After breakfast and a bit of cleanup—mostly Rook rinsing plates while Luck wiped down their makeshift table—they decided to make cake.
Rook pulled a weathered metal bowl from one of the storage boxes stashed beneath a tarp in the corner. It clanked against the countertop as he set it down.
He reached into another box and poured in flour from a crumpled paper sack, then added sugar by feel, like someone who'd done this a hundred times without measuring.
Luck stood nearby, sleeves rolled up. "So… is this going to be an actual cake or another one of your 'rustic experiments'?"
Rook snorted. "It'll be edible and if we're lucky it will taste good too. That's what matters."
"I dunno," Luck said, tilting his head. "Last time it tasted like flour and sugar—not in a cakey way. More like...in a sad waste of ingredients way."
"Haha, very funny" Rook said dryly, cracking an egg into the bowl. "Now stir."
Luck stepped forward and found the bowl with his fingers, grabbing the wooden spoon. "Do I have to eat the bigger slice if turns out awful again" Luck said wincing at the painful memory.
"No," Rook replied. "You get two slices. As punishment."
Luck groaned. "You're cruel."
"You're the one who keeps making fun of my perfectly fine cake," Rook said, handing him a small tin of salt. "Pinch. Not a handful."
Luck carefully measured it out by feel, then tossed it into the bowl. "If this explodes, I'm blaming you."
"Explodes?" Rook raised an eyebrow. "What do you think making a cake is? Alchemy?"
"To be honest, with the way you cook, I'm not ruling it out."
Rook snorted, then reached for a dented tin of powdered milk. "Alright, stir it slow. No splashing this time."
"I splashed it one time."
"And somehow got it in your hair, on the ceiling, and inside my boot."
Luck coughed. "Right..."
He stirred carefully, the wooden spoon dragging through the thickening batter. The smell of sugar and egg filled the rooftop. Somewhere below, the city rumbled with distant noise—carts clattering, muffled shouts—but up here, it felt like their own little world.
"Alright," Rook said, taking the bowl. "Let's dump this masterpiece into the pan."
They spread the batter into a bent, square tin lined with scraps of greased parchment, then set it inside the small fire-warmed oven Rook had rigged together from salvaged bricks and metal plating.
Rook wiped his hands on a rag and leaned against the railing. "Now we wait."
Luck sat cross-legged beside the oven, the warmth from it already comforting. "How long?"
"Till it smells like cake or burns. Whichever comes first."
"Okie dokie"
Moments like these used to feel foreign to him—unearned, even. Peace wasn't something he was used to.
Luck hadn't always been this talkative, in fact during his past life he rarely even spoke, only ever saying something when needed. But over the two years he spent with Rook he had been influenced by Rook's personality and behavior. Not all at once. But gradually. Word by word. Joke by joke. Being light-hearted and extroverted when the situation seemed right, which was most of the time, and being serious and stern during others.
Then as he was absorbed in his thoughts a smell hit him—sweet, faintly nutty, with a whisper of something that probably shouldn't be in there. Burnt edge, maybe. But not enough to ruin it.
Luck tilted his head toward the oven. "It's either done or planning to explode."
Rook crouched, cracking the door open with a cloth. A gust of heat puffed out. "Looks solid. Smells… like something we might actually eat without pain."
He pulled the tin out carefully, setting it on a flat scrap of metal they used as a counter. The cake was lopsided, the top cracked like old stone, but it held together.
Luck leaned in slightly, nose twitching. "Doesn't smell awful, I might even want the bigger slice this time."
"That's the spirit!" Rook said, slicing a chunk with his knife and handing it to Luck.
Luck took it and bit cautiously.
He chewed.
And kept chewing.
"…It's not bad," he admitted, surprised.
Rook raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You've been joking alot today."
"No, seriously." Luck took another bite. "It's like… if bread and dessert had an awkward child."
Rook tasted his own piece, chewed, and nodded. "Could use actual butter. And eggs that aren't three days from going bad."
Luck grinned. "Still way better than last time."
"Way better."
They sat again, each with a slice of their cake, the wind tugging gently at the edges of the tarp above.
{A/N: This was just a filler chapter, like the training chapter, which basically means it's chapters that will be smaller than the other ones just to add more context, extra scenes or unnecessary information. I just write these chapters when I want cause I like to further develop characters in a way that won't be just telling but actually showing. Like how this chapter further showed the strong brother hood between Rook and Luck or how the training chapter showed the basic training regime Luck had to endure and also Rook's strictness when it came to training. BUT despite being called filler it is still canon to the main story!!}