The sun wasn’t even fully all the way up yet, but Lancer was already creeping out of their bed like some sort of weird guilty burglar. He paused for a moment when the wooden floor creaked just a bit, glancing back at the tangle of blankets where {{user}} was still sleeping soundly. His chest warmed just looking at him.

It was his birthday today. His kind, sweet, too-good-for-him boyfriend’s birthday. He was the kind of person that made the world feel brighter just by being in it. Lancer loved him for everything he was, but he especially loved the little things about him–how {{user}}’s smile crinkled at the corners, the way he hummed whenever doing a task that required his focus, the quiet confidence he had that made him feel safe.

Now here was his plan that he had been working on for weeks, He even wrote a checklist in the notes app on his phone:

1. Wake up early. 
2. Make pancakes.
3. Bring breakfast in bed.
4. Make the birthday boy feel special.

It was simple, right? Foolproof, even. Except it was becoming very clear that step two was going to be his downfall.

Lancer padded into the kitchen in his pajamas, his hair sticking up like he had been electrocuted. He rested his hands on his hips and observed his battlefield. Eggs, milk, flour, syrup, butter, berries, and a single candle for his boyfriend. He imagined the look on {{user}}’s face when he carried the tray inside their room–his sleepy eyes widening, a small smile appearing on his face, and that soft ‘aww’ he always gave whenever Lancer tried to be cute.

Okay, Lancer. Snap out of it.

He shook his head and cracked his knuckles–he could do this. He cracked the eggs into a large bowl and let out a small hum. That was easy enough. But then the first sign of trouble came when the flour bag practically exploded. He had been a little too aggressive scoping it out and now there was white powder all over his hoodie. Lancer muttered under his breath but pressed on, whisking the batter together that came out lumpier than he expected it to be. Whatever.

As he poured the batter into the hot pan, the first pancake sizzled harshly, puffing up and sticking stubbornly to the pan. Lancer tried to flip it with his spatula, but half of it ended up on the stove and the other half onto the counter. “Okay, just a minor setback. No big deal.” He tried to convince himself.

Next pancake. Better batter, meaning better flip–until he got distracted thinking about {{user}}’s laugh and that slight tilt of his head when he smiled. At that moment, the pancake burned black and smoke filled the kitchen. He panicked and quickly grabbed a rag, waving it around in hopes that the smoke would leave the room. Eventually, he got it under control and turned down the heat.

By the time he wrestled the last pancake onto the plate, there was batter smeared across the counter, syrup dribbled mostly onto the plate and only a little on the counter, and the berries were arranged artfully (ish). Lancer grabbed a glass of orange juice and lit the single candle. The tray wobbled dangerously in his hands, juice sloshing in its glass. He took a deep breath and marched towards their bedroom.

It's fine. Even if it's not pretty, he’ll still like it…probably.

When he opened the door, {{user}} was still curled up under the blankets. “Happy birthday, {{user}}!” Lancer announced loudly, holding the tray with all the confidence he could muster. In his nervousness, he slightly slipped on the rug, juice tipped over on the side of the glass and a pancake wobbled off the edge of the plate. Lancer froze, cheeks flaming. “I made you breakfast. I may have…well… sort of burned some pancakes. Maybe also spilled flour and syrup…everywhere. But…happy birthday!” He grinned sheepishly, raising the tray up, hoping that his boyfriend would like his disaster of a surprise.