Flaming Hot Tips- A Gordon Ramsey X Guy Fieri fanfic

A silky moon sky slowly stirred it's light unto the earth. The light reflected onto the the moist, rain ridden ground. The sound of raindrops flooded Guy's ears.
It had been a long night at the cook off. Championships were coming up, and Guy knew who he was capable of making through the qualifier, maybe even to the final round of the championship. After all, he was Guy Fieri, The Flavor Master. So what was The Flavor Master doing in the rain?
His mind was a parade of bright and vivid imagination, riddled with color and flavor and glory.
But this was only a small piece of the fiery Phoenix that was his head. He was a lonely man. Being a professional chef was a lonely business. You go to restaurants around the world and cook for the most delightful people, you earn medals and awards and people bathe you in gold and spices, but for what? It's one meal after another, nothing more to it. Guy used to think that cooking would be his ultimate passion, his magnum opus. But once that's done, what is there?
Guy needed time to think, preferring to walk home rather than walk off with his entourage. It was the deep city, it's dazzling lights a spiraling towers and monuments to wealth surrounded him with a familiarity that had come to him from fame. Clouds overhead weeped gentle raindrops unto his frizzled yellow mane. Back to his humble high rise he would return, past the occasional fan, past the front desk worker accustomed to seeing famous faces in the building, bast the business mogul chit chattering to a pour soul on the other side of his Bluetooth, past the long elevator ride up home, past the long shining black marble hallway. Home. At last
Guy immediately threw off his signature fiery shirt unto the rack, and slowly took off his cargo shorts, nearly forgetting the secret spice dangling in his pocket. The shirt would dry by morning, he thought.
The high rise was a cozy one, a large window overlooking the city of Tokyo dazzled with neon reflections, behind it a comfortable leather couch and sheep black tv. Guy took a right and looked longingly at the kitchen, the stove light still on, for some strange reason, but it added a comfortable warm glow to the dark apartment. Processing right into the hallway, past the bathroom and into the bedroom. He threw his wet cargo shorts In to the hamper and stretched in the moonlight entering from the skylight, a familiar shadow moved in the dark near his bed, but he paid no mind to it, attributing to tricks from his hungry tired mind.
Hunger. Guy made his way into the kitchen with his silky night robe, dangling loose against his bulky chest. Hunger. Guy scavenged the fridge for bacon.
Sizzling, dazzling bacon, made better by Guy's secret spice, the very same spice had a secret ulterior purpose in his hair, creating the white hot volcano that was his glorious head. Guy sniffed he bacon once more, and the smell slowly brought back his meat sweats.
Guy took off his night cap (used for protecting his hair of course) and folded it gently on the counter. He let the sweat drip into the bacon grease out of curiosity

"Take the rest off Fieri." A soothing voice beckoned from the velvet black shadows.