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Aalto tells him about the idea on a warm evening.
They’re watching the sunset together, curled around each other on the floor with their backs cushioned by piles of pillows. His hand is in Jiyan’s hair, mindlessly carding through it. The repeated action, coupled with the sun’s warmth is enough to make the dragon in him feel sleepy.
That’s why he didn’t give it much thought when Aalto asked, “do you want to bake cookies tomorrow?”
Jiyan just grunts, and falls asleep to the sound of Aalto’s laughter.
Truthfully, Jiyan hasn’t made anything to eat for a long time, much less for himself.
As a child, he used to do it all the time, washing rice as his mother rinses vegetables beside him, trading turns to use the chopping board, pleading to whoever’s manning the stove for a taste test, or sneaking in some little bites himself when he gets to do it. His family used to make meals for whoever had to stay the night, and they are always savoury, rich in nutrients and protein and whatever else that is good for their patients.
When he goes to war, there’s not enough time or resources to cook a proper meal, so he learns how to make quick, flavourless energy bites and dry rations instead. Then he’s the General, and Jiyan stopped caring about food altogether, biting down on energy pads and pellets whenever he had the time.
He doesn’t remember the last time he’s had proper home-cooked food.
It’s been months now since the seemingly never-ending battle is over, and Jiyan is standing in the middle of a kitchen, the most out of depth he’s been since forever.
Beside him, Aalto is fluttering around, looking as at home as he can be in a red chequered apron, whisking away the bowl of flour and sugar as he asks Jiyan to preheat the oven. He scrambles to do as he was told, trying to make himself be useful, but somehow Aalto catches onto how uncomfortable he is anyways, because he always does.
“It’s alright to not know everything, y’know,” he smiles at Jiyan softly, one hand reaching out to caress his cheek, “relax, we’re just baking cookies, it’s not the end of the world if we get it wrong.”
Jiyan heaves out a sigh and lets his shoulders fall with it, he nuzzles back at the hand, “right.”
It’s not the end of the world if we get it wrong.
Except it feels like it kinda is, because Jiyan is baking these cookies with Aalto, so he doesn’t want them to turn out bad. It’s also a bit because he used to be so at home before in the kitchen, but now he’s not, and Jiyan is on the verge of realising something very big about himself that he’s been ignoring for ages.
He shakes his head to get rid of the thought, and when he checks his reflection on the oven, he freezes.
“Did you put flour on my face, Aalto?”
The muffled giggles that he heard tell him everything he needs to know.
Before the other man can move away, Jiyan pulls him closer by the waist and rubs their cheeks together, holding him in place so that even as Aalto squeals and laughs, he can’t escape from the onslaught.
“Stopppppp,” he whines, “you’re getting flour all over the both of us!”
Jiyan huffs, “that’s the plan.”
“Alright, alright,” Aalto pouts and concedes, but it lasts barely for a second before he’s back to grinning, “but I got you to smile, so I win.”
He didn’t even realise, but Aalto’s right, Jiyan feels lighter than when they started, and there’s a smile on his lips.
He really should ask how Aalto’s doing this to him.
But they still have cookies to make, so he lets him go and focuses back on his job.
It gets fairly easy from there, just measuring the ingredients and making sure that you put them in the right order. The only problem they have is when the mixer stopped working two thirds of the way in, and they resorted to just take turns doing it themselves.
Maybe it is the companionship, but something familiar inside Jiyan settles as he and Aalto pass around the bowl.
They’re portioning the dough when Jiyan speaks up.
“I used to do this all the time.”
A hum. “Baking cookies?”
“Among other things.” He hesitates, fingers tracing the tray’s edges, “a lot of time spent in the kitchen in general. Cooking rice, making soup with my mother, things like that, it’s just…”
“Just…?” Aalto prompts once he sees him double guessing himself.
“It’s jarring, is all, I know time changes everyone, but I’ve never expected it to bring me so far away from who I was.” Jiyan frowns, “I’ll never regret who I am today, but I just wish that I've kept more pieces of me to myself.”
Aalto seems to mull this over as he reaches out to smoothen the crinkles on Jiyan’s brows. They stay like that for a while, the air around them contemplative but not heavy, and with the fingers massaging his face Jiyan almost falls asleep.
Eventually, Aalto breaks the silence.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you were very young when you joined the battlefield,” he squishes Jiyan’s cheek, looking displeased, but not at him, “it’s not your fault you didn’t know what to keep and what to throw away, you did your best with what you had, especially considering the circumstances.”
He continues, “you just have to make peace with the person you’ve lost, or could’ve been, ‘sides,” he’s patting Jiyan’s face with both of his hands now, “you can always relearn an old skill, or learn a new one, call it another chapter of your life, if you will, and like last time, you’re not doing it alone.”
“That's true,” Jiyan smiles appreciatively, before pulling Aalto in for a kiss, “I have you by my side.”
Some time after that:
“Can Encore have another one, pleaseeee?” Encore pleads, hands tucked behind her back and swaying lightly, this might be the “Encore’s cute face” trick that Jiyan’s heard about, but he’s not to be deterred.
“You’ve eaten a lot already, Encore,” he gives her a stern look, “too much sugar isn’t good for you.”
“But Uncle Aalto said I could have all the sweets I like!”
Of course he did. Jiyan ignores the betrayed huff he hears from the back of the room, “well, Uncle Aalto is not always right.”
“Hey!”