Jieqiong had called him out of the blue, banking on the fact that he hadn’t lost his SIM card and his number wasn’t tossed to the sasaengs like food for wolves. “It’s been a long time,” she said.
“Don’t think you’re in my contact history anymore,” Minghao said, and it was sort of wry.
“But I’m still saved?”
“Won’t tell you under what name,” Minghao answered, and she took it as a cue to get to her point.
“I want to bake Junhui a cake.”
There was silence for a few moments.
“You know, his birthday is coming up,” Jieqiong added.
“It’s April,” Minghao reminded her. “Ah, but you don’t know how to cook.”
“You catch on fast.”
-
Minghao’s Seoul apartment was only lightly decorated. After months in China on a long-term schedule he came back to dust everywhere and quickly reassessed the practicality of his display methods. “Take it all,” he’d told Mingyu, who with his 23 billion won in assets obsessive maintenance would have no problem putting the decor in his mansion personal art gallery. “IT’S NOT A MANSION,” Mingyu had shouted, and then hung up. A truck was in front of Minghao’s building an hour later.
“It’s nice,” Jieqiong said, finger on her chin as she put her face far too close to his favorite painting. The sunlight filtered into the room quite nicely, though Minghao knew it was dangerous for the art.
“Hey, no one said you could wander around,” Minghao told her as he sliced a box cutter through the packaging of his delivered groceries. He’d ordered essentially everything he could think of that would go into a cake because he had none of it on hand, and in another packet under the coat rack was a few box mixes in case something went wrong. Jieqiong didn’t have to know about that.
“I gave myself permission.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Well,” she said, and suddenly she was right across from him on the other side of the kitchen island. Jieqiong had a way of sneaking up on people like that. Minghao would be lying if he said it didn’t make him uncomfortable sometimes. “What do we have here?”
“You could say thank you for buying the ingredients,” he said, shaking the hair out of his face, laying everything out on the counter. The floor was covered in tape and bubble wrap. Again he wished Jieqiong would actually do something.
“Shouldn’t I wait for the lesson first?” Jieqiong asked, face resting in her cupped hands.
He looked at her contemplatively. “I’m an artist, not a chef.”
“Oh, so you’re here trying to impress Junhui too?”
“I can’t tell if this is cheeky or serious.”
Jieqiong sighed. “You were always like this.” She pulled up a recipe on her phone. “Do you have a printer?” No, but he had an iPad stationed in the living room.
Minghao had really hoped the redirection of Jieqiong’s interest over to Junhui, in whatever form you could call it, would prevent this kind of conversation. He was probably being too optimistic. Both of them were a little too stubborn about these things. “I want to draw neat icing on it,” Jieqiong would probably say, knowing Minghao decorates everything with abstract art. Never compatible.
-
As fate would have it, Junhui would be on a plane to Shanghai the eve of his birthday. “I’m a little too busy to meet up this week,” he’d told Minghao apologetically, who might have been more hurt if it was anyone but Junhui. He had worked really hard this year, and... sometimes Minghao had to stop himself from getting emotional about it. Minghao was proud of him. Shenzhen’s prince, and all that.
Minghao thought that was the end of that until Jieqiong called him again, long distance though, this time. “I’m in Shanghai, did you know?” The pang of jealousy hit him like a mallet against a metal gong.
“We were both going to bake him cakes,” Minghao said slowly. “Your idea in exchange for my help.”
“I know,” she said, and it sounded like she was sorry about it. “I’ll bake him two for you.”
“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it,” Minghao said. “It just didn’t work out.”
“We’re friends, you know?” Minghao couldn’t tell if she was talking about him or Junhui.
“Yeah.”
“Junhui,” she started, and hesitated. “I was never going to steal either of your hearts, you know?” she continued, blabbering on like always, things he didn’t want to hear. “We just-”
“Let’s not-”
“That’s not what I wanted-”
“Jieqiong,” Minghao said.
“Yes?”
“Just have fun,” he told her.
When Jieqiong hung up the phone Minghao walked over to his wine cooler and pulled out a bottle to drink. He closed his eyes.
the way i love - the8 (svt) / kyulkyung (pristin) - canon
“Don’t think you’re in my contact history anymore,” Minghao said, and it was sort of wry.
“But I’m still saved?”
“Won’t tell you under what name,” Minghao answered, and she took it as a cue to get to her point.
“I want to bake Junhui a cake.”
There was silence for a few moments.
“You know, his birthday is coming up,” Jieqiong added.
“It’s April,” Minghao reminded her. “Ah, but you don’t know how to cook.”
“You catch on fast.”
-
Minghao’s Seoul apartment was only lightly decorated. After months in China on a long-term schedule he came back to dust everywhere and quickly reassessed the practicality of his display methods. “Take it all,” he’d told Mingyu, who with his
23 billion won in assetsobsessive maintenance would have no problem putting the decor in hismansionpersonal art gallery. “IT’S NOT A MANSION,” Mingyu had shouted, and then hung up. A truck was in front of Minghao’s building an hour later.“It’s nice,” Jieqiong said, finger on her chin as she put her face far too close to his favorite painting. The sunlight filtered into the room quite nicely, though Minghao knew it was dangerous for the art.
“Hey, no one said you could wander around,” Minghao told her as he sliced a box cutter through the packaging of his delivered groceries. He’d ordered essentially everything he could think of that would go into a cake because he had none of it on hand, and in another packet under the coat rack was a few box mixes in case something went wrong. Jieqiong didn’t have to know about that.
“I gave myself permission.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Well,” she said, and suddenly she was right across from him on the other side of the kitchen island. Jieqiong had a way of sneaking up on people like that. Minghao would be lying if he said it didn’t make him uncomfortable sometimes. “What do we have here?”
“You could say thank you for buying the ingredients,” he said, shaking the hair out of his face, laying everything out on the counter. The floor was covered in tape and bubble wrap. Again he wished Jieqiong would actually do something.
“Shouldn’t I wait for the lesson first?” Jieqiong asked, face resting in her cupped hands.
He looked at her contemplatively. “I’m an artist, not a chef.”
“Oh, so you’re here trying to impress Junhui too?”
“I can’t tell if this is cheeky or serious.”
Jieqiong sighed. “You were always like this.” She pulled up a recipe on her phone. “Do you have a printer?” No, but he had an iPad stationed in the living room.
Minghao had really hoped the redirection of Jieqiong’s interest over to Junhui, in whatever form you could call it, would prevent this kind of conversation. He was probably being too optimistic. Both of them were a little too stubborn about these things. “I want to draw neat icing on it,” Jieqiong would probably say, knowing Minghao decorates everything with abstract art. Never compatible.
-
As fate would have it, Junhui would be on a plane to Shanghai the eve of his birthday. “I’m a little too busy to meet up this week,” he’d told Minghao apologetically, who might have been more hurt if it was anyone but Junhui. He had worked really hard this year, and... sometimes Minghao had to stop himself from getting emotional about it. Minghao was proud of him. Shenzhen’s prince, and all that.
Minghao thought that was the end of that until Jieqiong called him again, long distance though, this time. “I’m in Shanghai, did you know?” The pang of jealousy hit him like a mallet against a metal gong.
“We were both going to bake him cakes,” Minghao said slowly. “Your idea in exchange for my help.”
“I know,” she said, and it sounded like she was sorry about it. “I’ll bake him two for you.”
“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it,” Minghao said. “It just didn’t work out.”
“We’re friends, you know?” Minghao couldn’t tell if she was talking about him or Junhui.
“Yeah.”
“Junhui,” she started, and hesitated. “I was never going to steal either of your hearts, you know?” she continued, blabbering on like always, things he didn’t want to hear. “We just-”
“Let’s not-”
“That’s not what I wanted-”
“Jieqiong,” Minghao said.
“Yes?”
“Just have fun,” he told her.
When Jieqiong hung up the phone Minghao walked over to his wine cooler and pulled out a bottle to drink. He closed his eyes.
He opened them again.