2025-07-31 - Happy Birthday

The night prior there had been coffee, curry, and cards. The night prior there had been an admission of an upcoming birthday, a consultation of tarot, and a night that had the birthday celebrations started before midnight and finishing long after. If there's any hints at all that Maggie had gotten up to mischief in the middle of the night, long after Damian had fallen asleep, it's that in the light of the next morning spilling through the sheers of her bedroom curtains, Maggie isn't as nude as when she'd collapsed into his arms those few hours prior. Her pink curls are a glorious mess tangled over his skin and her pillow, and she's wearing the same tee shirt she'd peeled off of him as they'd gone stumbling together into bed the night before. Her phone, rather than on her night-stand, is on the mattress near the edge of her pillow, as if she'd been checking it through the night.

But for now? Maggie sleeps, hard and heavy, clearly the sleep of someone exhausted but satisfied as her eyes flicker behind closed lids, the corners of her lips twitching up into a smile. It's a lovely, peaceful, beautiful moment, up until a chime rings through all the hooked up smart-speakers in her home. It's the chime of a doorbell, followed with the announcement, "Front Doorbell, package delivered." And the electronic voice announcing it startles Maggie from her sleep.

The announcement startles Maggie, but it startles Damian, too. He jolts upright halfway. His hand instinctively reaches for her before even fully registering what’s happening, settling gently on the bare skin of her thigh under the hem of his shirt now stretched across her. “That scared the shit outta me.” He flops back down, dragging a hand down his face. "Your house talks. That’s... still not something I’m used to.”

The announcement finishes. Peace returns. Damian glances over, sees her blinking awake with that stunned expression of someone rudely yanked from a good dream, and can’t help but grin a little despite it all. “You want me to go scare off the terrifying Amazon package, or are we gonna pretend it doesn’t exist and go back to bed?"

"Me too." Maggie's voice is thick with sleep, but her smile is even wider as his first instinct is to reach out for her even before he's fully awake. And she knows exactly what that delivery was. She'd meant to be awake for it, but. Between the warmth of him next to her and the late night and expended energy... She'd passed out hard. And if this were anything less than the sudden excitement of why she'd been up texting from her bathroom half the night and making plans and ordering gifts... Rolling back over into him and getting a few more hours rest would be her only plan until at least noon.

But it's his birthday. And from the way he'd almost not even mentioned that, and how he had no plans... Maggie is pretty certain he has work at some point today rather than having taken the day off. So. If she's going to string him out a series of birthday surprises, she'd arranged to start them early. She catches that grin aimed her way, and Maggie rolls over into him again anyway. She steals a kiss, soft and slow and sweet. And after, she tells him, "You're going to sleep just a little longer, and for once you'll let me make the coffee." And this time, she even knows the exact color of coffee to cream that makes him happiest. "Happy birthday, Sunshine. Sorry the doorbell woke you before I could, but. That's nothing you getting a bit more rest while I get a few things down won't still fix."

Damian’s eyes close again when she kisses him. There’s a groggy sound of agreement in his throat. Her voice is sleep-honeyed and warm against his neck.

But then she says work.

He makes a sound that is unmistakably offended. “Work?” he echoes, cracking one eye open. “You think I’d go to work on my birthday?” He shifts just enough to lean on one elbow, gazing at her. “Mags. Please. You wound me.” His smile comes back. “Birthday days are sacred. My mom made it a law when I was, like, five. No school, no chores, no obligations, no expectations. Just joy and pancakes and the day off. I’ve never worked a birthday in my life. Not about to break the streak now.”

His fingers play at the hem of the shirt she stole back from him, tracing slow circles. “Though I gotta admit, this might be the best one yet and I haven’t even had my first sip of coffee.” He leans in, murmuring into her curls now. “I’ll sleep a little more, but only because you asked. And only if you promise whatever’s downstairs won’t explode if I’m not there to see it. How many packages am I in danger of tripping over when I do get up?”

When he tells her he's not working, Maggie laughs, the sound soft, but thick with sleepy happiness. It's going to spoil one of her plans, or at least confuse the heck out of his co-workers, but. She's not going to complain at all about those extra hours spent with him to celebrate - or at least however many of them he'll give her before any other plans he's set aside. "I love your mom already," she murmurs. "Birthdays are my most sacred holidays, too." She steals one last kiss and then tells him, "Sleep sweetly, Damian Arthit. But dream naughty. I promise nothing will explode."

PROBABLY nothing will explode... Maybe. Maggie tries to be quiet after she's slipped out of bed and out of the room. She's still wearing only his tee shirt. Her hair is still a wild wreck. She doesn't turn on any of her playlists for the sake of trying to be quiet enough that he can get some more rest, but. She can't quite stop herself from humming while she's putzing around. Most of it would be unfamiliar entirely. But he's seen the video of her open night song, and he knows the one she'd played for him that first night he came inside, too. It's pretty easy to guess that all of what she's humming is her own, at least if he doesn't snore right through it.

There are softly opening and closing doors and cabinets. There is water that runs then stops. There are clinks and taps of dishes and glassware and ceramic. And eventually, Maggie makes her way back to the doorway of her room, a large wooden tray in her hands, piles of things atop it but possibly unable to spot from the bed, if he's even aware she's there at all. Once she see's he's fallen back asleep, though? Maggie just watches him for a long minute from the doorway, wondering all over again how she got so lucky. And then she carries the tray to his side of her bed, gently setting it onto the nightstand before crawling back in again beneath the blankets to wrap herself around him after.

“You hum when you’re scheming, you know.” That is all he says. Damian was paying attention to all the sounds she was making and all the things she was doing. An arm wrapped about her as he kept his eyes closed—a man of little words on his birthday. Drawing in a breath and letting it out slowly.

"No I don't." Maggie doesn't hum when she's scheming. "I schemed very quietly last night while you were sleeping." She wraps a little closer around him, slipping cold bare feet between his legs and wrapping her arms around as much of him as she can reach. "I hum when I'm happy, and pulling off those schemes."

And a few of those schemes are sitting on the nightstand behind her. For starters, there is a mountain of pancakes from Nora's, and they're scattered through with rainbow confetti sprinkles, birthday cake pancakes for the hopeful win. On the side is butter, syrup, and cut fresh fruit, alongside a can of spray whipped cream. There is also coffee and apple juice. There are even candles stuck in a ring around the pancakes, and a rose-gold hued rechargeable pen lighter next to the plate. She hasn't lit them just yet.

"If you want to sleep longer, I won't make you get up to celebrate until you're ready," not since he doesn't have to leave her soon for work. Maggie is more than happy to tangle back up with him for a little extra sleep herself. "But it's your birthday, Sunshine. If you want the pancakes and coffee while they're still hot..." ok, the coffee is hot. The pancakes were delivered half an hour ago, and the keep warm setting of her oven only helped so much. "You get to make the rules today. I'm just here to spoil you, and try to make those demands come true." Well, that, and maybe scatter a few more surprises along the way.

Damian lets out a deep, contented groan as her cold feet shock him fully awake, but instead of flinching, he hooks one leg over hers to trap her there, grinning. “You’re the worst,” he murmurs. “And by that I mean the best. But also the worst.”
His arms fold around her easily, muscle and warmth. He exhales slowly as she speaks. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?” There’s no accusation in it. He opens his eyes now, finally, and looks at her properly.

He sees what she’s done, he sees it, from the colorful pancakes to the candles to the stupid can of whipped cream that makes his lips twitch. “Maggie. That’s... adorable. I might not survive being this spoiled. No one’s ever done anything like this for me. Not since I was a kid, anyway. You remembered all of it, didn’t you?” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Okay. Gimme two minutes to light the candles and make an unreasonable wish. Then I’m going to inhale those pancakes like a man possessed. And I will be using that whipped cream. Don’t try to stop me.”

When he calls her the worst, Maggie laughs, soft and entirely content. "You love it." Even before he claims she's also the best. And the way his leg hooks around to draw her closer and warm and cozy pulls the happiest of sighs from her lips to fall against his neck and chest. He asks about halfway efforts, and Maggie's head shakes, nuzzling into him. "Never." She does everything as fully as she can. And she's pretty certain he wouldn't want her any other way. "Life's too short for anything less."

He wakes up enough to well and truly see her, to notice the first starting efforts she's put into building a little bit of birthday magic for him, and Maggie watches every expression that shifts across his face. And if he's calling breakfast in bed being spoiled? Well. His day is only starting. "I really did assume you were going to be working today... So. You're going to have to wait for your next shift to get part of your gifts." Yes. Gifts. Plural. When that kiss lands on her forehead, her thick lashes flutter, and she melts in his arms after.

Maggie tells him after that claim that no one has done anything like this for him, "You're worth every bit of it, and not just on birthdays. But you deserve to celebrate a day that's as wonderful as you are." He lays out a plan of attack about breakfast and Maggie grins. "I'm not sure what kind of unreasonably extravagent wish you can make that you don't have in your arms already, Sunshine, but..." She brushes a kiss against his collarbone. "I'll sing you happy birthday while you're making it anyway."

Hearing he's going to make use of that whipped cream, the warmth of Maggie's smile grows wickedly heated as it shifts into a wanting grin. "You devour anything in front of you like a man possessed, Damian Arthit. If it's pancakes, followed by unwrapping this smitten gift of yours? Well..." She shrugs a little, hugging him tighter in the process. "It is your birthday to choose the rules and celebrate however you want. Far be it from me to complain about it."

Damian huffs out a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, voice warm and low against her scalp.

At the admission that she had gifts planned for a workday, his brow lifted in pleased surprise. “You planned around my work schedule?” he asks. “That’s almost responsible of you.” He nudges her with his nose. But the teasing fades as she tells him he’s worth it, not just today but always, and that stops him again. Not for long. But long enough to draw his fingers slowly down her spine. “I’ve never had this,” he admits quietly, forehead pressing to hers. “Not like this. Not someone who thinks ahead to make my day better. Not someone who listens the way you do, who gives like you do. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m not about to screw it up.”

He pulls back with a grin. “But I am about to eat those pancakes like a menace.” As for the whipped cream? Oh, he clocks that wicked grin she wears, and it registers. His eyes darken a shade, but he keeps it mostly tame for now. “We’ll circle back to the whipped cream,” he promises, voice gone thick with suggestion as he shifts, slowly, lazily, toward upright.

Damian reaches over her, snagging the lighter, and leans in to murmur, “You sing while I light?” The candles flicker to life one by one, the flames soft and golden, reflected in his eyes as he watches her. “Go on then,” he says, with a grin that says he’s letting himself be spoiled. “Make me feel like the luckiest person on earth.”

Of course Maggie planned around his work schedule. "You really think pancakes would have been this early if I wasn't expecting you to have to be running back to yours before the first ferry leaves?" Maggie is not a morning person. He's had plenty of evidence to that first hand. On the mornings he's still there when she wakes up, she's usually groggy and grumpy at the world existing until he's brought her coffee, or started the shower. Never grumpy at him, just, at the fact that mornings as a concept exist and she has to experience them.

The mornings he's gone before Maggie is awake, or the ones after nights they're both busy doing other things? He almost always gets a good morning text nearly as soon as she's opened her eyes. But it's never an early one unless there's a client paying extra for that ungodly bit of her morning to convince her it's possible to be a decent human any time prior than nine at the best... And if she can swing it, ten, or even noon. Not only are his pancakes early enough to fit his usual schedule, she's even been downright chipper about how early it meant her day started - especially since she had to have planned most of it all sometime after they'd passed out late the night before.

He tells her that he's never had this, and it's Maggie's turn to pause and need a breath. She hasn't either. She's never wanted to have something like this. She's spent her entire adult life actively working on and choosing things that intentionally prevent and avoid things like this. His fingers slip down her spine, tracing over the ribbons laced through her piercings, though, and as the goosebumps follow after his touch... There's nothing more Maggie wants in the world than this.

"We're still going to be arguing over which of us is the lucky one by the time it's your birthday again next year, Sunshine." Her words are soft, but happy. That's a year of arguments she's ok with probably pretending to lose for as long as the luck holds out. "I'm still not promising I'm not going to screw it all up, though." But she's doing her damnedest not to. And she tries to make it a joke, but, she knows he'll know she means it. "Best I can offer is my sincerest offers at apologies when I do, and probably some phenomenal make-up sex after, if you're generous enough to accept the apologies when I need to make them."

He reaches over her for the lighter, and as the rainbow colored candles flame up, one at a time, Maggie laughs. It's not her fault he's the one to use that voice about the whipped cream. "Usually," she teases right back at him, "I'd point out that's an entirely new and unopened can, and there is enough in it for you to menace those pancakes and whatever else you've got an appetite for, Sunshine, but..." She looks at the can, and the candles too, then back to him.

"You're gonna have to pick one of those two wishes." Maggie's grin is just as warm, and just as wanting. "Because we can circle back to the whipped cream, or, I can make you feel like the luckiest person on earth. But I'm pretty sure those are two mutually exclusive options." He can have his pancakes, or she can make him feel even luckier. "I'm worried if we go for both at once, you might just choke in ways that aren't the fun ones." But. He's lighting the candles, and she does know how to sing. He gets a very soft version of happy birthday, dedicated to a Sweet Sunshine rather than a Dear Damian along the way.

Damian watches her while she sings. When she swaps Dear Damian for Sweet Sunshine, he lets out this soft, stunned laugh through his nose. “If you think for even a second I’d choose pancakes over you..." His voice is quiet, almost too calm, meant for her ears alone in a room already theirs. “I want it all, but if I only get one of those wishes, Mags? I’ll take you. Every time.”
He finally pulls back just enough to eye the candles, then closes his eyes briefly. Whatever his wish is, it’s not about whipped cream, not about pancakes either. It’s made with soft breath. He blows the candles out in one smooth breath. The smoke curls upward, dancing between them.

He’s moving not for the tray, not for the coffee, not for the syrup, but for her. Damian curls his hand around the back of her neck and kisses her. It’s not rushed, but it’s not tame either. And when he finally pulls back, his grin is slow and crooked and a little wicked around the edges. “I might still eat those pancakes,” he says, voice a little lower than before. “But I can reheat them after you’ve finished making me feel like the luckiest person on earth.” His thumb tracing her jaw, his tone gone playful again. “Fair warning, though—if I do choke, I want it on record that I died happy.”

Maggie is falling hard for this man, almost dangerously so. But then he goes watching her like that as he's laughing, and he talks about the things he'd choose... And not a single jurist on the planet would convict her for it. His voice is so soft, the sweetly soothing calm no different than if they were out on a ferry or with friends. But that look in his eyes, the way he's holding onto her still with one arm even as he's sitting down that lighter, the way they're already tangled as close as they can be and each still pushing and aching for more? Sometimes, it almost feels like a miracle that either of them manages to drag themselves off of each other and out of bed at all.

So, when he tells her he wants it all, but will save that wish for her every time if there's only one of them? "Save the wish for something bigger than I can make happen just because I want to, then?" Whipped cream, with either pancakes or her? That's not worth wasting a once a year wish over, not when he's already getting all of that anyway. Maggie doesn't let superstition rule or run her life. She makes all of her own choices because they're the ones she chooses to be making. But it doesn't mean she doesn't still believe in them anyway. She still reads the tarot cards. She makes tiny wishes on lost eyelashes and the satellites she mistakes for falling stars. She still copies her grandmother's habit of crossing herself when she sneezes. Maggie is absolutely a woman who still believes in birthday wishes. And they're too big and important to waste.

Maggie is quiet as his eyes close. She stays curled up against his chest as he thinks that wish through, and she feels it move beneath her cheek as he leans over top of her head to blow the candles out after. She doesn't see the flames stutter and then extinguish, but she smells the soot of them as all thirty-one go out after. She's superstitious. Of course there was an extra atop to grow on. She doesn't ask what he wished for. She wouldn't ruin that magic. And she doesn't need to know. "I hope it comes true for you, Damian Arthit." Whatever the wish is, she wants it for him. If it makes him happy? That's all she needs to know to hope like anything he'll get it.

His hand curls along her neck, fingers wrapping through her untamed curls, and she lifts her head to meet that press of his kiss. This is his birthday, but Maggie feels like she's the one getting all the gifts. But when the kiss breaks, and he's offering that fair warning? That look he gets in return for it? He's absolutely going to have a very happy birthday after all.

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Damian returns from the kitchen, hair still damp from a quick rinse, the faint scent of soap and coffee clinging to him. He sets the empty plate aside, stretching with the lazy satisfaction of a man who has been fed and rested. His gaze finds Maggie immediately.
Crossing back to the bed, he sinks beside her, leaning one elbow into the mattress so he can hover over her instead of sitting apart. His fingers find her curls again, slow and absent-minded, twisting one around his knuckle before smoothing it free. That quiet smile rests on his lips.

“Every time I close my eyes,” he murmurs, voice husky from sleep but softened with a warmth reserved only for her, “you’re still there. Waiting. Like you’ve always belonged in my bed.” His hand slides from her hair down to her jaw, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. His eyes lock with hers.“You didn’t ask what I wished for,” he adds, almost teasing, though his tone carries weight beneath it. “But I’ll tell you this much… it wasn’t pancakes.” The faintest laugh escapes him, low and short, before his mouth dips to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. He settles down onto the mattress at her side, tugging her into his chest.

Maggie's curls are tamed, having been carefully brushed out and then braided back. She's thrown his shirt back on, wrapped back up in the scent of him as he's off moving through her apartment to reheat birthday pancakes, and probably to find a few more birthday surprises along the way. On her kitchen island that she uses as a work-desk for her sketching there is a glossy wooden frame holding a three-square pink matte, each of the three openings just the right size for the post it notes stuck to the glass.

It's evidently an unfinished work in progress. The first post-it note is a rough sketch of one of Maggie's watercolor flowers, the pink petals illustrating the magically infused lotus petals that sparked all of this between them in the first place. The middle sketch is one of her scout badge cryptic collection pieces, the head and antlers and pretty blue flowers of the void deer they had seen on their first meeting. And the third rough sketch is one of her cross-stitch-style designs of the actual animals and other park features around, a black wolf indicating Damian himself. The sketches on the island around the frame show that the post-its will be replaced in time with actual good quality art of those memories of the starts of all of this, each in Maggie's own individual styles.

Maggie's cello case isn't propped in it's corner. It rests against the arm of her sectional. And sitting on the cushion next to it is the sheet music and lyrics for a song she's titled, Okay.

> Sun creeps in over well-swept floors, onto art-filled walls.
> I awake and clear my sleep-filled eyes, I slowly look around.
> And ferry noise - girls and boys - echo from the beach,
> As I hear your footsteps running back to me...
>
> Your eyes danced behind your sleeping face.  What were you sleeping off?
> Were you colored in a stranger’s inks of your dreaming thoughts?
> And you’re so peaceful, right before I wake.
> If only it could always be this way.
>
> Soon the day will start, and we’ll go our separate ways.
> I want to slow the seconds down and hold the park at bay.
> Would that be OK?
>
> At night my mind fills with stars and cards; they keep me from my sleep.
> Memories in the darkness drape so heavy over me.
> But I don’t care, we’ve gone somewhere now to play -
> when we’re lying here in bed as the dawn breaks.
>
> Soon the day will start, and we’ll go our separate ways.
> I want to slow the future down and hold our lives at bay.
> Can we make that OK?

Sitting on the ottoman is a bag from Tarjay. Maggie had promised him a makeover once upon a time. In the bag are eyeshadow palettes and liners, lip stains and glosses, blushes and highlights, and an assortment of nail polishes. There are brushes and blenders. There are face masks and all the required creams and toners for an elaborate skincare routine. Most of the colors are blacks, whites, greys and pinks. Many have holographic glitter chunks or subtle mica shimmers. There is an array of luxury bath products and massage lotions and oils. The bag has everything needed for an at home spa day and makeover.

While he's been off puttering, Maggie dozed back to sleep, but she stirs as he settles onto the bed again. And as his hand takes one of the loose curls from the edge of her braid, she wakes fully. Her smile is sweet and sappy and dreamy. He says she's there like she's always been in his bed, and she points out neither that it's her bed, nor that she's never seen his bed nor where it is. But they both know she'd already made the offer that she thinks of her bed as theirs anyway.

Maggie hadn't planned to ask him about his birthday wish. When he says it wasn't pancakes, though? Her voice is rough and raspy, thick with sleep and coarse from use. "I know superstition says if you tell me it won't come true..." But it was more than pancakes, and she's so damned curious to know each and every thing he wants from the world. His mouth presses to her forehead and her sigh is soft and happy. As she's pulled into his arms, she nestles in against him, nuzzling at his chest as she murmurs, "But dearheart... You make it so hard not to beg to know."

Damian’s chest rumbles with quiet laughter at her rasped murmur, though he doesn’t let the sound fully break free. His hand stays tangled in the braid, thumb stroking slow and sure along her temple as he looks down at her. His gaze doesn’t waver, holding hers. “The wish was simple. It was you. This. All of it. Every version of you I’ve had, every one I haven’t yet. And I don’t need superstition for that, I’ll make it happen with my own hands if I have to.”

He tips his head, kissing the top of her brai,d and with a firm grip of his hand at her hip. When he draws back just enough to see her face, his lips quirk. “So no, I’m not afraid of telling you. Because I don’t believe in wasting breath on wishes I can’t keep.” He shifts, rolling just enough to pin her beneath him again, his body caging hers in, gaze unwavering. His free hand traces over her shirt, his fingertips dragging deliberately slow over the fabric until they settle at her ribs.

“And if you’re still tempted to beg, little lotus…” His voice drops, a dangerous murmur now, meant for her ears alone. “…you’d better be very sure you want me listening.”

He has no words for the presents she gave him because he would be repeating himself about how no one has treated him this way. The song, the artwork, the makeover. He saw it all, even if he is not commenting on it right now. He's a bit enamoured with the Maggie in his arms right now.

Maggie curls up closer against his chest, and she winces as she does, sore and aching as she moves. It's worth the tenderness to tangle back up with him, though. His eyes fall to hers with all the steady weight of an anchor, but all the guiding pull of a compass. And when he tells her what he's wished for... Her breath catches, stuttering in her chest. There's a lump gathering thick in her throat. But her dark eyes stay clear and unfilmed, the tears that should be pricking at the corners of her eyes blinked back and kept at bay.

After she's swallowed back that lump in her throat, Maggie's smoky contralto tells him, "You wasted your wish, then, Sunshine." He wants her? This her? Every her? He's willing to put in the work to make sure he gets it? He may need to continue putting in the work to keep it, but... Getting and having it? "You know I'm yours already." And they both know she isn't planning on changing that, she wants to keep him as long as he wants to be there.

His hand wraps firm around her hip and Maggie gasps out a soft whimper, her eyes wide as her smile turns warm and hazy as his head tips back to see it. But if he isn't going to waste his breath, she uses hers to promise, "But if it means you're going to wish you can keep me anyway? Waste as many of them as you want." He rolls her from her side towards her back, the weight of his chest settling heavy and firm against hers. Her lashes flutter happily about it.

When the warmth of his hand slides up her curves, Maggie shifts, pressing closer as she slips a foot between his legs, tangling in closer. His words sound like a tease, but Maggie answers them with all the seriousness in the world, and she's pretty sure he'd meant it with that weight despite how it sounded. She's better be sure she wants him to be listening? She's not exactly begging, but she's absoultely promising, "Good. Because I want you to hear this..."

Maggie's voice is soft, and there's a thread of nervousness. She has only exceptionally rarely felt this way in her life. And the few times she has? She's immediately and intentionally run from it. He's the first time she's acted on it. And this is the first time she's ever said it. "I am falling for you, Damian Arthit... Hard, fast, breathlessly. It's absolutely terrifying, but there is zero doubts that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me."

Maggie doesn't ask if he has or hasn't found any or all of the gifts she's put together for him during the wee hours of night while he was sleeping. Either he found them already, or he will later. She's pretty sure there's no rush about them. Unless her being honest out loud about how she's feeling sends him running off from all of this? It feels a whole hell of a lot like they'll have nothing but time ahead of them to get to all the rest of it. She starts to say something else, but, his phone on the nightstand starts to chime out a series of text message alerts before she can.

Damian’s eyes flick briefly toward the chimes, but his focus snaps back to Maggie almost instantly, a slow, practically predatory smile brushing over his face. He shifts just enough to press a hand to her cheek, tilting her head so he can look straight into her wide, earnest eyes. “You… you said it.” His voice is low, deliberate. “Not hiding behind laughter, not burying it in a joke. You mean it… and you want me to hear it.” He lets his fingers trace lightly down her jaw, then settle at the nape of her neck. “You’re… reckless, little lotus.” A teasing note threads his words.

He rolls just slightly, pressing his chest firmer against hers, and curls his other arm around her back, drawing her impossibly close. “I’m… not running. And you’d better not either. Because you’ve just put all your cards on the table, and you know what that makes me want to do?” His lips press briefly to the corner of her mouth, a soft but deliberate brush. “Keep you. Keep every inch of you. And hear every word you have to say, again and again, if I’m lucky.”

His thumb drags lightly along her hipbone as he leans back slightly to capture her gaze once more. “So… if this is terrifying for you, good. Because it’s just as terrifying for me… falling as hard as you are, Maggie, and I’ll tell you right now…” He smirks faintly, voice lowering into a husky whisper, “…I think I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life than I want you right this second.”

The phone chimes again, entirely ignored as he lets himself settle into the weight of her, the closeness, and the unspoken promise lingering between them. He’s listening now, thoroughly, and he’s staying.

Damian's phone probably chimes about four times in quick succession. It's his birthday, it's probably a flurry of congratulations from friends or family. If he doesn't care enough to check it, Maggie certainly isn't going to rush him out of her arms about it. She's used to the wolf in his smiles, so as his hand moves to her face, she's nuzzling her cheek into his palm as he draws her gaze to his. And he's right, and she doesn't deny it. Maggie said what she said, and she meant every word.

As his touch slips down to the bruised curve of her neck, teasing along the braided back curls at the nape of it, her gaze still holds his. He calls her reckless, and Maggie laughs, soft but joyful. He's not wrong. Falling for him feels like dancing in the middle of flames and trusting them not to burn her as she twirls. He calls her by those petals that matched the color of her curls perfectly for a second time now, and Maggie's double pierced brow arches up at him. "Are you saying I'm a drug that leaves you unable to think straight, Sunshine?"

When his arm wraps tighter around her, his weight heavier, their bodies pressing closer, Maggie shifts to tangle her legs with his, fitting in as close to his embrace as she can tuck herself. He's not running, and that promise of it leaves her a little breathless. But he's wrong. She hasn't put all her cards out onto the table. When he kisses the corner of her mouth, her lashes flutter. But when he promises to keep her? Again and again? She still is willing to argue that she's the lucky one here. But if he wants to keep her about it anyway? "I'm going to hold you to that promise, Damian Arthit." But she's still not sure he wants to hear every word she might have to say.

His thumb brushes over a scrape that has Maggie drawing in a gasp of breath. But she arches her back to press closer rather than pulling away. It is terrifying for her. Maggie has never tried factoring in the wants or needs of anyone else into her life or plans. But since him? She doesn't check his schedule before making other plans because she needs his permission. She checks his schedule because if he's not busy? Whether she's going out or staying in... She just prefers it with him. The Tarjay runs are better with him. The laundromat and chores and errand hangs are better with him. Doing life just feels better with him.

Maggie laughs all over again when he says he's never wanted anyone more in his life than he does her in this moment. And even in all the seriousness, she still teases him, "Me from an hour ago is heartbroken." And he knows that physically, she's spent, sore, and still putting herself back together again. He also knows she'd figure that out anyway if he pressed closer about it anyway. But she can tell by the way he's watching her that he's still listening. And Maggie hadn't laid all her cards out for him. Not fully. He said he wants to hear every word she has to say. Maggie finds out if that's true.

Looking up with her coal-dark eyes through the thick fringe of her lashes, Maggie stares a while into the rich, earthy brown of his gaze. And when her lips part, her words are whisper soft. She starts with just his name. "Damian Arthit Sorasingha..." She doesn't speak a word of Thai. But his name is something that spills every syllable from her tongue perfectly. She swallows hard against the lump in her throat. Then she tells him simply, "I love you."

Damian freezes, eyes widening slightly, his hand lingering at her hip. He lets the words settle, feeling their weight, but doesn’t respond with his love not yet. Instead, he tilts his head down, brushing his lips briefly against her temple, lingering just enough to anchor her in his presence. “You’re… something else,” he murmurs, voice low. “I didn’t expect… that. And I… I can’t… I’m not sure words exist that are good enough right now.”

He lets his fingers trace along her spine, lingering on her shoulder, keeping her pressed close. “You’re reckless, you know that? Utterly, terrifyingly reckless.” A small, soft laugh escapes him, though it’s full of warmth. “And you… You make it impossible to think straight. But… I don’t want to think straight right now. I just…” He shifts slightly, pressing his chest more fully against hers, weight grounding her as his hand tangles in her braid. “I can feel it, Maggie. I feel… everything you just said. And I—” He swallows, drawing a deep breath. “I need a little more time. To… process this. To be the man you deserve, if I’m ever going to say it back.”
Then he presses a soft kiss to her forehead, murmuring against her curls: “But I… I want to be here. Right here. With you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Maggie watches him react, waiting to see if he's still going to stay about it or not. And he takes it better than she'd expected. His lips brush against her brow, and she lets her eyes close just for a moment, basking in it. When he says he didn't expect that, there is the softest breath that falls, not quite a laugh, but absolutely amused. When he says he doesn't have words that are good enough, her head shakes. She doesn't need him to have words at all, much less of any kinds of quality.

She doesn't need him to have any words about him, but she lets him talk uninterrupted. He pulls her in even closer, and she ducks her head to brush a kiss against his collarbone as she's listening. She's not sure anyone but him has ever called her reckless. She has a history of drastically over-thinking and second-guessing almost everything she has ever done. But. Clearly... The woman she is with him is someone different from any other person from which she's grown.

He asks for time, and that's something Maggie can give him all too easily. When he talks about being the man she deserves, her lips curve against his chest with a grin, but she still doesn't interrupt him. When he drops another kiss over her brow, she tilts her chin upwards so her eyes can find his gaze again. He promises he wants to be right where he is, and that he's not going anywhere else, and that's the only thing that Maggie needs. Once he's said his piece, she tells him simply, "I don't need you to say it back, Sunshine." And she genuinely doesn't. "I just needed you to know I do. It's a gift, not an obligation."

Damian huffs out a quiet breath as his forehead tips briefly to hers. His thumb brushes slowly along her cheek. “A gift, huh?” His voice is low. “You… you don’t make anything easy, do you?” The corner of his mouth lifts. His hand slides down to her jaw, tilting her face so she can’t look away. “Then I’ll take it. I’ll hold onto it. And when the time’s right… I’ll give you mine.” His gaze lingers on her.

“But don’t think for a second I’m letting you get away with calling me Sunshine after that.” He dips down, pressing his mouth to hers, slow and lingering.

When his forehead dips to hers, the brown of his eyes are all Maggie's can see from that proximity. And if she stays only able to see them for too long... She damned well may get lost there. When his hand brushes along her cheek, Maggie sighs softly, content and happy. She nods as he turns her claim that it's a gift into a question, the movement slight, just enough to brush the tips of their noses together. A gift.

Maggie is confused when he says she doesn't make anything easy, though. But before she can ask, he's making the kinds of promises she can more than easily live with. "If it's right..." Maggie's voice is soft, but it's utterly sincere. She really didn't say any of it to put pressure on him. If that time is ever right? It damned well could be magic. But if it's not? She'd rather have his honest truths, no matter what they are.

He says she can't call him Sunshine after that, and Maggie laughs. "What should I be calling you then, Suh..." But she doesn't get it fully out before his mouth has found hers and she's melting utterly beneath that kiss.

Damian lingers in the kiss just long enough for the world to fall away. When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to hover over her lips, his breath brushing warm against her. “Should be calling me hotshot,” he murmurs. Yes, he is teasing Maggie. His thumb traces her jawline, slow and deliberate.

He kisses her again, shorter this time, then tips his head back just enough to catch her gaze fully. “But… you can keep Sunshine. For now. Just don’t use it when you’re trying to win an argument.”

Maggie could lie there curled up in bed with him for just about any stretch of time measurable and not mind how long they spent, as long as he's kissing her like that. But when it breaks and he offers that tease? Her laughter is soft and warm, even as she's rolling her eyes at him. "I should call you The Fool," she teases back, referencing her tarot deck. "Just out here skipping along the edges of a clifftop, not a care in the world, your wolf nipping at your heels to rush you headfirst into all that trouble you never even saw coming..."

But after that next kiss when he tells her she can keep the Sunshine? She grins. "Good. Because you're still the brightest part of my Day, Day-mian Arthit." He is well and truly the sunniest thing in her life. And she's not sure if they're blessed or cursed, but surely it has to be one or the other with just how much she means the rest of what she tells him. "But if you keep kissing me like that? If we ever do get around to arguing?" And surely they will. Everyone does eventually. "I'll let you win every single one of them if it keeps you glowing this bright." Whatever else she might have been about to say pauses, though. His phone is beeping on the nightstand again.

Damian glances at the phone, the screen lighting up with a flurry of notifications. He doesn’t rush to silence it or ignore it; he’s still curled around Maggie, but there’s a flicker of responsibility in his eyes. With a soft grunt, he shifts just enough to lift one arm and snatch the phone from the nightstand. “Seems the world doesn’t give a damn about the two of us,” he mutters, half-amused, half-resigned. His thumb scrolls through the alerts quickly birthday wishes, messages from family, a few work notifications he hasn’t touched yet. He looks back at her, eyebrows raised in a playful challenge. “I suppose I should respond… before they start sending search parties for me.”

Leaning down, he brushes his lips along her temple, then whispers, “Don’t worry. You’ve got my attention first, always.” And with that, he starts typing quick replies, keeping one arm still wrapped around her. Every so often, his fingers pause, and he presses a brief kiss to her forehead or curls a hand into her braid, making it clear she still comes before the world outside the room.

Laughing as he apologizes about checking the texts, Maggie promises, "It's your birthday, Sunshine. I'm sure everyone just wants to let you know how wonderful you are, and how glad they are we all get another year with you." She'd expected he would be at work well over an hour ago, she's had much more of him today already than she was expecting, or even hoping to get. That he's still there in her bed is absolutely just bonus for her. But she's not going to drag herself out of his other arm if one hand is all he needs.

When Damian picks up his phone, there may or may not be texts from friends and family about his birthday or other things. But... There are definitely texts from a couple of coworkers. A few of the texts are just images:

From multiple angles, a couple co-workers have texted photos of a vase of flowers which was delivered for Damian to his job, overflowing with bright yellow sunflowers, soft pink peonies, and tea-roses the same shade as Maggie's brighter pink curls.

A singular co-worker also pulled out the card and snapped a photo to send:

> Sunshine,
> I hope your birthday is as wonderful as you are, and whatever your wish is for year 30, it comes true in all the best of ways.
> <3 M-
> PS - Dinner, my place, 8pm? Unless you have other plans.
> PPS - If you have other plans... Cake, my place, your first available raincheck.

The remaining texts from his coworkers are all differing variations of wishing a happy birthday to Sunshine, and asking/teasing about who M is. One popular guess is a manatee from the aquarium exhibit.

Damian’s brow furrows the second he sees the first photo come through sunflowers, peonies, roses that match her hair too damn well for coincidence. By the third angle of the same vase, he huffs out something between a laugh and a groan. When the snapped photo of the card arrives, his thumb stills against the screen. His jaw flexes once, twice. He rereads it before Maggie can catch more than the look crossing his face. He doesn’t say anything.

His coworkers’ texts are piling up on top of one another. Sunshine?? Who’s M??, Is this for you, Arthit?? Tell us the tea! And the guesses are so wildly off-base it would almost be funny if it weren’t so personal. Finally, Damian tips the phone toward Maggie so she can see the flowers and the card for herself, his eyes steady on hers while he does it. No hiding, no evasion. Just offering her the truth as it’s found him. “Well. Guess you’ve officially introduced yourself to the office,” he says quietly. There’s a weight beneath it, though a question he isn’t sure he needs to ask, but lingers all the same. Did you mean for this to end up at my desk?

Technically, Maggie has alreay been spotted by a few of his co-workers, her pink hair in the bleachers near the big cats having been a bit of a beacon for notice as they had once shared sushi and earbuds on his lunch break before she'd spent the rest of his shift sketching and waiting for him to be off the clock. She just hadn't been introduced to any of them to have put the pieces of her name together with her note.

When his jaw flexes, though, Maggie looks concerned. She has put together the pieces that his relationship to his parents iis fraught with complications. She wonders if this has anything to do with something one of them may have sent? Or maybe it's the age old called into work when you least wish to be?

But then he tilts his phone so that she can see the screen. She sees the flowers, and she's glad she tipped the florist generously. The arrangement is exactly what she'd relayed wanting. She had absolutely sent the flowers to his job on purpose. But she had thought he would be there to get the delivery personally. The card was intended for his eyes only. And when he talks about the introduction that came along with the delivery instead?

Maggie has absolutely no idea if he's mad or upset with her about it. She has no idea what's running through his mind. She doesn't know how much of an apology she owes about what she had meant as a slightly romantic surprise to make him smile that seems to have turned into a potentially massive embarrassment instead. His eyes are steady, but for the life of her, she cannot read the expression or emotion in them. All she can do is offer him the truth about it. Her smoky voice is a whisper as she does. She sounds so much more scared to say this than she did to have said that she loved him. "I thought you were going to be there to get the card and the delivery yourself." She'd had absolutely no intentions of getting his coworkers involved.

“Petals…” Damian murmurs, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.” His voice is low, even, and careful. “I… wasn’t expecting the delivery myself, honestly. And the card… well, that’s on me. I didn’t think anyone else would see it. Not because I don’t want them to know about you. But…” He trails off, then exhales with a little humor threading through it. “Yeah. It’s a little embarrassing."

His hand shifts, curling along the curve of her back as he presses a soft kiss to her temple. “Honestly? I’m not mad. And I’m not upset. Just… surprised, maybe. In a good way, mostly. You were thinking about me. That’s the part that matters.” He tilts his head, letting his gaze sweep over. “So don’t look so worried. You made me smile. You did exactly what you were supposed to.”

Maggie remembers how reticent he had been to tell her about his birthday while she was reading their tarot cards. She knows how private he is about parts of himself, and how he's told her both that he's shy, and that he hates being in the center of attention. She doesn't have to think back far into history to remember texting Carmine about dinner and begging him not to make a fuss of it when they all met up to go Serpent hunting later. As she's waiting to see just how badly her delivered happy birthday may have fucked up his day, she almost tells him all of that.

But then? Just as Maggie has convinced herself he's going to explode... Or at the very least, that he's going to drag himself out of her bed and off on a long walk without her... He smiles. He smiles, and Maggie remembers how to breathe again. Her sigh is heavy, deep with relief, and it leaves her body falling heavier into his. When he says it's embarrassing, she laughs, and she brushes a kiss against his collarbone. "I'm sorry that this is how they found out, but I'm not sorry they know how special you are now." As far as she's concerned? Way more people need to know how spectacular he is. Himself included.

When he offers that kiss, and those words of assurance, Maggie's temporarily frayed nerves are smoothed back out entirely. He's not mad, and he's not upset. That means whatever else is left? Maggie can work with it. There's a wide grin when he says he was surprised. "I wasn't aiming for a surprise party, but. I'm glad you're not mad you got one anyway." Sort of. Unintentionally. "If you'd been working, I just wanted you to know you were thought of on your birthday, and worth celebrating even from a different island."

But it's the last of his words that actually leave her glowing. Maggie is pretty sure he hadn't thought them through to the tease she puts into them, but. Clearly, that probable lack of possible intention doesn't stop her. "If you're saying it's my job to make you smile..." If that is exactly what she's supposed to be doing with her time... "I'd better get an employee of the year bonus when you wind up turning thirty-one."

Damian can’t help it, he laughs. His arm tightens around her, pulling her in snug against his chest as he tips his chin down to rest against the top of her curls. “Petals,” he says, shaking his head slightly, still smiling. “If it’s your job to make me smile, then you’ve been overqualified from the moment I met you.” His thumb strokes lightly at her waist, tracing idle little patterns there.

His phone buzzes again on the nightstand, persistent, but Damian ignores it this time, choosing instead to tip her chin up so he can look at her properly. “But you’re right. If you’re working this hard at it, I should probably come up with some reward system.” His lips curve slowly, playfully, that wolfish gleam slipping into his smile. “Bonuses, incentives… though I don’t know if I can wait ‘til thirty-one to pay out.”

He leans in, brushing his mouth over hers in a kiss, lingering just long enough to say, “You don’t need to send me flowers, Maggie. You’re already more than enough.”