#notarchonzach

In Girl World, Halloween is the one day a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything else about it.

The kitchen was a scene of delightful chaos. A small cloud of flour dust hung in the air, and bags of the fine powder were haphazardly left upon the counter. Cracked eggshells lay scattered on the floor, and the bowl of batter on the table, though still in its early stages, was more clumpy than smooth, its texture resembling something far from the desired cake.

Archon stood amid the disarray, arms folded across his chest, his pink eyes narrowed in quiet contemplation. He stared intently at the recipe book in front of him as though it had personally betrayed him. His dark purple hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, with a few rebellious strands falling over his forehead, damp with a mixture of flour and frustration.

Iona, having quietly watched the scene from the doorway for a time, let out a light chuckle, her amethyst eyes gleaming with amusement as she took in the sight before her. Finally, she stepped inside, her gaze widening in mock disbelief.

“Archon,” she began with a playful air, unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips, “what exactly has happened here? Did a flour elemental pay a visit, or is this your idea of an unconventional baking method?”

He cast her a sidelong glance, his tone dry and filled with the faintest trace of exasperation. “I am making a cake.”

She raised a brow and leaned against the counter, her smile widening. “For Sequoia, I assume?”

He nodded, though his usually composed expression betrayed a small flicker of annoyance. “It is meant to be a surprise. She spoke of her fondness for almond cake. I presumed it to be a simple matter.”

Iona could not suppress a small laugh as she approached the mess on the counter, her eyes scanning the bowl in still mock disbelief. “Simple, you say? Archon, you look as though you’ve been embroiled in battle with this cake, and I must say, the cake appears to be winning. Adorable, really.”

“I do not require ‘adorable,’” he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, his ears flicking in frustration. “I need it to be… edible.”

“Well,” Iona said with a grin, rolling up her sleeves and tying a crisp apron around her waist, “lucky for you, I’m here. And unlike you, I am quite familiar with the ways of the kitchen. Allow me to assist.”

“I do not require assistance,” he grumbled, though he made no effort to stop her as she began to gather fresh ingredients, cracking eggs with practiced ease.

“Tell yourself that all you wish,” she teased, measuring sugar with a steady hand. “But, truth be told, Sequoia will adore it no matter how it looks. What matters is that it is made with care and, of course, flavor.”

He sighed deeply, his ears twitching with irritation. “She deserves the very best.”

Iona paused in her movements, her smile softening. “Ah, you are sweet, beneath all that gruffness. You may be a dragoon in skill, but you are a romantic at heart.”

“Do not flatter me,” he replied, though the faintest pink hue appeared in his cheeks, betraying his attempt at indifference.

They worked together, Iona occasionally guiding his hands with gentle gestures as she adjusted his technique. “No, no, fold the batter gently. This is no contest of strength; you need finesse.” She laughed softly as he scowled at her advice.

“I could easily wrestle this batter into submission,” he muttered, though his words were laced with a touch of amusement.

“I’m certain you could,” she said with a teasing grin, “but we are baking, not waging war.”

Despite his complaints, Archon followed her instructions, his eyes sharp and attentive. When the batter was finally ready, they poured it into the pan, and Iona placed it in the oven with a satisfied sigh.

“There,” she said, stepping back and wiping her hands on a towel. “See? Not so difficult, was it?”

Archon crossed his arms, his expression as composed as ever. “I suppose it could have been worse.”

She laughed lightly, reaching up to flick a stray speck of flour from his nose. “Admit it, you could not have done it without me.”

He looked away, his pink eyes turning down toward the counter in what could only be described as reluctant embarrassment. After a long moment, he muttered, “Thank you.”

Iona’s smile widened, her voice warm as she responded, “You are most welcome, Archon. And should this entire dragoon business ever cease to suit you, you could always consider a career in baking. ‘The Grumpy Baker’ has a certain charm, wouldn’t you say?”

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