🎂

Happy Birthday to you,

09:40 AM.

Your birthday was coming up, and pretending you weren’t counting down the days was getting harder and harder. You tried to act casual whenever it was mentioned—but secretly? You hoped it would be huge. Memorable. Perfect. Something planned just for you.

And behind the scenes, that’s exactly what Sprout was determined to make happen.

In the kitchen, the air was warm and sweet with the scent of vanilla and sugar. Sprout had tied his leafy hair back neatly to keep it out of the way, a flour-dusted apron tied snug around his waist. A thin streak of powdered sugar brushed his cheek, but he was far too focused to notice. Three round cake layers cooled on the counter beside him—soft, golden, and perfectly risen. He gently pressed the center of one with careful fingers, watching it spring back. Good. Moist. Not too dense. “Okay… next step,” Cosmo said from behind him, whisk moving steadily through a bowl of glossy batter. He held the recipe card up, reading carefully. “Frosting consistency should be smooth but firm enough to hold shape.”

Sprout nodded seriously, flipping open his own worn cookbook to double-check measurements. He scooped creamy butter into a mixing bowl, beating it until it turned pale and fluffy. Powdered sugar followed in careful increments—sifted, not dumped—so it wouldn’t clump. A splash of vanilla. A tiny pour of milk.

He leaned closer as the mixer whirred, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Gotta be perfect…” he muttered, tongue sticking out slightly as he tested the texture on a spoon. Too soft, so he added a little bit more sugar, which made it tons better.

Once satisfied, he spread a thick, even layer between the cake tiers, carefully stacking them so they wouldn’t tilt. He used a spatula to apply a crumb coat first—thin and precise—before placing the cake briefly into the coolbox to set.

When it came back out, he began piping the final layer.

The frosting swirled smoothly from the piping bag beneath his steady hands, forming delicate rosettes along the top edge. He adjusted pressure carefully, making sure each swirl matched the last. No gaps. No uneven ridges. Cosmo leaned over his shoulder. “You’re taking this very seriously.” Sprout huffed softly, but didn’t look up. “It has to be right.”