Archive of Our Own

Rocket was early—earlier than he was supposed to be, earlier than he thought he’d be. Maybe it was the way Sword sounded over the phone, the excitement and anticipation bleeding through the other end of the line. What started out as Rocket complaining about a particularly rough week of unpleasant customers turned into Sword proposing a fun little outing between the two of them in an attempt to lift his mood.

“Wanna go on a picnic? I’ll bake the goods!”

Now, hold the phone—Sword and “bake” in the same sentence?

Sure, he may have the vigor and patience to perhaps knead dough—but Sword doesn’t seem like the type who’s has the necessary attention to fine details that’s required of say…cake piping. At least, that’s what Rocket initially thought. It’s hard to picture him in the kitchen, all neat and professional, as if he doesn’t trip over slight elevations on the sidewalk frequently.

Leaning back against the cushions, Rocket tried to conjure up a version of Chef Sword, homebaker extraordinaire. He really tried. But every single frame was just an amalgamation of Sword’s beaming face amidst a sea of flames. Then, he turns around, and the flames seem to stretch even higher. Now, Sword feels the terror, silently screaming into the pitch-black void of Rocket’s mind.

“Sure.” He’ll bite. He can just accompany Sword with the baking processions. His hands do more than just repair the gear of reckless inphernals. But first, the date.

“What day are you free?”

“Tomorrow?”

A deal’s a deal. Tomorrow it was, and tomorrow came—with Rocket standing on Venomshank’s front porch. The wind felt particularly cool against his fingertips, gently swaying the checkered blanket he offered to bring for their special occasion. As he brought his fist up to the door, his shadow cast off by the sun knocked alongside him. Three was all he needed for his anticipated greeting. Heck, maybe even one would do with his presence being so familiar.

“Ah, coming!”

Pitterpatters echo louder as they reach the front door—up until Rocket hears that slide of the peephole coming uncovered to reveal a red sparkling eye that jolted at the sight of him. As expected, the click of the doorknob came next before the door swung wide open. But just as Rocket was ready to step inside—the door was shut as fast as it opened.

“Ah—wait! Give me a second—”

Sword’s voice trailed off in the distance. What a greeting, having the door slammed shut in his face. Replaced were the sounds of footsteps scurrying away. Maybe he did come a bit too early after all. Even from beyond the door, Rocket could feel the state of panic he had just set off. You could almost imagine Sword’s faintly outlined silhouette scrambling around, wiping down counters of any residual crumbs, closing up any opened drawers and cabinets—even going as far as straightening out the potted plants scattered around so they don’t look like they’re weeping.

It’s a bit odd, but not unpleasant. Maybe this was part of Venomshank’s teaching on hospitality. Sword always has Rocket’s favorite snacks and drinks on hand before he even sets foot inside the house. Sometimes, when it gets late, Rocket will even eat dinner with the mentor and mentee. The presence of a looming mentor figure does take him off his balance from time to time, but those dinners were nice—domestic even.

Seems that even after all these years, the concept of someone like Rocket receiving hospitality still feels a bit foreign. Cordiality always came with strings, favors, and transactions attached. But this time, it’s just Sword who can be semi-clingy.

He’ll tell Sword again for the hundredth time that there’s no need for him to scramble around trying to tidy up the place whenever Rocket comes over unexpectedly, that he couldn’t care less how well-kept the place is.

But, Sword still insists on being “presentable.” Rocket may be sighing now, but it’s nice to know that he’s worthy of any consideration. It only makes Sword that much more endearing.

As 60 seconds passed…they turned into a minute.

You could practically hear the cartoon noises in the background—Sisyphus screeching, a pan dropping to the floor with a hard thud, and the sound of hasty little pitter-patters running back and forth.

In all honesty, Rocket was starting to get a little impatient. That doorknob was really calling his name; maybe he should test out a little theory of his. Reaching for the knob, he grips it, and it clicks open without any hesitation. Ah, Sword did it again. For someone who starts panicking at the mention of someone coming over, he doesn’t put a lot of effort in ensuring his own safety.

Cracking the door ajar, faint smidgens of sunlight seep into the cracks of wooden floorboards. Sunlight just barely spilled into the kitchen—surrounding Rocket’s looming shadow all the while illuminating a very ruffled Sword.

His helmet was lopsided, cape uncentered, and feathers flayed out like he'd been struck by a particularly windy storm. But, glance just a bit lower at his arms…and wait a damn minute—

Is that the same box of expired cereal Rocket told him to throw out last time?
Rocket flickered his gaze to lock eye contact with Sword, only to see him shrink further—expressions flickering like the channels on TV. First, that look of surprise, astonished eyes, and jaw dropped at Rocket’s untimely entrance. Then, he gulped and not-so-discreetly glanced down at that ominous box of cereal in his arms before flipping it over, showing Rocket the nutritional label instead.

With a smile as guilty as the cat that got caught ransacking the plastic bag, Sword deflected to no avail. “Oh! Rocket, you’re here early, haha!”

Setting aside Rocket’s poor mannerisms of inviting himself inside without permission, this was the third time Sword forgot to lock the door after opening it in a scramble. With a particularly unimpressed look, taking after Zuka, Rocket crossed his arms. “Sword… You left the door unlocked again. If you pulled this kind of behavior in Playground, you’d probably get tied up to your own staircase while the robbers make you watch them ransack all your valuables.”

Sword held onto this dumbfounded look for a second before swiping his head side to side, almost as if he was scanning for said “valuables,” before glancing down at his box of expired cereal. Sorry Sword, but those Luckiest of Charms aren't saving you… Maybe from hunger they will—but not from hungry burglars.

“Oh, oops.” Just those two words paired with that signature nervous grin. All while Sword is scratching the back of his head, presumably to soothe that thick skull of his.

Despite being the younger of the two, he wouldn’t be surprised if his horns turn grey first. Turning around, Rocket closes the front door until he hears that click—making sure the door is locked shut, unlike a certain someone. No shade. “Sword, I know I told you this before, but you really don’t have to—

Just as Rocket turned his body around, something had vanished into thin air.

He was looking at the imaginary outline of what was formerly a box of expired cereal, the brand with the marshmallows mixed into it. Funnily enough, Sword got the off-brand version—not by accident and not because it was cheaper either. It’s because he liked the vibrant packaging more, truly thinking in primary colors.

But let’s back track a little.

Rocket only had his back turned for a maximum of 10 seconds. Therefore, even if the box hypothetically grew a pair of legs and ran off into the distance, it couldn’t have gotten far. It certainly couldn’t hide either. They’ve played one too many hide-and-seek games since they were younger—there’s no way Rocket doesn’t know every hiding spot in the house by now. That’s why Sword loses almost every time.

Stepping past the imaginary border into the kitchen, Rocket lazily drapes the checkered blanket on top of a pulled-out chair. He inches closer to Sword, with a stride that probably gave him chills down his spine.

The closer Rocket got, the more Sword’s smile began to nervously shake. The cereal cannot be that good. “So… Where’d you put it?”

There are some people in the world who would succumb to their fate before they successfully adopt a poker face. Sword was one of those people. In the coolest and most composed manner (Which was not very cool or composed at all), he uttered, “Oh uh, what do you mean by that?”

Unfortunately, his demeanor of an open book meant that he’s oftentimes his own worst enemy. Be it a smile a bit too wide, the need to overexplain his actions in the most suspicious way possible, the shaky glances trying to hide in plain sight—Rocket picked up on every single detail.

Feeling a little mischievous, Rocket decided to have a little fun. This would also double as payback for Sword shutting the door in his face, leaving him alone with the wind and sun—now, don’t get him wrong, the weather outside was pleasant—but that’s not the point. Keeping Sword on his toes, Rocket languidly strolled around the kitchen, giving potential hiding spots a casual glance—or so it seems to Sword.

In actuality, Rocket is calculating the trajectory of which—just kidding! He’s just scoping out reasonable hiding spots. Stopping in front of a likely suspect, “Hmm, it wouldn’t happen to be here, would it?” He opens cabinet one, and then the next one, and then the next—all the while picking up the pace until he reaches the end. Oh no, Sword might actually be adapting?

Keeping it cool, Rocket maintains his casual attitude. “Learning from your past mistakes, I see…”

Meanwhile, upon seeing Rocket’s failed display, Sword adopts a newfound confidence, bearing this prideful grin on his face, seeing Rocket fall victim to his past habits this time—the kind that a child would make, being praised by their parents for a good job—in his case, not reusing the same hiding spot for the 6th or 7th time.

Sword even gained the audacity to innocently ask, “What are you looking for? If you’re hungry, the snacks are on the table, just like always!”

Oh, Rocket already knows that his snacks are waiting for him…and he knows Sword is waiting for him to alter his trajectory. But Rocket isn’t giving him that satisfaction. “Not denying it any longer?”

Doubling down, Sword tilts his head to the side as if confused, “Deny what?”

He caught it—the faint twitch in his smile, those upturned corners hinting at some friendly competition. So that's how they're gonna play, huh?

Then let’s play a game called: deductions with Rocket!

This may seem obvious, but cereal is very noisy when shaken, given all the individual pieces bouncing off one another. However, during the moment when Sword flipped the box to the backside, there was no sound—or at least not audible enough for Rocket to hear.

Therefore, there is either no cereal within the box, or there is so little cereal that the noise produced could hardly be picked up by the naked ear.

Looking back now, opening a cabinet or drawer was way too risky of a move. No matter how gently you treated those pieces of wood, they liked to creak the loudest when you're trying to get a snack at 4am. Then, from the doorway, there stood father figure ready to end your life cycle. Therefore, the only way this box could have been hidden is by Sword making use of his environment.

By this point, Rocket’s already done a full circle, and Sword was brewing with glee by the second. So be it, Zuka didn’t raise a quitter. Even if Rocket had to mumble to himself, “Now, if I were Sword, where would I hide it…?”

Until finally—that one spot he neglected to check because he thought it’d be one of the last places Sword would’ve wanted to put the box of cereal—by the trash. Rocket took one step too close and saw that bright red out of the corner of his eye. Ah, no wonder he didn’t see it earlier.

The cereal box had a height of 12 inches, a width of 7, and a depth of 2. The trash can was about a foot and a half tall. In order for Rocket to have seen the box from 2 feet away, he’d have to either be looking at a 33-degree angle or simply take a step closer—which is what he did.

Step by step, Rocket hovered closer to the trash can without directly acknowledging just what he’d seen until the time was right. In a suspiciously unknowing tone, “Hm? What’s this?”

Just as he reached for the box, another hand reached alongside him, trying to snatch it first—but Rocket’s faster. Once again, the reflexes he’s developed over the years prove their usefulness. To his side, Sword tries to explain to no avail.

In just a few seconds, Rocket finally unraveled his red thread. Flipping the box on its side, Rocket read the expiration date to confirm his suspicions: 2 months past due.

“Oh—erm…that’s just an empty box I was throwing away, haha!.”

Plausible…or is it?

Had the box truly been empty, why hide it? Giving the box a quick shake revealed the exact reason why. Wow, the emptiness is rather loud, isn’t it? Glancing over at Sword, Rocket teased, keeping him on his toes, “Uh huh, there’s nothing inside alright, care to explain?”

“I—uh—W-Well, you see—

Rocket anticipated more pushback, maybe some more stutters. Instead, Sword just hit him with these teary-looking puppy-dog eyes.

“B-But…they’re really good though!”

They are not that good.

“You can eat cereal, just not the expired ones. How much do you have left anyway?” As Rocket popped open the top, he pulled out a clear plastic bag filled with only marshmallows…? Where’s the cereal? No way.

Doing a slow turn of his head, Rocket looked to Sword for confirmation. Has he been chowing down on stale, shriveled-up marshmallows that were supposed to be sprinkled evenly amongst the cereal? “…Rocket?”

“Y-Yes…?” This was pretty nerve-wracking—the thought that is.

“...Please don’t throw it away?”

He didn’t even sound confident in his own plea—deep down, Sword knows that he probably shouldn’t consume expired cereal. Not sparing him a second glance, Rocket hovers the box above the trash can when he hears a cry.

“W-Wait—please don’t! Please…?”

Now that’s more of a proper beg, words shaking as they dragged through the air. Rocket looked down at the bag for an escape from those glistening eyes that were pulling on his heartstrings. Was he really about to let Sword continue munching on expired cereal—well, minus the cereal—just the marshmallows, but you get the point.

The invisible grip on his heart only continued to constrict as Sword’s hands were clasped into a prayer, eyes pleading with that glassy-eyed look. Just because of this plea, Rocket was about to fold. His head went left while his heart went right, playing a game of internal tug-of-war over some expired cereal.

Rocket really considered it—he really did. Sword’s charms were almost too powerful, but Rocket managed to ground himself back in reality. After all, he’d been doing some self-reflection to prevent his heart from taking reign all the time.
On a more bewildering note, is Sword really tearing up at the sight of fricking expired cereal being thrown away? At the moment, he kinda resembles those dogs that look at you all teary-eyed when you don’t let them eat pure uranium.

He dropped the box into the trash.

Behind him, Sword made a sound that could only be described as a kicked puppy. Lord help Rocket, how is he feeling this guilty for what is objectively the correct decision?

Just as Rocket was ready to give his half-baked comfort, Sword looked at him like he just killed his entire family—as if Sisyphus’s and Venomshank’s corpse was in the room with them. In a dramatic display, he dropped to his knees with a thud, mouth squiggling. Freeze that frame for a second, and you’d probably mistake him for a cartoon.

Caught off guard by the sudden drop, Rocket rushed to Sword’s emotional aid, “Whoa, S-Sword—

—My marshmallows!”

“I’ll buy you new ones!”

In an instant, tears on pause, body no longer shaking, and voice stable, Sword asks, “Really?”

Alright, someone tell Rocket this is one big comedic joke. Was that really all he had to say? With a deep sigh, “Yes…I’ll get you two more boxes, okay? Not expired.” He made sure to emphasize that last part. He couldn’t believe he almost enabled Sword’s expired marshmallow addiction— what would Venomshank think if he found out…?

He’d probably be wraps, barbeque chicken even. That’ll be the end of his domestic days with their family. Suddenly, the image of a menacing Venomshank gripping his shoulders probes him in quite the threatening tone. “Rocket… Care to explain why Sword’s in the emergency room for food poisoning?"

Gulp, let’s not think about it.

“C’mon now, get up.” With a helping of Rocket’s outstretched hand, Sword placed his palms with his, soft skin brushing up against each other in a firm grasp. Though his mood may have improved, Sword still had wet stain remnants on his face, giving Rocket a bright idea.

Rocket reached out to a nearby paper towel holder but paused upon feeling the texture. “Eh?”

Instead of being soft and supple, it was quite scratchy, a little bit like sandpaper even. Realistically, he didn’t even need to wipe Sword’s tears—but bear with him for now.

Venomshank sure has strange tastes in the amenities he purchases, but to use such rough paper on Sword’s delicate face? Yea no, that’s out of the question.

Oh no, Rocket is left with no other choice!

With no other alternatives, or maybe this was planned from the start—Rocket used his thumb to gently wipe the corners of Sword’s eyes. In the process, he got a much more intimate feel for Sword’s face. Those vibrant eyes that only know good, soft skin unaffected by wear and tear—and the way his lashes fluttered innocently with every measly blink…

Makes Rocket wish he had softer hands. But, at least they’re better than sandpaper. “Those marshmallows are stale anyway, they can’t be that good.”

At the touch, Sword basks in the warmth—even easing into it a little. “Mm, you’re right, but they’re still so tasty—I couldn’t resist even if they’re stale.”

That should be enough wiping. Rocket drew his fingers back, letting the cool air encapsulate him once again. “Yea, yea… Anyways, are we baking the pie yet or what?”

“Right, the pie!”

That certainly snapped Sword out of his trance as he immediately hopped to work. Cabinet by cabinet, cupboard by cupboard, he pulls out all the necessary bags of ingredients and starts laying them out single file. The line was surprisingly neat.

This time, Rocket was the one staring dumbfoundedly while Sword did all the work. Sure, he doesn’t know anything about baking pie, but surely they start with the dry ingredients first? Or was it the wet ones? On second thought, he really doesn’t know, does he?

Still, Rocket reaches his hand and starts unfurling one of the bags when Sword suddenly rushes over and grabs Rocket’s arm, stopping him.

“Wait!”

Sword pried Rocket’s hands off further. “It’s alright, you don’t need to do anything—you can sit back, relax, and let me handle it!” All while enthusiastically pointing at himself.

Remember when Rocket arrived early? Yeah, he was supposed to arrive later in the afternoon—after Sword was done baking, so they could head out to the park immediately. But since he’s here early, he might as well help… Right?

“It’s fine, I’m here anyway. If I help, we can make it twice as quick.” Rocket put his hands on the bag once again—only to get stopped by Sword… Again.

“No no, it’s fine.” Once again, rejected.

What insistence on letting Rocket sit there uselessly while he takes on all the work. Rocket isn’t trying to be one of those people who contribute nothing to the group project besides their name at the beginning of their presentation.

Despite the considerate smile Sword led with, the rejection didn’t sting any less; it wasn’t because Rocket threw away the expired marshmallows, was it? Did his untimely arrival disrupt plans that much? Maybe indulging in Sword this once wasn’t such a big deal. He can face Venomshank’s wrath later.

That initial weather outside really brought him a false sense of security, huh?

“Rocket?”

But always the stubborn guy, Rocket pushes anyway, “It’s boring just waiting around anyway.” What’s TV without a buddy to watch it with? In the same sense that baking is surely a monotonous task of waiting around and mixing that’s better with companionship. He’s really doing everything in his power to justify it, huh?

In a concerned voice, Sword explained, “I just don’t want to risk getting any liquid on your prosthetic.”

Oh. So that was the reason. Would've been nice if Sword said that first to spare Rocket that mini heart attack. To Sword’s defense, it was a good point too—the last time it rained a bit too heavily, his prosthetics broke down. That day, Rocket walked home with a stiff arm and soaked clothes, thinking it would just be a small mist.

For no ulterior motive, other than he “might as well”, Rocket wanted to help out. “I’ll be extra careful. Don’t worry, a little bit of batter shouldn’t fry my circuits.”

A little bit of batter can indeed fry his circuits. Rocket just really doesn’t want to sit around waiting.

Sword glances back at the bag of flour and then back at Rocket. The bag of flour turns its head away, not wanting to get involved with whatever tension was going on between the two of them. Rocket digs in his imaginary pockets for any other reason. And the one he came up with? “Trust me… Bro.”

Really? Taking the trust me bro approach? Shushing down the embarrassing thought, “I’ll be fine, I’m sure my experience working with other people’s gear should come in handy.”

Although… There was a time when someone brought their laptop to Da Shop, and after Rocket pried the back panel open, milk started pouring out, staining everything within the nearest vicinity—including his prosthetic. But let’s not talk about that. Random memory.

Sword’s grip loosened, making it alright for Rocket to open the bag once more—except, he doesn’t know the first thing about baking. He knows pie dough probably requires flour, but how much? Yea… Let’s just leave the measurements to Sword this time.

While Sword was getting out all the other bowls, measuring cups, and dishes, what did Rocket do? Yea… So, he just opened all the bags and jars and waited patiently for his next set of instructions. He simply stood there, leaning up against the counter as Sword scurried from drawer to fridge to cabinet until he finally laid out everything.

“Now, first up the pie dough! But before that…

Aprons.

There were two, one for Venomshank and the other for Sword. Sword adorned himself with the plainly professional white apron that most definitely belonged to Venomshank.

That left Rocket stuck with the other one. When Sword pulled the apron off the rack and started walking over to Rocket, you could see the terror in his eyes. “What kind of design is that!?”

Titling his head with joy, Sword exclaims, “Do you like it?”

“Sword—why do you have a Lightning McQueen-inspired apron—why didn't Venomshank say anything!?”

“Oh, he thought it was cute.”

“Venomshank thought THAT was cute!?”

Smack dab in the center of the apron was Lightning McQueen smirking alongside racing motifs. When Sword pulled that apron off the hook, Rocket slowly backed away while Sword inched closer and closer with that mischievous smile.

This has to be intentional—there's no way Rocket was about to subject himself to this humiliation ritual. “I am not wearing that.”

One, two, three steps back. That's an additional three steps forward from Sword. He doesn't hide his devious feelings well, resisting the urge to giggle. Sword treads carefully, like Rocket’s a pet he just adopted who’s about to bite his hands off. “Sword…!”

“Okay, we are not—”

Run. Oh, Rocket ran for the front door—can't chase him outside, that's against the rules. But leaping across the room wasn't against the rules, and that is exactly what Sword did.

“Hup!”

“Hey—you—!”

Just like that, Rocket was trapped under the weight of Sword’s body with a pair of arms wrapped around his waist in addition to getting a taste of Venomshank’s floorboards. He just had to tackle him to the floor, didn't he? “Hehe, gotcha! Looks like you have to wear the apron now,” all in that same playful tone.

No, Rocket must resist. But this guy is really heavy, or maybe bulky is the right word? You could say he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Get it? Cause Sword is quite the solid guy!

Either way, the bigger problem was turning around and meeting Sword face-to-face. You could say the proximity was a bit close. Let's pretend that Rocket’s heart isn't drumming faster with every light squeeze. “Do you wanna get off of me first?”

“Alright, alright!” Sword finally loosens his grip, letting Rocket breathe air again. He can also calm that rhythm in his heart as he stands up to go back to baking duties. But that dreaded apron was making it really hard to cross the imaginary border to the kitchen. Sword stands on the other side pumped full of joy and whimsy.

“Pretty please?”

Sighing, Rocket resigned himself to his fate. “...Fine.”

There he stood, mixing flour, salt, sugar, and cold unsalted butter while adorned in the “cute” apron. Meanwhile, Sword slipped off each of his brown gloves, revealing his bare arms, scar included. This was one of the few privileges Rocket had access to as one of Sword’s closest friends—that his eyes could bear witness to a vulnerability of Sword’s. He swore he’d never take it for granted.

When Sword began peeling some apples on the cutting board, there was some sunlight shining in from the window that cast a warm glow onto the side of Sword’s face. With his eyelashes downturned, he looked even more like an ethereal knight.

Don’t worry, Rocket wasn’t taking glances so obvious that he’d catch on, just an admiration out of the corner of his eye. Except, his batter mixing technique was a bit subpar. Surely mixing in a circle couldn’t be that hard? And yet, Sword took notice and found it necessary to “coach” him on how to properly combine ingredients.

“Ah, Rocket, you also need to scrape the walls of the bowl.”

You know that feeling when you think you’re doing well in a match and then someone from the enemy team gives you some “tips” afterwards. Yea, that’s kinda what it felt like.

Trying to adjust his technique, Rocket scrapes the walls of the bowl in vertical motions, which certainly isn't the most effective strategy, though he’s getting there. But spirit alone isn’t going to mix that batter. Sword had to set aside his apple peeling duties to personally teach him.

Placing his hand on top of Rocket’s, Sword guides the spatula to scrape in the more effective manner he referred to earlier, horizontally, along the sides of the bowl and inwards. “You wanna do it like this!”

Unlike Rocket, whose hands were always icy, Sword’s were always strangely warm. It didn’t help that Sword was leaning his head over Rocket’s shoulder, all while guiding his hand. Any more, and his shadow might actually end up swallowing Rocket whole. “See? The batter folds in on itself this way.”

If you asked Rocket when flowers bloomed for the first time, he really wouldn’t know how to answer that question.

One day he was by himself, and the next, Sword just happened to be sitting beside him. He never really understood how to appreciate the beauty until he got older. But what he can tell you is that it’s been a decade, and the pounding has mellowed out since the first time he recognized it as such. However, every now and then, it heightens.

Whenever they go back to being friends, it only takes one moment of close proximity for Rocket to question that belief all over again.

A smile too wide, a heart too pure, and a presence too comforting. This was another one of those moments that met the criteria—but was just as fleeting as the rest. The moment Sword withdrew his hands, the cool air tried to make up for the loss of warmth.

Short-lived as it may, Rocket could internally breathe a sigh of relief. And yet, he kind of missed that initial pull.

Sword resumed his apple peeling while Rocket finished folding the wet and dry ingredients together. When out of nowhere, “Rocket, here comes the bunny apple!”

Sword was flying a bunny-shaped apple towards his mouth—presumably a take on the viral phrase, “Here comes the airplane!”

His mixing came to a halt as he instinctively pulled his head back. “Huh—!?”

“—What am I a kid!?”

Sword only giggled, still prompting the bunny apple towards Rocket, all with that same stupid grin. “Cmon!”

…

“Fine…” Begrudgingly leaning in, Rocket allows himself to be fed. Sword’s fingers were mere centimeters away from his lips as he gently booped the apple forward. While mixing, Rocket bit the apple with his teeth before chewing the whole thing. Immediately, he snapped his head back to the batter.

He heard a faint giggle slip from Sword’s mouth as he also returned to his duties. It was a juicy apple. That’s what he tried to focus on, not the fact that his face was heating up a bit.

He didn’t have to dwell on it for long since he returned to his baseline pretty quickly. Guess that’s what the years do to you, he got accustomed to the fluttery feelings. Curt as it may, the domesticity Sword brought to their hang out sessions truly let him bask in the moment, a nice change of pace from the fast-paced nature of urban cities.

Not many people can get him to live in the present. Thank goodness he has more than one.

Once the batter had this sandy-looking texture, Rocket was tasked with adding water to form the dough element of their pie. However, when it came to kneading the dough, not wanting to get any sticky residue on Rocket’s prosthetic, Sword took the reigns this time.

Rocket didn’t fight this one, cleaning up sticky substances on metal sucks. The only slight issue was that Rocket didn’t have any more instructions. So, he offered the last thing he had left, his half-decent presence by Sword’s side as he worked the dough. With an elbow on the counter propping up his head, Rocket simply watched.

Sword’s really hard-working, isn’t he? Even if it’s just kneading dough, he still carries that same vigor in his eyes. Even if they’ve exchanged places and the sun’s no longer casting its spell on Sword, his presence is already warm enough. “Rocket?”

“Hm?”

“Are you just gonna keep watching me?”

“Yea.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna do something else in the meantime? It might take me a little bit.”

Sword was probably going to invite Rocket for a seat at the dining table while he does all the labor. Yea, Rocket wasn’t going to let him stand alone, even if the only thing he could offer was half-baked company.

Least he could do was stand in solidarity.

At first, Rocket took in the technique—the spiral wedging, folding the dough onto itself, as well as sprinkling the occasional bits of flour onto his hands and the dough itself. But there was something Rocket was more curious about. “When’d you learn to bake apple pie?”

“Venomshank taught me when I was younger.”

Huh, that’s certainly the first time Rocket’s heard of that. Suddenly, the apron choices make sense. Despite how strict Venomshank can be at times, Sword will always have a soft spot in his heart. The day they went shopping together, Sword probably hit him with those puppy dog eyes. How could he resist?

Sword continued on with his recollection. “For one of my birthdays, Venomshank made me a custom pie instead of the usual cake, and I really liked it!” There’s that twinkling in his eyes again.

“I wanted to learn how to make it too, so I asked Venomshank to teach me.” Finally, Sword deemed the dough done and proceeded to place it in a bowl and sealed the top with cling-wrap.

“Now, to cook the apples!”

In all honesty, Rocket had this image that apple pie was just some dough filled with raw apple slices and some sort of… Filling. Guess it’s more intricate than he thought. With haste, Sword got to work preheating the pot before throwing in the apple slices, lemon juice, sugar, and the same cold unsalted butter before stirring the mixture lightly in a simmer.

Continuing on with Sword’s childhood memory, in the most casual tone, he recounts, “The first time I tried to make apple pie, I almost set the house on fire!”

Somehow, Rocket’s face managed to stay just as neutral as before. You can tell he’s quite familiar with Sword’s clumsy antics. Fires aren’t too far-fetched. “In the middle of making the jam, someone was knocking on our door so, Venomshank left me alone for a second.”

Only for a second? Venomshank should’ve known better.

“Venomshank told me that we would be cooking the apples inside the filling, and I thought I could quickly pop it into the microwave to cook it faster—cause ya’know, microwaves usually do that!”

Now, the question is, did Sword use a metal bowl or did he leave a metal utensil inside the bowl before popping it into the microwave?

“I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to put metal inside the microwave and uh—I may have put everything in a metal bowl haha…”

Yep. Exactly what Rocket predicted. “So, did Venomshank catch you right as you put it in or…?”

Once Sword deemed the mixture finished, he decided to sample a bit. Blowing on the wooden spoon to not burn his tongue, he tasted a bit before offering it to Rocket. “Mmm! Rocket, do you wanna try?”

To say Rocket was skeptical was an understatement. Tasting right out of the pot? He knew Sword’s heat tolerance was high, but Rocket couldn’t say the same about himself.

For as long as he remembered, cold meals are his everyday. You’d think every season was winter with the way he used to live, literally and figuratively. Maybe that’s why his heat tolerance isn’t as great. Sensing his hesitation, Sword blows on the spoon even more.

Just as Sword was about to joyously walk over to Rocket—Rocket walks up to him, saving him the labor of walking a few steps. How generous of him.

One thing was apparent though, Sword definitely intended to feed him again from his own hands. At this point, Rocket just accepts his fate—not without being a bit wary of the temperature though. Has Sword done a sufficient job of cooling down the mixture, or is Rocket going to drink sink water?

Well, he’d trust Sword even if it burns his tongue. This time, Rocket takes the initiative, taking a small sip. It’s still on the hotter side, but thankfully, he didn’t feel the need to run his mouth under the faucet. After setting aside the heat and focusing on the taste, “Lemony, not too sweet, I like it.”

“Glad you like it!” Sword poured out the mixture into the infamous metal bowl and shoved it into the fridge after also sealing it with cling wrap. For a split second, Rocket eyed the ominous microwave. Thankfully, no fires will be started today, but… Now what?

They had some downtime ahead of them to… Chat? Once Sword closed the fridge, “Did you wanna watch some TV while we wait?”

In all honesty, Rocket wasn’t particularly interested in anything on the television. He just wanted the ingredients to finish chilling so they could go back to working in tandem together. Though, Sword seemed a little excited to consume the local news (he definitely got this from Venomshank), so who was Rocket to deny Sword that joy?

There he was, plopped down beside Sword as he swapped to the correct channel. You had mentions of the weather, some major political debacles, and an interview with a masked figure—and by mask, we’re talking a whole blanket over their head to cover their identity. Apparently, they called off work sick so they could attend a concert.

Other than that, the TV chatter went in one ear and out the other while he spaced out, reflecting on nothing in particular. You know, today’s supposed to be like any other average day, although Rocket did learn that Sword was surprisingly a capable baker.

He’d probably fit really well as a baker in a cozy pastry cafe. Maybe a brown apron would complement him more. Heh, maybe even one with Lightning McQueen on it. Rocket sat there grinning as he pictured Sword in that ridiculous get-up. Thank goodness he could finally take it off.

Anyways, they’ve hung out countless times—rough-housed, piggy-backed each other, and even gotten themselves into trouble and got earfuls from both Zuka and Venomshank. But today—no—ever since yesterday, it’s as if there was this intoxicating pink fog that has started to envelope their every interaction.

And right now, they’re not even talking to each other!

It’s just Rocket with his back pressed against the couch in a languid manner, while Sword was sitting more upright, clearly way more invested in the TV. Can the ingredients hurry up and cool down already?

There was a bake-off competition being shown onscreen. Coincidentally enough, the contestants were also instructed to make a whole pie in only an hour.

One contestant caught his eye in particular, contestant 6—more so his personality. He was friendly, amicable, and always spoke in a rather jovial manner. Making a pie in an hour was hard enough. If someone were to “accidentally” bump into them, causing their bowl of filling to shatter on the ground, lightning would strike in the hearts of most people. The bowl was glass too, and now there were sharp shards on the ground. Yet, the first words they uttered were to ask the other contestant, “Are you okay?”

Rocket hadn’t even noticed his fist clenching.

The clumsy contestant rushed back to their station, leaving contestant 6 to remake their filling from scratch. He cut it close. Way too close, he almost didn't bring his pie up to the front in time for the judges to taste test. All because of that other contestant—and yet, there was not a single frustrated bone in his demeanor.

With quick hands and a determined mindset, he got the job done and still managed to be deemed the second-best out of the whole roster. Even though second is far from the best, the contestant’s smile continued to shine through.

“Rocket?”

Snapping him out of his thoughts, “Hm?”

Sword held up his timer. It’s been about an hour, the ingredients were finally ready to be molded into the final product. Though he was now curious for more, the show could wait. For now, let’s hope they make a pie worthy of first place, to secure an even bigger smile on his face, not the contestant’s, someone else’s.

With the chilled dough, Sword split it in half, and each of them worked on one part. Rocket was tasked with the easier job, to just roll out an even layer large enough to cover the entire pie pan. Meanwhile, Sword would be responsible for making the lattice ribbons.

It was simple enough flattening out some dough and fitting it all inside the pan. Throughout the whole process, Rocket was eyeing the lattice station, wanting to give it a go too. Sword was only halfway done. Maybe he could help?

Rocket’s glances said enough, and Sword invited him. “Could you actually help me cut up these pieces of dough?

“With pleasure.”

Huh, that was a fancy way of saying yes. Rocket’s usually the opposite of fancy. Guess he’s in a good mood, so maybe he’ll cut himself some slack.

As he worked the dough ribbons, the image of that one contestant in his head came to the forefront. As if he were acting as a guide—how to cut neat lines, to handle it in a way that doesn’t crease, he was there for every step of the way. Once they had everything laid out, Sword scooped the pie filling into the pan before the two took turns alternating the lattice pattern.

In all honesty, it was pretty inefficient, but they had fun saying different variations of “your turn.” It started out normal enough.

“Okay, your turn now.”

“Now it’s yours!”

Until they started heightening their voices and finding more finding more creative ways to say its the other person’s turn.

“Oh, Rocket! Looks like you’re next in queue!”

“Oh, Sword! Looks like you’re next on the chopping block!”

Then to more unhinged phrases—ones that didn’t even have anything to do with turns.

“Rocket, did I ever tell you about your car’s extended warranty?”

“No but, have you renewed your health insurance yet?”

Their banter kept going like this until they reached the end of the lattice with two leftover dough ribbons. What shall they do with the extras? Sword had his fingers on his chin, pondering like that one emoji. You gotta respect his dedication to not leaving any waste.

As if he struck a lightbulb moment, Sword immediately got to work on creating something with the leftover strands. Rocket watched on as he folded what looked like two Cs with a trail—ah, he’s making a bow right in the center.

It adds that extra ounce of flair. Nice.

There were only two additional steps Sword needed to do to give the pie its final touches—trimming the extra dough that makes up the lattice portion and brushing a light coat of egg wash he whipped up earlier.

Now, into the oven it goes for another 50 minutes while Sword puts on that same baking competition from earlier. Normally, they’d be out and about in Crossroads on some “adventure,” or at least, that’s what Sword dubs it as. But, for the third time, Rocket came too early. So now they find other ways to pass the time, all while basking in each other’s presence.

Maybe it’s normal to get to that stage in their friendship, especially having known each other for a decade. There are only so many words they can exchange all the time. Now that’s a rather scary thought, that someday they’ll run out of words as friends.

If only there was some untapped avenue to make sure Rocket’s company wouldn't get dull.

Call him impatient, but once again, he just wanted the pie to bake faster. The faster it bakes, the faster this unhealthy silence will end.

You could argue that Rocket has every opportunity to strike up a conversation. And he could. He just—

There was that contestant again. Since he won second place in that previous match, he was now a team captain set to go up against the contestant who won first. After they each alternate choosing team members, they had to come up with their own custom pastry dishes and sell more than the other team.

Contestant 6 had a little bit of an ambitious plan, to make two different flavors of cupcakes. all with meticulous embellishments. One flavor was a take on smores, to have meringue replace the usual frosting. The final decorative element was to grate some chocolate shavings and top it off with a single bar of chocolate.

The other was a take on red velvet—red wine with lavender buttercream topped with an edible flower. They even opted to squeeze some of the buttercream inside the sponge itself for additional depth.

The cupcakes themselves were great. The judges found their flavors quite innovative, as did the customers. The other team stuck with two different flavors of muffins, one that contained fruit, and the other which had a creme brulee on top.

Throughout the process of making the pastries, contestant 6 acted as the voice of motivation for the team. Whenever any of his teammates had an issue, he was right beside them in an instant to help taste test and adjust accordingly. Even if their tools suddenly broke down, he’d always find a way to improvise.

It was pleasant to watch, he was pleasant to be around. The bright ideas he brought to the table, the motivational kind of leadership—everything seemed to be going well until their lines got backed up. A lot of people were drawn to the cupcakes, but the vast number of components made it difficult to pump out cupcakes in a timely manner.

The piping already took long enough—let all the additional embellishments. Compared to the other line, though their’s may not be as visually appealing, they were able to dish out orders much faster, which made all the difference in a competition of quantity.

Contestant 6’s team lost. However, one person could be saved from elimination, and that choice was in the hands of the team leader.

Rocket already knew who contestant 6 would pick—anyone but himself.
Even when everyone else stayed silent, he took on the failure so nobly. “It wouldn’t be fair if I saved myself when I made the menu choices that led to our loss.”

Oh, how Rocket wished he saved himself.

It’s a merit-based competition, and you’re only as good as your last dish. Contestant 6 struggled immensely. Rocket couldn't even focus on his final dish because of the judges harsh critiques and disappointments.

It was pretty gut-wrenching watching contestant 6’s usual smile fade into that of something less. And yet, when it was time for him to hand in his apron, he still unsheathed himself with such grace.

If any ounce of happiness remained, then he took it with him right as he walked out the door—officially eliminated.

Rocket hadn’t even noticed his own dreary expressions nor the tensing of his body until Sword pointed it out. “I know right? I really liked him too…”

“Yea…”

Contestant 6 wouldn't even let Rocket stare into the pitch-black hallway—he closed the door on his way out. Truly, always so courteous.

Rocket mumbled his final comments, “Shame to see him go so soon.”

Hopefully, he doesn't quit baking. That would be an unfortunate waste of talent. Now, to attend to their pie lest it goes up in flames.

Before they even peeked open the oven door all the way, the scent of delicious apple pie wafted through the air. It only got better when they took it out and saw their hard work turn a nice golden brown. It only took them what, two hours and 30 minutes to bake a single pie?

Well, no matter, they both had fun, and that's all that really matters.

Speaking of, afternoon’s right around the corner, so now would be a good time to head out like they initially planned. “Alright, the pie’s set, ready to go to the park?”

“Yea, just give me a minute!”

Sword just needed a few minutes to get ready. Putting his gloves back on, Sword also digs in the cabinets for their matching forks and a small container of French cream.

In the meantime, Rocket was tasked with packing the pie inside the picnic basket. Once he finished, he slung that same checkered blanket under his arms and waited by the door.

After 60 seconds passed, Sword was ready to rumble!

Rocket couldn't open the front door by himself due to holding both the blanket and picnic basket—thank goodness Sword’s there with him.

Upon creaking open the door, they were both blasted with the lovely sun.

Well, down the porch they go, then onto the sidewalk—all the while staying side-by-side. There's this one local park they always go to. There's a little lake, great views, and lots of space for them to lounge on.

Sword strikes up conversation first. “Instead of eating out like usual, we’re the ones making our own food, huh?”

In a jokingly annoyed tone, Rocket comments, “Glad we did, since you always make me pay.”

“Hehe, but you always offer.”

As much as Rocket wants to refute, it’s true—only sometimes though. Sword just happens to conveniently forget his wallet at home, or doesn’t have enough allowance to pay, so Rocket covers both their shares.

In all seriousness, Sword always pays Rocket back—one way or another. Sometimes it’s in the form of a surprise gift, other times it’s surprise outings. Yea, you can definitely spot a trend. Sword seems to be pretty keen on surprises.

As for Rocket… They’re acceptable when they come from Sword. Thankfully, his don’t end in two of his limbs being blown up. “How’s your job hunting going?”

Unlike Rocket, who works directly under his father with flexible hours and a living wage, Venomshank isn’t exactly a public figure, nor does he run his own business. Did Rocket mention he gets free housing too?

If Sword wanted to become financially independent, he’d need to scour for a job elsewhere. It probably had to be close to home though, lest Venomshank sits anxiously waiting for Sword to return home from his shift. “Well… I was thinking of applying to the local convenience store, but Venomshank didn’t want me to.”

Alright, Rocket’s gonna shake hands with Venomshank on this one.

Just so he doesn’t have to face the horrors of retail. He needs that innocence to persist for just a little longer. Customer service tends to bring out the worst in people, Rocket would know a thing or two about that.

Rocket’s not sure he’d survive the day Sword inevitably explodes on shift. It only takes that one divine customer to draw out one's inner demons.

“You can find better jobs—one that won’t be as hard on you and pays just a bit more.”

Just then, Sword's eyes lit up, “Oh! There’s this one cafe in the second layer that put out a hiring poster.”

“Which one?”

“It’s Thieves’ Rest—remember that time we went there together?”

Now that rings a bell. A while back, while they were walking around the second layer in search of any new cafes or restaurants for them to chow down at, they came across one that stood out.

By stood out, the baked goods just looked really really good. Need they say more?

“If I remember correctly, we got some blueberry danishes, a raspberry tart, and a taro roll cake, right?”

Gripping Rocket shoulder, Sword exclaimed, “Yea! And then we sat outside and recorded ourselves taste testing!”

Yeah, Rocket definitely remembered this one. They recorded vlog style too. They thought it’d be fun to cosplay as those over-the-top influencers for a day. Even if people were giving them side eyes, given how loud they were—more specifically Sword, they were having fun goofing off and didn't pay attention to the random eyeing them.

“Mmm! This is really good! The crust is flaky, the cream filling is so delish—

—Okay okay, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Now it was Rocket’s turn to give some exquisite commentary. As he took a bite, he nodded his head to the rhythm of how good it was. “Now this—just the right ratio of cream to pastry. It’s sweet but not too sweet, which I like. And—

—THERE’S BLUEBERRIES!”

By the way, that was the first pastry they ate. They still had two more to go.

But that about summed up their experience that day, a lot of dramatic reactions from Sword, moments where he talks with his mouth so full that a few crumbs spill out, and Rocket with the slightly more normal dialogue. Only slightly, because when he ate the roll cake, he was gripping the camera as if to make the viewers physically understand just how good it was. He was passionately angry about this particular pastry review.

Good memories. Now, back to the present. The park wasn’t too far, they’d just made it to the entrance. There were some other inphernals scattered around—some were whole families, some were individuals with their laptops. Although… There were these bundles of kids chasing around some ducks, which was kinda funny.

Their usual spot under the large shaded tree was unoccupied, terrific. Now they didn't have to worry about the sun blinding their eyes while they tried to enjoy a nice snack.

Not that the sun could ever be as blinding as a certain ray of sunshine beside him, though. Sure, the sun might force you to wear sunscreen, put on sunglasses, and maybe even a hat—but Sword’s presence causes Rocket to act in unprecedented ways.

Unfolding the checkered blanket, Rocket fanned it out as evenly as he could on the grassy terrain. It’s honestly quite the big blanket—big enough that they could both lie on top of it without their head or shoes sticking out and still have room for their other belongings.

Speaking of pie, Sword got to work setting up their DIY eating stations—which were really just some disposable plates and their matching utensils packaged alongside the picnic basket. Thankfully, it was still pretty warm outside, so they didn't have to worry about their pie becoming lukewarm.

He really set that up at record speed, huh? Guess someone’s excited to chow down.

The moment Sword just lightly lifted up the top of the picnic basket, the sweet scent of apple pie flew through the air. Ah, now that was cozy.

Rocket asked for a normal-sized slice after seeing that Sword was about to cut out ¼ pi radians of a slice for him.

Despite Sword nudging him to take more, Rocket stuck with ⅙ pi radians. However, the first slice Sword cut started to fall apart after he tried to nudge it out of the dish.

Now, the initial crunch was great, no issues there. But just as Rocket reaches out to take the “deconstructed” apple pie slice—which was a nice way to put it—Sword pulls it back. “Huh?”

Wagging his finger, “I’ll eat this one, you’re getting a better slice!”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind, it’ll probably taste the same anyways—

—Nuh uh, I’ll cut you a nicer one!”

Since it’s going to be the first time Rocket gets to eat a baked good personally made by yours truly, at the very least, the slice should look nice. Rocket didn’t protest any further, just accepting the little bits of hospitality.

Then, Sword proceeded to cut that bigger slice for himself, placing it right on top of the deconstructed slice. Though Rocket would’ve given him that questioning gaze, knowing Sword, he’ll be able to finish everything. Moving on, before each of them took the first bite, they decided to do a little “cheers,” clinking their forks instead of glasses.

Upon first bite, the crunch was immaculate. Savory yet sweet in the best way possible—there was even a slight zest of lemon that added to the overall tang of the apples.

Glowing next to him, with expectant eyes, Sword’s waiting for Rocket to deliver his final verdict. “Well?”

“It’s pretty good.”

Expecting a greater reaction, Sword probes, “Hm… Only pretty good?”

Indulging in Sword, though not giving him too much satisfaction, Rocket stuck with a, “Yes yes, it’s very delicious!”

Though it’s not the first time Rocket’s had apple pie, this one in particular was special due to its creator. He’s just… Not the type to let that show too much. Speaking of Sword, he was really scarfing down his own pie dish—which fair enough, it was really tasty after all.

Watching his enthusiasm always furthered this warm pit in his stomach.

The moment was so pleasant and comforting. If time froze at this exact moment, Rocket wouldn’t mind. The grass was soft underneath their weights—even the crust of the pie glowed an effervescent golden with the sun’s input. But most important was the presence of another.

To make sure it doesn’t get too lonely.

Occasionally glancing at Sword, who’s in chow-town, it’s consistent—Sword that is—a virtue Rocket should really appreciate more. He’s pretty predictable, but in the best way possible. He always greets Rocket with that same cheerful attitude, always has the same jovial inclination in his voice, and always has Rocket’s favorite snacks laid out on display whenever he comes over.

Rocket knows to expect calls in the morning or afternoon—be it a request to go on an “adventure” or Sword simply sharing tidbits from his day—Rocket listens to every single detail. He records it in his head just in case they come in handy later. Such as… When they eat out together.

You know that whole shtick earlier about Rocket always being stuck footing the bill and how that was only sometimes true? Well, he offers a lot. Maybe more than he should.

Maybe because this is one of the few things Rocket can consistently offer Sword. If not his undivided company, the least he could do is pay for his ice cream. In some ways, it’s kind of reminiscent of those tired father figures who buy their child a cone right as the sun’s beginning to set.

Rocket would know. He’s been in that exact same scenario between him and Zuka. Except, while Sword jumped for joy, Rocket looked just as neutral as ever. But he really did enjoy the ice cream. Well… Maybe more so the thought,—ice cream is just a bit too cold for his tastes. Pretty ironic for someone who’s only ever known cold meals.

Maybe his actions can make up for his lack of proper words.

He only had one more bite left. He dipped the final piece a quarter of the way before biting down whole. He’s not a sucker for sweet things like Sword is, and this cream is pretty sweet.

Noticing that Rocket’s plate was now empty, Sword couldn’t help but offer, “Want another slice?”

His hands were already reaching for the butter knife, eager to make sure Rocket doesn’t go home hungry. And Rocket can’t help but have another. He’ll probably eat a third one later on. He always dips back for more than just seconds. “Yea, I do.”

Once is a fluke, twice is a coincidence, and thrice is reality. In the distance, a newspawn pokes their head out from behind a tree—eyeing their picnic. Rocket thought it was just kids being kids, but that kid just had to poke their head out for a third time. Couldn’t leave it alone, huh?

He had a feeling the kid wanted a slice of their pie. I mean, why else would they stare at the pair? There weren’t any dramatic or eventful altercations occurring between Rocket and Sword at the moment, just domestic goodness.

But, kids usually care less for those sights until they grow up.

That left the pie as a lone contender. Maybe their parents forgot to feed them before taking them out. The child kept looking back and forth debating whether or not to approach them for a slice.

Even then, Rocket still had no obligation to respond to those wanting eyes. He really didn’t. And they definitely didn’t resemble an old memory he usually ends up unconsciously burying.

“Hey, Sword?”

“Yea?” Sword had his mouth half full, but his words were still legible.

“...Do you mind if we share a slice?”

Rocket probably didn’t even need to ask the formality—he knows Sword would say yes in a heartbeat. But, it still seemed like the necessary thing to do. “Are you giving a slice away to someone in the park?”

“Just charitable donations.” While Sword was looking around to see who this mysterious recipient was, Rocket was busy cutting through quite the generous slice. ¼ pi radians. That would leave less than half left. So be it.

With the slice on a plate, Rocket grabs a few napkins as a courtesy. That’s when it hit him, they only had two utensils—matching ones too.

Really leaving him with little choices, huh?

Taking a subtle glance back at the tree, the child must’ve known Rocket had seen them since their eyes were starting to glitter. Screw it, just take the fork.

But does he call out loud? Walk over? Calling out loud might spook the poor kid, and walking over—

Rocket flashbacks to the time he accidentally made a child cry because of his less-than amicable-demeanor. He didn’t even say anything, he just stood there but—guess his presence’s more akin to a black hole than the sun—devouring all forms of light.

For a moment, he almost tried to put himself in his father’s shoes. What would Zuka have done? Is he ready to be that giving person? No, not like this. “Sword—can you bring this slice over to the kid hiding behind the tree over there?”

He hesitated on whether or not to point in the child’s direction—unwanted attention is a little embarrassing. But ultimately, left with little choice, Rocket pointed as gently and inconspicuously as possible—except, the child immediately hid their full figure behind the thick base of the tree.

Thankfully, Sword managed to catch their afterimage. “Oh! Them!”

“Yea, them. Can you bring the pie over to them?” Rocket nudges the plate into Sword’s hands—except, Sword had other plans.

“Mm, I think you should do it instead!”

Huh?

“Well… He seems pretty shy, and you’re the one who saw him first!” Sword pushes the plate back into Rocket’s hands. Glancing back over at the tree, still no eyes. He almost misses that. But, Rocket’s pretty stubborn.

“Nah, you’re friendlier.” It’s Sword’s turn now.

But Sword skipped his. “Nuh uh, you do it! They probably like you more!”

“What? No way—remember that time I made a kid cry by accident just because I happened to look mildly pissed off that day?”

“Yea, but they only ducked their head away after I saw them!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s because I pointed at them and they saw.”

“Well… Even so—I want you to do it hehe!”

They went back and forth like that for a bit longer. With all that time they spent deliberating, they could’ve probably fed the starving child two slices. Alas, accepting his fate, Rocket begrudgingly volunteers. “Fine…!”

With the plate in hand, he walks rather cautiously towards the tree trunk. The closer he approaches, he keeps imagining the child’s gaze—their yearning for a treat. He should probably control his own expression as not to spook them like that other kid.

You know, he’s feeling awfully nervous for a task of just delivering food. It’s almost like he’s mentally preparing himself for—

Nothing?

No one.

“No… They’re gone?”

Quickly scanning his periphery and perimeter, Rocket spun 360 at least twice. They were just here a moment ago? Did Sword and Rocket really spend that much time arguing?

There Rocket stood, dumbly looking into the distance with the plate. He tried carefully scanning the remaining families. Surely just surely they’re among them somewhere—but, no. Meanwhile, Sword was hitting Rocket with a particularly worried expression. The child left him standing with the breeze. Fleeting. Just like that huh?

Even though there’s no guarantee that they’d come back, Rocket covers up the plate with the napkin in his hands before leaving the pie on the ground. Looks like he’ll also have to say bye-bye to his matching fork. Well, they can always get a new one.

In a sour daze, Rocket returns back to his spot on the checkered blanket. Looks like he’s sharing forks with Sword now.

Meeting Sword’s worried eyes with his own weary gaze, Rocket utters, “They’re gone.”

Sword had both of his hands cupping his cheeks as he screamed, “VANISHED!?”

“Vanished.”

It was just one small encounter. But for it to dampen the mood this much—guess Rocket wanted to give the slice more than he thought. And honestly, it was probably less about the slice itself and more about the thought that counts.

Rocket plummets onto his back, using his arms as a head-rest as he stares up at the sky.

Sword sets his plate aside and follows in tandem with Rocket, also lying down on the plush grass mended by the blanket. Now, as they lay side-by-side with a slightly bitter aftertaste, they need to find a way to sweeten it back up. “Rocket?”

“Mm?”

“Sorry for trying to push you earlier, I didn’t—

—It’s fine.” None of it was Sword’s burden to bear—if anything, it was his. He offered, and yet he was trying to avoid footing the bill. “I guess I still have a long way to go.”

As if gravitating towards his words, Sword tilts his head over to Rocket’s to see him better. Rocket’s eyes remained fixed at the sky, though. “I guess for a split second, I wondered if that’s how my dad saw me—just with more resistance.”

It's been a long time since the first day Zuka hauled a rowdy kid back to his workshop. His hands were quite gentle with Rocket’s non-existent one. His phantom pain felt what he couldn’t—gentle grasps he probably still longs for to this day.

“Back in Playground, there were some non-profits and volunteers from Crossroads who came to deliver free food for those who couldn’t afford it—which was a lot of us.”

“But, I didn’t trust it. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, there’s always a catch. Someone saw me lingering around though. Guess I couldn’t resist the smell, no matter how skeptical I was. If it got to a certain point, a hungry kid like me might’ve eaten poison willingly.” Those images were flashing back up.

“That was the first time I met him. Zuka caught onto this one rowdy kid who kept eyeing their food but never lined up for it—so he personally delivered them a lunch box.” Somewhere between these sentences, Rocket calmed his breathing, the strain in his voice slowly dissipating. “I denied it at first, but he insisted—and thank god my stubbornness didn’t win over because that was one of the most delicious goddamn meals I’ve had in a while.”

“It was so good—so warm. I almost cried tears of joy it was so good—and—

—Sword—are you crying!?”

There were indeed tears welled up in Sword’s eyes as he gave a light sniffle. He tried to make out some coherent sentences, but his rampant emotions were clearly getting in the way. At first, it was just slurs of “Rocket” and other incomprehensible words of understanding and comfort.

Sitting up and prompting Sword up too, Rocket grabs a nearby napkin and starts wiping his tears just like before. But Sword will need to blow his nose by himself.

Finally, Sword could speak coherently—even if his voice was still a little strained. “Rocket? Can I give you a hug?”

“Wha—”

Rocket’s first instinct is usually no. But a certain someone has been changing that reflex over the years. He’s more surprised that Sword’s asking for permission instead of just pouncing at him like he normally does.

…

“...Sure.”

To say Sword leaped at him wouldn’t be an understatement. The sudden warmth was intense, not to mention his warms tightly gripping his back and his head resting on Rocket’s shoulder. Even after all these years, “hugs” are something he’s learned.

But, they come naturally enough now that Rocket feels at ease putting his hands on Sword’s back as Sword does to his—reciprocating it. If there were any bitter or sour notes left, it evaporated with the heat. Sword was still reeling a bit from his sob story, but—it’s not such a bad feeling for someone to cry on your behalf—that you’re worth crying for.

When they finally pulled away, as all hugs are temporary, Sword speaks up. “Rocket, if you ever get hungry, just know that Venomshank and I will always welcome you!”

He knows. They’ve already proven that—that and beyond actually. So much so that it’s already ingrained in his nervous system. He’s really lucky, isn’t he?

Just then, a shadowy after-image fazes by, jolting the pair upright. “Rocket? Was that—

“Yea, I think that was—!”

Neither of them needed to say more. Rocket stood up, and without missing a beat this time, rushed over behind the tree to see that the plate he’d left there was now missing. To say he was simply smiling might’ve been an understatement.
When he turned around to meet Sword’s gaze, the smile on his face told him everything he needed to know. Rushing up to Rocket, Sword grabs his shoulders and starts jumping for joy. “They came back, they came back!”

“They did… They did!”

Rocket also held onto Sword’s arms, reciprocating the touch. His heart had never felt so bright, and with Sword’s presence around, his world so full of light. In a gentle voice, Rocket murmured “I’m so happy.”

Of course, Sword returns the favor, “I’m so happy too!”

The present was so sweet. Rocket’s blessed with such a sweet day—sweet enough to draw out his even sweeter words.

“And I love that about you.”

“I love everything about you actually.”

For a second, Rocket’s autopilot almost let those words slip past his internal filter. He froze as two parts of himself battled to be heard.

To take those sentimental words back or to double down? Upon hearing Rocket’s words, Sword takes a few seconds to fully process the fact that such lovely sentiments were coming out of Rocket’s mouth, of all people. You can tell he rarely says such sweet things. “Aww, Rocket! That’s so—I love you too! You’re my best friend in the whole wide world!”

Sword dips in for a second, tight hug, really squeezing against Rocket’s frame. Like clockwork, Rocket can’t help but sink into that comforting touch even if, well—

“You are too… But,” Rocket eases the hug out so that they can see each other face-to-face, “Sword, have you ever thought about us… Beyond that?”

Cocking his head to the side, Sword asks, “What do you mean by that?”

He’s already thrown himself in the deep end. What’s diving a little deeper? But deep down, he’s already taught himself how to swim in deep waters. “Romantically, I mean. I love everything about you… romantically.”

“—and as a friend don’t get me wrong but—”

Yea, he just had to add that extra disclaimer, juuust in case.

—Rocket? I still don’t really know what that means haha…” Sword started scratching his head a bit perplexed. “Do you mean like in those movies?”

Ah, love on the big screen, always so scripted and marketable. Although, there are the occasional films that can speak to what Rocket feels. “Mm… Sort of.”

“What does it feel like…?”

Good question. What does love feel like to Rocket? “Warm… It’s warm and comforting. There are times when we end up laughing together over the dumbest things, and I love them.”

As Rocket spoke, he doesn’t divert his eyes from Sword, even if he may be subconsciously studying his every twitch in facial expression. “There are times when we talk about more serious topics, like maybe the future or the past. You’re always there to listen to me, no matter how cranky I can get.”

Sword’s still listening intently, letting Rocket finish verbalizing. “I can’t name when these feelings formed, but… Everytime we spend time together, you always make my heart race a little more. And I can’t help but think that maybe…

“It wouldn’t be so bad spending the rest of my life with you.”

Rocket probably could have delivered his thoughts better but, cmon, he’s put on the spot. He’s also forcing himself to hold eye contact, it felt necessary given the moment. The board of directors in his head was having a system overload—but, it’s alright, they’ll be alright.

“Rocket… I… I didn’t know you felt any of this.”

“I know. I was ready to take it to the grave but—I guess you have a way of drawing that honesty out of me.”

Unexpectedly, Sword brings Rocket’s hands together and clutches them in his. “Rocket, I love spending time with you too! I still kept all the photos Venomshank took of us when we were younger. I wouldn’t mind growing old with you either,

But,

I… Ah, how do I say it!”

This time, Sword’s the one scrambling, trying to find his words, darting his eyes around. But Rocket understands what Sword may not have fully recognized yet. Rocket’s understood a long time ago.

“It’s alright Sword. I know you’ve never really thought about it—not because of me or anyone else, but because that’s just not what your heart seeks out.”

“Wait—Rocket—you’ll always be my best friend! I will always enjoy hanging out and spending time with you! We’ll finish our series of visiting every interesting-looking pastry shop in Crossroads together! And—

Rocket shushes him with a finger to his lips. “I know. I don’t doubt that at all.”

Sword still had that anxious expression on his face. Even if he didn’t understand his own desires, or more so his lack of—even he subconsciously knew the implications of his response. If there’s one thing movies get right, it’s the possibility of a breakup that was never even official.

However,

“We’re friends first.”

“And nothing will ever change that fact, not even my feelings.”

Sword’s arms slowly lowered to the ground. That seemed to put him at a little more ease, but you could see the spiral of thoughts running through his head. Before Rocket can reassure him, Sword lets his thoughts get the better of him, and he blurts out something he can’t take back.

“Wait, but—w-what if you kiss me?”

Rocket needs to do a double-take to make sure he heard that right.

“Maybe if you kiss me, I’ll… feel something? You know! Like they do in the movies! A kiss on the cheek…?”

Sword didn’t even sound too sure of his own ask.

If the tension wasn’t palpable enough, you could really cut it with a knife now. Rocket’s internal monologue was having a field day, his heart was doing backflips in his chest—he even had to close his eyes at one point and take a deep breath to calm himself down.

Rocket gulps.

He really shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But his ears were dripping with honey from Sword’s bashful innocence.

Maybe just this once. His first and last.

Without a word, Rocket steps closer, jolting Sword awake from his nervous trance. If his shaking wasn’t that obvious, it’s definitely obvious now. Sword looks as though he’s trying to hold his breath for a record amount of time. Rocket could’ve sworn he heard Sword’s heart skip a beat, or maybe that was just him and his wishful thinking. “I’ll be quick.”

As Rocket gets close enough that they’re mere inches away from each other’s face, paradoxically, the drumming in Rocket’s heart stifles for once. It mellows out just like how it does when they’re just friends. “Do you want to close your eyes?”

Reluctantly, Sword closed his eyes, though the furrows in his brow still showing he’s on the edge of his seat. Rocket placed his hand over Sword’s eyes, covering them fully just in case. Just as he’s about to press a light peck on Sword’s forehead, he pulls back.

And finally, he takes off his hands. “There, a peck.”

Sword nervously peeks one eye open before the other. Then, he looks side-to-side as if the “peck” was going to cause a disturbance in their environment. Once Sword finds his ground and starts to let his nervousness settle, he comes back bursting with energy. “That wasn’t so bad! I didn’t even feel it.”

If he didn’t have solid proof then, he definitely did now. “Well, pecks are supposed to be light.”

It’s definitely far from the same pink fluttery feelings that Rocket exhibits. He did the right thing lying to Sword. But more importantly, so that he doesn’t lie to himself.

But Sword suddenly snaps into place, his expression faltering back to what it was previously—the dismay that nothing has changed. “W—

—Sword, you’re fine. You’re fine just the way you are, and I’m happy just the way we are.”

“Rocket—!

Shushing him with a finger once again, “Ah—I don’t want to hear it. There is nothing you need to do. Just… be yourself. That’s all I ask of you. And before you ask me about my feelings,” Rocket puts a hand on his shoulder, “I already knew, I just needed to get it out of my system. To be more honest with me… and with you.”

Sword no longer looks as devastated, but still has that slight frown. Ah, Rocket knows what might cheer him up. Reaching down for pie, Rocket cuts a quick slice before standing back up and prompting the fork into Sword’s mouth.

He’s stubborn at first, not wanting to open his mouth. “Cmon Sword, here comes the pie!” And he starts weaving it through the air like an airplane.

Finally, albeit begrudgingly, Sword takes the bite, and Rocket can see the tension slip from his face in real time. Good food really does wonders for stress, huh? Suddenly, Sword started pointing behind him with his mouth stuffed. “Mm!”

Turning around, the child is standing by their safe zone. Except, this time, they could be seen head-to-toe, no longer hiding. In their hands was the empty plate. They stood there awkwardly holding out the plate as if it were a fragile artifact. “Huh… Would you look at that?”

Inviting Sword, “Why don’t we go together this time?”

Sword gave an enthusiastic thumbs up since he still had his mouth full. And so they walk up to the child and claim their offering. “Thanks for returning the plate—and fork too.”

Looks like they won’t need to buy a new pair of matching forks after all.

Next to Rocket, Sword beams, “Did you like the pie?”

The child simply nodded, and Sword couldn’t help but ask, “Do you want another slice? We still have some more!”

The child shakes their head this time. “Aw, that’s okay, hope you’re full now!”

The child nods their head once more before an awkward silence envelopes them. On Rocket’s end, upon locking eyes a few times, he understands. They’re grateful for the pie but now, it’s time for them to go on and do great things. “If you have other places to be, don’t let us stop you.”

The child gave one final curt nod before turning around and walking away, but just before they stepped too far, a quiet “thank you” was uttered before they left. “And there they go.”

With not much else to comment on, Sword and Rocket head back to their picnic station. The sun was starting to set, and it was about time they cleaned up. It felt nice getting that weight off his chest. Unrequited as it may, Rocket would never trade this feeling for the world. Sword also seemed to be feeling better after meeting with the kiddo again.

Heh, kiddo, Zuka used to refer to him as that all the time when he was younger, since Rocket refused to tell him his name at first. And Rocket would always respond that he’s “not a kid.”

Usually, only kids will hide behind a wall while they salivate over good-looking food—at least, back during his time in Playground. They walk back home with a heavier silence, though mostly on Sword’s end.

In a twist of events, Rocket was the one initiating conversation—converiung until they reached that one particular corner of the block where they’re meant to split off. This is where their adventure ends for the day. They sure reached the corner rather quickly this time, didn’t they?
Before Rocket returns home, he leaves Sword with some final partings. “Sword, just know that nothing will change between us.”

And Sword also has a final parting for Rocket. “Rocket, you’re my best friend in the whole wide world. I don’t want to ever lose you.”

“And Sword, you’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world too—and I’m not going anywhere. But for now, we need to head home. I’m sure Venomshank’s waiting for you.”

“And Zuka’s… Waiting for you too…”

“Mhm, see ya Sword.”

“Alrighty, bye-bye Rocket.”

Baked pie and confessed in the same day—it’s been a while since Rocket was honest. Despite spilling out his heart like that, it didn’t feel so bad at all. Probably because he finally came to terms with something he buried—that Sword’s heart yearns for adventure, even if Rocket’s yearns to be with him.

And you know what, Rocket is with him. Rocket is Sword’s best friend in the whole wide world. He’d never exchange that title—not even for a luxury ticket back up to Splintered Skies. He’s happy as he is, and that’s enough.

As he finally creaks open the front door, a familiar voice greets him, “Welcome home.”

“Good afternoon.” Rocket begins taking off his shoes.

“Had fun at Venomshank’s?” Zuka was sitting on the couch, enjoying a nice cup of coffee alongside his usual newspaper. It was his off day.

“Yea, I confessed to Sword.” Next was draping the checkered blanket over a random chair—he’ll put it back later.

Zuka’s eyebrows raised. “Oh? How did it go?”

“Rejected, but it just confirmed what I already knew.” Rocket takes a quick seat.

“All those previous times when I tried asking him about love, his eyes never really twinkled. But the moment I take him out for dessert, he’s ends up shaking me from how excited he is.”

Leaning back in his chair, “I’m just glad it’s off my chest now.”

Putting his newspaper down to see his son clearly, Zuka remarks, “You did well, and who knows, maybe someone else will catch your fancy in the future.”

Rocket considered that possibility. “Maybe… But I know as of now, no one has even come close to in terms of our friendship.”

“Guess that’s why you’re two peas in a pod.”

“Yea.”

After a beat of silence, “I’m going to head up to my room now.”

Zuka just had one last thing. “There’s also some leftover croissants on the counter if you’re still hungry.”

Scoffing to himself, Rocket declines, “Nah, I’m full from the apple pie we made today.”

“Alright then.”

Upon making it back to the comfort of his room, it felt strangely silent without Sword’s usual company. It helped that Rocket confided with Zuka regarding his romantic feelings. Zuka even gave him some tips and pointers to maybe try and gauge whether or not Sword reciprocated.

He just never expected to find out that maybe Sword just isn’t a yearner for the lovey-dovey. He’s certainly a yearner for the heights though—oh, and delicious food.

It only made him more endearing—though to be fair, Rocket finds everything about Sword endearing. But beyond the feelings he calls romantic, it’s the concept at heart that’s important.

The fact that Sword is one of the only other people in his life who brings him this sense of warmth—someone he can… trust. Now that’s a heavy word to draw out.

He’s just glad his cranky personality didn't turn Sword away early, or else they wouldn’t have been able to make apple pie together today, nor shop at various pastry shops together, nor every other time they’ve hung out—you get the big picture.

They’ll probably have another adventure this week. Until then, Rocket needs a quick nap.