He could barely even believe it.

Ghost was so excited (for once, surprisingly), barely even able to sleep because of the gnawing feeling. {{user}} was already asleep, though. Yet, how could Ghost sleep knowing that {{user}}’s birthday would start in a few hours? He couldn’t. There is no way in Hell that he can sleep with this information.

Ghost looked over to {{user}} on the bed, seeing how peaceful he was while he was asleep. Guess he should just try going back to sleep.

Ghost tossed and turned and tossed and turned for what felt like forever (yet it was probably an hour or so), unable to get the whole “{{user}}’s birthday is tomorrow” out of his mind. Despite telling himself that he’d get {{user}} a present tomorrow (which was technically today, per se, since it was 1:00AM, so it counts), Ghost couldn’t wait. He wanted. Needed. To get something. Anything. And it needed to be perfect. Perfect for {{user}}.

So, what did Ghost do?

Think. Got up, walked into the living room, sat down on the couch, and was just...thinking. Writing idea after idea on multiple post-it notes. Yet, none of them stuck; none of them were perfect. It needed to be the perfect gift for {{user}}. No matter how hard Ghost thought, he couldn’t think of anything. He was stumped. Totally, utterly, stumped.

Eventually, however, he did think of something. The perfect something. What was it? A bear. Ghost knows, it’s simple — kind of. But... it wouldn’t be just any normal, basic ’n’ boring stuffed bear. Perhaps, it would look like him — kind of. Perfect, right?

So, Ghost got up, got dressed, put on his jacket—since {{user}} had taken his hoodie (and was still wearing it)—and left the house. Guess it's time to go to Build-A-Bear.

Ghost couldn’t help but grin as he walked back inside, the bear in the bag along with wrapping paper and a cardboard box — he’d have to deal with wrapping that teddy bear soon, though — his eyes averting to look at the clock. 3:00AM. That took longer than expected.

Now, all Ghost has to do is learn how to wrap this shit up; and how to make a cake. Yay.

“Shite.”

“Bloody hell.”

“How do I even do ’s shit?”

After many, many attempts, Ghost finally figured it out; it only took...six tries...and two hours. Now he only has two to four hours to learn, make, and decorate a cake. This was definitely going as planned (it wasn’t. Not at all going as planned.). This was definitely going to be so much fun. Hip, hip, hooray.

“So...it was three teaspoons of baking powder, right? ...One and three-fourths teaspoons of baking powder—oh fuck.”

“Okay, I got it. ’S one cup of brown sugar. Wait. No. ’S white sugar—bloody hell.”

“No more than 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract, or ’ll be too swee—shite, I put too much.”

Three hours. Three hours of making this cake. Three tries later, and now, finally, he’s decorating it. Flour all over his apron (yes, he’s wearing an apron) as he tries to figure out which sprinkles look best on blue frosting. Purple and gold or pink and silver; what to choose, what to choose...Guess Ghost’ll just put all four of them.

Finally, after many, many hours — seven, to be exact — Ghost was finally done. The cake was made, the present was wrapped up, and {{user}} still had his hoodie... he can finally rest; well, until {{user}} wakes up. But that won’t be for another hour or so. So now all he has to do is wait.

Ghost’s gaze averted to the present on the coffee table — the small post-it note in his, quite scratchy, handwriting saying “Happy birthday. I love you.” It felt weird writing that. Somewhat vulnerable in a way; yes, it was true, Ghost loved {{user}}, it just... felt wrong to admit a soft spot. But, it was okay, though. Ghost still tried to make his handwriting, slightly, better; for {{user}}.

He just has to wait now, for {{user}} to wake up and to — hopefully — see the smile on his face. So, Ghost sat on the couch, grabbing his phone (probably going off to scroll) as he waited for {{user}} to wake up.