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The kitchen was already a mess before they even started
Fie had a recipe going for a nice batch of cookies he was hoping to try. He leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, watching Leon wrestle with the stand mixer like it had personally cussed him out. “You sure you know how to use that?” Fie asked, a smile tugging at his lips.
Leon shot him a look over his shoulder. “Of course I do. I’m not completely hopeless.”
The mixer suddenly made a loud, unhappy whir, and flour puffed up in a thick cloud between them, and Leon was pretty sure it got in his lungs in the ten seconds it was in the air. He coughed. “Okay. Maybe partially hopeless.”
Fie burst out laughing, doubling over as the cloud settled onto Leon’s shirt and hair. “You look like a ghost,” he said between breaths.
Leon wiped his face with the back of his hand, leaving a white streak across his cheek. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”
“I know I am.” Fie grinned, brushing a bit of flour from Leon’s shoulder. He didn’t pull his hand away right away, and Leon noticed. The touch lingered like a quiet spark.
Then the corner of Leon’s mouth twitched into a smile. “You’re laughing pretty hard for someone who’s about to lose a baking duel.”
Fie blinked. “Duel? We’re supposed to be working together!”
“Not anymore,” Leon said, gripping a handful of flour with mock seriousness. “You’ve crossed the line.”
“Don’t you dare—”
Too late. Leon tossed it lightly, a white puff hitting Fie square in the chest. Fie froze. Then grabbed the nearest weapon: a spoon loaded with batter. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”
Leon backed up, laughing as Fie advanced. “Wait, wait, truce! I was kidding!”
He threw the spoon’s contents all over Leon’s hair, the winged bits flopping down as the thick goo covered it. “HEY!” Leon yelled, immediately scattering to remove it.
Fie just laughed. Seeing his boyfriend covered in flour and now a (very slimy) batch of batter that would probably make them sixteen cookies was too humorous.
“I call a truce! Leave my poor hair alone!” Leon said, through a very loud laughing fit. “Truce!!”
Fie smiled triumphantly. “As you should.”
Silence hung for a beat, then Leon flicked a bit of the batter back at him. It landed on Fie’s jaw. Both of them paused, eyes meeting, and then broke into laughter again—loud, unguarded, the kind that made their sides ache.
Their laughter faded into smiles that didn’t quite disappear. Fie reached up, brushing the bit of batter away from his face. “You’re so mean.”
“You like me mean,” Leon replied, voice low but teasing.
Maybe Fie did. He rolled his eyes to hide the grin forming again. “We’re never baking anything edible at this rate. Even if we did, I don’t think slime cookies are the top of the market right now.”
“Who cares?” Leon said. “I’m having fun!”
He wasn’t wrong. The air smelled sweet with vanilla and sugar, and the sunlight streaming through the window caught on the dusting of flour still floating lazily around them. Fie turned back to the counter, picking up the recipe sheet that had been half-smeared with dough. “Okay,” he said, scanning it, “we were supposed to be making cookies.”
Leon came up beside him, close enough that Fie could feel a bit of warmth from his arm. “Then we fix it. Together. No more sabotage.”
“That depends,” Fie said. “You promise to behave, baby?”
Leon’s laugh was quick and soft. “I’ll try.” He looked like he had imaginary puppy dog eyes and a tail wagging from side to side. Liar.
They worked side by side, the teasing quieter now but still alive in the small glances exchanged between them. Leon cracked eggs one-handed with exaggerated confidence; Fie pretended not to be impressed, even though he kind of was. Fie measured sugar while Leon snuck a piece of dough to taste, making a face that made Fie laugh again.
“It’s actually good,” Leon said, mouth half full.
“Don’t talk with your mouth open,” Fie scolded, smiling despite himself.
“You sound like my mum.”
“Someone has to manage you.”
Leon looked over at him again, at the light dotted on Fie’s cheekbones where flour still clung faintly. “You’re doing a good job,” he said, quietly this time.
Fie glanced up, caught off-guard by the shift in his tone. “Yeah?”
Leon nodded. “Yeah.”
For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the oven. Fie’s pulse had picked up for no good reason. He focused on rolling out the dough, pretending his hands weren’t shaking just a little as Leon’s chest was against his back and his hands were over Fie’s own, helping him roll.
When the cookies finally went into the oven, Fie collapsed against the counter, exhaling a soft laugh. “We survived,” he said.
“Barely.” Leon leaned beside him, brushing his hands clean. “You’ve got flour in your hair, by the way.”
“Still?” Fie tried to brush it away, but Leon beat him to it, fingers combing lightly through his hair. The touch was careful, almost hesitant. Fie didn’t move.
“That’s better,” Leon said, but his hand stayed a second too long before dropping away. Fie caught his eyes, saw that same playful warmth from before, but softer now.
They didn’t say anything for a while. The cookies smelled amazing, sweet and golden, but neither seemed in a rush to check them.
Fie nudged him with his shoulder. “So, baking duel next time?”
Leon grinned. “Only if you’re ready to lose.”
Fie smirked. “You wish.”
Their laughter came again, light and easy, filling the kitchen like sunlight through the flour-dusted air. Two boys, a little messy, a little breathless, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit in love.