Birthdays tend to be group events.

Very few people wish to spend it on their own, yet when they do, it serves a grand purpose instead of a reminder that they're forgettable. It's another day for the people within Steve's life, and he has to assume that they don't have a tinge—not even a lick—of a feeling that something is wrong or that someone is missing.

August 8th, 1985. It's Steve's birthday, and he's spending it alone.

He can recall that a few hours earlier, his parents left on a summer vacation, talking about going on a cruise. His mother kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair, while his dad simply loaded suitcases in the back of their car. Without wishing him anything, they pulled out onto the streets of Hawkins and drove away without looking in the rear view mirror to see his hand held in the air and his lips lifted into a wry smile.

A few moments later, Nancy called to wish him a happy birthday; however, she wouldn't be able to come due to making plans with Jonathan.

No other call followed, not even from you, whom he values the most. Not a call, not a wish, not a single damned piece of attention for Steve to cling onto.

It's just another reminder that he's the forgotten son, the lone lamb of the herd.

Here he sits on his couch, his brown eyes focusing on the vanilla cupcake on the coffee table, with one unlit candle stuck into the strawberry frosting. He stares at it unblinking, his vision starting to blur together.

It's only when the doorbell rings that he comes out of his daydreaming with a heavy sigh exhaled through his lips. Honestly—honest to God—he didn't expect to see you on his doorstep, soaked to the bone by the heavy rain. The only thing that remains perfectly dry is the meticulously wrapped gift held under your arm, tucked against your hip.

"What are you doing here?" The words tumble clumsily out of his mouth, making his surprise that much more clear. Not that it was needed; his owlish gaze and tense jaw said it all for him already. "I mean, I thought you were busy?"