“Still think you should’ve won,” Taehyung mutters, lounged across the sofa with his eyes plastered to the television. Seokjin seemed to be having the time of his life, taking his world tour and working his magic in every country – or at least, that’s what the media was portraying it as. Jungkook’s pretty sure it’s a little more complicated than that.

Jungkook shrugs, shuffling the papers at the table until he finds the right one. “Wasn’t meant to be, I guess,” he says half-heartedly; no point in trying to lie, Taehyung’s like some kind of bloodhound for that .

Taehyung props himself up, dropping his arms over the back of the sofa to hang freely. Here we go, Jungkook thinks.

“I’ve never, ever, seen you be so careless though,” Taehyung argues. “That’s my job, you yell at me for even adding salt without using a measuring spoon.” He pauses, and Jungkook gives him a look. “It’s like you wanted to lose.”

Taehyung’s not far from the truth, but it’s not like Jungkook would ever actually admit that out loud. A bit of cash and a world-wide trip to all the best destinations for cooking and food? It would be a dream come true for Jungkook – or at least, would have been. Now, it seemed like overkill. Something that Jungkook wouldn’t enjoy in the slightest, being torn away from home and everything he loves to be paraded around like a trophy. No thanks.

Besides, Jungkook had already been pulling strings to get those sponsorships, it’s not like he actually needs the prize money anymore. With his new favourite piece of paper in hand, Jungkook turns to face Taehyung, who’s still draped over the cushions with an exaggerated pout.

Jungkook takes a deep breath and holds out the paper to Taehyung, avoiding the topic entirely. His chest tightens and his stomach erupts into butterflies, but Taehyung takes the paper before Jungkook can change his mind.

“What’s this?” Taehyung asks, turning the paper over in his hands. He squints, focusing on the tiny words printed on the page. Jungkook’s signature is already at the bottom – just one more space.

Jungkook’s overwhelming nerves grow the more Taehyung reads, shifting in time with the expression on Taehyung’s face tightening – although his hands are steady as he slides the velvet wrap off the table, balancing it in his  grip like it’s the most precious thing in the world (and it damn well should be, with how much it’s cost him).

“Oh my god,” Taehyung whispers, eyes lifting away from the property deed Jungkook had signed just that morning. A restaurant on the corner, small and shabby but oh-so-perfect.

“It’s crappy and old and it needs a lot of work and I don’t even know what I’m doing, but-” Jungkook cuts himself off. Takes a deep breath. “Be my co-chef?”

He unravels the velvet in his hands to reveal the pristine chef’s knife, top-of-the-range and engraved along the spine with Taehyung’s name in a dark calligraphy. It’s a masterful piece of work, but Jungkook would expect nothing less.

Jungkook raises his head just in time to catch Taehyung’s expression growing brighter than the sun. He barely has enough time to cast the incredibly sharp and dangerous knife on his kitchen table before Taehyung’s wildly leaping over the back of the sofa to crash into Jungkook.

Jungkook laughs, arms naturally wrapping around Taehyung as they collide, stopping them from falling any further. “I guess that’s a yes?”