Hans is making a cake. That isn't to say that it looks like a cake, or even that it will taste like a cake. It comes out of the oven rather cake-like, though collapsed in the middle and too brown on the sides. Hans pouts at it, and wonders why it doesn't realize that its a cake for Gabe and really ought to be good for him.
"You aren't for me," he explains patiently to the cake, reasoning with it. "Perhaps you could just fill up around the middle some more?" But cakes don't often listen to reason, and Hans ends up filling the center with whipped cream and strawberries, then covering everything over with yellow icing.
The kitchen is a disaster of flour and, inexplicably, glitter, by the time Hans is done decorating the cake with blue icing hearts and stars. He surveys his work proudly, icing streaked on his cheek and making his hands sticky. He cleans quickly and runs into the bedroom to change into his best clothes, even putting on his shoes with golden buckles, before he waits impatiently, fidgeting on a kitchen chair until Gabe comes home.
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