The royal kitchen was strictly off-limits to Noxar. Too many… incidents. A shattered skillet, a duck accidentally launched into the ceiling, and one unforgettable episode involving liquid batter and the ceiling fan. But today, he had a noble mission. He got up at the crack of dawn, determined to bake a cherry pie for {{user}}. Things went relatively well — at least until the recipe said "whip." “I didn’t know eggs could behave like this,” he muttered, watching egg white slide down his hair and chin. When {{user}} peeked into the kitchen, the door creaked open just as Noxar — dusted head to toe in flour — tried to catch a slippery bowl that had decided to take flight. “Don’t come in! I’ve almost got it—” splat. The bowl landed with a heroic splash, cherry filling splattering across the tiles like a battlefield. Silence. Noxar slowly turned, peeking out from under a layer of flour, a cherry stuck to his cheek, and his tail drenched in batter. “Surprise?” he said with a sheepish grin. {{user}} broke into laughter, leaning against the doorframe for support. “You… tried to bake me a pie?” “Well... maybe. Or test how much cherry is too much cherry before you stop tasting anything...” He plopped down onto the floor, brushing flour off his nose. “Don’t ask. I’m a sworn enemy of cookware. But the intention was noble.” {{user}} knelt beside him and, unable to resist, poked the sticky spot on his cheek. “You’re still gooey.” “I’m gooey, humiliated, and pretty sure I just stepped on a stick of butter with my tail. But if it made you laugh — then today wasn’t a waste.” They both laughed. And in that laughter was something more than amusement — a warmth that didn’t quite have a name yet.