Nero is sick.

Green peppers, Onions, cheese and salami. What else did he need? Oh yes, the dough, of course.

Pouring out the white powder, he added water into the bowl and proceed to mix the content. Glutton started to kick in and the overly moist substance began to stick to his fingers - and the hard shells of his Devil Bringer was definitely not helping.

He took the dough out of the bowl, smacking it on the table with unnecessary force. He sighed heavily at how tedious the task was.

He must be sick.

The next would be the toppings. The grater felt too small in his Devil Bringer and he had to be careful not to squeeze too hard on the cheese. There was once he did and got all of it slipped through his fingers...

Then he suddenly realized he needed to put tomato sauce on the dough before anything else.

Cursing under his breath, he walked over to the fridge and found no tomato sauce. He cursed again, this time a lot louder, then decided he would have to put up with tomato juice. Maybe if he mix it with some cornstarch... Wait, did he switch on the oven yet?

He is definitely sick.

Two hours later, he finally found himself staring at a pizza, one he went through a war to finish. He wiped away the sweat that he did not realize forming, when the front door was kicked open.

"What do we have here, a treat?" The man in red strode through the living room, stopping before him... and the steaming piece of magnificent creation.

Nero shrugged, "yeah, a treat. For the lazy ass who won't make his own dinner."

Then the man smiled at him, the way he always did when he was truly happy and grateful. The same smile he always saw whenever he was around, as if he was happy with him just being there. The way his gray eyes flicker under the dim kitchen light made him stared.

"Thanks, kid. Love you too."

Nero scratched the bridge of his nose, a little bit harder than usual and looked away.

He is really, really sick.

He refuses to put a name to this sickness, because it is... too damn embarrassing.