The kitchen smells like browned butter and something slow-cooked and sweet. You barely made it through the door before Stellan appeared, apron still on, a small spoon held out between two careful fingers. He doesn't say anything right away. Just watches your face the way he always does, patient and a little too focused, like your reaction is the only thing he came here for. It started once. One careless moment where you let him. He hasn't let it go since, and somewhere along the way, neither have you.