Lay doesn’t want to admit it but Luhan makes really good toast. Like really good, better toast than he could ever make and trust him, he’s tried. He’s tried in the morning, just after wiping sleep from his eyes and he’s tried at night, thinking maybe a little time change would give him a curve. It’d seem logical. He’s tried while wearing pants, shorts, and then nothing but underwear. He’d been particularly desperate, during the latter.

Known as Exo’s go-to chef, it was embarrassing. He could make a five course meal without breaking a sweat, he could turn ramen into an expensive downtown dish, and whenever they ate out, he always knew the best things to order even when he hadn’t tried them himself. Food was definitely his thing. But something about bread and butter and something about Luhan and something about these things fitting together in a way he couldn’t seem to understand. Why did Luhan’s toast always taste better than his? This question haunted him. At night, he could feel it pull his covers to the floor and wake him up, taunting.

“You look like ,” Luhan tells him bluntly, one day, while pouring a cup of tea and leaning back onto the marble countertop. “Want me to make you some toast?”

And that’s exactly what Lay doesn’t want to hear. Not another reminder of his failure.

“I’m fine,” he says sharply, and he knows he’s being an but nothing’s frustrated him more in his life. Then Luhan has the nerve to shrug and make toast anyway, for himself albeit but there it is.

His slim, pale, fingers pulling out a butter knife from a drawer so gracefully. The other hand turning a glass cabinet knob, flaunting the curb of his wrist that looked damn near breakable. The hinges didn’t even squeak, unlike the times when Lay tried opening the same cabinet.

Lay’s the food superior but their kitchen is definitely Luhan’s. It’s always responded in a grateful manner, like a pet to it’s owner. Even the fridge tends to purr when Luhan’s looking through it.

Luhan places a small china plate on the counter before reaching over some cartons of leftovers and grabbing the brand new bag of sliced bread he’d bought the night before, the bread Lay couldn’t help but glare at when Luhan walked through the door and happily announced he’d taken the liberty of doing some grocery shopping since he’d noticed Lay had forgotten to buy bread, the three previous times he’d gone shopping. Lay feigned confusion but he’d secretly done it on purpose.

Lay didn’t want to watch but it was hypnotizin. Luhan’s slow, carefree, moving as he untwisted the plastic binder and pulled out two pieces of disgustingly, perfect, wheat bread.

The world seemed to quiet down, the only sound enhanced was Luhan’s movements, everything else was gone. The complexity of life narrowed to the moment of Luhan placing these slices in the toaster, pulling the lever, and then looking back up and asking “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Lay blinked a few times before shaking his head, as if clearing it.

“I’m fine, I swear,” he gives a small smile but the rest of his body stays still. He’s holding his breath and he knows it’s so stupid. It’s so stupid and he’s so stupid and it’s just ing toast and Luhan’s mouth opens and closes as if he’s going to say something else but then it only opens again for another sip of tea and Lay can see Luhan’s tongue peak out and Luhan’s eyes shut like this is the best part of his day. Just tea and toast. And Lay’s jealous because how can such small details make Luhan’s day whereas Lay has to jump through hoops just to feel like Luhan isn’t fed up with him yet.

The toast suddenly pops up and startles Lay. He jumps pathetically and Luhan laughs.

“Shut up,” Lay mutters, embarrassed and eyeing the toast suspiciously.

“Are you sure you don’t want some?” Luhan says, taking the knife and dipping into a bowl of butter. He moves it as if gathering frosting for a cake and Lay can’t explain it but there’s something so sensual about it and he wishes Luhan would do what’s he doing with the knife only with his fingers on Lay’s body.

“I’m sure,” Lay says, tight lipped as Luhan brings the knife to the bread and begins painting a masterpiece of faint yellow on faint brown. He finishes and replicates on the second slice before dropping the knife in the sink. Lay can almost hear the knife whimper, sad it’s been used and no longer needed by Luhan. And what if, one day, Lay ends up in the same position? He tries not to think about it, or the fact that maybe sometimes he controls food because it means Luhan can’t and if Luhan can’t even cook or figure his way around market shops then he’ll need Lay to and if he needs Lay then he’ll stay. Always. And Lay wants him to stay. Always.

Luhan brings a piece of toast to his mouth, biting a corner. Lay can see his teeth sink in easily, the butter having softened the bread. When Lay makes toast, it’s always burnt in the middle and even the butter can’t repair the damage.

And he’s pretty impressed by how well he’s taking this scene, until of course the crunching begins.

Every time Luhan’s teeth bite down to chew, the sound of an earthquake seems to come from his mouth, the breakage of tectonic plates. And Luhan is back to looking at him and he doesn’t seem to know how loud he is, how Lay can’t even hear himself think, which means he doesn’t hear himself come up with an idea of how to shut Luhan up. So by the time he does realize what’s happening, it’s already happening.

He’s lunged forward and grabbed the rest of the toast out of Luhan’s mouth. He’s thrown it to the floor before taking his hands and cupping Luhan’s jaw and smashing their lips together in hopes that it’ll get him to stop ing chewing. And it works because he can hear Luhan swallow and he can feel it too, Luhan’s adam’s apple bobble for a moment in surprise. Just in case there’s something left, Lay decides to slip his tongue into Luhan’s mouth to make sure if Luhan hasn’t swallowed it all yet, then he will now. But the only thing there is is Luhan’s tongue and it’s got a leftover butter taste he can’t get enough of. And he knows he should pull away but it’s so good and Luhan’s making these short, catlike, noises like he can’t breathe but he doesn’t want to stop. His hands on opposite ends, grasping the counter before settling on Lay’s hips and pulling him closer. Lay rubs circles, with his thumbs, just below Luhan’s ears before reluctantly pulling away.

They pant for air, each crouching over like they’d just ran a marathon.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Luhan says, finally letting the moment truly catch up with him. He turns his head this way and that, attempting to avoid the kitchen light which is putting his blushing face on blast.

“I- I- it’s just you- you make good toast,” Lay sputters out, wringing his hands. “I just-”

And Luhan doesn’t hear anything else because he’s laughing so hard.

“It’s not funny, okay!” Lay says, defensively, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth open, ready to fight but Luhan has already pulled him over.

“I like you better when you’re kissing me. Then you don’t say dumb stuff.”

And with that, Lay decides maybe he doesn’t have to be the best at cooking, maybe he can exchange his toast dignity for a greater love.