Saturday

*Mirae POV*

I jumped as a heavy knock sounded at my front door. I wasn't expecting anyone, so I was leery as I set my book aside, left my bedroom and trudged down the hallway toward the door.

I opened it and my eyebrows shot up in shocked confusion.

"A little help?"

I blinked as I startled out of my surprise, then wordlessly held my arms out. Grocery bags were piled into them as more floated past me, hanging off the arms of my best friend.

"What are you doing?" I asked, closing the door behind us and following Jin into the kitchen.

He snorted derisively. "Making dinner."

I silently placed the groceries on the counter, then began unpacking them and putting the cold items away in the refrigerator. When I was done, I shook my head as I turned to him. He was already observing me, a frown on his face.

"What have you been eating this week?"

My eyes dropped to the floor. "Um..."

"Mirae?"

"Food?"

Another snort. "Crap, I'm sure, is what you mean."

"Hey!" My eyes narrowed as they finally met his. "I'm not an idiot, Jin. Aish, I can take care of myself."

"Please," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand as he turned and began pulling dishes from the cabinets. "You barely eat decently when your mom is here."

My cheeks flushed at his words, and I stood awkwardly as I watched him settle into his chef role, pulling one of mom's rarely used aprons over his head. He didn't even look at me as he began sorting dry ingredients and vegetables on the counter.

"What would you like for dinner tonight? Dakgalbi, tteokbokki or sundubu-jjigae? I've brought what I need to make all three. Whatever you don't choose now, I can make later."

I stared at him as he rattled off my three favorite meals. He hummed as he observed the ingredients and counted out measurements in his head. I watched him roll his eyes to the ceiling and nod to himself as he considered everything he needed that wasn't on display directly in front of him. And then, after a few more moments of not answering his question, I watched his eyes shift to me.

"Hey." His eyes simultaneously darkened in confusion and softened at the sight of tears on my cheeks. I hadn't even realized I'd begun crying. He moved toward me quickly and pulled me into his arms. "Hey, don't cry. What's wrong?"

And the harsh reality of the fact that my friend knows me better than my own mother collapsed onto me and I slumped against his chest, sobbing. He held me patiently, rubbing his hand on my back. I felt the cloth of his shirt dampen underneath my face as my tears stained it. But Jin didn't waver.

My mother, the type of person who forgot my birthday more often than she remembered it, thought my favorite food was kimchi stew because I devoured it any time she made it. But it was the only thing she knew how to make, and a home cooked meal was rare in this house. So, really, I just took what I could get. (And to be fair, she did make a pretty great kimchi stew.)

But it wasn't my favorite, and she'd never cared to figured that out.

She'd never cared to figure anything out. She knew who my friends were, but only because they'd been the same since I was born. But she knew nothing about my hobbies; the things I loved to do and my passions. She knew nothing about my schooling; my teachers, grades or itinerary. She knew nothing about my dating life, or lack thereof...because sure, there was nothing to tell there; but if there were, she wouldn't know about it.

She didn't care about any of it. She didn't care about me.

And here was my beautiful best friend, doting on me, offering me my favorite meal. I hadn't even realized that he knew my favorite foods. But Jin was very detail oriented. And he loved his friends and his food. So after seventeen years of friendship, how could he not know? In that moment, I had an epiphany: my boys were my family, far more than my mother was.

And the absence of both for the past week hit me like a truck. And I didn't know what to do other than cry. I felt so utterly alone.

"No one's been here," I whispered. "No one – "

"Shh," Jin soothed, smoothing his hand over my hair. "I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere."

And we stood like that, in the middle of my kitchen, for much longer than I'd like to admit. Because once the tears had started, they were ridiculously hard to stop. And Jin became my rock, holding and reassuring me steadfastly.

"Let's get you fed," he eventually said softly. "What would you like for dinner?"

"Dakgalbi," I whispered. "Dakgalbi sounds wonderful."

He pulled back and looked down at me with a grin. He wiped what few tears his shirt hadn't absorbed away from my cheeks. "Then dakgalbi it is." He squeezed me against him again and, looking into my eyes, whispered, "I'm sorry." before letting me go for good and shifting back in front of the ingredients on the counter and getting to work.

After my offers of assistance either went ignored or were met with annoyance (apparently my cooking skills ("But not as bad as Namjoon's!") were as bad as my secret-keeping skills), I settled into a comfortable silence, watching my friend's skilled fingers skim over and combine cutlets and grains, mixtures and measurements.

"You're so great at this," I observed. "You should...do something with this."

"What do you mean?" he asked with a small, humble smile.

"I mean, have you considered culinary school?"

The knife in his hand clattered to the counter. After a sharp intake of breath, he quickly snatched up the knife and continued slicing without another word.

I eyed him curiously. "Do you think that would be something you'd want to pursue?"

"What?" he said with a slight, disbelieving cough. "Cooking?"

"Well, yeah," I reaffirmed. "You're a brilliant cook!"

He scoffed. "My dad would have a lot to say about something like that."

I frowned. "He still wants you to be an accountant?"

He refused to meet my eyes. "Yep. Accountants make good money."

I sighed. "A five star chef would make money and a reputation."

"Don't I know it," Jin muttered. "But he knows I'm good with maths. He won't let me cook at home, so he has no idea whether or not I'm good at that, too."

I watched as he deftly sliced through cuts of meat. I saw the care he took with each slice, his hesitation every once in a while to ensure each slice was as even as the last was evident. But it was all perfection. Jin was insanely skilled.

"I'll tell you what," I spoke as I watched him push the cuts of meat aside. "Parents aside, I'll start looking into music applications for university if you promise to let me help find culinary opportunities for you."

Jin paused, knife now hovering above an onion. After a few beats of silence, he met my eyes. "What?"

"I'm not sure I want to pursue music, and god knows my mom wouldn't support it, yet you're insistent because I," continuing as I adopted squiggled quote fingers, "'am so talented.' Let's flip that switch, Chef Kim. You can help me with music opportunities, and I'll help you with cooking opportunities."

His eyebrows raised as he continued to keep his knife poised above the onion. He looked into my eyes. "You'll pursue music?"

I paused but didn't look away from his gaze. "I'll look more into it."

The knife came down, slicing the onion in half, and rested against the wood of the cutting board. "Then I'll look into culinary school."

A wide grin spread across my face. Jin shook his head as he looked up at the ceiling, chuckling with disbelief. "Why am I such a sucker for you?"

My grin broadened. "I don't know. Let's see what else I can get away with!"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't get sassy. I'm the one with the knife," he said, pointing it at me.

I laughed as I held my hands up in mock surrender.

"It's good to hear you laugh," Jin said suddenly, observing me with a small smile.

My own smile faltered slightly in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He sighed guiltily as he returned to slicing. "I know this week has been lonely for you. I've been worried about you ever since Jimin figured out you've been alone all break. We really weren't trying to be hurtful, Mirae." He looked up at me again. "But you got hurt regardless, and I'm sorry."

My cheeks burned as I shrugged. "It's okay," I mumbled.

He shook his head as he pushed the now diced onion to the side. "It's not, but we don't have to talk about it anymore if you don't want to." It was obvious that he sensed my discomfort. "Just know that we understand now that it was a stupid idea from the very beginning, and we're all sorry."

"I know," I said, staring at the food rather than meeting his eyes. We were both quiet for a few long moments, the only sound in the room being the knife hitting the cutting board every few seconds. When I couldn't take it anymore, I finally changed the subject.

"Jinnie?" I said innocently with a big smile on my face.

"Mm-hmm?"

"How's Daeun?"

CHOP

Silence.

"Jinnie?" I asked slyly.

"How would I know?"

I snorted. "Oh, please!"

His ears went aflame. "Not sure what you're talking about."

"Uh huh. So, you just told her to meet you at your locker whenever she felt like it and got her locker number to do the same, and then you never spoke to her again?"

He sighed dramatically. "Fine. We're talking. And to answer your question, she seems fine."

I could tell he didn't want to talk about it further, so I continued. "And?"

"And what?!"

"Have you asked her out yet?"

"I said we're talking."

It was my turn to sigh. "She's hoping every single day that you'll ask her on a date. You know that right?"

"Oh, you're talking to her, too?" he asked sassily.

I laughed. "I'm a girl. She's hoping. Trust me."

"I'm nervous, okay?"

"Well, that much is obvious," I smirked. "Who knew it would be the shy, unassuming, quiet girl that would bring down the bold, self-assured to a fault Worldwide Handsome?"

He rolled his eyes. "I am still very self-assured, thank you."

I laughed. "Then ask her out, you idiot!"

"Fine!"

"You – Wait, really?"

"I'm going to soon. I have it all planned out, actually."

"Jinnie!" I smacked him on the shoulder as he grinned.

"I just wanted to get a rise out of you."

I ignored him as I smirked again. "Can I watch?"

"What?!"

I batted my eyelashes innocently. "Can I watch you ask her out? What did you think I meant?"

"I'm still the one with the knife, you know."