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Poe hadn’t dabbled into baking and cooking before the war - only the basic skills critical to survival. Even now, on the base, all the food they needed was provided in the cafeteria. But as Poe settled into a life that wasn’t constantly under threat, he found an appreciation for the way preparing food settled his mind. Turning ingredients into dishes he could share with Hux, with his friends - it gave him a feeling of home, of permanence.
He stood at the kitchen island in the quarters shared with Hux. The mass of dough before him was still clinging to the counter and his palms as he pushed it away. He folded the dough in half, pressing it back together. The first time he had ever made his own bread, he had a hard time believing something this sticky could be shaped and baked into anything resembling a golden loaf. But with time and careful kneading, he had watched the misshapen lump turn silky and supple under his hands. Now he was content to get lost in the rhythm of pressing and pushing until he reached the texture he needed.
“What are you doing?”
Poe turned around at the familiar voice. Hux had just stepped through the front door to their apartment, letting it close behind him. His hair was tousled and his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink from the cool wind that had started to blow in the afternoon.
“Hey, Hugs,” Poe said, smiling. “How was work?”
“Good,” Hux replied. He set down his bag and moved towards the kitchen. “We’re making quite a bit of progress on the new water treatment design.”
After much deliberation for what to do with his unexpected freedom, Hux had started to collaborate with Rose on some of her civil engineering projects. Their office was a fifteen minute walk away, and Poe often suspected that if Hux didn’t have someone to come home to, he’d never leave. Hux’s mind constantly whirred with ideas, and he preferred to hash them out in the office where he had ample space.
“What are you doing?” Hux repeated, pressing close to Poe’s shoulder.
Poe turned so Hux could see the counter. “I told Rey I’d bring cinnamon rolls over for brunch tomorrow.”
Finn and Rey had just returned from traveling off-world for a few months. When they had sent a brunch invitation to Poe and Hux, Poe had been pleased, and amused, that Hux’s initial confusion about the invitation wasn’t why they had included him, but rather, what the word ‘brunch’ meant.
“Like a meal between breakfast and lunch. Brunch,” Poe had explained to Hux.
“You eat three times? That’s quite excessive.”
“No, it’s instead of breakfast and lunch. In the middle.”
Hux had muttered something sounding suspiciously like more republic nonsense. When Poe thought about the conversation now, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Have you had a cinnamon roll before?” Poe inquired.
“Yes, of course I have,” Hux snapped.
Poe blinked, hands stilling. Hux’s quick temper could still catch him off guard. Sometimes when he lashed out like this, it was from a place of embarrassment. Other times, it was from the deep web of anger inside him that Poe knew he was still working to untangle.
As he resumed kneading the dough, Poe deliberated on what to say next. He hadn’t intended the question to be unkind. He figured it was unlikely the First Order had doled out anything sweet, and there were all sorts of experiences Hux had discovered for the first time in his new life. Things Hux either didn’t know or considered a luxury might be a common staple for Poe. While he loved sharing these new experiences with Hux, it also made his chest ache to realize all the ways Hux had been denied before. He’d give him the world if he thought Hux wouldn’t scoff at the excess.
“All right, well, I have this great recipe I want everyone to try,” Poe said. “My mom used to make them after we settled in Yavin. My dad and I made them a few times after she died, but I’ve never really done it on my own before. And anytime she asked me to help, I think I just tried to sneak pieces of dough instead.” He smiled at the memory. It was hard to feel close to his mom. Flying had always given him the feeling she was with him, but he hadn’t realized how much he would miss that feeling until after the war. After all, he couldn’t spend everyday up in the sky.
“When was the last time you had one, you think?” Poe asked. When there was no response, Poe turned back around to see Hux staring at the counter, his expression lost.
“Hux? You all right?” Poe reached for a towel to wipe off his hands.
Hux startled out of his trance. “Yes. Yes, I’m quite all right.” He took a step back. “Actually, I forgot, I have some data I should have sent to Tico tonight that’s still in the office.”
“Babe, what’s wrong?” Poe attempted to follow Hux, but he had already retreated to the door, picking up the bag that held his data pad.
“Nothing,” Hux replied, shaking his head. “I just really should go do that. I’ll see you later tonight.”
Poe ran a hand through his hair as the door slid shut. He was worried, but this wasn’t completely abnormal behavior. Hux avoided feelings like a plague, preferring to end conversations abruptly and brood for hours, sometimes days. There were parts of Hux’s life he kept close to his chest, thinking through all possible consequences before he decided to let Poe see them. Being with Hux was the biggest teacher of patience.
Sighing, Poe returned to the counter and finished kneading the dough. He had seen the lost expression before on Hux’s face. The first week they lived together, Poe had woken up alone in the middle of a thunderstorm. He had found Hux outside, standing in the rain, ignoring the downpour that drenched his hair and his clothes. Hux’s eyes had stared out into the night, until Poe tipped his chin up to meet his gaze, asking why he was outside in the rain.
“I couldn’t remember what it felt like,” Hux had said.
Once the dough was the right texture, Poe rolled it into a ball and placed the ball into a bowl. He found an open shelf in the conservator. The dough would rise slowly overnight, and by tomorrow morning, it would be ready to form into rolls.
Give it time, he reminded himself.
Hux returned to the apartment several hours later, dismissing Poe’s questions and skipping dinner in favor of going straight to bed. He claimed he was too tired, but when Poe went to bed that night, the ridged line of Hux’s back told him he was still awake.
Poe laid on his side, reaching out to trace his fingers down Hux’s spine. He found his way in the dark to Hux’s hip where he rested his hand and squeezed softly.
Right before he fell asleep, he felt fingers brush gently against his own.
Early the next morning, Poe found himself at their kitchen island again, this time with Hux sitting across on a stool, sipping his caf. A silence had settled between them and Poe didn’t want to be the first one to break it.
Hux observed while Poe misted the counter with cooking spray. After he set the ball of dough on top, Poe grabbed a rolling pin from a drawer and sprinkled it with enough flour to coat the entire surface.
“I was five,” Hux said suddenly.
Poe paused, looking up.
“You asked me when I last had a cinnamon roll. I was five. And my mother-” Hux stopped talking and looked down at his hands where they curled around his caf.
When he didn’t continue, Poe set down the rolling pin, careful not to make a sound, as if a sudden clang would spook Hux into leaving. He could count on one hand the information he knew about Hux’s mom, and none of that information had ever come from Hux himself. Reaching out, Poe squeezed Hux’s wrist gently.
“Take your time.”
Fiddling with the handle of the mug, Hux watched the caf inside wave back and forth.
“She had made them for my birthday and snuck me into the kitchens for breakfast. She said she wanted it to be our tradition, but…” Hux trailed off. Poe didn’t need him to explain why the tradition had stopped before it even really started. “I think she wanted to teach me how to make them, too? Sometimes I-” He let out a frustrated huff. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Hey,” Poe said, leaning forward and taking each of Hux’s hands into his own. “It does matter.”
“No, it doesn’t!” Hux shrilled, his voice cracking. “It doesn’t matter because you can remember your mother and I can’t! Sometimes I think about her and I can’t- I can’t tell the difference between what I actually remember and what I just-” He pulled his hands away from Poe and rubbed his palms over his forehead, staring down at the counter. “What I just wish might have happened.” The last part was so quiet, Poe almost missed it. “It’s pointless though, isn’t it?” He lifted his head up, eyes damp and looking anywhere but directly at Poe. “None of it matters anymore.”
Poe couldn’t help himself. He moved around the counter and pulled Hux into his arms. With Poe standing and Hux sitting, Hux’s face rested against his shoulder, and he could feel a shaky breath ghost across his neck.
“Of course it matters,” Poe whispered. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby.”
Hux scoffed softly. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know,” Poe said. “But you deserve to have those memories with your mom.”
Hux didn’t contradict him, and they remained silent for a long time, the quiet of the early morning settling around them. The rooms on the base were insulated enough that when their door was sealed, they might have been the only ones awake. And despite the happiness Poe found in showing Hux what the world around them could be, Poe also relished having a safe, quiet place to tuck Hux away in when his mind took him to desolate places.
Hux pulled away, and Poe let him go reluctantly. “I apologize for yelling at you,” Hux said, rubbing his nose.
Poe laughed softly. “It’s all right. I’m made of sterner stuff. Anyway, you can make it up to me by helping me with the rolls.”
“I’ve never done it before,” Hux said, uncertainty coloring his voice.
Poe shrugged. “All good - we’ll do it together.”
He grabbed Hux’s hand and led him around the other side of the counter, handing him the rolling pin.
“First thing we need to do is roll the dough into a rectangle. I’d say let’s do about 12 inches by 8.”
“Do you have something I can use to measure?” Hux asked.
“What? No, you can just eyeball it.”
Hux frowned. “That seems rather imprecise.”
“It doesn’t have to be precise.”
Hux squinted, as he often did when he disapproved of something Poe said. Poe smiled fondly. “All right, all right. Let me find a ruler.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Hux’s head and left the kitchen.
“There should be one in the study,” Hux called after him.
Sure enough, Poe found a ruler in the drawer of Hux’s desk, along with a pencil, and returned to the kitchen. Just in time to see Hux tear off a piece of dough and stick it in his mouth.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
Hux rolled his eyes. “You said yourself you did the same thing.”
Poe laughed and tapped the ruler against Hux’s nose. “Yeah, well, I was a kid. What’s your excuse?”
“Just trying to get the full Poe Dameron experience.”
Poe grinned. “You,” he said, kissing Hux’s nose where the ruler had been, “are too cute.”
Rolling his eyes again, Hux muttered, “hardly.” He tried to hide his smile under his hand, but Poe could see the way his eyes crinkled and his ears turned slightly pink when something pleased him.
Hux used the ruler to mark the counter for the length and width of the dough. Placing the dough in the center, he started to flatten it with the rolling pin, but the pressure he was using was too light to really press it down.
“Here,” Poe said, placing his hands over Hux’s. “Don’t be afraid to press a little harder.” He guided Hux’s hands to roll the pin more firmly.
“I don’t want to make it too thin.”
“You’ll be fine. If it’s too thin, we can always re-roll it.”
With a bit more confidence, Hux continued to roll the dough, filling out his pencil rectangle. Once he was finished, Poe sprinkled the cinnamon and sugar evenly across the top.
“Now you’ll just want to push the bottom so it curls up, and then push the whole thing into a tube,” Poe instructed.
Hux started to try and curl the bottom of the dough, but the cinnamon and sugar made the dough less sticky, and the edge wouldn’t stay curled up enough to let him roll the rest into a tube.
He let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not working.”
“Let’s try this,” Poe said, taking the side of the dough closest to him and tucking it underneath itself. He pinched a bit so it would stay folded. Hux did the same with his end of the dough, copying Poe’s movements. Together, they pushed the dough so it rolled into a tube with the seam against the counter.
“You’re good at this,” Hux said quietly.
“Nah, just not so worried about making a mistake. Worst case scenario, we can always buy something and say we made it.” He winked at Hux. “You wouldn’t give me away.”
“I might.”
Clutching his chest, Poe gasped. “Betrayed. Just for that, I’m not going to let you measure out each roll. We’ll wing it.” He picked up the knife he’d set out to slice the rolls, but Hux swiped it from him.
“You’ll do no such thing, Dameron.”
Poe laughed and stepped back, letting Hux use the ruler to carefully measure where each cut should be made so all the rolls were the same width.
Once the rolls were sliced and laid evenly in the baking pan, Poe put the pan in the oven so they could rise in a confined, humid space.
“They’ll need to double in size before we bake them. Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours,” Poe explained.
Hux hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t move to sit back down on the stool or leave the kitchen. Instead, he stared at the rolls through the oven window, looking a bit wistful. Poe took a seat on the floor and pulled Hux down with him. They leaned against the counter side by side, Poe’s leg pressed against Hux’s.
A thought occurred to Poe and he turned to look at Hux, unsure if Hux would scoff at the idea or not. Then he remembered Hux’s crestfallen face as he’d talked about his mom, and decided to try.
“This could be our tradition,” Poe said. “If you’d like.”
“What, sitting on the floor of our kitchen?” Hux asked, meeting Poe’s eyes.
Poe chuckled. “No, you goof. Cinnamon rolls. We could make them for special occasions. Like our birthdays. Or holidays. Or,” he paused. “Or when you want to remember your mom.”
“Oh,” Hux replied, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Like he wasn’t sure if he had permission. He turned back to the oven. “I always thought traditions should start with more significant event.”
Poe shrugged. “I think some traditions just start because you want to share something together.”
Hux tilted his head back to rest against the cabinet, swallowing heavily. “All right,” he said softly. “This can be ours, then.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” Hux replied, sounding more sure of himself. He turned to look at Poe. Over the last several months, he had stopped putting any kind of pomade in his hair, so his bangs fell across his forehead. “I’d like that.”
They both turned back to the oven. Poe took Hux’s hand in both of his, playing with his fingers. Watching the rolls in the oven like this, it would be hard to spot any changes. But Poe knew it all came down to time. Whether it was more time to simmer, more time to stir, or more time to rise. Eventually you had what you needed. And Poe would give Hux all the time in the world to reclaim the feeling of home he’d lost.