Taste Of Algorithm Jinkook/Kookjin story

Coincidence

What did I just do?

The kitchen, his sanctuary, his fortress, now felt contaminated. The air still hummed with the echo of Jungkook's presence, with the memory of his touch. That touch... it hadn't been violent. It had been possessive. Certain. As if he had every right to be there, to touch him, to correct him. And the most damning part was that for a heart-stopping moment, Jin had let him. He had leaned into it.

He looked at the pan of mushrooms. They were perfect now. Golden-brown, caramelized, the aroma deep and nutty. A perfect result from an imperfect chef. The evidence of his own failure, remedied by the very source of his turmoil.

A violent wave of self-loathing crashed over him. He grabbed the handle of the pan, the heat searing his palm through the cloth of his towel, and he hurled the entire contents into the sink. The glorious mushrooms sizzled and died against the cold, wet metal.

The act was petty, wasteful, and deeply satisfying.

But the satisfaction was fleeting, instantly replaced by a deeper, more profound emptiness. He braced his hands on the sink, head hanging, shoulders shaking with the effort to draw breath. He could still smell the sandalwood. He could still feel the imprint of those lips.

He had to get out. He couldn't stand the silence, the judgment of his own kitchen. He shoved away from the sink, not bothering to clean the mess, not bothering to turn off all the lights. He grabbed his jacket and fled out the back door into the alley, the cool night air doing little to cleanse the heat from his skin or the chaos from his mind.

The walk to his apartment was a blur of streetlights and echoing footsteps. His mind was a fractured reel, replaying the encounter from every angle. The calm intrusion. The technical critique. The way Jungkook had moved with such unshakeable certainty. The way his own body had betrayed him, responding to a touch that should have repulsed him.

He was so lost in the whirlwind that he didn't immediately process the scent as he turned the key in his lock and pushed his door open.

It hit him then. Not the familiar, comforting smell of his own space, but something else. Something rich, earthy, and deeply, fundamentally unsettling.

Truffle.

His blood ran cold. He fumbled for the light switch, his heart slamming against his ribs.

His small, functional kitchenette was pristine, exactly as he'd left it. But on the small dining table, centered with geometric precision, sat a single plate. On it was a perfect, golden-brown risotto, steam still curling gently from its surface. And shaved over the top, in paper-thin, translucent curls, was the white truffle from the "sample" bottle.

Beside the plate was a simple note, written in that familiar, precise hand:

Patience rewarded.

The world tilted. He hadn't just gotten into his restaurant. He'd been in his home. The violation was so profound, so absolute, that for a moment, Jin couldn't breathe. He stared at the plate, his stomach churning with a nauseating mixture of terror and a treacherous, unwelcome flicker of... something else. The risotto looked perfect. It smelled divine.

He stumbled backward, hitting the wall, his phone already in his hand. He didn't think. He just acted, driven by a primal need to reclaim his space, to scream into the void that had just consumed it.

The call connected on the first ring.

"What did you do?" Jin's voice was a raw, shattered thing, all pretense of control gone.

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then, Jungkook's calm, measured tone. "I remedied the error."

"You broke into my home!"