The sun is too bright. The duvet is too warm. The rustle of the pillowcase when Sunny moves her head is too loud. Ugh. How much did she have to drink last night? She can't remember. And why do her hands hurt so much? That she has a vague recollection of: drunken skipping; flesh meeting pavement; Viv cleaning her up. The memory is comfort and warmth and light, even as she thinks of the sting and the ache and the pain.

When Sunny peels her eyes open on the morning of her twenty-fifth birthday, her mouth is dry and her head is pounding and everything hurts. Her scuffed knees are aching and her palms are throbbing and it feels like her brain is trying to squeeze out through her eyes. It takes every ounce of effort to roll over, away from the light and towards Viv. Except Viv isn't there. Her side of the bed is empty. Through one squinted eye, Sunny can see through the crack in the door that opens onto the sitting room; she can see the shadow cast by the morning sun as Viv moves about in the kitchen.

A few minutes pass before Viv comes in with two steaming mugs and a couple of paracetamol and she gives Sunny a pity-filled head tilt as she sets one of the mugs on the bedside table and says, "Happy birthday, bambi. How did I know you'd be feeling a little worse for wear this morning?"

Sunny grunts in response. She takes the paracetamol with a swig of room temperature water from the glass by her bed, and she manages to sit up, rubbing her head with the side of her hand before she takes her first sip of coffee. It's perfect. She wants to devour the entire cup, something warm and comforting to fill her empty stomach.

"How come you don't look like you feel as rough as I feel?" she asks, her voice scratchy.

Viv chuckles behind the mug she's holding in front of her mouth, her breath rippling the steam that rises from the coffee. "The art," she says, "is to stick to one drink. I only had vodka-based cocktails all night. You, on the other hand..."

Sunny sifts through the blurry memories of last night. So many drinks. Stealing sips from her friends. Accepting whatever was pushed into her hand. "Yeah, I don't think I did that," she says. Viv's grinning.

"No, bambi," she says, her arm sliding around Sunny's shoulders. "No, you didn't. But it's okay – we've got all day to hang out and recover and celebrate how ancient you are now."

Twenty-five. Sunny can't believe it. A month ago – to her, at least – she was a single twenty-three-year-old living in a cramped flat with her friend. Now, somehow, she's twenty-fucking-five and she has a girlfriend and a beautiful new home, and a cat who makes herself known with a long meow as she jumps onto the bed and stretches. Sunny buries her fingers in Britney's soft fur, scratching between her ears and under her chin until she's purring louder than a truck on the motorway.

"So," Viv says, sipping her coffee, "seeing as you're a bit delicate this morning, how about I run you a bubble bath so you can recover before presents?"

"Presents?" Sunny tears her eyes from her mug to her girlfriend, who laughs.

"Yes," Viv says, light dancing in her irises. "It's your birthday, Sunny. You think I wouldn't get you presents?" She puts her hand over Sunny's. "I know the last month has been strange, but you're still my girlfriend. You're still the woman I've loved for the last year, which means I get to shower you in adoration on your twenty-fifth birthday."

Sunny keeps having to remind herself that Viv knows her so much better, so much more intimately, than she realises or remembers. "Did you get presents before the whole, you know ... situation?" she asks, impressed with how on top of things Viv must be to have bought birthday presents a whole month in advance, but Viv shakes her head.

"No, I'm not that organised," she says. "I know this isn't a normal birthday. I know it's weird for you." Her fingers curl around Sunny's hand. She lifts it to her mouth, pressing her lips to the backs of Sunny's fingers. It tickles. Sunny likes the sensation, the heat of Viv's coffee-warm lips, Viv's nose pressing into the dent between her knuckles. "I put together a few things that I thought might help."

"Thank you," Sunny murmurs. The coffee and the paracetamol are already helping her hangover, or perhaps it's the swell of love rushing around her body, searching for Viv. If her heart had hands, they'd be bursting through her chest, reaching through her ribs to pull Viv close. But her heart stays in its place, so Sunny uses her own hands (one of which is still holding her coffee) to wrap Viv in a hug. She lets herself be overwhelmed with the newfound familiarity of these sensations – the smell of Viv's hair; the curve of her neck; the way their bodies fit together like they were made to meet – and closes her eyes as she sighs into Viv's curls.

"A bath would be great," she says after a moment. She doesn't have a bath in the flat she has shared up until now with Fenfen; she only gets the luxury of a tub when she goes home to her parents, or occasionally when she crashes at Delilah's flat.

Ten minutes later, the bathroom is filled with lavender-scented steam, the bath filled as deep as it can get with hot purple water and a mountain of fluffy bubbles, and a candle is flickering on the windowsill in a jar that says relax. A fluffy bath robe is hanging on the door, plenty of shampoo and conditioner and body gel and soap as well as a full glass of cold water lined up along the ledge between the bath and the wall beneath the window, overlooking the private gardens behind Seville Crescent. Sunny strips out of her pyjamas, dropping them into the half empty hamper by the door, and lets out a contented groan as she lowers herself into the soapy bath, the bubbles popping against her skin as she sinks under the water.

It's heaven in here. Viv has thought of everything. The blinds are pulled halfway down so the morning light isn't too bright, though the sun is on the other side of the building at this time of day, and Sunny drains half of the water in one long, thirsty gulp. She lets herself slip under the water until only her nose breaks the surface, the hot water soothing her head as its ache slides under the radar.

It's probably a full hour that she spends in there, focused on her breathing and on trying to empty her mind of thoughts so her headache will slip away. It does, eventually. By the time the bath water has cooled to lukewarm and Sunny has finished her glass of water (as well as drinking straight from the cold tap with her ears underwater, something she has loved to do ever since she was a child), she is feeling a lot better. Far more human. Far more ready to celebrate her birthday, even if she's not emotionally ready to be twenty-five yet.

It sounds like such a big age. She knows that, in the grand panoply of life, twenty-five is nothing. She is only seven years into adulthood, and seven is such a small number. Yes, she may be a quarter of a century old but really, she's just a seven-year-old adult. That makes her feel better as she dunks her head one last time, washing out the conditioner in her hair, and pulls the plug. She waits until there's only an inch of purple water left in the tub before she gets out, skin prickling at the lack of heat as she crosses the room and wraps the fluffy towel robe around herself.

Viv is in the kitchen, the table laid with two plates, two more coffees, two glasses of orange juice. She has made eggy bread and bacon and the smell sends Sunny's stomach into a rumbling spiral as she realises how hungry she is, gurgling loud enough for Viv to hear. She laughs that pretty laugh that makes Sunny's ears so happy.

"Feeling better?"

"Much," Sunny says, tying the robe's belt around her waist and pulling out a chair. It's her birthday, she doesn't need to get dressed for breakfast, she reckons. Viv certainly isn't complaining – she gives Sunny a soft smile as she appraises her, her sock-covered toes reaching out to brush Sunny's calf. Sunny leans into the touch, her body unconsciously yearning for closeness to Viv.

Once they've eaten – Britney too, guzzling a sachet of kitten food and lapping from a bowl of cat milk – and Sunny's dressed, in a pair of three quarter length leggings and a slouchy hoodie with sleeves that come halfway down her hands, Viv leads her to the sofa and sits her down. She sits opposite, perched on the edge of the coffee table with a gift bag at her side that seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

"It's nothing big," she says, one hand up as though in warning.

"I really wasn't expecting anything," Sunny says. Viv rolls her eyes and picks up the bag, holding it out.

"I would never get you nothing, Sunny."

Sunny takes the bag from Viv's outstretched hand, but Viv doesn't let go.

"It's kind of a cheat of a present," Viv says, "because, well, most of it is stuff you already have or you already know about. Stuff we've shared since we got together."

"Stuff I've forgotten?" Sunny asks. Viv nods.

"I thought it could be nice," she says. "You know, to kind of revisit the last fourteen months through my eyes, through the things we did and heard and saw together, but if it's too much or it's upsetting, there's absolutely no need."

Her grip on the bag loosens and Sunny pulls it onto her lap, a surprising weight to it. Ever since she found herself here, she's been meaning to indulge herself in the things she missed but she hasn't got around to it yet. This is perfect. She's so touched by Viv's thoughtfulness, overwhelmed by the fact that here is someone who loves her so fucking much that she has thrown herself onboard this crazy ship and promised to stick around, wherever it's heading.

The first thing Sunny pulls out of the bag is a slim CD case with a handwritten tracklist on the back, some artists she recognises from the compilation CDs she found and some that aren't familiar.

"These," Viv says, "are some of the songs you've been driving me mad with over the last year."

"This is so thoughtful," Sunny murmurs as she reads through each of the songs written in Viv's perfect handwriting, each letter smooth and precise and uniform.

"I have to admit that I got Ravi to help me put it together. This"—she gestures at the CD—"is not my forte. I had no idea how to burn songs onto a blank disc."

There are thirteen songs on the CD. Sunny traces the top of her index finger over each one as she reads through them: Bring it All back by S Club 7. Californication by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Why Does It Always Rain on Me by Travis. She's the One by Robbie Williams. Livin La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin. Mambo No. 5 (A Little Bit) by Lou Bega. Sex Bomb by Tom Jones. My Name Is by Eminem. All the Small Things by Blink-182. Say My Name by Destiny's Child. Bye Bye Bye by NSYNC. Seven by David Bowie.

When she gets to the last song on the tracklist is when her jaw drops. She's been so distracted recently that even though it's not that long since Delilah was over here, helping her sift through things, it had slipped her mind. "I forgot he had a new album."

"Yeah." Viv's smile slowly grows. "You were literally bouncing with excitement when Hours came out last year," she says, her hand buried in Britney's scruff when the kitten jumps onto her lap.

"I found the CD in my old flat," Sunny says, surprising herself with how easily she has transitioned to thinking of Juniper Court as her old place, how easily this has become her home. She holds up the case in her hand and asks, "Can I put this on?"

Viv chuckles and rolls her eyes and says, "Of course. You think I'd get a CD of your favourite songs of the last year burned for you and then not let you put it on?"

Sunny hops across the room to eject the current CD – not David Bowie's latest but Fleetwood Mac's Rumours – and finds its case before slotting in the disc Viv has put together for her.

"It's a bit of a genre mash," Viv warns as Sunny turns the volume up and dances across the sitting room as the upbeat sound of S Club 7 pours out of the speakers. "I see you're over your hangover."

"You've successfully lured me from the pit of last night's drunkenness with all your TLC," she says, grinning as she boogies to the song. Viv, she now knows, is very adept when it comes to tender loving care.

"Oh! Damn it!" Viv cries out. Sunny abruptly stops dancing.

"What?"

"TLC brought out a new album too. I forgot to put No Scrubs on there," Viv says with a huff and a frown. Sunny shimmies over to her and plants her sore hands on her girlfriend's shoulders.

"This is more than enough," she says, leaning forward to press her lips to Viv's.

"There's more in that bag, you know," Viv says, her nose touching Sunny's.

"I know," Sunny says, her fingers playing with the ends of Viv's curls for a moment, before she sinks back onto the sofa and bobs her head to the music as she pulls out the next item. At first it seems like a thick book until she realises it's a photo album, each slippery plastic leaf holding a different four by six picture that has been taken since February, 1999.

The first one is a photo of the two of them that looks like it was taken by Viv, her arm stretched out into the corner of the picture, both of them brown-haired and beaming. Sunny's about to flip through each photo, until she turns the page and sees that there's writing on the back.

"I did my best," Viv says. "Some of the dates might not be exact, but..."

Her words fade away as Sunny reads the inscription on the back of the picture: February 1999, our second date – this is about a week after we met. We had just spent about four hours at the cafe and I could tell you were itching to get moving but neither of us wanted to separate so we walked all around town, up towards the university. The sun showed its face for all of two minutes, when I took this picture of us.

Sunny looks up. "Have you written on the back of every single photo?" she asks, as she leafs through and sees that yes, Viv has done exactly that. "Viv. There must be a hundred pictures in here!"

"A hundred and twenty." A coy smile blooms. "I have a lot of free time in the evenings when you're at work."

"I can't believe you've done this." The album falls open to a much later photo, one that must've been taken shortly before Sunny woke up in this life because her hair is the purple it is now; she's balancing on one of the groynes that stretch out into the North Sea, the wind whipping her hair as she blows a kiss to the camera.

On the back of the photo, it says: 6th April 2000. It was a ridiculously windy day and you dragged me to the beach on my lunch break. You nearly broke your ankles running across the stones and you fell into the sea approximately thirty seconds after I took this photo. (Yes, I warned you that would happen.) You laughed it off even as your lips were turning blue. Somehow it made me love you even more.

Viv peers over to see which photo Sunny's looking at and she says, "You've been a liability for as long as I've known you."

"It might as well be my middle name." Sunny shivers at the thought of falling into the sea fully clothed on what looks like a wet and chilly day.

"You insisted on walking home and I spent the rest of my shift worrying you were going to get hypothermia."

"Nah. Shelley women are made of strong stuff." Sunny flexes an arm. Her girlfriend raises an eyebrow at her.

"Do Shelley women routinely fall into eight degree water while wearing jeans and then walk twenty minutes home in soaking, freezing clothes?"

"I'll check with my mothers."

They spend the next hour poring over the photos, Sunny touched by Viv's memories, all the moments she has captured, while Viv recounts each one in even more detail. The next item in the bag is a stack of well-thumbed books tied together with a ribbon, the note on top telling Sunny that these are a few of the books she has loved in the last year, books that she now has the chance to read again for the first time. Bridget Jones' Diary; Holes; Tuesdays with Morrie; Carol; Tipping the Velvet; The Secret History. Sunny sifts through these unfamiliar stories, baffled that these are tales she has devoured and loved and she has no recollection.

There's one more present at the bottom of the bag. Sunny takes out the wrapped square with a knowing smile. "I think I know what this could be," she says, holding it up against the case for the homemade mixtape. They're the same size. "More music?"

"You'll see." Viv winks. Sunny tears off the paper and lets out a shriek that startles Britney, her head snapping up and her ears jerking to attention.

"Oh my god!" Sunny cries. "When did this come out?"

"Earlier this week," Viv says, grinning at Sunny's reaction to Britney Spears' latest CD. Forty-eight minutes of new Britney, thirteen songs Sunny hasn't heard yet.

"Holy shit!" The mixtape came to an end a while ago; Sunny leaps across the room to switch it out for Oops!... I Did it Again, and she can hardly contain her excitement as the title track starts, as she gets to hear this album for the first time. The real first time. Even in another life, she hasn't heard these songs before, a thought that hits her surprisingly hard. This is something new, something that belongs only to this life, something the black hole didn't get to steal.

By the time the album comes to the end for the first time, once she has inhaled each and every one of Britney's new songs, Sunny is exhausted all over again and she flops onto the sofa with a happy sigh. It's only one o'clock and she hasn't left the flat, but she thinks this might be one of the best birthdays she's had. At least as an adult, when birthdays started to feel like a different kind of beast.

At one fifteen, the phone rings and Sunny's closest so she picks it up and the moment she says, "Hello?" in a guarded kind of way (she hasn't lived here long, after all, and she still doesn't know all of the people who might call Viv - god, what if it's her dad?!), she almost loses an eardrum to the cacophonous noise of her mothers singing happy birthday straight into her ear. Martha and Sylvia are an immensely talented pair of women, but singing comes naturally to neither of them. It's a terrible, unharmonious noise that causes actual pain, but Sunny loves it (now that her hangover headache is gone, at least) and grins throughout the song.

"We thought you probably went out with your friends last night and you wouldn't appreciate us calling in the morning," Martha says, assuming correctly. "Happy birthday, Sunny, honey. I can't believe you're twenty-five already!"

"Me neither," Sunny says with a dry laugh.

"A whole quarter of a century," Sylvia muses into the phone.

"Ugh, let's not put it like that," Sunny says. She wonders if perhaps all of this, the last month or so, is some kind of bizarre quarter life crisis, a subconscious rebellion against being halfway through her twenties.

"What time should we expect you?" Martha asks. "I know we usually do birthday lunch but considering the time, would supper suit better?"

All Sunny can say is, "Huh?"

She scans her recent conversations with her parents, searching for one where the topic of seeing them today has come up but she can't find one and she's starting to panic that she's forgetting even things she has lived through when her mother interrupts her train of thought.

"I know it's been a while since we talked about your birthday," Sylvia says. "If you have better things going on than hanging out with your poor old mums, we completely understand, but you know you and Viv are more than welcome if you want to come over for a bite to eat tonight."

Sunny looks to Viv, who is sitting close enough that she can hear the whole conversation, and raises her eyebrows. Viv shrugs her shoulder and her lips as if to say it's up to you, babe, today's your day, and as much as Sunny wishes someone else would make the decision for her, she takes a moment to think about what she wants to do today. As far as she's aware, she has never not seen her parents on her birthday and that's not a tradition she particularly wants to start. Plus, supper with her parents mean neither she nor Viv have to think about what to cook, or spend money on a takeaway.

"How about we come over at six?" Sunny asks. "If that's okay?"

Her parents laugh. Martha says, "Of course it's okay, Sunny. We love to see you any day, but especially your birthday. Especially when it's a glorious Saturday and we're both sitting here reminiscing about this day twenty-five years ago."

Sunny puts a stop to the conversation before her mother can delve into memories of giving birth, with a promise to be there in four hours and forty-five minutes before they exchange love yous and goodbyes and she turns to her girlfriend.

"Oi, you're supposed to be the other half of my memory," she says, poking Viv in the side. "You're supposed to remind me if we've made plans to see my parents on my birthday!"

Viv holds up her hands. "Hey, I can only remind you if I've been clued in in the first place," she says, giving Sunny a pointed look. "Any plans you made to go home today were not shared with me." She drops her hands and snuggles against Sunny, her cheek on her shoulder, and says, "I'm not complaining, though. Your mum is such a good cook."

"Which one?" Sunny asks around a yawn. Viv answers with a laugh. They both know which one. While Martha is excellent at making the perfect cup of coffee and she bakes the most delectable cakes (her lemon drizzle is to die for), those skills don't seem to transfer to savoury cooking. That is strictly Sylvia's domain. Luckily, it's one in which she thrives.

Viv checks the time. "Just over four hours before we need to make a move," she says. "Anything you want to do, birthday girl?"

Sunny thinks. She runs through her mental rolodex of birthdays past, but there's nothing she needs to add to this moment. Right here, right now, with Viv. She shakes her head and leans against her girlfriend with a happy sigh.

"I want to stay right here." Her hands slips into the bag of presents and she pulls out the first book her fingers graze. She doesn't read the blurb on the back before opening the to page one. "Good company and a good book, what more could I want?" She glances at Viv and bats her eyes. "Except maybe ... a good coffee?"

Viv grins and kisses her. "Message received, my heavy-handed little hinter." She gets up and twirls, her hair flying around her. "Your wish, my love, is my command."

*

sorry to be a repetitive bore but i just love viv and sunny so much