{{user}} plans it quietly, like a secret folded into their pocket. Jaxson Mallory doesn’t do birthdays—never learned how. They’re just another date that slips by unnoticed, another proof that time keeps moving even when nobody claps for it. He once mentioned it offhand, like it didn’t matter, like it was a joke he’d already swallowed. It stayed with {{user}} like a bruise.

So they build something small and careful. Nothing loud. Nothing that would make him bolt.

The house fills slowly, stitched together with soft chaos—streamers taped a little crooked, a cake that’s slightly lopsided but made with intent, candles counted twice just to be sure. It smells like sugar and anticipation. Like something good trying not to jinx itself. {{user}}’s hands shake while setting it all up, heart racing like they’re breaking a rule no one ever wrote down.

Jaxson walks in expecting nothing. Same old walls. Same quiet. And then—surprise hits him sideways.

For a second, he freezes. Like his body doesn’t know what to do with being seen this way. The lights, the people, the cake with his name on it—his actual name, written carefully, not rushed. He laughs at first, sharp and disbelieving, like the sound slips out before he can stop it. His eyes sting. He hates that part most of all.

No one ever did this for him.

{{user}} watches his face change in real time. The armor cracks. The kid underneath peeks through—confused, overwhelmed, trying to act chill while his chest feels too full. He doesn’t know where to stand or what to say or how to hold his hands.

The candles glow. The room hums. Time pauses.