cursed by the chaos

i

It was a cool autumn night in Los Angeles, California, and Daron had decided to bake a cake. He didn't know jackshit about baking (aside from the marijuana variety, of course) but that wasn't about to stop him. He was currently poring over a recipe he'd found on the internet, staring at the printed piece of paper studiously.

He had Shavo over at his house, who was currently chilling in the living room and also baking. The atmosphere was mostly quiet, aside from the whir of the preheated oven that had been on for about ten minutes despite Daron's slow progress in making the cake. Shavo looked over at the other man in the kitchen and asked, "How's the cake coming along?"

"Beautifully," answered Daron, not looking up from his recipe. "I just need to figure out what the fuck I'm doing and avoid burning my house down and then we'll have a beautiful cake to enjoy."

"How inspiring," Shavo muttered to himself.

"What was that?"

"Don't worry about it."

Shrugging to himself, Daron went to collect measuring spoons and a whisk, finally figuring out what the first step was supposed to be and preparing to execute it. Shavo's brain was miles away; even the clinking of the metal cooking utensils in the kitchen wasn't enough to ground him to the present. It wasn't just because he was high (though that played a huge role); his mind just happened to be on a fair amount of different things at the moment. He had a lot more time to think, especially because the band had just finished touring.

"Hey, bro, do you want to do something tonight?" Daron asked then. "I don't feel like sitting around; we've got too much time on our hands."

"Tonight?" Shavo looked at him incredulously. "You've barely started making that cake, we still have to eat dinner, and I'm fucking stoned. Assuming you want to get out of the house."

He measured out some flour and sighed, thinking. "Okay, fair point. In a matter of hours I'm probably gonna be unable to move. I will be glued to that couch."

"At least I didn't have to tell you this time." Shavo exhaled smoke through pursed lips.

Twenty minutes later, Daron clapped his hands together and stepped back from the counter. "There. I've done it. I've made a cake."

"You still need to put it in the oven, dipshit," Shavo said without looking.

Daron blew a raspberry at him. "I know that, bitch, I'm not stupid."

"Are you?"

"Fuck off." He opened the oven and slipped the pan of batter in, setting the timer for 40 minutes and joining Shavo over on the couch. He dusted off his apron, on the front of which were the words "Fuck the Cook" in graceful calligraphy. "Well. That was more exhausting than I thought it was gonna be."

"Well, for your first time making a chocolate cake, that makes sense." The older man kicked his feet up on the coffee table. "Hopefully you did everything right."

"I think I did." Daron looked pensive. "I might've done a few steps out of order but the mixture looked okay when I put it in."

Shavo snorted and said no more. They relaxed in silence for the whole forty minutes it took for the cake to be done, and when the oven sounded Daron leaped up to go get it. "Ta-da!" he shouted triumphantly from the kitchen. "It looks perfect!"

The cake was indeed perfect; Daron had done a good job on it. Shavo walked over to check it out and his eyebrows went up. "Wow. I'm surprised you were able to make that without blowing up the damn kitchen."

Daron smacked him on the arm with one of the oven mitts in his hand. "Oh, just shut up and admire my work."

"It's very nice," Shavo said sarcastically.