Chapter 77
The kitchen was a masterclass in minimalist design. The sun, now higher in the sky, turned the frost on the windowpanes into a blurred mosaic of diamonds. Inside, the air was warm ,not just from the floor heating, but from the radiator.
"Let me!"
Haru's voice was a playful command as he neatly intercepted the ladle from Raiven's hand. He caught him just in time; the burner had just clicked to life, and Raiven was staring at the empty frying pan with the intense, focused confusion of a man trying to solve a complex equation rather than make a simple breakfast.
Haru was a vision of soft, domestic chaos. He was wearing one of Raiven's oversized button-down shirts - a crisp, expensive fabric that hung low enough to graze his mid-thighs - and a pair of dark boxers. The sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing the faint, pale skin of his forearms and the dark bruises Raiven had left on his neck the night before. He looked like he belonged there, standing in the center of Raiven's private world, smelling of strawberry soap they had shared in the bath.
"But…" Raiven tried to protest, his hand lingering near the stove as if he were genuinely hurt by the dismissal.
Haru cut him off with a look of mock sternness, his eyes dancing with amusement. "The last time you tried cooking, you burned more than a dozen eggs. I am not letting you incinerate our first breakfast of the year."
He turned down the heat with a practiced flick of his wrist and drizzled a thin stream of oil into the pan. The sizzle was immediate and comforting.
"Just beat the eggs for me then," Haru said, nudging a ceramic bowl and a carton of eggs toward Raiven.
Raiven frowned, but he took the bowl, his movements a bit stiff as he cracked the first egg against the rim. He handled the fragile shell as if it were a piece of high-end tech, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"I should take some cooking lessons," Raiven murmured, watching the yolk slide into the bowl.
"For what?" Haru asked, chuckling. He grabbed a handful of onions he had just diced from the chopping board and tossed them into the pan. The aroma was intoxicating.
"I have never cooked for anyone," Raiven admitted. He stole a glance at Haru, his gaze lingering on the way the sunlight caught the slight, rhythmic movement of Haru's shoulders as he chopped bell peppers. " I wanted… I wanted to be able to do this. For you."
Haru stopped chopping for a moment. He looked up, his expression softening as he met Raiven's dark, earnest eyes. The weight of the sentiment hit him hard. In his life as Sunghoon, he had been the provider, the one who handled the logistics, the one who took care of everyone else until there was nothing left for himself. To have someone like Raiven - a man who had the world at his feet - want to learn a basic, mundane skill just to serve him… it made Haru feel a strange, fluttering humility.
"Would you like to cook for me?" Haru asked softly, his voice barely audible over the hiss of the onions.
"Yes," Raiven replied without a second of hesitation.
Haru found himself tongue-tied. He forced a small, shy smile and returned his attention to the chopping board, his knife moving with a bit more speed to hide the sudden tremor in his hands.
"If you want a hobby, you can try baking instead," Haru suggested, "I don't really have a handle on that."
"And what about cooking?"
"You are rich, Jae-wook. We can just order food," Haru stated, laughing as he began to sprinkle a precise blend of spices into the pan. He took the bowl of beaten eggs from Raiven's hands and poured the liquid gold over the vegetables, watching the edges crisp up instantly.
He moved with an efficiency that spoke of years of solitary living. He placed the used bowls in the sink and turned back to the pan, expertly flipping the omelet.
"Besides," Haru added, his back still turned to Raiven. "I like cooking for you."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken emotion. Behind him, he heard Raiven's breath hitch. A moment later, he felt a solid, radiating warmth press against his back. Raiven wrapped his arms around Haru's waist, pulling him into a firm back-hug.
"I like that," Raiven whispered. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, tender peck against the slope of Haru's shoulder.
Haru let out a small, contented chuckle, leaning his head back against Raiven's chest. For a few seconds, the pan sizzled, the sun shone, and the ghost of Sunghoon felt remarkably, terrifyingly alive.
They ate in the dining room, which was positioned in front of an exquisite inner garden. Above, a series of glass-and-wood shades prevented the heavy snow from burying the plants, creating a climate-controlled pocket of serenity. A small, narrow stream of water - heated, perhaps, given the lack of ice - wound its way through the mossy stones and around a massive, gnarled tree that stood like a silent guardian in the center.
On one side, the garden was a lush, green sanctuary; on the other, beyond the glass, lay the vast, untouched stretch of the winter.
"This place is nice," Haru said between bites. The omelet was perfect - fluffy, seasoned, and exactly what his aching body needed.
"I saved money and bought it after my second year as an artist," Raiven said, his eyes tracing the path of the water in the garden. " I come here to relax when everything gets overwhelming."
"It has a very traditional feeling. I like it," Haru praised.
Raiven smiled, a genuine, private expression. "I'm glad you do. The only other person who even knows this place exists is Mr. Kim. And now, you."
He looked at Haru, watching him eat with an intensity that made Haru feel like he was the most interesting spectacle in the world.
"I can give you a key," Raiven said casually.
Haru choked slightly on a piece of pepper. He looked at Raiven, wide-eyed and genuinely shocked.
"It's fine! I don't want to intrude."
"You wouldn't be intruding. You're my boyfriend," Raiven said, the word rolling off his tongue with a newfound ease.
Haru stared at him, the word boyfriend still sounding like a foreign language to his sensibility. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that the man sitting across from him was his. But as the morning light hit Raiven's messy hair and the soft, satisfied curve of his lips, Haru realized it sounded good.
"When is your flight?" Haru asked, trying to ground himself in reality.
Raiven checked the clock on the wall. "I think I have about five more hours."
Haru leaned against the kitchen counter as Raiven took the plates. He crossed his arms over his chest, a smile playing on his lips as he watched Raiven fumble with the dishes. It was clear that the man had never done a chore in his life; he handled the ceramic plates as if they were live grenades. He was the literal definition of a spoiled child.
When Haru tried to intervene, Raiven shook his head stubbornly. "I can do it. I'm learning."
Haru stepped back, a pang of bittersweet nostalgia hitting him. He hadn't really had someone try to take care of him like this since… well, since his mother. The thought of her sent a sharp, familiar jab of sadness through his chest. He thought of Mae-rin, and the distance he still had to bridge before he could ever stand before her and just hug her. He had to be patient.
Suddenly, the clatter of porcelain stopped. Raiven stood in front of him, looking slightly sheepish.
Haru glanced behind him to find the sink empty and the drying rack completely bare.
"Where are the dishes?" Haru asked, confused.
"I decided to just throw them in the dishwasher," Raiven lamented, rubbing the back of his neck. "i haven't done dishes since i lived in the dorm."
Haru let out a bright, unrestrained laugh, his head falling back. The absurdity of a global star being defeated by a dishes was too much.
Raiven didn't look offended. He was too busy being mesmerized by the sound of Haru's laughter. He stepped closer, closing the gap until he could feel the heat radiating from Haru's body. He reached out, capturing Haru's lips in a kiss that tasted of lingering coffee and the brand-new promise of the year.
The laughter died down as Haru reciprocated, his hands finding the soft fabric of Raiven's shirt. Their tongues danced in a slow, familiar harmony.
With a sudden surge of strength, Raiven lifted Haru onto the marble counter. Haru let out a small gasp of surprise, but his legs instinctively wrapped around Raiven's waist, pulling him into the junction of his thighs.
"You know," Raiven whispered, breaking the kiss for air. His voice was raw, dropping into that hungry, dangerous frequency Haru had learned to crave. "I had a dream last night."
"What was it?" Haru asked, his own voice shaky.
"That I made you scream in every single corner of this house," Raiven teased, his eyes dark with a possessive fire. He gave Haru a quick, sharp peck on his lips. "you look so.good in my clothes. " he breathed.
Haru laughed, the sound vibrating against Raiven's chest. He felt the phantom ache in his lower back, the reminder of the long night they had already spent, but looking at Raiven, the fatigue didn't seem to matter. He reached down, his hands sliding under Raiven's shirt to feel the hard, smooth planes of his abs.
"What's stopping you?" Haru flirted back, his eyes challenging.
Raiven shuddered under the touch, a low, guttural groan escaping his throat as his breath hitched. He buried his face in Haru's neck, his teeth grazing the skin over his pulse point.