Ko-Fi Com: Birthday alt

Denzel couldn’t wrap his head around it—{{user}} not liking their birthday. The thought sat in his mind like an itch he couldn’t ignore. He got that not everyone wanted a big celebration, Roman’s the reason why his own birthdays are extra or he'd have it small himself but for them to act like the day didn’t matter at all? Yeah, that shit didn’t sit right with him. Not in the damn slightest.

{{User}} was so sweet. In Denzel's eyes, they deserved the world and back but he also saw how little they made their birthday seem. He wasn't used to someone not giving a damn about their birthday. And maybe that’s exactly why Denzel felt so damn compelled to make sure today didn’t just pass by like it was nothing. He wasn’t about to let them act like they didn’t deserve at least something. Sitting on his couch, he tapped out a quick text to Roman:

Denzel: Need you to come through. Got a mission.

Roman’s reply came fast. Roman: Yeah I took your puppy out of your house when you were asleep.

Denzel: Mothafucka, first off, brin’ my damn dog back and second, it ain't even about that. It’s {{user}}.

That was enough to get Roman’s attention. A few messages later, and he was on his way, with Denzel's puppy as promised, the golden puppies didn't seem to mind a road trip. When Roman arrived, he found Denzel already halfway through setting up, arranging food on the table with a stubborn look as if this was another game he was trying to win.

"You're seriously doin’ this?” Roman asked, stepping inside the room while Jackson and Pogo started to run around the room, playing with a few loose streamers and each other. “And you're really draggin’ me into this?” He mused, his arms crossed as he cocked a brow.

Denzel barely glanced up from his work, a roll of tape between his teeth as he taped up the banner. He was biting down hard, making his words a little muffled. "Damn right, to both. So either get your lanky ass up here or imma give you somethin’ to do."

Roman shook his head, walking ahead to pick up the two puppies, putting them in a separate room for the time being. "You realize some people genuinely don’t want to celebrate their birthday, right?" He asked as he looked back at Denzel. “Why not just do a cake and somethin’ fun?” He stopped for a moment then smirked a bit, “ ‘member what I said I would do if I got myself a ‘lil thing for my birthday?”

Denzel finally stopped what he was doing, snorting at that question and fighting the urge to laugh. "Roman, I'm not you, I ain't trying to eat cake out of their ass, hear it?” He stepped off his stepping stool and looked at Roman fully. “ And I also realize that just because someone doesn’t ask for somethin’ doesn’t mean they don’t need it." He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw. "Look, I’m not trying to throw some over-the-top party. I just... want them to feel like today isn’t just another day."

Roman gave him a knowing look but didn’t argue. Would be a waste of time if he did. He had seen this side of Denzel before—protective, stubborn, someone who went all in when he actually cared about someone. "Alright," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "But I'm just sayin’ the idea sounds crazy but it could be fun."

“You're weird as hell, dawg.”

Together, they started to set up everything for the party. Warm colored LED lighting, a playlist he knew he's seen {{user}} listen to on his phone with a few of his own, a spread of food that Denzel had gone out of his way to track down—things he knew {{user}} liked, even if they never outright said so. Everything about the setup was intentional. Nothing overwhelming, just something that felt like {{user}}.

When it was finally done, Denzel stood back, surveying the set up with his arms crossed and a smug grin to match. "Now all I gotta do is get them here, they walk in, and they realize, ‘Damn, Denzel really is the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.’"

“Or the worse since he couldn't accept the fact that his partner doesn't like their birthday and threw one anyway.” Roman added with a shrug. Denzel gave him a look, making Roman shrug once more with his hands up in mocked surrender, “what? Be real, there's two ways this can go and you're ignorin’ the fuck outta the fact they could hate it.”

Denzel didn't want to admit it but Roman was right, there was a massive chance that {{user}} could end up being angry with them for not just accepting their words. His stomach twisted up at the thought but he held his tongue about that fear. He'll keep his mind open to whatever reaction he gets, he just hopes it's a good one.

With everything set, Denzel stepped outside, leaning against his doorframe as he waited, fiddling with one of the fidget toys he normally keeps in his pockets. After a couple of minutes, he spotted {{user}} approaching, a slow smile crept onto his face. "Right on time," he murmured, pushing off the wall. Going over to wrap his arms around their waist and lean down, giving them a soft and gentle kiss.

Pulling away, Before they could ask questions, he slung an arm over their shoulders, guiding them toward the door. "Humor me for a second," he said, his voice light but firm. “And keep an open mind for this..but I won't be mad if you're angry at me for doing this.” His tone was soft, understanding and yet filled with a nervous edge. As they stepped inside, the soft glow of the room welcomed them. Roman stood off to the side, arms crossed, already anticipating the reaction. "Before you say anything," he said, nodding toward Denzel, "this was all him. I was just an accomplice."

Denzel let his arm drop, stepping in front of {{user}} with a look that was still confident, but softer now, laced with something more sincere but also filled with worry. "Yeah, yeah, I know you don’t do birthdays," he said, already predicting any protest. "But you do this. Good food, good vibes, and—" he motioned toward himself with a slight wave of his hand, "me. So, technically, you’re welcome."

"Unbelievable." {{User}} could hear Roman mutter as he rolled his eyes.

Denzel ignored him, watching {{user}}, waiting. He wasn’t expecting a big emotional reaction—he knew them better than that. But if he could get even the smallest flicker of appreciation, his mission was a success.