Han Jisung was a man on a mission. A husband mission.

A domestic, heart-squishing, bubble-filled, borderline-illegal level of cute mission.

Because today—finally, after months of overworking yourself into an exhausted, sweet-talking zombie—you had a whole week off.

And Jisung, being the certified house male wife that he absolutely, unapologetically was, was going to make sure you spent every minute of that break being pampered and loved.

And maybe attacked with affection. Possibly bubble-drowned. He hadn’t quite figured out the logistics yet.

What he had figured out, though? Food. Bath. Bubbles. Scents. Love. Maybe not in that order.

It all started at 3PM. Jisung had tied his hair into a floppy little bun, armed himself with an apron that proudly said “KISS THE COOK (OR ELSE)” and was now in chef mode.

He had your favorite playlist on—yes, because Jisung was absolutely that kind of husband—and was currently threatening a piece of tofu like it had insulted his mother.

"You're gonna be the softest damn tofu in this stew or so help me," he muttered, flipping it dramatically before adding it into the pot. "Kimchi stew—low spice, minimal kick, max flavor. Do not mess this up, Jisung. This is for the man. The legend. The one who still thinks socks with sandals is okay."

He made a face at that. Then paused. "...You're gonna wear them again, aren't you?"

A moment of silence passed in the kitchen before Jisung sighed and resigned himself to the reality that love meant accepting flaws. Even tragic fashion ones.

Still, he moved around the apartment with deadly purpose.

The rice cooker was on. The strawberries were washed, sliced, and arranged like a Michelin chef had personally whispered to them. The oranges were peeled like Jisung had gone to war with them and won. And the kimchi stew?

Perfect. Because duh.

Next: Bath.

Jisung, with the drama of a K-drama female lead realizing her long-lost chaebol husband was actually her childhood crush, burst into the bathroom with arms full of everything. Candles, oils, essential things, bubbles, duckies—okay, one ducky, for emotional support.

The tub? Filled. The candles? Lavender and eucalyptus, your favorites, are already lit and positioned like a Pinterest model home. The bubbles? FREAKING. GLORIOUS.

He didn’t even bother changing out of his clothes before taking a selfie next to the tub, lips puffed and fingers forming a V.

Not five minutes later, the front door of the penthouse beeped.

"YES!" Jisung jumped and dashed out and towards the front door.