Work Text:
Gavi steps into the living room expecting to see Jude watching football highlights or a Hollywood action movie.
But no, Jude is sitting cross-legged on the couch, completely absorbed in the TV. He isn’t watching highlights or people shooting each other. Jude is watching pastel colors, flour dust, and contestants agonizing over something called “sponge texture”.
“What are you watching?”
“Bake Off.”
“What’s that?”
Jude lets out an audible gasp. “You don’t know what The Great British Bake Off is?”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I did,” Gavi says. “This shit looks like something your mom would watch.”
“Bake Off isn’t ‘shit’!” Jude looks scandalized. “It’s only the greatest show on television.”
“It’s not on television. We just leech off Aurora’s Netflix account.”
“Sit. You’re watching it.”
“What makes this so good?”
“Shhhh! This part is important, Gavi!”
Gavi doesn’t get what’s so important about British people baking— their food barely has flavor— but he sighs and drops onto the couch anyway. “We could’ve been watching Prison Break or something.”
“This is way better than Prison Break.”
“Are you kidding?” Gavi questions. “You would rather watch this grandmother show than Prison Break?”
“It’s addicting,” Jude replies.
Gavi leans back, arms crossed, lips pursed in a pout. On the screen, the contestants fuss around a tent full of ovens. “I don’t get how you like this,” he says. “You don’t even bake.”
“Shhh!” Jude shushes him. “The soggy bottom moment is happening!”
Gavi, a bottom, is offended. “The what?”
“Just watch!”
Reluctantly, Gavi keeps his mouth shut and watches the show. It better be fucking good if his boyfriend is this invested in it.
At first, he watches the show the way someone watches traffic: mildly bewildered and unimpressed.
But then… the camera zooms in on a trembling custard tart. A contestant whimpers that their butter was too warm. Another looks like he might cry over a collapsing cake.
Gavi’s jaw hangs open. “No, no, no, she shouldn’t have done that. Why would she change the recipe last second? That’s— that’s just stupid!”
“Oh? Interesting opinion from someone who called this a grandmother show.’”
“Shut up,” Gavi says, leaning forward in time to see a contestant’s tart cracking. “Shit! The tart is fucked!”
A smug Jude smirks. “I told you it was addicting.”
Gavi doesn’t respond. He is too busy mourning the cracked tart.
The episode rolls on, and somewhere along the way, Gavi forgets to be ironic about it. He stops mocking the background music and the too-runny frosting melting in slow motion. Instead, he starts giving commentary. “That guy’s kneading the dough too much.”
“Since when do you care about dough?”
“It’s not about dough,” Gavi argues, waving a hand at the screen. “It’s about control! You’ve got to stay calm, even when it’s going wrong. It’s like football— you can’t panic when you’re one goal down. You’ve still got to fight until the end.”
“You’re comparing baking to football now?”
“Yeah, because it’s similar,” Gavi insists, pointing at the contestant whose pastry is falling apart. “Look at her— she’s giving up already! If she just focused, she could still pull it back. You can’t lose your head in the final minutes.”
When someone’s sponge comes out perfectly, Gavi lets out an actual cheer. “See!?! That’s what happens when you have passion!”
When the episode ends, Jude picks up the remote. “Next episode?”
“Obviously!” Gavi exclaims. He hasn’t felt this pumped in a long time. “We can’t stop now, Jude!”
Jude grins, happy that he has someone to watch Bake Off with. “I’ll make you watch Love Island next.”