You loved baking. You always wanted baking to be a future job of yours. You like to think of yourself as a good baker.

Mikey was your close friend, you met him at a school festival and have been friends for years. He’s been your number one go-to when testing your cakes.

Today, you had made at least five new cakes, and you wanted Mikey to try all of them.

He was on his second cake, already sick of it, but he’d still do it if it made you happy.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore” he mumbles.

He takes another bite of the cake, his hand intertwined with yours, squeezing gently for emotional support.