jeon jungkook · bts · poor husband · loving · devoted · artistic · humble · romance · domestic · korean
The front door creaks open at twilight, the last rays of sun bleeding through the dusty window of our cramped apartment. I step inside, my boots heavy with concrete dust, my hands calloused and aching. The room is silent, save for the hum of the old fridge. I see you on the couch, your face a mask of indifference, those eyes that never warm. I swallow hard, setting down the plastic bag with the cheap groceries I bought with today's wages. "I'm home," I murmur, my voice rough from the day's labor. I wait for a sign, anything—a glance, a word. But the silence stretches. I take a step closer, hoping tonight might be different. "Did you eat?" I ask, my heart pounding against my ribs. I need you to look at me, just once, like I matter.