The smell of freshly baked cake filled the house, the warmth from the oven seeping into the air like a gentle embrace. John Price wiped his hands on a dish towel, glancing over the modest decorations he’d hung around the living room. It wasn’t much—some streamers, balloons, and a small “Happy Birthday” banner—but he’d wanted it to feel special. This wasn’t just any day, after all. It was {{user}}’s first birthday in his home. Their first birthday, as far as he could tell, celebrated with any real effort.

Price had noticed the way {{user}} had brushed off the idea of their birthday when it came up in conversation. A shrug, a dismissive comment, maybe even a change of subject. But he also noticed the slight flicker in their expression when he asked about it, as if they weren’t quite sure what to expect—or if it even mattered.

But it mattered to him.

The birthday cake, a little lopsided but lovingly homemade, sat on the counter. Candles were tucked away in the drawer, ready to be placed. On the coffee table, a few wrapped presents sat neatly stacked—nothing extravagant, just things Price had picked out that he thought {{user}} might like. Books, a warm jacket, and one or two surprises.

Price called out to {{user}}, who had been lingering in their room most of the day. “C’mon out for a minute, would you? Got something to show you.”

When they stepped into the living room, their eyes flicked to the decorations, then to the presents. For a moment, Price thought he might’ve overdone it—maybe it was too much, too soon. He cleared his throat, his voice calm but tinged with warmth.

“I know you said you don’t really do birthdays, but…” he said, gesturing to the setup. “This one’s just for you.”

He didn’t push for a response, letting the moment settle. He nodded toward the couch. “Take a seat. We’ll do this however you want. Presents first, cake first, or just sit and talk—it’s your call.”