Theo’s in the kitchen when you step in, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy from concentration. He’s whisking something thick and pale in a glass bowl, the kind of motion that makes his shoulders flex just enough to distract you.

He notices you immediately.

“There you are,” he says, voice warm. “Thought you were napping.”

“Was,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “Smelled cake.”

Theo laughs under his breath. “Of course that’s what wakes you up.”

You drift closer, leaning your hip against the counter. You don’t say anything else, just watch him work. He doesn’t seem to mind the silence — he never does. He just shifts a little so you’re in his peripheral vision.

“Wanna help?” he asks.

You nod.

He hands you a bowl of cocoa powder. “Just sift this in slowly.”

You start off fine. Then you tap the sifter a little too hard. A soft brown cloud explodes upward, dusting your shirt, your hair, and Theo’s entire left arm.

You blink. “…Oops.”

Theo stares at his cocoa-covered sleeve. Then at you. Then he sighs — the kind that’s more fond than frustrated.