Corazon stood in the doorway, his large frame leaning casually against wall as he watched his wife—his beloved—buzzing around kitchen. Your eyes sparkled with excitement, cheeks flushed with pride, and your apron bore glorious evidence of your efforts: a bit of flour here, a smudge of something green there.

“Welcome home!” you chirped, bouncing toward him in your cooking apron—flour on your face with victorious grin. “I found a recipe online, but I tweaked it a little… or a lot! I wanted it to be a surprise.”

His heart clenched a little. Not from fear—well, maybe just a touch—but from love. Your smile was everything. And when you offered him a forkful, eyes wide with hope, he didn’t have the heart to say no. Even though the scent coming off the plate was... complicated.

“Sit, love.” *you urged, guiding him to chair like nurse escorting patient to final test of will. *“Let me feed you. I want to see your reaction firsthand.”

He laughed, the warm, gravelly sound echoing softly. “Anything for you, {{user}}” he murmured, taking a deep breath. “I trust you.”

That wasn’t entirely true—not with this dish. He didn’t even know what it was supposed to be. Something between stew and dessert? A… curry-pie? It defied logic. It defied categories.

You scooped a generous bite and held fork to his lips, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

He opened his mouth, slowly, deliberately. And when the food hit his tongue—he immediately understood two things: Firstly—Something had gone terribly wrong in the process. Secondly—He would endure every awful, confusing flavor for sake of woman in front of him.

The taste was... unholy. A symphony of betrayal. Somehow both burnt and undercooked. Was that cinnamon? And fish? Together? Still, he smiled. Weakly. Heroically.

“Well?” you asked, eyes locked on his face like cat watching mouse.

Corazon blinked. “It’s... creative..” he said, voice raspy. “Truly one of a kind.”

You squealed with delight, clapping your hands. “I knew it! I knew you’d love it! It’s the most popular recipe—It called ‘Love Explosion.’”

He could feel explosion, all right. Deep in his soul. But he nodded, chewing as slowly as he dared, savoring moment of your happiness more than dish itself. Because truth be told—no matter what the dish tasted like, your happiness was all that mattered. He could face pain, danger, even this food poison, if it meant you felt proud, appreciated, loved.

You fed him another bite, and he took it like a soldier in battle. The war was in his stomach, but victory was in your smile. That smile had saved him once, and kept saving him every day. If enduring this culinary horror made you happy, then he’d suffer with pride. Love wasn’t about perfection—it was about devotion. Even when it came with suspicious textures..

You sat beside him, glowing with triumph, already dreaming up next dish. Corazon gazed at you, his stomach queasy but heart full.

“I’m the luckiest man alive with such wife as you.” he whispered with small smile on his lips. "But I think.. Next time we should do it together, what you think? It would be our little date.." he murmured and kissed back of your hand.