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Bum got burned once.
It’s been long ago, long before he met Sangwoo, he doesn’t remember what he was making. He lost focus and boiling water poured on his hand, his wrists were already wounded so it touched directly on his exposed flesh. The pain was so intense it seemed to last forever, years after the incident and Bum could swear it was still there.
It’s something that happens to everyone, essentially. It comes with working in the kitchen, getting so used to making the same thing every day that you do this on auto mode, without registering what you’re doing.
These days he gets hurt worse and more often. He’s learned to work with patterns, he starts to recognize Sangwoo’s moods by the way the door shuts behind him as he comes back home. It doesn’t permanently save him, but sometimes he knows when to expect it. He still gets injured in the kitchen, though. Especially when Sangwoo’s eyes are on him the whole process, and Bum knows it’s a sign he needs to do everything perfectly, but his hands start shaking and his head goes blank. His stare burns, too.
He wonders if Sangwoo ever got burned. Wonders if he’s ever needed to get injured while cooking. Sangwoo knows how to cook, he does it better than Bum, given how he always knows by the taste to scold Bum for putting too much salt or not putting enough garlic. Bum resents this advice but admittedly it makes the food better every time. Sangwoo knows how to deal with a knife better, too, but Bum prefers not to think about it when he’s outside the basement.
Before Bum, maybe he had someone else to cook for him. Bum thinks he would’ve noticed if Sangwoo had a stay-in-girlfriend, but maybe she stayed in the house the way Bum did. Sangwoo’s hands look perfect, clean from injury, and calloused in the right portion. They look strong, veiny and manly. He has a presence and expectation for others to do things for him, although he’s very gentlemanly. Bum never got to know how he acts in group projects, but he guesses Sangwoo does his part decently and leaves others to fix it and do the rest. He has a prince aura, someone to be served.
Which is why it’s so distressing to watch him cook for once, while Bum is the one to stare.
“Did your grandma cook Hotteok when you were little?”
“We didn’t really eat desserts.”
“Must be a sad life. Did she teach you to cook? That’s why you suck.”
Sangwoo stands in a way that faces both Bum by the table and the sink. He bought a bigger apron for himself and looks so handsome in it. He’s making small talk with Bum while the only candles light his face and create a breathtaking scene. Bum thinks he wants every day to be this bright.
“Bet you"ve never been to a good restaurant, who do you have to go with?”
“We went once,” Bum had his eyes glued on Sangwoo. “When I finished sixth grade. It was nice.”
Sangwoo rolls his eyes.
“So you had to tolerate only your own cooking ever since?”
Bum can’t help but giggle. Sangwoo’s words are often insulting but he delivers them in such a nice way, so different from the way his voice sounds when his face is unreadable, that Bum is helpless to do nothing but melt.
It’s so strange, the way Sangwoo has so many faces. When they started, he couldn’t get him at all. Beyond the cruelty, the scariest thing was the unpredictability. The way he would walk in Sangwoo’s domain but never knew if he needed to dance or crawl. Sangwoo’s violence is softer these last few months, and when he hurts Bum he doesn’t want to have to do it. Bum wonders, if Sangwoo doesn’t want to hurt him, and Bum doesn’t force him to, who does?
Sangwoo can’t help but laugh too, as if Bum’s giggle is contagious. “Gosh, what’s funny, idiot?” The crease in his eyes is everything to Bum, as Sangwoo playfully points a spoon in his direction. “It’s an insult, you should recognize them by now. You’re so dense.”
Bum can’t help but giggle more. Sangwoo looks so much younger when he smiles like that, when he looks like that under the dim-lighted kitchen. He looks content. Maybe it’s the absurdity of seeing him in such a domestic look but Bum can’t help but feel too comfortable.
Now Sangwoo’s eyes open and stare at him, his smile stills and he lets out a laughing sigh.
“Maybe people would like you more if you always acted like a fun drunk.” Bum would rather not think about the way he cried when Sangwoo forced him to drink too much when they watched a Western Christmas movie, but he flushes nonetheless. “You’d be fun to tease.”
Sangwoo seemed to have more to say but he cut himself off and his smile reached his eyes. Before Bum had the chance to comprehend what changed, to notice the look in his eyes, Sangwoo dropped the spoon back to the sink and got closer to Bum. Bum wanted to ask what was wrong but the words in his throat were unrecognizable as Sangwoo kneeled in front of him. At this rare and precious position, the candlelight behind Sangwoo lit the locks of his brightly-colored hair but his downturned face remained unlit. As he took Bum’s hand in his and guided it to move in circles on his cheeks, Bum felt deep sadness at not being able to see his face. So perfect. Bum worries, too, if Sangwoo would ever feel the same pain he did from fire.
“They won’t, though. You know why?”
Sangwoo met his eyes, and even in the dark, Bum could recognize in them the person he fell in love with, beyond the terror of their past, beyond his only temporarily immobilized legs. It’s the same person everyone wants, but comes back to him every time.
“Because you’re together here, with me.”
Bum doubts himself, if he ever really got hit by him.