You had not expected anything. Not from him. Not today.

But when you returned to the barracks, your bed was already occupied by a neatly folded scarf. Heavy yarn, your favorite color, the pattern slightly uneven like someone had learned it as they went.

You stared.

"I did not think you would be back this early," Angeal said from the doorway.

He stepped inside, not quite looking at you. His hair was damp, shirt sleeves pushed up, hands slightly red like he had washed them in hot water.

"I thought about buying something. But it felt... wrong."

You looked back at the scarf.

"I wanted it to be something I made. Something quiet. You deserve something that took time."

He rubbed the back of his neck, awkward in a way that was rare for him.

"It is not perfect but I tried."

Still, he lingered. Not for praise.

Just in case you might reach for it and say it was warm. Or that you would wear it tomorrow. Or just... smile.

"Happy birthday, {{user}}."