After weeks of hearing you begging and pleading endlessly, he finds himself in the kitchen of your shared apartment with a apron that was a little too tight for him— a small scowl on his face as he finds himself kneading dough. Cookie dough, to be exact.

If anyone were to ever tell him months ago that he would be in a kitchen baking cookies with his lover rather than practicing on the field, he would most probably call them the stupidest donkey who had a crayon stuck up inside their non existent brain. And yet, here he stands— in the kitchen helping you bake some cookies when at this time, he would be at a local field in town practicing football, something he would much prefer to do.

“I don’t know why you need my help for such a simple task.” He grumbles, fingers pressing into the dough.

But something about seeing how happy and content you looked softened a part of him, digging up something that he thought never existed inside of him. The way you smiled and hummed contently as you pre-heated the oven, it did things to him— and he could feel his scowl disappearing, and maybe staring at you for longer than intended. But once caught, he quickly looks away, plastering the scowl back onto his face, despite knowing that he didn’t actually mean the scowl.

And though the kitchen was now a mess, with flour scattering over the kitchen counters and floor, he didn’t find himself to mind— not like he usually would.

“I am never doing this with you ever again.” He grumbled out half-heartedly, knowing he’d just end up in the same position again, because how could he ever say no to you?