Chapter Text
The three of them spent the whole afternoon on that cake. Why? Maybe because it started like this:
“So, which of you actually knows how to make cake?” Ranboo and Tommy stared at Wilbur blanky after he spoke. “Great. Well, it can’t be that hard, can it?”
“Well, it’s just cooking?” Tommy shrugged. “There are only like four ingredients, it can’t be too hard.” He paused a moment. “I mean, at least one of us has at least seen what a cake looks like right?”
“I can’t really remember seeing a cake.”
“The last time I made a cake, it was at Niki’s bakery. I really should’ve bothered to ask her how to make it.”
“Yeah, you should’ve, loser. Waste of a perfectly good interaction with a baker woman.” Tommy shook his head in shame at his brother.
“Well, I would assume we start out by getting out a bowl, right?” Wilbur looked at the other two. “We’ve got to start out with the batter, I think.”
And so, Tommy went up to a shelf and grabbed a little bowl from it.
“Hey, we should wash our hands first guys,” Ranboo reminded the two of them. Wilbur smiled at the younger’s concern and Tommy just groaned. They took turns cleaning their hands.
They all stood in silence around the bowl and ingredients for a while. “I’d think we’ve just gotta put everything together and mix it up,” Tommy suggested. “I mean, what else could we do with all this shit.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Ranboo said, looking inquisitive at the assorted materials on the table in front of him.
“Let’s do it,” Wilbur said, nodding.
First, they added in a lot of the wheat, after Wilbur suggested it was likely the base for the cake. Next, they decided the sugar, as Wilbur remembered you had to add the dry ingredients first, or something like that. Tommy added the milk next, and Wilbur started stirring it all together. For the finishing touch, Ranboo got to crack and egg for the first time in his life, that he could remember, that is.
“Oh, shit,” Wilbur mumbled, mid-stir. “Tommy, can you preheat the oven?”
“To what, Wilbur,” said Tommy, as he walked over to it.
“Um,” there was a long pause. “350, or something. If we check on it regularly, it will be fine, I think.”
Tommy started to mess with the dials. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Ranboo watched the two work.
“Why don’t you have a turn stirring this thing? It should only take a minute or two more,” Wilbur responded.
“Sure.” Ranboo hurried over to take the spoon from Wilbur, and did indeed take his own go at it.
“Make sure you’re getting the sides of the bowls too.”
The three sat around until the oven dinged, letting them know it was heated. Wilbur poured the bowl into a cake pan, and set it in the oven. The next hour was filled with Wilbur incessantly checking the cake and sticking toothpicks in it to see if it was ready to take out. Ranboo rearranged his room and Tommy watered the flowers he’d recently planted around his house. Wilbur sat next to the oven, and wrote in a little journal Tommy had given him a while ago.
At last, Wilbur shouted out in glee. The others, knowing the cake was ready, rushed to the kitchen. Tommy made it into the room first, and almost knocked Wilbur over after bumping into him. Ranboo’s had a noticeable scarry run, because of how fucking fast he could go with his super long legs. It looked less like a run, and more like aggressive power-walking.
“Shit, we don’t have frosting,” Tommy said.
“I don’t really like frosting,” Wilbur said, cutting into the cake.
“What is frosting?” Tommy’s jaw dropped.
“Ranboo! Oh my god. You are missing out on so much. Frosting is the best part of the cake,” Tommy said, with a very enthusiastic tone.
“It’s not that great, seriously,” Wilbur said, now plating the squares of cake.
“Since Ranboo can't remember cake, he should have the slightly larger piece.”
“Well, what if he just forgets cake again. Then this would be useless,” Tommy grumbled.
“Don’t be a little shit, Tommy,” Wilbur instructed, giving Ranboo the piece that was noticeably a rectangle and not a square like Wilbur or Tommy’s piece.
“Oh, fuck off Wilbur,” said Tommy, taking his first bite. Ranboo followed and Wilbur started eating last.
“This is actually really good,” Ranboo said in astonishment. Wilbur nodded slowly.
“Yeah, yeah! We did it!” Tommy cheered. “We made good cake!”
“Yes, and I didn’t doubt us for a second,” Wilbur said. Tommy rolled his eyes and Ranboo smiled a little. They all finished the cake in a matter of seconds.
“Maybe we should’ve made more cake,” Tommy spoke, with pure disappointment in his voice.
“To be fair, it was our first time baking. I agree, it was very small.”
“Says the one with the larger piece.”
And the day ended with playful bickering and complementing of cakes.
The three of them were content, for the most part. Tommy had finished his tower and gotten a new dog buddy. Not to forget, he also got away from the constant state of war he’d spent more of his childhood in. Ranboo had gotten people who cared about him and actually liked him. He’d found people who weren’t intengled in sides and a peaceful, for the most part, home. Wilbur finally had a home with his brother and was, surprisingly, alive. Wilbur didn’t wish for more, but he did build his own house, eventually, only after some pestering from his little brother. He’d also meant Ranboo. At first he was unsure, but watching him and Tommy talk, well he could tell Ranboo was a good person. And then as he got to know Ranboo, he even thought he could see Ranboo as a brother some day as well.
The sun set on the house, day after day, without interruption. Inside, three people lived their lives. The narrator takes a step back, they know everything will be okay. There is no story to tell anymore, because the people in there have no questions. They are uncertain of what’s to come, but that’s okay, because they know they’ll have each other and that’s all they need. The people in there are happy, and they might not always be, but nothing is permanent. Temporary safety, happiness, and comfort is what makes a good life, after all. And with that, the author gifts you a good bye from them. Wilbur might wave, a silent goodbye. Tommy would probably shout at you, in a nice way. Ranboo would give you one last hug before you leave. Dog would bark at you. And the author says a simple “Goodbye dear, reader.”
Wishing you temporary safety, happiness, and comfort
Mister RJ