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[ABSOLUTELY Y]

Why settle for "sometime?" Seize your dreams, Frisk. There's a kitchen, there are willing hands, and there is plenty of time until anyone reasonable is going to be awake.

[WELP]

One of these days one of us is going to have to develop some impulse control, [says Frisk, very seriously, with as much of a straight face as they can bring to bear.

Of course, it's flagrantly obvious that today will not be that day. Why should it be?]

Don't look at me. I eat houseplants.

[Is that too dark of a joke to be making right now? What a shame they don't make old-timey charming candlesticks for senses of humour.

The stairs creak as they tiptoe down them, in the way old houses always do. It feels incredibly loud amid the night gloom and hushed voices, and they feel the inexplicable impulse to freeze in place, like something's gonna get them. Like they're scared of the dark or something? Pfft.]

I eat houseplants, and I hurl condiments at windows.

[Frisk's mouth tightens a little in consternation, but they don't want to risk threatening this, this companionable cut and riposte and not talking about what they were and what they lost, so they let it just...be as it is. Imagine a slide trombone punctuating the ends of their words, a hefty, exaggerated sigh of Oh, Chara!

Cheerful, and harmless.]

You call that impulsive? I flirt with mold jello. And gems. And artificial computers.

[So, you know. So there!]

As opposed to natural computers?

[It's fine. Frisk overlooks their jokes about sleeping in soil, and they both keep looking away from the dark. Things stay light and funny.]

I flirted with Mettaton so hard, I made him write me a haiku.

[They declare it triumphantly as they push open the door to the kitchen, because, really, robot haikus are hard to top, and childish one-upping is kind of a fun game in and of itself.]

Really?

[Frisk sounds positively delighted about this as they reach over, flicking on the lights. Which...kind of negates the use of the candle, but there's attempting to make Ho-Hos and there's attempting to make Ho-Hos in near pitch darkness while aided only by candlelight, and Frisk doesn't think they're ready to make that commitment just yet.]

No wonder you two are friends.

Who said we were friends?

[Frisk did. Like, two seconds ago. Gosh, Chara, get with it.

They set the candle down on the counter and blow it out, its duty accomplished. They don't protest switching to Actual Proper Lightning, because they, too, wouldn't recommend baking in near-blindness, but they do squint and blink furiously as they try to adjust to the change in brightness.]

Did Mettaton tell you that, or are you just sort of deciding for yourself who does or doesn't like me?

You don't flirt with a robot and get him to compose a haiku for you and not end up as friends. You're just going to have to get used to it.

[They say this with a blunt, matter-of-fact airiness, like this is simply something people would know instinctively. Which they do. It's Official. So there.]

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't "ending up as friends" the complete and utter opposite of flirting's desired result?

[They start to dig around, gather all the supplies they know a cake will need. Flour, eggs, sugar, cocoa powder - because of course it's going to be a chocolate cake. It's a Ho-Ho. And, also, consider: chocolate cake is objectively the best kind.]

The friend zone is always my desired result.

[It's like making strange crepe-like blueberry pancakes, right? Absolutely. They've got no shame in this. Start looking around for oil, because they're pretty sure that's something that goes in cakes too. They get stuck debating what to use for actually baking the thing, and end up mantling the countertop with a selection of baking trays and cake tins in a disparity of shapes and sizes.

Everyone likes to have a choice!]

Is there a word for flirting, but you're trying to end up bitter enemies? I'll take dibs on that one, then, and you can have friend-flirting.

[They survey the truly impressive array of containers that Frisk has produced, hands on hips. They know, theoretically, that they want a thin cake, but... what kind of tin is best for that? Would a cookie sheet be too shallow?]

Which one of these are we going to use? How many cakes, exactly, do we intend to make tonight?

It's still called flirting. The intent is just all different, that's all, [they pronounce, airily. As if Frisk has any idea. They've always flirted with a very positive goal in mind!

They're not quite sure what to do about the baking tin problem, though, honestly. Frisk huffs thoughtfully, chewing on their lower lip.]

I wasn't sure which one would work for what we're trying to make. So I just thought...all of them?

Then there should be a different word for it. Like... flhurting.

[Their hand rests on their sleeve, about to roll it up and get ready to get messy, but they reconsider. Remember. Keep their sleeves down where they are.]

We may be flhurting with disaster, but we're going to need a loooootttt of flour. Let's see how many cakes we can crank out, then, shall we? Grab the biggest mixing bowl you've got.

[Frisk snorts with amused laughter. Flhurting. They fetch out the largest bowl they can at Chara's behest, sliding it across the countertop with the scrape of metal over tile. It's...it's big, as far as mixing bowls go. Big enough for them to be unable to wrap their arms completely around the circumference of it, even with the rim of it pressed to their chest.]

Big enough?

[Cripes! It's big enough that Chara could probably sit in it, if that were at all reasonable or sanitary to do. Chara nods their approval, then digs out a slightly smaller bowl and a carton of eggs.]

Go ahead and dump, oh... I don't know, a third of a sack of flour in there? Try not to get it everywhere.

[They say, in a tone of voice that's practically daring it to get everywhere. It won't be midnight baking if everything goes exactly right, will it?]

I'm going to crack maybe like a dozen or so eggs, get started on the wet ingredients.

[The flour, as predicted, gets everywhere. They don't even mean for it to go everywhere. It's just that the sack is really heavy, and their arms feel like tiny little matchsticks in comparison. They think they tip something like almost half of the bag in there instead and...

Well, it's - it'll probably be fine. It'll probably be fine, right?

Frisk sneezes four times in quick succession, but manages to do so into their shirtsleeve every time instead of getting their snot all over in the nascent cake recipe.
And try not to think of dust.
They wipe their hands on the first towel they find, trying not to sniffle as their nose itches wildly.]

What's next?

[It's definitely everywhere. Chara can already tell that the two of them will be lucky if the kitchen is recognizable by the time they're done, let alone if they somehow emerge with something edible. Somehow, though, they don't even care how imperfect and all-wrong this already is. They decided they were misbehaving from the moment they stepped out of the room, after all, didn't they?]

Um... sugar, salt, cocoa powder... baking soda or baking powder. I forget which. Do you remember?

[They crack an egg against the side of their bowl a little too hard, and it smashes against the outside of the bowl, sends goopy raw egg and bits of shell running down its curve and onto the counter. Whoops.]

Nope!

[But Frisk sounds positively delighted as they admit it. So, you know, there's an obvious solution to the problem here: both. Both! Both is good!

And so both it is! They fetch out both backing soda and baking powder, peer into the cardboard packages housing them. They both look pretty interchangeable, honestly. More whitish powder. So same difference, right?

If they mess things up, they can leave it for someone else to clean up. Right?

They go ahead and dump...one spoonful of each into the bowl. Yeah. One seems like enough.]

Golly. Perhaps we'd have been wiser to make something from a boxed mix.

[They remark, airily, getting themselves into a rhythm of cracking eggs and discarding the shells in a steadily-growing pile. They're hardly getting any shell fragments in the mixing bowl at all!]

Oh! And butter. Is butter a wet or a dry ingredient?

[Butter. Cups of butter. Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. It's not a pie. It's fine.]

...Let's call it wet. I'll add the butter, since I'm already doing the milk. Oh - and speaking of... are we going to make our own frosting, or are we going to pull some ready-made cans out? Because if we're using cans, I'd like to suggest the rainbow sprinkle kind.

Wet, I think. 'Cause you melt it.

[They were thinking of making their own, but the thought of using rainbow sprinkle cans is too much to resist. Frisk dusts the flower and assorted powders off the tips of their fingers with a decisive firmness, then abandons the effort when they realize they're just getting flour and stuff all in the air. It tickles their nose when they breathe it in, inadvertently, so they instead wipe their hands on their shirt, staining it with wide white smears.

(Like dust.)

They head on over to the pantry area and start going through it eagerly.]

We could try making rainbow sprinkle frosting, but I think this might be better.

[They're making a mess enough as it is!]

Much better.

[Because they're baking in a very silly manner, ha ha! Not following a recipe at all! That's it. That's the sole reason. And anyway, rainbow sprinkles are fun and whimsical.

(He loved rainbows. He probably would have tried to put frosting on a pie if he could. He would have only made something silly and cute and harmless if Chara hadn't been there with him, surely.)

They duck their head, search through the drawers, pluck out two spoons. Smile brightly.]

Of course, we'll still have to taste test it, won't we? If we're already being bad, then we might as well eat it right out of the tub!

[See? Fun. This is still fun, and it's going to stay fun. This is just a little speed bump to force yourself over.]

[Late night sugar highs are - they're harmless, right? Like something two stupid kids would do. Not necessarily - siblings, not necessarily family, or partners, just two kids! They don't have to worry about things maybe turning out wrong.

Frisk extricates several cans of the stuff - Wonderland can provide more than just rainbow sprinkles, it turns out, but a whole plethora of sugary flavors, in case your frosting needs to be extra-special, they imagine. Chocolate. Vanilla. Strawberry. Snickerdoodle.]

Pistachio? [Frisk wrinkles their nose.] Who would want pistachio-flavored frosting?

If it makes good ice cream, then I guess it must make good icing?

[Wouldn't know; haven't tried. They slide one of the spoons down the counter, over to Frisk. Flash them a bright smile as they start just... dumping some milk into their egg heap.]

Eat a spoonful of it. I dare you to. Someone's got to ascertain if it's gross or not, right?

[Sticking their tongue out of one side of their mouth in concentration, Frisk pops the lid off the greenish can and whisks a spoonful of the stuff right up. It looks...strange. Green and freckled with specks of browner green, but it smells like frosting, all sugary and...confection...ary.

(Don't imagine leaves.)

They stick the whole thing in their mouth in one go. Their expression screws up thoughtfully as they swallow it down.]

Hmm. That's...not what I expected.

[It's a little bit disgusting, but not entirely, so that's a surprise!]

"Not what I expected" in a good way, or a bad way?

[Frisk can have fun with that. Chara's going straight for the rainbow sprinkle tub and just... shovelling a spoonful right into their horrible goblin face. A massive gob of pure unadulterated sugar goop. They're doing it, and nothing can stop them.]

Think it'd go with chocolate cake? I'd hate to ruin our doubtlessly-flawless rolls with the wrong icing!

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