Angeal smiled and checked something in the oven, then turned his attention to the stovetop. "You've got a decent kitchen, it's a shame it never gets any use."
"I," Genesis stated with distinct emphasis while stripping off his coat, "don't cook. I didn't think you did, either..." He trailed off, remembering a chunky young boy helping his mom in the kitchen.
As if reading his mind, Angeal said, "My mother taught me how to feed myself. It's a useful thing to know."
Genesis tossed his coat over a chair, then feigned disinterest as he strode casually into the kitchen. "So...what are you making, then?"
Angeal grinned and opened the oven to remove...a thing. A big, poofy, breadlike thing
that smelled and rather looked like a giant popover. He set it on the counter, where it began to gracefully deflate, leaving a high ridge of crust around the edges.
Then he took the lid off the skillet on the stovetop.
The scent of apples and butter and cinnamon nearly dropped Genesis to his knees. "Goddess! Those are --"
Angeal leaned in until their noses almost touched. "Banora white," he whispered across the other man's lips.
"Those are hideously expensive to import," Genesis murmured, draping his arms over Angeal's broad shoulders.
"You're worth it."
ETA - recipe adapted from "Land O' Lakes Treasury of Country Heritage Meals & Menus."
"What are you doing?" Genesis asked, sniffing cautiously at the air. Though not unpleasant -- far from it, actually -- it was still a little disconcerting to come home and find his apartment smelling like a bakery.