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The kitchen was a mess. Every surface had an uneven chocolate coating, like soot you’d see in a mad scientist’s lab after an explosion. But this wasn’t a science experiment.
It was chocolate cake.
Kamal blinked in confusion. He, too, had been iced in the sweet monster’s chocolate explosion. His kitchen looked like a war zone for cookies and cake. A field of nothing but spilled batter and meringue, screaming for their comrades-
Where was he going with that train of thought, anyway? Kamal shook his head, causing some chocolate to drip off.
Chocolate, and by proxy, chocolate cake, was the ultimate food. Not for him, but for Boris. No other foods could make Boris feel better.
And he was failing MISERABLY in making it.
That wasn’t even the worst part, though; what he had been trying to make was just the icing. It took everything in him not to throw the entire thing at the wall, though that wouldn’t change much, since most of it already was.
He wasn’t Jimothan, for goodness’ sake.
Though Jimothan knew what he was doing. He was aware of his food not actually being food, but multiple inedible items smooshed together like kids in a trench coat or the English language.
He dropped the bowl on the counter. It landed with a muffled clink. The spoon turned in the bowl to keep its balance. What was left of the icing sat there, mocking him like some pastry nightmare.
Chocolate wasn’t pastry.
Kamal sighed. He walked to the sink in his apartment and opened the tap. A stream of water washed away the stains from his hands. He made sure to scrub his fingers and nails well. His palms were clean as he washed off the soap.
He toweled off his hands and took another paper towel for his hair. He got rid of each speck of icing he could, but no matter what, small parts were left in his curls.
Kamal gritted his teeth and crushed the paper towel. He balled it up in his hands and held his hand up to throw it.
He shook his hand before sighing and placing it in the trash. He turned and leaned on the counter. Breathe in, breathe out. Everything was okay. Everything was okay. He counted imaginary numbers in his head, focused on their curves and lines, drawing them in the air in the darkness behind his eyes.
In. Then out.
Just try again.
He fastened the knot of his apron and stared at the iced kitchen. The bowl taunted him still, its blue color stained in his failure. Kamal narrowed his eyes. He had promised himself he would do this. No matter how much his perfectionism makes him cry. No matter how hard it would be, or how stupid it would turn out.
He just had to try.
“Okay, recipe…” Kamal said. “Let’s do this.”
—
When the door of their apartment finally cracked open and Boris moved inside — having to lean down to not bang his head on the door frame — Kamal wasn’t done. A drop of sweat dripped down his brow.
There wasn’t enough time.
The piping bag dripped onto the cake. Kamal smudged it off and placed it down, staring at his creation. It tried so hard to be a chocolate cake.
There was an attempt at decorating.
A crude and squiggly outline of Pabit’s face that was closer to Kermit the Frog with hair was the biggest thing. It was the wrong shade as well. On top of the picture was the number three with the piping moving down the middle, missing the last notch, almost making it look like the number 6 but mirrored.
A readable “Pabby Birthday” was underneath them both, in a shade much too dark on top of the brown of the cake.
Was the pun too unbearable? Would Habit hate it? Should he just trash it?
No, he promised himself-
The telltale sound of the bathroom faucet made Kamal look into the short hallway leading to the entrance. Habit appeared from behind it, still dressed in his green overalls.
“Kamal, I’m home! Hell-o : - )”
Kamal jumped in front of the cake with his arms splayed at the sides.
“Boris! Hi!” He stumbled. “Nothing to see here!”
Those eyes that weren’t human. Not that they couldn’t be — it’s just that something about Habit screamed otherworldly. Perhaps it was the man’s sheer size or what happened at the Habitat, but those eyes, shaped like the most unsymmetrical triangles, stared into his very soul. They glowed in the dark, and Boris could even be part of the darkness himself, never being caught on the camera correctly.
Was he being glared at? Had he noticed the cake? Did he hate it? All those thoughts between mere seconds of eye contact.
Boris broke it. Those eyes Kamal had assumed were tired or angry, just curious. His gaze roamed the kitchen, and Kamal’s shoulders grew stiff.
“Did you redecorate?” Boris asked.
“Oh, no, um- Just... trying to bake.”
“Bake?”
Habit’s form grew closer, which meant that his shadow overtook Kamal. He couldn’t move backwards, or he’d press himself into the cake, and even on his tiptoes he couldn’t even reach Habit’s chin.
He’d see it now.
Kamal pressed his eyes closed. All he had to do was rip off the band-aid. If it was bad, it was bad. But sometimes, you have to let the cut breathe!
He grabbed the cake and pulled it into his hands. The tray was no longer chilled. He bowed his head as he presented the square inadequacy of his baking prowess.
Habit stopped.
“It’s… It’s Pabit’s birthday, right? The day you made him.” Kamal said.
“You told me it was important. I know I don’t really like him, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want you to be happy.”
Boris stood still, his long hair resting down his back. The overalls sagged as he slouched, staring at Kamal. His mouth opened, and his eyes looked right at him.
“You tried to make a birthday cake for Pabit? : - 0” He said.
Kamal gulped.
“Yeah.” Kamal said.
Emphasis on “tried”. He should be better at cooking by now. One doesn’t live alone without SOME cooking knowledge.
It’s like the universe itself had zapped that skill out of him just to make him a fool. It’s far from kind. Then again, he seems to always end up being the universe’s very own punching bag.
Family problems, anxiety, general fear of living…
Yeah, things weren’t great. But he was trying to make his peace.
Baking was another skill from cooking.
This cake was for him too, in that way.
“I’m sure he will love it!” Boris said. “Thank you, Kamal!”
He placed his head on Kamal and giggled. Boris’s skin was cold from gardening in the wind. It’s refereeing to the warm, chocolate mess of the inside. Boris pecked him on the forehead.
Boris spun and jumped up. His long legs took him out of the kitchen faster than Kamal could blink. He stopped by the door frame and turned back to Kamal, his long, curly hair swishing to the side.
His lips turned up and he smiled. Blue sparkles floated off of him.
“I’ll go get him! Then we can feast together!”
With that, Habit disappeared into his own room in their apartment to find and dress up the small hand-puppet version of himself. Kamal heard him singing as he did.
Kamal touched his forehead and blushed.
“O…okay…”
He breathed out and placed the cake back on the counter. He brushed his back against the counter and slid down to the floor.
He did it. Somehow, he did it.
He made Boris happy.
He smiled.