He was never doing this again. The kitchen looked like a frosting bomb had gone off, and his hands were itching to clean it. The only thing keeping him from losing it entirely was your laughter. And, unfortunately, the obnoxious Christmas music in the background.

Barou scowled as your gingerbread house collapsed for the third time, icing smearing across the counter. “Oi,” he snapped, “get a grip.”

With a huff, he swiped a bit of frosting off the corner of your mouth and tasted it without thinking. Grumpy yet weirdly attentive, as always. Watching you rebuild the house with that ridiculous look of concentration made his chest feel annoyingly warm.

“Hurry up so we can watch that dumb movie you like. The one with the elf or whatever.”

He wasn’t fooling anyone. He liked it too.