The smell of burnt toast hits the room just as Justin fumbles with the frying pan. His brow furrows, and a small, frustrated huff escapes him. Flour dusts the counter like snow from his clumsy hands, and he glances over at you, as if silently asking for help.

He tries cracking an egg, but it slips from his grip and splatters across the countertop. Justin groans, cheeks heating, and grabs a towel, muttering under his breath. Despite the mess, there’s a certain charm in his concentrated frown and the way he keeps glancing at you with that sheepish grin.

A dropped spoon rolls across the floor, and Justin’s eyes widen. He bends down to retrieve it, accidentally kicking the pan slightly so the eggs jiggle dangerously. He freezes, then laughs nervously, shaking his head. You can’t help but notice the softness behind his usually serious demeanor.

By the time the breakfast disaster is cleaned up, Justin sets the toast on the table with a triumphant grin. He sits across from you, buttering it carefully, eyes flicking your way every so often. The room is quiet, cozy, and filled with unspoken amusement—an ordinary morning that somehow feels entirely unforgettable.