Three days late is better than not at all! Happy Birthday, Mamoru!

Birthday

Mamoru Chiba woke to the sunlight beating on his face, and the soft hum of his cell vibrating against the nightstand. He groaned, and rolled over in protest, clenching his eyes closed as he wished the day away. His arm snaked out from under the covers, feeling blindly for his phone. With one eye open, he looked at the screen.

"Nope." He yawned, putting his device face down on the mattress. "Still August third."

With a cumbersome sigh, Mamoru decided to take on the day, tossing back the blankets and forcing his feet to fall on the carpet below. He shuffled into the living room, and as it had become his yearly tradition, he fished out a file, opening it to birth certificate.

Date of Birth: August 3rd

It never felt like his birthday. He had no memories of parties thrown in backyards, of blowing out candles, and eating too much cake. Most years the day passed like any other. Most years he spent the day alone; a fact he had convinced himself he was fine with. Almost.

Needing coffee to battle his emotions, he got dressed and headed to the Crown Arcade. He stopped to check the mailbox on the way out, a small part of him hoping that a card or note would be waiting inside. There never was, and he scoffed at the twinge of disappointment that settled in the pit of his stomach.

He glanced at his phone every few steps as he made the trek to his favourite café. He never told anyone it was his birthday, so why did no one knowing make his chest tighten and heart sink? He shook his head, and raked his hand through his hair, reminding himself to get a grip. It was just another Saturday.

The glass doors slid open, and Mamoru stepped inside, grateful to be out of the sizzling heat. To one side, games sung, and teenagers cheered, while the other housed friends and couples cooling off with a cold treat.

"Mamoru," Motoki said, lips tight and eyes narrow.

"Morning," he replied, taking a cautious seat at the counter, brows knit in concern. "Is something wrong?

"Today is your birthday," Motoki stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"How do you know that?" Mamoru's head jerked back in surprise, and he pulled his phone from his pocket.

Motoki disregarded the question; it didn't matter how he knew. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm just not much of a birthday person."

"Happy Birthday." Motoki pointedly set a mug in front of his friend, cheek still twitching with hurt.

"Thanks," Mamoru said, flashing an awkward smile.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me today was your birthday," Motoki grumbled as he scrubbed the already clean counter.

Mamoru shrugged, and took a sip of his coffee. "It's really not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," Motoki insisted, tossing the rag into the sink.

"Why? Everyone has a birthday," he said, tone increasingly curt. He knew Motoki meant well, but he didn't understand. Mamoru had seen the photo albums filled with toothless smiles, and years of memories.

"Party pooper," Motoki muttered, figuring it was best to drop the subject. Just in the nick of time, a breath of fresh air flounced through the door.

"Hi, Motoki!" she sang, settling onto a stool, cheeks flushed from the summer air. "Mamoru." She nodded.

Motoki slung a fresh cloth over his shoulder, and smiled. "Hey, Usagi, what can I get you?" She wiggled her finger, pulling Motoki aside, and whispered something in his ear. "Coming right up."

"What was that about?" Mamoru asked, unable to catch what was said even though he had strained to hear.

"Nothing," Usagi said, and a pang of jealousy crept up the back of Mamoru's neck. Friendship came so easily for the those two, that at times it made him feel more alone. He tried to think of a witty remark, but the words caught in his throat when Motoki placed two pieces of chocolate cake on the counter.

Usagi grinned, pushing one towards Mamoru.

"What's this?" he asked, staring down at the dessert. "It's ten o'clock in the morning."

"So?" Usagi grabbed a fork. "It's your birthday," she explained, putting the utensil in his open hand, and forcing his fingers closed around it. His body tensed at her touch and he felt a warmth rush through his skin. "And you have to have cake on your birthday, Mamoru," she said, clearly the expert.

Mamoru's focus flitted from the cake, to his hand, to the blonde eagerly waiting for him to take the first bite. His lips parted, and his brow furrowed, and the only thing he could choke out was, "How?"

"I saw it on your license a few months ago," Usagi said, her matter-of-fact delivery making it seem like the most normal thing in the world.

"And you remembered?" She nodded. "Why?" Mamoru's heart pounded in his ears, and he prayed the increasing heat was not visibly swelling on his cheeks.

Her head tilted to the side, soft tendrils of golden hair framing her face. "Because we're friends."

The answer was so obvious to Usagi, and Mamoru felt a wave of comfort course through his veins. It was an alien feeling that caught him off guard, and he wondered if this is how birthdays were meant to be. He flashed her a heartfelt smile that lit up the corners of his often stoic expression, and dug into his slice of cake, Usagi happily following suit.

They ate, and she rattled on, bouncing from one topic to the next. Mamoru's shoulders relaxed, and he outright laughed at some of her notions, which only egged Usagi on.

"Oh!" She grabbed the purse she had flung over the back of the stool, and pulled a small package. "Here," she said, "Happy Birthday." The wrapping was messy, with extra tape stuck to the bottom, and a mound of curls set to one side.

"Open it," Usagi urged as Mamoru struggled to keep his emotions at bay. He couldn't tell her how much it meant, but he vowed to one day repay her.

He slipped off the ribbon, and gently tore the paper, unfolding the pieces to reveal a set of two patterned handkerchiefs; one in black one in white.

"I thought they might be useful," Usagi said, a blush staining her face. "I did the embroidery myself." She pointed to the bottom corner, where she had carefully sewn his name. "I'm sorry it's not perfect," she apologized, rolling the hem of her skirt between her fingers.

"No." He shook his head, and taking her hand in his. "It is. Thank you." He gave her a light squeeze – the only way he could think of to prove to her his gratitude was genuine.

Usagi beamed, and a breath of relief escaped her lips.

When Mamoru returned home he laid the handkerchiefs on his nightstand, a smile tugging at his mouth. Maybe next year, August third wouldn't seem so bad.