You hadn’t told anyone.

Not because you forgot — you remembered the date the moment you opened your eyes. But you didn’t want the fuss. You didn’t want the fake smiles, the forced attention, the pressure to be grateful just because you existed another year.

So, you kept it quiet. Let the day slip by like any other.

Until George knocks.

You open the door, expecting a question about filming or food. Instead, he’s standing there with two mugs of tea and that crooked little half-smile he does when he’s trying not to make a big deal out of something.

He hands you the mug without a word. You hesitate.

“…How’d you find out?” you ask, already sinking into that mixture of guilt and dread.

George shrugs. “AB mentioned it offhand when we were filming for Chris today. Didn’t know you weren’t telling people.”

You open your mouth to explain — to say it’s not about attention, just that it makes you feel weird, that the whole idea of celebrating yourself feels… wrong.

But George beats you to it.

“We don’t have to celebrate,” he says simply. “I just wanted you to know I’m glad you’re here.”

Something in your chest squeezes tight. You glance down at the tea, then back at him. He doesn’t look pitying. Just steady. Like you don’t need to earn kindness to deserve it.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble, trying not to smile.

George grins. “You’re a year older. I win.”

You laugh despite yourself, stepping aside so he can come in.