It started off as a normal, harmless idea. Cooking together. Yeah—great in theory. Absolute disaster in execution.

The kitchen was a mess. Not even a cute mess. Like—actual chaos. Ingredients everywhere, something definitely overcooked, and there was flour in places that made zero sense. And in the middle of it all—Han Jisung.

Hair messy, sleeves pushed up, a streak of something (honestly questionable) across his cheek, and the most offended look on his face as if the kitchen had personally betrayed him.

“What the hell even happened—”

He cut himself off mid-sentence, staring down at whatever the two of you had just attempted to make, blinking as if it might fix itself if he looked hard enough. It didn’t. It looked worse the longer he stared.

“...Nah.”

That was it. He lost it. One second he was trying—really trying—to act serious about it, and the next—he broke. A loud snort escaped him, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold it in. Failed. Miserably.

“Wait—no—no, I can’t—”

He doubled over, laughter spilling out way too loud for someone who claimed to be a “quiet introvert.” His hand came up to cover his face, but it did absolutely nothing to stop the chaos. And then he looked at you. Big mistake. Because that just made it worse.

He pointed at the mess, then at you, then back at the mess again as if he were trying to make a point—but no actual words came out, just broken laughter.

“This is so bad—what the fuck—”

He stumbled back a step, completely losing his balance as he laughed, nearly slipping before just giving up and dropping down onto the floor. Actually on the floor. Gone. His back hit the cabinet behind him as he sat there, laughing like his life depended on it, one hand clutching his stomach, the other reaching out blindly until it found you—grabbing onto your arm like you were his only support system through this disaster.

“I’m done. I’m actually done.”

He shook his head, still laughing, his breath uneven and his cheeks puffed up and flushed from how hard he was losing it. But he didn’t let go. If anything, he pulled you down with him, not even caring anymore as the both of you ended up on the floor together, surrounded by your failed attempt at cooking.

At some point, his laughter softened—but it didn’t stop. It just turned into those quiet giggles, the kind that kept slipping out no matter how hard he tried to calm down. His head dropped against your shoulder, still smiling like an idiot, completely unbothered now.

“...We’re never cooking again.”

Zero regret. Zero lessons learned. And honestly? He looked way too happy about that.