Yunho was just a little bit shocked, really. Just a smidge.  

Dinner, for all intents and purposes, was going to be ordered from one of the upscale restaurants he frequented, or he had intended to ring the personal chef he kept on standby just for the nights that a proper meal was too tempting to pass up.  

Imagine his surprise when Jaejoong began to fidget, rubbing at the back of his neck as his eyes dart back and forth around the kitchen. He thought the blonde was going to bolt, for some reason frightened by his home, he had not expected him to wander toward the stove almost like he was in a trace. 

The tentative way Jaejoong’s fingers ran over the appliance and counters, feather light and never lingering was perplexing. Then it was the fridge, the door silent as it was pulled open, and the boy made the tiniest noise in the back of his throat before he spun around and stared at him with too wide-open eyes. 

“Could... would it be alright- if you don’t mind... I could make dinner? I... I-I'm certainly not a professional but-” 

The last thing he had expected, the very last, had been that. But nothing with Jaejoong so far had gone as expected. 

There never had been an anyone, be it man or woman, who had been concerned about being seen with him. Any press was good press, and the people who tried so hard to crawl close to him took that too heart, and when it wasn’t solely for the tabloids it was the money. He was generous with his flings, as infrequent as they were. Expensive dinners, lavish gifts. They weren’t people who wanted in life, but they were happy to take as much as he was willing to give. 

So, imagine his surprise to find himself perched in a kitchen he has never used himself for more than instant ramen and toast, watching someone move about like they owned the space. 

Instead of a fussy date pulling for the most lavish bottle at a restaurant they were settled in the space and Jaejoong was elbows deep into making dinner. 

Okay, well perhaps he was being a little bit dramatic, but the boy had shed his sweater and tied an apron Yunho hadn’t realized he owned- probably his sisters judging by the floral pattern, around his waist as he set to work. He hadn’t actually expected Jaejoong would fillet a fish, not when there were less messy alternatives in the fridge that would require less work. 

Yunho might have felt a little bit like he was in a trance, and he might have been just a little bit disgusted as he watched the bones come away as the fillet was cleaned. 

“How did you learn to cook? When? You’re 19, aren’t you?” 

19 and with much, much better skills than he had. Over a decade on his own had done absolutely nothing in the way of teaching him to feed himself, if anything he would like to imagine it was simply because he didn’t have the time.  

“I started helping the staff on the weekends,” Jaejoong offered after a moment, and Yunho watched as he laid two fillets into a pan as it began to heat on the stove, though he couldn’t tell what exactly was in the pan from where he sat, the herbs smelt rather nice as they warmed, “When I was about 8, I think?” 

It was much younger than he had expected, and he couldn’t help but blink a few times. When he was a child every waking second he could squirm away from his parents were spent outside, climbing trees, adventuring, playing with other kids. Surely he wasn’t that old that such things would have no appeal. He was only 12 years older than Jaejoong after all. 

“Why the kitchens?” 

For the first time since they had entered the space the alpha noted the way Jaejoong’s shoulders tensed, his movements went stiff as he tended to a pan he was charring vegetables in. Perhaps it was out of line, though as he racked his brain to think of something else to change the topic to he found nothing was really forthcoming. 

Little by little the tension did seem to melt out of the omega though, and he found himself releasing a breath he hadn’t meant to hold. 

“Out of sight out of mind, I suppose. Mother and father didn’t interact with the staff beyond necessary, it was... beneath them. They tried to shoo me away for a few weeks, back to my parents and whatever important things I was supposed to be doing, afraid to get in trouble, I think. When they realized nobody was ever looking for me they let me stay.”  

The words themselves suggested a sad, distressing experience, but there was a gentle smile that lit the blonde’s face. 

“I washed dishes, mostly. Or fetched things. Eventually they taught me how to use a knife, so I would help cut the vegetables. I could prepare a full meal by myself by the time I was 11. I’d make dinner for their families while they dealt with mine, it was good practice.” 

“You were such a sweet child, Jaejoong.”   

He shouldn’t have, and Yunho knows he shouldn’t have because he has startled the blonde again. This time it actually is something of a problem, the way he flinches and then whimpers a little despite the way he keeps his jaw clamped shut in an effort to keep quiet.  The alpha is on his feet even before the first prick of copper scents the air, shuffling toward the sink that Jaejoong had fled toward. 

Briefly he expects tears, a full-blown panicking meltdown, something that dates back to the boy’s family and the way he grew up, which he realizes now was probably a mostly miserable experience.  

It ends up being much quieter than that, hiccupping near silent breaths as he tastes the spike in anxiety and the faucet begins to run.  

The kitchen, he realizes, has probably always have a safe space, a haven for Jaejoong growing up and well into his own independent life. 

“Are you alright?” he presses gently for that reason, inching forward until he can cage the omega between himself and the sink as he peers over his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, you- you startled me,” Jaejoong confesses, but he sounds almost pained to admit it aloud, “It’s not so bad, just a scrape.” 

A scrape with a sharp knife isn’t just a scrape, but he bites back the commentary, he isn’t the kitchen wizard between them, but he is still practical.  

So he winds his arms around the blonde, just enough that he can catch hold of Jaejoong’s wrist and pull it from under the running water. It wasn’t as bad as it looks, a thin line of red against Jaejoong’s index finger, he listens when Changmin rants at him, knows the area bleeds a lot even for superficial injuries. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I’ll get the first aid kit. Should I turn off the stove?” 

“We’ve got about 7 minutes before we’ll have to resort to takeaway