His First Love

Chapter 12

Chapter 12 — Domestic Chaos

The mansion was never truly quiet, but Jeonghan didn't mind. For the first time in his life, noise felt like comfort.

He padded into the kitchen late in the morning, hair still messy from sleep. Mingyu was already there, sleeves rolled up and covered in flour, muttering to himself as he tried to balance three different pots and a cutting board.

"Do you... live here?" Jeonghan asked, rubbing his eyes.

Mingyu looked up, startled, then grinned sheepishly. "Pretty much. If I don't cook, no one eats properly. Want to help?"

Jeonghan blinked. "Help? As in... me? In a kitchen?"

"Yes, you. Grab that knife. Chop the carrots."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow but did as told. Within five minutes he had nicked his finger and Mingyu was fussing like a mother hen.

"You're worse than Chan," Mingyu groaned, bandaging the cut.

"Excuse you," Jeonghan said, offended. "I am an angel. Cooking is beneath me."

"More like you're a danger to society." Mingyu shoved a spoon at him. "Fine. Taste this instead. Tell me if it needs salt."

Jeonghan tasted, then scrunched his nose. "More pepper. And maybe a little chili. You're playing it too safe."

Mingyu stared at him. "...You do know what you're talking about."

"Told you. Angel." Jeonghan smirked.

Later, he stumbled into the practice room where Soonyoung was drilling Chan through choreography. The music cut off the moment they noticed him.

"Jeonghan-hyung!" Chan beamed, sweat dripping down his forehead. "Come dance with us!"

Jeonghan laughed nervously. "Oh no, no. I don't—"

"Yes you do," Soonyoung cut in, already dragging him to the center of the floor. "C'mon, show me what you've got."

Before Jeonghan could protest further, the music kicked in again. He flailed, half-heartedly mimicking Chan's movements. Within seconds, both younger boys were laughing so hard they could barely stand.

"Hyung!" Chan wheezed, clutching his stomach. "You're... you're so bad—"

"Excuse you," Jeonghan huffed, striking a ridiculous pose. "This is art. You uncultured children just don't get it."

Soonyoung nearly fell over. "We're keeping you," he declared between laughs.

Jeonghan didn't say it out loud, but warmth swelled in his chest at those words.

By afternoon, Jihoon found him in the music room, idly poking at the piano keys. The small producer stood in the doorway, expression unreadable.

"You play?" Jihoon asked quietly.

"A little," Jeonghan admitted. "Mostly self-taught."

Without a word, Jihoon crossed the room and set a sheet of music on the stand. "Try this."

Jeonghan played slowly, stumbling a few times, but Jihoon didn't correct him. When he finished, Jihoon hummed thoughtfully.

"You've got a good ear," he said at last. "Not many people do. Keep playing."

Jeonghan blinked, surprised. Jihoon rarely handed out compliments, from what he'd seen. A smile tugged at his lips as he started again, softer this time.

By the time evening rolled around, Jeonghan was collapsed on the couch with Chan's head in his lap, Soonyoung sprawled across the floor, Mingyu hovering with snacks, and Jihoon sulking nearby because someone had hidden his notebook. Vernon was lounging in the armchair, earbuds in but clearly listening to everything.

Seungcheol entered the room and stopped short, taking in the scene. Jeonghan looked up at him and grinned, absently carding his fingers through Chan's hair.

"What happened here?" Seungcheol asked, voice flat but eyes amused.

"Chaos," Jihoon deadpanned.

"Family," Chan corrected with a sleepy smile.

Something in Seungcheol's chest eased at that.

Much later, after everyone drifted off, Jeonghan lingered in the kitchen to get a glass of water. On the counter sat an envelope, plain and unmarked. Curiosity tugged at him, and he reached out—

But Seungcheol's hand closed over his wrist, firm but gentle. His expression was unreadable.

"Don't," Seungcheol said softly.

Jeonghan frowned. "It's just—"

"It's not for you."

There was something in his tone that silenced Jeonghan immediately. Seungcheol tucked the envelope into his jacket, his jaw tight.

"Go to bed, angel."

Jeonghan wanted to push, but the flicker of darkness in Seungcheol's eyes kept him quiet. He only nodded, though unease curled in his stomach as he turned away.

Behind him, Seungcheol's gaze lingered on the envelope. Inside was a single photograph: Jeonghan at the coffee shop weeks ago, smiling. No message. No signature. Just the picture.

Seungcheol set it aflame in the sink, watching until the ash disappeared.

No one would touch his butterfly.

Not while he still breathed.