Work Text:
The impeccably clean, though currently flour-dusted, kitchen of their secret small apartment in Bangkok hummed with the soft clatter of Dunk Natachai at work. Late evening draped the room in a warm glow, and the sweet, earthy scent of steamed mung beans and pandan wafted through the air—a private comfort known only within these walls, a sanctuary from the public’s prying eyes. Dunk, perpetually chill in his flour-streaked apron, shaped vibrant luk chup fruits on a large cutting board, his fingers deftly molding tiny mangoes and pears. He hummed a soft, contented melody, the kind that slipped out when he was lost in his craft.
A sigh, deep and theatrical enough to stir the air, heralded Joong Archen’s arrival. Tall, prone to spiraling, and clutching his phone like a lifeline, he shuffled into the kitchen, his face etched with the weight of some cosmic injustice. As usual, he’d let himself in with the spare key Dunk pretended not to know about. “Ugh, sometimes… I just don’t get it, Dunk. For real,” Joong lamented, slumping against the kitchen counter, still scrolling through his digital torment, his designer sneakers scuffing the floor.
Dunk, without glancing up from pinching a tiny yellow mango luk chup, drawled, “Get what, Joong? That mango-shaped luk chup are the superior dessert? Because they are. No debate. Ask any foodie on X.” He paused just long enough to flick his eyes toward Joong’s leaning frame. “Also, don’t park yourself there. You’ll get mung bean paste on your absurdly expensive jeans. You just got here—go change into something less… you.”
Joong scoffed, straightening his tall frame and waving his phone like a courtroom exhibit. “Nah, Dunk. Not your luk chup obsession, though your dessert-sculpting fetish is… a whole vibe.” He jabbed a finger at the screen, voice rising. “I mean us . This. Look at this madness!”
Dunk raised one eyebrow, his fingers still shaping a delicate green mango luk chup. “You mean that viral X video of a tourist haggling for a tuk-tuk ride in fluent Mandarin? Because that’s weirdly hilarious.”
“Bro, no !” Joong groaned, clutching his phone to his chest with the flair of a soap opera star. “Pond! The very well-known, non-tuk-tuk-haggling legend you keep vibing with. Look at the comments on his X posts! Look at your posts! It’s chaos out there!”
Dunk tilted his head, genuinely curious, then dipped a small brush into green food coloring. “Oh. Did Pond finally cook something without triggering the fire alarm? I told him to stick to delivery. He’s a kitchen hazard.”
Joong ran a hand through his meticulously styled hair, exasperation radiating off him. “It’s not about his cooking, Dunk. It’s the dynamic . The vibe. The energy you two have.” He leaned closer, eyes narrowing, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know what I mean.”
Dunk nodded slowly, unruffled, adding a tiny leaf to a pear-shaped luk chup. “He’s loud. Laughs like a startled lububu. It’s… distinctive.”
“Exactly! He’s my friend too, right? But he’s like a 6-foot-something golden retriever glued to your side. Always there. Always present .” Joong’s voice took on a whiny edge, betraying the softie beneath his dramatics. He tapped his phone screen frantically. “And you just… say it. In public!”
Dunk set down his brush, wiping his hands on his apron with a faint sigh. “Say what, Joong? ‘The sky’s blue’? ‘This luk chup needs more sugar’?”
“‘I LOVE YOU, POND!’” Joong exploded, leaping off the counter and pacing closer, forcing Dunk to pause his delicate work. His face was a mask of wounded pride, eyes wide with betrayal. “That’s what you posted! On your birthday post, Dunk! On X, for all 2M of your followers to see!”
“Oh, that ,” Dunk muttered, his voice dripping with long-suffering patience. “It was my birthday. I was feeling sentimental.”
“The one I literally attended!” Joong gestured wildly at himself, his outfit a testament to his impeccable fashion sense. “I was there, Dunk! My gift to you was my presence, my charm, and a custom silk shirt that cost more than my rent!”
Dunk’s lips twitched, barely suppressing a smile. “The shirt was nice. I wore it last week.”
“And what did you post? A public love letter to Pond ! While I was, like, two meters away, adjusting my hair to look stoic and mysterious!” Joong clutched his chest, voice cracking. “My heart shrivels every time I see that post, Dunk. Like a raisin in the Bangkok sun!”
Dunk fixed him with a flat stare, picking up a grape-shaped luk chup to glaze. “It’s just words, Joong. Pond’s my college buddy. I’ve been saying ‘I love you’ to him since we were 18. It’s like saying ‘you’re a good friend.’ Chill.”
Joong threw his hands up, nearly knocking over a bowl of colored mung bean paste. “Chill?! I asked you to comment ‘cutie’ on my latest X selfie, and you sent a thumbs-up emoji . A single, soulless thumbs-up! It’s like you’re fluent in every language except mine online!”
Dunk shrugged, unfazed, brushing glaze onto the luk chup. “Thumbs-up means ‘nice pic.’ What else do you want?”
“Because!” Joong flailed, his voice hitting a new pitch of desperation. “Pond just clicks with you. Like a perfectly fitted tile in a mosaic.” He paused, then added with a flourish, “A mosaic of… of Dunk’s life!”
Dunk blinked, his brush hovering mid-air. “Are you saying you want to be a mosaic tile, Joong?”
Joong collapsed into a kitchen chair, his long legs sprawling, but not before swiping a glistening luk chup with a sly grin that reminded Dunk why he put up with him. “I’m saying I feel like a mismatched tile, Dunk. A tall, handsome, perfectly sculpted tile, but still! I’m out here wondering if we’re friends-with-benefits-but-not-really, or boyfriends-but-not-quite, or stuck in some anxiety-fueled situationship purgatory!”
Dunk pointed a flour-dusted finger at the bowl Joong had nearly toppled. “You almost ruined three hours of work. Step away from the paste, angst artist.”
“Dunk! Low blow!” Joong gasped, clutching his chest with mock horror. “My metaphor was poetic! Yours makes me sound like a kitchen hazard! The audacity, in our apartment!”
Dunk’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of exasperation breaking his calm. “You asked. But why are you comparing yourself? Again. It’s exhausting.”
Joong slumped further, but his fingers fidgeted with his phone, betraying his restless energy. “Because you deserve the best, Dunk. Someone who can serenade you with a ballad about your eyes, or carry you through a field of orchids, or… or be Pond !”
Dunk sighed, a small, weary sound, his hands stilling over the luk chup tray. For a moment, his calm facade wavered, a shadow of worry crossing his face—what if Joong’s constant comparisons pushed them apart? He shook it off, voice steady. “Pond’s enthusiastic. But he’s not you.”
Joong’s voice softened, tinged with self-pity. “I’m just the guy you remind about his wallet. The one who’d burn the rice if you weren’t here. The one who makes a mess you have to clean up. Your… other friend.”
Dunk set down his tools, turning to face Joong fully. “You are a mess. I remind you about your wallet. I save the rice. Those are important. More than orchids. Orchids are just for show.” He paused, then added with a pointed glance, “And you’re eating my luk chup before they’re set, you thief.”
Joong grinned sheepishly, licking glaze off his fingers, his charm peeking through. “Guilty. But still! Pond gets ‘I love you,’ and G gets a kissy-face? What about me?”
Dunk’s eyebrows shot up, his hands pausing mid-wipe on his apron. “G? What’s G got to do with this? Did he drag you to one of his fancy shophouse parties with artisanal cocktails and a jazz band?”
Joong sat up, eyes wide, gesturing animatedly. “G! You know, Mr. Connected! He throws those exclusive events, knows everyone, and you two are always vibing . You planned that dinner with him in Japan while you were with your family!”
Dunk shook his head, returning to his chili pepper luk chup. “It was a work dinner. He’s good at his job. That’s it.”
Joong’s voice rose, frustration bubbling. “You posted that X photo with him at the fashion event! The one with the kissy-face! And the comments—” He stopped, swallowing hard, his fingers tightening around his phone.
Dunk’s hands stilled again, his voice dropping to a cold, quiet edge. “Comments? What comments, Joong?” He turned, eyes narrowing, a rare spark of irritation flaring. “What are they saying?”
Joong flinched, caught off guard by Dunk’s intensity. “They’re… they’re calling you a gold digger for hanging out with G so much. I saw it on X, under your Japan post. It’s everywhere.”
Dunk’s jaw tightened, his calm cracking. “A gold digger? Do you believe that, Joong? Do you think I’m like that?” His voice was low, but the hurt beneath it made Joong’s chest ache.
“No! Never!” Joong scrambled to his feet, closing the distance between them, his hands hovering nervously. “It drives me insane because you’re mine , Dunk! They’re saying garbage about you, and I want it all—the wallet reminders, the public posts, the kissy faces, everything! I want all of you!” His voice broke, raw and earnest. “Why can’t you spam ‘I love you’ on my X posts? When do I get my iconic, fandom-swooning kissy-face moment to prove I’m yours?”
Dunk’s anger softened, his eyes searching Joong’s face. A deep, fond sigh escaped him. Slowly, he stepped closer, cupping Joong’s face in flour-dusted hands, and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to his lips. When he pulled back, Joong was wide-eyed, a dusting of flour on his nose, looking utterly dazed.
“There,” Dunk said, a sly smirk tugging at his lips as he wiped the flour off Joong’s nose with his thumb. “That’s your declaration. And a kissy face for my boyfriend .” He squeezed Joong’s cheek gently. “You know better than to believe X comments. And you know me better.”
Joong blinked, still reeling, his voice soft. “But… online…”
“Online’s not real. This is.” Dunk patted Joong’s arm, his tone final. “Your comparisons make me… confused. And tired. Your energy’s a lot, Joong.”
Joong’s lips quirked, a hopeful glint in his eyes as he clung to Dunk’s arm. “Confused like, ‘Wow, he’s so deep, I’m seeing him in a new light’? Or confused like, ‘Is he proposing over luk chup, because that’s a lot of dessert to share’?”
Dunk shook his head, a tiny smile breaking through. “Confused like, ‘Why is he obsessing over X posts when he’s got me right here, and also he’s ruining my luk chup workflow?’ For real, move your arm—I need to glaze these.”
Joong slumped dramatically, but his hand stayed glued to Dunk’s arm, his fingers tracing idle patterns. “It makes sense! Pond’s all charisma with you, I’m… okay with you. G’s posh and connected, I’m… passably cute. They have this thing with you. This special thing.”
Dunk leaned in, his voice quiet but firm, his free hand patting Joong’s clingy one. “You have a thing too. Your thing is…” He hesitated, frowning slightly, then gave up and tugged Joong closer, letting him cling despite the interruption to his dessert-making. “…me. You have me. Always. I chose you , not them.”
Joong’s face lit up, his arms wrapping around Dunk’s waist, heedless of the mung bean paste smearing his shirt. “You have me? That’s a declaration, right? Are we boyfriends now? Like, official, ‘more-than-friends, less-than-married, definitely-more-than-Pond-and-G’ boyfriends? Say it.”
Dunk patted Joong’s hair, his eyes on the luk chup tray, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “Yes. That. And stop comparing. It’s…” He searched for the word, then sighed, his exasperation entirely fond. “…exhausting. My brain hurts.”
Joong chuckled, nuzzling into Dunk’s side, his earlier angst forgotten. “Exhausting, huh? Not because I’m your perfect mosaic tile, but because I’m exhausting?”
“Yes. And because you’re mine,” Dunk replied, offering Joong a perfect green mango luk chup with a soft, hidden smile Joong felt more than saw. “I wouldn’t trade you for all the luk chup in Bangkok. Or all the Pond. Or G’s entire empire.” His eyes glinted mischievously. “For someone who knows every X trend and probably reads more fan theories than scripts, I thought you were just the ultimate netizen. Turns out, you’re also a full-time internet detective. My personal X police.”
Joong grinned, popping the luk chup into his mouth, his eyes sparkling. “Next level, right? But only if I get the green ones too. And a proper hug. And maybe another exclusive kiss. Just for me.”
Dunk held up the luk chup tray, his smirk returning. “Boundaries, Joong. Even in a crisis.” He leaned in, pressing a quick, soft peck to Joong’s cheek, ignoring his triumphant “HA!” and gesturing to the counter.
“Now, I’m craving Hor Mok Talay. The one with homemade curry paste, steamed in banana leaves. It needs my full focus. No dramatic interruptions.”
“Never, Chef,” Joong teased, pulling Dunk into a tighter hug, laughing as Dunk protested—fondly, of course—while mung bean paste smeared between them. “You’re stuck with me now.”
Dunk sighed contentedly, leaning into the embrace, his small gestures speaking louder than any X post. In their flour-dusted kitchen, with a jealous, luk chup-swiping boyfriend and a tray of perfect desserts, Dunk knew that love was in the quiet moments—no comparisons needed. “Help me glaze these, drama queen,” he muttered, nudging Joong toward the tray with a playful eye-roll, already anticipating the chaos to come.