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A/N: This is not in any way part of the canon universe! I made it seem like it could be, but it doesn't happen at all and I'll still be writing about them again (wait this makes no sense, why am I writing this, then??) so I'm leaving out a lot of details since that would just make the real scene later on in the book a lot less impactful. For that reason, I'm not including the key people I wanted Leroy to be meeting: Xander and the kids (Miki, Rory, Atlas).

Remember, I only came to this decision after a lot of thinking and as much as I know you guys want everyone to meet as soon as possible, it just doesn't flow in the narrative and I don't want this to turn back and bite me in the leg after I write it! Good things need to be exacted at a good timing and having done this stupid writing thing every week for 6 whOlE yEarS, I'd trust me.

Let me repeat just in case: Leroy will meet the whole of Vanilla's extended family later on in the book. It WILL happen! I don't know why everyone is so impatient about having it now but again, good things will come if you're patient and at an even better timing, written to perfection.

This special is a combination of two of the four options that I asked you guys to vote for: option 2 and 4! Meaning, this will be a birthday party for Vanilla when he was 4/5, back when he first met Leroy. It also doubles up as a Halloween special. (And for my Instagram followers, I k now I said it was going to be 2-3k but lo and behold it's 7k as Cuppie has outdone herself again lol ok I'm stupid actually eep bye) So without further ado...

Enjoy! :>

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Julie Dempsey had been pacing outside her nephew's room, right in front of his door, for the past twenty minutes with a laptop in her arms. Having taught the boy for nearly a year back in his nursery class, she was well aware that he and her husband, Alfred Dempsey, shared the single most infuriating attribute on earth: both were frighteningly hard to convince.

She had on her screen templates of birthday invitations and an entire list of party food options that consisted of Vanilla's favourites but even so, the prospect of being rejected by her nephew seemed almost certain. After all, she'd once had to take him out of class for an off-handed remark he'd made about another girl's surprise birthday party at school, organized by the girl's family.

"What makes birthdays so special, Miss Julie?" He'd asked in front of the entire class, who'd gathered to catch a glimpse of the girl's two-tiered cake. "I've read that the wishes we make before blowing the candles aren't going to come true. Is there a need for candles, then?"

Oh what a huge mistake it had been for any three-and-a-half-year-old, expected to be the naïve, innocent little things that calmed and soothed the hearts of the adults tainted by the world. Granted, they weren't supposed to be believing that tooth fairies and genies didn't exist simply because, well, it was a child's job to believe that they did.

So it wasn't all that surprising when the girl's mother, spamming photos of her baby princess on her birthday, turned around to warn the bespectacled boy of words that children should not be saying. Even so, the damage had been done and the girl herself had burst into tears at Vanilla's honest words, red-faced and bawling at the top of her lungs. It was really all that she knew at four.

"Well Vanilla," Miss Julie had said to him once they were outside on a bench, watching the cars go by. "People think birthdays are special because it is the day we come to... exist. It is the day we are born, after all," she smiled. "I've never thought about the candles. I'm sure there's something you can read that will tell you about their significance—but you are right. Dreams don't come true at the blow of a candle, no. You have to work for them."

And although the small, bespectacled bean was relieved that a teacher had validated this piece of knowledge, he had, the whole time, been putting on a brave front. It was at that moment that tears had welled up in his eyes and with his head lowered, fell in droplets onto his lap.

"But Miss Julie, is it okay to celebrate the day we come to exist? And if no one is happy that I was born?"

Julie was at once flabbergasted then; bewildered by the boy's unusual honesty and emotions that seemed a little too complex for a child so young. "My dear! How can you say that? Oh if only I had a child as clever as you, I'd be delighted. How envious I am of your mother. And of course, your father who picks you up every day."

"That's Uncle Al," the boy had said, wiping his tears with the back of his hand and sniffing once. "And my mommy isn't here anymore, Miss Julie."

Goodness! Julie could not have tripped on a heartstring as dangerous as this one and despite being the full-grown adult that she was, there was absolutely nothing she could think of to say in a conversation like this—be it with a child or any other adult.

"Birthday parties are scary."

Ah the words he'd said that day, it plagued her even now. How quietly he'd cried and how different it sounded from the rest of the kids at the nursery, who had yet to grasp the concept of hiding one's sorrow and here, a boy of the same age—far ahead! The number of times she'd decided to reach out to his uncle had increased at once and how oddly close they soon became.

Then, months later after he'd proposed and now living together, she'd seen him grow to understand the concept of a family. What with her and Alfred married and Chip being his godfather, Vanilla seemed that little bit more whole than he was before. She'd heard from the teacher of Vanilla's new class that he'd progressed to spending some time outside at the school's playground but she wasn't sure if his opinion of birthday parties had changed. Hence the dilemma.

"What's the fuss?" Alfred had brushed it aside as soon as Julie had come to him with the birthday proposal. "The party can be extravagant. We'd have you and me surprising him at a lavish hotel dinner and then an exquisite cake from Chip's! I've been eyeing one of his new collections. That white peach cream c—"

"Alfred!" His wife tugged on his ear. "That's the exact same thing we did last year and yes, the cake can be from Chip's bakery but we're not having another boring party with just the two of us again," she snapped. "Not to mention, you aren't the most entertaining person on earth. You know that, right?"

Uncle Al had spluttered a defensive statement that soon fell apart in the face of Julie's treacherous glare. It was something he could never stand up against; he was coincidentally also weak to ear-tugging and being termed as 'boring' only because it was the honest truth. He went through the proposal once more.

"I suppose we could invite Chip and his family as well. That would add a total of three to the number."

"Four," corrected his informant. "Have you forgotten about Miki? They'd adopted him quite recently. And what about having your mother over as well? Vanilla loves her chicken tikka masala and I'm sure she wouldn't mind travelling."

"We could ask." Alfred had picked up his phone at once, but Julie reached out an arm, preventing him from doing so.

"Everything has to be done accordingly. Invitations must be sent, Alfred! Not some... measly text. Imagine how exciting it would be for Vanilla. Sending, or even giving out invitations—at school, I mean. That boy who let him play over at his house while Vanilla was waiting for me to pick him up! Or maybe others too. Ah, this is so exciting."

And an hour later, here she was. Pacing in front of her nephew's door and knowing that she must be interrupting his reading time that was an hour or two before bed. There was no skipping this step; gaining his approval was critical before having the invitations printed and the venue and the food prepared. She wouldn't want to be doing something that he ultimately found...

Scary.

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The trees in the playground had an odd habit of shedding their leaves all over the area; so much so that Vanilla never did figure out how changing seasons had no effect whatsoever on this characteristic feature. He stared at the crisp, dry brown leaves underneath his feet and shifted his weight, hearing a satisfying crunch as he supported the rest of his weight on the middle of the seesaw that the other kids seemed to have lost interest in. There was something hidden behind his back and he was waiting to give it away. Waiting.

"You have a leaf in your hair."

He came with a gust of the wind, he did. The one he'd been waiting for. Vanilla's head snapped up and the eyes behind those oversized glasses of his seemed to sparkle at the sight of a candle. "Hello!" He waved.

His companion closed the distance, reaching up to dust the top of what many others could've mistaken as marshmallow fluff. Such pale, soft hair.

"O-oh! Thank you," said Vanilla, unable to have done so himself. His hands were occupied with an extremely important item behind his back. "I was waiting for you," he fidgeted, shifting his weight once more. "Thank you. For, um, teaching me how to play Mario Kart at your place that day. It was really fun."

And then he pulled it out—presenting the envelope of lilac shade to his companion with both hands. "Here."

"What's this?" Leroy was all frowns at once, accepting the envelope and tearing it open to look inside. The contents did not appear to please him. "I can't read."

Vanilla had been waiting to explain. "It's my birthday party. An invitation, to it," he felt his face heat up like an induction stove and looked down at his shoes on instinct, hands retreating behind his back. "There's no video console. Or Mario Kart. Or any, um, sort of game, actually... but um. But there's nice food. A-and chess. If you like that."

The bespectacled bean was, all of a sudden, caught off guard by a wave of embarrassment. He hadn't the slightest clue what birthday parties encompassed; games and entertainment were, by reason of common sense, critical to adding an element of fun to such events. Upset that he hadn't prepared himself for such a conversation (and his lack of reading up on the definition of birthday parties), the boy was ultimately afraid that someone interesting and fun like Leroy would not be interested in attending his boring birthday bash after all.

"Okay," his companion surprised him with a shrug, seemingly content now that the contents of the envelope had come under his realm of understanding. "I'll ask my mom. When is it?"

Excited, Vanilla tottered over to his side and raised a finger to point at the date printed on the card. "And this is the venue. Oh, and this is the dress code."

This got Leroy frowning again.

"Fa-vou-rite ch-a... what's that?"

"Favourite character," Vanilla read aloud, fairly surprised. But in a good way. He'd had the impression that Leroy, the boy of napoleons and sautéed chicken and weird ice-cream flavours had, like himself, an extensive vocabulary. He began to see how it might have merely been verbal, and not necessarily in the reading department. "You can come dressed as your favourite character! Or you don't have to if that's, um, not your thing."

"Any favourite character?" The boy's face was angled in a way that had the light filtering through the trees above make his hair appear fierce.

Vanilla nodded. "I'm going to be the snow queen. You know, the villain in the story written by Hans Christian Andersen?"

Leroy seemed fairly amused. "You like the bad guys?"

"If they're written well, yes," gushed the bespectacled one, glancing down at the invitation in his companion's hands. "So, um. I hope your mom says yes. And—oh! It would be nice if you give me a reply by the end of the week."

"Okay," said the invited, noting a surprisingly sweet scent coming from the envelope itself. Scented paper. "See you tomorrow."

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The shimmery layered cape of crystal-blue shade he had on was made out of silk and chiffon, courtesy of Giselle Jaxon. Underneath those layers was a neatly pressed dress shirt in ivory, paired with a pair of shorts of similar colour and material. He'd swapped out the usual suspenders for a ribbon that matched the shade of his cape—a colour that brought out his eyes and given to him by his god aunt earlier this week.

Vanilla, dressed as the Snow Queen from the very first book he'd picked up at age one-and-a-half, was ready for his birthday party.

Everything else however, paled in comparison. While Minnie Mouse Julie and Micky Mouse Alfred had been at it with the birthday décor since eight o'clock in the morning, they were nowhere near finished. The ice-blue balloon arch framing the stairs before their front porch was a few balloons missing; streamers that supposedly resembled the appearance of icicles dangling from the apple tree in their front garden took on a whole new meaning of deadly; a birthday banner looped from one end of the front-facing fence to the other had yet to have it's middle sorted so that the middle was brushing the grass below.

Vanilla fixed the banner with a clothes peg he'd found in the laundry room, clipping the middle of it to the fence so that it held up. Inside, his grandmother was cooking up a storm in the kitchen. The heavenly fragrance of spices and the acidity of tomatoes wafted out open windows and into the front yard, tingling the tip of his tongue and striking up a good afternoon appetite.

On the garden table beneath the tree was more. Trays of birthday delights like cheesy pizza rolls (a once-in-a-decade sinful indulgence that Alfred allowed), Japanese-style grilled dumplings, and store-bought spinach and mushroom mini-quiches. And while Vanilla was, like every other child, tempted to steal a bite or two, he settled with waiting for his guests.

He went indoors to check the time.

And while the boy noted a good thirty more minutes before the commencement of said frightful event of the year, he had at once heard several additional voices coming from the front yard. Poking his head out from behind the doorframe, he spotted his godfather dressed in Piglet ears and a stripy pink shirt, waving from behind the garden fence. Beside him was his god aunt Giselle, decked out in a beard and sorcerer's hat, complete with a huge wooden staff that was nearly taller than herself—all paper mache.

"Mr. Chocolate Chip!" He hurried to greet them, hugging their knees. He had to slow down, constantly looking behind to check on his cape. "Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Chocolate Chip. Or, um, piglet."

Vanilla had not noticed the pale tiredness written in his godfather's eyes and neither was he able to tell that the bags under those baby blues were slightly heavier than before. Chip had knelt down to give the boy a cuddle, dealing out birthday wishes in his usual voice made of sunshine.

"Oh no! I think you must have doubled in height, Vanilla. By my calculations, you're going to be taller than me in less than a month!" He teased soon after, using language that his godson found terribly hilarious. Vanilla had his face buried in Giselle's Gandalf robes, noting their particularly intricate details. His response was muffled.

"Chip! Thank you so much for coming," Julie ushered him past the fence at once and held him at arm's length as soon as they'd hugged. "You don't look well. Where's Xander and Miki?"

"I'm completely alright, Julie. Everything's okay!" He reassured with a smile, but it wouldn't have taken a genius to see the exhaustion in his eyes. A glance behind told him that Gandalf had taken to teaching the Snow Queen magic spells of her own. "Miki's come down with a fever, that's all. Xander's at home taking care of him... I'm so sorry they can't be here. Vanilla must have been really excited about the party too."

"What! That's terrible," the lady's eyes were wide. "Are you sure it's okay for you to be here? I..."

"What's going on?" Alfred came wandering into the conversation, having fixed the balloon arch. "Oh! Chip. Thanks for coming. I assume you're doing well?"

Julie had her face in her hands in the next second. "Alfred! Can't you tell that he's clearly exhausted and drained?" She turned her attention back to Chip. "You don't have to stay, my dear. It's really nice of you to stop by but I'm sure any parent would not have a peace of mind being away from their child down with a fever."

"Don't worry Julie," he shook his head and the piglet ears flopped accordingly. "I can't possibly disappoint Vanilla on his first birthday party! Giselle was really looking forward to it as well, so. A-and Xander's gotten really good at taking care of children by the way. Although he's never going to admit it, hehe."

A couple of feet away, Giselle had waved her staff and produced a paper bag of mini strawberry tarts that her brother-in-law had entrusted to her on the bus. "You shall have... mini strawberry tarts!"

The tiny Snow Queen had given her a standing ovation.

"Alright—um, as long as no one's dead, then I suppose everything is fine," was all Alfred could say in social situations like these. "Sit yourselves at the table and take anything you wish. Help yourselves to everything. I'll go help Vanilla's grandmother with the masala and Julie, the lemonade."

Chip laughed, nodding at once before calling Giselle and Vanilla to join him at the garden table of goodies. He himself had brought along a couple of Vanilla's favourites to add to the collection: mochi waffles and the cake that he'd termed phenomenal—the bakery's signature strawberry shortcake.

"May, um, may I...?" His godson had asked politely, gazing intently at the mochi waffles. He'd come to understand that cakes were reserved for later on birthdays, nearing the end of the party. This, he'd made sure to read up on thoroughly.

Giselle handed one to him and took one for herself, biting into it as soon as they were in her hands. "We got you a present."

The tiny snow queen blinked, peering up at the adults seated on both his sides. "You mean, a birthday present?" He repeated in awe. "Uncle Al and Aunt Julie would give me one every year. I'd thought it only applied to family members!"

Chip leaned down to plant a kiss on his forehead. "Anyone can give you a birthday present, Vanilla! But, I mean, even if it only applied to family members, a-aren't we family too?" He had on his face the puppy eyes that not even children could resist. "Open it open it."

The boy felt the tips of his fingers tingle with excitement but before he could pull on the shiny red bow that topped the box, another guest appeared behind the hedge that lined the sides of Alfred's property.

"Oh good! I'm not late," said Rachel, relieved upon observing the empty front yard. In actuality, Julie and Vanilla had agreed on sending out a total of six invitations. "So blessed to find parking in this area. Goodness, I'd thought I had to wait for half an hour at least!"

"Hello Miss Rachel," piped Vanilla the Snow Queen, hurrying over to the gate and letting her in. "Thank you for coming to my birthday party. A-are you... are you, perhaps by any chance, um, pink panther?"

Chip was gesturing to Rachel, attempting to direct her attention to his pink shirt and ears. 'Twinsies,' he'd mouthed with sparkly eyes.

"Child! Are you saying that I look like an animal?" Her jaw dropped but she closed it at once. "But it's in my nature to forgive, so I forgive you. That, and because it's your birthday today, so I guess there's really no harm in doing so. Right, where's the present corner?" She scanned the balloon arch, the streamers in the tree, and the banner on the fence. No present corner.

Her face turned into one of outrage.

"What is this... measly décor? Where are the helium balloons? The fairy lights? The fog machine? The rose wall? And no present corner?" She turned to Chip. "I bet Dempsey was the one who designed everything. He could have asked for my help, that silly old man. I'd give the boy a skating rink for this theme!"

Chip was, by this point, thoroughly entertained and laughing as Giselle smacked the top of Rachel's head with her paper mache staff, laughing her head off. Vanilla appeared genuinely worried.

"O-oh. Oh no, is that an essential part of every birthday party? Did I miss it out?"

"Nononon," Chip had managed to stop rocking back and forth. "Vanilla, present corners are just... a place to put all the gifts you received from everyone! It's not something necessary."

"What do you mean unnecessary?" Rachel rolled her eyes, smiling nevertheless. One couldn't quite tell if she was serious anymore. "Every birthday party has one. You take a picture of it at the end to see how big it got, and everyone compares present corners at school! This is why you didn't have any friends in elementary school, Chip Honeycutt Jaxon. You didn't have a present corner."

"Uwa! I am hurt," her target played along, pretending to take an arrow to the heart. "Okay then I guess we could put Vanilla's birthday presents aside on... on the, um... the chair."

"What? They can't possibly all fit on one chair, that's—oh. Oh heavens," she could not stand the miserable sight of Vanilla's gifts no longer. "Is that all you're getting? Well the other guests better have gotten you a truckload or this would look completely sad. Don't worry, I'll add ten to the count if you end up with less than twenty," she reassured the Snow Queen, who appeared increasingly confused.

"What are you talking about?" In came the uncle who'd invited her, handing out glasses of lemonade. "Don't you dare spoil Vanille. He must grow up cultured and refined."

"Alfred Dempsey, children are meant to be spoiled!" Rachel accepted the lemonade and downed it in a go. "I'll get him a car if I have to."

Julie was the one who ended up helping with the masala, mostly due to her mother-in-law refusing to let 'the kitchen destroyer' set a single foot in her arena. Alfred had given up at once.

"So what did you get him?" His wife emerged from the front door with a steaming pot, curious.

Rachel had stolen a glimpse of Vanilla's reaction to gauge his desire for an element of surprise. There was none. "A book and a watch," she revealed. Proudly.

"I bet it's a bible," Giselle was in the middle of her third mini strawberry tart and although there were a total of twenty-five of them, Chip had carefully slid the box away.

This made the bible-giving lady rather anxious, as she herself had been eyeing the strawberry tarts. Without further ado, she decided to go for four on a plate. "It is," she admitted to Giselle's words, frank. Her gaze then rested on the birthday boy. "I heard you like books, so I got you the best one."

"Alright now," Alfred shoved a pizza roll into Rachel's mouth. "Let's help ourselves to the food before it all gets cold. Vanille, go get your nana."

With a swish of his cape, the Snow Queen nodded and ran up the front steps, disappearing into the house whilst calling for his grandmother. And once he'd led her carefully down the stairs and everyone else had taken turns to introduce themselves ('Aee! You must be the chocolate chip boy.' 'Y-yes I am the cookie. No, I mean, um.'), the guests and hosts settled down at the outdoor table and began helping themselves to servings of pilau rice and chicken tikka masala, along with the other bite-sized delights. Rachel, too, had decided to bring along several new favourites from her store.

"Matcha-flavoured pastel de natas and matcha blondies. It's the trend now, matcha is."

Chip was surprised by her choice of pastries. "I'd thought you'd go for a cake or maybe even a tiramisu. These don't give you the option of making them... um, look pretty. Like what you do with your other products."

"Mm," Rachel shrugged. "They were the best-tasting. Might look a little messy when you eat it but that's part of the aesthetic. And what do you mean by not making them look pretty? Don't you see the matcha dust? The gold flakes on the blondies?"

Alfred was the first to reach for one of her pastries and he was, admittedly, surprised by their amazing flavour. The blondies—a version of brownies that he'd already been prejudiced against in the first place because of their sickly sweetness—had the bitter depth of green tea that balanced out the sweetness of the vanilla.

Vanilla himself was about to reach for one of those pastel de natas, knowing that he would have the responsibility of introducing all these dishes to the friend he'd invited. Well, not that he'd been glancing over his shoulder for the past twenty minutes, checking beyond the fence and at the corner of the hedges since he wasn't too sure if Leroy was taller than the fence and if he'd actually see him coming.

The answer was no; and the only way he found out eventually was when the doorbell sounded from the inside of the house and the gate had to be checked.

Leroy was standing before it—alone and dressed in several pieces of clothing that seemed to clash and made him resemble some kind of a pirate. He even had a fake tattoo on his upper arm that spelt ASCE but had the S crossed out for some reason. "Happy Birthday."

"I'm so glad you came!" The Snow Queen was visibly excited and unsure of what he should be doing with said excitement. Adults had the luxury of giving out hugs upon greetings, but there weren't book on what children were supposed to be doing. Either way, Leroy was holding out a bag of something towards him, so he accepted that instead of overthinking.

"You didn't have to!" It was unexpectedly heavy. Vanilla struggled to bring it into the garden after inviting him in. "What is it?"

"Food," said Leroy rather simply. ""My mom wouldn't stop insisting that I bring some fried chicken, so she made that. Thigh, wings, breast, drum, in three ways: garlic butter, southern, sweet soy."

Vanilla was incredibly pleased. Already, he could pick up the homely fragrance of the chicken in their containers, stacked up in the bag and he couldn't wait to taste his friend's mother's cooking. "By the way, just to be sure... are you a pirate?"

Leroy had to pause. "It's Ace from One Piece. He's a fire dude."

"O-oh!" Was all Vanilla could manage, surprised by his earnest tone of voice. "One Piece. Is that a television series?"

But Leroy got straight to the point he wished to drive home: "He dies."

"Oh..." Indeed, what an original reaction! Vanilla wished he had more to say in return and so made up his mind to do some research about this... this Ace from One Piece. This had to be done later as the pair arrived at the garden table in a matter of seconds, creating quite the commotion at once.

"That is a very big bag you have there," Julie helped him with it, noting its weight and placing it in the middle of the table as everyone else helped make space for it. "What's inside?"

"Fried chicken three ways," said Leroy in the simplest way, tighter-lipped than usual and Vanilla was beginning to wonder if this was him being nervous or shy. Chip was the first to speak to him.

"You must be the friend that Vanilla's been talking about inviting!" He fawned over the boy whose smiles were rare. "You're the only one he invited. He must like you a lot."

"Yeah he does," the fire-boy laid out as though it was a matter of fact. No 'I guess so' no 'maybe', just 'yeah he does.' Over to the side, the snow queen had pink cheeks. Chip wasn't the only one who noticed this and in fact, Julie and Alfred had their keen parent-eyes fixed on Leroy in the most discreet manner.

Everyone else had their attention on the new batch of food he'd brought in, opening up the containers of fried chicken and helping themselves to the wings that were still hot. Even Rachel couldn't keep her hands off it. Nana was clearly impressed.

"Nothing like a good fried chicken," she reached for another. This time, a southern thigh. "Hearty stuff like this is hard to come by—your mommy's the real deal. You'll learn from her and take care of our little boy, won't you?"

Leroy was in the middle of a pizza roll served by his friend, and even then, he didn't forget to respond. "Yes Ma'am." Vanilla almost choked on his lemonade.

Needless to say, his companion's lack of smiles or expressive words in a foreign environment did not stop the people around from fawning over him. There was something attractive about the boy's forward, blunt answers that made him out to be more earnest than one would think he was at first glance. His eyes—like the flame of a candle in its still, unflinching state—gave the impression of a stability that most children of the world did not seem to possess.

The sheer confidence in his every word did not help; no one at the table had ever seen Vanilla reduced to such a state of speechlessness. And it wasn't even the bad kind of speechlessness they were observing in the boy but the surprise of a newfound species he'd never read about in books.

Meanwhile, Julie had noticed that there was more to the bag of goodies brought by the fire-pirate and not just boxes of fried chicken. At the bottom of the bag, presumably packed first, was another container. This one was a lot smaller.

"What's this?" She pulled out the opaque blue Tupperware, placing it in the middle of the table. "Oh it's still warm."

Leroy stopped her from popping it open, nearly standing up in his seat and reaching all the way across the table to put his hand on the cover of the container. "I made that one."

Startled by his outburst of activity and ultimately concerned that he might lose his balance kneeling on his chair and fall over, Chip quickly pushed the smaller container over to Leroy's side of the table. "Wow! What is it? I'm sure Vanilla would like to have some of that."

But upon observing the hint of unease in the boy's eyes, added. "Don't worry, there's enough food for everyone else so you don't have to share it with us. You two can enjoy it on your own." The Snow Queen himself had an expression of anticipation hidden behind those glasses, eyes gleaming and resting on the container.

While the Piglet had assumed Leroy's source of unease to be part of a typical child's disinclination towards sharing, it appeared not to be the case. Hesitant at first, the latter proceeded to pop open the Tupperware and reveal his glistening creation after a slow minute—presenting it to his companion seated beside him.

It was beef stroganoff. And underneath it, homemade, fresh pasta.

Thinly sliced swiss browns in the mix of softened onion in half-rings, bringing out the fragrance of the beef cream cooked tossed with slices of fillet steak and garnished with the vibrant colour of British parsley. Even in a Tupperware, it oozed standards higher than some of the adults in the garden.

"It was supposed to be your present," the chef himself appeared rather disappointed. "I got it done before I left and had it packed. But my mom saw and told me to bring everything else. I can't win against her fried chicken by the way."

"Aw dear!" Julie could not resist reaching over to pat the boy on his head, handing the pair a fork each. "But it looks amazing. I wouldn't even be able to make that. I don't think any of us would!"

Vanilla had taken up the task of separating the dish into two, transferring each portion onto their respective plates under the gaze of an eager-looking Gandalf. He let her have a forkful. Meanwhile, Alfred had excused himself and retreated back into the house to refill his glass but Rachel swore she heard a sniff.

"Young man," Nana had laughed, pinching Leroy's cheeks. He had nowhere to run. "Since when was cooking ever about winning? There's nothing to win against. There's no prize. No first place," she leaned closer, as though letting him in on a secret. "Fried chicken, beef stroga-thing, this, that, we all—"

"Yeah there is." To think the fire-pirate had the gall to disagree with an elder at such an age! Most of the table had forgotten to breathe. "I want to win his heart."

Leroy had his finger pointed bluntly at the birthday boy and the entire garden, flowers, trees and all, fell silent with a heated blush. Vanilla had finally separated the stroganoff into two portions but with the finger in his face, he could hardly put his fork down. Confused and flustered but unable to stop a smile from surfacing on his lips.

"Cooking is about winning someone's heart. It's what my mom said," he went on in a seemingly defeated manner. "That's why everyone likes her food. I can't do that yet."

Oh, so that's what he meant! Chip thought, relieved and oddly embarrassed on his part. After all, it was very much like the adults to project some meaning onto those words, so sincerely and honestly said without a care in the world.

Meanwhile, Julie had gone inside to check on Alfred. To take anything more than a minute to refill his glass was incredibly foolish and unlike the efficient man, so she wasn't all that surprised when she'd caught him in the kitchen taking Vanilla's birthday cake out of its box whilst wiping the tears that were brimming in his eyes.

"Alfred," his wife nearly burst out laughing. "What are you doing? Please don't tell me you're crying over Vanilla making friends."

"But of course I am, Julie!" The critic's protests were muffled by the tissue he'd rolled and stuffed into his nostrils. "I've never seen him talk to anyone his age. How could I not get a little emotional? You have no idea how afraid I was, thinking that he'd turn out like me."

"Don't you start," she handed him more tissues by pushing them into his face. "You'll get snot all over Vanilla's cake before you know it."

"What is going on here, is Alfred crying again?" His mother made an unannounced entrance into the kitchen with her pot, placing it on the stove and cranking up the flame to reheat it. "I told you Vanilla would be fine. And look at him! Attracting such a cheeky little brat who obviously likes him a little too much."

"Hehe," Chip appeared by the doorway, accompanied by Giselle as they both came fetch the cake as planned. Rachel, too, sipped on her lemonade behind them. "I think Vanilla's glad to have someone like little Leroy around too. After all, it takes two."

The sound in the air at the passing of an autumn breeze felt very much like the creak of a seesaw, a teeterboard in play. Two were at it.

"Since we're all here," Uncle Al raised the cake in his hands for Julie to light the candles. "On the count of three?"

*

The fork in his tiny hand saw itself diving back into the plate for more at every strand of homemade pasta, coated with a heavenly cream and textured by mushrooms and slices of steak with every twirl—knowing it wasn't the last. Thoughts, just as much as flavours, lapped against the shores of Vanilla mind, leaving a trail every time it faded on its return to the sea. He sought to voice some of them.

"You know this might sound a little show-offy, if that's a word, but I've had many beef stroganoffs at the kind of restaurants Uncle Al's always liked to visit, um, he brings me and Miss—Aunt Julie sometimes but! But this—" He paused, gazing down at his plate.

The pair were alone in the garden, oblivious to the adults gathering in the house for his surprise; the blowing of the candles, the cutting of the cake. Leroy was his own critic. He was far too occupied watching his companion's reaction to his dish whilst complaining about the cream sauce and how it'd missed the mark on timing and how the slices of meat were clearly overdone (this, Vanilla confirmed as an exaggeration) and that the onions were undercooked (another exaggeration).

"I know it's bad," he said before the Snow Queen could finish his sentence. "Don't compare it to restaurant-quality 'cuz you can't."

"You didn't let me finish!" The birthday boy huffed, turning to the aspiring chef beside him and crossing his arms. "I was going to say that it's weirdly different. I mean, it's cold out here and yes, the food's gotten a little cold too but I feel weird. My feet are warm." Vanilla lowered his gaze to his feet that were now slightly raised in question, wriggling his toes underneath his socks. "And I'm supposed to be the snow queen."

At this, a rare, child-like youth sparked in the eyes of his companion. Leroy was back to being the fire-pirate at a dress-up party, blinking and staring at his hands under the table. He raised one of them to the light.

"You... you think I have real fire powers?"

What a strange thing it was; how a child of truth and honesty would come to learn the concept of the false—one would be curious to know how he'd come to understand that which plagued every moment of human life.

"O-oh!" The bespectacled one had his eyes darting around, lips unable to contain a smile. "Well, I, um, I've read that it exists."

It marked the start of something inexplicable: Vanilla Julian White, learning the importance of the false. The lie. And what lying really did and why the others living beyond his mind have become to attracted, addicted to the notion. He finally understood, watching his companion crack a smile and return to gazing at his fire-power hands, turning them front and back and reflecting a light in his eyes that appeared as bright as the flames of a candle.

What a strange thing it was, to lie; Vanilla had his first glimpse of the notion. The notion of humans choosing the word of truth over the opposite that he now saw for himself had the power to cast a glow on any face.

Yet, he was reluctant. He didn't know if it was right to show the false a smile and a tear to truth. How odd. How very, very odd his first lie was and how incredibly sinful it had been—the sight of a smile. How frightfully addictive and yet, for a moment, it seemed like the light from the candle had dispelled the darkness of fear.

"Hey," his friend peered into his eyes. "You scared of fire?"

Startled, the birthday boy didn't quite know what that sort of question entailed and how he should be answering. 'What is fire?' 'How do you make it?' were questions he thought easier answered. Things about himself; well, they proved to be of greatest challenge.

"I—yes, maybe. Sometimes. I mean... I mean, Uncle Al was the one who told me that my mom died in a fire. I can't remember all of it, but I know it was very bright. And very hot. Like if the sun was in the room."

Leroy was not expecting this. His lips drew thin and the semblance of a frown appeared as he returned to his hands that he now understood as possibly destructive. He looked up again. "What about small fires?" He asked. "Like a match. Or candles."

"Oh!" The Snow Queen felt a little warmed. He attributed it to them speaking about fire. "Those are fine. I quite like scented candles too. Aunt Julie uses them."

"Good." His companion cracked a knowing smile. "Cuz you have five to blow out."

At this, Vanilla blinked and looked around—understanding dawning upon him when he'd shifted enough to change his blind spot and now, he was looking at the rest of his guests standing behind his family, who were holding up a cake with candles, lit.

Maybe, just maybe,

"One, two, three—!"

birthday parties weren't so scary after all.