A/N: Two chapters in two days, I'm locking tf in chat 🗣️‼️

"Why nottttt?" Rody whined. "It's my original recipe!"

"Maybe because you managed to burn the plate as well as the cereal the last time you tried to cook? Rody- you burn everything. If I told you to boil some water, you'd manage to turn it into a pile of ash."

The redhead stuck out his lower lip.

"Vinny, you're supposed to be teaching me how to cook! Besides, I prefer my cereal cooked, not raw." 

Despite Rody being the older of the two, his playfulness, sense of humor, and sometimes-childish demeanor often earned a laugh from the Chef.

As promised, Vincent had set up the "date" that Rody was so excited for- he would teach the love of his life, who was hopeless in the kitchen, how to successfully cook a decent meal without burning a building down.

He decided to settle for the simplest recipe he knew for pasta- nothing special, really, but adequate for beginners, he supposed. He sighed, knowing it would be a long day- it'd be hard enough to teach Rody how to cook a grilled cheese sandwich, forget pasta...

"Don't call me that- also, isn't cereal supposed to be eaten raw?" Vincent questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Nevermind... anyways, pasta is a pretty simple- WHEN DID YOU GET THAT KNIFE-?! WAIT-" Vincent dashed over and yanked Rody's hand away just as he slammed the knife onto the wooden dicing board- missing the tomatoes by a mile.

"Merde- my god, Lamoree, were you trying to slice the tomato or your hand?" Vincent sighed.

"Are you hurt?"

Rody shook his head, beaming. They both knew this was going to be a long day.

♡ · ♡ · ♡ · ♡ · ♡

"Okay, first of all, you're holding that knife all wrong- loosen up, the knife isn't your lifeline- move your fingers there. No, no, the index goes here- and adjust the other hand so you're holding the object you're going to cut correctly. And make sure your fingers on your other hand are pointing down into the tomato so you don't slice into your nails- yes, like that. Oh, and don't bring the knife down so fast or raise it high above your head, just keep it low so you have a lower chance of cutting your hand off. Use less force when coming down to slice because if you use all your strength like you tried to do so before, you'll end up slicing the cutting board into pieces and possibly even the table. Also, you have to check the-" 

Vince's lecture was interrupted by a groan from the Chef-In-Training. "Vinceeeeeent- I don't think there has to be so many steps to cutting up a tomato..."

Rody got a feeling of apprehension from the expression on the younger man's face. "You're right, I had to make it much more complicated than it would have to be for the average learner- but you're not quite the average learner, are you?"

Rody did not feel good about Vincent's grin.

"Our date has hardly begun, amour!"

♡ · ♡ · ♡ · ♡ · ♡

"Okay, so-"

"This looks fun!"

"hey- WAIT, WHAT ARE-"

"OWWWWWW, PUTAIN DE M-"

For the next six hours, the couple spent a sweet, romantic afternoon and evening listening to instructions and giving instructions, making pasta, failing to make pasta, attempting a few more times, wasting lots of ingredients by accident, screaming, screaming some more, getting bandaged, burning the 9th pack of pasta noodles, having to run to the store to buy more tomatoes and seasoning, creating a pure disaster on the floor and tables and walls and ceiling, making a new memory that reminded them never to try to teach a Rody how to cook pasta again, and finally finishing a somewhat edible-looking meal of spaghetti.

The perfect ideal date, of course.

Rody collapsed onto the chair next to the candle-lit dinner table, groaning. "My arms, hands, fingers, legs, and nails hurt... I feel like my whole body is sore, actually. Is making pasta always this hard, Vince?" He slurred.

"When I make it alone? Definitely not. With you? I was expecting worse, but I suppose that we're lucky we didn't burn any furniture down." Vincent gave Rody a quick peck on the lips and ruffled his hair affectionately, which seemed to make him feel a bit better.

Two bowls of pasta sat on the table in front of them. Though it didn't look deadly poisonous or detrimental to health, the men made sure not to get their hopes up.

Rody sighed. "I guess I am pretty hungry after- well, all that..... I better like it! My blood, sweat and tears went into this meal- literally!"

The Waiter winced, his eyes flickering down to his bandaged finger. "...I should've taken that knife lecture seriously..."

After Vincent managed to dampen his wheezing laugh, they glanced down at the pasta uneasily. "...well, who's going first?" Vince asked, attempting--and failing--to sound as cheerful as possible.

It took much longer to come to an agreement than they would've admit, but the men managed to agree that Rody should go first, since he probably ate his own cooking before and yet he was still standing here, alive and healthy.

This logic made no sense to Rody, since Vincent couldn't taste, but apparently he was afraid of getting "poisoned". Not like Rody's positively laudable cooking skills and his wonderfully delectable delicacies could ever cause anything bad to happen to the human digestive system!

'Come on, I know I burnt the cereal, but it didn't kill me--and my cooking can't that bad, right? Right?'

Rody squeezed his eyes shut and lifted the fork, twirling it around the strands of spaghetti before lifting it up into his mouth.

"...."

Silence.

"Hey, that actually isn't bad at all!" Rody mumbed through a mouthful. He stuffed some more strings of pasta into his mouth.

Vincent looked a bit less hesitant now, and he soon decided it was worth the risk. And much to the Waiter's happiness, Vincent didn't seem to become sick, which meant--thankfully--that the pasta wasn't poisoned.

The Chef, however, seemed to be lost in thought while eating the pasta, as if discovering something new. Which was strange, since Rody knew Vince couldn't taste and didn't know how that would work- but he decided not to question it for now.

After the couple finished the meal, Vincent seemed to be pondering briefly. Without warning, he suddenly leaned forward and locked his lips with his boyfriend's.

He usually wasn't the first one out of the two of them to initiate a kiss (Rody knew this by now from the amount of times they had kissed over the duration of the two days they had been dating), which made the contact quite different from their others. The kiss was sweet and passionate in almost a lazy, comfortable manner that stretched out the moment and froze the world around them, which was quite new, as most of their kisses in the past had been needy, desperate, rushed, shaky, and extremely heated.

Nonetheless, Rody liked this side of their relationship. Nothing made him feel more happy and at ease than knowing that in that moment than knowing he was in the arms of the person he loved more than anyone or anything else. He could gaze at the Chef's eyes forever because they weren't simply pretty irises—they were his. That knowledge still felt beautifully surreal.

Shutting out their surroundings in that moment, the Waiter and the Chef held each other in a sweet embrace, a warm set of lips meeting a cold one, the two in comfort knowing that they wouldn't have to worry about anything in that time and place.

After a while, Vincent pulled away to pull Rody back into a hug. The older man beamed and planted a kiss on his forehead.

A few moments of silent, blissful embracing flew past, the men enveloped with tranquility, before the Chef spoke up. "...I... have to thank you, Rody," Vincent said. "I think I now know what you mean by that 'cooking with love' thing." Vincent brushed his lips against Rody's again before letting him go, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"You're welcome!" Rody said proudly. "Does this mean I'm a better chef than you now?"

Vincent scoffed. What a way to ruin the one moment when he was trying to be the wholesome one in the relationship for once.

"Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night."

♡ · ♡ · ♡ · ♡ · ♡

Rody's eyes swept across the kitchen, then met Vincent's again in a look that said 'your kitchen, not mine.'

Rody earned a long, tired sigh from Vincent, and it was quite the surprise that Vince for once didn't lecture Rody endlessly about how to do the dishes without breaking one. The Waiter gave him an affectionate nudge, making a weak attempt to encourage him for a night of cleaning up a kitchen of chaos.

Sighing once more, Vincent dragged his feet towards the broom, Rody trailing along behind him.

"....Hey, do you think you could teach me how to make that lemon cake of yours nex-"

"NO."

-End of Chapter Seventeen-