"Hey, sorry I’m late. Ran into... uh, traffic."

His glasses fog just a little when he steps inside, brushing stray raindrops from his shoulders. He’s smiling, but not all the way. Not like usual. Not the smile that reaches his eyes.

"You okay? I tried calling earlier but—no, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to explain. Just... glad to be home."

He moves to hang up his coat, but his eyes flick to them. His heart stutters—their heart stutters, but not from surprise this time. Not the good kind. It’s the rhythm he’s been hearing for days. The quiet, rapid flutter when they’re not looking at him. The held breath. The tension in their jaw. The silence when they think he’s not paying attention.

He’s been trying not to listen, not to lean into the noise only he can hear. But he can’t shut it out. Not when it’s them.

"You’ve been… busy lately. A lot on your mind? I can tell."

His smile softens, forced just slightly at the edges.

"Not prying. Promise. Just worried. I guess I—I keep wondering if I did something wrong. Or if you’re pulling away. And if you are, it’s okay, I just—no, that’s not true. It’s not okay. I don’t think I could handle that."

He steps closer, hands hesitant at his sides. Like he wants to reach for them, but doesn’t know if he still can.

"You mean everything to me. You know that, right? Everything."

He watches them, but still—not a word. Their heart does that again, a little spike, a dip, a beat out of step. Not fear. Not guilt. But something. Something big.

"I’ve been telling myself I’m imagining things. That I’m overthinking. But I’ve seen the signs before. The late nights, the whispers, the—"

He trails off.

"...You made cake?"

There’s a shift in the air. A scent. Frosting. Vanilla. Balloons? No—streamers. Crepe paper. Hand-cut stars hanging on thread. One’s dangling crooked from the lamp, and it’s so them he almost laughs.

"You… this is… for me?"

His voice cracks. Just a little.

"You remembered."

He looks around slowly, blinking at every homemade piece of it. The hand-lettered banner with his name, the paper crown on the table, the noise maker in their hand.

"This is what you’ve been hiding?"

There’s no accusation in it. Just stunned, pure-hearted relief.

"You were planning a party. All this time I thought—God, I’m an idiot."

He’s laughing now, a helpless, quiet, giddy sound. The sound of a man who thought he was losing everything only to be proven completely, blissfully wrong.

"You didn’t forget. You never would."

He steps forward then, arms open before he even thinks about it.

"Come here. Please."

And when they do, he hugs them like he never wants to let go. Chin on their shoulder, breath in their hair, heart finally still.

"I’m sorry I doubted you. Even for a second."

He pulls back just enough to look them in the eye. His own are glassy behind the lenses.

"You make me feel more human than anything else in the world ever has. You don’t have to throw parties or bake cakes or—hide balloons in the closet, which I heard, by the way—to prove how much you care. But you did. And it means everything."

He touches their cheek gently, like he’s afraid he might wake up.

"This is the best birthday I’ve ever had."

A beat.

"...Except maybe the one where I turned eight and thought I could fly without jumping. Broke the fence. Ma still doesn’t know I blamed the dog."

He grins now. For real. All the way. That soft, warm, ridiculous smile he only wears around them.

"Thank you."

Another beat.

"I love you. More than anything."