♋
♋ my muse fixing your muse something to eat
"Tch,” Toshiro spat, eyes furrowed more than usual, a clear look of irritation on his face. He took what was left in the pan and dumped it into the sink, a filter leaving behind the ashes of once edible food. Using a hand to fan away the puff of smoke that had formed, he furiously clicked at his laptop to reread the instructions he’d found online.
Thinking back to his childhood, living an isolated, sheltered life left him little to do but help around the house where he could. Cleaning and tending to the garden was one thing, but cooking was an entirely different matter. Why should there be creative liberties? Recipes listed and called for exact measurements of ingredients, time, and order for a reason, right?
A low, frustrated grumble escaped his mouth as he glanced at the screen once more.
Four cups of bread crumbs? Check.
Two tablespoons of flour? Check.
Two eggs? Check.
So why the hell wasn’t this turning out like the pictures?
Sighing, Toshiro carefully breaded the chicken again, following each word to a tee. He placed them back onto the skillet and cooking each side for two minutes before stuffing the chicken breasts in the oven.
By the time he got around to washing his hands, there was a subtle knock on the door. The white-haired male swung it open to see Tsuna, wearing the trademark grin he’d come to envy about the guy. He stepped aside to let him in, offering a quick, “You can just wait in the living room. It shouldn’t take long.”
Moving back to the kitchen, Toshiro took the chicken out and plated each over two plates of pasta that had been sitting there for some time in light of his constant mistakes. Still, they weren’t burnt this time around, and seemed more edible than his previous efforts. He exhaled deeply, saying a momentary prayer before heading out to where his guest was sitting and placing the dish on the table.
“I’m - uhh... - not the best at this. I don’t think you’ll die though.”
