He wanted to prepare something for his boyfriend's birthday, so since he was off-day, he decided to prepare a special meal for him. Tobirama isn't a particularly good cook, but he was trying anyway by following the recipe. At around eight, he waits for Madara with a spicy shrimp pasta and expensive wine. His fingers were bandaged with sticks.
He almost forgets his own damn birthday, simply because holidays aren’t an excuse to be on break, and even then, clients are hounding him off the hook.
“No,” he’s snarling into his phone as he enters the kitchen, almost not noticing Tobirama nor the food. He dumps his suitcase on the counter with a disgruntled huff, pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “No, I told you to print the damn Verification first before— okay, you know what, you’re dumb, and apparently I have to do everything myself, even fucking printing paperwork!” He ends the call.
“Tobi, I’m sorry babe, I gotta make a quick drive back to the office, okay? I’ll be back before 10 I promise–”
