Once they finish eating dinner, Robin takes great pleasure in taking out the boxed cake from Oliver’s fridge.

Oliver’s face lights up, and he preemptively takes out two new plates and forks.

“You know,” Oliver adds, “After this I’m going to owe you again. And we’ll have to have brunch or dinner again. Maybe even both.”

Robin bites back a smile. Oliver doesn’t look very put out about the notion at all. Robin takes apart the box instead, revealing its contents. “So,” he says, “You mentioned it a while back, but your birthday is tomorrow, isn’t it? Well, today, now since it’s past midnight.”

Oliver’s eyes go round.

Robin lights up the candles he’d pre-packaged. “So this is for you. Happy Birthday, Oliver.” He also pulls out a small box with a bow on top, and presses it into Oliver’s hands.

Oliver blinks. His mouth opens. He looks at Robin, then back at the cake, then to the gift in his hands. He licks his lips. After a moment, he opens the gift first. “Oh.”

Robin holds back a smile. “I noticed you liked my cake cufflinks.” For inside the box are two cupcake cufflinks.

Oliver shakes his head in disbelief, and his smile is on the side of incredulous. “Thank you, Robin.” He closes the box and holds it against his chest, and Robin’s chest warms at the protective gesture.

“And you made this cake! It’s way too big for just the two of us!”

“All the better for you to save some for later,” Robin says fondly.

Oliver blushes. “Wow. I. Wow. Just. Thank you. I’ve never seen a cake like this before.”

“That’s because you didn’t grow up asian,” Robin says with a small grin. “This is my childhood birthday cake—a light and airy chiffon cake, lots of cream, and decorated with fresh fruit. Now—”

Robin breaks into Happy Birthday to you, and his grin widens as Oliver gets redder and redder. He hip-hip-hoorays and claps, and once the song is done, he lays a quick encouraging hand on Oliver’s back.

“Make a wish.”

“You’re so evil,” Oliver grumbles. He looks away from Robin, worrying his bottom lip for a moment, and then blows out the candles.

“Do you want me to cut it or…?” Robin nudges the knife between them.

“If it touches the bottom, would you make me kiss the closest girl?” Oliver says with a scrunch of his nose.

Robin’s eyebrows go up. “Did you really do that?”

“I usually end up kissing my mum on the cheek anyway.”

Robin can’t help but smile. “That’s very sweet of you.” His smile continues as Oliver ducks his head in embarrassment. “But no, I wouldn’t force you to kiss the nearest girl...provided you don’t force me.”

Oliver’s head snaps up. “I—no, of course not.”

“Then I’ll serve.” Robin cuts two neat slices, and pointedly nudges the larger slice towards Oliver.

Oliver rolls his eyes, but good-naturedly takes the plate. He picks off some of the fruit first—strawberries, kiwi and melon, and then goes in for the cake. His eyes flutter, and Robin finds himself leaning forward, just a bit.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s like eating air,” Oliver mumbles. “It just melts in my mouth. How, Robin, how.” He goes in for a second bite without hesitation.

Robin’s chest swells with contentment. “The magic of baking,” he says. “Since it’s lighter than many other cakes, we serve larger slices.”

Chiffon cake is light and airy, and the cream is rich and fluffy. The fruit has just enough acidity to freshen each bite, making the entire cake extremely moreish.

Oliver grins, licking his lips of some stray cream. “I can understand why.”

Robin enjoys watching Oliver eat. Truthfully, Robin had grown sick of asian birthday cakes—he and his sister had them for every birthday, and Robin was never allowed the durian version for variety since his sister wouldn’t eat it. But watching Oliver makes Robin appreciate the cake again, and he’s grateful for that.

After eating, Oliver attempts to teach Robin a board game, and it dissolves into them sitting on either ends of the sofa and just chatting—about childhood birthday cakes, and Oliver’s weird dream about matcha and avocado cake, and, oh gosh, cartoons and tv shows from their childhood back when they watched free-to-air tv.

Robin finds himself regretting needing to leave, but he has to, because the night trains in Melbourne are rather infrequent.

“...Well, you know where to find me,” Robin says, as Oliver lets him out of the building.

Oliver quirks his lips. “And you know where to find me.”

Robin smirks back. “Fair. Sweet dreams, hm?”

“And this is what I get for sharing my dreams with you,” Oliver says. “D’you want me to—walk you to the station?”

“Ah, no. I know my way.”

“Right.”

“Okay, see you.”

“Yeah.”

They both look at each other, roll their eyes, and laugh. They make their farewells for real, and part, for now.