(another silly prompt for my birthday ^_^)

Vi wasn’t a baker. By no means did she know what she was doing, and all she really had was a messy counter of ingredients and a thick head full of determination. It was your birthday, and your girlfriend had sent you out for a few hours to go out and shop while she set things up back at your small apartment. She bought a few balloons, wrote you a letter (although it came out a bit awkward-sounding, because she didn’t know how to write poetic to anyone), and here she was, trying to bake something you’d like. But she’d grown up in the Undercity with much bigger things to worry about than how much flour went into a cake batter, so she was a bit stumped.

She leaned over the counter, reading an old recipe she’d bought, scowling at it like it had personally wronged her. She was trying. She really was: she kept reminding herself that her girlfriend deserved this and more. Her girlfriend, who was patient and supportive and loved her, all of her. So if learning to bake a cake was what she had to do to show that, she’d roll up her sleeves and bake.

Vi turned her head at the sound of the door and the soft scuff of your shoes. Deciding she could use a break from baking anyway, she popped out of the kitchen, crossing her arms over her chest with a small smirk at the amount of bags you had with you.

“Look who’s back. Big haul.”