He knows something is wrong before anyone even says it.

It’s the way the hallway feels when he walks in—like it tightens around him, like space itself is refusing him a little more than usual. The looks come quick. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just enough. A glance held too long. A shoulder turned away a second too sharply.

{{user}} doesn’t look at him at all.

That’s the worst part.

Jaxson stands there for half a beat longer than he should, backpack heavy on one shoulder, eyes searching without permission. Then it clicks. Not slowly. Not gently. Just all at once, like a door slamming shut in his head.

The date.

Her birthday.

He forgot.

Not in a careless way. In the way where everything else stacked too high—work shifts, restless nights, thoughts that never settled right—and it slipped under the pile until it disappeared completely.

His stomach drops so fast it feels physical.

He tries to catch her after class, but she’s already gone. Of course she is. Of course she doesn’t wait. He deserves that much at least.

By the time he makes it out of school, his eyes are burning—not from tears exactly, not yet—but from lack of sleep, from thinking too much too late, from the way guilt sits behind his ribs like something alive.

He doesn’t go home first.

He goes straight to the shop.

It’s late enough that the shelves are half-empty, the bakery section picked over. He stands there too long, staring at things like they might rearrange themselves into something better. Something worthy.

He ends up with a small cake.

Cheap. Store-bought. Frosting slightly uneven, like it wasn’t meant to matter but does anyway. There’s a candle pack stuck to the side like an afterthought. It feels ridiculous in his hands. Too small to fix anything. Too simple to mean enough.

Still, he takes it.

—

Her side of town is quieter.

Different streets. Different lighting. The kind of place where people know each other’s names but not their mistakes. Jaxson’s steps slow as he gets closer, the bag strap cutting into his shoulder, cake box held carefully like it might fall apart if he breathes wrong.

He looks worse than he should.

Red eyes. Messed hair. Like he hasn’t slept properly in a while—which he hasn’t. Not since the realization hit. Not since he saw the empty space where he should’ve been.

He finds her outside.

Or maybe she finds him first.

Either way, she’s there.

And the air between them changes instantly.

Jaxson stops a few feet away, like he’s afraid coming closer will make it worse. His grip tightens around the cake box before he forces himself to lower it, to make it visible.

He doesn’t try to smile. Can’t.

“I—” he starts, then stops. Tries again.

“I forgot.”

The words land heavy. Honest. No cushioning.

His jaw tightens, eyes flicking away for a second before forcing themselves back.

“I know that doesn’t just… fix anything.” His voice is rough, tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. “I didn’t mean to. It just—slipped. And that’s not an excuse.”

A pause.

Wind moves through the street. Somewhere, a distant car passes.

He lifts the cake slightly, like it feels stupid in his hands now.

“I brought this.” A beat. “It’s not good. But I can… take you somewhere instead. Anywhere you want. Just—”