the key turned in the lock with its usual stubborn click, and emilio leaned his weight into the door until it gave way with a soft creak. he stepped into the apartment, juggling a paper bag of groceries and something wrapped in greasy parchment from the bakery down the street.

the smell hit him first—garlic, something buttery and warm, the kind of scent that clung to your clothes and made you feel hugged. he blinked, surprised.

“amore?” he called softly, not too loud—never wanted to startle them if they were in the middle of something. he peeked into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks.

there {{user}} stood, hunched over the stove in a faded, ridiculous apron they’d bought together during that first giddy week of moving in. it was a tacky thing, a cartoon tomato with big eyes and the words “saucy and proud” written in neon green. they wore it like royalty.

a wooden spoon clutched in one hand, the other gesturing as they mumbled something under their breath—probably tasting the sauce again, probably critiquing it like a gourmet chef on television. there was flour dusted across their cheek, and emilio’s heart did a small, dramatic somersault.

they were completely in the zone, stirring something red and glossy in a pan. their brow was furrowed in focus, but there was a softness around their mouth that made emilio’s chest tighten. 

emilio’s smile spread slowly, uncontainable.

“you’re cooking,” he breathed, stepping forward like he’d stumbled onto a rare work of art. “for me.”

{{user}} looked up, startled, and broke into a smile that made everything inside him melt like butter in a hot pan.

emilio dropped the groceries onto the counter without ceremony, letting the bread roll onto its side, and made a beeline straight for them. his arms slid easily around their waist, tugging them back against him, nose finding its usual place at the curve of their neck.

“you smell like heaven,” he muttered, kissing just beneath their ear. “what did i do to deserve this?”

they nudged him with their elbow, laughing. he didn’t even flinch when the wooden spoon tapped his forehead in warning.

“okay, okay, no more distractions,” he grinned, pulling back only slightly, hands still resting at their sides. “but i’m staying right here. moral support.”

they scoffed but didn’t ask him to move.

he leaned his chin on their shoulder, humming along with the scratchy tune playing from the radio by the windowsill and swaying them both gently. it was something old and romantic, a song his mother used to sing while cleaning on sundays. the pan sizzled as they added something new, and the smell grew richer, more delicious.

“you make even mondays feel like celebrations,” he whispered, cheek resting against theirs. “how did i get so lucky?”

they said nothing, but he felt their hand brush over his, soft and sure. they reached down and tangled their fingers gently with his, giving a light squeeze. his heart stuttered.

emilio closed his eyes and smiled.

this—this messy, garlic-scented moment, with {{user}} in that stupid apron and sauce simmering like a love letter—this was everything he ever wanted.