Kane cracked another egg into the bowl, whisking with deliberate precision while his tail continued its maddening dance around Cyrus's wrist.
"I'll make proper bacon and eggs. Maybe some toast—"
"No."
The single word came out sharper than Cyrus intended. Kane paused mid-whisk, amber eyes flicking up to meet his.
"No?"
Cyrus straightened, pulling his wrist free from Kane's tail with visible effort.
His pride stung from the kitchen disaster, and the thought of Kane cleaning up his mess—again—twisted something uncomfortable in his chest.
"I mean," Cyrus cleared his throat, "let me order something. Proper food."
Kane tilted his head, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips.
"Proper food? Unlike my cooking?"
"That's not what I—"
Heat crept up Cyrus's neck. Kane's cooking had been perfect, thoughtful, and exactly what he'd needed. But admitting defeat to a smoking pan felt too much like admitting weakness.
"I want to treat you to something good," Cyrus said stiffly.
