Another Friday night had come and yet again Flash found himself in Sunset’s kitchenette, hunched over a hot stove with the naive hope that she was actually going to listen. Sunset had perched herself atop the counter, drink in hand, and a general air disinterest about her. He had the sneaking suspicion from the start that Sunset’s desire to learning cooking was a just an excuse to have him cook for her.  
“Sunset?”  
“Mm?”  
“How is it that every time I try to teach YOU how to cook, I’M the one who ends up doing all the work?”  
“I ‘unno,” she shrugged, twirling her glass between her fingers, “you just make better food, I guess. Every time I try, something just tastes wrong.”  
Flash narrowed his eyes. He knew her long enough to see through her bullshit. “Y’know, if you want to hang out, you can just ask?”  
Sunset looked away sheepishly, “… but you make really good food…”  
He let out a breath; some mix between a disbelieving laugh and frustrated sigh, “Honestly, Sunset.” Sunset couldn’t help but laugh at her own hopelessness too. “Look, how about I’ll cook for you, if you do at least some of it too. Like saute the onions.”  
She feigned a pouty and slid off the counter “Fine.”  

 
I’ve always held the headcanon that Sunset is kind of a shitty cook.