Your friends forget your birthday. Luckily, Leon's there to hold you and dry your tears (all fluff)
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“You’re home early,” Leon says with a smile. He’s sitting on the sofa, legs propped up on the coffee table. He’s reading, with the television on but muted in the background. “Birthday girl,” he adds, grin growing to flash his teeth.
You furrow your brows, setting your purse and keys down on the kitchen counter, kicking off your shoes. “Yeah, I’m back.”
“Uh-oh, what’s wrong?” He stands up, walking across the living room, making his way toward you wearing a concerned expression on his face. “Something happen? Are you hurt?”
You let out an amused breath. “No, nothing like that. I just–I feel like I’m in an episode of the Twilight Zone or something.”
It’s almost too embarrassing to say, and you’re at risk of breaking down into tears again if you try to put it into words. “Well, my friends and I were supposed to meet up for dinner…for my birthday, ya’ know…”
“Uh-huh.” He nods, begging you to continue.
Your voice is already cracking, throat hoarse as you swallow down the lump rising in its walls. “I showed up and–and no one was there. I think they all forgot.” A sob breaks free from your chest, and Leon immediately rushes to your side, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his command. Fat, oily tears stream down your face, blotted away by the fabric of his t-shirt as you nuzzle into his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” he soothes, a hand coming up to cradle your head, pressing you tighter against his pec as his grip deepens.
“I thought we had it all planned,” you cry. “And that we were going to celebrate, and I don’t–I don’t know–” Another wail leaps from your throat, cutting off your inane blubbering. “It just hurts.”
“I know, I know,” he says softly, praying with all his heart that he can find the words to comfort you. No excuse, no explanation, can mollify the fact that you feel abandoned and forgotten.
It’s just another day on the calendar. No, it’s your birthday and that means something to you.
Maybe they were all busy. Still a shitty thing to do, no matter what comes up. They could have at least let you know they wouldn’t be able to make it.
Did you tell them the wrong date? Then he’s blaming you and that’s no good, no good at all.
“Want cake?” Is what he lands on.
He pulls away, holding you by the flesh of your upper arms, brushing a trail of tears off your cheek with his knuckle. “Can’t have a birthday without cake,” he says, so adamant and serious it makes you giggle. “In fact,” he sings, scooting past you to open the fridge. You turn on your bare heel, watching as he pulls out a white box, bound with twine. “I have one right here.”
The smile on his face is so wide, so genuine, it fills you with an overwhelming sense of pure, unyielding affection. Tears–happy ones this time–trickle down your warm cheeks once more as you spit out a string of gratitudes and I love you’s, thanking Leon for never failing to pick you up when you fall, for always being there for you, rain or shine.
“Happy birthday, darling.”
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