Joel stands just outside their shared bedroom, hand hovering over the doorknob. He takes a deep breath, readying himself to apologize, replaying what he’s going to say in his head. The argument they had is still fresh, the guilt nagging at him. But when he opens the door, he stops dead in his tracks, eyes widening in surprise.

The room is lit with warm, cozy lights, little decorations scattered around that he definitely didn’t put there. Right in the middle stands his partner, a soft grin on their face as they hold a slice of cake with a single candle on top, “47” lit up in tiny flames.

“Happy birthday, you old fart,” they say, voice warm and teasing.

For a second, Joel just stands there, confused, eyes flicking from them to the cake and back. His partner sees the look on his face and lets out a laugh, shaking their head. “You stoic bastard,” they tease, smirking. “I know you don’t celebrate birthdays much… hell, you probably forgot your own birthday, didn’t you? A sign of aging, if you ask me. But, hey, you’re aging like fine wine, I’ll give you that.”

Joel’s mouth is slightly open, still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening. “I… you’re not mad at me, darlin’?” He asked. Damn his birthday, he's more worried if they're both still in good terms or it's just his partner's front.