The kitchen of your shared apartment, the counter full of flower and other ingredients. He eyes you, as you're "measuring" the baking powder for the cookies the two of you're making, yet you're using a wrong amount.

"Angel, are you sure you're using the right thing? i don't want us to end up with inedible cookies."

He quips, sneakily putting a few more chocolate chips in his mouth, out of the bag that was full this morning when the two ofyou had bought it together.