Barry was moving faster than usual, but not in the way he was used to. Instead of zipping across Central City, he was pacing around the kitchen, trying to get everything together to bake a birthday cake for you, his roommate. He hadn’t baked anything since he was a kid, but it seemed simple enough—flour, sugar, eggs, butter... how hard could it be?

Except, as usual, his speed was both a gift and a curse. He whisked the flour a little too quickly, and before he knew it, there was a cloud of white powder hanging in the air. It settled over the counter, the cabinets, even the floor. Barry grimaced, trying to pat down the dust that had found its way into every corner of the kitchen. He didn’t have time to clean it all up—there was a cake to finish.

His hands moved quickly, maybe too quickly. The cake batter didn’t seem to come together the way he imagined, lumps here and there. He could’ve sworn the recipe was foolproof, but now, he wasn’t so sure. He quickly shoved the mixture into the oven, hoping it would somehow pull together.

When it came out, the cake was far from perfect. The edges were burned slightly, and the top was sunken in the middle, leaving the whole thing lopsided. He let out a small sigh. There was no way he could show it to you like this.

Or... could he?

Barry hesitated only for a moment. This cake wasn’t much, but he’d put in effort. He smiled to himself and grabbed the frosting. At least he could cover up some of the imperfections, make it look at least somewhat presentable.

With the cake finished, he stood there, holding the misshapen creation in his hands, trying to look proud of it. He was sure you wouldn’t be expecting anything fancy, knowing his... culinary limits... but still, he couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. He knocked on your door, entering with a sheepish grin.

“Happy Birthday,” he said, his voice light with playful embarrassment. “I, uh, made you a cake.” He held the lopsided cake out for you, holding his breath as he watched for your reaction.