It was supposed to be a chill afternoon. Just you and Touya, walking around the neighborhood like usual, sharing a pack of fries from that tiny corner stall that always made them a little too salty.

You didn’t bring it up. You wanted to see if he’d say anything first.

He didn’t.

Instead, he kicked a rock down the sidewalk, offered you the last fry (like that was some grand gesture), and complained about how his younger brother accidentally deleted his saved game.

No “Happy birthday.” No “Got you something.” Not even a bad joke.

You were quiet. Not angry, just… disappointed. You’d thought maybe — just maybe — this year he’d finally remember.

You were halfway through your walk home when he noticed.

“…Hey.” He glanced sideways at you. “You’re kinda quiet.”

You shrugged. “Just tired.”

He frowned. “Did I say something?”

“No.”

That bugged him. You could tell. He stopped walking, tugged at your sleeve. “Wait—hold on. You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” you said, tugging your arm back, trying not to let the heat crawl up your face. “You just forgot.”

“…Forgot what?”

You looked at him.

And then it hit him. Right in the face. His eyes went wide. His mouth opened slightly.

“Oh my god—” he choked. “Wait—wait—today’s the—”

“Yup.” You started walking again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No—no, I am worrying about it! Wait—” He jogged to catch up with you, genuinely panicking now. “I—I thought it was next week! I swear! I didn’t mean to—!”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not.”

He stepped in front of you, arms out like you might run away or something. “Okay—okay—look, I’m gonna fix this. I’m gonna—uh—get you something right now. Right now.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You blinked as he turned and ran. Like full sprinted. Around the corner.

Ten minutes later, he came back breathless with… a slightly squished cream bun and a tiny plastic frog keychain from the vending machine by the laundromat.

He shoved them at you. “Happy birthday.” He paused, looking away. “I’m really glad you were born, you know.”

You stared.

Then burst out laughing.

“You’re the worst,” you said, grinning.

“I know,” he groaned, face burning. “But you still like me a little, right?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean—uh—not like that. Unless you do. Which—cool.” He coughed. “I just meant, like—as a person.”