🅘𝙢𝕒🅰🄶Ꭵ𝓷ɛ𐌔 ... m. morales

ii

𝐊𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫
...

The kitchen was a canvas of chaos and joy as Miles, (Y.name), and Jefferson attempted to create a surprise birthday treat for Rio. The plan had sounded simple enough: bake ensaïmada, while she was at work. However, as the trio embarked on this culinary adventure, it became evident that none of them were quite prepared for the challenge.

Miles stood at the counter, frowning slightly as he tried to dredge up memories of the last time he’d been in the kitchen with his mom. He could recall snippets of her making cupcakes when he was six—how she’d let him mix the batter or help with the frosting. But that was years ago, and cupcakes were far from ensaïmada.

(Y.name), ever the organized one, had taken charge of reading the recipe aloud, their phone in hand as they scrolled through the steps. “Okay, so we need bread flour, eggs, butter, sugar, and... milk.” Their brow furrowed as they looked around the kitchen. “Uh, where’s the milk?”

Miles and his dad exchanged a look before Jefferson shrugged, grabbing his car keys. “I’ll make a quick run to the store. Be back in no time.”

As he headed for the door, (Y.name) couldn’t resist a grin. “Just don’t pull a disappearing act like every dad in a canon story!”

Miles chuckled, nudging them with his elbow. “Hey, give my dad some credit.”

Jefferson laughed as he stepped out, the sound of the car engine humming to life a moment later. With the departure of the elder Morales, the kitchen felt quieter, the air thick with something unspoken—a tension that was almost tangible. Miles could feel it in the way his heart quickened whenever (Y.name) was close, the way his palms grew a little sweaty at the thought of their inevitable, accidental touches.

“So, flour first?” (Y.name) suggested, turning their attention back to the counter. Miles nodded, reaching for the bag of bread flour. As he poured it into a large mixing bowl, he glanced over at (Y.name), who was watching him with a mischievous glint in their eye.

Before he could react, (Y.name) scooped up a handful of flour and flicked it at him, the white powder dusting his shirt and sending a small cloud into the air. “Hey!” Miles exclaimed, laughing as he brushed the flour off his clothes. He retaliated by grabbing a handful of flour himself and gently sprinkling it over their head, watching as it settled in their (h.colour) hair like snowflakes.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it now!” (Y.name) warned, laughing as they dodged another sprinkle, the kitchen quickly becoming a battlefield of flour and giggles —only stopping when they noticed the mess below them. Their playful flour fight ended with both of them slightly dusted in white, grinning like kids.

When the laughter finally died down, they turned back to the task at hand, cracking eggs into the bowl and adding the butter (Y.name) had carefully sliced. Miles spread some flour on a chopping board, preparing to roll out the dough—a task he felt oddly confident about.

“I remember this part,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. He placed the dough on the board and began to knead and roll it, the motions coming back to him more easily than he had expected. (Y.name) moved closer, their curiosity piqued as they watched him work.

“How do you do that?” (Y.name) asked, their voice soft, almost reverent —a soothing rhythm Miles would listen to everyday.

Miles hesitated for a moment, feeling his pulse quicken as they stood so close. He swallowed hard, then nodded. “Here, let me show you.”

He stepped behind them, his breath catching as he took their hands in his. The warmth of their skin sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Gently, he guided their hands onto the rolling pin, his arms encircling them as they began to work the dough together.