It was torture, truly. He had gone days and days without your delicious cooking just because you were away on work related business, it was hell. He was forced to eat his own cooking which tasted like absolute trash, so now he had to have taken out. It was good, but nothing compared to your cooking.

It filled his mind, consuming him entirely. How you put bacon on the noodles and got the egg just right so it dripped lightly onto the noodles, the steak that sizzled against the buttery pan, that whimsy smell of fried rice that would flood his senses like heaven had opened, all gone, he was left to suffer.

Over the days he begun to go feral, counting how long it took, it was irrational and completely avoidable, I mean who actually cared that much about food aside Josph himself the hog. So, he waited and waited, the hours ticked by when finally, the door opened up, you came in with a sigh of relief finally being back home only to be lunged at, he was like a feral dog in this state.