Frisk decided to make a cake. She wanted it to be a surprise for Flowey, so that when she visited him that Friday - the first Friday - they could almost celebrate their deal being made. She refused help from Toriel - to Toriel's dismay - and practically destroyed their new kitchen trying to make a simple chocolate cake. It took her three tries, two ruined pans, and three cake kits, but eventually she succeeded in making a lumpy, lopsided cake, messy with haphazard frosting and practically smothered in icing sugar, but to Frisk it was perfect.

"Well," Toriel said slowly, trying to keep her voice calm. "It's... a cake."

Frisk beamed. She was covered in flour and icing sugar but didn't even notice. She carefully placed the cake into a cake dish and said, "I'm going Underground, now."

Toriel blinked. "Why, child?"

Frisk blushed. "To visit the monsters still there. To give them cake. So they won't think they've been forgotten." It was true, after all.

Toriel smiled at her and gave her powdery head a pat. "Alright. Be back before sundown, dear."

Frisk nodded and practically ran out the door.

She ran all the way to the Ruins, excited to see Flowey and show him that she truly meant to keep her promise. The moment her feet landed in the gardens, he popped up and stopped her, startling her into almost dropping the cake.

He stared at her, his eyes huge. She grinned so wide her eyes were happy crescents. "Hi, Flowey!" she said cheerfully. "I told you!"

"I know," he said. "I didn't believe you."

"Who's the idiot, now?" she replied, walking over to a patch of golden flowers and sitting down. She rested the cake dish on her lap and grinned at him, proud.

In response, he leaned back and summoned up a row of his pellets.

She froze, feeling the tug on her soul as he dragged her into a fight. She sat there, staring at him, and he grinned. Then, he attacked. She moved to avoid the pellets, and found it actually rather easy to do. Confused, she spared him, and he pulled back, no longer attacking.

"Wh-What was that for?!" she demanded, clutching the cake dish to her tightly.

"Just checking," he replied, still grinning. He moved closer to her. "What's in the dish, Frisk?"

"Nothing you deserve now," she answered angrily, getting to her feet. However, before she could leave, he had a vine wrapped around her leg, and she froze.

"We had a deal, Frisk," he said, his voice almost cheerful. "Are you breaking it?"

She turned back to him, then sighed. "No," she answered. She shook her leg, and he withdrew the vine. She carefully sat back down, and he moved right in front of her.

"So," he said, "the dish?"

"Cake," she muttered. "For us. To celebrate our deal."

Something flickered in his face then, too fast for her to follow. Had she been able to, she would have seen a rare expression of gratitude. But it was quickly smothered by a sarcastic grin.

"Can you eat cake?" she wondered.

"We can find out," he replied.

Frisk opened the dish, discovering that her jog had made it even more lumpy, but she decided not to care. She grabbed a chunk and ate it, and found that it wasn't so bad. When Flowey didn't make a move to eat, she held the dish out to him.

Flowey made a face. "You're very stupid, aren't you?" he said. "I don't have hands!"

"Oh." She scooped up a handful and, without warning, shoved it into his mouth. He reeled back, his eyes wide, making choking noises, but Frisk noticed that he wasn't even choking - he was chewing. She grinned. "You can eat cake!"

"You call this cake?" he spluttered out, his face covered in icing sugar and frosting. "It's a sugar coma waiting to happen!" And yet, despite his words, he eyed the cake closely, almost longingly, and Frisk laughed.

By the end, they were both covered in icing and frosting, but neither seemed to care. Frisk was giggling by the time they had cleaned the plate, and Flowey was looking far less sour and more relaxed.

"Did M-your mom make that?" he asked.

"No, I did!" she replied proudly, wiping her face with one of her sleeves. "By myself!"

"No wonder it looked so bad," he replied with a smirk.

"You know," she said, "I was gonna clean up your face, but I think you deserve to look like a powdered doughnut."

His smile vanished. "Don't be a jerk!" he snapped. He edged closer. "Clean, or you'll be sorry!"

With a laugh, Frisk did, and he complained the whole time, but seemed to appreciate it, still. When done, she patted the top of his head, and he scowled.

"I'm not your pet!" he snarled, jerking away.

"True!" she agreed. "Pets are nice."

He glared at her, and she grinned back, unintimidated. "So, think you could get used to my company every Friday?" she wondered.

Flowey snorted. "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope!" she agreed. "Wanna hear what's been going on?"

He blinked, then nodded. "Sure. Just don't be boring, go it?"

She wasn't, and in that alone, the deal was solidified, one that would last eight years. Frisk never broke her promise, and in return, neither did Flowey - ever.