Chapter Text
By far, the hardest part of being a parent thus far for Formaggio is facing down his kids when he tells them no.
It's a rather unfortunate situation he finds himself in almost daily, because his kids have a knack of getting into trouble. He doesn't remember being this much of a little shit when he was a kid, and Illuso was a quiet recluse (he may not be their biological father, but he's close enough to them that his traits could rub off via osmosis, Formaggio supposes). He decides he's going to blame this on Melone, in that case. Yes, of course Formaggio loves him, but not enough to absolve him of any blame.
And as it currently stands, their daughter, Porcini, is the biggest troublemaker. She's also, completely coincidentally (not really), Melone's little angel. So of course she's the one leading the charge tonight.
"Daddy!"
Formaggio sighs deeply from where he stands at the kitchen stove. He's just trying to make dinner. That should be a safe activity, but apparently not. He looks over his shoulder, trying to keep an eye on both his two year old daughter and the food on the active elements of the stove. He wouldn't put it past the hyperactive little girl to try to touch the glowing circles.
"Yes, baby?" He asks. He's got a feeling he knows what she wants before she says it.
"Gimmie a cookie!"
There it is. Formaggio rubs at his forehead and sighs again.
"You know you don't get those before dinner."
"Wanna cookie!" Porcini lifts her arm and points at the cookie jar sitting on the counter, as if trying to show him where it is.
"You haven't had dinner yet." Formaggio is trying to avoid directly using the word "no", but she makes it very difficult.
"Cookie now!" She puffs out her cheeks and looks at Formaggio indignantly.
Well, it looks like there's no way around it. He turns around completely, crosses his arms, and looks down at Porcini, saying in his most assertive Dad voice: "No. Not until after dinner."
In response, Porcini sticks out her lower lip in a pout. Great. Even though he more or less expected this reaction, that's not to say it's the one he wanted. Tilting her head back, the toddler screams "PAPA!" at the top of her lungs.
With almost inhuman speed, Melone pokes his head in through the doorway to the kitchen. Or perhaps he'd been waiting outside the whole time, who really knows. "Hm? What's the matter, topolina? Why are you crying?" Sniffling, Porcini scampers over to him and buries her face in his leg, before Melone bends down to pick her up and hold her against his hip. "Is Daddy being mean to you?" She nods, and Melone turns his head to look at Formaggio. "Why are you being mean to the baby?"
Formaggio resists the urge to throw up his hands in exasperation. "I'm not being mean!" He protests. "I just told her she can't have a cookie before dinner. Like it's always been. How am I being mean?"
"She can have a little cookie. As a treat." Melone gives a little grin and kisses Porcini on the cheek, to which she giggles innocently. Formaggio narrows his eyes.
"If we do that, the other ones're gonna want cookies too. Then what?"
"Then we give them cookies," Melone says. He kisses Porcini on the cheek once more, before setting her down. "It won't kill her, Formaggio."
"She won't eat her dinner if she wastes her appetite on cookies!"
Melone snorts. "You sound like Prosciutto. Just give her the cookie."
In the end, Formaggio decides sounding like Prosciutto is far more terrifying and mortifying than the prospect of his dinner going uneaten, so Porcini gets her cookie.