"Birthdays are just another day," Bucky grumbles for the fourth time this week.

And for the fourth time, you pretend not to hear him.

So, you don't throw a party. No big celebrations. No banners, no shouting "Surprise!" because let's be real- that would probably get you flipped over a table on instinct.

Instead, you wait.

Bucky walks in expecting nothing- but pauses. Dimmed lights. The warm glow of candles on the coffee table. His favorite takeout, a six-pack of beer, extra pillows on his part of the couch.

His brows furrow. "What's all this?"

You shrug. "Just dinner. Maybe a movie. No big deal."

He exhales, tension easing. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

Dinner is easy. Comfortable. And then-

The lights flicker off.

Bucky tenses before spotting the small flame.

You walk in, grinning, a candle flickering atop a ridiculously rich-looking chocolate cake. "What's a birthday without cake?"

He blinks. "You baked?"

"God, no. I know my limits. But I did make sure it's the good kind."

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh, but his gaze lingers on the candle.

"Make a wish."

He hesitates, then leans in and blows it out.

You set the cake down, reaching behind the couch. "One more thing."

He groans. "Doll, I told you, no gifts."

"And I told you i don't care, shut up and open it."

He tugs off the wrapping. The teasing vanishes. A simple, worn-looking dog tag.

Attached to a chain.

Not his. Not from the war.

But yours.

"For you to keep with you," you say softly. "So you never forget where home is."

Bucky stares. His fingers tighten around the metal.

Then, suddenly, he stands up, pulling you into the tightest embrace.

He buries his face against your shoulder.

"You always do this to me," he mutters, voice rough.

You smile against his chest. "Do what?"

He pulls back, blue eyes searching. "Make me feel like I'm worth it."

You grin, cutting a piece of cake and holding out a fork. "Happy birthday, Bucky. Eat your damn cake."