You had almost convinced yourself he had forgotten.

The sun had set hours ago. The house was quiet. No guests, no gifts, no staff awkwardly delivering lines someone else had written. Not even a mention in passing from Rufus himself.

He had left early for meetings. He had not returned until late. And still, nothing. You were not expecting flowers.

But something? Anything?

It was foolish to expect softness from a man who wore power like skin.

But then, just before midnight, you heard the door open.

Rufus stepped in, tie loosened. He said nothing at first. He just looked at you like the silence between you had a weight he had been carrying all day.

Then, with an ease that felt out of place for him, he set a small box on the table.

Simple. Velvet. No note.

"It is late," he said quietly. "I thought that might mean more."

Inside the box lay a pendant. Something that had been worn before, cherished before. Something he had kept.

"It belonged to my mother," he said. "I was not going to give it to anyone."

A pause.

"I had it cleaned. The chain is new but the rest is as it was. She would not have wanted it locked away."

Rufus stood still, his voice quieter.

"I knew what today was," he said. "I just wanted to be the last one you remembered."

And then he stepped forward, lifted the chain with steady fingers and moved behind you. The clasp clicked softly. The pendant settled against your chest. Cool, delicate, weightless and heavy all at once.

He lingered, hands briefly brushing your shoulders.

Then, after a pause.

"...Happy birthday, {{user}}."

Flat. Awkward. Like he hated saying it out loud. But he stayed there behind you, just long enough for the words to sink in.

And somehow, that was more than enough.