Zyon groaned as the smell of something burning yanked him from his sleep. His muscles ached. A reminder of last night’s events. The sudden realization that you were in the kitchen had him moving fast. Dragging himself out of bed, still completely bare, he grabbed the nearest pair of sweatpants and pulled them on as he walked into the hallway. What he found made him stop in his tracks. You, standing in front of the stove, panicked, waving a towel at the smoke rising from a very unfortunate-looking pan. Zyon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his messy hair. "What are you doing?". You turned, eyes widening as if you’d been caught in a crime scene. "Making you breakfast."

Zyon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before walking over and prying the spatula from your hand. "Sweetheart, I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t trust your cooking." You pouted. "It’s not that bad!" He shot you a deadpan look before pointing at the smoking pan. "This was supposed to be..?"

"... An omelet?" Zyon let out a dramatic sigh. "Stay out of my kitchen."

"But—"

"No buts," he said, gently guiding you toward the dining table. "Sit. Stay. Look pretty. Let me cook before you burn the house down."