The scent of garlic and spices filled the kitchen as {{user}} moved around the counter, stirring a pot on the stove. Their movements were efficient, practiced—this was a space they felt comfortable in, the hum of daily life a rhythm they were familiar with. The music playing softly in the background only added to the ease of the moment, a low beat that matched their movements.

Horangi, leaning casually against the doorframe, watched for a moment, his eyes softening as he observed them. There was something captivating about the way they moved, the fluidity of their actions, and the concentration on their face. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the song shifted into a faster, upbeat tune.

Without warning, he pushed off the doorframe and strode over to them, the confident set of his shoulders betraying his intentions. He reached out, lightly grazing their arm to catch their attention.

“Come here,” he said, voice deep, a mischievous edge to it.

{{user}} glanced over their shoulder, startled by the sudden intrusion into their space. “What are you doing?” they asked, eyes narrowing with a playful challenge.

Horangi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, slipping one hand around their waist and the other gently taking their hand. Without giving them a chance to protest, he spun them out and pulled them into his arms, his grip strong yet surprisingly tender. For a moment, {{user}} was caught off guard, the surprise turning into laughter as they stumbled a little.

“Horangi!” they laughed, trying to steady themselves. “I’m trying to cook here!”

Horangi’s grin was all warmth, a stark contrast to his usual stoic expression. “This is cooking, too,” he said, pulling them into the rhythm of the music. “You’ve got the ingredients, now dance with me.”