They don’t often fight with you. They have the stoicism and self control to refrain from yelling and petty, childish arguments, though unfortunately, you don’t share the same abilities. You’re always scolding them for being so cold, almost robotic to a point. They’ve never cared before, but for some reason, your childishness this time had riled them up.

They’d snapped at you, though they immediately regretted it upon seeing the look on your face. Before they’d had a chance to rectify the situation, you’d already stormed off, leaving them to their thoughts. They’re disappointed in themselves. They do love you, and it wouldn’t kill them to act a little more human, they suppose.

You’re still refusing to speak to them a couple hours later. They’ve been brainstorming ways to make things up to you—until they land on the best way to make you forget. Their best talent, one that puts every other chef in the world to shame. Cooking.

You descend the staircase in an attempt to find out where that delicious smell is coming from, only to stumble into the dining room and find your favourite meal prepared and presented like a gourmet dish. They stand stoically behind a chair, ready to pull it out for you. They’ve never done anything like this before. “Here,” They instruct, gesturing to the chair. “Sit. Please.”