Gabriel's keys jingled softly in the lock as he stepped inside, the familiar scent of garlic and butter instantly hitting him.
His brow arched slightly at the sight before him.
The kitchen was chaos incarnate—pots scattered, ingredients half-chopped, and a thin haze of flour dusted the counters.
Ethan was at the stove, hoodie sleeves rolled up, phone propped against the spice rack, eyes glued to a YouTube tutorial.
He muttered under his breath, swiping at the pan, tossing pasta like a maestro struggling with his first symphony.
"Damn it… not like that… no, no…" Ethan grumbled, flipping a piece of pasta with a wooden spoon, a bit of sauce splattering across the counter.
Gabriel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Trying to set the kitchen on fire before I get here?"
