Hot Chocolate - Robin and John Stoker

It’s been a rough week. Robin’s nursing the last of a nasty black eye, Kira has ten stitches and what promises to be an impressive new scar, and Cody has a mild concussion. John’s on crutches with his left leg in a boot, and since the stairs to his apartment aren’t all that easy to navigate at the moment, he’s been staying at Rowan House until his ankle heals enough to be usable again. Hairline fractures are better than fully broken bones, but he’s still not supposed to be supporting weight with it. 
He’s currently crashed on the couch with one puppy and two cats. He claims he’s picking the sticky burrs out of their fur ONLY as a favor to Robin, but Robin can hear him talking to them when he thinks he’s not being overheard, calling them all sorts of adorable pet names in Spanish and trying to get the puppy to sit.
Robin is in the kitchen, preparing to reheat the shredded spicy pork John cooked a couple days ago, sitting on a chair for most of his own work and telling Robin how to manage the parts he wasn’t able to do. It’s the best Robin’s done at cooking a meal so far.
The windows are open, and a chilly breeze blows in, catching the edges of Robin’s hair and raising goosebumps on his arms. He shivers slightly and then decides to set the pork aside and try making something else at the moment.
He digs out the ingredients and tries to remember how much of each John puts in the mix. He always claims it’s not an exact science and that the recipe can be varied for individual taste, but he wants to make it the way John likes.
He tastes the mixture a dozen times while he’s stirring it on the stove. He adds more chili powder and another half a bar of dark chocolate, John likes his cocoa thick enough that the spoon practically stands up in it.
Finally, when the steam smells right, Robin pulls the saucepan off the stove and fills two mugs, sprinkling a little cinnamon on top of the whole thing and carrying them to the coffee table.
John is almost asleep, the puppy sprawled on his chest and the cats perched on the back of the couch on either side of his head. But he blinks and sits up a little straighter when Robin sits down beside him.
“You made cocoa?”
“You keep saying, ‘Life is short, eat dessert first’. Sometimes I actually listen to your advice.” Robin chuckles. He waits, watching John take a sip. “Did I do it right?”
“Are you kidding? It’s perfect,” John says, and Robin smiles, taking a sip of his own mug as well.