𝚆𝚎𝚊𝚔//ᴍᴏʙʟɪᴛ ʙᴇʀɴᴇʀ

5. Sunday

You watched as your husband mixed the ingredients faithfully, putting his elbow into it as the flour, sugar, and multiple other items crumbled together to form one proper combination that could be called cookie dough.

The mere smell of it from your place -leaning onto the counter next to him- made your mouth water -and it wasn't even cooking yet.

It had been you who had suggested the idea earlier, asking the cinnamon-haired man if he'd like to bake with you while you both still had a day off -and after a few moments of you begging with him to get out of bed, he finally agreed and worked his way out of the comforting covers. As it turned out however, you didn't really feel like baking that much -you only longed for the results that would come out of such pastimes; which was exactly how you were currently watching him mix as he worked away, despite it being your idea.

And, in your defence, you did offer to help more.

It's just that he didn't seem to accept your offers, and whether or not it was because you ended up making dinner for the both of you most nights, as your shift ended before his, you had no clue. You weren't going to complain though, and instead opted to merely go and get a baking sheet that the two of you could use to place the cookies on once everything was mixed to Moblit's satisfaction.

Placing the metal sheet on a nearby counter gently, you listened to the small click it gave as you then went to a nearby drawer to get a spoon -one smaller than what Moblit was working with so then you could scoop balls of cookie dough that weren't absolutely humongous and wouldn't be simply too big to hold.

You guessed that he wasn't yet satisfied with how the dough was coming along, because he soon hunched over his shoulders a little more as you heard the pacing of his mixing quicken, the bottom of the bowl able to be seen from your placement behind him as he rested the bowl on its side. Caramel-coloured tresses swished around his head slightly, their tinting reminding you how sweet the man was at his heart; every day since your marriage with him had been one to look forwards to, even on those days where you weren't able to see him as much as you would have liked.

To you, he was the definition of perfection; loving, considerate, Moblit.

A soft curve touched to your lips as you watched him, gentle in your loving stare, "Hey Mob?"

"Hm?"

"Can I tell you something?"

"You just did."

You rolled your eyes, unable to bite back the grin that fell on your lips regardless of how cheesy the whole encounter was as a snort of yours broke out into the air, "You know what I mean."

A small chuckle escaped him as he turned towards you, his arms still working on the bowl that rested partially on the counter as he sent a closed eye smile your way -and to you, it was wholesome on all accounts, "By all means, the stage is yours."

"I love you Moblit. I do, I really, truly do."

He raised a brow, "And who are you? Where's (Y/N)?"

"Oh, cut it out Mob -let me be sappy just this once!"

"Yeah, yeah," he spoke in a drawled out tone, and you could imagine the wave of his hand he would provide to dismiss your supposed annoyance altogether if he wasn't occupied, "I love you too."

The rest of the day was spent at your shared house, the both of you tidying up and the like while munching on cookies sporadically -and while one might call it mundane and boring, you wouldn't have changed a single thing.

Sunday he had made memories that you would cherish forever.

not me coming back after like a month lmaoah well