they’d been baking ( cookies, not themselves ). the instructions said prep time would be around fifteen minutes which... as per usual, conner and owen managed to stretch into an hour and a half of playtime. “this is why the rest of the class hates us,” conner had laughed at some point, mid-flour toss. when the treats were finally shoved into the oven and things seemed to calm down, friel settled himself against the counter-top, arms crossed comfortably, while owen disappeared upstairs.             that was twenty minutes ago. conner’s lost in his thoughts now, only having moved once to idly chew at the nail of his index finger. when the other man reappears, friel re-animates enough to smile fondly. “still got like five more minutes, man-” he starts, just as owen moves to dot a kiss to his nose. a wider grin forms in response, the popstar dropping his arms altogether to pull bouchard further into his space. the next kiss is on the lips, a little longer and sweeter, and when they break apart, conner’s hands are clasped at the small of owen’s back.