Gazpacho

by infraredphaeton

summary: Lussuria might be almost blind, but he isn't unobservant. Xanxus has more than just physical scars, after the ice.

notes: This is my first Varia story, and I like H/C. Let's keep it simple, I guess? If you like it, let me know, and maybe I'll do some follow ups from other perspectives, like Squalo or Bel or Levi or heck, some non-Varia people too.


Xanxus hates the kitchen now, Lussuria notices, after the ring battles.

After the ring battles, and meeting Tsuna Sawada, and the embarrassment of his strange Japanese mafia family beating Varia Quality assassins. Lussuria's shoulder still twinges a little bit, sometimes, but things have mostly settled back into normal routines. Squalo certainly seems happier, now that Xanxus isn't frozen in the basement like excess fish.

Xanxus has never precisely been precisely keen on visiting the staff kitchen in Varia HQ, but he used to wander in search of snacks every so often. He would pull that particular teenage habit of opening the fridge, frowning at the contents, closing it, and opening it again, as though new food would have magically appeared. Now, Xanxus avoids the kitchens like he might catch a plague from them.

Or to be more precise, Lussuria thinks, as he watches Xanxus sit at the counter, flipping through a slightly bloodstained magazine (KNIVES, KNIVES AND MORE KNIVES! THE KNIFE MANIAC'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE!) and scowling, Xanxus hates the fridge.

Xanxus hates the fridge, and the freezer, and cold food. Salad, which was, to be fair, never a big part of Xanxus' menu, has now been completely eliminated. More sadly, so has Gazpacho, which was always one of the boss' favourites. Now, it was steak. Hot, rare, and served with potatoes- not fancy, but warm. Always warm.

"Oi, shitface. You're cooking, aren't you?" Xanxus asks, throwing down the magazine and putting his feet up on the counter. "Make me something."

"Eggs?" Lussuria suggests, because man cannot live on steak and mashed potato alone, and Xanxus nods, crossing his arms. He doesn't take ice in his alcohol anymore, and Xanxus' glass throwing tantrums are less messy to clean up because of it, but it's still strange, considering his old rants about appreciating alcohol however he wants to, and how elitists can give Xanxus their whiskey, if they're going to be fucking stupid about how its served.

He's wearing his coat, despite the fact that they're indoors, Lussuria notices, as he begins to whisk eggs into an omelet. Just in case it gets cold, he guesses.

Xanxus snatches the plate out of Lussuria's hand with a sneer, as soon as he's plated up, and storms out of the kitchen, swearing under his breath.

"You're welcome!" Lussuria says cheerfully, and ponders how they will keep their groceries fresh without a fridge in the kitchen. Or perhaps a space heater under the counter?

They've already added heaters to every other room in the mansion, after all. Squalo had come back one day with a grim look on his face and a trail of minions carrying plug in electric heaters, and no room was spared. But the kitchens are large, and Xanxus won't eat ice cream anymore.

Another space heater, under the counter. Lussuria hums, plating up his own food, and wanders off to look over his next mission briefing.

Maybe one day, Xanxus will be able to eat cold soup again.


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