A cracked shell oozes a single, yellow yolk onto heated metal, followed soon after by the transparent liquid that surrounded it. Fingertips covered with residue, she darts towards the sink, rinses, dries, then goes back to work. And the sounds of morning breakfast repeat once more:

Sizzle. Crack! Pop!

She watches her work from where she stands, a spatula held in one hand, the pan in the other. But then a pair of arms are wrapped around her stomach and she yelps, a warm breath of words brushing against her cheek;

"Good morning, my dear."

Her shock morphs into surprise as she glances at him. "Blumiere! You're up quite early today."

His soft laughter rumbles out onto the crook of her neck, a soothing sensation that relaxes her. "I am indeed, surprisingly enough. I suppose it was the delicious scent of your cooking that woke me. Speaking of which," he glances at the contents of the pan and smiles. "I see you're preparing eggs today."

She grins, turning back to her work to flip one of them. "Mhm. We'll be having your favorite for today's breakfast; if I don't happen to burn any of it by accident." A nudge to his side punctuates her words. He chooses to ignore it, instead giving her a puzzled look. Or rather, he tries to, but the glimmer in his eyes say he's anything but, otherwise.

"Oh? And why would you say that?"

"Because," she starts, "as much as I like you holding me while I'm cooking, it tends to be quite distracting," his hold tightens around her in response. She huffs. "—and I'm certain you wouldn't want your food to be overly crispy now, would you?"

"Hmm... I suppose not." And like that, his hold releases her, the absence of his warmth replaced with a bitter cold. He's at her side now, watching her work with his arms crossed. "Isn't there anything I can help you with, though?"

"If by help you mean preparing a steaming pot of tea," she looks up at him, a smile playing on her lips. "—Then yes, there is."

He nods. "Ah, I'll do that, then."

They two fall into silence after that. Little questions or small comments are passed every now and then, like asking where the sugar was, or how something smells good, or if one of them could pass a plate or a spoon. It's comfortable— being able to cook with one another, that is. Most of the time Blumiere would only have so much time to prepare before he leaves for work, and so it usually fell on Timpani to cook breakfast because one: she wakes up earlier than him, and two: she enjoys the little, quick kisses he gives her before going off. It was a worthy reward for her work in her opinion.

But today he's off from work, and so here they are, quietly eating at the table. And then an hour passes, and breakfast is finished quickly enough (considering that it was only made up of eggs, toast and butter of course). They both clean up after themselves, washing the dishes together side by side. He's the first one to break the silence.

"... Timpani?"

"Hmm?" She looks up to see his figure leaning down, his lips pressed softly against her cheek. Oh. Pink dusts her cheeks as he pulls away, gazing down at her with warmth in his smile.

"I love you."

She sighs, her head resting upon his shoulder. The plate she had been washing is lowered into the sink, forgotten for this precious moment. "I love you too, Blumiere."