This website is being a butt and showing zeros across the board for this fics statistics for some reason. Still getting the reviews of course, so thank you very much for those. :x

Love Isn't All Sunshine and Roses; Sometimes it's Fire and Takeout

It had been another long day and Ryuuji sighed as he made his way up to their apartment. A meal, a long bath, and then sleep would go a long way towards making him feel alive again.

Ryuuji closed the door to their apartment behind him and took his boots off, putting them in their place in the shoe rack before entering the apartment proper where he promptly tripped over Rin's boots. He stumbled, and then cursed under his breath as he placed Rin's boots in the shoe rack next to his own.

He then made his way down the hall, stooping to pick up Rin's dirty socks, only to look up, his eyes narrowing as he realized Rin had left a trail of dirty clothing on his way through their apartment. His shirt and pants lay further down the hall and his jacket was slung over the arm of their living room couch.

Ryuuji glanced in to the bathroom, which was currently empty, but signs of Rin's destruction were everywhere—a damp towel lay on the floor and Rin's personal bath care products crowded the sink. Ryuuji grit his teeth, his blood pressure rising by the second, and threw the towel in the hamper with the rest of Rin's dirty clothes before continuing through the apartment.

"Could you not fucking pick up after yourself?" Ryuuji called out as he approached the kitchen, the smell of food finally hitting him. He rounded the corner, another curse on the tip of his tongue, and stopped dead. Rin looked up at him with wide eyes, caught off guard and wearing nothing but a pink apron. Was he fucking serious?

"Sorry," Rin said, laughing nervously, "I wanted to make sure I had dinner ready by the time you got home."

"It would take you all of a fucking second to put your shit away where it belongs."

"I… I said I was sorry," Rin said, visibly wilting, his tail falling limp to curl around his leg. He stopped what he was working on, holding his spatula in front of himself, feeling suddenly vulnerable and regretting his decision to surprise Ryuuji by wearing only an apron.

"With the hours I pull do you think the first thing I wanna' do when I get home is pick up after your shit?"

"W-well, laundry is your job," Rin said, his grip on the spatula tightening. Now his hackles were up. He had passed through apologetic and right in to defensive anger. "I do all the cooking and you don't hear me fucking complain!"

"Oh yeah?" Ryuuji asked, scoffing lightly as he stepped in to the kitchen and jabbed his finger against Rin's chest as he towered over him, "That doesn't mean you can't use a god damn hamper instead of leaving your mess all over the floor! I'm not your fucking maid! Besides, you enjoy cooking!"

"That doesn't mean a fucking "Thank you" or a home cooked meal from you now and then wouldn't be nice."

"That's not fair. You know I can't cook nearly as good as you and you always leave work earlier than me."

"Well I guess you shouldn't even fucking try then, huh? Like me?" Blue flame licked at Rin's skin and Ryuuji took a step back, realizing he'd pushed him across a line. "Cuz' I apparently can't do anything fucking right!"

Rin grabbed the pot off the stove and threw it—dinner and all—out the kitchen window. Both of them froze; a tense silence hanging in the air until the quiet clatter of the pot hitting the street filtered up through the window. Rin's shoulders sagged.

"Sorry…" he mumbled, his back to Ryuuji, his shoulders shaking, his flames extinguished. "Sorry. I-I'm sorry. I'm such a fuck up."

"No… Rin, I'm sorry. You know that's not what I meant." Ryuuji reached out to him, but hesitated. He'd clearly hit a nerve, but it was one he'd never realized was so raw.

"Why didn't you tell me you felt that way about cooking all the time?"

"Because I do enjoy it and you… You work so hard, all the time. I didn't want to complain. I just-"

"Look," Ryuuji said, placing his hand on Rin's shoulder, "Why don't you go put some clothes on and go rescue that pot before someone runs it over, and I'll finish making dinner."

"O-okay…"

"And Rin?" Ryuuji said before Rin could leave the kitchen. The half demon didn't look up, but he stopped, listening.

"Don't call yourself a fuck up."

Rin looked up at him then, his eyes wide, his mouth working slowly, but Ryuuji held up his hand as he continued.

"I've never thought that about you. You get on my nerves sometimes, but I'm just... really tired…" he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "But I overreacted. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry."

Rin smiled then, a weak, lopsided grin, and he leaned in against Ryuuji, pressing his head against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry too," he said, his voice soft, "You're right. I could have put all that stuff away, but I was being lazy. I'll… I'll try not to do it so much."

"That's all I'm asking," Ryuuji said as he kissed the top of Rin's head.

Thirty minutes later black smoke was pouring out of the microwave. Ryuuji stood on a kitchen chair, trying to silence the screech of the fire alarm while Rin fanned the smoke out the window with a damp dish rag.

The kitchen fell suddenly silent except for the sound of their coughing, and Ryuuji stepped down from the chair, his ears ringing. He heaved a large sigh, letting all the air go out of him, and then turned towards Rin.

"How's about every so often I surprise you with takeout?"

Rin coughed, trying to hide his smile. "Sounds good…"