needless to say, junmyeon is stunned to see jongdae standing in the middle of the kitchen with an impish grin stretched across his face, donning a lurid pink apron that says kiss the cook (red lips in place of the word kiss), and covered from head to toe in an explosion of flour, egg shells, and other miscellaneous baking products.

“what are you doing?” junmyeon breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

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