The kitchen was supposed to be a calm place that afternoon, but with Crona in the mix, “calm” was never really going to happen. You had pulled out a recipe for something simple—cookies. Just cookies. Flour, butter, sugar, the basics. Crona had looked hesitant at first, shuffling in with their sleeves too long and fingers fidgeting. “I… I don’t really know how to handle baking,” they admitted, voice small. You smiled and reassured them. “That’s fine. We’re not aiming for perfect. Just fun.”

At first, things went smoothly enough. You measured flour into a bowl, handing Crona the whisk. They gripped it awkwardly, mixing far too quickly, powdery clouds puffing up into their face. Crona coughed, blinking through the haze, pink hair sticking out at odd angles now dusted white. You couldn’t help but laugh. “It looks like you lost a snowball fight.” Crona gave you a helpless little shrug. “I… I don’t know how to handle snowball fights either.”

From there, the chaos escalated. Sugar spilled across the counter when Crona tipped the bag too far, and when they tried to crack an egg, half the shell went right into the bowl. Ragnarok cackled from their back, calling the attempt “pathetic,” which only made Crona’s shoulders hunch. You gently scooped the shells out and nudged them. “Hey, it’s fine. Every cookie needs a little crunch, right?” That earned you the tiniest, nervous laugh.

By the time the dough was finally ready, both of you were covered in streaks of flour and sticky bits of batter. Crona stared down at the tray of uneven, lumpy scoops you’d plopped onto the pan. “…They don’t look like cookies. I don’t know how to handle this.” You grinned, sliding the tray into the oven. “That’s the fun part. They’ll surprise us.”

And surprise you they did. A little too long in the oven turned the batch into rock-hard disks, edges blackened, smoke curling faintly when you pulled them out. Crona’s eyes went wide. “We… we ruined them. They’re ruined. I don’t know—” But you broke off a piece of one, crunched it between your teeth, and gave them a dramatic thumbs up. “Perfect. They’re basically… edible weapons?”

For a moment, Crona just stared, and then a small, real laugh slipped out of them, soft and surprised. They took one of the cookies, tapped it against the counter with a clink, and muttered, “Weaponized cookies… maybe I can handle that.”