come back home || k.sj

[come] ii.

[come] ii.

It's strange how you dote over your husband like a mother when he hasn't done so much to address you in three weeks. It's weird how you claim you haven't cooked his favorite meal in a long time, when you actually practice his favorites in order to perfect them for the next time he eats your cooking.

Seokjin is a cook himself. Probably nothing compared to a culinary artist like you are, but before you ventured out in that industry, Seokjin used to feed you when he could. His rib-eye steak was probably the best you've tasted after yours, only because it was him who made it.

He doesn't cook anymore, according to one of his former dormie and current colleague, Namjoon. He apparently doesn't have the time for extravagance despite tending to have royalty in his blood. Sometimes, when he finds the chance, he'll cook up something for him and his interns. Other than that, the schedules surgeons have at Seoul National Uni force them to live the instant ramen life for as long as they work there.

It sucks, really. For a guy who was passionate about eating, it was sad. He used to complain to you every night about the lack of time during your long hour midnight calls where he'd check up on you. You found his whining adorable, and you still would've, if it weren't for him gradually forgetting to call you, much less tell you about his day.

If someone other than Yugyeom and Namjoon were to ever get a hold of your story, they'd probably suggest two words.

Divorce him. Because that's fucking ridiculous.

It's not ridiculous. It isn't your fault people can't accept that life in the ER is hectic. Or the fact that you're still smitten with the person he used to be, since you aren't sure whether he still is the same person under that Calvin Klein shirt and lab coat.

me: alfredo is still one of ur faves right??

husband 💍💋: yea it is, i want some now

me: ill make u some, dw. U coming?

husband 💍💋: one hour, in incheon rn

me: k. seokjin?

You don't understand why you suddenly texted his name. You have no intention to continue this conversation. From the looks of it, he sounds occupied. Bothering him is the last thing you need.

Too late now, though. Your fingers are suddenly not a part of you as they type out another reply.

husband 💍💋: ?? yes?

me: nothing lmao. just happy ur coming home, ttyl.

There was a low chance that he'll see your message since his icon fades again. He must've acknowledged it, yet you don't expect a response. Why would you? The two of you haven't addressed each other's name in who knows how long.

It isn't until you arrive back at the penthouse Jin purchased near Seoul Station last year when something vibrates against your skin. You set your subway card down (driving has traumatized you ever since getting your licence) and pull out your phone.

You suspect it's Yugyeom or Yongsun updating you on shifts or even Chanyeol demanding why you handed a perfectly good paycheck to a kid, but it isn't. You heart leaps the slightest at Jin's message.

husband 💍💋: me too...jagi.

Jagi. That's enough to send you sinking into the nearest sofa and cradling your phone close as if it were him in the flesh.

That's enough because to Seokjin, your name is his darling.