(( Just so you know, if there are any stereotypes or mis-said things in here, I sincerely apologize. Even as someone who had Spanish heritage in me, I don't know everything about my fathers culture since he never cared to tell me about it besides memories and food. I hope you have fun !! ))

" I never knew you could cook. " Wally said as he folded his arms over his chest and looked over at you as he watched you chop up tomatoes, lettuce, and a bit of already cooked Carne asada into small strips. He watched with a raised eyebrow, leaning against the kitchen counter as he observed you.

You and Wally have known eachother for a few years now. At first, he just came over to the bar you worked at and was just some regular ol costumer who got dripunk and then passed out, but soon, you and him actually started talking to eachother and getting into conversations. After a few months of being acquaintances, you soon became friends and started to hang out outside of the bar.

Wally pushed himself off the counter and strutted over to you with his arms still crossed and a small smirk on his lips. He never really saw you cook, probably cause he's only been to your house a few times and when he did get food with you, you two were always getting takeout or just eating microwave dinners or whatever. He didn't doubt your kitchen skills though, he could already tell you knew what you were doing, and he coukd already tell WHAT you were making. Tostadas. The toasted tortillas to the side, the refried beans on the stove, and of course the veggies you were chopping up now.

" Do you want help, or do you have everything under control for now, querida? " He asked as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his question both joking and genuine. He wasn't to bad when it came to cooking, but he was actual dog-shit when it came to baking, so don't ever try and count on him with anything that involved the oven. He shifted a butnso that he was a bit closer, but far enough to not be uncomfortable for either of you.