Chapter 3: Beef Flavored Bafflement

"Are you sure this is the right place, little man?"

Hiro tucks his leg underneath himself on the seat and uses it as leverage to get a better view outside the car window. It's dark out already— a testament to the rain clouds that absolutely refused to leave after the afternoon showers— but the apartment complex in front of him is lit up well enough, with overhead lights brightening the walkways and sliding glass doors illuminating the balconies on the upper floors. It's not a nice place by any means, with bits of the siding crumbling away here and there, the entire building itself tucked away on a back road in a not bad but not-quite-good part of town, but it seems inviting enough.

He frowns anyway, his brows furrowing in barely concealed confusion. He takes a moment to glance at the address written on the welcoming sign and compares it to the one he'd hastily written on his palm in an effort to prevent himself from forgetting it.

They're the same. This just isn't what he'd been expecting.

"Looks like it."

Wasabi sucks in a breath and tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his shoulders squaring against the seatbelt. "Okay," he says, his voice a slightly higher pitch than strictly necessary. "Okay. This is— why don't you, uh, call him— Tadashi— and reschedule your cooking lesson for tomorrow at your place instead?"

It's a tempting offer— an excuse to have the meeting on his turf where he'll be more comfortable and in control— and with midterms coming up, he even has a conceivable out, but he shakes his head anyway and begins unbuckling his seatbelt. He promised Tadashi that he would help teach him how to cook—however improbable with his own limited knowledge—and he's going to do that.

Probably.

He'd panicked about it a bit in the beginning, but he's determined and ready and lessening his own guilt for treating the man like crap for the better part of six weeks is only part of the reason he hasn't called the whole thing off yet.

Hiro's not so sure what the other reason is, but… It's not important. He'll figure it out. Eventually.

"It'll be fine. I'm only going to be here for a few hours and I'll give you a call if I need you to come back any sooner than we planned," he shrugs and smiles with a sort of bravery he doesn't really feel and hoists the brown paper bag full of ingredients into his lap so he can slide out of the van, his trainers squeaking against the side of the door as he kicks it open.

Calloused fingers catch his wrist and he stops, chocolate orbs locking with dark brown. Wasabi sighs, "Look, I know GoGo's been giving you a hard time about this and it's not good for you to back out of promises, but I want you to be safe, okay? And we don't really know this guy very well, so if you don't want to go through with this, you don't have to. Just say you don't want to stay here and I'll tell GoGo that I wouldn't let you and that'll be the end of it."

His voice is rumbling and earnest and Hiro is instantly transported back to the time when he'd fallen down a flight of stairs due to faulty wiring on his hoverboard and Wasabi had carried him all the way to the medical ward. He'd given himself a concussion and broken his ankle, but the older man hadn't once berated him for it. GoGo had— because it's what she does— but it'd been nice to have Wasabi calm him down and sit with him while they'd bandaged him up. He'd never had that before. And at the time, he'd basked in the obvious affection and palpable concern.

He still does.

But he isn't sixteen anymore and he promised.

So, he frees his wrist and slides out of the car, shrugging as he leans against the doorframe, the brown paper bag balanced precariously on his hip. He's too skinny for it to sit properly. "It'll be fine," he says again, more convincingly this time. "Tadashi's not dangerous." And he's not. Most likely. Hiro hasn't decided yet if Tadashi's nice-guy smile actually means he's a nice guy or not, but… there's really no need for Wasabi to know that. At least not until Hiro figures it out for himself.

"If you're sure…"

"Absolutely. I'm an ex-bot-fighter. The man wears cardigans— what's there to worry about?"

"Bruised ribs," Wasabi deadpans, knuckles tightening against the steering wheel.

And Hiro has the decency to look at least a little sheepish at that. Reminding Wasabi of his one and only foray into the San Fransokyo underground was likely not the best idea he's ever had, but he rolls with it. It's what he's best at. "Again, cardigans. I'll be fine."

Wasabi sucks in another breath before slowly letting it out, one hand pushing his green headband farther back against his forehead. "Okay. Fine— you win. I'll be back to pick you up at eight, okay? And you'll call me if you need me before then, right?"

"Yes, mother," he drawls, rolling his eyes ever so slightly, his lips twitching upwards as he pushes away from the car and moves to close the door. "Now, go already. I'm going to end up being late."

"Fine. Just be careful."

Hiro, being more than a little used to this routine, chooses to shut the door without dignifying that with a response. He hears something that sounds suspiciously like 'Don't forget to brush your teeth after eating' before the car begins to back out of the complex, but he ignores that too and after hoisting the grocery bag a little higher on his hip, begins to make his way closer toward the apartment building.

He takes a moment to check the fading ink across his palm before shuffling over to the nearest stairway. Apartment 26— second floor, sixth unit. Right. He scrunches his nose at the metal staircase, gingerly stepping up. The complex looks even worse up close— more rundown and sad, with a layer of rust peeling off the stairs and a rather unfortunate swaying occurring every time he moves— and by the time he makes it to the second floor landing, he's more than a little thankful for his slight frame.

No. This isn't what he'd expected at all.

Guilt settles in his chest and he takes a deep breath to clear it away, shaking his head and moving down the walkway, silently counting the door as he goes. He stops at the sixth, his lower lip sucked in between his teeth. The sixth unit looks to be in better shape than the rest, with a colorful welcome mat at the foot of the door and a layer of fresh red paint accenting the crisp white trim at the entrance, but Hiro stares at it apprehensively anyway, steeling himself (for something— he's not entirely sure what).

His fingers nervously drum, drum against the bag in his hands as he takes a step forward. His pace quickens; his heart beats much too loudly in his chest. This was a bad idea. Likely, probably the worst idea he's ever had. Teaching a man— who may or may not be a bully, but certainly reminds him of his fair share— how to cook when he himself barely even knows. Why exactly did he agree to this? Why did he offer to do this? He should have just left with Wasabi, deleted the man's information from his contacts list, and forgotten all about his lapse in sanity.

So what if he hasn't figured the man out yet? So what if he's felt guilty for over a week now? It'll all disappear in time— probably— and what happens if he messes up? It's not like he's an expert on cooking; this isn't something he does for a living. He's barely even been doing it for the last two months! And what if Tadashi gets angry at him for wasting his time? He didn't get mad at Honey Lemon, but he liked her and Hiro's not exactly likeable. He's short and skinny and easily distracted and—

Knocking.

He stares at his knuckles in horror, realizing belatedly that he's shifted the ingredients bag into one hand and lifted his other one to rap against the door.

"Coming! Just a minute!"

Tadashi's voice reverberates through the door and Hiro feels himself stiffening, his shoulders squaring and his fingers digging into the paper bag, the crinkling far too loud to his own ears. He didn't think this through. He's had a whole week to plan for this— to panic and pick up ingredients and iron out the details with Tadashi via text— but somehow, he never once thought about this moment. This one ridiculous moment when they were supposed to see each other again.

They're not friends. And Hiro might be playing at being a teacher, but he isn't one. They don't know each other at all and he's not sure how he's supposed to act. Bitter and biting only made him feel sick to his stomach and Tadashi might not have deserved that anyway and—

"Oh, hi," Tadashi smiles as the door swings open, his coffee-colored irises wide. "You're a little early. Here, come on— ouff!"

Hiro takes a startled step back as a large white blur streaks passed, bowling Tadashi over in its hasty run for the stairs. He stares at it.

"Baymax! Crap— crap, just, uh, I'm really sorry—," Tadashi stammers, quickly righting himself and giving Hiro a little push toward the apartment's entrance. "Just make yourself at home— I have to grab him. So, just, uh, I'll be right back!"

By the time he's finished talking, he's running down the same precarious staircase that Hiro barely managed to make it up just a few moments before. Bewildered brown eyes blink and his mouth shuts with an audible click.

He thinks he might have been planning on saying hello.

Oh well.

Carefully, as if someone's going to jump out at him at any moment, Hiro steps into the apartment. The first thing that strikes him is how terribly small it is— smaller than his own, it seems— with the kitchen and living area all jammed into one space. There's a single loveseat across from a television on one side of the entryway and a tiny table crammed opposite a set of kitchen cupboards on the other. And it's very male, with nothing but beiges and neutrals, the bare minimum of everything. With the exception of what obviously belongs to Mieko— a collection of glittery-looking horses stacked up in one corner, a pink Hello Kitty backpack hanging on the wall, a pair of tiny rainbow colored sneakers— it looks like a bachelor pad. A particularly sad one.

"Do you need any help?"

Hiro jumps and shakes his head as if to clear it, twisting around. Mieko smiles at him from underneath the arch that clearly leads back towards the bedrooms. Big blue eyes blink at him and he smiles sheepishly, awkwardly clearly his throat, "No, uh— your dad just… had to chase something?"

It sounds ridiculous as soon as it leaves his mouth, but Mieko smiles a little wider, her missing front teeth evident. "It's just Baymax," she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. To her, maybe it is. "He likes the rain, but Dad doesn't like having to dry out the carpet. Says he's like a con— a con— hmph."

"Convict," Hiro supplies helpfully, a little more at ease as he moves to set the ingredients in the kitchen.

"Convict," Mieko repeats, scrunching her nose around the word like it's personally offended her. GoGo would love her; he's absolutely sure. "Yes, that. Are you really going to teach Daddy how to cook?"

He takes a moment to think on that, twisting a can of chicken broth in between his hands as he begins to unpack. He doesn't want to lie to her, because he really doesn't know if he can actually teach the man or not, but… there's something wonderfully endearing about her, with her crystal blue eyes and her slightly overlarge ears. "I'm going to try," he says eventually.

Her eyes narrow a bit then, her lips thinning like she's studying him before she brightens. "Good," she hums, rocking back on her heels. "Auntie Honey promised she would, but… It's bad to make promises you can't keep, you know."

She sighs a little wistfully then— a flare for the dramatic— and it takes everything Hiro can do to keep from laughing, a couple of his fingers automatically going up to his mouth so he can hide his smile. "Well, I'm not promising. Just trying."

"Then maybe you'll have better luck," she says with an air of finality, nodding to herself before coming farther into the room to play with the glittery horses in the corner.

Hiro spends the next several minutes trying to set everything up, smiling to himself as he pulls the ingredients out one by one. Mieko doesn't try to speak to him again, but every once in a while, he looks up from the rice or the peppers to watch her stretched out on the floor, swinging her feet back and forth in the air. She looks content enough in this crammed little room with the beiges and the neutrals.

He's envious. Thinking about it makes his heart ache in his chest for something he never really had.

"—worst dog in the world. You'd better be glad I love you so much, you overgrown monster."

Hiro glances up just as Tadashi steps back through the door, grumbling under his breath in what is clearly a well-recited rant. The dog (though Hiro thinks that miniature horse might be a more appropriate description) looks entirely too satisfied with himself, his tail wagging sporadically behind him even as Tadashi tugs on his bright red collar.

Mieko giggles from her spot on the floor and the dog barks in response, trotting the rest of the way into the living room in what can only be describes as a prance. He stretches out across the little girl's back and Mieko laughs harder, hiding her face in the crook of her arm.

Tadashi opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but closes it with a sigh, running his hand over his face in resignation. Hiro blinks at him then and coffee-colored irises blink back, their owner turning a deep shade of red, like he'd completely forgotten that Hiro had even shown up yet.

"Sorry about that," he winces. "Again."

Hiro just shrugs in response, a layer of unease settling over him as Tadashi comes to stand in the kitchen area. He looks nice enough, maybe a little tired, but he's smiling and relaxed, so Hiro tries to smile back, taking a deep breath despite the butterflies swirling in his stomach, "It's cool. So, umm, I thought we could try having you cook today with me watching— just so I can see what you're doing wrong and point it out. It's not entirely different from what, uh, Honey Lemon does in her class, but it'll be a bit more… personalized, I guess?"

He feels awkward saying it, his voice starting out at a normal volume and sinking down into what could almost be considered a whisper, his neck burning, but Tadashi grabs the recipe off the laminate countertop where Hiro laid it several minutes earlier and starts skimming through it, his fingers tap, tap, tapping against the surface. "Sure. Sounds good to me."

"Okay, uh, good. That's good," Hiro stammers, nervously twisting his fingers around his jacket sleeves. So far so good. He can do this. Probably. "Ready to get started then?"

Twenty minutes later, Tadashi's most of the way through the prep, a pan of carefully chopped onions and sweet peppers are sautéing away on the stovetop, and Hiro couldn't be happier, leaning against the countertop with his fingers hidden in his sleeves. The Roman chicken recipe that he'd located and altered from the deep recesses of the Internet isn't complicated, but it's tasty and so far, his one and only foray into teaching has been going well.

And at this point, there's really not much for him to do besides make sure that Tadashi doesn't add anything nefarious to the ingredients— which he doesn't think will be happening anytime soon— so he lets himself wonder, his chocolate-colored eyes twisting this way and that, as if he's trying to memorize the small space. There really isn't much to see that he hasn't already noticed, except for maybe Tadashi himself, but he finds himself drawn to the Hello Kitty backpack again and again.

His mouth twists. Hiro doesn't know how old Mieko is, but she's obviously already in elementary school and Tadashi— he doesn't seem very old at all. Only a handful of years older than Hiro himself, really. He gazes at the neutrals and the beiges again, taking in the complete lack of knick-knacks and the horribly mismatched pots and pans.

And then he, rather unfortunately, opens his mouth.

"So, you're a single parent, then," he asks, twisting around to get a better look at Tadashi. He means to be conversational, to fill the dead space between them with something other than silence, but Tadashi's grip tightens around the knife in his hand, his back rigid.

Carefully, the older man straightens, one lone mushroom left on his cutting board as weary brown eyes shift focus, glancing upwards. His lips tighten. "Yes."

It's not a kind word.

Hiro blinks, confused by the obvious hostility. His fingers knot in his sleeves; the familiar spike of adrenaline races through his veins. "Oh," he mumbles somewhat dumbly, unsure of what to say. "You don't seem very old though."

It happens quickly after that.

Tadashi twists around completely, slamming the knife against the counter with a resounding— terrifying— clank, his fingers shaking, his knuckles white. Hiro makes a horrified squeak in surprise as Tadashi takes a step closer, his lips pressed into a thin, furious line. "So what! She is my daughter! I am perfectly capable of taking care of my daughter on my own! I'm fine! We're fine! Completely and totally fine without a wife or— or a girlfriend! And I don't need some— some— whoever you are— telling me how to raise my kid!"

Thin shoulders bump against the refrigerator as Hiro takes a hasty step back, his fingers trapped unconsciously around his sleeves, his head bent in a violent flinch. There's a recognizable sort of terror thrumming against his chest, his heart thump, thump, thumping as quickly as it can, his breath coming in and out in shallow pants. He's been here before, backed against the wall with someone just like this one standing over him— all broad shouldered and tall with a sturdy jaw and everything they ever wanted.

Except he hasn't really because Baymax growls from underneath the table, low and angry— a warning— and Tadashi instantly backs off like he didn't realize what he was doing in the first place, running his hands through his hair. His lips twist into a grimace.

"Sorry," he says at length, taking a deep, steadying sort of breath. He moves as far away as he possibly can while still staying in the kitchen. Hiro stays frozen, chocolate brown eyes wide, forced up on his tiptoes, crushed into the tiny space where the countertop and the refrigerator meet.

"Sorry. God, I'm sorry," Tadashi repeats— and it's a pathetic and small sort of apology, the kind that Hiro's never quite heard directed at himself before. The sincere kind, the genuine kind— he's not sure what to make of it, his limbs shaking ever-so-slightly with residual terror. But Tadashi keeps going anyway, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. "It's a— a sore subject," he explains. "It's a really sore subject that's been coming up all week but that doesn't— I shouldn't have— Just, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

He gives Hiro a little half-hearted smile and turns away, back to the cutting board with the lone mushroom, his hands braced on the counter. He's still breathing in and out measuredly, but he's not mad anymore, the tenseness more from shame than anger.

And Hiro— weirdly, impossibly— finds himself forgiving him instantly, cautiously lowering himself into a more comfortable position, quietly pushing the dread out of his lungs. Because this isn't what's supposed to happen. This isn't how it's supposed to go.

Guys like Tadashi with their nice-guy smiles and their perfect looks— They're not supposed to apologize to people like him.

And he's not supposed to understand them.

They're supposed to be from different worlds. They're supposed to have different problems. But Hiro understands this one— being thought of as less than capable because of his age, because he didn't have anyone in his corner. He's dealt with it all his life— from being moved up, up, up in school to applying for his first grant to dealing with the leasing office during his apartment search— and he gets it.

He swallows, nibbling at his lower lip. Big brown eyes glance at the inconspicuous backpack once again and he's suddenly glad that Tadashi sent Mieko back to her room ages ago. It's best that she didn't see anything. It would have scared her and it's so obvious that Tadashi more than loves her and—

Sometimes, Hiro thinks he's an idiot, all caught up in his own little world. He's smart enough— yeah— but he doesn't understand how he's supposed to talk to people. GoGo and Wasabi understand him because they've had years to figure him out, but someone like Tadashi, someone he doesn't really know and someone who doesn't really know him— They wouldn't know what he was trying to say. That he was just trying to understand in his own way.

A sigh. Tadashi glances up at him, coffee-colored irises strained and sad. He looks even more tired now.

"Have you lived here for very long? In San Fransokyo, I mean," Hiro asks, not quite casually, his fingers falling into his mouth so he can pull at his nails. The older man gives a hesitant sort of nod. "So, you've probably heard about The Lucky Cat, then? The orphanage off near the interstate exit?

"Yeah," Tadashi returns at length, his eyebrows furrowed. "I've heard of it."

"Good," Hiro breathes, swallowing thickly. "Good, uh— yeah. I grew up there, so I'm not— I didn't mean anything by what I said before." The words barely make it passed his throat and he turns to the side so he can avoid the look on Tadashi's face that accompanies his sharp inhale. "Look, it's not a big deal or anything. I just wanted you to know that I didn't mean anything, umm… bad. I think it's great that you kept your daughter, you know? I never even met my parents."

There's a tense pause, the silence hanging heavily between them before Tadashi puffs out a sigh, shaking his head in his hands. "Man, I'm so sorry. It's just… It's hard sometimes— dealing with everything." He gives a little shrug then, trying for another half-hearted smile. "Can we just pretend that I'm not a giant knucklehead and keep going like the last fifteen minutes never happened?"

Hiro shrugs, his lips twisting into what could have been a grin. "The peppers are burning."

"Oh, are you serious—"

Hiro tilts his head to the side, thick black hair tickling his cheek as his tongue pushes passed his lips. His fingers straighten the carrots on the board, pressing them into tight, uniform lines. Carefully, he brings the knife down, watching raptly as the carrots are formed into tiny chunks— all exactly the same size, all exactly the same height.

GoGo raises an inky black eyebrow at him when he dumps the cutting board into the nearby mixing bowl with a flourish, but otherwise seems pleased, checking to make sure that all the vegetables are cut evenly. "Your technique is improving."

He knows, but he positively preens under the praise anyway. He'd watched Tadashi's chopping skills during their first cooking lesson together and he decided that he would give it a try with his own meals. So far, it hasn't done much for the meats, but the vegetables— oh, the vegetables. They're beautiful— or at least, passably pretty.

He'll take what he can get.

"So, Panda Eyes," she starts after popping a raw carrot chunk into her mouth, her bubble gum pushed to the side, "what's all this then?" She gestures toward the kitchen at large and he takes a moment to glance around. There are plates everywhere, filled with a variety of things— from vegetables to meats to lined up canned goods. It's an absolute mess, but he swells with pride anyway.

"Practice," he says.

GoGo scrutinizes him for a moment, almond-shaped eyes narrowing. Her arms cross in front of her chest and she leans forward, her elbows against the table. "Practice," she questions, "for your cooking lessons?"

"Yup," he pops the 'p,' lining up a couple of celery sticks and giving them the same treatment as the carrots. They crunch when he presses down and he's more than satisfied with the sound, lifting himself up and down on his heels. Hiro wonders why he didn't try this sooner.

"So you're going back then?"

He blinks, stopping to glance at her. "Yeah," he says slowly. "I mean, why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno," she shrugs, and she looks inordinately pleased with him in a way that he's not really used to. She hasn't even threatened to hit him yet. "Wasabi said he lived in a bad part of town."

Her voice is casual, but Hiro can tell that she's digging towards something, so he sets the knife on the cutting board and leans over the counter. "Wasabi thinks everyone that's not within walking distance to the police station lives in the bad part of town. Besides, it's more that he's in the bad part of the good part of town— or the good part of the bad part. One of those."

GoGo's lips quirk up a bit at that. "And you were complaining about promising to go for a week."

"I was not."

There's a pause between them where GoGo's eyebrows raise and one of her purple-tipped sneakers tap, tap, taps against the floor.

"I was not," he stresses. "I only complained for four days. That is not a week."

"Nearly a week then," she amends. Hiro knows from experience that that's about as close as GoGo gets to an apology, but he scowls at her anyway. She's snarkier when Wasabi's not around. "Anyway," she continues, "I'm just surprised. You seemed like you were dreading it."

He opens his mouth to defend himself, but then clicks it closed with a shrug. He hadn't exactly been excited about going, but… "It was better than I expected."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he intones, thinking back on the conversation he'd had with Wasabi when the older man had picked him up Saturday night. "I mean, it was awkward at first. Like, super, weirdly awkward, but after that was out of the way, it went really well. Tadashi's actually a pretty cool guy."

He smiles as he says it and for some reason, his cheeks burn. GoGo smirks, straightening in her chair, "So, you like him?"

There's a weird infliction in her voice around the word like that he doesn't quite understand, but he ignores it with a little frown. Hiro hardly ever understands what she's getting at when she's being cryptic, so he lets it go as a lost cause. "Sure, so far. Did you know he works as a mechanic?"

"How would I know that?"

"Oh, yeah, right— Anyway, he works at the big garage off of Lombard Street," he explains. "Do you think he could use the mini mechanic I made second year? It's more of a car thing, so I don't have much of a need for it. And, like— I don't know. It'd probably be helpful, considering his job."

"You want to help him with his job," GoGo says slowly, almond-shaped eyes staring at him strangely.

He frowns, "Well, sure. I built it to help mechanics. It's not getting a lot of use chunked in the storage bin at the lab. I'd have to fix it up though— maybe add a self-charging feature? That could work. And maybe Wasabi would be willing to help me with some of the precision instruments? That's more his thing than mine."

"Right. I'll tell Wasabi about it. And who the upgrades are for," she grins, shaking her head a bit to get her violet fringe out of her eyes.

There's something predatory in her smile. Hiro stares at her for a moment, chocolate brown eyes narrowing as she purposefully looks back at him. His brows furrow. "Am I missing something…?"

"Nope. You're fine."

He blinks at her for a moment before shrugging. It's probably unimportant anyway. "Right. So, yeah— I think I'll do that then. Fix the mini mechanic up this week and bring it by when we do lessons this weekend. And—," Hiro stops himself, glancing at his jacket with a frown. "Do you think I should wear a t-shirt instead of the hoodie?"

GoGo chokes.

"I mean, it'd be better for cooking, you know? I won't get so much stuff on my sleeves. That'd be easier, right?" It'd be a little weird for him to leave it behind, but he's tired of having to wash it so often. A t-shirt would be easier. More functional.

"You're really serious about this guy aren't you?"

"Well, yeah," he responds immediately, shrugging. "I want the cooking lessons to go well and it'll be easier to cook if I'm not constantly rolling up my sleeves."

It seems simple enough to him, but GoGo keeps looking at him strangely. "Right. You want to wear a t-shirt because it's more practical?"

"Uh… yes?"

"Okay," she snorts, obviously amused by something (he's not sure he wants to know what it is at this point). She leans a little closer to him then, glancing at his legs. "Maybe you should try jeans too. You wouldn't have to worry about dropping anything on your shins then."

She says it like it's a joke, but he glances down anyway, lips twisted into a slight frown. His legs are pale and thin beneath his shorts. He smiles at her, "I think I'll do that. T-shirt and jeans."

"You'll look nice," she snickers. "Very practical."

Hiro doesn't understand why that's so funny.

"What are you doing?"

Tadashi blinks at him, his coffee-colored irises glancing over his shoulder to where Hiro's massaging Baymax with his feet. "Making gravy," he tries.

Hiro raises one skeptical eyebrow at the measuring cup in the other man's hand. "With a cup and a half of salt?"

"Umm… yes?"

"No, Tadashi. No."

GoGo props her feet on his desk. "So, how was dinner?"

His nose scrunches. "Salty."

"Ah. And the t-shirt and jeans?"

"Practical."

"Right. Practical."

Three weeks later, Hiro finds himself comfortably leaning against Tadashi's kitchen table, his head shaking back and forth with his hand buried beneath his fringe. Coffee-brown eyes have the decency to look at least a little sheepish.

"I could try again…?"

Hiro barks out a laugh. "Nope, nope— we're done for the night. No more! I can't take it. The stove can't take it. The dog can't take it!" He gestures to the kitchen at large, at the overturned spice rack and the crammed counters. Thinking back on it, Hiro is almost amused that he once thought this man knew how to cook. "What is wrong with you tonight?"

"I don't know," Tadashi groans, hiding his face in his hands. Hiro tries to keep himself from smiling at the gesture; he's grown strangely fond of it, of Tadashi's hands in general. There's a grease stain underneath the fingernail on Tadashi's left index finger. It wouldn't come off with any amount of scrubbing, so Hiro just let it go as a lost cause.

Like he should have done with dinner, apparently.

Tadashi's first attempt at a pork and vegetable stir fry over rice started out well enough, but went completely haywire when Tadashi added a cup of raw rice to the wok while Hiro was distracted by Baymax (It wasn't entirely his fault; the dog is very persuasive). The second attempt ended when Tadashi bumped his head against the spice rack over the stove and dumped an entire container of oregano seasoning on the vegetables. And the third attempt— oh the third attempt came to its gruesome end when Tadashi tried to plate it and ended up slipping on a puddle of spilt soy sauce. The whole batch was turned over in the fall. Mostly on Hiro's head.

And yet, they'd tried for a fourth attempt because Hiro had clearly lost his mind. Hair and clothes newly splattered, he'd set Tadashi to try again.

It hadn't worked. Obviously.

"How did that even happen," he asks helplessly, his lips turning downward into a frown as he points at the offending dinner item. Shaking his head again, Hiro carefully pushes himself off the dinner table and steps towards it, poking at the charred mess burnt into the bottom of the sauté pan with a nearby fork. It was edible. Once. "This is awful."

His tone is a lot kinder than it used to be, even amused, but Tadashi grimaces anyway. "It's not that bad," he reasons. "The second batch was worse."

"Only after the oregano. Baymax wouldn't even eat it."

"Well, Baymax is picky. Clearly he doesn't appreciate all the time I spent slaving over a hot stove to make him his dinner. Blood, sweat, and tears went into those green beans, Hiro. I could have died." He narrows his eyes at the dog for good measure, an exaggerated frown creasing his features.

Hiro snorts and the Great Pyrenees in question looks up at them from his spot on the floor. His tail thump, thump, thumps against the table, happy as can be. "Don't blame the dog."

"I'll blame the dog if I want to," Tadashi snips, sticking his tongue out. It's a childish sort of gesture; Hiro responds in kind, his lips quirking upwards at the edges. Over the last several weeks, he's found that Tadashi is actually rather enjoyable to be around. He might have the same strong shoulders and sturdy jawline that the bullies from his school days flaunted, but Hiro's come to find that Tadashi isn't like they were in personality at all. And spending time with him, while not quite the same as being around GoGo and Wasabi, is comfortable. He likes it.

Though, admittedly, he likes it a lot more when there's not a layer of sesame oil weighing down his hair.

It's something to work on for next time.

"So," Tadashi starts, running his hand through his hair in something like resignation, frowning at the inedible slop on the stove, "I could still give it another try. It might work out this time." His lips twitch into what's almost a smile as he grabs the pan off the stove and moves to scrape the ruined dinner remains into the trashcan to join their predecessors.

"Yeeaahhh— no. I would rather survive the night, if it's all the same to you, Mr. Soup."

"Why, I never," Tadashi huffs, feigning offence with his hand over his chest. Chocolate brown eyes roll. At least, Mieko's flair for the dramatic is beginning to make sense.

"Besides," Hiro continues matter-of-factly, "you used up the last of the green beans and water chestnuts last time— and there's not enough of everything else to make another full batch, even with Mieko being gone for the night."

Tadashi blinks at him, his coffee-colored irises wide as they swivel between Hiro's small frame and the ruined countertop. There's a collection of leftover scraps from the last four batches, but there's clearly not enough left for a full meal. "Oh. Well, that complicates things."

"A bit," Hiro shrugs. His lips quirk to the side; his fingers tip-tap against his own cheek. There really isn't much food left, but… "I could try to make something?"

He smiles up at Tadashi, shrugging again as he leans against the nearby counter because he's awkward like that and he's not sure what else to do. Tadashi blinks at him for a moment before his mouth opens and then clicks closed, a broad smile stretching across his face. "You know," he says, "I think we should go out."

"Really," Hiro squawks. One thick black eyebrow raises and Hiro feels himself turning pink, the familiar heat running up his neck and painting his ears a rather violent shade of red. They've never gone out before. All their interactions have always taken place in Tadashi's apartment, crammed inside his little kitchen or sitting at his dining table. He's not sure what to say. His palms are sweaty.

"Yeah, really," Tadashi grins. "You're always the one bringing the food and it's not like I'm paying you for the lessons. Let me take you out tonight. My treat."

Chocolate brown eyes glance at him, at his charmingly oversized ears and his winning smile, and his heart does a weird sort of flutter in his chest. Frowning, Hiro presses his hand against it, rubbing his hand over the cotton material of his stained shirt. It's strange.

He's never felt that before.

"You alright?"

Hiro shakes his head as if to clear it, forcing a smile. "Yeah— uh, yeah. You were saying?"

"Come on, dinner and— and a movie if you're up for it. It'll be great." There's a hopeful sort of look in his eyes as he says it and Hiro feels himself brightening in response.

"Fine— just no stir fry! I can't take it!"

Tadashi laughs.

And Hiro resolves to worry about the heart fluttering problem later. It's probably nothing important.

"You look happy."

He starts in his chair, his feet falling to the floor with a clatter. He blinks. "Oh, hey, GoGo. I didn't see you there."

"Clearly." Her pink bubble gum pops between them. He smiles; she raises an eyebrow beneath her violet fringe. "How were lessons?"

"Awful. Murphy's Law and all that."

"And you're happy about that because…?"

Hiro shrugs, sitting up a little straighter. "We ended up going out instead. Dinner and a movie. It was pretty great."

A crash echoes in the corner of the lab. "GoGo, you said we didn't have to worry about this!"

"Like I said, I may have made a mistake," GoGo yells back, shrugging.

Wasabi sputters. Hiro frowns. "Seriously, am I missing something here?"

"This is actually—"

"Yes, yes—"

"—edible."

"Yes!" Tadashi pumps his fist into the air, completely knocking his chair to the ground in his hurry to stand up. His smile is almost blinding as he dances around the room, his bare feet running along the carpet, his hands swinging out in front of him.

Meiko laughs at him from across the table and Baymax runs up to jump around his legs, weaving in and out with practiced ease.

And Hiro just hides his frown behind another bite, that ridiculous flutter back in his chest. It's certainly not the best stuffed pepper he's ever tasted, but it's more than pleasant and Tadashi hadn't once needed his help to make it. It should be a good sign— a milestone that shows that Tadashi had actually managed to learn something from him— but it makes his chest ache.

He wonders why.

"Why am I completely unsurprised by this?"

"Because it's me," Hiro shrugs, munching ruefully on the granola bar that the school nurse gave him after she hooked him up to the IV. It's bland; he thinks he could have made a better one.

GoGo looks less than impressed with his reasoning, tapping the toe of her sneaker against the scuffed tiles of the medical ward. "So let me get this straight," she snipes, her lips turned downward into a disappointed frown. "One— I paid for you to take a cooking class that you ended up excelling at. Clearly you know how to cook. Two— you volunteered to teach someone else how to cook. Clearly you are physically capable of cooking. And three— ten weeks later, you forget to eat for three days and end up unconscious in the lab! Did I miss anything, Hamada?"

He opens his mouth but then snaps it closed again. He doesn't have much to say for himself, not with an IV hooked to his arm at his elbow and a bruise the size of Kentucky making itself known on his side. "Nope. That pretty much sums it up."

"You—," she cuts herself off, clenching her fists. "Do you have any idea how close you came to falling through Wasabi's lasers? Any idea, Hamada? You could have died!"

"Wasabi never leaves them on when he's not there."

"That is not the point!"

She takes a step forward like she's going to hit him and he flinches back against the pillows, drawing up his knees. There's a school nurse on just the other side of the privacy screen, but he'd rather not take his chances. GoGo can do a lot of damage when she wants to. And he's pretty sure that it's just her way of showing she cares, but sometimes, he thinks she cares a little too much. "I know! I know— and I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Liar," she huffs, crossing her arms. "You said that last time."

He winces, nibbling on his lower lip. He's not sure what to say, because— yeah— he did say that. He agreed to take better care of himself and to start eating and sleeping at normal times and clearly he's not doing a good job of it. But, it's not like he meant to do it. He assumes that that counts for something. "I just… I got caught up."

"Caught up," GoGo repeats disbelievingly. Almond-shaped orbs narrow at him and it takes all he can do to maintain eye contact. "Alright, then. Let's hear it. Just what had you so caught up that you completely forgot your own biology?"

"Cooking."

"Cooking," she growls. "You forgot to eat because you were cooking?"

"Well, no! Not exactly," he hastens to explain, skinny shoulders hunched, his hands up in a placating sort of gesture as if that will do any good— as if he doesn't know better. "I was looking for a recipe for Tadashi!"

"And that took three days? Three days during which looking at food did not remind you that you needed to eat?" She cocks her hip against the side of the bed, her bubble gum popping against her lips.

"I was looking for something specific," he mumbles in response, a familiar heat running up his neck and spreading across his cheeks. It's been happening a lot lately. "I needed to find something difficult."

GoGo looks at him strangely then, tilting her head to the side. "And why would you need something difficult? I thought you said that Tadashi was just learning simple meals to make at home?"

"Well, yeah, he is, but I— I mean…," Hiro sighs, running his free hand through his hair. "I don't know."

One black eyebrow arches, "You don't know? You're sitting in a bed in the middle of the medical building and you're telling me that you don't know exactly what it was that sent you here? I'm not buying it."

"It's complicated," he shrugs, hoping that that will be the end of it because it is complicated and he doesn't really understand it himself, but GoGo taps her foot impatiently against the side of the bed and he rambles on. "I mean, Tadashi's been doing really well with all the recipes lately and I thought— I thought… maybe he would like something more difficult that he couldn't do without help and— gaah! I don't know!" He makes a frustrated sort of sound, tugging exasperatedly at the hem of his jacket.

His head is a mess and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do about it.

"Ah," GoGo says. And then she relaxes like she was never angry at all, a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. "You want Tadashi to need your help."

"I do not," he squawks. "Why would I want that? I'm supposed to be teaching him! Why would I be setting him up to fail unless I wanted to spend more time with— oh."

Hiro blinks. GoGo chortles at his dumbstruck expression and it's almost the same as every other time GoGo's pushed him into realizing something ridiculously obvious about himself. Except it's not because—

Tadashi?

He likes Tadashi. He like-likes Tadashi.

A lot.

So much, in fact, that he's been subconsciously planning on sabotaging their usual Saturday cooking session to the point where Tadashi wouldn't even think about discontinuing the lessons. Because he likes them. Because it's the only time he gets to see Tadashi and he likes being holed up in the kitchen with him for three or four hours every weekend. He likes ruffling Baymax's oversized ears when he first comes in the door and he likes slipping Mieko the occasional spoonful of raw cookie dough while Tadashi's pretending not to look. And he absolutely loves it when Tadashi sits by him at the cramped dinner table and smiles at him over his late-night cup of coffee before wishing him a good night.

Oh god.

The heart fluttering makes so much more sense now.

"This is— But I mean, we're not— I'm not—," Hiro tries to reason, furrowing his brow. His heart thump, thump, thumps against his chest; his palms are sweaty. "This is terrible! What am I supposed to do now, GoGo?"

It sounds like he's pleading. He absolutely is.

"What are you supposed to do," GoGo reiterates. And then like it's the most logical thing in the world, "You ask him out. Obviously."

He gapes at her. "I can't do that! I'm— I'm me and he's— It wouldn't work." He's sure of that. He's not the kind of guy that goes out on dates. He's too short and too thin and too young and too—

All those bad qualities. He has them all wrapped up in one pintsized package.

But GoGo just smirks at him, "I don't know, Hiro. Your ass looks fantastic in those jeans."

He chokes. "It does not!"

"Whatever you say, Panda Eyes," she hums. He tries not to suffocate on air. "Anyway, Wasabi's waiting for me at the bookstore. We'll swing by and pick you up as soon as the nurse gives the all clear, so shoot me a text. And think about it. You never know what could end up happening."

Hiro regains the ability to breathe just in time to see GoGo disappear beyond the privacy curtain. He resolutely does not spend the next thirty minutes looking over his shoulder in an attempt to check out his own ass.

He uses the bedside mirror instead. It's handheld.

The world ends on a Saturday.

Or, at least, Hiro wishes it would as he stands outside Tadashi's scarlet red door with an armful of ingredients and his best pair of please-date-me jeans hugging his hips. He's been here a dozen or so times before, but he still feels uncomfortable and out of place, all dolled up in GoGo's choices for the evening (a pair of skinny navy jeans from the far recesses of his closet and a simple black v-neck that somehow makes his arms look like something other than the twigs everyone knows they are). Wasabi and GoGo both assured him repeatedly that he looked great before they dropped him off for the evening, but now, standing here with the welcome mat beneath his feet, he feels absolutely ridiculous.

He's not built for this.

Hiro's not built for dressing up to impress someone, especially not someone like Tadashi who he knows would look just as gorgeous in rags as Hiro would in priceless finery. He's not built for relationships and he's most certainly not built for starting them. For asking people out like it's some casual affair. He's not that kind of guy— that kind of guy that finds love confessions easy or even the kind of guy that knows what love is. He's completely out of his element and Tadashi's completely out of his league.

Just what is he supposed to do now?

He knows what he wants to do. He wants to just let things continue as they have been and hope his feelings go away on their own. That would be the most logical thing for him to do, to just pretend that nothing has changed until it really seems as if nothing has. It's a good plan. A solid, non-humiliating strategy that he knows he could follow through with.

Except he can't because GoGo made sure that option was unavailable to him almost immediately after finding out that that's what he was planning to do.

She stole his phone.

More specifically, she stole his phone while he was napping in the lab and then sent Tadashi a revised itinerary of their usual Saturday night cooking lesson. A revised itinerary stating that this would be their last lesson together because there's no point in continuing them if Tadashi has already learned how to cook.

Tadashi agreed— because why wouldn't he?— and GoGo forced his hand. And Hiro knows that if he wants to keep spending time with Tadashi (which he very much does), he's going to have to man up and figure out some other way to do it outside of their casual cooking class. Which is exactly what GoGo wants him to do.

The traitor. Sometimes, he really hates her.

Or just dislikes her.

Deeply.

There's a bark from the other side of the door and Hiro starts, his shoulders squaring, his back muscles pulled taunt as he hugs the grocery bag closer to his chest. The howl is low and rumbling— Baymax's unmistakable greeting— and while it usually brings a smile to his face, it only makes him more anxious tonight, his lower lip falling in between his teeth while his heels bounce up and down against the synthetically fibered doormat beneath his feet.

He's going to miss it. All of it. He's going to miss Baymax's silly bark and that weird way he wags his tail when he wants something. He's going to miss stepping over Mieko's toys and the incessant way she chatters when she's had a good day. And the apartment. Hiro's going to miss that too— the crammed little apartment with the mismatched bowls and the lumpy loveseat in the corner, the creaky staircase that somehow hasn't fallen down, the unidentifiable stain on the wall by the table in the shape of a demonic frog.

And Tadashi. He's going to miss him the most. He's going to miss his broad smile and his stupid oversized ears and those ridiculous cardigans that he keeps in every color. He's going to miss cooking with him, those times they would accidently brush up against each other when Tadashi was doing something particularly stupid and Hiro needed to help him figure it out.

Because if things don't work out between the two of them, he won't ever have a reason to come back here again. And they won't work out.

Possibly.

Most likely.

After the week he's had, Hiro's not entirely sure of anything anymore, except that he's been standing around outside Tadashi's door for nearly fifteen minutes now and it's clearly passed time for him to get over himself and go in. There's no time like the present (or something).

So, with a little shake of his head, he raises his hand to knock. There's some rustling inside the apartment, quickly followed by the sound of something hitting the ground before Tadashi swings the door open, looking a little worse for wear with his hair damp and his green t-shirt slightly off center.

"Hey, Hiro," he smiles, coffee-colored irises looking him up and down. The tips of Tadashi's ears turn pink; Hiro wonders why. "You look nice today."

He doesn't mean anything by it, Hiro's sure, but he feels that unfortunately familiar heat travelling up his neck and painting his cheeks anyway. He swallows passed the butterflies in his gut. "Uh, thanks."

His voice breaks in the middle of the word and his cheeks (impossibly) darken, but Tadashi just shrugs it off, opening the door a little wider so Hiro can slide by him, carefully avoiding Baymax's prone form. "Don't mention it. Do you need anything or should I go ahead and get started on dinner? It's getting kind of late."

"No— uh, no. I'm good," Hiro stutters as he places the groceries in the kitchen, his fingers shaking. "Really, really good. So, umm… yeah."

Tadashi blinks at him. His head tilts slightly to the side. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah— yeah. Absolutely. Never better." He winces as soon as the words leave his mouth, feeling utterly ridiculous because this is Tadashi. They've been through this routine over a dozen times now. There's no need for him to be nervous and jittery and tense. So what if he likes him? So what if he's clearly making a huge mistake by maybe— sort of kind of— thinking about going through with GoGo's plan to ask him out. It's not a big deal. He's capable of asking a question without making a complete fool of himself. Probably.

"Well, if you're sure…"

"Completely," Hiro interjects, ignoring the worried look Tadashi shoots him. "So, anyway, the recipe for tonight is okonomiyaki. I remember you saying that you liked it a couple weeks ago and— and yeah, it seemed like a good test meal. Since it's going to be the last one and everything."

Inky black brows furrow for a moment before Tadashi shrugs. "Sounds good to me. Guess I'll get started then?"

They both fall into their roles easily after that, with Tadashi manning the food and Hiro watching from the sidelines to keep him from adding anything unnecessary— namely, unfortunately large quantities of salt. And it goes well, better than it ever has before. Tadashi doesn't waste any of the food and Hiro doesn't have to step in to correct him at all. It's perfect and as Tadashi cooks, Hiro feels himself relaxing into the silence between them, broken only when the older man draws him into a conversation about Mrs. Matsuda, the strangely eccentric woman that frequents the garage where he works.

It's oddly comfortable and Hiro doesn't want to ruin that by bringing up relationships and straining what they already have by trying to make it more than it is. He can put off asking until later. He has some time to figure it out.

But he really doesn't because an hour and fifteen minutes after he arrives, once the food is done and on the table, he's even less sure of what he's supposed to say, of how he's supposed to bring it up. The okonomiyaki turned out flawlessly, the perfectly shaped dinner pancake laid out in front of him with a cartoon robot drawn in the sauce. It's adorable.

He thinks he might be sick.

"So, how'd I do," Tadashi asks from his spot at his side. There's a hopeful lilt in his voice, like a child wanting some sort of validation. It's more endearing than it should be. "Any good?"

"Great," Hiro swallows thickly, cutting another piece and popping it into his mouth. He chews in an effort to keep himself from scowling. The food is delicious and balanced and his last hope of maybe having Tadashi mess up and ask him to come back next week is snuffed out. There's really no reason for him to be here anymore. The thought makes him sad. "A perfect score for your last lesson."

"Last lesson," Mieko frowns from across the dinner table, twin black pigtails bobbing as she straightens up in her chair. "You're not coming back?"

Chocolate brown orbs blink and he tries to force a smile. "Well, I mean— I… You wanted your dad to learn how to cook, right? I think he can do a good job without me now."

Tadashi chokes on his water. Big blue eyes blink at him before swiveling back to Hiro, Mieko's tiny nose scrunching. "But I like it when you come over."

Her voice is almost a whine and Hiro is completely dumbstruck, his mouth trapped in a half-opened little 'o.' Tadashi continues to sputter beside him, his face and ears a shocking shade of red. Hiro swallows. "I like coming over too," he answers honestly, "but I don't think your dad would like to keep playing host every weekend."

"But Daddy likes it when you come over too! He said so!"

The fluttery feeling in his chest is back and his face burns. Mieko looks to her father, her crystal blue eyes pleading with him and he just rubs his neck sheepishly. Somehow, Hiro thinks that Tadashi's cheeks are an even deeper shade of red than his own.

"W-well," Tadashi stuttered, "I'm sure Hiro has better things to do with his Saturday nights than hang out around here all the time."

"I don't. I'd much rather be here."

The words leave his mouth without his permission and it takes all he can do to keep from literally plastering his hands over his lips to keep them from opening again. Tadashi stares at him, all red faced and embarrassed and Mieko—

Mieko just looks between the two of them, her lips turned downward into a light frown. "Then… why aren't you coming back next Saturday?"

There's honest confusion in her voice, the kind that only little kids can have with their earnest intentions and straightforward thinking. Hiro blinks at her across the table and shrugs, "Do you want me to?"

"Uh-huh." She nods empathetically and her pigtails bob with her. "I would like that very much."

"I guess I—"

"Wait," Tadashi cuts in with a crease between his brows. His face is still red, incredibly so, but coffee-colored irises stare at Hiro evenly, not trying to hide. "If you like coming here, why did you tell me you wanted to cancel the lessons?"

"Oh god," Hiro moans, hiding his face in his hands. GoGo— she caused all of this. Mieko likes having him here. Tadashi likes having him here and if GoGo hadn't stolen his phone then none of this would have happened and they could have kept going on like normal. This ridiculous dinner conversation wouldn't be happening and he wouldn't have nearly face-planted in a pile of tonkatsu sauce. "I didn't," he continues miserably, "My friend did."

"Your friend tried to cancel the lessons? But why would they do that?"

And that's just the crux of the matter, isn't it? The one thing that Hiro's been trying to avoid saying because he doesn't want to mess anything up between them.

Not that it matters much now. He's not sure he could mess anything up more— not with Tadashi looking at him with a confused, red face and Mieko staring at the two of them like they've both gone completely mad.

"Because she wanted me to ask you out instead. Because I like you."

He's not sure exactly what he was trying to say, but the words just fall out as soon as he opens his mouth, all rushed and jumbled. It's not the elegant confession he was hoping for, but he knows he was understood by the way Tadashi sucks in a breath at his side. He feels himself sinking into his chair, trying to make himself smaller because he doesn't know what he was thinking and this wasn't a good idea and—

"Really? You like me?"

Hiro blinks. Tadashi blinks back. "…yes? Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm— I'm mean I'm not anything really—," Tadashi shakes his head, a baffled look crossing his face. "Oh."

"Oh?"

A sheepish smile pulls at his lips, "I like you too."

"You like me too," Hiro repeats incredulously, that weird fluttering starting up all over again, a new sort of blush painting his cheeks. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Oh."

They stare at each other strangely, brown eyes blinking. Hiro's not sure what to say and it looks like Tadashi isn't either, his smile broadening, lighting up his face.

Hiro's pretty sure it's the best thing he's ever seen.

"Wait," Mieko starts, blinking at the two of them. "Does that mean Hiro's coming back next week?"

He smiles.

"Absolutely."

A/N: And that's it. The completely lame ending to my completely lame story. I'm not sure how I feel about it, especially since I wasn't able to include a lot of the things I was initially planning on, but overall, I'm happy that I managed to finish it. Humor/comedy is really not my strong suit, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! I know that the Hidashi pairing is really unpopular on this site (and to be honest, I'm not even sure how I managed to fall into it), but thank you for reading! I really appreciate it!

Comments are welcomed and responded to! I'd love to hear your thoughts!