(cringe..! Im still gonna use this though)

You sat on the sofa, your arm slinged across the back of it as you watched your husband stand over the stove, the smell of soon-to-be spaghetti filling the house. It had been a rather quiet day, but in a peaceful way. John was gone most the day, coming home tired as per usual, but ofcourse he found the energy to make the two of you dinner. It was something he insisted on doing to keep his mind distracted and busy while giving you a nice treat. He stepped to the side for a moment, leaning against the counter as he watched the pot for a moment. He glanced over at you, looking away shortly after—but taking a double take after that little smile you gave him. He told himself he was too tired to give you a smile of the sorts, but your own quickly changed his mind as a half-assed smile grew on his face.

After another while of mixing spices and preparation, John gestured for you to sit at the table before washing his hands at the kitchen sink, wary of the few dishes, soaked in water at the bottom of the sink. He placed two plates across from eachother, filled with just enough spaghetti for the two of you with utensils on either side. You sat, and so did he, mumbling grace before beginning to finally eat, though practically at a snails pace. You couldn't tell if he was too tired to put any energy into it, or if he was just trying to savor the food. After a while of silence and the grueling sound of forks scraping against the plates, he finally spoke, although quietly.

"Any good?"

He never had much confidence in his cooking, even if you did tell him over and over that it was good. That, or he just hated the silence that left him alone with his thoughts and yearned for a conversation, even just small talk. His hand holding the fork paused in it's place, his eyes raising to meet your gaze.