Running to You | Park Han + JL + Steven | Haneulz + Stejay AU

Chapter 23: In the Heat of the Kitchen

The dorm kitchen wasn't built for more than three people, maybe four, if they didn't move too fast. But that evening, it felt like the only place on campus where the world slowed down. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, the counter was still warm from a half-hearted wipe, and outside the narrow window, the sky hung dusky and blue, fading into black.

JL stood by the sink, peeling shrimp. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he was frowning slightly in concentration as he tried not to let the slippery meat shoot out of his fingers again. "This is harder than it looks," he muttered.

Han came in quietly behind him, towel tossed over his shoulder like he'd been born to carry it that way. "You're mangling those," he said without judgment, just amusement.

"I'm not mangling them. I'm just... being interpretive."

"You're treating them like stress balls."

JL exhaled through his nose. "I'm trying to cook for you. You could be less mean."

"I could," Han said, walking over slowly. "But then you'd think I wasn't paying attention."

He stood behind JL without hesitation, chest close to JL's back, one hand reaching forward, brushing lightly against JL's wrist. The movement was unhurried, deliberate. He didn't touch him for longer than necessary, but the space between them filled up like water poured into a glass. JL felt it -- his spine, his arms, his jaw. 

"Here," Han said, voice low, eyes trained on JL's hands. "Pinch here. Then tug the tail gently, like this."

JL followed the motion, his heart slamming against his ribs. "You've done this a lot."

"Almost every weekend back home."

JL risked glancing up, eyes grazing Han's profile. The soft slope of his nose, the subtle shadow of his lashes against his cheek. "Do you... do this with other people?"

"Not really." Han met his eyes then, slow and steady. "Just you."

The faucet dripped. The silence curled between them, heavy and full.

JL looked back down at the shrimp in his palm. His pulse was thrumming through his fingers. He felt like he was about to short circuit. "You should have said something earlier."

Han moved away, back to his side of the kitchen, reaching for the garlic and oil like nothing just happened. "You didn't ask."

JL's ears were hot. His hands shook a little when he started peeling the next one.

They didn't talk for a few minutes, but it wasn't awkward. JL was too focused on the weight of that one moment -- on how Han had smelled like cedar and detergent, on how his voice dropped half a register when he was showing him something, on how normal it had felt to have him close. Like that space between them had always been waiting to be filled.

When they finally sat at the small table, JL pushed a plate across the table. "I didn't mess up the shrimp."

"You didn't," Han agreed, chewing slowly. "It's good."

JL grinned. "You're not just saying that to flatter me?"

"You don't need flattery. You need proper technique."

"Harsh."

Han wiped his mouth. "It's good. I meant it."

There was a momentary pause. Then JL said, softer, "You always mean it, don't you?"

Han looked at him then -- really looked. "I'm not great at guessing what people want to hear. So I just say what I mean."

JL felt like his body was trying to process too many emotions at once. His heart wasn't just racing -- it was crashing, tripping over itself.

The rest of the team thundered in a few minutes later, bickering over who was hogging the best laundry pods, and Woongki immediately tried to steal a shrimp off Han's plate. Han slapped his hand away without breaking eye contact with JL.

The moment passed. But not really.

It just settled into something unspoken, sitting between them like steam rising off a perfect bowl of garlic butter shrimp.