Taste Of Algorithm Jinkook/Kookjin story

Coincidence

The war was over. He had lost. And the most terrifying part was that it hadn't felt like a defeat.

It had felt like a homecoming.

The confrontation came on a rain-slicked Tuesday evening. The dinner rush was over, but the kitchen of Jin Eatries was still a hive of cleanup. Jin was elbow-deep in sanitizer solution, scrubbing the industrial stovetop with a ferocity that was purely exorcism. He was trying to scrub away the memory of a touch, the scent of sandalwood, the feel of a perfect whetstone.

The back door opened, letting in a gust of cool, damp air.

Jin didn't need to look. His spine stiffened, his shoulders locking. The rhythm of the kitchen stuttered for a fraction of a second before resuming, his staff carefully not looking at the doorway.

Jungkook stood there, water beading on the shoulders of his dark wool coat. He didn't say a word. He simply observed, his gaze sweeping over the clean kitchen, over Jin's rigid back.

Jin continued scrubbing, his movements becoming sharper, more aggressive. He would not acknowledge him. He would not give him the satisfaction.

"The abrasive you're using is too coarse for that surface," Jungkook's voice cut through the silence, calm and factual. "You'll micro-scratch the steel. It will degrade its non-stick properties and harbor bacteria over time."

Jin's hand stilled. He slowly straightened up, turning to face him. Rage, clean and sharp, was a welcome relief from the confusing whirl of other emotions. "Get out," he said, his voice low and venomous.

Jungkook ignored him, stepping fully inside. His eyes were on Jin's hands, red and raw from the harsh chemicals and frantic scrubbing. "You're damaging your hands. Your most valuable tools."

"What do you care?" Jin spat, throwing the scrubber into the sink with a clatter. "Are you going to send me a gift certificate for a spa day next? A critique on my cuticle maintenance?"

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Jungkook's lips. "The state of your tools is a reflection of your internal state. Your neglect is data. You are... agitated."

"Agitated?" Jin let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "You break into my home, you critique my sear, you send me rocks—what the hell do you expect?"

"I expect precision," Jungkook said, taking a step closer. The kitchen seemed to shrink around them. "I expect logic. You are behaving irrationally."

"I'm irrational?" Jin's voice rose, echoing in the tiled space. He took a step forward, closing the distance, jabbing a finger in the air between them. "You're the one who treats people like they're puzzles to be solved! You're the one who can't take no for an answer! You're the one who—" He cut himself off, his chest heaving.

Jungkook watched him, his head tilted slightly, as if Jin were a fascinatingly erratic algorithm. "Who what, Seokjin-ssi?" he prompted, his voice dangerously soft.

"Who touches people without their permission!" The words exploded out of him, raw and exposed.

The silence that followed was deafening. Jungkook's eyes darkened, his focus intensifying, zeroing in on this new, critical variable.

"Permission," he repeated, as if tasting the word. He took another step forward. Now they were almost chest to chest. Jin could see the individual droplets of water on his lashes. "You believe my touch requires permission."

"Everything requires permission!" Jin shot back, but his voice had lost its force. The proximity was unnerving, stealing his breath.

"Does it?" Jungkook's gaze dropped to Jin's mouth for a heartbeat before returning to his eyes. "You did not grant me permission to find you fascinating. You did not grant me permission to value your craft above any other. You did not grant me permission to ensure you are fed and your tools are sharp." His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Some things are simply facts. They exist outside the realm of permission."