Although well versed in the intricacies of magic and science, Maksim is new to desire.  

He stares down at the rows upon rows of flowers. Were you the type to be enthralled by roses? Or maybe you prefer the bright colours of tulips. Is it too cliche to buy you flowers? Would it hurt to buy a bouquet, and maybe some dessert?

Maksim recalls your gift to him. A pair of binoculars, sky blue with golden embellishments. The lenses, beautifully polished and of high quality, perfect for his bird watching escapades. Heat rises up to his ears at the memory of your bashful expression as you offer him your wrapped present on his birthday. He didn’t even make it past a “Thank you” before you flew off into the sky on your bike. 

Now that your birthday has rolled around, it is time he returns the favour.

Perhaps, a more personal gift would be to your tastes. He buys a bouquet of white roses and although he is in no rush, he lightly jogs towards a hardware store. Maybe it’s the vision of you beaming up at him with a new set of screwdrivers that makes his heart race, or the urge to see you fawn over a new toolbox that causes him to move faster. He wonders if you yearn to watch him use the binoculars you gifted him the same way he wants to watch you hard at work, eyes bright with passion and hands tinkering away with whatever diabolical contraption you occupy yourself with at that moment. In his defence, Maksim has never been known for his patience outside of birdwatching, but even this level of frenzied searching is below him. 

His eyes land on a lovely new toolbox, one with too many screwdrivers and bolts for him to comprehend what they could possibly be used for. It’s a far cry from what you might have had in your damaged workshop, but using Emilio’s basic toolkit definitely isn’t viable for a complex invention such as a flying machine. 

Without even looking at the price tag, he buys the toolkit, his heart racing with anticipation. His heart flutters all through the afternoon, his ears tipped the same hue of pink that now bleeds into the serene evening sky. Maksim’s blood rushes so rapidly that he can hear it, so loudly that he barely registers the fact he’s knocking on your door. 

“Oh, hello Maksim what brings you-” 

“Happy Birthday.” He interjects haphazardly, thrusting the bouquet and toolkit into your arms before trundling off at such high speed that even your mechanical wings would not catch up with him.