#twenty two

The first thing I notice when I wake up is that he’s not next to me. Which is weird because Arch always wakes up after me.

I squint against the soft morning light spilling through the curtains, rolling onto his side of the bed. It’s still warm, but empty, the sheets slightly wrinkled like he slipped out quietly.

Suspicious. 

I push myself up, pulling his oversized t-shirt down my thighs as I step into the hallway.

“Arch?” I call, my voice still thick with sleep.

There’s a pause.

Then, from the kitchen-

“Stay right there!”

I blink.

“…why?”

“Just don’t move,” he says, and I can practically hear the grin in his voice.

Now I’m smiling. I lean against the wall, crossing my arms, trying to look patient even though curiosity is eating me alive.

There’s a clatter. A muttered “oh shit-” followed by what sounds like a drawer slamming shut.

I bite back a laugh. A minute later, he appears around the corner and my heart does that thing. That stupid, ridiculous, traitorous thing.

Because he’s standing there in gray sweats, hair messy like he ran his hands through it a hundred times, holding a slightly uneven plate of pancakes with a candle stuck in the middle.

“Happy birthday to me,” he says, deadpan.

I laugh, covering my mouth. “Oh my God, you made your own birthday breakfast?”

“Correction,” he says, stepping closer. “I made our breakfast. But yes, I did it on my birthday, because my girlfriend is apparently incapable of waking up before noon.”

I gasp. “It is not noon.”

He raises an eyebrow. I glance at the clock. 11:47.

“Okay, first of all,” I start, grabbing the plate from him, “I had a plan.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, leaning against the counter, watching me like I’m the most interesting thing in the room. “What was the plan?”

I take a bite of pancake, buying time.

“to wake up earlier than you.”

He laughs and it’s warm and easy and so him that I feel it all the way down to my chest.

“Great plan, babe. Really executed it well.”

I roll my eyes, stepping closer to him. “You’re 22 now. Be nice to your girlfriend. It’s like, a maturity thing.”

He tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. Nah.”

I shove him lightly, but he catches my wrist, tugging me into him and just like that, everything softens. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel his heartbeat through his chest.

“Hey,” I murmur, looking up at him.

“Hey,” he echoes, quieter now.

For a second, neither of us says anything.

And then I smile.

“Happy birthday.”

Something shifts in his expression just a little. Like it hits him deeper than he expected.

“Thank you,” he says, softer.

I reach up, brushing my fingers through his hair. “You feel older?”

“Yeah,” he says immediately. “My back hurts. I think I need to retire.”

I snort. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious. It’s a problem.”

I shake my head, but I’m still smiling as I lean in and press a kiss to his lips. It’s slow and soft. The kind of kiss that doesn’t rush anything.

When I pull back, his hands tighten slightly at my waist, like he’s not ready to let go yet.

“Okay,” I say, stepping out of his hold before I get distracted. “Now that you’ve successfully made your own birthday breakfast-”

“You’re welcome by the way.”

“I have a surprise.”

His eyes light up immediately. “Oh?”

“Go get dressed.”

“How dressed?”

I narrow my eyes. “Arch.”

He grins. “Just asking for clarification.”

“Normal human amount of dressed,” I say, pointing toward the bedroom. “And don’t take forever.”

He salutes me. “Yes ma’am.”

An hour later, we’re in the car.

He’s still trying to guess.

“Are we leaving the state?”

“No.”

“Are we skydiving?”

“No.”

“Is this legal?”

“…mostly.”

He turns to look at me. “Mostly?”

I grin, keeping my eyes on the road. “Relax. It’s your birthday. I wouldn’t get you arrested.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s close enough.”

He shakes his head, laughing under his breath, but he reaches over anyway, lacing his fingers with mine across the center console.

And something about that, something so simple, makes my chest feel full because this is it. Not the big moments. Not the parties or the attention or the pressure that follows him everywhere.

Just us.

When we pull up, he frowns slightly.

“A lake?”

“Get out,” I say, already unbuckling my seatbelt.

He follows me, still looking confused as I grab a bag from the backseat.

“Okay, explain.”

“Not yet,” I say, dragging him toward the dock.

And then he sees it. The small boat. The one I rented. Decorated, badly, with a couple balloons and a crooked “22” banner.

He stops.

“…you did this?” he asks.

I suddenly feel shy. “Yeah. I just thought, since things are always so crazy, and you never really get like quiet time”

My voice trails off.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. And then he pulls me into him so fast I barely have time to react.

“Are you kidding me?” he murmurs into my hair. “This is perfect.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, smiling against his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at me. “This is exactly what I wanted.”

We spend the afternoon on the water. No phones. No distractions. Just music playing softly from my speaker, the sun warm against our skin, his arm draped lazily around my shoulders as we sit side by side.

At one point, he leans his head against mine.

“Best birthday I’ve had in a while,” he says.

I glance up at him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, squeezing me a little closer. “No expectations. No pressure. Just you.”

My chest tightens. I tilt my head, looking at him properly now.

“You deserve more days like this,” I say quietly.

He watches me for a second and then his expression softens in a way that makes everything feel still.

“I’ve got them,” he says.

“How?”

He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek.

“As long as you’re there.”

I lean in first this time, kissing him slow, steady, like I’m trying to memorize it. The warmth, the quiet, the way his hand comes up to hold my face like I’m something fragile and important at the same time.

When we pull apart, we don’t move far. We never really do.

“Happy birthday,” I whisper again.

He smiles and this time, it’s softer.