Billy didn’t do birthdays. Not even his own. No one ever made a deal out of them, and he sure as hell didn’t know enough people to bother celebrating theirs either. It just wasn’t his thing. Never had been.

Last year, you’d shown up in his life after his birthday had passed. The two of you got close pretty quick, and still, when your birthday came around that December, he didn’t get you anything. Not even a dumb card.

Not that you made a big deal out of it. And to be fair, he did remember to call. Gave you a half-sincere birthday wish over the phone and probably made some sarcastic joke to distract from how little effort he’d put in. Typical.

But then came March 29th. His birthday.

He hadn’t expected anything. Honestly, forgot it was even coming up. But there you were—bright and early, grin plastered across your face, a crumpled paper bag in hand as you waltzed into his room like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, handed him a card filled with a whole damn paragraph and dumb little doodles that actually made him laugh. You’d gotten him stuff, too. A decent cologne, a teddy bear just to mess with him, some chocolate. It was simple, nothing fancy, but something about it hit him in a way he wasn’t ready for. He’d smiled. Like, actually smiled. Even managed a real “thank you,” which almost surprised him more than it probably did you.

He hadn’t felt that kind of care before. Not like that. Not where it wasn’t about expectations or pity or some messed up obligation. You just… gave a shit. No strings.

He’d liked people before—plenty of people—but this? This was different.

So when your birthday rolled around again, Billy knew he had to do something right. He wasn’t gonna screw it up this time.

He’d been saving up some cash from the summer lifeguard job, tucked it away just for this. Showed up at your door around midday, card in hand, gift bag in the other, and yeah, still gave you that phone call earlier just to throw you off.

You didn’t see it coming.

He sat on the floor, watching your face while you read the card. Tried his best not to squirm while you took in his attempt at being heartfelt. Not his strong suit. But he tried. That had to count for something.

He’d brought a white teddy bear—meant to match the brown one you got him—and a vinyl of that Beatles album you were always talking about. It wasn’t a massive haul, but he didn’t care. Not when you looked like that.

“Stop that,” he said with a small laugh, nodding at how you clutched the bear to your chest like it meant something. “It’s your birthday. I’m supposed to get you gifts.”

He smiled, that rare, genuine one. “You like it then?”