Mafia Boss in Love (MXM)

Dante the Cook

As soon as his stomach let him, Angelo ran after Dante. It had been a mistake to leave the door open, but at that moment, he had had more pressing matters to deal with than closing the damn door.

Now it was too late to regret it. But that wouldn't mean he'd let Dante cook. He was certain that Dante had never cooked before that time he'd made Angelo eggs, being the precious don and whatnot.

Angelo didn't want to be a guinea pig for Dante to test his culinary skills or lack thereof, for that matter. His stomach couldn't even take normal food, let alone Dante's cooking. If Dante fed him his creation, stuff would start coming from all his orifices.

He grabbed Dante's jacket from behind. But the moment he opened his mouth, something else besides words came out. He hadn't got everything out before, and running after Dante had pushed the rest out.

It landed on Dante's fancy shoes and splashed around. Some wound up on his trousers, yet Dante didn't back away. He stood there and patiently waited for Angelo to finish, and patted Angelo's back.

His large hand felt warm through Angelo's clothing. It made him wish for Dante to keep patting him.

"This is why I told you to go back to bed." Dante said above him like a father gently chiding his son.

Angelo didn't have the strength to argue. His head was pounding, and although he didn't want to go back, he had no choice; he needed to lie down. It felt like the whole place was spinning.

"I'll clean it up, so go get a rest."

This time, Angelo didn't talk back. He went back to his room as he had been told. He still worried about Dante being in his kitchen, but he had no strength to do anything about it.

It couldn't be helped. He'd deal with Dante later once he'd regained some strength and no longer felt so miserable. With every step he took, a part of him died.

He really should stop drinking, he thought. It was bad for his health and the headache wasn't worth it anymore. He'd even gone and bought more booze after he'd left the bar. The older he got the harder it was on his body afterwards.

***

Dante had stepped outside to buy ingredients. He'd borrowed Angelo's keys without telling him, but he didn't think Angelo would mind. And even if he would, he didn't know about it.

This had been the first time he had seen drunk Angelo. He'd always imagined Angelo to be cool to the point it would be hard to tell if he was actually drunk.

Angelo's unusual beauty gave off an unearthly vibe that had made Dante believe that Angelo didn't throw up like others. Seeing Angelo vomit had been a such a shock that Dante had been floored. He hadn't known what to do or how to react, so he'd just stood there.

Dante could see people staring at him as he walked through aisles. He looked out of place, shopping in a suit. It was his first time in a convenience store; he always had people who did it for him.

Before he started to cook, he went to check on Angelo first. When Dante saw him sleeping, he quietly placed a glass of water on the bedtime table and a bucket next to the bed in case Angelo needed it after he woke up.

Dante draped his jacket over a chair and he rolled his sleeves up. Aside from the ingredients he needed, he had also bought snacks and other stuff to refill Angelo's refrigerator. He knew how much Angelo loved panna cotta, and seeing it in the store, he couldn't not buy some.

While searching for a pot, Dante found Angelo's collection of alcohol. Considering Angelo's state, it wasn't surprising, but what was was the type of alcohol Angelo had.

Whiskey.

Dante could clearly recall all the names he'd been called by Angelo for drinking it. Angelo only ever drank wine, and had been upset every time Dante had chosen whiskey over wine. Dante had never cared for patriotism. He enjoyed what he did without giving a single thought about where it came from.

The little bar consisted of only whiskey. It was Dante's favourite brand, too. He remembered how Angelo had complained about the burn it had left in his throat when he'd tried it for the first time.

A smile spread across his face.

"So cute," Dante mumbled to himself. Angelo wasn't as indifferent as he let on. He so wasn't honest with his feelings, but Dante didn't mind in the slightest. He felt re-energised by this lucky discovery.

Just knowing that Angelo still liked him was enough for now. Dante would wait for the day when Angelo tells him he loves him on his own.

While the broth was boiling, Dante went to Angelo's room to see if he was still sleeping. That was the intention with which he had come, but it had been more than two years since he last could get a good look at Angelo's face.

He'd noticed it before, but after coming back, Angelo kept avoiding his gaze. Angelo used to be so confident and one of the few who weren't scared to look him in the eye.

Although he found this change in Angelo sweet, he couldn't see his eyes that he thought were Angelo's best trait.

Even now, he couldn't see those lovely emerald eyes, however, he could stare at Angelo as much as he wanted, so he sat down on the floor beside the bed.

No matter how much he stared at it, Dante wouldn't get sick of Angelo's face.

The rising and falling of his chest were calming. Angelo looked so peaceful. That was what Dante had loved. Whenever he had been nearby, Angelo had worn a perpetual frown, and despite Angelo's pretty face, his mouth was quite dirty; there hadn't been a day when he hadn't cursed at Dante.

Dante liked that Angelo. It had been easier to tell what he had been thinking. Nowadays, he couldn't read Angelo at all.

***

Dante almost forgot about the soup he was making. It was so easy to forget about the time when he was with Angelo. No amount of time was long enough for Dante.

When Dante went back to Angelo's room, Angelo was still sleeping.

Though hesitantly, Dante lightly shook Angelo to wake him. Angelo had refused to take a day off, or night, to be specific. If he didn't make it in time to work, he would blame Dante.

Dante absolutely didn't want Angelo to stop talking to him again. He'd only just moved back. It would be devastating if he lost him again.

No! He couldn't lose him again. He wouldn't lose Angelo a second time.