Ghost never celebrated his birthday. You knew that—it was something sacred between the two of you, quietly respected year after year. But his girlfriend didn’t. Or worse, didn’t care.

She arrived at base the night before with party balloons and too much perfume, practically bouncing as she forced a box into his hands.

“Happy birthday, Si!” she beamed.

You—stood off to the side, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. “It’s tomorrow,” you muttered coldly.

She blinked, scoffing with a roll of her eyes. “No, it’s today,” she said pointedly, glaring at you like you’d just insulted her intelligence.