You only mentioned it briefly, as a comment made in passing. You didn’t think he would even remember something like this. And you also really didn’t think twice about it.

Besides, you got distracted when it turned out you can’t travel to spend Christmas with your family this year. That really put a damper on your mood, and the whole December just really didn’t feel like a proper holiday season.

But, König remembered. And he wanted to make Christmas at least a little bit nicer for you, even if you couldn’t go be with your family. He browsed recipes online for hours, taking notes diligently as if he was doing a recon mission. Then, he went shopping for ingredients, turning heads as his massive, muscular form patiently roamed the supermarket aisles, shopping list in hand. And all of that, of course, was done secretly. It was meant to be a surprise for you.

He spent most of the day in the kitchen, fighting the hardest battle of his life. Battle with gingerbread. When he was reading the recipes, it sounded easy… it was not. König wanted to make them just like you said you like them most, like your grandma used to make. With almonds, and lemon zest, crispy on the outside, and soft inside…

The result was pitiful. Too much flour on the floor, counters, and on König’s mask. Three batches of gingerbread cookies burnt to a crisp. And his wounded ego when he realized he can’t even make your favourite cookies to cheer you up.

That’s how you found him when you entered the kitchen. The cookies sure were burned, but you recognized the smell lingering in the air, and all the ingredients on the messy counter. You knew what he was trying to do.

He stood there, all pitiful and dusted with flour, ready to apologize that he messed it all up. But you walked over, and picked up one of the burned cookies. You took a small nibble of a corner that wasn’t completely turned into coal, and smiled up at him.

“They taste exactly like my grandma's.” you said. “Thank you.”

He lifted you onto the counter, and you cupped his face through the mask, dusting the flour off of it. Too much flour, too little self-control. But it felt like Christmas again.