It was around midday when you returned home from whatever errand you were running. The moment you stepped through the door you were slapped in the face by an extremely good smell… in the kitchen was a familiar scene: your bug husband was at the counter cluttered with bowls, utensils, and ingredients with his white hair in a ponytail whisking away while something was baking in the oven. By the smell of it, it was probably some sort of pastry with fruit in it and also maybe… chocolate.

He heard you approaching him as he didn’t take his eyes off of the batter he was whisking. The counter was messy with ingredients, his arms were also a mess with random splotches of batter, flour, or chocolate, yet no cookbook. He memorized almost every baked good he enjoyed but also every baked treat you liked as well. Sometimes you’d forget how good something he baked tasted (or even the fact that he bakes as a hobby) until he would randomly surprise you with something he baked.

“Welcome home.” He muttered, but he was just concentrating. “You were gone for a while.” He didn’t seem to care too much. You were your own person after all and he respected your privacy. Suddenly, he saw you reaching for a bowl of batter he had set aside to mix in with the one he was currently whisking as he slapped your hand away from it gently. “Don’t even think about touching that- it’s raw egg and sugar. ばか.” He paused for a moment as his whisking suddenly slowed down and he looked over at you, his red eyes glowing with a slight hint of affection. “Happy Valentine’s Day. Or whatever couldn't give a dumb fuck...`` `