Taste Of Algorithm Jinkook/Kookjin story

Coincidence

"The door was unlocked. A security oversight I took the liberty of correcting for you." The answer was so smooth, so utterly unrepentant, it made Jin's head spin.

"I'm calling the police," Jin hissed, though he knew it was an empty threat. What would he say? A billionaire made me risotto?

"You are distressed," Jungkook stated, as if commenting on the weather. "The nutritional and emotional value of a well-prepared meal is documented to reduce cortisol levels. You haven't eaten. You are not thinking clearly."

"I am thinking perfectly clearly! You can't just—just cook in my kitchen! This isn't a gesture, it's an invasion!"

"Was the gesture incorrect?" Jungkook asked, his voice dropping into that low, analytical hum. "Did the rice not achieve the proper al dente texture? Was the broth inadequately reduced? I utilized your own vegetable stock. I found the depth of flavor to be exceptional."

He was doing it again. Reframing. Redirecting. Talking about technical details when the issue was a fundamental violation of boundaries. Jin felt dizzy.

"I don't care about the texture of the rice! I care that you were in my space! Uninvited!"

"The invitation was implied in your distress," came the cool reply. "You presented a problem: fatigue, error, tension. I provided a solution: sustenance, crafted with precision. The logic is sound."

"Your logic is insane!" Jin shouted, pushing off the wall to pace his small living room, his free hand raking through his hair. "You don't solve problems by trespassing and cooking! Normal people send a text! They say 'hey, are you okay?'"

"And do you answer those texts, Seokjin-ssi?" Jungkook's question was quiet, lethal. "Do you allow 'normal people' to see your distress? Or do you hide behind professionalism and deflective humor until you collapse at your station from exhaustion?"

The question hit its mark with unerring accuracy. Jin stopped pacing, his breath catching. He said nothing.

The silence stretched, and in it, he could feel Jungkook's satisfaction.

"The risotto will get cold," Jungkook said, his tone softening almost imperceptibly. "It is a disservice to the ingredients to let it be wasted. Especially the truffle. You of all people understand that."

Jin's eyes were drawn back to the plate. It did look perfect. The precise, hungry part of him, the chef that lived in his soul, recognized the skill, the care. The absurdity of it all crashed over him—the most powerful man he'd ever met had broken into his apartment to make him dinner because he'd botched a pastry cream.

A hysterical laugh bubbled in his chest, but it got stuck in his throat.

"I hate you," he whispered, the words devoid of heat, full of a bewildered exhaustion.

"I am aware," Jungkook replied, not missing a beat. "It is irrelevant to the current objective: your well-being."

"My well-being is not your objective! Your objective is to win! To own me!"

"Is there a difference?" The question was so simple, so utterly convinced, it stole the air from Jin's lungs.

Before he could form a response, Jungkook continued, his voice final. "Eat the risotto, Seokjin-ssi. The choice, as always, is yours. But consider the data: your energy is depleted. Your focus is compromised. This is an efficient solution."

The line went dead.

Jin stood there, phone clutched in his hand, staring at the plate of food. The aroma of truffle and Parmesan and white wine filled his apartment, both a taunt and a temptation.