above all (m×m) ✔

4) carrot cake

Brandon might not have been big with words or gestures, but there was one thing he could put all his love and care in: baking. He remembered how Steven had practically squeaked when he saw the carrot cake cupcakes in the café, and ever since Brandon had wanted to bake a carrot cake for him.

The frosting needed time to set in the refrigerator, so in the meanwhile Brandon cleaned the kitchen and changed out of his working clothes. He pulled on a forest green sweater and a pair of brown corduroy pants. Everything he owned was worn-out and lackluster, but he didn't mind as long as it was warm and comfortable.

Next he took a look at his reflection from the bathroom mirror. Objectively speaking, Brandon knew he wasn't ugly. Despite hiding them behind his curly mess of hair and a thick pair of glasses, people often complimented his eyes. He had shadows under them and his skin was pale, freckled, but his nose was straight and his lips full. If only he hadn't had that deer in the headlights expression in his eyes or if he didn't feel the need to hide in his baggy sweaters.

The problem Brandon had with himself was, mostly, his personality and the package he brought along wherever he went. Neither his father nor Trey had ever called him ugly, no, their issue had been with all the things Brandon couldn't do or get right.

More than anything, Brandon wished he could be like his friends and not this dysfunctional wreck of a man he had grown up to be. He wanted to do and feel better, if not for himself, then for Steven.. and, of course, for Shirley.

"You can do this." Brandon mouthed at his reflection. When he was ready, he went to check how the cake was doing, and found it ready to be packed up and taken with him to his date.

The drive to Steven was uneventful, and Brandon was lucky enough to find himself a vacant seat in the otherwise packed bus. He refused to use the time thinking about all the things that could go wrong and instead listed the things that could go right. After all, they could work out for the best, and he needed to stop ruining all his changes by expecting the worst.

Steven lived in a twelve story apartment building, only a couple hundred feet from one of the stops by Brandon's bus route. Brandon had never been there before, as he and Steven always hung out with their group of friends at Perfect Day. It was a café owned by their friend Eli's sister and it had become their sworn meeting place after their favorite night club got shut down for good.

Brandon wasn't a fan of confined places, especially not elevators, but there wasn't much choice than to take one, as Steven lived on the top floor. His hands weren't trembling just because of that, though, but because his nerves were finally kicking in. He could barely remember the feeling: going to see someone with an army of butterflies fluttering in his stomach. The anticipation of the evening and seeing the one who could possibly be more than a friend for him one day.

Brandon's last minute whim to turn on his heels and run away was quieted by Steven, who was already waiting for him by the door chink. He had a wide, expectant smile on his face, as he greeted Brandon warmly. That smile was going to be the death of Brandon.

"I brought cake." Brandon muttered, cursing himself inwardly at how shakily the words came out of his mouth. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Steven turned to look at Brandon with wide eyes and an even wider grin.

"Really? Is that carrot cake?" Steven exclaimed, accepting the cake box and peering in. When Brandon nodded, he whooped with pure joy. Then Steven seemed to hesitate, and he knitted his eyebrows. "But.. You weren't supposed to use your money on our dates."

"I didn't." Brandon shifted from one foot to another, playing with the sleeve of his shirt. Finally he admitted, tremulously: "I baked it."

"You did?" Steven's eyes widened and his mouth fell open, before turning to a sunny smile. He gushed: "This is so awesome, and you are just perfect."

Steven's praise took the air from Brandon's lungs and for a while he didn't know what to do or how to be. Instead he did what he knew best, and mumbled: "It's just a cake, nothing spectacular."

"How can you say that about carrot cake?" Steven gasped, bringing a hand to his mouth while his eyes widened to saucers. Then he placed his hand lightly on Brandon's lower back, guiding him deeper into the apartment. "What makes carrot cake so special is that it tastes like raw gingerbread dough with frosting."

"Okay, okay, I won't downplay carrot cake ever again." Brandon promised, laughing at Steven's enthusiasm.

Then he let his eyes sweep over the space they had just entered. Steven's apartment was an industrial loft house, at least four times the size of Brandon's tiny one-room flat. Some of its walls were white tiles, some crude concrete, in stark contrast to the polished parquet floor. At the end of the hallway spread a wide open space, with a modern kitchen, a colorfully decorated living room and a view to the bedroom.

"This place is amazing." Brandon admired, not even trying to hide his awe. Steven spun around and spread his long arms wide, smiling.

"Well, thank you, my friend. It took me a lot of hard work and time to afford it, but it's mine." Steven boasted, his face beaming with pride. It was definitely something to be proud of, no doubt about that.

Brandon could feel Steven's eyes on him, as he brushed his fingertips along the paintings leaning on the walls. There were canvases and framed posters stacked upon each other, too many to fit on the walls. When Brandon asked about them, Steven explained that he had bought some of them from small artists and some he had gotten from his work.

"I didn't know modeling and art were so firmly linked together." Brandon pointed out, turning to face Steven. He knew modeling wasn't Steven's only job, but he had a feeling that a hairdresser was even less likely to get paintings as a fringe benefit.

"It's a long story." Steven objected, like that had ever stopped him before, but then he promised: "I'll tell you all about it over tacos, come on."

A window was left ajar by the kitchen counter, hiding most of the smell of burning. Brandon snugg tighter into his sweater, protecting himself from the breeze, and turned a questioning look toward Steven. Steven's reaction was immediate: he grimaced and mused up his gelled black hair, when he raked a hand through it.

"So.. The thing is that I tried to cook for you." Steven admitted. "I just didn't succeed all that well, so the dinner is sponsored by Taco Bell."

"Eli mentioned once that you're a disaster in the kitchen." Brandon chuckled warmly. He felt an unfamiliar surge of affection, as Steven pulled a chair for him. Brandon sat down, unused to being treated in such a gentlemanly way. "It doesn't matter, I can do the cooking, when.."

Brandon halted, realizing what he was about to say. For a fleeting moment he had let himself envision their future together. How Brandon would cook and bake Steven so many carrot cakes he would get sick of the mere sight of them, and how Steven would fill their evenings after work with laughter.

It was a nice daydream, but it was likely just going to be that. Brandon couldn't afford to let himself get carried away, and the fact that he was already doing so on their second date.. Steven didn't even have to try, and already Brandon was letting him fill his head with hopes and dreams. Just like Trey had done, before beating those fallacies right out of him.

"You do like tacos, don't you?" Steven's uncertain voice pulled Brandon back from the profound darkness of his thoughts. Steven had been nothing but good to him, so he owed him at least the benefit of the doubt.

"Who doesn't like tacos?" Brandon asked, letting his trepidations melt into warmth and smiles.