despite melancholy surrounding celebratory day , secretly she had been working on a small surprise. try as she might to be discreet in crawl ‘cross bed , clumsiness & excitement caused fall unto him. fortune had it that gifts were saved , voicing a muffled ❛ happy birthday ! ❜
❛ i know you don’t wish to celebrate , but . . ❜ she simply couldn’t help herself. shuffling , she lifted herself to sit ‘pon bed. hands offered him two gifts , one a rather crudely decorated cupcake & the other a neatly wrapped box — contents that of their music box , figures fixed & cracks mended.
❛ i am grateful that you were born on this day . . and i am thankful i get to celebrate that with you , even now ❜
IT WAS NO SECRET at all that the day's coming had only served to future dampen his mood , aclimating to a reluctance to leave the protection of room — still not quite recovered from ages of emptiness, darkened by curtains . she all but crushes him in her eagerness to greet him, and he gives muffled sound of complaint in answer. slowly drawn up from absent laying, he blinks at her, tired smile afforded.
❝ ah, my love ... ❞ brows raise, and he can't help but smile despite himself, her earnest desire to offer him these gifts giving some warmth in his chest. opting to set cupcake aside for the moment after giving it appreciative regard , he sets wrapped gift unto lap, peering at it. how bittersweet it makes him feel, but he smiles nonetheless for her. ❝ Thank you, sincerely. It ... gives me complex feelings, yes, but I do appreciate this, && that you are here with me for it. ❞ Not yet unwrapping carefully put together gift, he instead leaned to bestow a kiss 'pon her cheek, smile worn but nothing short of adoring.
Bow && paper are undone in meticulous && delicate fashion, opening it to uncover gift — gift that makes him pause entirely, catch of breath in throat impulsively made. His eyes sting immediately with impulsive tears, tracing over every edge of the little music box, looking for the cracks && bends made that no longer remained. He recalls vividly its broken form, for he'd stared at it endlessly in the days following her return, a reminder of how he'd ruined even their love. When had she moved it? Mind so foggy outside of his time spent as her shadow in their old home, he can't find any recollection of it being moved.
❝ You — did you fix it yourself? ❞ he can't help but ask, blinking at her with owlish eyes. Not that it mattered, in the end, how it had been mended or who'd done it. it was a symbol, whether she knew it to be so or not, a confirmation that love was no longer as broken as it had been. he sets it aside with care before he moves to throw arms around her, hugging her close and pressing face against her, hidden to spare her && himself the inevitable tears.
❝ I love you so, Isolde. Thank you. ❞