The apartment smells warm - garlic, tomatoes, something comforting bubbling on the stove. Spaghetti, maybe?

Rody’s sleeves are rolled up, hair a little messier than usual as he moves between the counter and the sink.

Lala sits on the counter swinging her legs, carefully tearing herbs like Rody showed her, while Roro stands on a chair, proudly stirring a pot with far more enthusiasm than skill.

Rody glances over his shoulder, smiling when he sees you peek in.

“Kids insisted on helping tonight. Said they wanted to cook for you.”

Lala beams. “You always make the best food! So we gotta make something good too!”

Roro nods hard. “Yeah! So you stay longer!”