𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 ! 𑣲 𝗉𝗋𝖾-𝗈𝗍𝗐! 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
ℳichael’s lashes tickled your palms as they cupped over his eyes while the apples of his cheeks pressed into the pads of your fingers. He was grinning like a fool, eager to see what this whole “surprise” was.
“Almost there…” you egged him on, voice balanced despite the excitement jumping beneath it.
He giggled, his hands wafting the air so he wouldn’t bump into any walls— like you’d let that happen, “my room feels farther than it usual is—“ he said impatiently, “I’m so excited!”
Michael didn’t ask much for his birthday, especially from you. And even if he did want something— grand or just hits home— he could buy it himself. You didn’t care if he had all the money in the world— you were gonna get your man something.
You didn’t miss the way he perked up when certain advertisements aired on the radio or TV, or how he’d linger at shelves in the store, even letting out a longing sigh while his fingers caress the object’s surface. You can even recall a car ride where he practically yearned for Disneyland— finger tips pressed against the window as he let out quiet sigh with the most alluring puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. You never wanted to ask a driver to turn around so fast.
After arriving to his room, you turned him around.
“Okay… you can look in three…” you grabbed the polaroid camera from his nightstand, “two…” you faced it to him, “one!”
He spun around and nearly choked. His jaw detached from its hinges while his eyes popped outta his head. “You didn’t…”
You tucked the polaroid in your pocket so it could develop, “Oh you bet I did.”
His eyes burned brighter than any star in the sky when he squealed and threw his hands in the air. He was bouncing off the walls— jumping and twirling and even doing a happy dance like some cartoon character in real life.
What was he raging about exactly? Oh— just the stuffed animal collection of his dreams.
You bought every version of Mickey mouse they had: Sorcerer Mickey with his pointy blue hat and purple cloak, Tennis Mickey with a racket, ball, and sneakers, 20th anniversary Mickey which wore a rainbow streaked jacket, and the Director Plush with a brown coat. Even a bigger version of the Mickey he always had. Anything you could get your hands on.
And of course, you couldn’t forget the zoo animals. They ranged from simple cats to exotic leopards. And you made sure to get the biggest ones— because you know how much he loves to prop them up against his wall while he rehearses in the dead of night when he can’t sleep. The array of plushies had soft fur, glass beaded eyes, button noses and little stitches for its mouth. Some even had little hearts on its bellies. How cute!
God, all of the stuffed animals nearly took up half of his bed. You went all out. Anything for your sweet boy.
He squealed so high you swore your heard his window crack. You knew this boy had range but goddamn. “This is incredible!”
Sure, Michael could’ve purchase an entire store worth of stuffed animals for himself— but it’s different when it’s a gift. When someone went out of their way to pick out his favorite stuffies and set it up in his room. When that someone is you.
The camera followed his figure as he moved toward the bed with slow steps, like he was approaching the holy grail. Michael gawked at the four foot giraffe plushie near the edge of the bed. The giraffe had a rich yellow coat with dark brown speckles all throughout its body and long neck. Michael’s favorite part was its long eyelashes. “You got the giraffe!?”
Then he looked to the elephant with a dusty grey pelt and bendable trunk. “And the elephant?!”
Then he settled to the llama— standing about four foot eight. All he could do was gawk, then scream. Then stare again, with a muffled scream. All you could do was laugh, dabbing tears from the corner of your eyes. “YOU GOT THE LLAMMA?!”
“I got everything you wanted, baby,” you set the camera down.
“You—“ he bit onto his fist before launching at you, toned arms engulfing you in the most sweetest embrace that could make ones tooth rot. Not before he peppered your face with an unmeasurable amount of kisses that almost left his lips numb. His favorite spots— beside your irresistible lips, was your forehead, the apples of your cheeks, and the crinkles in your skin like smile lines your crows feet. In summary Michael adored kissing your smile. “Love,” peck! “you!” peck! “so!” peck! “much!”
He squealed and jumped face first into his bed, limbs spread like he was giving his new friends their own embrace.
He flipped onto his back with a sigh of content. You were the best girlfriend ever.
“This is only the first part of your gift, the rest is coming later.”
“Baby, I don’t care about no other gifts right now c’mere!” He held his arms out.
You were more than happy cuddle up on Michael. He gave you a tight squeeze and another peck on your hairline. Calming down, you chin rested on his sternum while the rhythm of your heartbeat synced with his racing one. Your hands found their way to his cheeks, relishing the softness and his adorable little peace fuzz. His eyes fluttered shut once closed the distance with a soft press of your lips, chin tilting upwards deepen it. There was something so achingly tender about your shared moments with Michael, the quiet intimacy just melding into one another, especially after exerting so much energy.
His thumb skated over your spine, tracing the dip between your shoulder blades just to feel you melt into the touch, while his other pressed small circles into your lower back. If this wasn’t heaven then what was.
Finally parting for air, his stupid sappy grin mirrored yours it would make his brothers gag. “Happy birthday, Mike.”
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