"See?" she said, trying to sound composed. "Perfect."

Bruce hummed softly behind her, the sound vibrating faintly where his chin nearly brushed her shoulder.

"We’ll see."

She poured the eggs into the pan.

The mixture spread evenly, cooking smoothly. No hesitation. No uneven texture. Just the soft, golden bloom of something done right.

Bruce watched carefully this time. No teasing. Just observation.

Sophie felt the shift.

"...Well?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Good heat control."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly.

"And your timing is better."

A small smile formed on her lips.

"Of course it is."

She moved with more confidence now, tilting the pan slightly, folding the omelette with careful precision, letting it cook just enough without overdoing it. Her movements had found their rhythm again, steady, sure, practiced.

Bruce’s hands remained at her waist. Steady. Warm. Not distracting now. Just there. Grounding her the way he always did, even when he didn’t mean to.

When she finally plated it, the omelette settled onto the dish in a soft, golden fold, faintly glistening in the low kitchen light. She turned slightly, holding it up just enough for him to see.

"Well?"

Bruce looked at it.

Then at her.

Then back at it.

"...Acceptable."

Sophie stared at him.

"...Acceptable?"

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"You’ve improved a lot."

She narrowed her eyes.

Then—

Smiled anyway.

"Good," she said softly. "Because you’re eating all of it."

Bruce stepped closer, one hand leaving her waist to take the plate, his fingers brushing lightly against hers in the exchange.

"I planned to."

Sophie leaned lightly against him again, just for a moment, her earlier composure melting back into something softer. Her temple brushed the edge of his shoulder as she let herself rest there, just briefly, as though the act of cooking had taken something out of her that only his closeness could put back.

"Next time," she murmured, "I’ll make something harder."

Bruce glanced down at her, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"I’ll be there to observe."

She smiled.

"I know."

For a moment, neither of them moved. The kitchen settled around them, warm and quiet, the faint hum of the formations in the walls blending with the soft sigh of butter still cooling in the pan.

Then Sophie nudged him lightly, her shoulder brushing against his arm.

"Well? Are you just going to stare at it or actually taste it?"

Bruce looked down at the omelette in his hand, then back at her.

"I was building anticipation."

"You’re stalling."

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he picked up a fork, cutting into it with the ease that came from familiarity. The texture held perfectly, soft, but not runny. Structured, but not stiff. Exactly the way he’d taught her, once, a long time ago in this exact kitchen.

Sophie watched him. Closely. Too closely.

"Your gaze is intense," he said without looking up.

"I’m waiting."

"For?"

"Your verdict."

Bruce took a bite. Chewed slowly. Deliberately. As though the act of judging it required his full attention, which, in a way, it did.

Sophie’s fingers curled slightly at her sides. "... Bruce."

He swallowed.

Then looked at her.

"It’s good."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"That’s it?"

He tilted his head a fraction. "Do you want a longer analysis?"

"Yes."

Bruce considered for a moment, then spoke calmly.

"The texture is consistent. You controlled the heat properly, no overcooking on the edges. The balance is better than before. You didn’t rush the fold."

Sophie tried to stay serious.

She failed.

A small, pleased smile slipped through anyway, tugging at the corner of her mouth before she could stop it.

"And?" she pressed.

"And," Bruce added, his tone softer now, "it tastes good."

That did it.

Her shoulders relaxed completely, the last trace of tension melting out of her.

"Of course it does," she said, but there was no bite to it. Just quiet satisfaction. The kind that came from wanting to impress someone and finding out you had.

Bruce took another bite.

Then another.

Sophie watched for a moment longer, something warm settling in her chest at the simple sight of him eating something she had made, before she turned back to the counter.

"I’m not so good with praises, but you did a very good job... It leaves me wanting for more..."

"Then I’m making more," she said, already reaching for the eggs again.

Bruce glanced at her. "You don’t have to."

"I know," she replied, her voice soft. "I want to, it’s not a big of a deal making more food for my husband."

There was a simple certainty in her tone. The kind that didn’t need to be argued with. Bruce smiled as he watched her pick up another egg, tapping it gently against the rim of the bowl.

Crack

Clean again. Effortless this time.

Bruce leaned against the counter beside her now, watching her from the side as he continued eating, his fork moving unhurried between bites.

"You’re more confident," he noted.

"I told you I improved."

"You did."

Sophie smiled faintly to herself as she cracked another egg, her movements smooth, almost effortless now, practiced in the way things became when you’d done them quietly, again and again, hoping someone would one day notice.

"And besides," she added, glancing at him briefly, "you haven’t had this in a while, so it’s good to eat a lot, who knows how long it’ll be before you eat some omelette again."

Bruce didn’t respond immediately.

He just watched her. The way she moved. The way she focused. The way she seemed comfortable here, in this kitchen, in this moment, in this life she was building with him.

Then—

"Make extra."

Sophie shrugged lightly, though there was a softness in it that gave her away.

"Ok my love."

Bruce finished the last bite, setting the plate aside as he stepped closer again as he watched her cook.

His hands found her waist once more, naturally this time, as though they had always belonged there. As though his body had simply decided, somewhere along the way, that this was where his hands went when she was standing in front of him.

Sophie exhaled quietly but didn’t stop what she was doing.

"You’re doing it again."

"You didn’t say to stop."

"Yes, I love it keep going."