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The clock ticks closer and closer to midnight.
Each tick is a reminder of the day that is yet to come.
The sleepy, heavy figure beside you is stubborn, not budging a millimeter.
Even in a deep slumber, Vivian Hugo keeps his grip around your waist as tight as it is when he is wide awake.
A tricky obstacle indeed, but not impossible to bypass.
You have mastered this by now.
Anchoring your feet to the edge of the bed, you pull yourself forward so that you can slip under his arms, becoming as free as a bird.
You immediately grab a pillow and shove it against his unconscious figure.
The pillow is a decoy.
Just in case he realizes you’re gone and suddenly, you find yourself in a pep talk for ‘abandoning your destiny’ which is literally just leaving him alone in bed.
Walking to the kitchen felt like walking through a minefield.
One creak of the floorboards and that midfielder would realize you’re gone.
You opened the chiller.
You silently thank the heavens Vivian Hugo had not looked into the refrigerator.
You carefully took the cake box from the top shelf.
Your breath automatically stopped as you did so.
Walking back to the bedroom felt like a mission close to being accomplished.
So close yet so far.
Looking up at the clock in the living room made you speed up your pace.
11:56 p.m.
You returned to Vivian Hugo still snuggling the decoy pillow as if it were you.
Setting the cake box gently on the bedside table, you let out a quiet sigh of relief.
It’s 11:58 p.m.
You carefully take off the lid, revealing the small birthday cake you hid so well.
You turn back to the bed just as the digital clock changes to 12:00 a.m.
“Hey, Vivian, wake up,” you whisper, gently nudging his shoulder. “It’s your birthday today. Or rather tonight? But still, happy birthday, Vivian.”
The decoy pillow is quickly tossed aside.
A pair of sharp, half-asleep onyx eyes open and focus on you and only you.
“A cake?” he murmurs, his voice deep and raspy from sleep.
“So this was the fate you left me for.”
“Don’t take it too seriously. It was just a few minutes,” you say, pouting as you reach into the box and pull out a single candle.
You carefully press it into the center of the cake, making sure it stands straight.
Moving slowly, you lift the cake off the bedside table and turn around, holding it right in front of you as Vivian sits up in bed.
The sheets gather around his waist as he watches you, his messy burgundy hair catching the dim light of the room.
He glances at the candle and then looks up at you, a soft, amused sparkle in his sharp eyes.
“A single candle,” he observes.
“Are you saying my future can be summed up by one spark?”
“I’m saying you need to make a wish before the clock ticks another minute,” you tease gently, nudging the cake closer to him.
Vivian lets out a quiet huff—pure contentment—and leans forward.
Instead of blowing out the candle right away, he meets your gaze.
“My wish is already right in front of me,” he murmurs.
“Because I already know that from the milisecond I met you, that you are my destiny—my fated partner.”
With a soft ‘whoosh,’ he blows out the flame, and for a moment, darkness fills the room.
“Vivian! You’re not supposed to say your wish out loud! Then it won’t happen!”
“That is an illogical superstition.”
“Besides,” Vivian says, his voice cutting through the darkness with a soft, teasing edge,
“superstitions only apply to wishes. A destiny is a fate that has been woven, it doesn’t pay luck a glance.”
As the smell of burnt wax settles in the air, he reaches out to find your hand.
His grip is warm and steady.
“A wish is an ask for something you do not have,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles.
“But you are already here. I am already yours. The universe already gave us a clear path to both our destinies.”
“I can’t believe you brought your football theory into your own birthday,” you huff, but you can’t stop the smile spreading across your face in the dark.
“Anyways, quick! Cut the cake, I’ve been waiting for months for an excuse to eat sweets in the middle of the night!”
You held out the small cake to him in one hand, passing him the plastic knife with the other.
Vivian Hugo quietly took the knife, then sliced a near-perfect piece of cake.
Of course this bastard uses mathematical precision to cut a cake in the middle of the night.
“Thank you for this wonderful surprise,” Vivian states, his onyx eyes entirely unblinking in the dark.
“Oh, shut your ‘aptitude is destiny’ mouth for once and eat the damn cake!”
“An emotional outburst,” he notes calmly. “But whatever fate demands, ma chérie.”
The bedroom is silent again, except for the steady ticking of the clock as it pushes past midnight.
A wish is a gamble.
It is a plea to an unpredictable universe.
But Vivian Hugo does not gamble on the field, and he certainly does not gamble on you.
To him, you are not a random stroke of luck.
You are a certainty.
His large hand finds your waist again, anchoring you beside him on the edge of the mattress.
Even while sharing a plate of cake in the quiet dark, his grip remains firm and unwavering.
His birthday didn’t start with a fragile spark of luck.
It started with an absolute truth.