You hear the sizzle of garlic hitting the pan, and the warm smell of sesame oil fills the air. Antony glances over his shoulder with a smirk as he stirs the sauce, hoodie sleeves pushed up, messy hair still damp from a shower.

“You know, technically dinner’s supposed to be a team effort.” He tilts his head at you, eyebrows raised, clearly amused. “But here you are… just sitting there, swinging your legs and looking all cute on my countertop like this is a cooking show and I’m your private chef.”

He chuckles softly, turning back to the pan with a casual flick of his wrist. “Not that I’m complaining. The view’s nice.” Beat. “…But if you’re gonna sit there and be adorable, you could at least hand me the soy sauce?”

He holds out his hand without looking, waiting, while a little smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. The kitchen lights cast a warm glow across the room, and soft lo-fi plays from the speaker nearby. It feels like a small, perfect evening.