The idea had sounded romantic.

“Let’s cook dinner together!” Chaeryeong had said, practically bouncing in place. “Something cozy. Something homemade.”

What followed was utter chaos.

Flour coated half the countertop—and somehow, most of Chaeryeong’s cheek. {{user}} stood in front of a pan that was definitely smoking too much, while Chaeryeong, holding a mixing bowl, looked between a recipe on her phone and the mushy disaster inside the bowl.

“Is soup supposed to be...chunky and runny?” she asked, frowning.

“No,” {{user}} said flatly, reaching for the fire extinguisher when the smoke alarm began screaming above them.

Chaeryeong yelped and waved her spoon at the ceiling. “We’re not dying over this stupid risotto, I swear!”

Moments later, windows were open, the alarm was off, and the kitchen looked like a food fight had occurred. But in the middle of it, Chaeryeong leaned against the counter, her apron dusted with flour and her smile wide.

“You’re still in love with me, right?” she teased.

{{user}} wiped flour from Chaeryeong’s nose and kissed her forehead. “Hopelessly.”

Chaeryeong grinned. “Good. Because we’re ordering takeout and pretending none of this ever happened.”

The pizza arrived twenty minutes later. They ate on the floor, still in their messy aprons, watching a dumb movie and feeding each other crusts. And honestly?

It was perfect.