People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can...
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The interior of the loft apartment was remarkably cozy, lit only by the warm light of the lamp above the kitchen island. The clock on the wall already indicated four o'clock in the morning, and the night sky was still visible through the large round window next to the bed.
Taehyung was sitting on the countertop of the kitchen island. He was still wearing a pristine white shirt and equally white tuxedo pants, though his tie had already been carelessly set aside. His dark hair fell lightly over his forehead, and his eyes, full of attention and admiration, were focused on the figure bustling around the kitchen.
Jeongguk's long hair was now tied up in a loose, somewhat messy bun. His attire, while still elegant, had become more casual — his black shirt had sleeves rolled up to his elbows, unbuttoned buttons exposed his smooth neckline, and his tuxedo pants fell gently to his hips. The musician cooked with passion. His hands moved with precision and a certain natural elegance, as if cooking was an art form for him, almost like playing the guitar.
Taehyung did not take his eyes off him, as if every movement, every small gesture of the musician was worth remembering. He watched as the boy carefully sliced vegetables, stirred noodles and then added cold broth to the bowl in which the makguksu was made. The delicate smell of fresh ingredients wafted through the air, mingling with the silence of the upcoming morning. Taehyung admired the small details with fascination — his exposed muscular forearms, how his forehead creased gently as he concentrated on the dish, how his figure moved slightly to the rhythm of the quiet melody that seemed to sound only in his head.
The brunet smiled to himself, noticing how much heart and care Jeongguk had put into preparing this simple dish. He felt special, seeing how someone who usually expressed himself through music was now putting similar passion into preparing something especially for him. It didn't matter that makguksu wasn't a very demanding dish, what mattered was that Jeongguk had made it for him.
His gaze grew more intense by the minute. For a moment, he focused his gaze on the musician's hands, which moved deftly over the pot, and then his eyes were drawn to the clearly defined veins on his exposed forearms, made visible by the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt. He watched as those veins wriggled under the skin and the muscles of his forearms tightened with each movement.
But he didn't stop there, his gaze traveled lower, toward the strong, masculine hands of the guitarist that prepared the makguksu with such skill.
He remembered perfectly how those same hands glided over his naked skin, exploring every curve of his body, and at the very thought of their passionate close-ups, his body was doused with a wave of heat. He bit his lower lip, trying to hold back the feeling growing inside him, but to no avail. He moved his tongue across his lips, but before he could stop himself, the words slipped out of his mouth on their own:
"I didn't think it could be so hot..."
The musician interrupted his activity, raised his eyes and looked directly at him. A smirk appeared on his lips, in which there was something feisty and provocative.
