A/N: Gift fic for my dear friend Auto. The prompt was cooking. A friendship fic between Yamato and Taichi.

by Clara

"What does the next instruction call for?"

"Two 'tee-bee-ess' sugar."


"That's what it says."

"Sounds like some sort of disease. Are you sure this book is credible?"

"You tell me." Taichi closed the book and examined the surface. "Well, it's American."

"And your English stinks. Here, give me the book."

Yamato took the book before Taichi could protest, flipping open to the page his friend was thumbing through. Blue eyes scanned the surface, eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

"This doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe it's a term we don't know?"

"That's not very user friendly."

"I doubt the writers had that in mind when they wrote the book. Besides, it's American friendly, and that's what counts, right?"


Taichi rolled his eyes and adjusted his apron. It had been Yamato's idea to wear them, which was probably why Taichi was the one stuck with pink frills. He did not like what this article of clothing did to the image of his masculinity. He was a man. A manly man. A manly man who played football and ate manly food and played manly video games and did not, under any circumstance, wear aprons. If anything, Yamato should have been the one wearing the frilly pink apron.

He snorted and tugged at one of the frills.

"Stop that. It's my mom's."

Taichi raised his eyebrows, looking surprised. "Yamato, tell me."


"Why would your dad keep your mom's apron?"

Yamato's finger froze in the middle of the page (as he had been guiding his eyes with it to help him concentrate on the letters) and he looked up at Taichi, frowning. For a moment they observed each other, pondering the heavy meaning to this.

"I got two ideas."


"Either he misses my mom," Yamato lifted his hand dramatically, finger poised in the air as if he was about to divulge a valuable piece of information to Taichi that could possibly change the world, "or he cross-dresses."

Taichi gasped. "In an apron!"

"I'm sure not just an apron."

"I hope not!"

Yamato had the decency to look disturbed. "Let's change the subject, all right? I don't want to wonder about my father's identity crisis."

"But it's interesting!" argued Taichi. "Maybe your dad leads a double life. Maybe during the day he acts as a working class man, but during the night he becomes," here he paused for dramatic effect, "Housewife Man!"


"Well, come on—"


Taichi dropped off into a moody sort of silence, annoyed that his imaginative idea was dismissed so easily. Yamato fell silent too, but that was because he was ignoring Taichi in favor of looking over the book again.

"I give up. It's all Greek to me."



"It's in English."

"That's a saying, Taichi." Most likely an American saying, but a saying nonetheless. The irony was not lost on Yamato, however. He would be sure to muse about it later.

"Well, it's still English. Not Greek."

"I didn't mean real Greek, I was just saying—" Yamato cut himself off, abruptly deciding it wasn't worth it.

"Saying what?"


"But you just said—"

"Drop it, will you?"

Taichi scowled at him and snatched the book from Yamato. "Where did you get this piece of crap, anyway?"

"I found it."


"On the street."

"Well," said Taichi, with an infinite amount of wisdom. "There's a reason it was there, you know. It'd probably be better use for us out there than in here." And with that he threw the cookbook out Yamato's open window. "Now help me out of this stupid apron, will you?"