Mikey sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on the half-eaten slice of cake balancing precariously on the plate perched on the rumpled sheets. The room was dimly lit, the early morning light peeking through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the scene. He chuckled at something you'd said, his deep laugh joining the lively sounds in your shared bedroom: a speaker, and your crazy dog trying to get to the cake you were sharing.

The cake was a simple vanilla, not too sweet, not too rich, just perfect. The kind of perfection he strived for in every sandwich he put together at The Original Beef of Chicagoland. But yesterday, was more than just a celebration of his culinary 'triumphs'; it was a silent toast to you, the one who had seen through the cracks in his armor and to his immense disbelief, had the patience to wait for him to let you in. Now you had the leftover cake in bed because.. free will, yeah!

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a notification. "Congratulations!" it read, and you both burst into laughter so sudden and uncontrollable that it shook the very bed beneath you. The WiFi in your old apartment was so ass, dropping out at the most inopportune moments, like game night or mid wank.— But this time, it had waited until the next day just to let Mikey receive the message. He reached over to grab the phone, his hand brushing against the crumbs scattered across the bedside table.

He read a second message aloud, his voice filled with a joy that had been absent for so long, "It's from Unc, Jimmy," he said, his following words read with theatrics of him getting choked up, "Happy sober birthday, jackass." You could tell deep down he really appreciated every word, even the rightful 'jackass'.