“It’s not what it looks like!” Gackt shouted as he ducked behind the butcher block.

“Not what it looks like?” a very livid Cha responded, lobbing an apple at the vocalist, feeling some sort of malicious pleasure as it smashed against the wood the younger man hid behind. “I have eyes, Gaku!”

The other man dove for the pantry and just barely missed the peach that splattered against the wall behind him. “But I was gonna share!”

“…oh.” The barrage of fruit stopped and Cha headed for the countertop laden with bottles of alcohol.

“Jesus Christ,” Gackt muttered as he poked his head outside his cubby. “If this is what’s going to happen every time I make margaritas, it just isn’t worth it…”

Cha grinned and after taking a sip of the drink said, “You should factor in the risks brought on by using my liquor against whether you want to leave the house with all your limbs still attached.”