The Cooking Club 1

This is about a group of friends who bond over cooking and bare feet

The Cooking Club



"Extra Cheese and New Friends"
The little pizza shop on the corner of Maple and 3rd had seen its share of busy evenings and birthday balloons, but summer afternoons were quieter. Just the buzz of the ceiling fan overhead, the faint hum of music from the kitchen radio, and the smell -- that smell -- of dough and tomato sauce and bubbling cheese that clung to the walls like a warm hug.
Isaac sat alone in a booth by the window, his legs swinging beneath the red vinyl seat. The table was too big for him, but he didn't mind. A small personal pizza steamed on a metal tray in front of him, its cheese still bubbling in the center. He took tiny bites, careful not to burn his tongue, and used the edge of his napkin to clean his fingers between each one. His round glasses slipped a little down his nose, and he pushed them up with a knuckle.
Outside, sunlight poured through the window and lit up his red hair like fire. He squinted at the way the dust floated in the air, lost in thought, until the jingle of the doorbell snapped him back.
A boy walked in, his face pink from the heat, a bit out of breath. He had soft brown eyes and a mop of dark hair, and his red t-shirt clung tightly to his round tummy. The fabric strained a little when he moved, and as he looked around, it was clear he was searching for a place to sit.
He spotted Isaac and ambled over, the soles of his sandals slapping against the tile. Socks peeked out from underneath -- striped, maybe mismatched.
"Hey," the boy said, stopping at the edge of the booth. "Can I sit with you? All the other tables are sticky. Like, super sticky. I think I saw a pepperoni stuck to one."
Isaac blinked, then nodded, lips twitching into a small smile. "Sure."
The boy slid in with a little "oof" and sat back, tugging at his t-shirt as it rode up over his belly. He seemed unfazed.
"I'm Thomas," he said, grinning. "You here by yourself?"
Isaac nodded. "Yeah. My mom's picking up groceries next door. She said I could have a pizza if I didn't ask for cookies too.
Thomas laughed. "That's fair. I tried to sneak cookies into our cart once and she made me pay for them. With my birthday money."
"That's mean."
"I still ate the whole pack," Thomas added proudly, rubbing his belly. "Worth it."
Isaac giggled, and the two of them shared a look -- the kind of look that said, Okay, yeah. We could be friends.
"You live around here?" Thomas asked, eyeing the tiny pizza.
"Two blocks away. You?"
"Just visiting my cousin for the week. She's at dance class right now and it smells like feet in there. I escaped."
Isaac wrinkled his nose. "Smart."
"You gonna eat all that pizza?" Thomas asked, pointing at the tray.
"I was," Isaac teased, but he was already sliding the tray between them. "You can have some."
Thomas's eyes lit up. "For real?"
"Yeah, but I get the last slice."
"Deal." Thomas grabbed a piece with both hands, cheese stretching in long strings. "Oh man, this is good."
They chewed in silence for a bit, the kind that isn't awkward at all -- just two kids sharing food like they've known each other longer than five minutes.
The bell above the door jingled again.
They both turned to look.
A very round, very blonde boy waddled in, cheeks jiggling slightly with every step. His pajama shirt clung to his belly, the hem lifting just enough to show a soft line of skin. His shorts rode high on his legs, snug around his thighs. He looked like he'd been rolled out of bed and decided pajamas were good enough for public.
Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Whoa. He's wearing pajamas."
The boy spotted them and lit up.
He waddled over, puffing a bit by the time he reached the booth. "Hey," he said brightly. "Mind if I sit?"
Thomas and Isaac glanced at each other again, but not in a mean way. Just surprised.
"Sure," Isaac said, scooting closer to the window.
The boy slid into the booth beside Isaac with a soft grunt. The seat creaked under his weight.
"I'm Benji," he said cheerfully. "My uncle owns this place. Wanna split a pizza? He lets me make my own sometimes."
"Really?" Thomas's eyes widened.
"Yup. I'm thinking sausage, pepperoni, and--" he paused, tapping his chin, "extra cheese. Always extra cheese."
Isaac grinned. "That sounds awesome."



Benji beamed, then waved a pudgy hand toward the kitchen. "Uncle Tony! Three little dudes at Table Five! We need something cheesy!"
A voice from the back shouted something unintelligible, but Benji nodded like it was a yes.
They all laughed.



For a moment, the sunlight through the window made the room feel like it belonged just to them -- three kids, each a little different, crammed into a booth with big dreams and bigger appetites.
Then Benji looked down at his lap, fidgeting with the too-tight fabric of his shirt.
"You know," he said, more quietly, "I don't usually sit with people. Most kids think I'm weird. Or gross. 'Cause I'm, you know... fat."
Neither Thomas nor Isaac said anything right away.
Then Thomas leaned forward and said, "That's dumb."
Isaac nodded. "You're cool. You got us free pizza."
"And you've got style," Thomas added. "I mean, who else can rock pajamas in public?"
Benji giggled, face turning pink. "I do like being comfy."
"Well," Isaac said, nudging his glasses up again, "we're your friends now. If you want."
Benji's mouth dropped open just a little, like he couldn't believe it.
"Really?"
"Yeah," Thomas said. "I'm only in town a few days, but we could hang out while I'm here."
"I live nearby too," Isaac added. "So if you ever wanna do this again..."
Benji nodded so hard his cheeks wobbled. "Yes. Please."
The kitchen bell dinged, and Uncle Tony came out with a steaming tray bigger than the first. Cheese glistened under the light. He gave a wink to Benji and set it on the table.
"Looks like Table Five's got a party now," he said.
They didn't need plates -- just napkins and hands and laughter.
That afternoon, the little pizza shop on the corner wasn't just a place to eat. It was the beginning of something simple and important: a friendship that started with one small pizza and turned into something much bigger.






"The House Where Socks Come Off"
The sun was dipping lower now, casting long shadows across the sidewalk as the boys stepped out of Tony's Pizza Palace. Their bellies were warm and full, and their laughter echoed down the street like they hadn't just met an hour ago.
Benji waddled along beside them, his pajama shirt flapping slightly as he walked. He looked happier than ever, cheeks a little pink from the heat, and his arms swinging as he talked.
"My house is super close," he said. "Just across the park and past the school. Wanna come over? I gotta watch my little brother, but he's probably still napping."
Thomas and Isaac exchanged a look.
"You babysit?" Thomas asked.
Benji puffed his chest proudly. "Yup. I'm the big brother. Riley's four. He's usually good, but sometimes he dumps cereal on the floor and says it's snow."
"That sounds kinda awesome," Isaac said.
Thomas nodded. "Okay, I'm in. I still feel like I swallowed a bowling ball, but let's go."
"One thing though," Benji said, holding up a finger, "we gotta take our shoes off at the door. House rule. No crumbs, no dirt. Mom is serious about clean floors."
Benji's house was a cozy, blue one-story nestled between two big oak trees. The driveway was covered in sidewalk chalk drawings -- some of them clearly Riley's handiwork: crooked smiley faces, messy suns, and a lopsided rocket.
The porch had a squeaky step, and a wind chime tinkled above the door as they entered.
"Shoes off here," Benji said, toeing off his sandals and peeling off his socks. "We go barefoot inside. Feels better anyway."
Thomas and Isaac followed suit, dropping their sandals on the mat and stepping onto the cool floorboards.
"This feels kinda fancy," Thomas said, wiggling his toes.
"I feel taller," Isaac added.
The boys giggled and padded into the house, the smell of vanilla-scented cleaner faint in the air.



The living room was simple -- a soft couch, a low coffee table, a toy bin in the corner with plastic trucks spilling out. A few scribbled crayon drawings were taped proudly to the fridge in the nearby kitchen.
Benji led them in. "Riley's napping for now, so we can hang out. You guys ever cook stuff?"
Thomas perked up. "Like, real food?"
"Yeah!" Benji said, heading for the kitchen. "I make snacks all the time. My mom says I have 'a nose for flavor.'"
Isaac grinned. "I made cinnamon toast once and accidentally used chili powder instead of cinnamon."
"Did you eat it?" Benji asked, opening the fridge.
"I cried a little," Isaac replied.
"That's cooking," Thomas said, climbing onto a stool. "I once made a banana sandwich with ketchup."
Benji paused. "...Okay, that's a crime."
They all burst out laughing.
Within minutes, the kitchen was alive with movement and noise. Benji worked like a chef on a cooking show, tossing out directions and ideas while pulling ingredients from cabinets. Thomas chopped up pickles with way too much focus. Isaac stirred things in bowls like he was casting spells.
They made buttery toast with cheese, scrambled eggs with cut-up hot dogs, peanut butter and jelly sliders, banana chips with honey drizzle, and a plate of crackers stacked like tiny towers.
"Presentation is important," Benji said, carefully arranging popcorn in a circle.
They brought everything to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, each with a plate in hand and crumbs already gathering on their bellies.
Somewhere between a third slider and a second helping of cheesy toast, Thomas flopped sideways with a groan. "I'm gonna explode."
Isaac lay on the carpet, belly rising and falling. "This is how it ends. Death by snacks."
Benji chuckled, sunk deep into the beanbag chair, a piece of toast still hanging from his mouth. "Totally worth it."
Then came the soft thump-thump-thump of little feet down the hall.
A small, sleepy voice called, "Benjiiiii?"
Riley appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. He was dressed in a dinosaur onesie with one sleeve pushed up and his hair stuck up in every direction. His bare feet padded softly on the rug.
"Hey buddy," Benji said, sitting up a bit. "Did we wake you?"
Riley blinked, then saw the food.
"Snack party?" he asked, perking up instantly.
Benji nodded. "You hungry?"
Riley gave a very serious nod.
Benji helped him onto the couch, passing him a plate with some soft toast and a few banana chips.
"This is Riley," he said. "My little bro. He's pretty cool."
Thomas waved. "Hey, Riley."
Isaac smiled. "Nice pajamas."
Riley, with a mouthful of toast, pointed at Thomas's belly. "You look like Benji."
Thomas blinked. "What, handsome?"
Benji cackled, and Riley giggled too.
They all settled back down again, this time with Riley nestled between Isaac and Benji, munching happily and swinging his little feet above the floor.
"Next time we should make dessert stuff," Thomas murmured, eyes starting to droop.
Isaac yawned. "We could make cupcakes. Or like, cereal bars with chocolate."
Benji nodded sleepily. "Or... ice cream nachos..."
"Now that sounds illegal," Isaac whispered.
But no one argued. They just let the food coma settle in, with soft laughter, warm light through the window, and the quiet sound of Riley humming to himself as he licked honey from his fingers.






"A Couch Full of Crumbs and Forever Friends"
The afternoon drifted into evening like honey poured over toast -- slow, sweet, and golden. In Benji's house, the kitchen saw at least three more rounds of snacks. Cheese rolls. Cinnamon-sugar tortillas. A mysterious "pizza pudding" that everyone swore tasted better than it looked. The boys stayed barefoot, covered in flour and crumbs, laughing louder with each ridiculous recipe.



At one point, Riley started a conga line around the living room, balancing a jelly cracker on his head while the older boys followed, giggling and wobbling with food-heavy bellies. Later, Isaac tried to juggle oranges and knocked over a bowl of popcorn. No one got mad. It just became part of the fun.



As the sky turned soft purple and the crickets began their songs outside, the boys gathered again on the couch. Plates were stacked on the coffee table, half-finished cups of juice sat forgotten, and napkins peeked out from under cushions. The TV buzzed softly in the background, playing a cartoon none of them were really watching anymore.



Riley was the first to fall asleep, curled up against Benji's side with one hand still clutching a cracker. Benji's arm had draped protectively around his little brother without him noticing. Thomas was next, stretched along the far end of the couch, his red shirt riding up over his belly as he let out a tiny snore. Isaac's glasses were crooked as he nodded off between them, chin resting on his chest, mouth slightly open in peaceful defeat.



All of them lay there, warm and full and safe -- a tangle of crumbs, bare feet, and soft breathing in the quiet hum of evening.



That's how Benji's mom found them when she came home from work.
She didn't say a word at first. Just stood in the doorway, one hand still on her keys, and took it in -- her chubby son curled up with two new friends, their little heads touching, their bellies full of ridiculous recipes, and Riley asleep between them like a tiny moon orbiting his own sleepy planet.
She pulled out her phone and quietly snapped a photo. The flash was off. The moment stayed untouched.
Later, she'd print it out and pin it on the fridge. She'd call it "First Feast."
Because that's what it was -- the first of many. The first of something big. Something soft and real and lasting.
The kind of friendship that didn't care what you looked like, or how weird your snack ideas were, or how loud your laugh echoed in the hallway.
A friendship born on a hot afternoon in a pizza parlor and sealed with crumbs, cooking, and quiet naps on a too-small couch.
And somewhere, just around the corner, there would be more: more cooking experiments, more blanket forts, more barefoot adventures.
But for now, the house was still, and the stars blinked gently outside the window.
The couch held four boys -- two dreamers, one chef, and a dinosaur -- and a friendship that was only just getting started.



"New Friends, Old Worries"
Isaac walked home just before sunset, his sandals slapping gently against the pavement. His tank top clung slightly to his back, and his glasses kept sliding down his nose, but he didn't care.
His belly felt rounder than usual, and honestly? He kind of liked it.
He'd never laughed so hard, or eaten so much, or felt so completely himself as he had with Benji and Thomas.
His house sat on the corner of a quiet street, with tidy hedges and a porch light already glowing gold. He opened the door, and the scent of lavender and laundry greeted him like a hug.
"Isaac?" called his mom from the kitchen. "You're back!"



He kicked off his sandals by the door -- he was used to it by now -- and padded across the floor.
She was at the counter, chopping vegetables. His dad was setting the table, humming off-key to a song from the radio.
Both of them looked up when they saw him.
And both of them paused.
Isaac didn't notice at first. He just plopped down at the table with a happy sigh. "Mom, Dad -- I made friends."
His mom smiled warmly. "Oh, sweetie, that's wonderful."
"Tell us about them," his dad said, sitting down across from him.
Isaac lit up. "Okay, so their names are Benji and Thomas. Thomas is funny and super chill and likes cartoons. And Benji--he's the one who invited us. His mom made breakfast. Like actual breakfast. With waffles and lasagna and cinnamon stuff. And we played tag. Kinda. And we made pizza pudding the day before. And then--"
He launched into the whole story, eyes gleaming behind his glasses. He told them about the pizza parlor, about Riley's cracker crown, about the feast, the food coma, the cartoons. Every detail came tumbling out, warm and excited.
His parents exchanged a look. A quiet one.
His mom smiled, but there was a flicker of hesitation behind it. "Sounds like you had a great time, honey."
"I did," Isaac said, grinning. "Can they come over sometime? I wanna show them my science kits."
His dad nodded slowly. "Of course. We'd love to meet them."
His mom reached over and tucked a strand of red hair behind his ear. "You know we're happy you made friends. Really happy."
Isaac tilted his head. "But...?"
His mom hesitated, then spoke gently. "We just... noticed you look a little fuller than usual, that's all."
Isaac looked down at his stomach, still round from all the lasagna. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I do."
He didn't sound sad, though. Just thoughtful.
His dad cleared his throat. "It's not bad, Isaac. We just want you to feel good and be healthy, that's all."
Isaac shrugged with a small smile. "I feel fine. I'm not even out of breath when I run. Okay, maybe a little. But mostly I'm just... happy."
His parents looked at each other again, then nodded.
"Alright," his mom said, squeezing his hand. "Just promise you'll invite us next time your friends' mom makes cinnamon waffles."
Isaac giggled. "Deal."
That night, as he brushed his teeth and changed into pajamas, he thought about Thomas and Benji. About tag in the backyard and food comas and the way Benji's mom had smiled at them like they belonged there.
He stood in front of the mirror and patted his belly, which jiggled slightly under his shirt.
Then he grinned.
"Worth it."
From the other room, he could hear his mom on the phone.
"Yes, Benji and Thomas," she was saying. "They sound like sweet boys... Yes, we'd love to have them over."
Isaac climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin.
He couldn't wait to see them again.
Tomorrow, he'd ask them what kind of science experiments they liked.
And maybe... just maybe... they'd make breakfast lasagna together.
The kind with marshmallows this time.






"The Dream Feast"









That night, Isaac drifted into sleep with a full belly and a full heart. His room was quiet, the night breeze gently rustling the curtains, the faint smell of cinnamon still clinging to his hair.
And then, the dream began.
He found himself standing barefoot on a smooth marble floor, cool under his toes. The room was vast and golden, with warm light spilling from crystal chandeliers that floated gently overhead like sleepy jellyfish.
Before him stretched the longest table he had ever seen -- it shimmered like a mirage, endless in both directions. Every inch of it was covered in food. But not just any food.
This was dream food.
Towering stacks of chocolate-chip pancakes drizzled with caramel. Mountains of whipped cream-topped milkshakes. Trays of buttered croissants, dripping with honey. Deep-dish pizzas stuffed with cheese that oozed with every bite. Donuts glazed in rainbow frosting. Lasagna layered like a treasure map. Fried bananas, cream puffs, stuffed French toast, marshmallow fountains.
Everything glistened and steamed, impossibly warm, impossibly rich.
Isaac looked down and realized he was dressed in the softest, comfiest hoodie and a pair of cozy sweatpants. He wiggled his toes on the cold marble floor and smiled. He felt good. Safe. Himself.
As he stepped forward, the food began to lift off the table -- slowly, almost magically -- and float toward him.
First came a soft, golden roll, which gently nudged against his lips. He opened his mouth and took a bite.
Then a warm, cheesy noodle floated up, curling like a ribbon into his mouth. Then a piece of buttery cake. Then a fluffy fried dumpling.
More and more came -- each bite tastier than the last.
And as he ate, something amazing happened.
He started to feel heavier. Rounder. His belly filled out, stretching the soft hoodie around it. His face plumped gently, cheeks warm and rosy. His arms and legs grew softer, rounder, heavier with every bite.
He looked down at himself in wonder -- chubby toes on the cold floor, his sweatshirt riding up just a bit over his growing belly.



And he laughed. A deep, warm, sleepy kind of laugh.
He felt full.
But more than that -- he felt happy.
The kind of happy that fills you up from the inside and wraps around you like a blanket fresh out of the dryer.
By the time the feast slowed, he was sitting on a giant beanbag made of clouds, his belly resting softly in his lap, his arms wrapped around it like a favorite stuffed animal. His eyes dropped. He smiled.
"I hope I dream this again tomorrow," he whispered.
And then -- just like that -- he woke up.
The morning light poured into his room, and Isaac blinked, rubbing his eyes. His bed was warm, the covers twisted around him. He could still taste powdered sugar on his tongue.
He laid there for a moment, letting the dream linger. Then he smiled.
He slipped out of bed, padded across the floor to his dresser, and dug through his drawers with purpose.
A few minutes later, he came downstairs barefoot, wearing his softest hoodie and a pair of blue sweatpants that sagged gently at the knees.
His mom blinked at him from the kitchen. "Good morning, sweetie. You're dressed comfy today."
Isaac grinned. "It's my dream outfit."
And from that day on, he wore sweatpants and hoodies more often. He liked how they felt -- soft, stretchy, safe. He liked going barefoot, too. The way it grounded him, reminded him of Benji's house, of tag in the backyard, of comfort and warmth and fun.
Most of all, he liked the way it reminded him of that dream -- the feeling of floating food, of soft laughter, of being completely full and completely himself.
He didn't tell anyone about the dream.
But every time he took a bite of something delicious, or curled up on the couch with his hoodie bunched up around his tummy, he smiled.
Because he remembered.
And he was happy.












"The Dream Feast, Real and Shared"
It was Saturday morning when Thomas and Benji rang the doorbell to Isaac's house.
Isaac had invited them the day before, excited to show them his science kits and finally return the favor of hosting. But more than that, he wanted to share something... something a little harder to explain.
He ran to the door and opened it with a wide grin.
"Hey!" he beamed.
Benji and Thomas both looked surprised.
Isaac was barefoot, wearing a soft, forest-green hoodie that hung gently over the roundness of his belly, and loose sweatpants with elastic cuffs that swished as he walked. His glasses sat slightly crooked, his hair a bit tousled.
But more than anything, he looked relaxed. Not just comfortable -- like he'd found a secret and was ready to share it.
"Whoa," Thomas said with a laugh. "You look... chill."
Benji grinned. "You look like you just rolled out of a pillow."
Isaac stepped aside and waved them in. "I did. Come on, shoes off at the door -- house Rules."
The boys obeyed without question, kicking off their sandals and stepping inside. The floor was smooth and cool beneath their bare feet.
"Come on, I'll show you the science stuff in a bit," Isaac said. "But first... the kitchen."
They followed him in, padding across the wooden floors.
The kitchen was bright, with hanging plants over the windowsill and the faint smell of vanilla in the air. The table had a bowl of fruit, but Isaac walked past it straight to the fridge with purpose.
"So... you guys ever had a dream that felt real?" he asked, opening the fridge and pulling out whipped cream, strawberries, and a half-eaten tray of leftover baked mac and cheese.



Thomas and Benji glanced at each other, intrigued.
"What kind of dream?" Benji asked, already opening a cupboard to pull out plates.
Isaac set the food on the counter and climbed onto a stool. "Okay, so, the night I came back from your place, I had this dream. I was barefoot, wearing sweats, and there was this huge table full of food. Like, magic food. And it started floating to me and feeding me. I just kept eating and getting rounder and softer and--" he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, "--it felt really good. Like, the best I've ever felt."
Thomas blinked. "That sounds kind of awesome."
Benji was already grinning. "Dude. That rules. Did you fly in the dream too?"
"Nope," Isaac said, hopping down from the stool. "But I want to feel that happy again. So I figured..." He paused and opened the bottom cupboard, revealing a small stack of cake mix boxes, cookie dough, a tub of marshmallow fluff, syrup, chocolate chips, and sprinkles.
"...maybe we could make our own dream feast."
Thomas raised both eyebrows. "I'm in."
Benji waddled forward, already reaching for the cookie dough. "Let's do this."
They tied tea towels around their necks like aprons and set to work, barefoot and giggling.
The first thing they made was marshmallow pancakes -- fluffy stacks layered with syrup and topped with melting chocolate chips. Then they heated up the leftover mac and cheese and mixed it with bits of buttery bread rolls and extra cheese, stirring until it became gooey and golden.
Thomas found a jar of Nutella and began spreading it on slices of banana bread.
Benji stirred hot chocolate in a saucepan, thick and rich, and added tiny marshmallows until they overflowed.
Isaac built something he called a "pillow sandwich" -- peanut butter, banana slices, and honey between two thick slabs of cinnamon-swirl French toast.
By the time they were done, the counter looked like a dream-scape of warm, sticky, sugary joy.
They didn't rush.



They sat cross-legged on the floor, plates in their laps, feeding each other bites and laughing between mouthfuls. The sun moved lazily across the sky outside the kitchen window, and none of them noticed the time.
Isaac's hoodie slowly stretched across his belly as he ate, but he didn't mind. Neither did Benji, whose pajama shorts were slipping beneath his round middle. Even Thomas had to lean back a few times to pat his tummy and sigh, grinning as he reached for "just one more bite."
They didn't say much toward the end -- just soft laughter, shared glances, and the occasional "try this one."
When the plates were finally empty, they all lay back on the kitchen floor, heads on folded arms, bellies round and full.
Thomas gave a sleepy smile. "I think I'm gonna dream about this tonight."
Benji groaned happily. "If I roll over, I might actually roll."
Isaac chuckled and closed his eyes. "We should do this every weekend."
They stayed like that a while, until the food settled, and the afternoon sun poured through the window in stripes.
Later, they waddled -- slowly -- to the living room, where they curled up under a pile of soft blankets. Cartoons played on low volume. Riley eventually came in, plopped down beside them with his stuffed duck, and dozed off too.
And there, surrounded by crumbs and cozy warmth and each other, the three boys drifted into sleep.
Not dreaming of food this time, but of laughter, and safety, and the soft comfort of friendship that needed no words.






"The Shared Dream"
The room was warm and still, filled with the quiet hum of cartoons, the occasional soft snore, and the distant chirp of birds outside.
Wrapped in blankets, sunk into pillows, and with their bellies full from their magical "dream feast," the three boys -- Isaac, Benji, and Thomas -- slowly slipped into sleep.
Their breaths evened out.
Their bodies relaxed.
And then, as if pulled by a shared thread stitched from the same dream-fabric, they found themselves together
In a dream unlike any they'd ever had.
The nursery was vast and glowing with soft light -- gentle, comforting, like morning sun through sheer curtains. Everything was pastel: creamy yellows, baby blues, soft lilacs and mint greens. The air was filled with the smell of baby powder and vanilla, sweet and calming.
The floor was cloud-soft under their bare feet. Everything around them was oversized: stuffed animals taller than they were, rocking chairs that could seat ten, shelves stacked with picture books the size of tabletops.
Isaac blinked and looked down.
He was barefoot, wearing the same cozy hoodie and sweatpants from the day before, only... smaller. Softer. His sleeves hung past his hands. The hoodie's pouch stretched slightly over his belly.
He turned and saw Benji and Thomas beside him, both in matching soft hoodies and baggy sweats, their feet bare and their cheeks round and rosy.
They looked at each other -- and then they all giggled.
Three enormous baby bottles floated down from the pastel ceiling. Each one was wider than a basketball, filled with thick, creamy milk that glowed golden in the light. Somehow, they knew it was meant for them.
They each reached for one, and the moment their lips touched the warm silicone tips, the milk began to flow -- sweet, rich, thick like melted ice cream, with flavors of vanilla, honey, and something they couldn't name but instantly loved.
And as they drank, something magical happened.
Their limbs grew shorter, their faces rounder. Their bellies puffed out, soft and full. Fingers dimpled. Chubby toes curled. They were shrinking -- or rather, becoming younger. Softer. Smaller. Baby versions of themselves, wrapped in tiny hoodies and saggy sweatpants, no shoes in sight.
But they weren't alarmed.
They were delighted.



Thomas squealed with laughter, his tiny bare feet slapping softly as he toddled across the room. Isaac clapped his chubby hands and wobbled after him, arms outstretched. Benji giggled and waddled along, his little belly jiggling with each unsteady step.
They played tag, tumbling over stuffed animals bigger than they were, hiding in blankets, hugging every time they "caught" one another.
Their laughs filled the nursery like music -- sweet, light, and completely carefree.
And then it appeared.
A giant chocolate cake -- taller than any of them -- sitting in the middle of the room. Frosting glistened on every layer. Fudge oozed from the sides. There were sprinkles, marshmallows, and ribbons of caramel all over it.
The boys looked at each other.
Then, without a word, they scrambled toward it on all fours, giggling.
Hands plunged into the cake. Fists full of chocolate and cream found their way into mouths. Smudges covered their cheeks, their shirts, their round bellies.
They laughed and ate and hugged again.
Eventually, the dream softened. They slowed, full and warm and happy. The boys -- now three round, chocolate-smeared babies -- curled up together beside the empty plate, their heads resting on each other's shoulders.
And then... the dream faded.
Morning light filtered through Isaac's living room curtains.
The cartoons on the TV had long ended, the room quiet except for soft breathing.
And there they were -- not in a dream now, but still curled up together in a sleepy pile. Isaac's head rested against Benji's belly. Thomas's arm was draped over Isaac's side. All three were barefoot and tangled in a nest of blankets and couch cushions, their tummies round from the day before.
Isaac blinked first, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.
"...Was I dreaming?"
Benji stirred, yawned, and whispered, "Did we just... dream the same thing?"
Thomas sat up slowly, hair a mess. "Nursery? Cake? Fat babies?"
They looked at each other. Their eyes widened.
Then all at once -- laughter.
Big, honest belly laughs, still half-asleep and filled with joy.
"I was so round!" Benji giggled.
"I had no teeth and still ate cake!" Thomas snorted.
Isaac grinned and hugged his knees. "We were like little round dumplings."
They laughed until their sides ached, wiping sleep from their eyes.
And just as their giggles began to settle, they heard a voice from the kitchen.
"Boys! Breakfast is ready!" Isaac's mom called.
They looked at each other, eyes gleaming.
"We're still hungry?" Thomas asked, mock-shocked.
Isaac nodded solemnly. "Always."
Benji stretched and let out a sleepy burp. "Race you to the kitchen -- last one there gets the smallest plate."
They didn't race. Their bellies were too full, and their legs too sleepy.
But barefoot and smiling, they waddled into the kitchen anyway.
There, a new feast waited -- warm waffles, thick slices of cinnamon bread, scrambled eggs with cheese, and fresh fruit drizzled in honey.
As they dug in, they didn't say anything about the dream again.
They didn't have to.
They all knew.
And as they ate, side by side, bare feet swinging under the table and plates clinking with joy, one thing was clear:
This was more than a weekend of fun.
It was the beginning of something special.
A friendship, a bond, a story that was only just getting started.