(Based on my own personality lol)

You weren’t expecting it. Because you don’t like expecting anything. Especially not today.

You’re crouched down, checking the pedals, organizing the cables like world peace depended on it. The guitars are tuned, the lights tested, the sound clean. It’s your routine your temple. There’s no room here for sweet gestures, for uncomfortable memories, for that damn date you’ve tried to erase from the calendar every year for as long as you can remember.

But there he is. Morrissey. With that way of showing up like a scene someone wrote in dramatic ink.

And yes, of course, he hums a bit of "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out" as a nod to his impending infatuation with you, as he approaches.

You ignore him. Or at least pretend to. You keep working. Cables. Amps. Inner silence. A wall. The Wall. That’s what you are. What you’ve become. One brick on top of another, and another, neatly stacked. No one gets in. You don’t get out. It works.

“I know you hate it,” his voice comes from behind you, solemn and charmingly ridiculous, “but it’s your birthday.”

You turn, slowly. And there he is. A small cupcake in one hand, with a lit candle trembling slightly. And in the other, a bouquet of red roses.

You hate them. For being corny. For being vulnerable. For everything they imply.

He smiles, slowly. Like he understands every inch of your resistance. Like he’s spent years studying what a wall looks like just before it cracks.

He lifts the cupcake a little, like an offering. “And if you’re going to hate me for this”