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Ishmael awoke to an empty bed.
The space beside her was still warm, she felt it. The faint smell of Don Quixote was still there yet the woman was nowhere to be seen.
This was… unusual.
Ishmael prided herself on being a light sleeper, years on the sea honed her the instincts to wake at the slightest disappearance. And yet, Don Quixote, in all her giddy, chatterbox glory, had somehow slipped free from Ishmael’s embrace without so much as a squeak from the mattress.
Very suspicious.
Ishmael sighed and moved to lay on her side.
Then, she saw it.
A piece of paper was stuck onto the bedside table with tape. On it was a crudely drawn arrow pointing towards the door to the halfway.
Ishmael swung her legs off the bed, looking towards the door to see another piece of paper on the floor in front of the door, pointing towards it.
Ishmael stepped out of the bed and padded towards the door, only to step onto a folded piece of paper. It likely fell from the beside table and picking it up, Ishmael could already tell Don wrote it from that harsh handwriting that caused protrusions visible on the other side of the paper.
Opening it, It read: “Dearest Ishmael! The day of thy birth is a day of grand celebration! Follow the path and thou shalt be rewarded with the most splendiferous of surprises! – Thy most devoted knight, Don Quixote.”
Ishmael sighed, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards.
She stuck on some slippers, unwise still in her sleepwear and stepped outside. Just as she expected another parchment was there, taped to the way with yet another crude arrow on it.
Scattered across the floor half-hazardly were rose petals, forming a trail in the same way the arrow pointed. Ishmael didn’t even question where and how she managed to get her hands on them, she slowly strolled down the hallway as she followed the arrows.
Every so often a drawing was taped to the wall alongside those arrows. Ishmael leaned down and picked one up. It was a childlike drawing featuring a happy looking face with wild, blond, scribbled hair under which “DON!” was written in exuberant letters. On the other side of the paper was a face with more straightly drawn orange hair and a more serious expression, under which was written “ISHY!” naturally. Between them was a large lopsided heart.
Ishmael couldn’t help the snort that escaped her.
She continued down the trail, more arrows, more drawings, so many Ishmael wondered how Don did all this without her knowledge. Each of the drawings had increasingly ridiculous scenarios, Don saving Ishmael from what looked like a giant slime, Don and Ishmael watching a sunset that took up half the page, etc.
The ones of them together truly made Ishmael's chest tighten in a way she couldn't deny. She pinched her nose, fighting the warmth rising on her cheeks. This Idiot …
The path eventually reached the common room where–
“HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS DEAR ISHMAEL!!”
Don stood there, breaming. Before her sat a lopsided and messy cake, its frosting had been smeared with the unmistakable evidence of multiple decorating attempts. The room itself had been used for all of its available space, streamers, candles, more drawings and even a banner reading: “ISHMAEL, JOY OF MINE HEART!”
“Behold!” Don declared, throwing her arms wide. “On this, the most glorious of days– the day the heavens blessed this world with thine radiant presence– I, Don Quixote, have prepared a celebration worthy of your magnificence!”
Ishmael stared. Then, slowly, she walked forward, stepping over scattered petals until she stood right in front of Don. Her voice was quiet. “...You did all this?”
Don’s bravado softened as she looked up at Ishmael. “Of course! For you, no effort is too great! No quest too challenging! For you are–”
“--Why?”
Don blinked. “Why?”
“Yeah, Why go through all this trouble?”
For once, Don seemed at a loss for grand proclamations. She fidgeted, fingers twirling in her own sleepwear.
“...Because… I wished to show you how dearly I cherish thee! How grateful I am that Thee exist in this world–that I am allowed to love you!” Her voice dropped to a tender tone, almost shy. “That is reason enough, tis is not?”
Ishmael’s breath caught. Her chest ached almost painfully.
“Now! I hath planned a day of festivities I believe thou will find most enjoyable! Lo! I hath even baked thou a cake! Thou the oven did wage quite a–”
Yeah Ishmael couldn't resist any longer.
Before she could stop herself, not that she would , she grabbed Don by the collar and pulled her into a deep, searing kiss. Don made a muffled noise of surprise before melting into it, hands flying up to tangle in Ishmael's hair as she pressed into the kiss.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Ishmael pressed their foreheads together and wrapped her arms around the smaller woman in an embrace.
Don’s face was flushed, her usual bravado replaced with something softer, more vulnerable. “I… take it you approve of mine efforts?”
“God, I love you Don Quixote.”
Don’s grin could've lit up the night the way she beamed. “And I love thee!! A thousand times over!!”
This might have been the most ridiculous, messy birthday she has had yet but…
It was hers, and so was Don.
And that was more than enough.