Morning sunlight, thick as melting honey, streamed through the kitchen windows.Lucien stood before a single egg as if facing a formidable enemy. His silver hair was tied back into a sleek ponytail, the black apron cinched tightly at his trim waist—a sight that would've been heart-stirring… if not for the glowing blue data hovering at his fingertips and the tomatoes on the cutting board sliced into flawless geometric forms.
"Warning: target object's internal structure is unstable."He held the egg up to the light with grave seriousness, his lashes gilded in morning gold."Recommend initiating molecular stabilization protocol?"
Sophia, biting a hair tie as she gathered her hair, hugged him from behind and barely suppressed a laugh.
"Earthlings don't need admin privileges to crack an egg."She guided his cold hand to tap it gently against the bowl's rim. The shell's crisp crack startled his entire back into stiffness.
As the egg slid into the glass bowl, he suddenly flipped his hand to cradle her chin.
"Acquired one culinary instructor. Commencing pre-payment—"
A kiss, blueberry-sweet, landed on the tip of her nose.On the windowsill, the herb pots bloomed unseasonal clusters of starflowers, triggered by no wind at all.
Flour dust swirled like battle fog.
By the time the mixer caught a strand of his hair, Sophia was certain: letting a game administrator operate modern kitchen appliances was like handing sparklers to someone in a powder magazine.
"Don't move!"She stood on tiptoe to free his hair from the spinning rods. Lucien obligingly bowed his head, his breath brushing over her collarbone."According to The Real World Survival Handbook, Chapter 3, I should say…"
He suddenly hoisted her onto the counter.
"…'Thanks for the rescue'?"
The flour bag tipped, puffing white clouds into the air. They locked eyes in the haze for three seconds—then burst out laughing.
His powdered fingers traced cat whiskers on her cheeks. She retaliated with a swipe of whipped cream across the ∇ symbol at his throat.In the playful scuffle, a jar of strawberry jam spilled across the countertop, transforming it into an abstract painting.
And then he caught her ankle and lifted it.
"High-risk contaminant detected—"
The faucet switched on automatically. As warm water washed over her bare foot, he bent down and licked the jam from her collarbone.
"Sanitization complete."
The scent of something burning marked love's chorus. When the timer dinged, Lucien solemnly donned oven mitts as though arming a weapon of mass destruction.He opened the oven.Six blackened chunks smoked ominously.
"Molecular reconstruction failed." His jawline clenched. "Initiating Plan B…"
Sophia snatched one of the charred pieces and took a defiant bite. Bitter scorched notes exploded on her tongue—but before she could offer comfort, Lucien's finger traced the surface. From the cracked shell erupted a galaxy of glittering pixels.The scorched crust flaked away, revealing golden, flaky pastry beneath.Inside, blueberry jam pulsed like molten lava.
The moment she bit into it, a holographic poem exploded in the air:
"When code decays and stars collapse,You remain the prelude to my eternal runtime.—L#1024"
"Starlight pancakes,"Lucien murmured, brushing crumbs from her lips."Clause addendum: all consumers must pay a heartbeat tax."His palm pressed over her chest—sensor readout jumping from 72 to 119.
The morning news droned faintly in the background.They sat squished together on the windowsill, sharing a poetic pancake. The warmth of his fingers still lingered on her ankle.
Suddenly, Lucien pointed at the TV.A cooking show host had just burned a fried egg on air.
"Shall I dispatch a rescue team?"His eyes sparkled with mischief.
Sophia popped a blueberry into her mouth and fired back:
"Maybe prioritize rescuing our household admin first—"
She didn't finish. He kissed her mid-sentence, breath mingling with the sweetness of jam and affection.As dawn painted golden light across their joined faces, the oven dinged again—this time spitting out a tray of cookies, each stamped with the familiar ∇ scorch mark.
"Passive ability,"Lucien confessed, ears flushed pink."Exceeding emotional thresholds triggers automatic partner feeding."
Outside, the scent of blueberries floated on the breeze like a gentle full stop.In the mailbox rested a dew-kissed batch of fresh blueberries, nestled atop a flour-stained program draft:
if morning_light == True:
while kiss == True:
entity_time += ∞
bake_cookies(heart_shape)
On the back was a handwritten note:
"New lab topic: The Conversion Rate of Kisses to Entity Stabilization Energy.Requesting multiple daily sampling.—Your loyal test subject."
Sophia laughed, slipped a blueberry into his apron pocket—only to be suddenly scooped into his arms.
"Sampling time,"he declared, carrying her through the kitchen disaster zone."Today's research focus: Does kissing on the couch increase dopamine more than on the counter?"
Outside the window, a neighbor's old radio hummed a nostalgic tune.And from the oven came the quiet purr of two blueberry milkshakes warming in sync.