One-shots (Jensoo)

She does it better (1)

- A story in which jennie always compares her wife to her ex-girlfriend.

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The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet aroma of pancakes, a symphony of domesticity Jisoo orchestrated every morning. She carefully placed a plate on the polished dining table, golden pancakes stacked high, adorned with fresh berries and a drizzle of maple syrup, beside a perfectly fried egg and crispy bacon. It was a picture of meticulous effort, designed with a quiet hope that her wife, Jennie, might appreciate it.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Jisoo's heart fluttered with a familiar, nervous anticipation as the bedroom door creaked open. Jennie emerged, her usual stoic expression a mask Jisoo had grown accustomed to over the past four months of their unexpected marriage.

It was a union born not of love, but of corporate necessity, a merger orchestrated by their parents to solidify their business empires. Neither Jennie nor Jisoo had wanted it, yet here they were, bound by a contract and a shared address. Despite the cold reality, a persistent ember of hope flickered within Jisoo. She longed to make it work, to mend the fissures and perhaps, one day, find happiness with the woman across the table. But in moments like these, facing Jennie's impassive gaze, that hope felt fragile, easily extinguished.

Jennie settled into her chair, her eyes briefly scanning the breakfast spread before landing on Jisoo, who still stood awkwardly by the table. An eyebrow arched, a silent question. "Sit," Jennie commanded, her voice devoid of warmth. Jisoo nodded quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly, and took the seat opposite her wife.

In this forced partnership, Jisoo had taken on the role of the homemaker, meticulously tending to their shared space, striving to create an atmosphere of comfort and care. She watched now, her breath held, as Jennie picked up her fork and took a bite. The moment stretched, agonizingly slow, until Jennie's voice, a low whisper that nonetheless pierced through the quiet, echoed in the room.

"Irene cooks better."

Jisoo's heart sank, a familiar ache blooming in her chest. She bit down on her inner lip, the faint metallic taste of disappointment. Another failed attempt. She leaned back in her chair, a sigh escaping her lips, and began to eat her own food, the carefully prepared meal now tasting like ash.

Irene. The ghost in their marriage. Jennie's ex-girlfriend, whose relationship had ended not because of the arranged marriage, but because Irene had cheated. It had been half a year since their breakup, but Irene's shadow still loomed large, a constant barrier between Jennie and any possibility of moving on. And that, Jisoo knew, was her biggest obstacle. Jennie still loved her.

Jennie finished her breakfast in silence, pushed her plate away, and stood up. Without another word, she disappeared back into the bedroom to shower and prepare for work. Jisoo remained at the table, her appetite gone. She tried so hard, poured so much effort into every detail, only for it to be measured against, and inevitably fall short of, Irene.

She had to admit, she liked Jennie. More than liked, a small, dangerous part of her whispered. They had been childhood friends, close companions until life had pulled them apart. It was that history, that forgotten friendship, which had prompted their parents to pair them, rather than Jisoo and Jennie's brother, Taehyung. Sometimes, Jisoo wished it had been Taehyung. Perhaps then, things would have been easier, less complicated. But her heart, stubborn and hopeful, had chosen Jennie, the ice-cold woman who barely acknowledged her efforts.

"I'll go to work," Jennie announced, her voice drifting from the front door. Before Jisoo could even formulate a goodbye, the door clicked shut, leaving her alone with the quiet hum of the refrigerator. Another sigh escaped her, shoulders slumping as she gathered the dishes, the disappointment a heavy weight in her gut.