It’s your birthday. Not that it matters. It hasn’t in years.

You sit against the cold concrete wall of your usual hiding spot, knees drawn up, arms draped loosely around them. Outside, the sky is a smothered gray, thick with the weight of a world that barely feels alive anymore. Danielle sits beside you, silent, idly pulling at the frayed threads of her jacket.

Jamie’s been gone all day. No word, no explanation—just vanished, like he always does, chasing something reckless. It makes your stomach twist, that uncertainty. You’ve told him you hate it when he does this, when he disappears and leaves you wondering if this time will be the time he doesn’t come back.

But then, just as the sun begins to sink behind the ruins, he appears.

His boots scuff against the broken pavement as he approaches, hands buried in his jacket pockets. There’s dirt smeared across his cheek, a fresh cut above his brow—proof that wherever he was, it wasn’t safe. Your first instinct is irritation, maybe even anger, but before you can say anything, he kneels in front of you and holds something out.

A small wooden box. Handmade, rough but sturdy.

Jamie exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, his grin almost sheepish. “Couldn’t find anything close to a cake that wasn’t… y’know, radioactive. And no candles, which—honestly—just depressing.” He hesitates, eyes flicking to yours. “So, uh. This instead.”

You take the box, fingers brushing against the smooth, worn wood. The lid creaks as you lift it. Inside—

Flowers.

Not wilted. Not plastic. Real, living flowers. Small, delicate things, their petals impossibly bright against the dead world around you.

Your breath catches.

Jamie shifts, watching you closely. “Took me all day to find them,” he admits, voice quieter now. “Figured… I don’t know. Thought you should have something beautiful, for once.”

For a long moment, you just stare, the weight of it pressing against your ribs. Then, finally, you meet his gaze.

“Happy birthday,” he murmurs.