Work Text:
It was April 14, 20XX. Takashi Shirogane was in his apartment in San Antonio, Texas that he shared with his husband, Curtis. They were in the kitchen. Curtis was cooking a healthy dinner of celery and beef. Shiro was sitting at the granite countertopped kitchen island, admiring Curtis’ oblong jaw while also going through the mail.
Suddenly, an official-looking envelope caught his eye. It read "Tax Form for Curtis Shirogane". Shiro squinted and furrowed his brow in confusion.
“What’s a tax?” he said aloud. Curtis stopped chopping the celery. He turned around and gaped at Shiro, knife still in hand.
“You don’t know what a tax is?” he asked incredulously, his face comically distorted.
“Hey, bro, I was stuck in space for a very long time and like died, leave me alone,” Shiro said, affronted.
“That doesn’t give you an excuse to not know what taxes are!” Curtis put his knife down and left the celery alone on the cutting board. He made his way over to Shiro’s spot at the kitchen island.
“It does give me an excuse to have you teach me,” Shiro said seductively, placing a hand on Curtis’ thigh.
“Taxes are no joke!” Curtis said seriously, slapping Shiro’s hand away. “They’re due today and you haven’t even started on them?!”
“They have your name on them.”
“...” Curtis calmed down from his unreasonable outburst. “Ok fine, I’ll teach you.”
“So I guess I’ll have to do them either way?” Shiro asked, making puppy eyes that did not suit his 30-year-old face.
Curtis paused for a long, long time.
“Ok, I have something to admit to you,” he said, guilt visible in his eyes. “I don’t actually know how to do taxes either. My mom used to help me, but ever since I got married to a man, she hasn’t been talking to me.”
Shiro patted his thigh sympathetically in support and pulled out his phone to google “how to do taxes”.
“We can figure this out together,” he said. Tears began to form in Curtis’ eyes.
“Google says that we can hire an accountant to do taxes for us,” Shiro said.
“Ok.”
THE END