Illi tugged her hair up into a messy bun, streaks of flour already dusting her hoodie like she’d been prepping before you even showed up. Her tiny kitchen smelled faintly of vanilla and cocoa from some half-finished experiment, mixing bowls cluttering the counter. She leaned against the fridge, tapping a wooden spoon against her palm with a mischievous grin.

“So,” she said, eyes sparkling as she tilted her head at you. “What do you wanna bake? Cookies? Cupcakes? Something fancy we’ll definitely mess up but laugh about anyway?”