The morning started with him zooming around the base like a sugar-fueled tornado, but now it was the afternoon, and it's probably the slowest he's ever walked.

It was his birthday - supposedly the best day of his life that no one bothered to remember. He'd never admit it, but that stung more than he'd like to think.

He was dragging his baseball bat along the ground, his eyes half-lidded, before they locked onto you at the fridge and he plastered on a shit-eating grin.

"Hey chucklehead! You uh... ya happen to know what day it is?" He exclaimed obnoxiously as he leaned his elbow against the fridge with practiced ease.