Work Text:
Suho sends the list while Sieun is still on campus. It’s long and not detailed enough.
Oil.
Butter.
Flour.
Sugar.
Soy sauce.
Milk.
Cheese.
Vegetables.
Snacks.
Sieun looks at the list in his hand again, unblinking and hard, as if the power of his stare could change the words in there. He pauses at the last word. Snacks is not an instruction. It’s far too nonspecific. Snacks isn’t a thing he buys. It isn’t even a thing he thinks about. Food, to him, has always been functional— meals eaten because they are necessary, not because they are wanted. He considers, briefly, texting Suho to ask what that means. He considers calling. He decides then that he hates grocery shopping and vague lists equally.
But he doesn’t call Suho. He can do this himself. He is capable and has handled far more complicated things, like subduing bullies by stabbing them. A grocery list has nothing on him.
At the store, he moves through the aisles with careful focus. He reads labels and checks quantities. He goes through the list, choosing items that look standard and neutral and unlikely to be wrong. When he reaches the aisle with snacks, he stops.
There are too many options and no definite criteria. He stands there longer than he intends to, scanning shelves, then makes a decision without overthinking it further. A few items gets thrown in his basket that seem broadly acceptable. It will be fine.
When he gets home, Suho takes the bags, already peeking inside.
"Oh,” Suho says.
Sieun feels it immediately. That sudden drop in his chest when he does something wrong and he hates being wrong most of the time.
Suho pulls out one item, then another. “These aren’t bad,” he says. “They’re just… not what I usually get.”
“You didn’t specify,” Sieun says, evenly.
Suho looks at him, eyebrows raised. “That’s true.”
He checks the rest— soy sauce, butter, cheese— and exhales. “These are all technically correct.”
“I followed the list.”
“I know.” Suho steps closer. “That one’s on me.”
Sieun’s mouth tightens, subtle but telling. A pout is on it's way to form.
“Aish,” Suho murmurs. “Come here.”
He cups Sieun’s face, kisses his nose, then his cheek. When Sieun doesn’t react, Suho presses a slow kiss to his lips, long enough to stop the pout from forming.
“I love you,” Suho says. “Even if groceries aren’t your strength.”
Sieun exhales.
“Next time,” Suho adds, smiling, “we’ll do it together.”
Sieun nods, face still in between Suho's hands. Sieun might hate grocery shopping and vague lists, but he likes the idea of next time, with Suho beside him, snacks chosen together with no wrong answers.