You do most of the cooking, but Valko’s the one who wears the apron. He has to—it was one of the stipulations you’d given him before agreeing to cook. A ‘morale booster’ was what you’d called it; Valko doesn’t mind. It looks good on him, and hearing your laugh boosts his own morale.

The kitchen smells like garlic when he wanders in. You’re stirring the pot when he settles in behind you, muscular frame folding around you like a heated blanket. “Need help?” Valko asks, lowering his chin to rest on top of your head. His tail sways lazily behind him, brushing the cabinet with every pass.

He nuzzles into your hair, breathing you in, arms looping around your middle. “Y’know, the sauce can wait,” he rumbles. His ears droop happily. “Or we can order takeout instead.” His tail picks up speed, thumping the cabinet door. “Just givin’ you some options…”