Noah

Miyeokkuk. Noah doesn't know if it'll be any helpful, but his mother always told him that sea mustard soup is good for him because sea mustard absorbs all the bad stuff for the blood. He has no idea what drug vous slams into the bloodstream (and he has no interest in finding out, as he has no interest in poisoning his mind) but perhaps the sea mustard will clear something up.
The pot bubbles steadily as Noah finishes washing the cookers. Once everything is in the drying rack, he turns off the faucet and turns the heat down. Sea mustard soup is one of those things that get better on the second day, but he's spent enough time in vous's apartment long enough already. He needs to feed vous, clean the apartment up of any stray needles or whatever paraphernelia that's been strewn about, and head back to his practice.
As he strides to the bedroom, Noah has to think why he's doing all this. Just to get his rival back in shape? It's been months now and, being a rational person, he is not sure if this daily coddling is improving anything. Is pitying vous like this fun? Is he just going on an emotional safari, mocking his once-rival as a junkie completely fallen apart? Or, perhaps, is he getting some other kind of satisfaction from these babysitting visits?
The question vanishes when Noah throws the door open without a knock. Of course the slob is still in the bed. Didn't even bother to shut the windows - the sun is high up in the sky. And, despite the clear memories of having cleaned this place up yesterday, it's turned into a pigsty again. Noah sighs, full of frustration and conceit, and barrels through the mess to vous's bed.
"Get up. It's noon already," Noah chastises as he pulls the blanket off vous and throws it aside. "I've cooked you lunch. Eat it before it gets cold."
On the dining table, a single serving of sea mustard soup waits for vous, next to a bowl of freshly cooked rice and a selection of side dishes. One of them is Noah's homemade jangjorim - beef braised in soy sauce for 6 hours.