𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒. Never really had a real reason to celebrate them before. Growing up as he had, it'd been nothing more than another day on the calendar, another day of the year with little time or incentive to actually bother. Or maybe that's just what he told himself to make the sting of it easier to bear. He'd watched as others celebrated theirs, surrounded by family or friends, loved ones that made sure to make it a true celebration of life, treating it as a gifted day where they'd been granted the others presence. It was sweet admittedly.
A reminder that someone was cherished.
Though again . . . as with most things he'd come to leave well out of his hands, he’d accepted it wasn’t meant for someone like him. With little to his name & an even smaller social life outside of those he knew in passing within his workplace, he was content enough to continue on as always without another thought.
It was fine — same as it ever was. Just like always.
So when he opens his eyes this day, he goes about his normal morning routine with little to no expectations of anything different to break that cycle. He finds it a little strange that Tseng hadn't given him a mission or stack of tasks to go through. Usually he was kind enough to give him something to do to distract himself. Gaze thinning, his lips press together, listening to his machine as it idly brewed away at his morning drink. Fatigue still drapes itself well along his frame, in need of something to chase it away if he wanted to function well enough — with nothing on the schedule, nothing to do, he's admittedly lost on what to do for his birthday. He fidgets with his pendant, turning it between his fingers in pensive thought, wondering if he should just hole himself up in his room to avoid anything that'd sour his mood or suck it up & go out, pretend it was a normal day like any other.
Before he can try to think further on his plans, he goes stiff when he hears someone at his door. Part of him says to ignore it, pretend he wasn't home, but before he can pay it any mind, he hears a familiar voice on the other side of the door that unfortunately, lures him to do the opposite. Clicking the locks, they twist, before he cautiously, suspiciously pries the door open a crack, just enough to peek through with thinned eyes that land on bright aurora sights. He looks him over a moment, blinking in confusion when he spots the cake in Zack's hand, pale eyes lifting back again questioningly to that brightly beaming face. Without needing to be prompted further, Zack explains, tone warm, honeyed in something affectionate, openly fond — complete with the use of his nickname of all things. Normally he'd scoff it off, divert attention to something else or reciprocate with something physically affectionate to make up for the fact he never knew just how to express his own cares back out loud.
But the others presence from the way he plants a chaste kiss to the edge of his nose, to the way he delicately handles the home-made cake — something gives, enough for him to duck his head & feel his icy walls melt, light smile teasing along the edges of his lips as he tries & fails to process how to respond & thank the other for being so . . . thoughtful.
Kind . . . gradually he knows Zack presence in his life is beginning to burrow away under his tough skin, that gentle, reassuring warmth of his, making itself right at home like the growing roots of a blooming plant within the hollow of his chest. He cradles it, sheltering it, willingly allowing it to blossom & grow even if it bears the chance of dying & withering away. It's worth allowing some softness, some vulnerability even with the risk of pain when the other man has more then earned it, displaying his own tender heart for Squall to study & hold with such honest trust.
The laugh he lets out is more of a short, quiet bark, shaking his head softly. It's a wet sound, uncertain if he wanted to cry or stubbornly hold it in before he opens the door, stepping through to use an arm to half hug the sunny man in thanks. He gifts a kiss of his own to the space just below his eye, mumbling a hushed thanks before a more genuine smile is given. He's still not the best with words, but he gets the feeling the other understands.
❝ . . . You say it like that's a bad thing. ❞
When he moves to step back into his housing unit, he leaves the swordsman ample room to enter, trying hard not to focus on the irony of him seemingly letting him in in more then one way.
❝ . . . But, really. Thank you, Zack. ❞
