Minjae stood in front of the gas stove, staring at it like it was an alien machine that might explode if he touched the wrong button. His expensive pajama shirt was slightly wrinkled, and his bedhead made him look like a rich kid lost in a wilderness survival game.
"Eotteokhae? (How do I do this?) How hard can it be to make breakfast?" he muttered to himself, turning the gas knob cautiously.
Click. Click. Click. WHOOSH.
The flame flared up, and Minjae jumped back like he'd just summoned a fire demon. He held a spatula like a sword, glaring at the stove suspiciously.
"Okay You win round one," he said dramatically. "But I'm still feeding Jiho today."
He cracked a couple of eggs into a pan. Or at least, tried to.
One fell in perfectly.
The second egg… did not.
It exploded against the counter like a mini egg apocalypse.
Minjae sighed. "Aishjinjja... (Seriously...) Cooking shows lied. This is not aesthetic. This is war."
He tried making toast. The bread got stuck in the toaster, burned, and triggered the smoke alarm. Jiho stumbled out of the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth, hair damp, eyes wide.
"What are you doing?!" he garbled, mouth full of foam.
Minjae fanned the smoke with a towel, eyes watering. "Making breakfast! For you!"
"You're trying to kill me?!"
"It's a gesture of love!"
They both ended up on the floor, coughing and wheezing. Jiho eventually waved away the smoke and peered at the counter.
There sat a plate of… something. Charred eggs, blackened toast, and what may have once been bacon but now resembled sad rubber.
Jiho stared. "You really made this? For me?"
Minjae rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "Yeah...I watched a video tutorial but I think it was a prank."
Jiho was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"You're seriously bad at this. Let me make us something edible before we both die."
As Jiho moved around the kitchen, Minjae sat on a stool, chin resting on his hand, watching with open awe.
The kitchen filled with the delicious smell of sizzling garlic and eggs. Jiho worked quickly, comfortably, as if he did this every day.
Minjae sniffed the air. "Mashisseo... (It smells so good...) I want to eat it now."
"You will," Jiho replied, rolling his eyes but smiling.
Then—
Minjae blurted without thinking, "You'd make a great wife."
CRASH.
Jiho dropped the spatula.
His ears turned red. His cheeks followed. His whole existence began malfunctioning like a bugged-out NPC in a dating sim.
"W-What?! What did you just say?!"
Minjae blinked innocently. "I said you'd make a great wife. Because you cook well. And you're cute. And you yell a lot. Like a tsundere wife in a drama."
Jiho turned away, pretending to focus on the pan.
But his hands were trembling, and his face was redder than a strawberry in heat.
Minjae grinned. So cute, he thought. Too cute. Illegal levels of cute.
They ate breakfast in companionable silence at least, Jiho tried to ignore the way Minjae kept sneaking glances at him and giggling for no reason.
Afterward, Jiho stood up, stretching. "That was delicious. Okay, I'll change and go to school now - wait, where's my uniform?"
Minjae looked smug. "I washed your clothes. They're drying. Also, you're not going to school today."
Jiho froze. "What? I have classes!"
"You have a fever."
"It's just a little—"
Minjae gently cupped Jiho's face with both hands, eyes serious now. "Shh."
He leaned in slightly, resting his forehead against Jiho's, checking his temperature like a mother hen with a million-dollar skincare routine.
Jiho blinked rapidly, heat rushing back to his cheeks.
"You're still warm. Why don't you ever listen to me?" Minjae murmured.
Jiho tried to argue, but the soft, worried look in Minjae's eyes shut him up instantly.
"Just rest today, hmm?" Minjae said gently. "I'll drop you off at your house later. You need to recover."
Jiho's eyes darted everywhere except Minjae's face. "N-Nan gwaenchana... (I-I'm fine...)"
Minjae smiled softly.
Why is he so cute? he thought, barely resisting the urge to squish Jiho's cheeks.
Out loud, he said, "You're turning into a tomato."
"I am not!"
"You're literally red. Like a cherry tomato."
"Shut up!"
Minjae laughed again and ruffled his hair.
"Just go lie down. Doctor Minjae's orders."
---
Minutes later, they were riding on Minjae's motorcycle.
Jiho sat behind him, arms awkwardly wrapped around his waist. "Go slow, okay?!
I swear if I die on this thing—"
"We're going, not flying," Minjae teased.
The wind tousled their hair, the sky bright and clear. Jiho couldn't help but lean a little closer.
It was the safest he'd ever felt.
When they arrived at Jiho's house, Minjae parked and began to take off his helmet. Jiho hesitated, then reached out and grabbed his hand.
Minjae turned, startled.
Jiho looked down, voice barely above a whisper. "Gomawo. (Thank you.) And… please don't fight with anyone because of me."
Minjae blinked. "Are you worried about me?"
"Yes. I mean— no! I mean, yes! But not like that—I mean—"
Minjae laughed softly and reached out to ruffle Jiho's hair. "Arasso, arasso. (Okay, okay.) I won't fight. You win."
Jiho pouted. "I'm serious."
"I know." Minjae gave him a soft smile. "Rest well, okay?"
And with that, he rode off toward school.
---
But the moment he stepped into the school gates, his expression darkened.
He walked straight through the hallway, eyes scanning every classroom.
No sign of Hyunwoo.
He headed up the stairs, pushing open the rooftop door.
There they were—Hyunwoo's gang of four.
They turned, snickering.
"Look who's here. Little prince Minjae. Come to cry about your boyfriend?"
Minjae didn't say a word.
He just punched the first guy square in the jaw.
Chaos erupted.
The gang lunged at him, but Minjae moved like lightning—ducking, twisting, throwing brutal, calculated hits. He fought like someone who'd grown up knowing pain, fury, and the art of channeling both.
One went down.
Then another.
The third tried to run—Minjae grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall.
Only one remained.
"P-Please!" the last guy whimpered, nose bleeding. "We didn't mean to—Hyunwoo made us—!"
Minjae's eyes blazed. "Where is he?"
"He's… he's not here today. Absent! I swear!"
Minjae's grip tightened. "So he throws a kitten into the river, and Jiho jumps in to save it—risking his life—and now you want mercy?"
The boy sank to the ground, sobbing. "We didn't think he'd really jump in…"
Minjae didn't say another word.
He looked around at the bruised, groaning bodies, then wiped the blood from his knuckles with calm precision.
His voice was cold, steady, deadly.
"Tell Hyunwoo," he said, turning away, "I'm coming for him next."
---