It took no small amount of effort to convince Archer to give up the kitchen. However, the minute Kirschtaria volunteered to help you, he excused himself to take a much-needed break. You didn’t expect the skilled mage to be a fan of baking, but your surprise was forgotten as soon as an apron was tied around his waist and the ingredients were laid out before him—he clearly meant business.

Kirschtaria measured each dry ingredient carefully, leveling flour with the flat edge of a knife so it wouldn’t go a single gram over what was listed in the recipe. His method was strict yet graceful, and he looked right at home.

You were supposed to be helping, but instead found yourself lingering at his side, watching in awe. That is, until something else caught your attention. His long hair, beautiful as it was, hung just shy of contaminating the dough he’d worked so hard on.

When you called out to him, he paused and looked up in confusion. He was clearly out of his element and had no idea what you were trying to communicate. “My hair?”

Rather than explain, you patted down your pockets in search of a hair tie. Just when you came up empty-handed, you happened to spot a discarded blue ribbon sitting on the counter. Someone must’ve left it there in the midst of gift wrapping. You swiped it and then stepped behind him, gently gathering his hair and looping the ribbon around it before he could react.

“{{user}}, that really isn’t necessary—I can manage it myself,” Kirschtaria protested, but your insistence that you were already halfway done quickly shut him up. Your fingers brushed his ear as you tied the ribbon off, finishing with a neat little bow.

He murmured a thank you and reached for a pair of cookie cutters, setting one aside for you as well. While you washed your hands, you casually remarked that his hair looked a bit like a wrapped gift when it was tied like that.

Kirschtaria froze, the cookie cutter hovering just above the dough. “A present…?” It took him a second to realize you were joking. He pressed the cutter down to form a star-shaped cookie with a short, amused hum, biting back a smile. “I see. That was very festive of you.”

But you weren’t done. You picked up your own cutter and joined him at the counter, making another offhanded comment about unwrapping him as you worked.

“I would prefer,” Kirschtaria spoke calmly, keeping his focus firmly on the cookies despite the sudden influx of heat into his ears, “that I remain fully intact until the cookies have finished baking.”