“I’m dead. I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead.”, he mumbled quietly to himself, chewing on the pad of his thumb. His head was in a bad place, and he thought about the Author, and how he should be dead, but wasn’t. Which confused him, and he couldn’t make sense of anything anymore. Which he hated.

Wilford was the one who found the Host sitting alone there. He draped his arms over the other man’s shoulders, startling Host out of his thoughts.
“If you were dead, why do you feel things?”, he said, which stunned Host a little. He felt things, he thoughts things. He must be alive.

“Let’s go bake some cookies.”, Wilford said with a smile, nuzzling into Host’s hair, before stepping back and pulling the other to his feet. The Host smiled lightly and nodded, walking with Wilford to the kitchen, where the mad man had already set out the necessary ingredients and cookie cutters.

While Host wanted to try and weigh everything they needed, Wilford decided that was no fun. So he grabbed the bag of flour out of Host’s hands and made a puff of flour come forth from it doing so, which dusted Host’s face white and make him cough.

“The Host didn’t think about making a mess before. But it seems like Wilford has different plans.”, Host said, and of course he was right. Because Wilford was grinning widely and scooped out flour from the bag to throw it at Host with a laugh.

Host squeaked when he was hit, before giggling lightly and grabbing another bag of flour. War was about to happen, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

It was pretty funny though, as Host and Wilford threw flour at each other, sometimes trying to dodge the attacks. Most usually though they rubbed flour into each other, Wilford rubbing flour into Host’s hair, Host rubbing flour all over Wilford’s cheeks.

They were covered in flour, as was the kitchen, but both of them were laughing and dropping their empty bags of flour.