Birthdays, for Ianto, had always been an understated affair. Ever since a disastrous party when he'd been [age], he'd tried to stay away from the festivities, and had even chosen not to disclose the date to his university acquaintances on the off-chance that they would plan something.

Then, when he'd been together with Lisa, she's shaken her head at him and laughed at his reluctance to celebrate. She'd understood, however, and the first time they celebrated his birthday, they'd gone for coffee and then taken a short walk in the park. It was bright and warm—not too warm, it being August—and the only gift she'd given him had been a kiss.

"Not very creative, I know," she'd said with a laugh, but Ianto had been too elated to agree.

The second birthday they'd spent together, she'd given him a small box wrapped in colorful paper.

"Star Wars," she'd said, pointing to the spaceships and not knowing that the manufacturer had gotten the colors all wrong.

Ianto had thanked her and pedantically taken off the tape, then the wrapping, then folded it all together—and had gotten not a birthday kiss, this time, but a birthday slap on the shoulder for dawdling.

It was a fountain pen, nestled velvet in a wooden box. Now, it sat on top of his dresser, and Ianto looked at it sometimes and remembered simpler times—not better times, for he had finally learned to smile again—different times. Lisa's smile. The small dinners they shared when they both managed to get off work early enough to do so.

It was nothing like what he had with Jack because he still didn't know what exactly it was. It wasn't a relationship, not really, not yet and perhaps not ever, but...

There was something about the way that Jack came up behind him, thinking himself so sneaky and suave, and wrapped his arms around Ianto, and kissed his neck, and didn't ask about the melancholy gaze Ianto was directing at the fountain pen he'd never even used.

"It's been a long day." Jack grabbed Ianto's wrist and drew him toward the bed. "Let's sleep in tomorrow. You don't have to worry about being late."

"Because I'm sleeping with the boss?"

"You don't have to be so crass about it."

A laugh burst out of Ianto at Jack's matter-of-fact tone and pout, which had no business existing together. But that was just Jack—he was larger than life and at times completely detached from it all, existing as an impossible man and giving his time and attention to Ianto.

"Crass or not, you don't hear me complaining."

Jack hummed against him, a sign Ianto took to mean that he was forgiven, and Ianto lost himself to the sensation when Jack finally succeeded in getting them down onto the bed, tiredness disappearing. He came back to reality when Jack kissed his cheek and whispered "Happy Birthday"—only for a moment, before Jack fiddled with his wriststrap and the lights turned off, and Jack drew him towards sleep with another soft kiss.

In honor of Ianto's 37th birthday... everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. Except maybe Ianto in the beginning of this chapter. Ahem.

A 5+1 birthday story for Ianto, which I decided to do in separate chapters because I didn't have time to write it earlier but wanted to post it on time. A chapter a day for the next five days, so stay tuned, thank you so much for reading, and leave a comment if you want! :D