You Would Never Know

XIV | Old Hag

Whether gently or not, being woken up is irritating either way.

I felt someone's irritatingly consistent nudges on my shoulder wake me up, and it was none other than my housemate invading my space.

"What do you want?" I didn't want my voice to be this monotone and raspy, but I can't hide my lack of interest in the reason because I desperately want to go back to sleep.

My eyes were closing and opening, and I was trying my best to figure out what this night owl wanted.

"Wake up; I need to show you something." He whispered while aggressively nudging me.

"You idiot, it's midnight!" I scolded him once I noticed the time.

"Yes, midnight, and your birthday!"

Oh.

It's practically a tradition for him to celebrate my birthday at midnight because I happen to be born on the last day of the year, and it's always a hectic time, so he just spends time with me, either talking endlessly on the phone or spending time with each other. This year, we can actually spend time with each other, just like we used to.

The need to sigh, grumble, and thrash out was astronomical, but I refrained, appreciating his effort. "Ok, I'm up."

I slowly got out of bed, already missing the warmth.

He grabbed my hand and guided me to the bathroom since I was wobbling and not seeing clearly—more like not seeing at all since I still kept my eyes closed.

He washed my face for me, and when I was ready, I brushed my teeth.

I admire his patience.

Once I was done, he covered my eyes and guided us downstairs. It felt chilly, so I had an idea that it was somewhere outside.

"One, two, three." He whispered in my ear, excitement evident in his voice, as he took the hand that covered my eyes. I was surprised by what I was seeing.

He had a red and white checkered blanket laid out on the garden's grass, along with a picnic basket and wine glasses.

"Come." He took my hand and made it easier for me to sit on the ground.

"Year 1998," he said while raising a wine bottle.

I've never been one for wine, but with him, I'll gladly clink glasses. And that's only because this was the first thing I drank, and it was with him. We may or may not have stolen a bottle from his mother and drank like it wasn't a first in one of our sleepovers, but she doesn't know to this day, so we're safe.

I was at a loss for words, so all I could do was place a kiss on his cheek to show my appreciation.

He opened the bottle with a loud pop and poured the crimson into the glasses.

We never bothered to pay tribute, as we always went straight to drinking. Reminiscing and causing chaos always came afterwards.

"Oh, I forgot; the cake is still in the basket." He chuckled at his forgetfulness. "By the way, we're eating straight from the box because I'm too lazy to be doing a lot of dishes."

He went inside and came back with the cake and two forks. He handed everything to me so he could sit down.

I set everything up and opened the box to check what the flavor of the cake was. My curiosity vanished and was replaced with annoyance. "For once, write something cute." I whine. "Why, just why, Abel?" I was throwing a tantrum, and I had full rights.

"It might not be cute, but it's true." He said it as if it were a fact.

"Every chance you get, you write something stupid. Why can't you just write happy birthday, bestie, or happy birthday, Buttercup, or even a plain old happy birthday, Dali?"