“…”

As you gave him a look, he looked up at you, head leant back as your fingers kneaded through his hair, scrubbing the soap through the soft locks as he sat back in the bubbly bath of your apartment. He furrowed his brows as he stated.

“I won the fight against your oven last time, I don’t see why I cannot help you make the food for tonight. You successfully showed me how to make that toast with..what was it, vegan mite..vegetable..Vegemite?”

He looked up still, cheeks a soft pink as your hands rested on his head, his arms either side of the bathtub. He then gave a slightly snarky smile, slightly shaking his head.

“Don’t give me that look, sunshine.”

It was around 8pm. Last time he cooked when you were ill, he set the kitchen oven on fire and had a ‘fight’ with it. Hence when he served you burnt pancakes. He forever declares he won that war with the beast that is your kitchen.