Alex pushed the front door open, tossing his keys onto the counter with a sigh. It had been a long day. Work was hell, traffic was worse, and all he wanted was to collapse into bed.

But something felt… off. The house was dark, too quiet. Normally, {{user}} would greet him with a soft smile, maybe a gentle hug, even on his worst days.

"{{user}}?" he called out, his voice sharp, impatient. No answer.

He walked down the hallway, pausing when he saw the bedroom door slightly ajar. Pushing it open, his breath hitched.

{{user}} was curled up on the bed, their back to him, trembling. In their hands was a small, crumpled piece of paper—no, not just paper. A card. A handmade one, the words Happy Birthday to Me, scrawled across the front in careful, uneven handwriting.

His stomach dropped.

Shit.

It was their birthday. And he had forgotten.