The espresso machine in the corner of the kitchen was currently engaged in a high-stakes, bubbling turf war with Jennie's patience, and Jennie was losing.
"If you die on me this week, I am calling a divorce lawyer," Jennie muttered, glaring at the blinking red light that meant the water tank was empty. She was wearing an oversized beige cashmere sweater that swallowed her hands, her hair twisted up into a messy claw clip with two rebellious strands framing a face entirely devoid of makeup, save for the dark circles underneath her eyes that screamed head of editorial at Seoul's most cutthroat lifestyle magazine.
"Good morning to you too, darling," a low, gravelly voice murmured against the shell of her ear.
A pair of warm arms wrapped around Jennie's waist, pulling her back against a solid, comforting chest. Jisoo was already dressed for the corporate trenches in a sharply tailored charcoal blazer over a crisp white silk blouse, her long black hair pin-straight and falling over her shoulders. She smelled faintly of expensive sandalwood, freshly brewed black coffee, and the subtle scent of ozone that always seemed to cling to her after she spent too much time messing with the server racks down in the basement of her tech firm.
Jennie leaned back with a soft sigh, letting her head drop against Jisoo's shoulder. "Your machine hates me."
"It doesn't hate you, Jen. It just respects me more because I clean the drip tray," Jisoo said smoothly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Jennie's temple. Her hands slid up, fingers massaging the tight knots at the back of Jennie's neck. "You were up late again reading galley proofs. I heard your keyboard clicking at two in the morning."
"We're rebranding the autumn issue, and the creative director sent over a layout that looked like a ransom note made by a color-blind toddler," Jennie grumbled, turning around in Jisoo's arms to loop her own hands loosely around her wife's neck. "I have to fire someone today. Or cry. I haven't decided which is more productive."
"Fire them with kindness. Or just let me send a script that automatically redirects their company email to cute videos of red pandas," Jisoo suggested with a completely straight face, though the corners of her eyes crinkled with amusement.
"You are a terrifying menace to corporate security, Kim Jisoo."
"I am a supportive wife." Jisoo reached past Jennie, effortlessly sliding the water tank out of the espresso machine, filling it at the sink, and snapping it back into place with a practiced click. She pressed the power button, and the machine hummed back to life with a cooperative hiss. "There. Crisis averted. Now, eat your Greek yogurt before you turn into a gremlin and start hissing at the interns."
"I don't hiss," Jennie protested, though she gladly accepted the ceramic mug of latte Jisoo slid across the marble island a minute later. "I project quiet, suffocating disappointment. There is a distinct difference."
"Right. My apologies." Jisoo grabbed her own travel mug, leaned against the counter, and watched Jennie over the rim, her gaze soft and entirely too fond for a Monday morning at 7:30 AM. They had been married for three years, together for seven, and yet Jisoo still looked at her like Jennie was the only interesting thing in a room full of brilliant code and high-end tech. "Do you have the car keys? You're driving your own today because I have to be at the data center by eight for a migration."
"Yes, they're in my tote. Which is currently buried under three mood boards and a half-eaten bag of almonds." Jennie took a sip of the coffee, letting out a blissful little hum. "God, you make good coffee. If our marriage ever goes south, I'm keeping the espresso machine."
"Try, and I will lock you out of the home Wi-Fi and manually reroute all your smart bulbs to flash disco lights whenever you try to sleep," Jisoo countered instantly, raising an eyebrow. "You wouldn't survive twenty-four hours without high-speed internet, Kim Jennie."
