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“Hyung, do we need the dark soy sauce or the light one?” Jisung asks and then retracts his question immediately. wrong person, really.
“Never mind; let me just call Jaemin hyung.” Jisung says while taking away his phone from Mark’s grip. The older man was intently looking at his phone, memorizing the grocery list, and he startles at his actions.
Jaemin picks up almost immediately, cooing at Jisung for being the one calling first, and goes on a rant about soy sauce once Jisung questions.
Jisung and Mark have been married for about a month now, a very small fraction of time considering they have known each other for as long as they remember. They weren’t always Jisung and Mark, though; they were just two friends amongst seven of them. It was high school when it all started—Jisung and Mark, Jeno and Chenle, Jaemin, Renjun, and Haechan. It all truly started with Jaemin and Haechan, their tension rising unbearably more than usual, their usual bickering gradually turning into something more bitter. It left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth. They were all codependent, eminently so. They have lost count of the amount of times they have been mistaken as a polycule, and they can’t really blame anyone else but themselves. Jaemin and Haechan took annoyingly long to officially get together; Jisung never understood each of them well, but the two of them together always made perfect sense despite their very odd dynamics that would weird any outsider out. Renjun being an addition to their relationship made even more sense; he kept both of them grounded just enough, and that was their common link: their absolute adoration for Renjun. Jeno had always been head over heels in love with Chenle; both of them were oblivious to it for the longest time, Chenle longer than Jeno. They made perfect sense to Jisung too; what didn’t make sense to him in the start, though, was Mark and himself. He thought it would pass soon enough when he realized the change of feelings towards Mark was actually a gigantic crush on him. Listen, it was not jisung’s first crush on one of his hyungs—he was starstruck by Donghyuck in 7th grade; he was his gay awakening. But, when days passed to months of him staring at Mark a bit too long, he realized he was utterly doomed. Mark took even longer to come to terms with it; Jisung, who came in with his face filled with pure innocence at the age of 12 in the SM building and greeted Mark with the nerves in his voice crystal clear, was now someone he viewed romantically. Was he even allowed to do so? Would Jisung ever forgive him for viewing him this way? Mark has stopped feeling this way long back, though Jisung and he had dated for 3 years before getting married. It hasn’t quite hit Mark yet that the younger is his husband, but sometimes when he processes it, he momentarily freezes.
“We could just use this instant seaweed soup packet instead of actually going through the hassle of making it, you know?” Mark asks Jisung, holding one of the packets up in his hand. “Hyung, we decided that we were going to try to cook now, remember? You were the one who suggested it too… saying you want to be more “husband material” or whatever.” Jisung sighs. “Ugh, yeah, you’re right.” He says, sulking, and puts the packet back down. Jisung can’t help but chuckle at the older’s petulant behavior. The younger moves in front of the shelf filled with vinegars, “Oh, this is vinegar, not gochujang.” He says, slightly embarrassed. “C’mon dude, even I know that gochujang comes in the red tub.” Mark says, chuckling. “You can’t even make eggs.” Jisung retorts. “Low blow.” Mark mumbles under his breath. After picking up the gochujang, Jisung zones out while Mark checks the grocery list on Jisung’s phone yet again. “Would eating takeout and instant ramyeon forever really be that bad?” Jisung asks, already tired. Mark laughs and tries not to squeeze the other, trying to battle his cuteness aggression. “We didn’t even get to the cooking part yet,” Mark states, chuckling. “And I am dreading it already; anyways, where is the ham?” Jisung asks. “Fish sauce, I need fish sauce. Why isn’t it here?” Mark says, looking up from the phone in his hand and looking at the shelf where Jisung grabbed the gochujang from. “Oh hyung, I think I saw fish sauce in the section before this.” The younger says, eyes still searching for the ham. “Really? Okay, let me go check.” Mark states heading towards the other aisle. Jisung spots the ham and cans of Spam right next to it. “Should I just get spam? Ah, I should definitely get spam.” He says to himself while picking up the can of Spam and putting it in the cart. He goes over to the aisle where Mark is currently and finds him debating which brand of fish sauce to get. “Hyung, remember when I made you kimchi fried rice with spam like, 5 years ago?” He asks, proudly. “Oh yeah, surprisingly it was pretty good!” Mark answers, patting Jisung’s head. Jisung grins with pride and shows him the spam he got; Mark just smiles at him and pats his back, endeared by his proud display.
The kitchen is a mess—the ingredients they had gotten earlier are scattered around, along with way too many utensils than needed. Jisung is trying to chop green onions, keyword: trying. They are definitely too big to put in kimchi fried rice, but Mark doesn’t comment on it, savoring the sight of the younger with his lips pursed in concentration. It’s such a simple thing, yet it makes Mark’s heart skip a beat.
This is one of the moments when it hits him—Jisung is his husband. They are married.
His heart starts racing harder; Jisung is in the kitchen of their shared house, cooking for them, and he’s cooking with him. When did this happen? He grips the spoon that he’s using to stir the soup tighter as Jisung walks towards the stove. Oh, right, his soup. He gives the soup a quick stir, and his mind drifts off yet again. This is all so surreal to him, still. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to this, if his heart will ever stop beating so fast at moments like these. Jisung mutters something about his fried rice missing something, but Mark doesn’t quite hear it, eyes too focused on watching the way Jisung moves as awkwardly as ever, the same awkwardness that he has always adored. Jisung had always felt so familiar to him; he knew that the younger had always admired him, respected him, and so had he. The admiration ran so deep, though, it had turned into love. Now he’s married to him, the same shy kid he had met all those years ago. He sees Jisung grimace after tasting his own fried rice, moving to add more gochujang to it, he realizes he doesn’t remember when he was not in love with Jisung, when he just admired him.
“You are zoning out again, hyung.” Jisung says, and his voice breaks him away from his thoughts. “You’re going to burn the soup.”
“Right, right, the soup.” He replies and stirs it again; he tastes it once; it’s lacking something he can’t quite place. He brings the spoon to Jisung’s lips and the younger tries it, “Salt, you need a bit more salt, hyung. But whoa, that is quite good, though.” Jisung says, surprised. “Wait, like really?” Mark asks, in disbelief. “Yeah, hyung, I mean it!” Jisung says with conviction, and Mark’s eyes soften, so he goes and hugs Jisung from the back, resting his chin on his shoulders with his arms wrapped around his waist. “What’s going on with you, though?” Jisung asks. Mark blinks, confused, “Huh? Why?” He asks back. “You’re being weird; you keep staring at me and zoning out.” Jisung explains. “Oh, uh, that, sorry. I guess I was just… thinking.” Mark says, eyes now focused on the seaweed soup on the stove. “About?” Jisung asks while adding more salt to his fried rice. “You. About you. Isn’t it crazy that you’re my husband?”. Jisung is caught off guard by that and lets out a sound resembling a squeak. “All of a sudden?” Jisung asks, a bit flushed. “It hits me all of a sudden, you know? Seeing you like this, I can’t help but think, Whoa, that’s really my husband.” Mark kisses the side of Jisung’s neck once, still hugging him from the back. If Jisung was blushing only a bit before, he goes entirely red at this. He stays quiet and keeps his eyes trained on the fried rice. Mark continues, “It’s fascinating how destiny held this for us anyway, when I was out there with no clue that I would end up like this with the shy little kid from years ago, isn’t it? It’s quite interesting—I have loved you consistently; only its nature has changed. I am so thankful, you know? For you, for us.” Jisung turns around, turning both their stoves off, and blushes harder at how close their faces are. Mark smiles at him, with his big, sparkly eyes, and keeps holding his waist. Jisung shyly pecks his lips, but Mark coos and latches their lips together for a longer kiss, a kiss that is so tender that Jisung feels like he’s going to melt, yet it still gets him weak in the knees. They pull back to gaze into each other’s eyes, and Jisung thinks he wants this for the rest of his life, till the end of time. Mark presses a kiss on the corner of Jisung’s mouth, and he makes a sound of surprise, flustered. “I love you, Aegi. Thank you for being by my side.” Mark says, sort of breathless. “I love you too, hyung.” Jisung replies, just as breathless, if not more. Both of them mean it, like they haven’t meant anything before.
Both the dishes turn out overly salty and unbearable to eat; Mark orders them takeout, reassuring Jisung that it is okay to mess up, that he did well, especially since he had cooked after five whole years, and when the younger tries to argue with a “But we shouldn’t waste food, hyung.” Mark cuts him off with a peck on his lips. “We’ll be extra cautious next time, alright?” Mark reassures once again. Jisung gives in and snuggles closer to Mark under the covers on the couch. “Inception?” Mark is already typing it in the Netflix search engine; Jisung hums, pleased, and one thing’s for sure: they are both content having husbands who cannot cook to save their lives, as long as they have each other.