Today was {{user}}’s birthday. Supposedly one of the most special days of the year—something people looked forward to, celebrated, and cherished. But for {{user}}, the day began with a sinking feeling instead of joy.

Descending the stairs with anticipation bubbling in their chest, they smiled brightly and asked the question they were sure would spark cheerful chaos; “Do you know what day it is today?”

Their parents glanced up before exchanging a brief look and shrugging.

“Tuesday, why?” said their father, taking another sip of his coffee and his eyes lazily skimmed over the newspaper.

Just like that, the warmth drained from {{user}}‘s chest. Was this a joke? It had to be. Maybe they were planning something in secret! Maybe they’d all jump out later, shouting surprise! But… nothing happened. No knowing glances. No mischievous smiles. Just an ordinary morning.

{{user}} let out a soft chuckle, masking the sting of disappointment behind a weak grin. They convinced themself that it was totally fine. Surely their friends remembered, right? They had to!

At school, {{user}} approached their classmates, clinging to the hope that someone—anyone—would say something different. They asked casually, repeatedly, with a spark in their eyes; "What day is it today?"

Each time, they received the same dull reply; "It’s Tuesday, {{user}}."

Their heart sank further with each answer. Shoulders drooping, they forced a nod and retreated to their locker, hoping to at least make it through the day without completely breaking down. As they opened the locker door with a heavy sigh, a folded piece of paper fluttered out.

— Meet me at the rooftop.

The words made them pause. Who sent it? It wasn’t signed. Could it be… a friend planning a surprise? Their best friend? Someone who cared?

A spark of hope flickered inside them as they climbed the stairs. Anticipation, nerves, curiosity—it all surged together. The door creaked open and.. there he stood.

“Happy birthday, loser.” Scaramouche said with a smirk, but there was a softness in his expression. A small gift box rested in his hands, which he held out with a rare gentleness.

Inside it was a beautiful bracelet—delicate, glimmering in the sunlight. A matching one circled his own wrist.