Work Text:
The excerpt from mandatory celebration that inspired this:
But there, in the center of the table, all his fears realized, his dread justified: a droopy cake, amateurishly iced with white cream, patches of chocolate bread peeking out like the dead grass through the snow, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY in blue icing that was so shaky and lopsided it looked like it had been written with the decorator’s non-dominant hand while running.
The fact that it still looked like a cake might’ve been the scariest thing about it.
In unison, Luna and Mikhail shouted at the top of their lungs: “Happy fourteenth birthday, ----!”
He thought he would drop dead on the spot from the embarrassment. By some miracle, he only felt his soul drain out of his body. Luna ushered him to the chair at the head of the table, and Mikhail sat on his knees on the chair beside him, a huge knife in hand, which Luna gently pried from his grip and replaced with a cake spatula.
“You get the first piece,” they said. “Which one would you like? Mischa, you can serve it.” (Mikhail cheered at this.)
The cake tasted like salt. He ate it anyway.