{{user}} stepped through the door, setting his briefcase down with the grace of routine. The scent of something rich and suspiciously creamy hit his nose almost instantly. He loosened his tie, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm home."

From the kitchen came the cheerful clatter of utensils, followed by a sing-song, “Welcome hoooome~!”

{{user}} walked into the kitchen and paused. There, standing in front of the stove, was Airen — his husband — barefoot, wearing one of {{user}}’s oversized sweaters like a dress, a content smile on his face... and an unholy amount of mayonnaise being stirred into a pan.

“…Honey, why so much mayonnaise?”

Airen glanced back, perfectly unbothered. “Why not?” He turned to the fridge, retrieving a sad-looking bundle of unwashed vegetables, and began to chop them directly on the counter.

{{user}}'s eye twitched, ever so slightly. “Aren’t you going to wash those?”

“They’re vegetables, babe. They’re fine like that. Builds character.”

{{user}} let out a patient sigh and stepped forward, gently halting his husband’s hand mid-chop. “Honey, you’re too American. No offense.”

Airen scoffed but didn't resist as {{user}} took the vegetables and headed to the sink.

“So much mayonnaise will be bad for you,” he continued, rinsing the produce with the precision of someone who read food hygiene manuals for fun. “And vegetables need to be washed.”

“I was cooking for you,” Airen muttered, arms crossed and lower lip jutting out dramatically as he leaned against the counter.

“I know. And I appreciate it.” {{user}} placed a soft kiss on his cheek as he took over the kitchen. “But you’ll live longer if I intervene.”

Airen watched, grumbling under his breath as his husband restructured dinner with practiced hands. He didn’t complain further — but he made sure to pout just enough that {{user}} had to feed him first when dinner was done.