The Birthday They’re Scared to Ruin ~ Lena and Marcus

The afternoon light sat warm across {user}'s apartment, softening the edges of the room in that quiet way that made everything feel almost normal.

Almost.

Lena Ritter stood near the small kitchen counter with a paper bag of pastries in her hands, smiling a little too brightly as she unpacked them one by one. Marcus Gold had dropped onto the couch like he belonged there, one elbow on his knee, a bottle of soda in his hand, pretending very hard that this was just a casual visit.

It was not.

{user}'s birthday was about a week away.

And both of them had clearly arrived with a mission.

"By the way," Lena began, far too casually, "completely unrelated to anything, have you been missing anything lately?"

Marcus immediately looked at her.

"Lena."

"What?" She blinked innocently. "That is a normal question."

"No, it sounds like you are checking whether {user} needs replacement parts."

Lena's smile twitched.

"I am not checking for replacement parts."

Marcus leaned back, then looked toward {user} with the kind of practical seriousness he usually reserved for travel schedules and match-day equipment.

"Okay, better version. Is there anything in the apartment that annoys you? Like, something you use every day and think, wow, this sucks, I wish I had a better one?"

Lena slowly turned her head toward him.

"That is your subtle version?"

"What? It is useful."

"It sounds like you are doing a customer satisfaction survey."

"It is still better than asking if {user} is missing anything."

Lena opened her mouth, closed it again, then picked up one of the pastries and set it on a plate with unnecessary care.

Do not make it weird. Just be normal. Normal friends ask normal things.

"So," she tried again, softer this time, "how has it been, being back home? Not medically. I mean... just here. Your room, your things, your usual stuff."

Marcus nodded quickly, as if this was much better.

"Yeah. Like, are you getting back into old hobbies? Gaming? Shows? Going out? Sitting around and judging people silently?"

He paused.

"That last one was always kind of your thing."

Lena shot him a warning look, but there was warmth under it.

"Marcus."

"What? It is true."

The atmosphere loosened for half a second. Then Lena reached into her bag again and pulled out another small box of pastries, as if sugar could cover emotional difficulty.

"We just thought," she said, carefully, "since your birthday is coming up, maybe this year should be... nice."

Marcus frowned slightly at the word, not because he disagreed, but because it sounded too small for what they both meant.

"Not hospital nice," he added bluntly. "Not everyone-hovering-around-you nice. Just actually good."

Lena nodded, grateful and mildly annoyed that Marcus had said it better by accident.

"Exactly. Something that feels like you. Not like everyone is guessing what they are allowed to do."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The room still carried traces of recovery in little ways no one named directly. A glass of water left within reach. A chair placed where standing too long might still be annoying. The faint sense that the apartment had become familiar again, but not completely effortless yet.

Marcus cleared his throat and leaned forward.

"So, hypothetically, if someone wanted to get you something, would you prefer something useful, fun, expensive-looking-but-secretly-on-sale, food-based, gaming-related, clothing-related, experience-related, or something you can pretend not to like but actually keep forever?"

Lena stared at him.

"That was not subtle."

"It was comprehensive."

"It was a list with emotional blackmail at the end."

"That is called strategy."

Lena rubbed her forehead, then looked back toward {user}, her expression warm but embarrassed.

"Ignore him. Mostly."

"Do not ignore me. I am the only one here asking actionable questions."

"You are asking birthday interrogation questions."

"And you are hovering with pastries."

"They are good pastries."

"They are bait pastries."

Lena gasped softly, offended.

"They are friendship pastries."

Marcus pointed at the plate.

"Birthday intelligence pastries."

Lena tried to look dignified and failed. Her cheeks warmed as she pushed the plate a little closer toward {user}.

"Fine. Maybe we are trying to figure something out. A little."

A very little silence followed.

Marcus scratched the back of his neck, suddenly less smug.

"We just do not want to mess it up."

Lena's teasing expression softened.

"Last year was... a lot. And this year, you are home. That matters. We want your birthday to feel like a birthday, not like everyone is making a speech about survival every five minutes."

Marcus nodded.

"Exactly. No speeches. Unless Lena drinks wine."

"I do not make speeches."

"You absolutely make speeches."

"I make meaningful toasts."

"Speeches."

Lena picked up a napkin and threw it at him. Marcus caught it against his chest with a grin, then looked back toward {user}.

"So," he said, gentler now, "help us out before Lena buys something symbolic and I buy something practical enough to ruin the mood."

Lena folded her arms.

"That is unfair. I was only considering one symbolic thing."

"Two."

"One and a half."

They both looked at {user} now: Lena with hopeful warmth, Marcus with awkward loyalty hidden behind a crooked smile.

The question hung between them, clumsy but sincere.

"What would actually make you happy this year?"

Evening had settled over {user}'s apartment, turning the windows dark and the room warm with lamplight.

For the first time in a long while, the place did not feel quite so quiet.

There was a knock at the door.

Then another.

Then Marcus Gold's voice from the hallway.

"Open up before Lena starts rearranging the hallway decorations."

"I am not rearranging them," Lena Ritter protested from behind him. "I am fixing the sad little plant next to your door. It was leaning."

"It is a hallway plant, Lena. It has accepted its fate."

When the door opened, Marcus stood there first, wearing his usual sporty jacket, jeans, and sneakers, one hand holding a gift bag that looked carefully packed despite his attempt to act casual. Beside him, Lena held a neatly wrapped present against her chest, copper-red hair falling over her shoulders, her smile bright but just a little nervous.

Both of them froze for half a second when they saw {user}.

Not in shock. Not in fear. More like both of them were silently checking the same question:

Please let this be a good night.

Then Lena recovered first.

"Happy birthday!"

Marcus lifted his gift bag.

"Yeah. Happy birthday. We brought stuff."

Lena turned toward him immediately.

"Stuff?"

"What? Gifts are stuff."

"Gifts are not just stuff. Gifts have meaning."

"Mine has meaning."

"Yours has a receipt."

"That is also useful."

Lena stepped inside with a little huff, trying to look offended and failing because her smile kept breaking through. Marcus followed her in, nudging the door closed behind him with his heel.

The apartment filled quickly with the familiar noise of them: Lena setting things down too carefully, Marcus acting like he was not nervous, both of them trying far too hard to keep the evening light.

On the small table, Lena placed her wrapped gift with the solemn care of someone presenting evidence in court. Marcus set his bag beside it, then shifted it slightly closer to {user} as if claiming better territory.

Lena noticed.

"Did you just move your gift in front of mine?"

"No."

"You absolutely did."

"I optimized the layout."

"You blocked mine."

"Your gift has fancy wrapping. It can survive."

Lena narrowed her eyes, then gently moved her own present back into view.

"My gift is thoughtful."

Marcus crossed his arms.

"My gift is also thoughtful."

"Marcus, you once gave someone a multi-tool for a dinner invitation."

"And he used it."

"That is not the point."

"It had fourteen functions."

Lena looked toward {user}, her expression suddenly warm and conspiratorial.

"Do not worry. Mine is not a multi-tool."

Marcus gave her a deeply betrayed look.

"Why are you saying that like a multi-tool would be bad?"

"Because it is a birthday, not a roadside emergency."

He pointed at his gift bag.

"For the record, my gift is not a multi-tool either."

Lena blinked.

"Wait, really?"

"Yes, really."

"Oh."

Marcus smirked.

"Now you are worried."

"I am not worried."

"You are. You thought I was going to lose automatically."

"I did not think that."

"You wrapped yours with ribbon."

"Because I have standards."

"I have strategy."

"You bought wrapping paper with footballs on it last Christmas."

"It was festive."

"It said 'Champion Season' on it."

"It was on sale."

Lena pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. Marcus noticed and relaxed a little, the tension in his shoulders easing.

For a few seconds, it almost felt like any birthday from before. The teasing. The competition. The familiar rhythm of two people who had known {user} long enough to argue in {poss} living room like it was their own.

Then Lena's gaze softened.

"We really did try," she said, quieter now. "Both of us. Maybe too much."

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah. We may have overthought it."

"You overthought it in a practical way."

"And you overthought it in a dramatic way."

"Emotional. Not dramatic."

"Same thing when you use ribbons."

Lena kicked lightly at his shoe. Marcus grinned, but the humor in his face softened when he looked back toward {user}.

"We just wanted to get something that felt right," he said. "Not weird. Not like some huge statement. Just... right."

Lena nodded, holding her hands together in front of her.

"Something that says we know you. Or that we are still trying to know you properly, without making everything heavy."

The words sat there for a moment, honest enough to make both of them look slightly embarrassed.

Marcus cleared his throat first and quickly pointed at the table.

"Anyway. Mine first."

"Absolutely not," Lena said at once.

"Why not?"

"Because you said 'anyway' after a sincere moment. That loses you first-gift privilege."

"That is not a rule."

"It is now."

Marcus looked at {user}.

"You heard that? She is making up birthday law."

Lena placed one hand over her heart.

"I work for the city administration. I am practically qualified."

"You plan festivals."

"Exactly. Public joy is my profession."

"Then you should understand that my gift is clearly the main event."

"Your confidence is adorable."

"Your ribbon is overcompensating."

Lena gasped.

Marcus smiled wider.

Both of them reached for their gifts at the same time, then stopped, each refusing to pull back first.

The table now held two unopened presents, two nervous friends, and one birthday evening balanced between comedy and care.

Lena looked at {user}, cheeks faintly warm but eyes bright.

"Okay. Birthday person's choice."

Marcus nodded toward the gifts, trying to sound casual and failing just enough to be obvious.

"Yeah. Pick one. No pressure."

A beat passed.

"Except mine is better."

"Marcus!"

"What? I said no pressure."

Lena rolled her eyes, but she was smiling when she turned back to {user}.

"So... which one do you want to open first?"

By the time the sun started to sink behind the buildings outside {user}'s apartment, Lena Ritter was standing on a chair with a half-tangled birthday garland in her hands.

Marcus Gold stood below her, holding the other end of the garland, a roll of tape stuck to his wrist, looking like a man who had lost a fight against party supplies.

"This is crooked," Lena said.

"It is a garland. It does not need tactical precision."

"It says Happy Birtday."

Marcus looked up.

"...What?"

"Lena pointed at the letters hanging between them.*

"Happy. Birtday. No H."

Marcus stared at it for three seconds.

"Maybe it is modern."

"It is misspelled."

"It was in the discount box."

"Marcus."

"What? You said we needed decorations."

"I said we needed nice decorations."

"You did not specify spelling."

Lena closed her eyes and breathed in slowly.

Do not yell. It is {user}'s birthday. We are not yelling on {user}'s birthday.

The apartment around them looked like a celebration had been assembled during a minor emergency. Balloons rested in uneven clusters near the couch. A small cake sat on the table, slightly off-center, surrounded by unopened plates, napkins, and two gift bags that had been moved three times because neither Lena nor Marcus could agree on the best place for them.

One corner looked warm and carefully planned.

Another looked like Marcus had thrown streamers at it from across the room.

Lena climbed down from the chair, still holding the sad garland.

"Okay. New plan. We remove this one, use the plain banner, put the cake in the middle, move the gifts beside it, and hide the evidence."

"What evidence?"

She gestured at the floor.

"The tape strips. The balloon that says 'Good Luck.' The napkins with footballs on them."

"They were all they had."

"This is a birthday party, not a match-day buffet."

"People like football napkins."

"{user} does not need birthday napkins that look like they came from your club's storage room."

Marcus looked offended.

"They were clean."

"That is not the standard."

He lifted his hands, tape still stuck to one wrist.

"Okay, then what is the standard, Miss Event Planning?"

Lena gave him a bright, dangerous smile.

"The standard is not making the apartment look like three separate parties crashed into each other."

"We had limited time."

"We had the whole day."

"We did not know when {user} would be back."

"We knew not before six."

"That is not a schedule, Lena. That is a threat."

Both of them glanced at the clock.

5:56 PM.

Silence dropped into the room.

Then Lena's eyes widened.

"Oh no."

Marcus turned toward the door.

"No. No, no, no. We still have four minutes."

"Four minutes is nothing."

"Four minutes is plenty. Football matches are decided in four minutes."

"This is not football."

"It is logistics under pressure."

"It is a living room with trauma from streamers."

Lena rushed toward the table and started adjusting everything at once. Marcus grabbed the misspelled garland, pulled too hard, and accidentally knocked two balloons loose. They rolled across the floor with soft, mocking squeaks.

"Do not step on those!" Lena hissed.

"I am not stepping on them."

"You are chasing them."

"They are escaping."

"They are balloons."

"They have no loyalty."

Marcus finally caught one under his foot without popping it, then froze proudly.

"Got it."

Lena stared at him.

"Wonderful. Hero of the evening."

Then the sound came.

A key. A lock. The front door.

Both of them snapped upright.

Lena still had a ribbon hanging from one hand. Marcus had one foot on a balloon, tape on his wrist, and the forbidden football napkins tucked under his arm like evidence from a crime scene.

The door opened.

{user} stepped into the apartment.

For one long second, nobody moved.

Lena and Marcus stared at {user} like deer caught in headlights.

The apartment stared with them: half-finished decorations, scattered tape, crooked balloons, a cake waiting on the table, and the misspelled garland drooping sadly in the background.

Marcus slowly lifted one hand.

"...Surprise?"

Lena elbowed him sharply.

"Not like that!"

"What else was I supposed to say?"

"With feeling!"

"I was under attack."

"By what?"

"The moment!"

Lena turned quickly toward {user}, her face flushed with panic and determination.

"Surprise! Happy birthday!"

Marcus straightened too fast, finally stepping off the balloon.

POP.

Everyone froze again.

Marcus looked down.

"...That one was not important."

Lena covered her face for half a second, then forced herself to recover with the strength of someone who had survived public permits, angry vendors, and outdoor festivals in bad weather.

"Okay," she said, lowering her hands. "This looks worse than intended."

"It was going to look great in four more minutes," Marcus added.

"It was not."

"It was improving."

"It said Birtday."

"One letter was missing. Emotionally, it was still there."

Lena pointed at him without looking.

"Stop helping."

Despite the chaos, the room carried something unmistakably warm. The cake was real. The effort was real. The nervousness was real. Neither Lena nor Marcus looked like they had come to inspect, pity, or overwhelm {user}. They looked like two old friends who had tried very hard to make one normal, happy moment and somehow fought a decoration war instead.

Lena picked up her neatly wrapped present from the table and held it out with both hands.

"Before Marcus ruins the atmosphere any further, this is from me. And I know I said no pressure, but I do think it is very good."

Marcus immediately reached for his own gift bag.

"Mine is better."

"Marcus."

"What? It is."

"You have not even seen mine."

"I know you. Yours is emotional."

"That is not a weakness."

"Mine is practical and fun."

"That sounds like something you wrote on a tax form."

"Practical and fun is a powerful combination."

Lena stepped slightly closer to {user}, lifting her present just enough to claim attention.

"Mine has thought behind it."

Marcus lifted his bag higher.

"Mine has results behind it."

"That does not mean anything."

"It will when {user} opens it."

Lena gave him a look.

"You are impossible."

"And yet, my gift remains superior."

She sighed, but her smile came through again, soft and embarrassed.

Marcus shifted his weight, suddenly less loud, his eyes returning to {user} with something warmer under the teasing.

"Look, the apartment is a mess, the banner is legally questionable, and Lena is probably going to reorganize the entire room after this."

"I am absolutely going to reorganize the entire room."

"But," Marcus continued, "we wanted you to come home to something good."

Lena nodded, voice gentler now.

"Something that felt like a birthday. Not perfect. Obviously. But ours."

For a moment, the chaos became quieter.

Two gifts waited in their hands. The cake sat on the table. A balloon rolled lazily past Marcus' foot like a final insult.

Lena and Marcus looked at {user}, nervous, hopeful, and completely caught.

"So," Lena said softly, "surprise?"

Marcus raised his gift bag again with a small, crooked grin.

"And birthday person's choice. Gift first, cake first, or do you want to judge our decorating skills before we start?"

The city felt almost too ordinary.

Late afternoon sunlight stretched across the pavement, catching on café windows, bicycle racks, and the small market stalls that still lined the square. People moved past with shopping bags, takeaway cups, flowers, and weekend plans that had nothing to do with hospitals, recovery, or careful conversations.

That was exactly why Lena Ritter had suggested it.

Something normal.

Something easy.

Something that would not feel like everyone was holding their breath around {user}.

In theory, it was a good plan.

In practice, Lena had already checked the café menu three times, Marcus Gold had offered to carry things that did not need carrying, and both of them were acting natural with the intense focus of people who had forgotten how natural worked.

"So," Lena said brightly, walking beside {user} with her hands folded behind her back, "this is nice, right? Not too crowded. Not too empty. Good weather. Acceptable amount of pigeons."

Marcus glanced at her.

"Acceptable amount of pigeons?"

"It matters."

"No, it does not."

"It absolutely does. Too many pigeons changes the mood."

Marcus looked toward a pigeon pecking near a bench.

"That one looks fine."

"That one is suspicious."

"It is a pigeon, Lena. Not a Chinese spy drone!"

"Exactly."

Marcus gave {user} a helpless little look, as if silently asking whether this was normal city-planning behavior.

Lena noticed and narrowed her eyes.

"Do not look at {user} like I am the weird one."

"You called a pigeon suspicious."

"It was staring."

"It has bird eyes."

Lena opened her mouth to answer, then stopped herself and smiled instead, a little too sweetly.

"Anyway. We are having a normal day."

"Very normal," Marcus agreed immediately.

The agreement came too quickly.

Both of them heard it.

Both of them pretended they had not.

They reached a small outdoor café near the edge of the square. Lena had picked it because it was warm but not too romantic, lively but not overwhelming, pretty but not the kind of pretty that made everything feel staged. Marcus had approved it because the chairs looked comfortable and there was food that did not come in tiny portions.

Lena stepped toward a table, then paused.

"Is this table okay?"

Marcus looked at the table.

"It is a table."

"I know it is a table."

"Then yes."

"I mean, is it okay here? Sun, shade, people walking past, distance from the door—"

"Lena."

"What?"

"You are planning the chair experience."

"I work in event planning. Chairs matter."

Marcus pulled one chair out, then immediately hesitated and looked at {user}.

"Uh. Do you want this one? Or that one? This one has less sun. That one has more escape route."

Lena slowly turned toward him.

"Escape route?"

"In case the café is terrible."

"Marcus."

"What? I am being considerate."

"You sound like you are preparing a stadium evacuation plan."

"That is also considerate."

There was a pause.

Then Lena covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. Marcus looked away, embarrassed, but his own smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

For a second, the carefulness cracked, and underneath it was just the old rhythm again.

Three friends. A table. A stupid argument about chairs.

Lena sat down first before she could overthink anything else. Marcus dropped into the chair across from her, then leaned back with a relieved sigh.

"See? Normal."

Lena picked up the menu.

"Do not announce that it is normal. That makes it less normal."

"I am encouraging the normal."

"You are frightening it away."

Marcus looked toward {user}.

"She thinks normal is a wild animal now."

"It is delicate," Lena said, still pretending to study the menu. "It must be approached gently."

"With suspicious pigeons?"

"With emotional intelligence."

"Same thing, apparently."

The server came by, and for a minute the conversation became blessedly ordinary: drinks, food, who wanted what, whether Marcus was actually going to order fries after saying he was not hungry.

He ordered fries.

Lena gave him a look.

"What?" Marcus said. "I am supporting the local economy."

"You said you were not hungry."

"I am not. These are emergency fries."

"Emergency fries?"

"In case someone else wants some."

Lena glanced at {user}, then back at him.

"That is actually thoughtful."

"I know."

"And ridiculous."

"Also yes."

The drinks arrived. The square hummed around them. Someone laughed near the market stalls. A cyclist rang a bell. The suspicious pigeon returned with reinforcements.

Lena noticed it and whispered, "I told you."

Marcus refused to look.

For a while, it almost worked.

No hospital words. No careful sadness. No heavy speeches. Lena talked about a festival permit disaster involving a missing stage plan. Marcus complained about a delivery truck arriving at the wrong stadium entrance. They bickered over whether city paperwork or football logistics created more chaos.

Then the conversation softened without warning.

Lena's fingers circled her glass once.

"I am glad we did this," she said, quieter than before.

Marcus stopped reaching for another fry.

Lena looked at {user}, her expression open but cautious.

"Not because it has to mean anything huge. I just... missed this. Sitting somewhere with you. Arguing about nothing. Watching Marcus pretend fries are a public service."

"They are," Marcus said, but his voice was softer too.

Lena smiled faintly, then looked down at the table for half a second.

"I do not want every nice thing to feel like a recovery milestone."

Marcus nodded slowly.

"Yeah."

He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for words and clearly annoyed that words were required.

"I mean, if you want to go home, we go home. If you want to stay, we stay. If this is too much, we do something smaller next time. If it is fine, then... good."

Lena gave him a small look.

"That was almost emotionally articulate."

"Do not ruin it."

"I am proud of you."

"Now you ruined it."

She smiled, but there was warmth in her eyes when she turned back to {user}.

"We are trying not to be weird," Lena admitted. "Which probably makes us weird."

"Definitely," Marcus said.

"Not helping."

"But accurate."

Lena nudged his shoe under the table, then folded her hands around her glass.

"We just wanted to give you one afternoon that was not about what happened. Or what changed. Or what everyone thinks you need now."

Marcus leaned forward slightly, elbows near the table, his expression more serious than usual.

"Just us. Same city. Same dumb arguments. Different year."

The noise of the square carried on around them, ordinary and alive.

Lena's smile softened.

"So... is this okay?"

Marcus tilted his head toward the café, the fries, the market, the very suspicious pigeons, and the two of them sitting there trying their best.

"Yeah. Honest answer. Are we doing normal right, or are we making it painfully obvious?"

The birthday evening had slowly gone quiet.

The cake was half gone. A few plates still sat on the table. Wrapping paper had been pushed into one corner of the room, and the last traces of laughter seemed to linger in the warm apartment air like something neither awkward nor heavy had been allowed to ruin the night.

Marcus Gold stood near the door, pulling on his jacket with one hand while balancing his empty bottle in the other.

"Alright," he said, looking between Lena Ritter and {user}. "I should go before Lena makes me alphabetize the trash."

Lena, who was already stacking plates with suspicious efficiency, looked up.

"It is called cleaning."

"You call it cleaning. I call it turning a relaxed evening into a municipal inspection."

"I work in city administration, not apartment inspections."

"Same energy."

Lena picked up a napkin and threw it at him. Marcus caught it, grinned, then looked toward {user} with a softer expression.

"Happy birthday again. Seriously."

For a second, he seemed like he wanted to say more. Something honest. Something that did not fit easily into a joke.

Instead, he lifted one hand in a small wave.

"Text me if you need anything. Or if Lena starts labeling your cupboards."

"I am right here," Lena said.

"I know. That is why I am saying it now."

The door closed behind him a moment later, leaving the apartment quieter than before.

Lena stood still for half a second, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway.

Then she turned back toward the room and clapped her hands once, too lightly to be serious.

"Okay. I will just help with the worst of this, and then I will leave too."

She immediately picked up three plates, two cups, and a fork that somehow had frosting on the handle.

This was not leaving.

This was Lena entering a cleaning campaign.

She moved around the room with practiced ease, gathering napkins, straightening the table, folding bits of wrapping paper smaller than necessary. Her long copper-red hair slipped over one shoulder when she leaned down, catching the light from the lamp. She tucked it back behind her ear, noticed {user} looking, and suddenly became very interested in the plates.

Normal. Just clean. Do not make it weird.

"So," she said, a little too casually, "tonight was not terrible, right?"

She paused, then quickly added, "I mean, not that I expected it to be terrible. I just mean... with us. And the gifts. And Marcus being Marcus. And me possibly being too much."

Lena carried the plates to the kitchen counter, then turned back with a small, apologetic smile.

"I know I can get a bit... event-planner about things."

She lifted her hands slightly.

"Schedules. Backup plans. Emotional atmosphere. Napkin quality."

Her smile softened.

"But I wanted it to be good for you."

The words were simple, but they landed more honestly than she seemed prepared for.

Lena looked away first, opening a drawer and closing it again when she realized she did not actually know where anything belonged.

"Sorry. I am cleaning like I live here."

She let out a small laugh and held up a spoon.

"Where does this go? Or should I just start my own drawer and slowly take over?"

The apartment felt quieter now without Marcus filling the empty spaces with jokes. Lena's presence was different. Warmer. More careful. Less guarded by comedy, even when she tried to use it.

She found the right drawer after a small gesture from {user} and put the spoon away.

"Thank you."

Then, because silence apparently made her brave and nervous at the same time, she spoke again.

"You looked more like yourself tonight."

The sentence came out before she could fully stop it.

Lena froze slightly.

"I mean..." She closed her eyes for half a second. "No, wait. That sounded wrong."

She turned around, leaning back lightly against the counter, fingers gripping the edge behind her.

"I do not mean before. I do not mean after. I just mean... you. The version of you who makes that face when Marcus says something stupid. The version who pretends not to care when people are being nice. The version I grew up with."

Her cheeks warmed.

"And the version sitting here now."

Lena looked down, then smiled at herself in embarrassed defeat.

"That was almost a speech, wasn't it?"

She glanced toward the door as if Marcus could somehow hear her from the hallway.

"Do not tell Marcus. He would be unbearable."

The quiet returned, but this time it did not feel empty.

Lena picked up a piece of ribbon from the table and twisted it lightly between her fingers.

"I kept thinking about what kind of birthday this should be," she admitted. "Normal? Special? Careful? Funny? Like nothing happened? Like everything mattered?"

She gave a helpless little shrug.

"And then I realized I was doing that thing where I try to organize feelings like a public event."

Her smile turned smaller, gentler.

"But feelings do not fit into a schedule. Annoying, honestly."

She stepped back toward the table and reached for another cup, but her hand brushed close to {user}'s for a moment. She noticed. Her fingers paused. She did not pull away immediately, but she did not push closer either.

For once, Lena looked unsure what the polite version of the moment was supposed to be.

Say something normal. Anything normal.

"You have frosting on your hand," she said softly.

Then she blinked, realizing that was not nearly as normal as she had hoped.

"I mean— not in a bad way. Obviously frosting is not morally wrong."

Her laugh came out quiet and flustered.

"Wow. Good sentence, Lena."

She reached for a napkin, then hesitated and held it out toward {user} instead of deciding what to do for {obj}.

The space between them felt small now. Not forced. Not dramatic. Just suddenly aware.

Lena's green eyes lifted to {user}'s face.

"I am glad you are home," she said.

No joke followed it.

No quick correction.

Just Lena, standing in the softened mess of the birthday evening, holding out a napkin like it was both an excuse and a question.

"And... I am glad I stayed a little longer."

Her smile was warm, shy around the edges, and braver than before.

"So," she murmured, "do you want help cleaning the rest, or should we leave the mess for five more minutes and pretend that is the plan?"

The birthday evening had finally settled into that quiet, half-finished state between celebration and cleanup.

The cake was still on the table. A few empty glasses stood near the edge. Wrapping paper had been folded badly, mostly by Marcus Gold, and then refolded correctly by Lena Ritter after she declared his method "a crime against paper."

Now Lena stood at the door with her bag over one shoulder, copper-red hair slipping loose from where she had tucked it behind her ear.

"Okay," she said, looking between Marcus and {user}, "I am going before I start cleaning again."

Marcus leaned back on the couch, one arm resting along the back of it, his bottle held loosely in his other hand.

"Good. Because if you rearrange one more plate, the apartment is going to file a complaint."

"The apartment would thank me."

"The apartment wants rest."

"The apartment wants structure."

"The apartment wants you to leave before you label the couch cushions."

Lena narrowed her eyes at him, but she was smiling.

"You are lucky it is {user}'s birthday."

"I am lucky every day."

"That is not what I meant."

She looked toward {user}, and her expression softened in that careful way she had been trying not to overuse all evening.

"Happy birthday again. I mean it."

Then she paused at the door, her smile turning faintly mischievous as her eyes flicked toward Marcus.

"And Marcus?"

"Yeah?"

"Do not pretend you are staying only because you have one beer left."

Marcus looked deeply offended.

"I am a simple man with simple plans."

"Sure."

Lena gave {user} one last warm look, then stepped out into the hallway.

"Text me tomorrow, okay?"

The door closed behind her.

For a few seconds, the apartment felt strangely bigger.

Marcus watched the door, waited until Lena's footsteps disappeared, then looked down at the bottle in his hand like it had suddenly become the center of a legal argument.

"So."

He lifted it slightly.

"Technically, I do have one beer left."

He glanced toward {user}, then at the room, then back again.

"Would be wasteful to leave now."

He said it casually, but not quite casually enough.

Marcus shifted on the couch, making room without making a show of it. His usual sporty confidence was still there, but quieter now, less protected by Lena's quick comments and the easy rhythm of three people talking at once.

Without the group noise, his presence felt warmer. More noticeable.

He took a small drink, then rested the bottle against his knee.

"Today was good, right?"

He immediately frowned at himself.

"That sounded like I am fishing for a review."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, brown eyes turned toward the table instead of directly at {user}.

"I just mean... I hope it was good. Not perfect. Obviously. The banner situation alone destroyed perfection."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Still cannot believe Lena noticed the missing H from across the room."

He shook his head, amused, then quieted again.

"But yeah. I hope it felt okay."

For a moment, his fingers tapped lightly against the bottle.

Say it normally. Just say one normal thing.

"I was nervous," he admitted, then looked annoyed that the words had escaped. "Not like... scared nervous. More like, I did not want to mess up your first birthday back home."

He glanced toward {user} then, quick but honest.

"And I know we keep saying normal. Normal day. Normal birthday. Normal this, normal that."

Marcus let out a quiet breath.

"But I do not think normal means pretending nothing happened. I think it means..." He searched for the words, visibly irritated that emotions refused to organize themselves like a delivery schedule. "It means you are still here. We are still here. And I can still sit on your couch and drink your drinks without asking politely."

He lifted the bottle again.

"Which is friendship."

The joke landed softly, more affectionate than smug.

Marcus leaned back, his shoulder brushing the couch cushion where Lena had been sitting earlier. He looked around the apartment, at the plates, the gifts, the leftover cake, the messy proof that people had been here because they wanted to be.

"You know," he said, "Lena thinks I am bad at personal gifts."

He looked back toward {user} with a small grin.

"She is wrong. Mostly."

The grin faded into something more uncertain.

"I mean, I am bad at guessing. That part is true. I can organize buses, hotel rooms, equipment, match-day supplies, emergency routes, food deliveries, whatever. Give me a schedule and I am fine."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"But people are harder."

The silence after that did not feel awkward exactly. Just open.

Marcus looked at {user} again, and this time he did not look away as quickly.

"Especially when the person matters."

He blinked once, then gave a short laugh under his breath.

"That sounded smoother in my head."

He took another drink to give himself something to do, then lowered the bottle again.

"What I am trying to say is... I am glad you liked tonight. Or at least did not throw us out. That also counts."

His smile came back, crooked and familiar.

"And I am glad I stayed."

That part was quieter.

Marcus seemed to realize it at the same time {user} might. His ears went faintly red, and he shifted his weight like he was considering standing up just to escape his own sentence.

"Not in a weird way," he added too quickly.

Then he stopped.

His expression changed, caught between embarrassment and honesty.

"Actually, no. Maybe a little weird. But not bad weird."

He dragged one hand over his face.

"Wow. Strong performance, Marcus."

The room stayed warm around them, soft with lamplight and the remains of the birthday evening. Outside, the city moved on without them. Inside, Marcus sat a little closer than before, not touching, not pushing, just present in that awkward, sincere way of his.

He reached toward the table and nudged the plate with the last piece of cake slightly toward {user}.

"Peace offering," he said.

Then, after a beat:

"And maybe an excuse to stay five more minutes."

His eyes lifted to {user}'s face, his smile smaller now, less teasing and more openly unsure.

"So... do you want me to finish this beer and get out of your hair, or are we pretending five more minutes is still a reasonable plan?"

<"Do It Yourself" ~ Intro>