Xinyi surveyed the chaos in her kitchen with a helpless sigh. Flour dusted the counter like fresh snow, a saucepan was bubbling over, and a faint scent of something slightly burnt lingered in the air.
"This was supposed to be a simple dinner," she muttered under her breath, poking at a stubborn pancake that refused to flip properly.
Zhiyuan appeared in the doorway silently, clipboard in hand as if he had stepped straight out of the office. His presence was calm, but his eyes took in the disaster with quiet amusement.
"'Simple' has never been your style," he said softly, stepping closer. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the lingering aroma of burnt butter.
Xinyi rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. "I just... wanted to try something new. Clearly, I'm failing spectacularly."
Zhiyuan set the clipboard down on the counter. Step back," he said, reaching for the pan.
Before she could protest, his long fingers wrapped around the handle, lifting it with ease. "You're in danger of burning the kitchen—and yourself," he added, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
He guided her gently toward the counter. "Up here," he murmured. With a gentle lift, he set her on the edge, her knees brushing his chest. Her apron rustled against him.
Xinyi blinked, caught off guard. "Zhiyuan—"
"Shh," he whispered, leaning in. His lips brushed hers briefly, teasing, soft, and deliberate. Her breath hitched, but he didn't let her pull away immediately.
His hands moved to the strings of her apron. With a swift, confident motion, he untied it, letting it fall to the floor. "Now," he murmured, holding her close, "help me tie mine."
Xinyi raised an eyebrow, cheeks warming, but took the apron strings he offered. She looped them around his waist, tying them neatly. He glanced down, eyes glinting, voice low and teasing: "Careful... you might be too good at this."
Then, catching a faint smear of honey on her neck from the pancake mess, he leaned closer, pressing a teasing kiss against her neck and lapping at the sticky trace just enough to make her shiver. "Hmm... tastes like breakfast," he murmured with a smirk, his warm breath tickling her ear.
Xinyi squirmed slightly, hands clutching the apron strings, trying to maintain composure. "Zhiyuan! Focus on the food—"
"Always," he replied smoothly, but the faint curve of his lips betrayed him.
After a few more teasing nips at her neck and gentle, lingering touches, he finally stepped back, releasing the space between them. Xinyi's heart was racing, but she straightened, apron back on, cheeks flushed.
"Back to work," she muttered, trying to sound stern.
Zhiyuan picked up the pan again, letting her take the spatula. "Yes, Chef," he said, smirking, "but consider this a... motivational exercise."
Laughter mingled with playful teasing as they returned to cooking side by side, fingers brushing occasionally. By the time they sat down to eat, flour dusted their sleeves, and honey still lingered faintly on her lips. The kitchen chaos had transformed into warmth, closeness, and that private spark that belonged only to them.
After dinner, Xinyi leaned against the counter, cleaning up while Zhiyuan leaned in from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You're hopelessly stubborn," he murmured.
"And you're hopelessly meddlesome," she shot back, though her lips curved in amusement.
He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "Maybe, but I like being involved."
The evening faded into quiet laughter and conversation, the kind that only existed in the comfort of their own home. Eventually, Xinyi perched on the couch, exhaustion creeping in from the day's chaos. Zhiyuan joined her, stretching out beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders.
"Midnight snack?" she asked, smirking, holding up a small leftover pancake.
He leaned in, brushing his lips against her cheek. "Only if you feed me first," he murmured.
She laughed softly, offering him a bite. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," he said, taking the pancake, "but I'm yours."
The room settled into quiet warmth, laughter fading into contented sighs. Fingers intertwined, they leaned back together, sharing soft conversation, gentle touches, and the rare, comforting peace that came from knowing they were home—and always home to each other.
As Xinyi's eyes grew heavy, she murmured, "Zhiyuan..."
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Sleep, Xinyi. We have tomorrow, and the day after... and always."
And in that shared, quiet intimacy, the chaos of cooking disasters and midnight conversations melted into a serene closeness—the kind that spoke of love, trust, and a lifetime together, just as it had been, and would always be.