Yoongi smiles, almost shy, his head bowing. The look on Jungkook's face at that small kiss is enough to make him want to do it again, but he refrains. If Jungkook's father were right in front of them, visible and tangible, he's not sure he would have been so bold. Without that presence, though, he feels free to imagine, to hope, that there would be approval. That his love for Jungkook would be enough to melt away any reservations his father might have had. It is, Yoongi thinks, the best thing about himself, this love; it pushes him forward, makes him want to do and be better. He has to hope Mr. Jeon can see that about him.

"I'm not suggesting, I'm saying," he teases. "No, you're very good. Most of the time." Jungkook is usually so thoughtful and good to his elders, but they're still just kids. Of course he's going to get out of line now and then. They're all friends. Yoongi doesn't see anything wrong with it. He watches as Jungkook assembles the plate, everything neatly laid out with a practiced ease. How many visits has he made here alone? It's unfair, Yoongi thinks, that they've been deprived of the people who loved them.

"Besides, everyone seems to like your mom's cooking," he adds. "Does it speak that highly of me if she's just a good cook?"