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Blake sighed, dropping his head into his hands as he stood in the middle of his kitchen. His mess of a kitchen. Flour and powdered sugar covered every surface, sticky globs of batter were dotted in odd places and two pans of burnt cake sat on top of the stove. He leaned back and checked his watch. He only had a few hours left until they were coming over and he had nothing to show for it.
He had a present picked out, one that he had worried over for months now. Something simple that he knew they would like but anxiety still tugged at his chest. It was in a gift bag on the kitchen table, a pretty purple bow holding the handles together. He stepped away from the counter and turned to the sink, turning on the hot tap.
His plan to make a birthday cake had fallen apart before his eyes. He was an okay cook and had thought that following a simple white cake recipe couldn’t be that hard. He’d been mistaken. It was one issue after another culminating in runny, clumpy frosting and burnt cake. He wasn’t even sure where to begin fixing it. He dumped all the dishes in the sink after scraping out the cake and sat at the table.
A handful of text messages were waiting for him, all from them. They were excited about their evening together, always one to prefer a low key birthday more than anything. Besides, they had plans with all of their mutual friends over the weekend. Tonight would be for them. Blake would be more excited if the smell of his baking failure wasn’t still wafting through his apartment. He responded in as upbeat a tone as he could muster.
He had asked what they wanted to order for dinner, expecting them to respond with pizza or Chinese takeout. Instead they asked for breakfast, like the classic spread you’d get at a diner. An idea lit up in his mind and he tapped back an enthusiastic agreement. This he could do, this was easy. Something they had bonded over.
He headed back into the kitchen, taking time to wash the remnants of the cake off the pans and scrubbed leftover batter off the counters before pulling out a new mixing bowl. It was a recipe he’d made a hundred times over, mostly for them, and he could do it in his sleep if he needed. The batter was mixed quickly and set in the fridge while he set about collecting the other ingredients he needed. Soon, he had a full bar of all the best things to add to a pancake. Chocolate chips, blueberries, strawberries, bananas, whip cream, butter, and syrup. He’d pulled out his electric griddle and set it on the counter with a scoop.
Now, he just needed to wait. Another two hours.
He’d spent the majority of those two hours pacing his apartment and checking on the pancake batter every ten minutes. The knock on his door didn’t scare him, he knew what time to expect them, but he bolted to answer it anyway. He tried his best to look like he hadn’t been waiting nervously for way too long, taking a deep breath as he swung the door open.
They held up a bag of gas station snacks, beaming at him. He couldn’t help but smile back, letting them into the apartment. They set the snacks on the coffee table and pulled a stack of movies out of their bag. All the classics that they’d been watching and rewatching for as long as he could remember. Those old movies were the only reason he still kept a DVD player around.
“What’s that?” They gestured to the bar. Blake guided them by the shoulders to the kitchen, making a flourish motion when they got there. They looked at him skeptically, waiting for an explanation. Blake sighed and stepped around them, pulling the bowl of batter out of the fridge. He turned on the griddle, the knob ticking as he cranked it.
“Pancake bar! The birthday cake… Well.” He cast a forlorn glance at the trash can before turning back to them. “I figured it has cake in the name. We’ll put a candle on yours, close enough.”
He gave his best smile, trying to mask his lack of confidence in his idea. When they laughed, he felt a weight leave him and he exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. They slide past him, leaning over the sink to get a better look at the add-ons he’s laid out. He’d made sure to set out all of their favorites, things he kept a steady stock of, even when they hadn’t been talking.
“Are you going to be cooking them? You know I can’t make pancakes to save my life.” They pulled the plastic wrap off of the bowl and stirred it with the scoop before handing it off to him. Blake tried not to cringe at their last sentence before taking it from them, hand lingering on theirs, and pouring some of the batter onto the hot griddle.
“Of course. Besides it being your birthday, I’m fully aware of your pancake skills. I still remember my 18th birthday breakfast.” He made quotation motions around the word ‘breakfast’, snorting when they smacked him on the arm. They reached past him and grabbed a few of the small bowls filled with toppings, sprinkling them into the batter that was starting to bubble up in front of them.
“It wasn’t that bad. They were still mostly edible.” They leaned against his shoulder, watching him flip each one before he stacked them onto a glass plate. He spooned more batter onto the griddle before opening drawers to find a pack of birthday candles. He handed the plate off to them and stuck several candles into the pancake stack.
“Should I sing or–?” Blake cleared his throat, ready to serenade them but they shook their head, laughing. He grinned and grabbed a lighter from another drawer. “What? Don’t enjoy my voice?”
“You are as bad at singing as I am making pancakes. Just the candles are fine.” They stifled another laugh, trying not to blow the flames out prematurely. Once they were all lit, Blake leaned over and flicked off the kitchen light. Their face was illuminated by the candles and all he could think about was kissing them.
“Make a wish.” They took an exaggerated inhale, holding it for a moment and squeezing their eyes shut.
Make a wish.
He blinked rapidly, a Vision clouding his eyes. His Sight slipped into the moment, tainting it red. They were in his arms, head lolling back in an unnatural manner. He was bent over them, shaking their shoulders. The moment existed in a vignette, the edges of a memory not passed dark and bleeding out. He couldn’t grasp the context. But he saw his own hand cup their cheek and leave a red streak in its wake.
Make a wish.
They waved their hand in front of his face, brow raised. The candles had been blown out and the smell of them filled his nose and throat. He smiled, pushing away what his Sight had shown him and hooking an arm over their shoulder.
“What did you wish for?” He scooped his own pancakes onto a plate before following them into the living room. They sat on the couch, shoulders and knees pressed together. They rolled their eyes at him.
“I can’t tell you. It won’t come true.” They cut a piece of pancake and scooped it onto their fork, holding it mid-air and looking at him expectantly.
“I guess that’s fair.” They clinked their forks together and he watched them take the bite, eyes shutting as they sighed contentedly. He followed suit, setting the plate down on the coffee table.
He knew what he wished for.
“Happy birthday. Here’s to many more.”