run."
"And now?" He had stopped cooking entirely, his full attention focused on me, his hazel eyes gentle but intent as he turned away from the stove.
"Now I'm trying not to do that." I picked up the knife again, needing something to do with my hands, but I met his gaze as I spoke. "I spent so long protecting myself — building walls, staying invisible, convincing myself that wanting things was dangerous. And maybe it kept me safe, but it also kept me... not really living. Not really being myself."
I took a breath, surprised by how much I wanted him to understand this, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
"So I'm trying to just... be here. Be present. Let you all see the real me instead of the version I think is safer to show." I shrugged, aiming for casual but probably missing by a mile. "It's terrifying, honestly. If I keep sabotaging myself, keep staying in my head, you'll never actually know me. You'll just know the walls."
Min-jun was quiet for a long moment, something soft and wondering crossing his features, his eyes glistening slightly. Then he crossed the kitchen in three strides, cupped my face in his hands, and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.
"Thank you." He murmured the words against my skin, his lips warm, his hands steady on my cheeks, his thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were forming. "For trying. For letting us see you."
"You might regret that." I managed, my voice slightly unsteady from the unexpected tenderness, a watery laughescaping me. "The real me is kind of a mess. I categorize my socks by thickness. I cry at dish soap commercials."
"I know." He pulled back, smiling down at me with that warm, fond expression that made my chest ache, his dimples appearing in full force. "Tae-min told us about the socks. And the puppy commercial."
"Of course he did." I groaned, dropping my head in exaggerated defeat, but I was smiling too. "That little traitor."
"He was very excited about it." Min-jun's hands slid from my face, one of them finding mine and squeezing gently before letting go, his touch lingering. "Said you were 'weird in the best way.' I think that was a direct quote."
"He would say that." I shook my head, but warmth was spreading through my chest, the tension easing from my shoulders. "He builds shrines to ramen cups. He doesn't get to judge."
"No judgment here." Min-jun returned to the stove, stirring something that smelled incredible, his movements easy and practiced. "I think weird is wonderful. Normal is boring."
"That's exactly what Tae-min said." I resumed my chopping, feeling lighter than I had in years, the knife moving more confidently now. "Are you all secretly the same person?"
"We've spent six years living in each other's pockets." He glanced over his shoulder at me, amusement dancing in his eyes, his lips quirking into a smile. "Some overlap is inevitable. Bring those vegetables here when you're done — we're ready for the next step."
I finished chopping and carried the cutting board to the stove, watching as Min-jun began adding ingredients to a large pot with practiced efficiency. His movements were almost musical — rhythmic and confident, each action flowing seamlessly into the next.
"How long have you been cooking?" I asked, genuinely curious as I watched him work, mesmerized by the grace of his movements.
"Since I was eight." He added the vegetables I'd chopped, stirring them gently into the mixture, his eyes focused on the pot. "My grandmother lived with us, and she was always in the kitchen. I used to sit on the counter and watch her for hours." His voice softened with memory, something wistful entering his expression. "She said I had 'good hands' for cooking. Patient hands."
"She sounds amazing." I said it softly, sensing the weight of what he was sharing, leaning against the counter beside him.
"She was." He reached for a container of broth, pouring it carefully into the pot, his movements slowing slightly. "She passed three years ago. Right before we had our first big comeback." He paused, something painful flickering across his features, his jaw tightening. "I couldn't go to her funeral. We had schedules. The company said we couldn't postpone."
"Min-jun..." I touched his arm without thinking, wanting to offer comfort, my fingers curling around his forearm.
"It's okay." He covered my hand with his, squeezing briefly before returning to his cooking, though his eyes remained distant. "I've made peace with it. Mostly. But this recipe—" He gestured at the pot, his voice thick with emotion, "—this is the last thing she taught me. Right before she got sick. Like she knew she wouldn't have another chance."
My throat tightened at his words, at the quiet grief underneath them, my eyes stinging. "That's why it's important to you."
"That's why it's important." He confirmed, finally looking at me with those warm hazel eyes, now shimmering slightly with unshed tears. "And that's why I wanted to share it with you.Because you're important too. And I want..." He trailed off, seeming to search for words, his brow furrowing.
"Want what?" I prompted gently, stepping closer to him.
