Taste Of Algorithm Jinkook/Kookjin story

Coincidence

Jungkook ignored the jab. His gaze swept over Jin, from the tired lines around his eyes to the faint smear of coconut cream on his wrist. "You're over-tired. Your focus is fractured. It leads to errors." He gestured to the collapsed rosette. "A simple miscalculation of temperature and patience."

"I don't need your analysis," Jin hissed, turning back to his station, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands with unnecessary violence. "Get to the point. Why are you here?"

Another step closer. Jin could smell him now—that clean, expensive scent of sandalwood and cold night air. It was utterly maddening.

"The point," Jungkook said, his voice dropping to a near murmur, "is that you returned my investment. I don't accept poor returns."

Jin whirled around. "It wasn't an investment! It was a... a provocation! And I paid you back for it! Every single won, plus more! You had no right to send it back!"

"The right is mine to define," Jungkook stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. He was close now, too close. Jin could see the flecks of silver in his dark eyes. "The sample was an investment in quality. Your overpayment was an emotional reaction. I do not deal in emotions. I deal in facts. The fact is, the product is in your pantry. The fact is, you have not disposed of it."

Jin's heart was hammering. "How do you know that? Are you having me watched?"

"I know you," Jungkook said, and the simplicity of the statement was terrifying. "You are a pragmatist. You would not waste a tool of that caliber. You hate waste almost as much as you hate perceived debts."

He reached out then. Not for Jin, but for the piping bag Jin had discarded. His fingers brushed against Jin's as he picked it up. The contact was electric, a jolt of pure, unwelcome heat that seared through Jin's skin. He snatched his hand back as if burned.

Jungkook didn't react. He examined the piping bag with a critical eye. "The consistency is wrong. Too warm. You're rushing." He set it down and, before Jin could process the action, his hands were on Jin's shoulders.

Jin froze. Every muscle in his body locked solid. Jungkook's hands were firm, warm through the thin cotton of his shirt. It wasn't a violent grip; it was a deliberate, grounding pressure.

"Breathe, Seokjin-ssi," Jungkook commanded, his voice soft but absolute. "You're holding your breath. It contributes to the tremor in your hands."

"Don't touch me," Jin choked out, but the words had no force. He was paralyzed, hyper-aware of the heat of those hands, the sheer size of them, the way they seemed to both pin him in place and hold him upright.

"Why?" Jungkook's voice was a low hum, close to his ear. "Because it reminds you that this isn't a financial transaction? That this is not a ledger to be balanced? That some things exist outside your spreadsheets?"

His thumbs pressed gently into the tight knots of stress on Jin's shoulders, a slow, circular motion that was somehow both an invasion and a relief. It was an intimate, knowing touch. A chef's touch, understanding the body's pressures.

Jin shuddered, a full-body wave of sensation that was equal parts panic and something else, something deep and treacherous he refused to name. "Stop it."

"You are the most frustratingly brilliant man I have ever met," Jungkook murmured, his breath ghosting against Jin's temple. "You see the world in balances and debts. You are so terrified of being owned that you cannot see when you are being... appreciated."

The word, so soft, so unexpected, landed like a blow. Jin's eyes stung. He squeezed them shut. "This isn't appreciation. This is a power play. You're trying to unbalance me."