❝𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗋𝗍.❞
→in which Dasom gets to experience being in love in the most cliche way possible.
or
in which Dasom and Yeonjun experience 'young love.'
➪𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐟
━━━━━━━...
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"I'm home," Dasom yells, her eyes gazing around the empty living room before she closes the door knob.
She's welcomed by an empty silence as she sees no one.
Furrowing her brows in confusion, she takes light steps towards the kitchen. "Dad?," she calls out, voice filled with a slight sense of worry as she walks.
Thud!
Dasom flinches when she hears a sound coming from the kitchen.
She gulps. "Wha— Oh my gosh."
Dasom gasps, eyes widening as she closes her mouth with her right palm. Eyes trailing at the figure which had just appeared from the kitchen.
"You're back?," he says, leaning against the wall, voice hoarse as his face was covered with a white powder, which Dasom assumed to be white flour.
Looking at the scene infront of her, Dasom stiffles a laugh before biting her lip in an attempt to control it. "W-what's up w-with your face?," she says in between her attempts to contain her laughter.
Jaemin huffs out a breath, shaking his head as the flour stains the clean floor. "A not-so-experienced cook went inside the kitchen," he annoying spats, rolling his eyes before running a free hand through his blonde locks, which he had dyed just a few weeks back.
Dasom's eyes changes into a state of worry and concern. "Don't tell me—
"I'm not an inexperienced cook!"
Her suspicion turns out to be right as she looks behind Jaemin only to see her dad with an apron wrapped around his waist, or should she say an apron stained with egg yolk and shells.
"I just tripped my foot," her father, Mr. Na says, voice confident, waving the spatula at them. His hands on his hips before he looks at his two children.
Jaemin lets out a snort. "Yeah sure because the broken clay plates and the dirty kitchen says otherwise," he exhales, pointing at the kitchen.
Dasom gasps hearing that. "Don't tell me you broke mom's favourite plates," she softly asks in a low tone, eyes glistening with worry.
Mr. Na awkwardly chuckles, avoiding her daughter's gaze as he scratched his cheek with his finger. "It's just a scratch," he says, cheeks flushing red in embarrassment as he gulps.
