come back home || k.sj

[come] iv.

He narrows his eyes in distaste. "You know I'm not a fan of that."

"And you know I'm not a fan of picky eaters," you retort, stunning him. You haven't snapped at him in months. Even Jin's aware of that. "Sorry. PMSing."

"Ah. No problem." He silently retreats by yanking out the lasagna. You watch him stick it in the oven while simultaneously grabbing a plate. He hasn't lost his touch in the kitchen. In fact, he has more fluidity in this department than you do. And cooking is just his hobby, not a degree like yours.

His question breaks you out of your trance. "Did you have dinner?"

You shake your head. "I'm not hungry. Help yourself."

Seokjin seats himself on a barstool behind the marble island. He hitches one foot up the stool's leg and lets the other swing free. The sense of immaturity is still with him. Though you feel like it's fading away and replacing him with someone else.

"How's the hospital these days?"

Jin shrugs nonchalantly as his brows furrow at the taste of lasagna. Still dramatic as usual.

"Going alright, I guess. Just really hectic. Dr. Minseok is supposed to post results of who'd get the solo surgery scheduled next week. I'm one of the names up there." He pauses to shuffle his fork around and takes another bite.

"I hope you're not trying to bribe him," you say feebly. A ghost of a smile graces his lips then vanishes completely.

"No, that's unprofessional. But I feel like Jongdae is. That's another Kim. There are too many rookie interns with my name. God." Jin sighs. He glances at you briefly. "There's competition going on. And I want that operation in my ER."

You say nothing but wish him luck. Your husband's sense of passion has always been intense, but you honestly didn't expect him to channel it through an M.D. He originally wasn't interested in pursuing medicine and wanted to either major in acting or culinary with you. Then something possessed him and made him the person he was now.

"Are you sure you don't want dinner?" Jin asks. His last forkful is suspended in midair as he stares at you. You can tell he's contemplating whether to offer it or not. Whether that'd be an affectionate act.

You're tired. Not tired of this. Not tired of him. Just tired.

"I'm fine, Jin." You force yourself up. "Let me make you some coffee for the road. What do Namjoon and Hoseok like?"

He quickly finishes his meal with a sip of water. "You don't have to do that. We'll stop by Starbucks or something. I don't even know what they like."

You're already heading to the pantry but whirl around when he says that. "Where are you going?"

"Gwangju, but not tonight. There's a surgery in Incheon, so I'm staying the night there at a partner's house. I'll leave for Gwangju on Friday," he clarifies. "But that's not the point. You aren't well, so don't make anything."

"Do you not want me to do something?" You quirk a brow. Seokjin adored when you spoiled him unnecessarily. This didn't even cut for what you used to do. "I couldn't even make dinner."

He grows irritated when he watches you bring mugs and coffee grounds out. You both prefer extra light roast. At one point you don't realize you're trembling as your fingers tangle with every prep.

"I know you like creamers." Buttering him up might soften his glare. His gaze is so fixated upon you, as if he's trying to figure out what's wrong. "So I got french vanilla, hazelnut, and chocolate." You ignore the churns in your stomach and continue adding grounds in.

"Chocolate?" You offer him a creamer. "It's pretty good."

"You're flushed," Seokjin points out. He draws his stool back and approaches you with a steady hand. Clasping your shoulder firmly, his voice swoops suddenly low. "Jagi, sit down."

Shit. The creamers stumble out of your fidgeting fingers. His touch and scent of Hermés are familiar--like you've frequently tasted them before. It's been so long, though. You can't help but pale when he peers down at you.

"Jagiya," Seokjin addresses you softly. Both hands are placed on you now. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just cramps." Your hiss says otherwise. The pain is unreal today. Never had you experienced something this intense.

Jin hesitantly trails his hands down your arms, sending you unwelcome chills. His demeanor is calm and unmoved. "Shall I check you up?"

You wish you could've smiled at the inside joke. Whenever you were sick, he'd pretend to examine you like a professional before an actual appointment. That was back during his residency. You didn't expect him to remember anymore.

"On a scale of one to ten, how severe are your cramps?" He asks. This might be a joke, so you force yourself to play along.

"I want to say eleven, but I'm gonna be safe and go with eight. Eight point five."

"May I?" Without further ado, his palm slides across your flannel top and down to your abdomen. He doesn't slip a hand in and instead gently massages the bloated area.

"Massaging will help," he explains softly. "It'll balance out the soreness. Let me know if I press too hard."

Every squeeze is firm yet tame. And professional. Maybe even affectionate. You watch his steady fingers slowly knead your skin. He only concentrates on where your stomach swells. And you note the fact that he doesn't sneak a hand anywhere else.

A respectful husband.

His glasses hang from the bridge of his nose, so you pluck them off and tuck them neatly into his shirt. You have nowhere to hold onto but his forearms. When you gently tug on his sleeves, Jin glances up and meets your startled gaze for the first time in what seems forever.

"Seokjin," you whisper.

There's a lot of memories that flash before his dark eyes. A lot of memories. Starting from when he spilled punch on you at senior prom and moved in with you during college so you two could split the rent, all the way to when he lent you his favorite pen for your culinary school application and bending down on his knee twice to present you the ring you now wear.

You know he wants to admit that he can't let you go after all these years. You want him to admit it. You don't need him to make up for his absence. You just want him to come back home.

He's nowhere near home.

"I gotta go," he mutters, releasing you and perhaps the rest of your expectations.

aw :( it sucks to be neglected man

part [come] has been finished, now it's time for [back]