Conversing with an old friend

Catherine’s POV

“Do you care for pizza rolls?” Owen asked me, as I followed him into his newly-decorated kitchen.

We were finally done decorating his house, and the outcome was perfect, just like I had expected.

After some discussion with me, he had decided to go for a cozy yet minimal interior design, because he hatef flashy and obnoxious aesthetics.

Thus, the walls of his apartment were painted white to complement the matte grey of all his furniture and window blinds.

The whole place looked nice, like it was straight out of a Pinterest board.

“You finally learnt how to cook,” I smiled, taking my seat on the kitchen island, while he donned a black apron.

I could vividly remember how he used to shy away from the kitchen while we were in the orphanage, after he mistakenly burnt his palm by taking cake out of the oven, without cladding his hands in mittens.

That incidence had given him some sort of PTSD, and ever since then, he never stepped into the kitchen again.

He huffed but nodded