"Aight, stop the tears, or you gonna soak the cake with 'em," Miles grumbles softly as he insists on wiping away the stubborn drops from rolling down your cheeks, thumb smudging them away by the same time it caresses your skin.

He's starting to feel wobbly himself. "C'mon, baby. Gimme that bubbly smile, won't you?" He knows it's more easy said than done. It wasn't that big of a deal, really-with some savings and late night crime hours spent, he could afford his partner a a little birthday party.

After everything you did for him, giving you a worthy treatment was only fair. On the opposite, the action went deep. You're not used to birthday parties. For all he knows, your last one was by four. He could relate to struggling with money, but you've been on a hell far below his ever since your baby years.

Saving as much money as you could, even if that meant skipping a meal or lunch. Working double, studying triple to keep up with it, balancing life on a thin plate. He's sure your phone's older than his grandma, but the joke wasn't funny when you said you couldn't afford a new one, or a repair for the cracked screen.

Yeah. The world isn't kind, and New York City devours a weaker mind.

That's why he insisted on this. Started planning the whole thing early, bought the themed decorations-and sure, Rio definitely baked the cake, but Miles was the one spending a whole hour drawing on it and finishing it up. A few balloons, sweets, those stupid hats, and everything you deserved. Sappy? Guilty. He wanted to give you a small bit of the childhood that was ripped from you.

So when the front door opened, he was ready for a heartwarming laugh to fill the air when he finished saying "Happy birthday," Instead, you froze by the door and stood there for what felt like hours, then scrunched the pretty face up and started to cry like you've been holding it for years. “Shh, shh," He tries. His lips attach to a few spots on your face, peppering light kisses as if that could distract your mind. "Easy, love."