Hallo my faithful readers! Open-Open (co-author of Mangel and Friends) and I would like to thank you for being awesome. :D Here's a fluffy thing that I wrote. Without the help of Open-Open, which is a definite achievement. We're working on another chapter of Mangel and Friends, so I hope this bit will hold you over until then. :D Rated T for mild language eheheh.

Fang came in through the apartment's only door and shrugged off his coat.

"Hey, baby, will you make me a sandwich?" he asked.

"What?" Max asked from the couch where she was typing on her laptop.

"Will you make me a sandwich?" he repeated stupidly.

"Oh, okay," Max said, setting her laptop aside and standing up. She marched into the entry area of their apartment and stood in front of him. "I will abandon everything I am doing so I can make you a goddamn sexist sandwich."

"Whoa whoa whoa," Fang said, putting his hands up. "If you don't want to-"

"Oh, no, I would love to, because as a woman, it's my duty to live in the kitchen and make you sandwiches all day, then wash your dishes when you're done and wash your clothes, and, oh, I'll dust the blinds while I'm at it."

"I never said-"

"I know full well what you said, and I know what you meant!" she exclaimed, putting a finger on his chest and forcing him backward.

"F-fine, you don't have to make me a sandwich, I'll just make one myself-"

"Oh, so you don't think I'm good enough to make you a sandwich?"

"No, that's not what I… I thought you wanted me to-"

"How would you know what I want?" Max said venomously. She glared at Fang, and he shrunk back even further. "Maybe I want to never wash a single dish again. Maybe I want you to deal with crying children who never stop whining while I go sit in an office all day and play Solitaire while making up some complete bullshit about the incredible work I'm doing, and then come home and ask you to make me a goddamn sandwich!"

"Wait, I don't think I should have to do all the dishes eithe-"

"Oh, because you make more money than me?" she seethed.

"This has nothing to do with-"

"So it's because I'm a woman."

"I never said-"

"You implied it!"

"I didn't mean-"

"I go to work just as long as you do, then I come home and make dinner and then listen to all of your complaints about your boss and your coworkers." She jabbed her finger into his chest. "Do you ever listen to any of my complaints? No, even more, do I ever complain?"

"Yes-"

"Shut up!" Fang ran a hand through his hair.

"God, are you PMS-ing or something?"

"So what if I am?"

"Hey, I get it. You're pissed," he said, "but don't take it out on me."

"Take it out-" she made a frustrated noise. "I'm not taking anything out on you! I'm telling you that you have no right to ask me to make you a sandwich!"

"Fine, don't make me a sandwich."

"Are you suggesting I'm not capable of making a sandwich?" she snapped. "Cuz I assure you, I can make a damn sandwich. I just don't want to."

"I'm sure you can make a damn sandwich," he said calmly. "Just forget it. I'll make myself something to eat."

"Are you insulting my cooking?"

"No! No! I'm not! Just-"

"Just what?"

"Just forget it!"

"I never forget anything. You, on the other hand…" Suddenly, she burst into tears.

"Wh- Max, what's wrong?" Fang asked, feeling utterly confused.

"Y-you-" she sniffled.

"I?"

"Yesterday… y-yesterday…" Fang felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he remembered what the date of the day before the current was.

"Your birthday," he said quietly. "Shit, sorry, I…" He opened his arms and she stumbled forward, her tears soaking through his shirt. "Is this what all this is about? I forgot your birthday?"

"Well, not all of it," she said, her voice muffled against her chest. "You still aren't allowed to tell me to make you a sandwich."

"I'm sorry," he said, stepping back and kissing her on the forehead. "How about I make dinner for you tonight?" he offered. She punched him lightly in the chest.

"Don't make me suffer through your dreadful cooking," she said, a slight smile creeping onto her lips.