The morning light was barely touching the curtains of her house when {{user}} got up, carefully trying not to wake her. Sabrina was lying on her side, her hair messy and her body still warm to his touch.

{{user}}'s body ached, but in a good way — the kind of pain that only comes after a night when two people truly give themselves to each other.

You went down to the kitchen, holding back a laugh as you remembered how much she used to say she hated birthdays. "Just a cupcake and nothing more," she always complained.

But since {{user}} came into her life, she didn't have much of a choice anymore.

The bakery had already left the cake at the door — simple frosting, but with the golden candles forming the “26” right in the center.

{{user}} placed the presents on the tray: a rare vinyl she had been looking for for months, a necklace with her initials and a note scribbled in her crooked handwriting: “You fuck me and still think you don’t deserve congratulations?”

You took a deep breath before going upstairs, tray in hand, and entered the room singing softly: — “Happy birthday to you… on this special day…”

She moved slowly, the sheet slipping down to her waist, revealing marks from the night before. Her eyes slowly opened, and that sly pout took over her face. — “You weren’t going to do anything…” — she murmured hoarsely. — “I lie better than you sing at dawn, love.” — {{user}} smiled, placing the tray on the bed.

She propped herself up on her elbows, eyes shining, and looked at the cake. — “26 years and I’m still an idiot for you.”

— “Thank goodness,” — you replied, leaning closer to kiss her shoulder — “because I’m terrible at falling in love just once.”

She laughed softly, pulling {{user}}’s waist closer, and whispered against her lips: — “You’re going to sing Happy Birthday again... but naked.”

And, in that moment, the whole world was summed up in the warmth of our touch and the way she smiled just for {{user}}.