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Poe had started humming somewhere between chopping onions and arguing with the stove, and Finn had learned it was usually a sign that dinner was either going very well or moments away from becoming a disaster.
"You know," He said, leaning against the counter doing his best not to look any which way that might show amused judgment, "most people taste the food before throwing every spice in the galaxy at it."
"I'm building complexity," Poe replied with complete confidence as he sprinkled something else into the simmering pot. "It's called instinct. It’s called adventure."
"It's called guessing."
Poe shot him an exaggerated look over his shoulder before bumping him lightly with his hip. "If you're so convinced I'm about to ruin dinner, then come help instead of criticizing the chef."
Finn laughed under his breath and stepped in beside him, reaching for the wooden spoon. Their shoulders settled together naturally in the cramped kitchen, close enough that every movement became a quiet dance of avoiding elbows and trading space without thinking. Finn tasted the filling, considered it for a moment, then reached past Poe for a pinch of salt.
"There," he said after another stir. "Now it tastes perfect."
Poe accepted the spoon for another taste, his eyebrows lifting in reluctant surprise. "...I hate that you're right."
"I know."
“But I still love you.”
Finn couldn’t help but turn away, trying to hide as much of the heat reaching his cheeks as he could, annoyed that Poe could easily still sway him like that. Okay, not really annoyed but still.
They worked through the rest of the meal together without keeping track of whose recipe they were following anymore. Finn kneaded the dough while Poe rolled it out too thin, earning a playful swat with a flour covered hand that left a white streak across his cheek. Poe retaliated immediately, brushing flour across Finn's nose until they were both laughing hard enough that neither noticed the timer beeping from the oven.
By the time everything reached the table, nothing looked particularly elegant. The loaf of bread was uneven, the vegetables had softened more than intended, and one side of the pot pie had browned a little too much. Still, the apartment smelled warm with herbs and fresh bread, and Poe reached for Finn's hand before either of them picked up a fork.
"For the record," Poe murmured with an easy smile, "I was always going to let you fix the seasoning."
Finn squeezed his fingers, smiling back. "Sure you were."
Neither of them bothered pretending the lie mattered. Dinner tasted better because they'd made it together, and somehow that had become the secret ingredient every single time.