I write too many drabbley things...
"You better be being careful," Hayato warned, glancing over the edge of the recipe book he was reading from. "We don't need a repeat of last time."
Takeshi laughed, keeping his eyes fixed on the vegetables he cut quickly with a precision which came from several years of his father's teaching. Although this time it wasn't sushi he was trying to make, but traditional Italian cooking, instructed by Gokudera and a recipe book to fill the gaps in the bombers culinary knowledge.
"That's not very-"
"It's perfectly fair," the silver-haired man interrupted, watching his partners fingers with what could be called mild concern wrinkling his brow. "If people outside the family discovered you managed to slice your face trying out tricks with a sushi knife-"
The brunette grinned sheepishly at this, the movement stretching out the small scar that adorned his chin.
"- rather than in battle, the Vongola family would become a laughing stock! The Tenth's reputation would go down and all our allies-"
"Wouldn't care about something so small," Takeshi set the knife down and pressed a kiss to Hayato's temple, placing his hands on skinny hips to manoeuvre the shorter man to the other side of the kitchen and tend to a hissing pan that had been neglected during the mafia related rant.
Hayato let out a quiet "humph" at his relocation, and glanced down at the book in his hands, to the pan Takeshi was now adding his freshly chopped ingredients to.
"Idiot," he sighed. "You forgot to add the tomatoes."