"I'd be happy to help you with lunch for your dad if you want any help," you message Kirill.
"Yes. Please. Help me," he replies. "I have made it too complicated and now I don't know what I'm doing."
You have to knock on the door several times before Kirill answers, and when he does you swear for half a second it actually looks like he was hoping it would be someone else.
The small kitchen is a mess. Every surface is covered in some kind of bowl or container, and both flour and tomato sauce have been spilled. Even the cookbook hasn't been spared.
"I thought I understood lasagna," Kirill says. "I was wrong. I understand nothing."
There are also the beginnings of a cake on the counter.
"I also do not understand cake," Kirill explains.