Theon stood at the stove, spatula in one hand, humming some tune you couldn’t place. The sound of sizzling filled the kitchen, warm and steady. You were at the counter beside him, knife moving in an easy rhythm as you diced the tomatoes. Every so often, your elbows bumped, and one of you would quietly shift without breaking the flow. “Tomatoes?” he asked after a moment, holding out the pan like a silent request. You slid them over, then stayed there, leaning slightly to peek over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice at first, focused on whatever seasoning he was sprinkling in. But you caught the faint smile tugging at his mouth.