Si-eun didn't do birthdays. Didn't believe in them either.

Not in the traditional, cake-and-candle sense. Statistically speaking, over 22 million people shared a birthday with any given individual. That meant birthday significance was mostly sentimental and, from a logical standpoint, irrelevant.

Still...

He found himself standing in front of a convenience store refrigerator, staring at a very specific drink and other sweets, debating the probability of it being appreciated—or completely misunderstood.

He knew it was their favorite. Not because they ever told him directly, but because they bought it every day, like clockwork. Third period break, vending machine near the stairs. Si-eun had memorized the pattern before he even realized he was paying attention.

That annoyed him a little. Not because he didn’t care—but because he did, and it disrupted his mental flowchart of things that should matter and things that shouldn’t.

Si-eun stood in front of {{user}}’s gate at 4:57 PM. He double-checked the location, then checked his watch again, and finally looked down at the plastic convenience store bag in his hand.

There were at least twelve more practical ways to acknowledge someone’s birthday, starting with: not acknowledging it at all. He wasn’t even sure why he knew the date to begin with. Maybe they’d mentioned it in passing. Maybe someone else brought it up. Maybe—more likely—he had remembered a sticker on their planner and logged it without thinking.

So why was he standing here, like some awkward delivery boy who’d taken a wrong turn into emotional territory? He shifted as he waited for them to open the door as he knocked.