They made their way to the small kitchen, where the midday light filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over the wooden counters. Mr. Dand had already tidied up from breakfast, leaving them with a clean space.
Artur glanced around, then rolled up his sleeves. "Alright, let's make something simple."
Billy propped his elbows on the counter, a smirk already forming. "You're really serious about this?"
Artur smirked. "You challenged me, remember? Now you have to suffer the consequences."
Billy chuckled. "Alright, chef. Impress me."
As Artur rummaged through the kitchen for ingredients, Billy found himself smiling. The teasing, the warmth, the quiet moments—it felt like something was shifting between them, something softer and unspoken.
And he didn't mind it at all.
Artur stood by the counter, looking way too confident as he placed a few ingredients down—eggs, some vegetables, and a bag of flour. Billy hovered near the doorway, arms loosely crossed, watching the show unfold.
Billy smirked. "You look like you know what you're doing."
Artur grabbed a knife and twirled it between his fingers. "Of course. Cooking is just like—"
The knife slipped from his grip, barely missing his foot as it clattered onto the floor.
Billy burst out laughing. "Yeah, yeah, go on. Cooking is just like what?"
Artur picked up the knife, clearing his throat. "Like… handling a sword."
Billy shook his head. "If that's how you handle a sword, I fear for your enemies."
Artur rolled his eyes. "Fine. Maybe I'm not that skilled. But I can still make something decent."
Billy stepped closer. "Alright, chef. Show me what you've got."
Artur cracked an egg into a bowl, his posture straightening as if he were performing in front of an audience. The first egg landed perfectly. The second… not so much. The shell broke awkwardly, bits falling into the bowl.
Billy leaned over, grinning. "Is this part of your technique?"
Artur exhaled, fishing out the eggshell pieces. "It adds texture."
Billy laughed, reaching over to help. "Here, let me do it." He cracked an egg effortlessly, flashing Artur a smug smile.
Artur narrowed his eyes. "Show-off."
Billy wiggled his fingers. "What can I say? Some of us have natural talent."
Artur flicked flour at him.
Billy gasped. "Did you just—"
Before he could react, Artur grabbed another pinch of flour and smudged it on Billy's nose.
Billy blinked, momentarily stunned. A slow smile tugged at his lips as he wiped his nose, eyes locked on Artur like he was planning revenge. "Oh, you're playing dirty now?"
Artur grinned. "What are you gonna do about it?"
Billy didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed a handful of flour and—
Puff!
A cloud of white dust exploded between them as Billy smacked the flour straight onto Artur's shirt.
Artur coughed, looking down at himself, then back up at Billy, who was already grinning in victory. "You…"
Billy took a step back, raising his hands. "Now, now. Let's be reasonable—"
Artur lunged.
Billy yelped, dodging around the table, laughing. "I surrender! I surrender!"
Artur chased him around the small kitchen, both of them laughing like kids, flour dusting their clothes and the floor.
Finally, Artur caught Billy by the wrist, pulling him close. Their laughter softened as they stood there, still breathless, inches apart.
Billy's eyes dropped to the mess between them—flour streaks, scuffed floor, but all he really noticed was how close they stood, how easy it felt. 'We made a mess,' he said, his voice softer now.
Artur's voice was quieter now. "Yeah. We did."
Neither of them moved.
Billy's heart pounded, the teasing moment shifting into something softer, something almost too warm. He exhaled, his fingers still resting against Artur's.
Then, Artur smirked. "Guess we'll have to clean up together."
Billy groaned. "You just want an excuse to keep me here longer, don't you?"
Artur's grip tightened slightly. "Maybe."
Billy chuckled. "Fine. But I'm not washing your clothes."
Artur laughed. "Deal."
And just like that, they went back to cleaning—but the warmth between them remained, lingering in every glance, every accidental touch.
Billy dusted flour off his hands, still chuckling. The kitchen looked like a disaster zone—flour-covered counters, bits of eggshell near the bowl, and a faint cloud of white powder still hanging in the air. Artur stood beside him, equally covered in flour, a lopsided grin on his face.
Billy sighed dramatically. "Look at this mess. This is why you should stay away from the kitchen."
Artur smirked, brushing flour off his arms. "Oh, please. You act like this wasn't your fault."
Billy scoffed. "My fault? You're the one who dropped eggshells into the batter!"
Artur feigns innocence. "I was creating ambiance."
Billy snorts. "Ambiance? It looks like a snowstorm fought a bakery."
Artur folded his arms, feigning deep thought. "Hmm. True. But you're the one who started the flour war."
Billy rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the amused smile from creeping onto his face. "Fine. I'll clean it up. Since I'm the responsible one here."
Artur leaned against the counter, watching him. "Oh? So now you're taking responsibility?"
Billy picked up a cloth and wiped the counter. "Unlike some people, I don't just make a mess and walk away."
Artur grabbed another cloth, stepping closer. "Alright, alright. Let's clean up together. But you do realize this means I get to stay close, right?"
Billy glanced up at him, catching the teasing glint in Artur's eyes. "You just don't want to be alone in your shame."
Artur grinned. "Exactly."
They worked side by side, wiping flour off the counters, sweeping up the mess, and occasionally bumping into each other. Each touch felt intentional—small brushes of their hands, shoulders knocking together, quiet laughter lingering between them.
Billy reached for a towel, but Artur grabbed it at the same time. Their hands overlapped. Neither of them moved.
Billy looked up, meeting Artur's gaze. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, Artur smirked. "Are you going to let go, or are we going to stand here forever?"
Billy held his gaze, then suddenly pulled the towel free. "I could leave you here forever. Covered in flour. A tragic sight."
Artur chuckled, shaking his head. "Cruel."
Billy grinned, throwing the towel at Artur's chest. "Come on, partner in crime. Let's finish this before your dad sees."
Artur caught the towel, his eyes lingering on Billy for a second longer before they got back to work—cleaning, teasing, and enjoying the easy closeness between them.
The kitchen was almost spotless again. Almost.
Billy wiped the last bit of flour from the counter, stepping back to admire their work. "There. Crisis averted. No evidence of your attempt at cooking."
Artur scoffed, arms crossed. "You make it sound like I nearly burned the place down."
Billy arched a brow. "With your skills? It was a real possibility."
Artur gasped dramatically. "The betrayal. After all we've been through?"
Billy smirked, flicking a tiny bit of flour from his sleeve. "You'll live."
Artur leaned against the counter, eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh? And how will I recover from such deep wounds?"
Billy tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm… Maybe a real cook should make you something decent to eat. You've been through a traumatizing experience, after all."
Artur grinned. "Are you offering?"
Billy shrugged. "Maybe."
Artur stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You did say you'd take responsibility."
Billy rolled his eyes, but he couldn't ignore the way his heart did a little flip at Artur's closeness. "Fine. But you're not allowed to touch anything this time."
Artur raised his hands in surrender. "I'll just sit back and admire your skills."
Billy turned toward the stove, shaking his head fondly. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't distract me."
Artur hummed behind him, stepping back to take a seat at the small table. "No promises."
Billy focused on cooking, but he could feel Artur's eyes on him the entire time. Every time he glanced over, Artur was either smirking or pretending to be busy with something else.
At one point, Billy caught him resting his chin on his hand, watching him like he was the most interesting thing in the room.
Billy scoffed. "You're staring."
Artur smirked. "I'm admiring."
Billy turned back to the stove, shaking his head, but he couldn't stop the warmth spreading across his face.
Artur leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "So… do I get a special dish? Or am I just getting whatever you feel like making?"
Billy glanced over his shoulder. "Special dish? Do you deserve one?"
Artur grinned. "Of course. I'm your favorite person, after all."
Billy scoffed, but his lips twitched. "Confident, aren't you?"
Artur shrugged. "I mean, you're cooking for me, cleaning up after me… sounds like you care a lot."
Billy sighed dramatically. "I regret this already."
Artur laughed, tapping his fingers against the table. "No, you don't."
Billy didn't respond—but he didn't deny it either.
The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the kitchen as Billy plated the final dish. He set the bowl down in front of Artur with a satisfied nod. "There. A meal that won't send you to the hospital."
Artur leaned in, inhaling the scent. "Smells amazing. Are you sure you didn't put extra effort into this just for me?"
Billy rolled his eyes, handing him a spoon. "Just eat before it gets cold."
Artur grinned but obediently took a bite. The moment the flavors hit his tongue, he let out an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction. "Wow. You're really good at this."
Billy smirked, watching him. "Better than your cooking?"
Artur paused, pretending to think. "Hmm… I don't know. My version had a little extra crunch."
Billy shot him a look. "That 'crunch' was eggshells."
Artur chuckled. "Details, details."
Shaking his head, Billy sat across from him with his own plate, finally allowing himself to relax. He took a bite, glancing up when he noticed Artur still watching him. "What?"
Artur grinned. "I just like seeing you like this."
Billy blinked. "Like what?"
Artur shrugged, stirring his food lazily. "At ease. Enjoying yourself."
Billy lowered his gaze, hiding the small smile tugging at his lips. "You say the weirdest things sometimes."
Artur chuckled but didn't argue. They ate in comfortable silence after that, the warmth of the moment settling between them like an unspoken understanding.
Once they were done, Billy stretched, glancing around the now-clean kitchen. "Alright. We've cooked, we've eaten. I'd say we've redeemed ourselves for the disaster earlier."
Artur leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed. "And we didn't even burn the place down."
Billy snorted. 'That's the real victory here—no fire, no bloodshed, just... us.
A quiet day that actually felt good.'
Artur smirked. "You know… I could get used to this."
Billy arched a brow. "Making a mess in the kitchen?"
Artur shook his head. "No. Us. Cooking together. Spending time like this."
Billy felt his heart skip a beat, but he masked it with a scoff. "You're getting sentimental on me now?"
Artur smirked. "Maybe."
Billy stood, grabbing the dishes. "Well, don't get used to it. I'm not cleaning up your mess every time."
Artur chuckled, getting up to help. "Fair enough."
Together, they finished tidying up, the warmth of their laughter lingering long after the last dish was put away.
As the last dish clinked into place and the kitchen was finally spotless—well, mostly—Billy wiped his hands on a towel and turned around, only to find Artur still standing close behind him.
Too close.
Artur wasn't even pretending to be useful anymore; his hands were in his pockets, his shoulder leaning lightly against the counter, his gaze fixed entirely on Billy. The soft golden light from the window caught in his hair, and there was that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips.
Billy arched a brow. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Artur shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "I like seeing you in my kitchen."
Billy rolled his eyes. "It's your dad's kitchen."
Artur leaned in just slightly. "Details."
Billy let out a breathy chuckle, trying not to show how flustered he felt with the way Artur was looking at him. "If you're trying to distract me with compliments, it's working. And I'm annoyed about it."
Artur laughed. "I'd be worried if it wasn't working."
Billy stepped away, heading toward the window with a playful shake of his head. "You're impossible, you know that?"
Artur followed casually. "Yeah. But you like me anyway."
Billy didn't turn around this time, but he didn't move away either. "Maybe," he muttered.
Artur tilted his head, standing beside him now, their shoulders just barely brushing. "Only maybe?"
Billy finally looked at him, his voice quieter, teasing but soft. "You need to earn more than a 'maybe.'"
Artur smirked. "How?"
Billy leaned closer, voice lower now. "Not burning eggs would be a good start."
They both burst out laughing, the tension melting into warm familiarity again.
After a beat, Artur reached up and gently brushed a speck of flour still clinging to Billy's cheek. His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary, and this time, neither of them looked away.
The moment stretched, comfortable and close.
Artur lowered his hand but didn't break eye contact. "You really mean it, though? You like being here?"
Billy gave a tiny nod. "Yeah. I do."
Artur's smile softened. "Good. 'Cause I like you here, too."
Billy didn't say anything for a second—just looked at him with that rare, open expression that held no sarcasm, no teasing.
Only honesty.
Then, quietly, he said, "I'm not going anywhere."
Artur's smile deepened, and he nudged Billy gently with his shoulder. "That's all I wanted to hear."
Billy shook his head, grinning. "You're so clingy."
"And you're still here," Artur said with a wink.
Billy bumped into him playfully, their laughter echoing softly in the kitchen.
Outside, the sun was rising higher, casting a glow across the wooden floor, and inside, everything felt a little bit lighter—like something unspoken had been said in all the little looks, all the shared silence.
Like maybe, just maybe, this wasn't just a good morning.
It was the start of something deeper.