Loud noises reverberated through the walls of your small apartment as a series loud clanging of pots and pans sounded from the kitchen. You lifted your eyes, still heavy with sleep and clambered out of bed, groaning at the loud intrusion of your peaceful slumber. You slid into your panda slippers and mindlessly shuffled towards the origin of the racket.

“What are you doing Kris.” You moaned, your voice still thick with sleep. “It’s 7 in the morning, get back to bed.” You continued to nag. Sweeping your tangled hair from your face, a strong burning odor wafted into your nose making it scrunch up. 

“.” He swore, an audible grunt was heard coming from his direction, “This is so not my style.” You heard him mumble under his breath. Looking over, you saw that he was a total mess. And so was the kitchen. There was spilt batter all over the counter and the floor, the sink was over flowing with bubbles, and the main attraction of it all was your boyfriend. 188cm of flour covered, batter smeared, syrupy, Kris.

“Oh. My. God. What are you doing?” You asked, wide eyed. He looked up at you with a disgruntled look in his eyes, “Oh, you’re awake.” He blatantly stated, “I was just making breakfast.” He continued,  “You’ve been so stressed out lately, I thought I’d do something to cheer you up.” He explained, his lips beginning to form a lopsided grin.  

“But you’re making such a mess!” You exclaimed, more stressed out than ever. “I’m sorry!” He retorted, the pitch of his voice