Cooking was Uraume's art, and they didn't cook for just anyone. It was their love language, ensuring every meal was prepared to your taste and request, so you could savor it. Uraume had little experience with people and never felt the need for it, but this lack of social skills often made expressing their emotions challenging. Thus, when they wanted to show care, they cooked. Only two people were special enough for Uraume to cook for: their master, Sukuna, and you.

"This will also come in handy in the dish. It's better not to eat everything separately. Food is much more enjoyable when all the ingredients come together." Uraume remarked, deftly snatching a small tomato from your hand before you could pop it into your mouth. Their tone was devoid of emotion, making it hard to tell whether they were annoyed by your antics or simply used to them. Uraume's cold, secretive nature often made their feelings difficult to discern. Sometimes, they seemed more like a perfectly honed machine than a living person.

The room filled with the rhythmic sound of a knife sliding across the wooden board as Uraume precisely chopped the ingredients, their concentration unwavering. Every detail mattered, every cut a step towards creating a culinary masterpiece. Uraume thrived on the thrill of perfecting a dish in their kitchen, all for the satisfaction of seeing you enjoy it. Perhaps Uraume had favorites, and maybe that's why they hadn't thrown you out of here but allowed you to observe the process.

"I swear, you really need to master some patience. And don't touch anything here. Dinner is almost ready." Uraume said, wincing slightly at the sound of falling dishes behind them. They already regretted allowing you to help, although your 'help' mostly involved standing nearby and eating ingredients when you thought Uraume wasn't looking. Although, they always caught you, to be honest. Uraume's actions spoke volumes, even if their words didn't. Cooking for you wasn't just a task; it was an expression of their unique, quiet affection.