Morning sunlight barely crept through the curtains when Niah attempted to make breakfast like any normal person. But Niah, being Niah was not a normal, functioning adult. Within minutes, the kitchen was filled with the unmistakable scent of something burning. As usual.
Zaire caught the smell before he even made it down the hall. He followed it like a bloodhound, eyes narrowing as he stepped into the kitchen and froze. "What… in the many names of the Veil… is that?"
Niah spun around, a cloud of flour erupting around her like she'd just lost a fight with a bakery. She gripped a wooden spoon like she was about to duel him. "It was supposed to be pancakes."
Zaire arched an eyebrow, lips twitching. "Was it, though?"
"Don't sass me! You startled me, and I flipped it too hard. It's not entirely my fault," she shot back, cheeks flushed and eyes defiant.
He peered into the pan. The pancake looked like it had survived a brutal war and lost.
Niah glared, daring him to say a word. "Say nothing or else I'll stab you with this spoon."
The kitchen went silent for 10 seconds straight and then Zaire started, "Honestly, I'm just impressed. I didn't even know flour could burn like that," he said, pointing to the burnt pan grinning.
She huffed, waving a kitchen cloth at him as if she could shoo away both the smoke and his amusement. "I'm trying, okay? Jules always makes it look so easy, and I thought I'd surprise you with a—" She stopped, staring at the charred mess in the pan. "…never mind."
Zaire gently took the pan from her, setting it aside with exaggerated care, fighting back a laugh. "So, you wanted to make breakfast for me?"
She crossed her arms, already on the defensive. "Don't make it a thing."
He leaned in, dropping his voice to a mock-serious whisper, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's already a thing Esme."
Niah turned away, cheeks turning a shade pinker, mumbling something about not poisoning anyone with love.
Zaire's laugh was soft, but it filled the kitchen.
"I don't need perfect pancakes," he said, still grinning. "Honestly, I'd settle for surviving the kitchen."
She shot him a look over her shoulder, deadpan. "Oh, ha ha ha...So funny"
He stepped closer, brushing a streak of flour from her shoulder with a gentle hand. "You've got the magic of an ancient protector running through your veins, and this is your greatest challenge?"
Niah glanced back at him, lips twitching like she was fighting a smile. "Maybe I was destined to save the world. Just… not breakfast."
Zaire's smirk was pure delight, his voice low and teasing. "I must say, your priorities are in order."
And without any warning, he reached around her for the mug on the counter, the one with tiny cat ears she'd sworn was off-limits to everyone else and took a sip. Niah's jaw dropped in a mock outrage.
"Zaire."
"Yes?" he replied, completely unfazed.
She pointed dramatically at the mug, as if he'd just broken some sacred law. "That's MY mug."
Zaire leaned back, utterly unbothered. "Possession is nine-tenths of—"
She cut him off, her eyes narrowing. "Finish that sentence and I'll hex your tea."
He grinned, slow and knowing. "I won't. Promise, promise." holding both his arms up surrendering to her.
Niah tried to look annoyed, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. Their laughter tangled with the faint, persistent beeping of the smoke alarm, still going off, because of course she hadn't bothered to turn it off yet.
And in that messy, smoke-filled kitchen, with burnt pancakes, stolen mugs, and banter that sparkled brighter than the morning sun, Niah felt something, a warmth that made her forget, just for a moment, the heavy shadows of her unraveling past.
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