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It started with a lie that made Gi-hun sad.
“I don't care about birthdays," In-ho had said a couple weeks ago, while mindlessly scrolling through his phone.
Gi-hun was leaning against the kitchen counter, grumbling about turning another year older, but when he heard In-ho, he looked up at him, slightly hurt.
"Oh, you really mean that?"
In-ho shrugged. "I’m just being honest."
"Well, I like celebrating, even if it’s silly. I want to feel like the day I was born matters to someone. I want to feel like I matter."
"Nah," In-ho had replied, shaking his head. "You do matter, it’s just... I’m just too lazy for all that. Balloons, candles, cake. I don't celebrate life anymore, Gi-hun. Surviving it is already enough."
Gi-hun had gone quiet for a beat, looking away while quiet tears formed in his eyes.
"That's bleak," he muttered, not looking back at him.
In-ho shrugged. "That’s the way I am, Gi-hun."
"Maybe, but still. Some of us like to feel alive once in a while." Gi-hun sighed before adding. "Fine by me. But you know what that means right? I won't get you anything when it's your turn."
In-ho had smirked, as cold as ever, and the conversation moved on.
But the truth was different: In-ho had marked the date in his calendar weeks ago. He had set an alarm and even had googled things like "how to bake a birthday cake for someone you definitely love but are emotionally repressed about it."
So, when Gi-hun left the apartment the morning of October 31st, his birthday, In-ho started working on his plans.
He was confident at first.
He found a recipe: a triple chocolate fudge cake. It sounded easy enough, right? Eggs, flour, butter, cocoa powder. You know, things people had in normal kitchens. Except they were In-ho and Gi-hun, so, no, they didn't have cocoa powder, nor did they have eggs. Oh, and he also needed a whisk. Well, that wasn’t going to be as easy as he originally thought.
He opened every cabinet, but they were almost empty. Or worse, weirdly full of nonsense. Half a bag of rice. Three open jars of peanut butter. Instant noodles. Gochujang sauce. Nothing he could use right now, so he stood there, arms folded, staring at the shelves like they'd betrayed him personally.
"Of course," he muttered.
So, In-ho had to improvise.
He threw on his coat, shoved some won into his pocket and headed out.
The corner store didn’t have cocoa powder, or any of the things the recipe he'd obsessively read and re-read said were non-negotiable.
He stood in the baking aisle for a while, staring at the options like they were mocking him. But then he saw it, like a beacon in the dark.
There on the shelves, was a dusty box of chocolate cake mix. “Fudgy and moist,” it promised, in bold letters. He just needed to add some eggs, oil, and water.
His hands moved fast, and he took the box.
Frosting? Maybe. So, he grabbed a tub of vanilla. Food coloring? Why not, although he wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to use it.
He bought that too. Eggs, oil, bottled water just to be safe, and a pack of emergency candles because something about the thought of Gi-hun smiling at a flickering flame felt worth it.
The cashier barely looked at him. In-ho paid in silence, rushed back, the cold air biting his ears, groceries bumping against his legs as he speed-walked home.
Once inside, he dropped the bag on the counter and took a breath.
This was fine. He was fine. He could follow instructions.
He dumped the cake mix into a bowl. Cracked the eggs, well, tried to.
One exploded on the counter, and another splattered too hard against the edge of the bowl, leaking everywhere. The other cracked cleanly but dropped a massive chunk of shell into the mix, that he struggled to fish out with a spoon.
He poured in the oil, misreading the amount, then second-guessed and added more… And that was probably too much now. He didn’t really know. The water splashed in last. He stirred it all with a fork, because they still didn’t own a whisk, and watched the batter swirl into a lumpy mess.
Then he went to turn on the oven that he forgot to preheat.
"Shit."
This was already a disaster, but still, he poured the weird-looking mix into a pan and slid it into the oven.
Then came the frosting.
Store-bought, of course, and it tasted like vanilla. He figured he could tint it pink with some food coloring, but of course, he added so much, it turned red.
“Oh come on, that’s not pink, that’s...blood red?”
He frowned. “I think can fix this.”
He reached for the blue coloring.
“Just a little drop, maybe I can turn it purple.”
One drop. Two. Three drops later.
The frosting swirled purple.
“Yeah, that’s it. Purple is fine. Purple looks festive.”
He stirred harder, like violence might fix it.
Then, without thinking, he added more blue.
And somehow, green.
The frosting turned to a weird soulless color.
He stared down into the bowl.
“You look like depression,” he muttered. “You look like Jung-bae.”
He let out a long sigh.
“You're going on the cake anyway.”
He turned back to the oven, expecting progress.
Instead, it didn’t look anything like a cooked cake. The center was jiggling. The edges looked passable, sure, but the middle? The middle was a swamp.
He scowled and muttered, “You’ve had twenty-five minutes. What more do you want from me?”
Cranking the oven slightly higher, he slammed the door shut and walked away like that would help. He didn’t set a timer, but he meant to, he even looked at the microwave clock. He thought about it, then immediately forgot.
By the time he smelled the crisping edge of chocolate, it was too late.
“Shit! no, no!” He yanked the oven open and a puff of heat slapped him in the face. The top was cracked, the edges were suspiciously dark, not quite black but getting there. He poked the center with a chopstick, it didn’t jiggle anymore.
Crisis averted? Maybe. Was it still edible? Gi-hun would tell him.
He pulled it out with a dishtowel and set it on the stove to cool but immediately burned his finger. He cursed under his breath and shook out his hand.
“Cool faster,” he hissed at it. “I don’t have time for this, Gi-hun’s gonna be back soon”
He gave the cake ten minutes to cool, or maybe less because he surely was too impatient.
Then, he went in with the frosting.
He grabbed the butterknife, not like they had anything better anyways, and plunged it into the grayish-greenish sludge he'd created earlier.
He hesitated for one breath, maybe two, then committed.
The frosting dragged across the cracked surface of the cake and refused to spread. It clumped in weird patches.
The cake was still too warm, and it melted the frosting on contact, creating a glossy, goopy mess that refused to behave.
He smeared. He dabbed. He cursed.
Each swipe looked like a toddler had tried to finger paint on it.
And still, he kept going because he had no choice.
Because stopping would mean failure, and the frontman couldn’t fail.
He had too much of an ego to admit that the cake was terrible anyways.
At some point, he tried to write “Happy Birthday Gi-hun”, but he ran out of space after "HBD GI"
"Close enough," he muttered.
An hour passed by and Gi-hun came home.
Luckily, In-ho had cleaned the counters, wiped the floor, and opened a window to air out the burnt smell. And the cake was sitting on the table.
In-ho stood there, arms crossed, trying not to look like he cared.
Gi-hun walked in the kitchen and froze.
"...What is that smell?"
In-ho tried to hide a smile. "Cake."
Gi-hun raised an eyebrow. "You made cake? Who died?"
"No one. It's your birthday."
Gi-hun stared at him. Then the cake. Then back at him. "You remembered?"
"I didn't forget. I pretended to forget. That's different."
Gi-hun walked over and inspected the cake like it might bite.
"You spelled my name wrong."
"I ran out of space."
"You had the whole cake."
"I panicked."
Gi-hun laughed, he truly laughed. It was the first real laugh he'd let out since the games.
Not just a breath or a smirk, but a real, eyes-crinkling, head-tilting laugh.
It hit In-ho right in the heart. In-ho’s eyes softened, sparkled even, just for a second.
Before he could think, before either of them could say something to make it awkward, In-ho leaned in and kissed him. Gi-hun froze for half a second, then kissed him back. It was slow, gentle and warm.
"You made me a cake," he whispered after pulling back.
In-ho smiled awkwardly. "Don’t get used to it."
"Too late."
Gi-hun leaned in again and pressed a fast kiss to In-ho’s cheek.
In-ho didn’t move. Just stood there, too still, his cheeks turning pink.
Gi-hun sat down, grabbed a fork, and dug in.
"It’s terrible," he said through a mouthful.
"I know."
He took another bite.
"Thanks, though."