When he woke to an acrid stench that seemed to permeate the entire workshop, Leonardo da Vinci's first thought was that the building must be on fire. This theory was quickly dismissed for two reasons: one, there was no smoke and two, Ezio was downstairs. He knew this because a familiar voice was cursing loudly, possibly in the kitchen. Dressing quickly (just in case the assassin did manage to set the house on fire) Leonardo rushed downstairs. There was a small plume of smoke dissipating outside the nearby window; the oven, while now off, had several suspiciously boot-shaped dents in it. In the middle of all this mess, looking incredibly proud of himself, was Ezio. He was holding too plates full of what Leonardo could only assume was supposed to be food. There was a smudge of charcoal where he had obviously rubbed his nose, and his hair was out, not tied back like it usually was. The overall effect was, dare he say it, rather adorable.
"I made breakfast," Ezio beamed, as though it were not instantly obvious. Leonardo could only nod dumbly as Ezio ushered him into an empty chair, placing one of the plates carefully in front of him. Leonardo examined the meal grimly. The bread seemed relatively neglected, something Leonardo could only be grateful for. With a good hunk of butter, it might even be edible. There was also a cup of that dreadful 'coffee' drink Antonio had introduced him to. After adding milk, as Ezio had, it was somewhat better, but Leonardo would still have preferred wine. The bread was accompanied by a small pile of blackened vegetables and a lump of something he couldn't identify. This was what had truly intrigued Leonardo. Gingerly, he picked up a fork and poked it. It appeared to have a similar texture to one of his failed experiments with painting materials. It gave easily enough to the pressure of the fork, but made an odd squeaking noise as it did so. After what seemed like a long while of staring at it, his curiosity got the better of him.
"Ezio," he began cautiously, not wanting to hurt any feelings. "What exactly is this?"
Ezio frowned, peering over at Leonardo's plate.
"An egg," he announced finally. Leonardo stared at the egg. That certainly was a surprise, he thought weakly. An egg. He wasn't entirely sure what he would have guessed, but certainly not an egg. Weren't eggs predominately white, for one, rather than black? A tentative cut revealed it was only the outside that was black: the rest remained the white he would have expected. Still, what he really wanted to know was how Ezio had turned a perfectly good egg into this. He looked up, half intending to ask, to find the assassin watching him worriedly.
"Is that alright?" Ezio asked anxiously. "I know you do not like to eat meat, but I did not think an egg would count."
Leonardo stared at him, a small smile spreading across his lips. Walking around the table, he pressed a tender kiss to Ezio's lips. Even if he had failed spectacularly, Ezio had done all this for him. He had tried to do something nice for no particular reason. Even if the final result was inedible, there was no need to hurt Ezio's pride.
"You know," Leonardo grinned, pleased to have figured out how to distract Ezio, "I think I'd rather have you for breakfast, instead."