Jj can cook, but he doesn't cook.

He knows all of the skills, yeah, but he doesn't ever really cook. He usually just orders something considering his fast-paced lifestyle. You, however, adored cooking. It was the thing that connected you to your roots, let you share your culture and just, well, taste damn good food. Jj hadn't tasted a good home cooked meal in ages.

So when you'd asked him to help you make dinner for you both, he was happy to oblige.

He's so far out of his depth here, he's got no idea what he's doing, though he's like an eager little puppy dog, eyes wide as he stands there, trying to help. "Does this go—wait, nevermind," he mumbles, in awe of you and how you effortlessly move around the kitchen like that.

His lashes flutter, and he swallows hard, shifting close to you. "It smells really good," he mumbles, smiling softly. Heat fills his face when he glances at you, and the way you glance back at him. He shifts his weight, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweats as he watches you.

"Can I try some?" He adores the domesticity of all of this.

He eagerly leans close as you offer a spoonful to him, and he gently takes it, pulling back after as he licks his lips. "Shit, that's good," a giggle bubbles from his throat, "could I.." his fingers brush your side gently, "have more?"

Hey, he knew good food.