Beom stirred in his sleep, beads of sweat forming on his brow as his dreams plunged him back into the chaos of the explosion. His breaths were shallow and erratic, his mind replaying the deafening boom and the searing heat of the blast. "Haah… haah…" he murmured, his body twisting restlessly in the sheets. His heart raced as he saw the flames again, swallowing everything in their path.
Suddenly, Beom jolted upright, gasping for air as though he had just been pulled out of the fiery wreckage. His chest heaved, and his eyes darted around, trying to piece together reality. Slowly, his surroundings came into focus—a dimly lit room with concrete walls and sparse furniture. His clothes were different from what he remembered wearing, a fresh set of sweats that smelled faintly of detergent. He recognized the hideout—Sasha's hideout.
"What… where am I?" Beom muttered under his breath, his voice still shaky. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his fingers trembling slightly. "Where is Sasha?"
As if summoned by the question, the door creaked open, and Sasha strode in, carrying several grocery bags in his arms. His usual casual demeanor was intact, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he caught sight of Beom.
"Oh, you're awake," Sasha said, his voice calm and almost cheerful. He walked to the small kitchen counter and began unloading the bags, their contents clinking and rustling as he set them down.
Beom squinted at him, still trying to shake off the remnants of his nightmare. "How long was I out for?" he asked, his tone edged with unease.
Sasha let out a dramatic sigh, his hand pausing mid-air as he placed a loaf of bread on the counter. "Oh, for years," he said, his expression deadpan.
"WHAT?!" Beom exclaimed, his voice cracking with alarm.
Sasha's smirk broke into a chuckle as he shook his head. "Pffft… I'm kidding," he said, clearly amused by Beom's reaction. "Just a day or two."
Beom frowned, his heart still racing from Sasha's teasing. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, steadying himself before standing. His stomach growled faintly, reminding him of his long slumber.
"You must be starving," Sasha said, turning to look at him as he pulled out a carton of eggs. "Let me whip something up for us. I'm pretty good in the kitchen, you know."
But Beom's mind went to a dark place instantly. Images of Sasha cooking up a meal and casually sprinkling rat poison into his dish flashed through his thoughts. His distrust was immediate and visceral.
"NO!" Beom barked, his voice sharper than he intended. Sasha turned to him, startled.
"I'll cook my own food," Beom insisted, narrowing his eyes as he made his way toward the counter.
Sasha sighed, leaning against the edge of the counter with his arms crossed, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Come on, Beom," he said, his tone softening. "You still don't trust me?"
"No, I don't," Beom said flatly, meeting Sasha's gaze with unwavering defiance.
Sasha let out a low chuckle, running a hand through his dark hair. "You wound me, Beom-ki," he said with mock offense, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "I saved your life, you know."
Beom didn't respond immediately, his hands already rifling through the grocery bags to find ingredients he could use. He didn't want to admit it, but Sasha's words lingered in the air, their weight pressing against the thin wall of mistrust that still stood between them.
"Whatever," Beom muttered under his breath, grabbing a pan and turning on the stove. Sasha watched him with a small, knowing smirk, his sharp eyes catching the faint tremor in Beom's hands.
Beom stood in front of the stove, his face set in a determined frown as he glared at the pan in front of him. Despite the way his heart hammered in his chest and the nervous flutter of his hands, his pride kept him from admitting defeat. He wasn't about to let Sasha see that he couldn't even fry an egg.
"Come on, how hard can it be?" he muttered to himself, trying to sound confident, though doubt crept into his voice.
Sasha lingered at the edge of the counter, observing quietly with a barely suppressed smirk. He'd already prepared his breakfast, the smell of perfectly cooked eggs and toast wafting from his plate. It was clear Sasha was a natural in the kitchen, moving with ease and precision, while Beom looked like he was ready to go to war with the stove.
"Do you need—" Sasha began, unable to hold back a chuckle.
"NO!" Beom snapped, refusing to even look in Sasha's direction, his pride flaring up even more. The last thing he wanted was Sasha's smug offer of help. Instead, he took a deep breath, feeling his face flush with embarrassment as he muttered under his breath, "I should have just watched my mom in the kitchen… now look at me."
Beom's focus returned to the pan, his hand a bit shaky as he cracked an egg onto the surface. But instead of sizzle, there was just a faint hiss, and the egg seemed to settle there without cooking properly. His brow furrowed, and he muttered, "Why is it taking so long?"
Determined to do something, he grabbed a glass of water and poured a bit onto the pan, hoping it would somehow make the egg cook faster. Instead, the water splattered, popping and crackling wildly as it hit the hot pan and mixed with the egg. Droplets of hot oil jumped from the pan, stinging his hand and making him jump back.
"Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hand and glaring at the pan as if it had personally betrayed him.
Meanwhile, Sasha had moved over to the small dining table, bringing his own food with him. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a look of pure amusement as he watched Beom's struggles from a safe distance. Every failed move seemed to add fuel to Sasha's barely contained laughter.
Beom turned back to the stove, determined not to give up, but when he looked at the pan, he saw that the egg had turned a deep, burnt brown around the edges, smoke rising from it ominously. The smell was unmistakable—a sharp, acrid scent of something burnt beyond saving.
That was the final straw for Sasha. His shoulders began to shake, and he let out a hearty laugh that echoed through the kitchen. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he said between laughs, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You can't even fry an egg?"
Beom turned, scowling at Sasha with a flush of embarrassment. "I can do it! It's just… the stove's probably broken or something," he muttered defensively, though he knew deep down it was a poor excuse.
Sasha continued to chuckle, shaking his head. "Sure, let's blame the stove. Or maybe… you could just admit that you don't know how to cook?"
Beom's face burned with embarrassment. He wanted to snap back, but words failed him. Sasha's laughter was both infuriating and infectious, and despite himself, he felt a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.
"Alright, alright," Sasha said, getting up and walking over to him. "Step aside, Chef. I'll show you how it's done."
Beom crossed his arms and huffed, pretending to be annoyed, though relief washed over him as Sasha approached. He reluctantly stepped to the side, watching as Sasha picked up the pan with ease, dumped the burnt egg into the trash, and gave him a knowing smirk.
"First rule of cooking," Sasha said, rinsing the pan quickly under the tap, "don't try to reinvent the wheel if you don't even know how to drive."
Beom rolled his eyes. "Wow, thanks for the life lesson, Gordon Ramsay."
Sasha chuckled as he wiped the pan clean and placed it back on the stove. "Second rule: a little patience goes a long way. You're trying to fight the food instead of letting it work with you." He grabbed a fresh egg, cracked it with one hand, and let it slide neatly into the pan with a satisfying sizzle.
Beom frowned, leaning in closer to watch. "Show-off."
Sasha raised an eyebrow. "It's not showing off if it's basic cooking. Now, pay attention." He tilted the pan slightly, letting the egg white spread evenly. The yolk sat perfectly in the center, wobbling like a golden sun. He added a pinch of salt and pepper with practiced ease. "See? It's all about timing. Don't rush it."
Beom watched closely, the smell of the egg already making his stomach rumble. "Fine, so maybe I skipped a few steps," he muttered under his breath.
"A few?" Sasha teased, turning his head just enough to smirk at him.
Beom glared at him, but his expression softened as he watched Sasha expertly slide the fried egg onto a plate. Without a word, Sasha turned back to the stove, cracking another egg and letting it cook.
"You could've just let me figure it out," Beom grumbled, though the edge in his tone was gone.
Sasha glanced over his shoulder, flipping the second egg with a casual flick of his wrist. "And miss the comedy show you just put on? No chance."
Beom couldn't help but chuckle despite himself. "You're such a jerk."
"Yeah, but I'm a jerk who knows how to feed us," Sasha shot back, plating the second egg and handing it to Beom. "Here. Eat this before you burn the kitchen down."
Beom stared at the plate for a moment, his pride warring with his hunger. But in the end, hunger won. He took the plate, muttering, "Thanks," as he sat down at the table.
Sasha joined him with his own food, leaning back casually as he watched Beom take a bite. "So? Not bad, huh?"
Beom chewed slowly, savoring the perfectly cooked egg. He didn't want to admit it, but it was delicious. "It's… okay, I guess."
"'Okay,' he says," Sasha said with mock offense, shaking his head. "You're lucky I'm such a generous guy."
Beom smirked, finally relaxing. "Generous? You're enjoying this way too much."
Sasha grinned. "You bet I am. Watching you struggle is the highlight of my day."
"Asshole," Beom muttered under his breath, his voice just low enough to avoid being heard clearly, but the irritation in his tone was unmistakable. Sasha's lips twitched, betraying the faintest smirk as he rose from his chair, his tall, broad form casting a shadow over the table.