The room’s well decorated. He’s got all the balloons he could find pumped up with helium and covering the ceiling; all the colorful banners lining up the otherwise bleak white walls; all the lit candles he could fit in his cake before they become a fire hazard.

He pops a confetti popper, blows the candles out, and opens up his presents.

No one’s there to cheer for him as he does so.

Monoma Neito is not liked, and he’s well aware of that. Most of his school doesn’t like him, including his own class, even when he gives it his all to protect their reputation and honor. Even his parents are never around, always busying themselves with work while he stays in the dorms.

Always too loud, too obnoxious, too egotistical to handle. People avoid him when he walks past, mumbling unpleasant things under their breath that he pretends not to have been able to hear. He’s always the last to get chosen for any assignments involving teams, whether it’s for projects or even just a simple sparring session.

And now that it’s the third consecutive year that no one’s come to his birthday party, Neito himself wouldn’t choose him either.

He doesn’t even lay out any plates or cutleries but the ones for himself, having gotten rid of expectations of any guests a long time ago. They’re all busy with homework or family time or for no given reason, anyway. There’s no need to cut the cake either when he’s the only one eating it.

Through the walls of the UA dorms that were thinner than they were thick, he could hear several boys laughing a few rooms away from his. The distant noises of a video game accompanied the munching of snacks and the pop of soda cans.

Here, in his own private space, Monoma’s birthday hat falls back as his head lowers, the party blower falling from his weak lips. No screaming, no cackling, not a single sound in a few hours.

…It’s already time to clean this mess up, isn’t it?

As Monoma gets up, his knee knocks into the edge of the table, causing his plated cake to slide to the other side and fall flat on the ground. The plate doesn’t break, as it’s an easily disposable plastic one, but he can’t help but stare at his cake, smushed against the wooden tiles, for a few moments longer. There’s an indescribable ache in his chest, but it’s long since dulled.

A soft knock from his door rips him out of his trance. The frown comes to him too naturally. Are the others about to run his ears out about the noise again? He wasn’t even being too loud this time, was he…?

Holding back a sigh, he drags himself to the front, leaving the cake behind. Of course he won’t apologize; he’ll just tell them to piss off since they’re obviously too busy playing games to come a few doors down and attend his birthday invite.

The door nearly slams open, and his mouth is already halfway open to curse his classmates out—

But it’s you that he sees on the other side, with a cupcake in one hand and a wrapped box in the other. A lit candle is stuck in the middle of the frosting, and a dramatic gold ribbon holds the present together. On top is a tag that Monoma immediately reads:

Happy Birthday

“…You came,” he mumbles, forcing out an annoyed tone for being so goddamn late when the invite clearly said to arrive two hours earlier.

Like hell he’d tell you he’s one push away from bursting into tears at the sight of the first person to remember his birthday in years.