“You do so many things that I like,” Crozier argues quietly, craning his neck ever-so-slightly. He wants to be kissed. He’s aching to be kissed by him, a sharper ache than anything in his chest. He refrains, because he must. Rama touches his neck and that should be enough. “You found me this little board, for instance. You make me tea before I even ask. You wash my hair. You wrap me up in furs when I’m cold.”

There are a thousand other things Rama does for him, and it just seems like such a shame he’s choosing to focus on cooking, of all things. He loves him in all these little ways, all of them heartfelt and thoughtful.