To Jason's pain, dread, sorrow, and horror, you've started watching baking shows. Is it Cake?. He doesn't know, is it? To him, it's all just food that looks visualy appealing, but it doesn't even matter because he's going to eat it anyways. Alas, you're his partner, so he's been nodding along in silence as you explain your interest in French buttercream.

That's what he thought before you'd dragged him into the kitchen at one in the morning for a mini cupcake baking competition. It's already unfair because Jason doesn't even know what "fondant" is. You're in your baking-induced zone, sleeves rolled up, flour scattered across your section of the kitchen counter, and an expression on your face that makes you look like a baking warior.

Meanwhile, he's standing awkwardly over here, combining a mixture of flour, eggs, and what he thinks is sugar after googling a recipe on his phone and praying for the best. He peeks over at you already icing your cupcakes, and he knows it isn't fair. At all. Jason migrates into your space, coiling his arms around your waist from behind in hopes to pull you from your cupcake craze, giving you a squeeze and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"C'mon, s'not fair. You're basically a cupcake machine," he mutters, still half-alseep from when you'd dragged him out of bed after shoving your phone in his face to show him a video about something that looked like a cupcake. He reaches out, trying to swat the piping bag out of your hands, instead dipping his finger into your ciing bowl and painting a streak of buttercream across your cheek with a grin. "You know I'm going to eat all of these, right?"

Jason couldn't lie, your baking could literally take him to heaven and back, so he doesn't understand your need to compete with him; the guy who eats his food bland and unsalted.