#big uncle who is kind of funny and nephew who is funnier energy

[shourtmangelas]

shayne and trevor? big uncle/nephew energy

[muffinsnotebook]

Mac n Cheese Pt. 2

crossposted on ao3.  

pt. 1 pt. 3

[screams: FINALLY!!!]

Chapter 2: Cupcakes and Kimchi

When Kim Seokjin had graduated from culinary school at the top of his class, complete with recommendations from the chef he’d trained under at the restaurant (and a spot at said restaurant), Namjoon, then his best friend (and secretly long-time crush), had given him this high quality, absolutely beautiful, 7-piece knife set made of carbon stainless steel alloy for his graduation gift.

On their first anniversary as a couple, Namjoon gifts him a leather knife carrier bag for it. The next day, they receive an email congratulating them on their first Michelin star.

Seokjin makes sure to maintain them properly, puts them in a polished cherry wood block, placed by the corner next to the small hook where he hangs his aprons - one in pastel pink, one in chocolate brown. After he’d gotten back from the hospital and put the boys to sleep, he’d taken them all out of the leather bag and cleaned them meticulously, storing them back in the wooden block.

With all the stress and grief he's had to grappled with for the past few days, adding on the fact that he now has a three-week leave (for the first time since…never), he inevitably forgets about them being of easy access on his granite counter.

Until he stumbles into the kitchen to see Taehyung wielding about his extra sharp, high-carbon stainless steel 8 inch chef’s knife on top of the kitchen island.

“Ban…KAI!” The seven year old yells, swinging the knife about with two hands. Seokjin promptly gets a heart attack.

“Kim Taehyung, what are you doing?!” He whisper-yells, just barely remembering he’d just put Jeongguk to sleep for the afternoon.

Taehyung turns to him, then grins excitedly, brandishing the chef knife like a samurai. “I’m a reaper from BLEACH! This is my ban…KAI!” He swings again in a wide downward arc.

“Taehyungie, that’s not a toy; that’s a real knife - you could hurt yourself with that.” Seokjin says slowly, carefully making his way to the younger boy. “Can you please give that back? You didn’t even ask permission from me if you could borrow it.”

The elder inwardly congratulated himself for sounding steady and calm despite feeling a nanometer away from fainting. Predictably, the young boy pouts as he lowers his arms, and reluctantly allows Seokjin to take it from his grasp.

“Will you please get down from the kitchen island before you trip and hit your head?” Seokjin pleads as he puts back his knife in the block, and hefts the heavy wood up onto a cabinet, far from their reach.

Taehyung complies with a disappointed whine. “Uncle Jin is no fun at all.” He pouts, then stomps off into the living room.

And Seokjin is indignant, because excuse you, I am a ton of fun! and because yah! That’s the second time you’ve insulted me, Kim Taehyung!

“Excuse you? I am so very much full of fun!” He hollers after the boy. “Like, tons of fun! You simply don’t appreciate my sense of humor!”

“No thanks, Uncle Jin, I like your food better.” Taehyung replies as he wraps his arms around Jimin instead, who’s watching some cartoon on the TV. The compliment to his cooking is rather backhanded, and Seokjin isn’t mollified one bit.

“You don’t believe me? You haven’t even heard me tell you a joke! I’ll have you know, that I know plenty of jokes! In fact, my handsome face is a--“

“Joke!”

“AH kkamjjagiya!” Seokjin whirls around, on the brink of a heart attack once more, because Jeongguk - whom he could’ve sworn he’d just put to sleep - is sitting on the couch, wide awake, and repeating “joke! joke!” gleefully.

Jimin and Taehyung burst into raucous laughter. Seokjin glowers to no avail, as Jeongguk only laughs along with his brothers.

"I can't decide who was funnier - Ggukie or Uncle Jin!" Taehyung gasps, tears leaking from his eyes. Okay that's a bit too much now, Seokjin thinks sulkily.

Jimin proves him wrong. "Both?"

It’s the first time Kim Seokjin considers that he may have just adopted the three most savage children in the entire world. He considers it for a moment - just a tiny moment.

After all, children change, don’t they? Surely, surely, they’ll come around and love him too much to slay him like this…? Aren't they even too young to slay people like this...?

“See? I am a lot of fun - I just made you laugh, didn’t I?” Seokjin tries to brush it off - because they’re children, and their laughter has been scarce and far too precious these past few weeks.

Jimin shakes his head. “Uh-uh. That wasn’t you - that was Jeonggukie’s joke! Uncle Jin was just the butt of the joke.”

Savages. Savages, the lot of them.

.

.

.

“So how have the kids been, hyung?” Hoseok’s cheerful voice filters in through the receiver with a slight crackle. Seokjin heaves a tired sigh, as he slumps on his couch.

“Ah, it’s been tiring! It’s like they never run out of energy!” Seokjin whines halfheartedly. “They’re sleeping now - thank god, I thought they’d never sleep. Taehyungie and Ggukie wouldn’t stop jumping all over the bed - I was so scared one of them was going to fall off and hit their heads!”

“These kids sound fun,” Hoseok laughs.

“It’s not funny!” Seokjin huffs. “Taehyung even managed to get a hold of my chef knife and started swinging it around on top of the kitchen island! I swear to god, I’m going to have a heart attack one of these days. Wait - I think I see a gray hair on my head.”

“So dramatic, hyung,” Hoseok replies, still laughing. Jerk - not even a hint of sympathy. “You’re not even that old - heck, you’re not even 30!”

And Seokjin isn’t. Seokjin is twenty-six, fairly young for an executive chef, and part owner, of a restaurant on the outskirts of Cheongdam, and in all honesty, is pretty much a child at heart still. He’s been a maknae for most of his life, having been born late in the year among his peers; and even with his dongsaengs, he’s never been fussy beyond honorifics and basic courtesy - partly because the dongsaengs he’s close with are pretty much set with their own lives, and don’t often ask him for advice, so much as a listening ear.

Obviously, his newest dongsaengs - his nephews! - will require more care and attention than a bunch of self sufficient young adults. Seokjin isn’t confident he can actually pull off being a decent hyung, let alone a responsible guardian to toddlers.

But a quitter is the last thing Seokjin is. And when the going gets tough, he toughens himself up even more.

They called him a disgusting faggot when he came out, and then later on again, for falling head over heels for Namjoon. But Seokjin looks in the mirror every day, and sees a handsome face staring back - which, he believes only gets more handsome when juxtaposed beside Namjoon’s dimpled smile. So be it if he's a faggot; he’s pretty sure he’s one of the most handsome faggots in the whole of fucking Asia, if not the whole world - the modeling gigs that kept coming even after he officially quit are testament to his attractiveness.

They called him a failure for dropping a business degree in favor of culinary arts. Seokjin had worked his ass off in culinary school, shamelessly asking the kind chefs at the Gangnam restaurant he worked at for cooking tips. Now his restaurant is the talk of the town; and they’re on the running for their second Michelin Star - if the food inspectors haven’t dropped by already.

Namjoon had told him he’s the type who blooms the most in adversity. Seokjin may not know a thing about child rearing, but he’ll be damned if he didn’t become the best uncle-hyung-parent-guardian for Jimin, Taehyung and Jeongguk.

He’ll be patient, and kind, and fun, and wise, and loving, like the perfect hyung-uncle there ever could be.

…It’s easier said than done, however.

In fact, it’s infinitely difficult to even spell patience when Jeongguk sitting on the hardwood floor of the living room, drawing colorful flowers and stars on the back of his white. leather. couch.

Using permanent. neon colored. pens.

“Kim Jeongguk!” He shrieks, his ears, and neck hot with anger. The four year old jumps, dropping his colored pens as he turns to Seokjin with huge, dark eyes, getting shinier and shinier with unshed tears, lips wobbling and hands trembling.

Uh oh.

The hot rage that had filled him not even three seconds ago evaporates just as fast, replaced with heavy stabs of guilt. Goddammit, he didn’t even do anything wrong! A juvenile part of Seokjin wants to stomp and pout, because his beautiful, white leather couch, and Jeongguk was the one in the wrong!

Instead, Seokjin sinks to a crouch, tugging Jeongguk gently but firmly in front of him.

He takes a deep calming breath through his nose, and scrunches his face into the stern, calm mask he wears in front of new kitchen staff. It takes everything in him to maintain it for more than a few seconds when big, fat teardrops trickle down Jeongguk’s cheeks.

“Jeonggukie, the couch is where people sit. It’s not meant for drawing on flowers and stars. We don’t draw or paint on couches, okay?” And in a perfect world, Jeongguk would nod at his words, and apologize, and Seokjin would give him a kiss on the cheek, and they’d go on with their lives peacefully.

But it is not a perfect world, and instead, Jeongguk only begins to wail loudly, summoning his older brothers into the room.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asks, stopping just shy of the Scene of the CrimeTM, looking between his uncle and his younger brother. Jeongguk, spotting his hyungs, ducks beneath Seokjin’s grasp and runs to Jimin, wailing, “hyungie!”

“What’s wrong, Ggukie?” Jimin asks, his short arms wrapping protectively around his younger brother. He shoots an accusatory look at his uncle, and Seokjin thinks he would’ve found the whole concept of it cute, if he weren’t the (very wrongfully accused!) receiver of it. As it is, Jimin’s look makes Seokjin feel as though he’s Mother Gothel incarnate.

“I was just telling Jeonggukie that the couch isn’t for drawing on,” Seokjin says defensively. “Drawings and paintings are best on paper, so we can put them in frames and hang them on the walls for everyone to see!”

He calls Jeongguk to look at him, who only does so with a little coaxing from Jimin. “Ggukie, next time you want to draw, just ask me for paper, okay? I’m not asking you to stop drawing, but I just want you to do it on the right materials. Furniture is not one of them.”

“…mm’kay,” Jeongguk eventually nods, pout still in place.

“That goes for all of you, okay?” Seokjin says, looking pointedly at Taehyung, who had grabbed the yellow marker to fill in the wriggly star shape Jeongguk had drawn. He straightens up with a start, immediately stuffing the pen behind his back.

“Yes Uncle Jin, I promise!” He grins, glances at his work, then adds, “I won’t do it again next time.”

Seokjin stares at him unimpressed, then sighs in defeat. “Right, so before this whole thing happened, I was about to ask you guys to help me decorate some cupcakes in the kitchen--“

“Cupcakes!?!” The three boys look at each other wide-eyed and mouths agape. Seokjin blinks, and they’re gone, shoving past each other as they race into the kitchen.

“Hey, wait for me! And don’t touch anything yet!”

Of course, by the time he gets there, the warning is too late, and the kids are already half covered in the blue-green icing he’d prepared while they had been napping. The three are kneeling on the barstools on the kitchen island, frosting each other’s hands and face.

“I see you found the buttercream,” Seokjin says wryly. Taehyung promptly aims the half-filled piping bag at his face and squeezes.

Seokjin tries to yell indignantly but only ends up with a mouthful of buttercream frosting. He hears Jeongguk cackling heartily - the sound is positively evil and contagious for such a cute child. Jimin swipes his thumb at his cheek to taste.

“What do you think? Tasty?” Seokjin asks, swiping at the blob on Jimin’s nose to do the same.

“It’s delicious!”

“Dewishoos!” Jeongguk echoes again with a giggle, sucking at the frosting on his knuckles.

“Good,” Seokjin takes out another piping bag - full of pink frosting, this time - from the fridge, pulling the tray of warm, freshly baked cupcakes closer to them. “Now, how about we actually put the frosting on the cupcakes?”

.

.

.

Despite Seokjin’s efforts, none of the frosting actually gets on any of the cupcakes.

“It’s cute,” Namjoon says as he takes in the photo on Seokjin’s phone. He’d come over straight from closing up the restaurant. “So cute.”

In the photo, Jeongguk is sat between his hyungs, cheeks stuffed to bursting, with crumbs of cupcake and frosting and sprinkles - yes, they’d found the sprinkles, too - smeared across his forehead and cheeks, and even some on his hair. Taehyung is on his left, triumphantly holding up the deflated piping bag, covered with even more frosting and sprinkles. Jimin is on the right, smiling close-lipped, with just a hint of the dimples below his eyes peeking through, holding on to a half eaten cupcake (his fifth, that time).

The kitchen island in front of them lies in a colorful carnage - blue-green and pink buttercream frosting everywhere, piles of rainbow sprinkles here and there (a small mound of red ones in front of Jeongguk), and cupcake bits and crumbs everywhere else.

The rest of the kitchen, and his phone notwithstanding. Seokjin, however, thinks getting buttercream all over his phone screen is worth capturing the ‘kodak moment’.

“Yes, well, the mess isn’t so cute.” Seokjin replies dryly, though his expression remains soft. Namjoon chuckles with a sympathetic smile, moving to knead at the knot of muscle on Seokjin’s shoulder. Like magic, the elder sags under his hand, letting out a drawn out sigh.

“Want me to help you clean up?” Because it really isn’t a matter of need, so much as whether Seokjin actually wants Namjoon in his kitchen. Even Namjoon wouldn’t let himself in his own kitchen for anything more than pouring hot water in his instant ramyeon.

Seokjin hums, debating the pros and cons of letting Namjoon into his kitchen.

“I can stick to rags and gathering the trash,” Namjoon offers and Seokjin acquiesces. It’ll take him hours to clean up everything by himself, and the kids have worn him out for the day. It’s late at night, and Seokjin’s just managed to clean up the rest of the apartment after cleaning up and putting the kids to sleep. To say that he’s exhausted is a huge understatement.

“Yes, please.”

Despite handling most of the logistics and other managerial paperwork involved in running a restaurant, Namjoon knows his way around the kitchen - “his way around” being mostly how-to-clean (The Namjoon EditionTM) and what-can-be-cleaned (The Namjoon 2nd EditionTM) and where-stuff-are (What To Avoid, The Namjoon Special EditionTM). It’s the only reason he gets allowed in the kitchen.

Quietly, the two make their way into the kitchen, and Namjoon whistles at the absolute wreck lying in wait. A part of him is in disbelief that Seokjin had actually allowed this much chaos into his hallowed space. Much like the counter in the photo, the rest of the kitchen is smeared with frosting and sprinkles, with puffs of flour and splotches of batter mixed in.

It looks like a giant cupcake bomb exploded in the kitchen.

Namjoon remembers the genuine smiles on the kids’ face from the photo, and doesn't ask pointless questions.

“How are the kids?” He asks instead as he takes the rag Seokjin hands him and begins wiping down the island.

“I think Jeongguk is the least affected - but then again, he’s still pretty young.” Seokjin replies as he washes the utensils. “I’m worried about Jimin the most - he gets pretty quiet most of the time, and I always catch him dazed or lost in thought…” Seokjin trails off, then sighs.

“I just want them to not be so sad anymore, but,” He cuts himself off, biting his lips as he scrubs furiously at the imaginary stain in his mixing bowl.

“But you’re still sad about it, too,” Namjoon continues for him in a quiet voice. He watches in mute sympathy when Seokjin’s shoulders slump, his hands dropping the bowl to grip on the edge of the sink instead.

His sobs are but quiet sniffles, shoulders quivering as even then he tries to stifle them. Namjoon silently wraps himself around him - careful not to catch his own soapy hands on Seokjin’s shirt - and tucks his chin over Seokjin’s shoulder.

Seokjin doesn’t cry louder or harder, nor does he stop. But he lets his back rest against the warmth of Namjoon’s chest, quietly accepts his comfort, his support, trusting him to catch the pieces of himself he can’t hold on his own.

“I miss him,” Seokjin confesses painfully, “I miss him so bad, Joonie.”

Namjoon recalls only about less than a handful of other instances when Seokjin has fallen apart like this, when Namjoon has to be there to catch the tiny shards that manage to escape the elder’s tight grasp. When Namjoon has to be the one to whisper the words of positivity and comfort that otherwise fell from Seokjin’s lips on a daily basis.

Namjoon is usually the one who falls apart more often, the one who goes to Seokjin, to let his hyung gather the pieces of himself after he’s ripped himself apart from thinking too much, from scrutinizing his own reflection to the point of self-loathing.

Even before they began dating, they had already been each other’s rock. Perhaps it’s precisely because they’ve glued the shattered pieces of themselves, both on their own, and for each other, that they can do it now with practiced ease, with lesser words, with lesser reservations. Perhaps in the process, they’ve kept tiny pieces of each other, mistakenly glued it to their own, that they now match more seamlessly, complement each other nigh effortlessly.

Yoongi had always grouched about the long time they’ve spent dancing around each other, cautiously treading, moving back and forth in their relationship before finally getting together. And sometimes, Namjoon, who overthinks too much even for two people, agrees, falls into a minor slump, allows the what-ifs to trickle in. But Seokjin, who gazes fixedly on brighter horizons, reassures, cajoles him back, saying, “Wine and cheese and kimchi, Namjoon; time only makes us better.”

Time the magician, the best cook especially in Korean cuisine, transforms, changes, often for the better, when tempered just right. Like traditional kimchi, prepared with care and attention, then left for Time to work its magic, to bring forth something to fill the stomach, to warm the heart. Like a time capsule leaving only the best parts to keep the memories aged but richer, more precious.

Seokjin remembers being young and feeling neglected by parents too immersed in the future, too detached from home. Remembers seeing a TV drama of a mother making kimchi with the rest of the family. Remembers his brother and their housekeeper - an old widow who loved them like grandchildren - making kimchi with him, traditional clay urn and all, on the kitchen floor, and burying it in garden. Remembers his own impatient fingers swiping at the leftover spicy paste, dipping scraps of cabbage and tasting, wrinkling his nose. “Doesn’t taste right.”

His brother had laughed, flicking his forehead lightly. Their housekeeper, affectionately called halmeoni, had clicked her tongue. “That’s because Time hasn’t done her part yet. The last ingredient is something only Time, the greatest cook there is, to do it’s magic. Only Time can make everything better.”

Only Time can make everything better. Can untangle webs and knots that choke the present, and even the past. Can heal, can soothe.

Eventually, they move again, go back to cleaning the sticky creams and pasty smears. Seokjin allows his mind to empty, allows himself to surrender to the peace that the mundane routine of cleaning provides. He paces himself slow and steady, never mind the lingering tears that slip and stray still.

Eventually, the kitchen is once more spotless, with less hazardous materials lying about within easy reach of tiny fingers. Some of his nicer, more fragile porcelain are stored in the upper cupboards, replaced for the sturdier plastics and child-friendly ceramics.

Namjoon lugs over the bag of fruits he’d brought from the restaurant, places it in the colorful bowl Seokjin set out on the island. Seokjin brings out a small glass jar of kimchi from the fridge and two chopsticks. Namjoon (very carefully) takes out the wine and two wineglasses, and (even more carefully) sets them on the table next to the kimchi.

It’s midnight, and the rest of the apartment is dark and silent, the world outside, muted and far away. In the kitchen, Seokjin and Namjoon eat kimchi and drink wine together, sharing memories of Seokjin’s brother.

Company, to ease the flow of Time.

.

Alone, Jimin curls up by the window, searching for the second star on the left, on top of the moon. But there is no moon tonight. And little Jimin aches, feeling left behind once more.

Taehyung breathes quietly, the space beside him where Jimin had been, too cold for sleep, and the hollow in his chest icy in the night.

Jeongguk dreams of colors and warmth, whispers, "eomma, appa," in the silent room.

-end of chapter 2-

- Miss March Muffin