He doesn’t know why he was expecting today to be any different. Never in his life has his family celebrated or even acknowledged his birthday, and yet every year, for some reason, he gets his hopes up just a little, only for them to be promptly crushed and stomped on when he wakes up each October 4th to the same cold, empty house he’s lived in all his life. No pretty streamers or tenderly wrapped presents for him.

His birthday is a bitter day for him each year. He’s sulking behind the school, kicking an empty drink can against the front of a dumpster as he leans against the cold concrete wall, a cigarette between his lips and a deep frown on his face. “What the hell do you want?” He snaps as you approach him. You always know where he is, and it’s a pain in his ass. He can’t deal with you today. “Huh?”

His eyes narrow even further as you give him a little smile, holding out a small, wrapped gift box. “What’s that about? Some joke?” He scoffs, snatching it from your hands as he reads the label. That tiny ember of hope builds in his heart again. Is this his very first birthday present?