It was a good day.

They were making some lunch together as the both of them had exactly one day off together. Danté was thrilled to spend it with his husband, having counted down the days on his calendar that led up to this particular one. He was beyond happy to be making food with them, as he always found cooking together to be a balm to his never-ending anxiety.

Well.. that was the case until—

**SNAP!*

Danté whipped his head around at the sound, dread washing over him in just seconds. Under the impression they somehow managed to hurt themselves, he rushed over, panic in his eyes.

But what he found made him stop dead in his tracks.

They were holding snapped in half dried spaghetti.

It was as if someone had punched him in the gut and then poured lemon juice in his eyes, as he nearly began to cry. His mouth went slack and hung open almost cartoonishly as he stared at the abomination before him. He tried to form a sentence, tried to move, but all his mouth and hands did was just move around incoherently.

“You.. you.. you..”

They just stared right back at him like he had grown a second head. But as one more snap rang out through the kitchen, he blinked out of his surprise and immediately began to yell angrily in Italian like a pissed off mom.

“Perché dovresti spezzarlo a metà?! Ma sei pazzo?! Usi il coltello, non le mani! Dove hai imparato a cucinare? In prigione?!”

He stammered, taking the uneven broken pieces of spaghetti from their hands and holding it like a dead bird. He looked back up at them with anger in his eyes, revenge boiling beneath his skin like the water boiling on the stove between them. He shook the spaghetti angrily in his fist.

“È tutto irregolare! Hai insultato l'intera Italia!”