Work Text:
‘Are you sure you don’t want any help, Gan?’ Vila hovered nervously in the doorway.
‘Why, does it look like I do?’ The big man’s apron stretched inadequately across his ample frame, threatening to fly off at any moment. He waved a wooden spoon with such force that it flew from his grasp and embedded itself into the wall with a solid thud.
‘OH HELL!’
Vila hung onto the doorframe, tears or mirth rolling down his face.
Gan glared.
‘I just thought, since it’s his birthday …’ he huffed.
Vila sobered. ‘Then let me help?’
‘NO!’
The apron hit Vila squarely.