✵ junhui.

@✾ ⋰ yunjin h. A spark of curiosity twinkled in his eye when the woman reached out to the glass, despite turning down his offer initially. He remained still, watching her with an expectant stare as she lifted the glass to her nose then took a subsequent sip. Her approval made his lips curve into a slight smile before he reached for his own glass and took a sip for himself. He hummed in approval at the familiar taste—notes of subtle brioche and candied pineapple. A perfect mix, he would say, of sweetness and acidity, encased in an effervescent beverage he would surely have at least two glasses of tonight. Setting the glass back down on the counter, he turned to the beautiful woman beside him, whose words elicited a chuckle past his lips. "This is nothing," he replied modestly as his dark gaze fell on her own pair of rosy lips, to which he carefully slipped the food in between. "This is tuna," he murmured, wiping at the corner of her lips with the pad of his thumb even though there was nothing there. He just wanted to do it. To touch her, even. And while he craved touching her some other way, he wouldn't allow himself. He took time to make double the food he originally prepared for himself because she had previously expressed her hunger. Therefore his priority was to make sure she was fed. Everything else was not as important at this moment. "Do you like it? I placed a small dot of wasabi in the between the fish and rice in each one. I should have asked you first, but it was too late by the time I thought about it."

@✻ ⋰ junhui w. “how much did i even drink last time?” she counters with a brow quirked up; yet, she obliges to his previous command, swirling the liquid around the glass with practiced ease before tipping it closer to her nose. with a whiff, she hums at it's exquisite scent, not even wasting another more second as she takes a delighted sip of the drink. when she looks at him again, she's smiling, placing the glass back to the table so she wouldn't end up spilling it's contents over herself by accident. “this one tastes better than the last one. no wonder why it's expensive, too.” despite the comment however, yunjin still can't seem to understand the hype around alcohol. while she doesn't hate it, she'd rather drink water or soda. it also didn't help that she's a lightweight, often the of jokes when dragged by her friends to a night of getting faced. add to the fact that she's more docile when intoxicated, she's careful with her intake— only letting loose when around those that she trusts. junhui happens to be one of them now. “i didn't think i'll be hand fed tonight, either. i feel so pampered,” she confesses while opening , not once breaking eye contact with him as she waits for him to feed her the piece of nigiri.

@✾ ⋰ yunjin h. He raised a brow. "A glass of wine is not going to get you drunk." Still, he placed the glass back down on the counter. He was not going to force her to drink if she did not want to, but he would leave it there in case she changed her mind. Shifting his focus, he waved his hand over the tray of fish then still for a moment, brows knitting together in thought. With clean fingers he then picked up a piece of the tuna nigiri—a classic fish that may be familiar to any palate accustomed to eating seafood. Turning it to the side, he dipped just the tip of the fish into the puddle of soy sauce poured perfectly in on of the little, round divots embedded in the platter. He inspected the little unit of food afterwards make sure he didn't put too much soy sauce, then held it out in front of Yunjin's mouth, his other hand held below her chin in case the rice somehow broke apart and made a mess. "Open your mouth."

@✻ ⋰ junhui w. she thinks that he'll make a good salesman if the way he talks is how he'd entice a customer into buying his products, waltzing around his kitchen with such ease she's almost hypnotized by it. she even had to fight the sigh that tried to escape from her lips, a prickle on the back of her neck making her squirm in her spot. and, at that point, she wonders how he's not even fazed by the thick air around them— as if this isn't the date that they've talked about over the phone, just a few days ago, after she confessed her feelings to him.

everytime she catches a glimpse of his face, she tries to see if there's an indication for it: that she's not the only one feeling like she's about to implode, fingers itching for the touch that she's been robbed off for days, between their busy schedules.

alas, she finds no change in his demeanor by the time she haphazardly takes off her coat, draping it on the back of her chair, just before he takes a seat next to the one he offered her; and, as he hands her a glass of white wine, she feels a little foolish— like she's overreacting or waking up in a very, bad dream, fingers brushing against his to take the drink, but not to take a sip of it (much as she wants to). “i told you i don't want to get drunk tonight.”

@✾ ⋰ yunjin h. His eyes flickered between the counter and the couch; he was trying to decide where he preferred her to sit. He settled on keeping the tray where he placed it on the counter, then made his way to the kitchen cabinets, pulling out glasses for wine. He was crouched in front of the wine cooler he had beneath the counter when he laughed at the girl's question, as if he found it ridiculous that she even asked.

"Of course I did," he answered, picking out an expensive bottle of white wine he had already opened a couple days before. He stood up, popped off the cork, then poured an appropriate, equal amount into both glasses. He pushed it behind the tray of nigiri he prepared, then opened a drawer to grab a few napkins, placing them at the center of the counter. Extending a hand towards the seats, he gestured for her to sit, before taking a seat himself in the chair beside her.

"This is salmon, tuna, yellowtail, and unagi," he told her, pointing at each of the fish. "And what I just poured you," he paused, reaching out for one of the glasses, "is the most expensive white wine that I own." He held it in front of her lips. A glint of mischief shined in his eyes. "Taste it."

@✻ ⋰ junhui w. “hey...?”

she shouldn't be surprised at the sight of him— should be so used to his state of undress with the amount of times she'd seen him in less. yet, she still staggers for a response at finding him in nothing but the comfort of his joggers, the plain cloth on his shoulder mainly an accessory that left nothing to the imagination. and it annoys her that he makes it look good, reminded of the many times she found him an exception (like he always is) to her lack of interest with half- men.

she also hates that he seems to know how he gets her riled up so easily about it, leaving her panting, the question of whether he's testing her depravity about it just at the tip of her tongue— that if she hadn't thought about biting it to the point of drawing blood, he might think of her as self-centered for being presumptuous about the whole ordeal.

it's with a shake with her that she follows after him, securely closing the door behind her and sliding her feet on the slippers she would always wear when she comes to visit; at the sight of the food, then at him again, she begins to try figuring out which she'd like to taste first, manicured fingers digging on the marble counter separating them both. “you— you made them all yourself?” she decides to ask instead, fiddling with the tie of her trench coat yet again, the heat emanating from her body making her suffocate from the thickness and tightness of the fabric.

@✾ ⋰ yunjin h. Junhui prided himself in being quite good at many things, cooking being one of them. It felt like a waste for a man as busy as him to spend a portion of his time cooking a meal he would devour in a mere five minutes, but to him, it was time well spent. It was one of the few things that he found therapeutic, next to lifting weights at the gym and going for a morning run. He didn't know why it was. Perhaps there was just something about preparing a meal that felt like art. Like clay was to a sculpture, or brushes were to a painter, the knife and quality ingredients he spent money on were his medium.

The food he made was also one of the very few things he would take pictures of. If one were to scroll through his camera roll, which he never would allow anyone to do, they would find a good amount, if not most of his gallery to be a collection of different food—either food he made or food he ordered at a fine restaurant. One could call him a foodie or maybe even a critic. He would argue that he was just a connoisseur.

He had just finished taking pictures of the food he prepared when he heard a knock on the door; an indication that his guest had arrived. He washed his hands and wiped them clean on the towel he had thrown over his shoulder whilst making his way to the front door.

"Hello," he greeted with a small, almost stoic smile, the girl's choice of clothing once again a direct contrast to his own—black joggers and no shirt, only the white cloth hanging over his shoulder to make up for the amount of skin he was showing. He smirked and headed back to the kitchen, throwing a, "come in," over his shoulder as he picked up the black, rectangular serving tray of the nigiri he prepared—four sets of four types of fish, salmon, tuna, yellowtail, unagi, each evenly sliced on equally sized, small blocks of rice—and placed them on the counter, where they would eat together.

@✻ ⋰ junhui w. thankfully, the trip to his apartment didn't take long. with it also being so late in the night, she didn't have to make up a pretense for her choice of clothing, only covering her lingerie with a white, silk negligee that she hid beneath a mid-length trench coat. she makes sure that she's all buttoned up five minutes before her arrival, as well, checking herself on the compact mirror that she carried along with her. it's truly when the driver pulls up into the driveway that her nerves get to her— the transaction she shares with the man so robotic that he had to send her a sympathetic smile.

she didn't have to figure out what he meant by it.

she wants to prove him wrong, though, tell him that she isn't nervous as she gets out of the car, sending jun a quick text to announce her arrival before heading towards his apartment. when she pushes the button to his intercom, she ignores her trembling finger, convincing herself that she is just /that/ hungry. she tells herself the same thing as she stands in front of his door, waiting for him to peel it open— and all the while fiddling with one of the buttons on her coat.