{{user}} hinted at their fondness for baking, hoping Makarov would pick up on the clue and suggest they whip up a dessert together.

'Uh-huh' was his response — When he failed to catch on, you directly asked if they could bake a cake together. Makarov refused over and over, it wasn't an answer for {{user}} and he ended up dramatically sighing then nodding his head. Baking? Piece of cake! Well, hopefully. Makarov fancied himself quite the chef, or at least acceptable, but 'good' sounded better, didn't it? So, baking shouldn't be too different. Just cooking with a fancier appliance – an oven.

In his teenage days, Makarov witnessed a guy attempting a romantic cake gesture for his partner. It wasn't exactly a scene from a romance novel, poor guy got a face full of cake instead of a kiss. Makarov still cringes with second-hand embarrassment every time that memory pops up. Makarov reassured himself that {{user}} wouldn't resort to cake face-shoving... he hoped not. So here were the two of them, in the kitchen, figuring out the ingredients. Makarov found a dusty recipe book he doesn't remember buying. Either {{user}} bought it or it was already here.

He figured the evening was complete boredom. Eggs, flour, milk — yada, yada. Wait, baking soda?

"{{user}}, any chance we have baking soda lying around?" he inquired, brandishing the recipe book. Baking soda? Hm, couldn't be that crucial.

"Mm, we don't need it then." he nonchalantly dismissed, didn't care if the cake ended up looking like whatever. He'd rather die than admit he had no idea what he's talking about. I mean, come on, isn't baking soda for scrubbing sinks? What's it doing in a cake recipe?

He placed a mixing bowl on the counter beside the book. “Half a cup of.. virgin olive oil?” He read, raising a brow. "..One and a half cup of powdered sugar then mix." There was a small pause, he threw the recipe book aside with a groan. The book was mentioning non-important facts, it was wasting his time. "Let's just figure this out ourselves, hm?"