Prologue

He almost lost his footing, stepping on an article of clothing, but Hyukjae managed to grab the back of the couch and regained his standing. He sighed as he the living hall light before bending down to pick the dark green velvet suit jacket up from the floor. He gripped and stared at it for a second before looking up the stairs, knowing the owner of the jacket would be sleeping in his room. Hyukjae sighed once again before he walked to the laundry room, his fingers ing his chef’s jacket. He dumped both of the clothes into the machine, leaving him wearing his white, thin shirt and black pants. He checked the fridge next and was happy to see the food in it gone. Ruffling his brown hair, Hyukjae went to the sliding door that led to the back garden and started picking the dry but cold clothes he hung up that afternoon. He left the clothes in the basket before heading upstairs to take a shower before going to bed, next to the man his heart longed for.

Two weeks, and all of it had become a routine.

Except for the first two days of the stated period of time, there had not been a day Hyukjae did not find a piece of clothing on the floor or the back of the white couch in the living hall when he got back from his late shift at about 2am every night. The first time it happened, he slipped right on his bum. And then he did all those things he did tonight, same things, and same time.

Lee Hyukjae, twenty-seven, a grad student from a prestigious local university in hospitality and further joined Le Cordon Bleu, gaining himself the bachelor’s degree in culinary arts, recently upgraded as the sous chef of a 4-star restaurant owned by his mother, and no longer a bachelor after two weeks ago. That was how an article in a magazine had described him, anyway. Though, he could argue that he still was a delectable bachelor if not for the obvious paper that had his and another man’s signatures, legally bonding them, but not their hearts, to Hyukjae’s personal hurt.

Lee Donghae, also twenty-seven, a respectable artist with a gallery frequently visited by both the art critiques and lovers, whose works auctioned at high prizes every time, a passionate man when it came to canvas, husband of Lee Hyukjae. That was in the same article where Hyukjae was describes as above. It was an article made about the reportedly happy husbands after all, emphasized on the reportedly.

The truth was, in the house previously Hyukjae’s but now shared with another being, there was not a single smile, except, in framed pictures lining the wall dividing the living and dining hall for all eyes to see. The pictures were of two men in matching grey suits, taken two weeks ago outside that very house.

Hyukjae lied in bed, fresh from a hot shower. He let his mind wandered back to the time his heart had been won over. He was naïve, despite being fourteen back then. That must be the reason his heart was bought so cheaply.

Hyukjae was seated outside a small restaurant, his mother’s. He was kicked out of the place after he kept pestering his mother, asking her to let him cook. He did not want to do the dishes, he wanted to cook. His mother, growing frustrated as she kept running back and forth from the kitchen to the dining area, dragged him outside by his ear and made him sat on the pavement.

Bored and sulking with his legs stretched out, he watched the cars passed by. For one moment, the road was completely void of any vehicles. It left a path for Hyukjae to look straight ahead on the other side of the road. He saw a boy, about his age it seemed, sat in the exact position as him there, scribbling something in a sketch book. Then, their eyes met. That was fate.

Always one to make friend, Hyukjae got up and crossed the road, smiling as he sat next to the boy who had hair as black as midnight. There was no acknowledgement from the other. Moving closer, Hyukjae peered at the boy’s hands and his book. What he saw made his smile widened.

“That’s my mom’s shop!” he exclaimed. It was a detailed drawing, not yet done but it was distinctly his mother’s restaurant with people bustling inside it, “That’s me!” Indeed, there was him in the drawing, no features on his face as it was a view from across the road, but it was definitely him by the posture of the boy on the paper, “Your hands are an amazing gift.”

Despite Hyukjae’s clear sign of astonishment and praise, the boy showed no respond and continued shading. It made Hyukjae felt weird, but no less enthusiastic. A skilled hand always fascinated him, like his mother’s that was so good with knives.

“Can you draw me?”

That sparked a reaction. The boy stared at him and once again their eyes met. Hyukjae felt himself melted as he gazed into the sad eyes in front him. To those who never look closer, they would see soulless eyes. The brown eyes indeed seemed cold yet Hyukjae felt the warmth from them, the longing, and the desperation. Suddenly, without needing any answer, he knew his compliment had meant something.

Hyukjae repeated the question.

The boy almost hastily turned toward him. Then, he moved Hyukjae’s head, forcing him to look at the shop. Hyukjae sat with his legs folded to his chest and arms wrapped around them. His left hand was grabbed and placed on his right shoulder. A soft smile played on his lips as he let the boy drew him.

Time passed minute after minute. Hyukjae was starting to get cramps when suddenly a paper was shoved into his hand. It was a very beautiful piece of art. Hyukjae was not talking about his face, but the very detailed of the entirety of it. There was the old lamp post behind him, the shops behind and opposite him, the cars, and the people. And then there was him as the subject. It was the right side of his face only, yet, the smile he had could clearly be seen. His hand was drawn with delicacy. Hyukjae could not believe it was him.

At the corner of the paper, it was signed with ‘L.D.H’.

When he looked up to thank the boy, only then Hyukjae noticed that the other had already left him there, with a drawing that tugged his heart.

It was twelve years later when he finally knew what those letters represented.

Hyukjae had always been a light sleeper. Every morning, when he heard the water running, he would jump up, fully awaked. He would wash his face and then head straight to the kitchen to start breakfast. It never matter that he always went to bed at 3am. He would prepare the table with bread and variety of jams with a glass of milk. When his husband came down, everything was always in order.

The first time he had served breakfast, the second day of their marriage, he had sat down with Donghae at the table. He had just reached out to take a slice of bread when his husband said, “I can’t eat with you. Leave or I will leave.”

It had left Hyukjae speechless. He looked at the face of his husband. Donghae had an eyebrow lifted, his arms crossed and an expectant look. It made Hyukjae’s eyes moistened and he swallowed, placing the bread back on the pile, “I’ll go. You can eat now, and I’ll eat later.” He smiled at the other before getting up and left the room. He went to the living hall and sat on his white sofa.

His eyes felt burnt and his heart hammered. He breathed in deep and tried to calm himself. His hand went down to his chest and he patted himself, “He needs time. That’s what he needs; time. It will get better,” he whispered, soothing himself.

Donghae was not home for dinner last night.

The next morning, Hyukjae had sat at the table again for breakfast. When his husband came down the stairs that was situated in the middle of the living hall and the dining hall, Hyukjae had looked up with hopefulness. Donghae took one step toward the dining table and rolled his eyes when he saw Hyukjae.

Before Donghae could move away, Hyukjae stood up, “I’ll leave. You eat.” Once again he left. The following mornings, Hyukjae prepared the table but did not sit at it, leaving to do the laundry.

After the two days leave, both of them had started work again. Donghae would leave after breakfast, usually at 9am, Hyukjae noted. After his husband left, Hyukjae would eat and then finish the laundry, hanging them outside. Laundry would be done once in three days. So, on the other days, he would either clean the house, watch some programs on TV, or he would go back to sleep. He only had to go to work at 4pm. The restaurant was also close on every Tuesday.

It was as if he was still living by himself, mostly.

The change was, now, before he left for work, he would prepare dinner for one serving. He would cook and plate the food as if for customer in the restaurant. It was his passion anyway. He put his heart into it when he cooked for his husband. He would leave them in the fridge with a note to heat it in the microwave with the precise time the food needed to be hot and nice again. He pasted a memo on the front door for the first and second day he started working to let Donghae know about the food.

Every night he had come back to find the food gone, his heart would be mended after being wounded during every breakfast.

And it starts! Hope the prologue is a good read. Maybe we'll see things from Donghae's point of view next chapter. Do leave your comment for me. Cookies for all!