Keifer's POv
I run through the morning in my mind. February 10—Jay's birthday. I can't let her feel forgotten, even if the evening party demands my presence.
I pick up my phone again and call my manager
"Listen," I say firmly, "we need a morning setup for Jay. Something special. Make it Snorlax-themed—she loves it. Blue decorations, balloons, the whole works. I want her to wake up and feel like the world exists just for her, even if I can't be there yet."
There's a pause on the other end
"Yes, sir. I'll organize it. Gifts, breakfast, the works," my manager replies.
I exhale, but it doesn't reach the tightness in my chest. I imagine her waking up to see the surprise—the small laugh she can't hold back, the blush on her cheeks, the way her eyes sparkle when something makes her happy.
I want to be the first one she sees. I want to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to hold her close and tell her she's mine. My heart tightens at the thought of not being there the second she wakes, but I know I'll make it perfect.
Even from a distance, I want her to feel my love. Every balloon, every breakfast tray, every tiny Snorlax plush will say what I can't: I love you. You are my everything.
I grab my jacket and pace the office, imagining slipping in beside her as she opens the door. Maybe I'll surprise her with a kiss on her forehead, the one she pretends not to like, and she'll playfully push me away—but I'll hold her anyway.
By the time evening comes, the party will demand my attention. But the morning? That's for her. All of her. Every heartbeat, every smile, every tiny flutter of happiness—she deserves it.
No deal, no business, no distraction is allowed to ruin this.
Because she deserves to feel loved.
And I'll make sure she does—even if I have to plan it down to the last Snorlax balloon… and then be the one she finds waiting with my arms wide open.
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