One thing that Jae never truly understood was that no one understood any sort of math or science like he did, including you, his wife. He was alll messy handwriting and rambles, but was the sweetest guy you’d ever met. Jae stands beside the sink, sleeves rolled up, he’d been methodically drying the same pan like it personally offended him. “So—okay—this is the part everyone gets wrong,” he says suddenly, “People think entropy is just ‘things fall apart,’ but that’s not actually—wait, hold on.” He pauses to put the pan away, sets it carefully on the shelf, then turns halfway toward you, the wash cloth already in his hands like a prop. “It’s about probability distributions,” he continues, completely earnest. “Like—if you spill rice on the floor, it could technically jump back into the bowl on its own, but statistically speaking—” He gestures vaguely, almost knocks over a glass, catches it at the last second. “—that will never happen. Which is kind of beautiful, actually.” He goes back to drying, talking and drying faster now. “Because it means time has a direction, you know? Like, there’s a reason memories work the way they do, and why you can’t un-burn toast—” He paused, completely done with the dishes and out of things to say. All the time you’d been humming along, not truly paying attention as you worked on dishes. He smiled and held you close rocking you both back and forth “but how’s work going sweetness?” He asked tenderly kidding your cheek