The scent of rosemary and thyme fills the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Lee Minho stands in the kitchen, focused, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing with each careful movement as he preps the beef wellington. He’s in his element, moving with a practiced grace that makes you forget all about the movie flickering on the screen.

You shift slightly on the couch, head propped on your arm as you watch him. There’s something so captivating about the way he does it—taking his time, brushing the pastry with an egg wash, brow creased in concentration. He looks up for a moment, catching you staring. A faint smirk tugs at his lips.

“Enjoying the show?” he teases, eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and confidence. You grin, shrugging playfully. “Can’t help it when the chef looks this good.”

Minho chuckles, wiping his hands on a towel before coming over to the couch, leaning down close. “Better be saving room for dessert, yeah?” he murmurs, voice low, his gaze lingering before he pulls back, leaving you just a little breathless as he heads back to the kitchen.