Joohwan Pov:
The hiss of oil hitting the pan filled the kitchen, sizzling and popping as I tried to focus on my cooking. I let it drown out everything else: the voices outside, the clinking of chopsticks, and the laughter of customers who had no idea how heavy silence could really be.
Today, my uncle wasn't even here, so everything had to be done by me and managed by my aunt and my father... he never cared for me after my mother died, except for this restaurant and making ties with it all the time. Today, he and his uncle had an "important" meeting, so he isn't here either.
My hands moved automatically, slicing, stirring, and plating. They remembered what my head often refused to. Cooking had always been muscle memory, like breathing, like pretending. People ate, they smiled, and they praised. I bowed, I nodded, and I stayed behind the swinging door.
It's safer that way to keep me from the suicidal thoughts that eat my mind. The memories rush if I stay quiet without doing anything and stare at the fire.
But today...
My grip on the ladle tightened, replaying that moment when I looked up, and my eyes met his. The boy from the bridge. No, not a boy; he felt older somehow, the one who pulled me down when I had already convinced myself there was nothing left to hold onto.
Why was he here? Why did he look at me like that, as if he had known me? Why do I feel like I know him?
Noochan... Maybe, as he was Noochan's classmate, I must have seen him around the school hallways maybe once. But I had this urge that I kind of strongly knew him, but from where?
...Sizzle, sizzle...
I quickly pushed my thoughts away and poured the broth into a bowl, turning off the stove. But my chest ached, but not from the exhaustion or the panic that caught me now...but from the sharp recognition...from being seen.
And I hated it.
Because the last thing I needed was someone reminding me of last night, reminding me I'd failed at even ending myself properly. I set the bowl on the counter for service and turned back to the stove. It was easier to keep my head down.
"Hyung," I heard the familiar deep voice that called me.
His voice pulled me out of the noise in my head more sharply than the sizzle of the pan ever could. I turned around and saw Taekwang standing at the doorway, his eyes carrying that same light I could never quite understand—bright, steady, and unshaken, except like last night.
He smiled at me, easy and gentle, as it cost him nothing, but for me, just looking at it made something twist painfully inside me.
Do I even deserve that smile?
"You cooked for Mr. Han and his brother, right?" he asked, leaning a little on the counter as if the kitchen were like his home and not the furnace it felt like to me. "They really liked it," he added, his grin widening.
I blinked in confusion, my hands still gripping the ladle. There were so many customers coming and going today, and who was he talking about?
And then it hit me.
That man. The one from last night. The one who dragged me down when I wanted to let go.
"So...his name is Han?" I asked flatly, my voice stripped of any emotion.
Taewanyg shook his head quickly, correcting me with a small laugh. "No, hyung. That's his surname. Han Sungmin. He's the guardian of my student, his younger brother, Rooyeol."
Sungmin.
The name echoed in my head; somewhere, I had heard this name before. Not just from Noochan but from someone I know the most. But I don't want to dig up the memories, so I turned back toward the stove, pretending to be busy with wiping the ladle clean.
"Mm," I hummed, noncommittal, hoping Taekwang would take the hint and drop it.
But of course, he didn't.
"They said the food was amazing," he pressed on, softer now. "You should've seen the way Rooyeol's eyes lit up. Even Sungmin-sii..." his voice trailed off, and when I glanced sideways, he was still smiling at me and continued, "He looked...happy, hyung. Like he means it."
My throat bobbed, but I said nothing. Because I had seen it too, the way his eyes widened, the way his lips slowly curled up, and the way his eyes got wet when he tasted the first bite. And damn it, I couldn't even push that image out of my mind. He didn't even notice that I walked past his table to serve another customer, too lost in his own world of happiness to care about anything else.
That almost dragged a smile out of me, which I never do unless it's the polite curves that I give to customers. But I caught myself before it could surface. I didn't know what went through Sungmin's head when he tasted my food, but his reaction... it was too familiar.
The way Yoonsuh had looked at me that first time he stole from the lunchbox that I had made for myself. That wide gummy grin, like I had given him the world instead of a few bites of food I hadn't even meant to share.
All of a sudden, I felt the pang in my chest, tugging me back to a memory I had long buried. The memory of Yoonsuh's smile, the one that made me feel like I was truly seen for the first time in my life. It was a feeling I never thought I would experience again, but there it was, resurfacing with Sungmin's reaction to my food.
My grip on the ladle tightened again; the steel burned against my palm. But I didn't care.
"Hyung," Taekwang's voice came again, gentler now, almost cautious. "You heard me, right? They liked it. You...did well."
I kept my gaze locked on the pan, stirring before the vegetables burned. "Don't talk nonsense, Taekwang," I muttered. If I let myself slip for even a second, everything, food, memories, and I would get scorched.
"You always do that," Taekwang said suddenly.
"Do what?" I didn't look at him.
"Hold yourself like you're guilty for being good at something."
The words hit harder than the smoke stinging my eyes. I almost burned the vegetable just again. Almost. I swallowed hard and forced the pan off the heat. "I don't know what you're trying to say, Taekwang," I muttered.
But of course I did. Yoonsuh's laugh flickered at the corner of my mind, the sound of him calling me "Joo-hyung" with that shameless grin. It felt too close and sharp, like a knife twisting in the chest.
I shook my head once and slid the food onto the plate. My voice came out flat. "Go back outside, Taekwang. You're in the way. Because of you, I almost burned what I am making."
I kept my eyes on the stove, on the next dish waiting, on anything but him. "I said go," I repeated, sharper this time.
There was a silence for a second; I thought he would argue just like everytime but when I finally glanced sideways, Taekwang was just staring at me, his smile gone, replaced with a pout like some wounded puppy. Then he stepped back without a word, lowering his head.
The kitchen door swung shut behind him, leaving me alone again. Alone. The way it was supposed to be. The way I deserved. But his words replayed again. "You hold yourself like you're guilty for being good at something."
A dry laugh escaped from my lips. "Guilty," I mumbled to myself. The word hooked deep, dragging me somewhere I didn't want to go. Yoonsuh's grin flashed in my head again, the way he stuffed another spoonful of rice into his mouth and spoke with his cheeks full while the sun tried to tan his porcelain-like complexion that everyone is envious of.
"Joohwan hyung! If you keep cooking like this, I'll never leave you alone!"
I blinked hard, forcing myself back to the kitchen, to the sting of oil and clatter of pans. My chest ached so bad I thought I might drop the ladle.
Fucking liar!
The steam rose from the pan, curling up like smoke from a fire I couldn't put out. I quickly put my hand across my face, covering my nose from the smoke and heat.
Never leave you alone.
Then why wasn't he here?
Why had he left me to rot in a life that never stopped swallowing me whole?
I sucked in a shaky breath, forcing my hands to steady and forcing my body to keep moving. Chop, stir, and plate. Repeat. As long as I kept moving, maybe I could outrun the memories. Maybe I could fool myself into thinking that I wasn't already breaking.
But Taekwang's words wouldn't leave.
Neither would Yoonsuh's.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure which hurt the worst.