It felt like such a harmless request, a simple invitation back to your apartment with the promise of a fresh cooked meal. Who could resist such an offer? Only a fool would pass up a free meal. But now he was starting to question if he was an even bigger fool for accepting your dinner invitation.

He sits quietly at your dinning room table, trying to figure out what exactly is conspiring in your kitchen. Loud banging followed by what he assumes the dropping of various pots and pans. Matt has to sit and rubs his temples, trying to soothe his forming headache. But what concerns him the most, much more concerning than that is once noise pollution settles down is the fact the he can just hear your heart pounding against your chest. It pounds in clear unadulterated panic but yet you haven't made a single noise yourself as you cook.

If the frantic thumping of your heart isn't enough to set off alarm bells in his mind, it's definitely the fact that whatever it is your cooking is very clearly burning. He can smell the smoke from over here and he's been smelling it for a while. At this point he has to assume that the only reason the fire detector hasn't gone off is because you've preemptively took out the batteries.

He considers offering a hand but before he can speak, the sound of you turning off your stove can just barely be heard. He sits in abject terror as he listens to your footsteps and smell burnt food coming his way. The dish and utensils clinks as it's set before him, he cannot see what you've made but given all the pervious context clue he cause deduct that it doesn't look appetizing at all.

He almost fearfully reaches out for his utensils. He could never belive that someone would mess of food so terribly and still have the gall to serve it. "So, what's for supper?" He asks, trying his best to be respectful to the labor you've put into this meal, even if in he's mind he's saying a silent prayer.