𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘, 𝖺 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝖻𝗎𝗆

chocolate cake and quiet love

[I.L] 🦚 Kitchen

The sun had just begun to sink beyond the Iron Lion base, casting long golden shadows across the concrete floors. The halls had quieted after a day full of teasing and celebration. 

Now, it was warm and still, the kind of stillness that only comes when you know you're safe.

In the kitchen, Frypan was humming.

He wasn't reading a recipe, he didn't need one. His hands moved with practiced ease: the cracked eggs, the measured sugar, the sifted flour, the dark cocoa powder that stained his fingers. He added just a little extra cinnamon because Bea liked it that way. 

Not too sweet. Deep. Gentle. Like her.

"She's gonna love this," he muttered, more to himself than anyone.

Behind him, Nico leaned in the doorway, arms folded, watching with quiet gratitude. His armor was off. 

For once, he looked more like a boy in love than an ex-pirate or a future father.

"She hasn't been eating much," Nico said softly.

Frypan nodded, not needing an explanation. "Morning sickness?"

"A little. But also the nerves. She's... processing."

The smell of chocolate and warmth began to fill the room, wrapping around them like a blanket. Frypan slid the batter into the oven and wiped his hands on a towel.

"She ever tell you this is the first thing I ever made for her?" he asked.

Nico blinked. "No."

"First winter in the mountains. She looked miserable. Cold, scared, too polite to say she hated the rations." Frypan grinned. "So I snuck what I could, scrounged cocoa powder from a WCKD stash. She took one bite and started crying. Told me it reminded her of home."

Nico smiled, eyes softening.

Frypan chuckled. "I knew then. This girl? She was gentle, yeah, but strong as hell. You don't cry over chocolate unless you've lost something real."

Nico looked toward the hallway, where soft footsteps were approaching. A moment later, Bea appeared in the doorway — wrapped in a thick cardigan, hair loose in ringlets, cheeks still warm from sleep.

Her amber eyes widened the second she smelled it.

"Is that...?"

Frypan beamed. "Your favorite. Baked it myself, princess."

Bea blinked, clearly moved. "Fry, you didn't have to—"

"I wanted to." He slid a plate toward her, warm and perfect, dusted with powdered sugar. "For you. And the little storm cloud growing inside you."

Bea looked like she might cry again. She took the fork, took a bite — and her shoulders dropped with the kind of relief that only comfort food brings.

"It's perfect," she whispered.

Nico wrapped an arm around her gently, resting his forehead to hers. "Told you Frypan would know what to do."

Frypan scoffed. "Of course I do. You all run around stabbing monsters and chasing myths. I do the real work. Feeding hope."

They laughed. Quiet, full, the sound of home being made, not just found.