"Have you eaten?" Tae-hyun asked, already setting the takeout bag down on the kitchen counter and peering inside the cabinets like he had every right to be there.
"Not yet." Min-woo hovered awkwardly by the doorway, still acutely aware of his own rumpled t-shirt. "Not really hungry."
"You're never really hungry until someone puts food in front of you." Tae-hyun pulled out a pan without waiting for permission. "I'll make breakfast. By the time it's done, you'll be hungry."
"And if I'm not?"
"Then I'll force you." Tae-hyun said it so plainly, so matter-of-factly, that it took Min-woo a second to register it as a joke rather than an actual threat.
"That's a very aggressive breakfast policy."
"You collapsed two days ago. I'm allowed to be aggressive about breakfast." Tae-hyun cracked an egg one-handed against the side of the pan, entirely too pleased with himself. "Sit. Watch. Be amazed."
Min-woo huffed something close to a laugh and dropped onto one of the stools at the counter, chin propped on his hand, watching Tae-hyun move around the small kitchen with far more ease than someone who supposedly grew up with staff doing everything for him should have had.
"You're better at this than I expected," Min-woo admitted.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"You live in a house with a private chef."
"Doesn't mean I can't cook eggs." Tae-hyun flipped the pan with a small flourish, clearly showing off now. "My mother taught me before she passed. Wanted to make sure I could take care of myself even with all the staff around." A brief pause, something softer flickering across his face before he shook it off. "Jihan can't cook to save his life, though. Don't let him fool you."
"He made noodles for me. Or—for Jae-min, actually." Min-woo caught himself too late, the correction slipping out before he thought it through.
Tae-hyun glanced over, eyebrow raised slightly, but didn't push. "Sounds about right. He can manage instant noodles. Anything past that and it's a disaster."
They fell into an easy rhythm after that—Tae-hyun narrating his own cooking with exaggerated confidence, Min-woo throwing in unhelpful commentary from the stool, the smell of eggs and toast slowly filling the small kitchen until, despite himself, Min-woo's stomach actually did growl.
Tae-hyun heard it and grinned without looking up. "Told you."
"Shut up."
---
The amusement park wasn't Jae-min's idea, but he didn't argue when Jihan suggested it, mostly because the look on Jihan's face when he brought it up—faintly hopeful, almost boyish in a way Jae-min had never seen on him before—made it impossible to say anything but yes.
"You've been?" Jae-min asked as they walked through the entrance gates.
"Once. Years ago." Jihan's eyes swept over the crowds, the bright colors, the distant sound of a roller coaster somewhere overhead. "It didn't go particularly well."
"That's ominous."
"I got sick after the second ride." Jihan's mouth curved, a rare flash of genuine embarrassment crossing his usually composed face. "In front of several board members' children, at a company family event. My father wasn't pleased."
Jae-min laughed before he could stop himself. "That's the least dignified thing I've ever heard about you."
"I'd appreciate if it stayed that way."
"No promises."
They started with the smaller rides—a spinning teacup contraption that left them both dizzy and laughing, a haunted house walk-through where Jihan, to Jae-min's endless delight, flinched hard enough at the first jump scare to nearly knock over a fake skeleton. By the time they reached the roller coaster, the one with the steep first drop visible from nearly every corner of the park, Jihan had gone notably quiet.
"We don't have to," Jae-min said, watching him eye the towering track with poorly concealed apprehension.
"I'm fine."
"You look like you're facing a firing squad."
"I said I'm fine." Jihan squared his shoulders, unconvincing. "Get in line."
The ride was, predictably, a disaster in the best possible way—Jihan gripping the safety bar hard enough to whiten his knuckles, a startled, undignified shout tearing out of him on the first drop that had absolutely nothing to do with composure or corporate polish, and Jae-min laughing so hard through the rest of the ride that his stomach hurt by the time they stumbled off, both of them unsteady on their feet.
"You screamed," Jae-min gasped, still laughing.
"I did not scream."
"You absolutely screamed. I have never heard that sound come out of a human being."
"It was a controlled exhale."
"It was a *scream*, Jihan."
Jihan's ears had gone faintly red, but he was smiling too, wide and unguarded in a way Jae-min hadn't seen from him before—no careful control behind it, no performance. Just someone who'd let himself be ridiculous for five minutes and hadn't minded it at all.
They wandered after that without much of a plan—a snack stand where Jihan insisted on paying despite Jae-min's protests, a claw machine Jihan spent an embarrassing amount of money on before finally winning a small, lopsided stuffed rabbit that he handed over without a word, like it was obvious it belonged to Jae-min and not to him.
Jae-min held onto it the rest of the afternoon, tucked under one arm, and didn't examine too closely why he didn't want to let it go.
By the time the sky started shifting into evening, they'd found a bench near the edge of the park, away from the noise, the lights of the rides blinking on one by one against the darkening sky.
"Thank you," Jihan said, quiet, watching the lights instead of Jae-min. "For today."
"You're the one who planned it."
"You're the one who made it worth doing." Jihan glanced over, something open and a little unguarded in his expression that made Jae-min's chest tighten uncomfortably. "I don't do this often. Any of this. Going out, just for the sake of it, with no purpose attached."
"Why not?"
"There's never really been a reason to." A pause. "Until now."
Jae-min didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything at all, just let the silence sit there, comfortable and heavy at once, while the park lights blinked and the rabbit sat warm against his side.
---
Jihan drove him home as the last of the daylight faded, the city sliding by in familiar streaks of neon and streetlight, quieter now than it had been all day.
He pulled up outside Min-woo's building and put the car in park, but neither of them moved right away.
"I had a good time," Jae-min said. "Even with the screaming."
"It was a controlled exhale."
"Sure it was."
Jihan huffed a quiet laugh, and for a moment they just sat there, the engine idling low, something unspoken filling the small space between the seats.
"I'll text you," Jihan said eventually. "When can I see you again?"
"Whenever." Jae-min's heart was doing something entirely unreasonable in his chest. "I'm free most weekends."
"Good."
Jae-min reached for the door handle, and then—before he could think too hard about it, before the part of his brain still tangled up in plans and strategy could talk him out of it—he leaned across the small space and pressed a quick kiss to Jihan's cheek.
"Bye," he said, too fast, already pulling back.
Jihan's eyes had gone wide, caught completely off guard, one hand half-lifted like he'd meant to reach for something and forgotten what.
Jae-min didn't wait to see what he'd say. He pushed the door open and climbed out, the stuffed rabbit clutched under one arm, and practically ran for the building entrance without looking back, his face burning, his heart slamming against his ribs in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the plan at all.
Behind him, through the windshield, Jihan sat completely still for a long moment, one hand slowly rising to touch his own cheek, an expression on his face that looked, for the first time in longer than he could remember, entirely undone.