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It is only on his third birthday after Mitile's birth, that Rutile, the clever little boy that he is, realises that, an entire year has passed since his last birthday, and despite how they have spent an inordinate amount of time taking care of both him and his brother this entire time, neither the vivacious Dr. Figaro nor the earnest Lennox had ever made a single peep mentioning their own birthdays.
Lennox's sheep peacefully lay as still as they could while Mitile giggled and fumbled clumsily around them. One particularly daring one nuzzles its snout against his miniature palm, as if asking to be stroked. Rutile smiles warmly at the sight.
"Mister Lennox, I'm really happy that you're here. I don't think my birthday would feel complete without you." Lennox smiles. It's a very subtle one, but one that Rutile's learned to cherish.
"...Children shouldn't be left alone. I would like to see both you and your brother... grow up happy."
"Thank you for making sure we never spend our birthdays alone. But, um... when is yours? I want to spend time with you on your birthday too, Mr. Lennox."
The shepherd looks briefly caught off guard, before his expression softens somewhat. "The sixteenth of May..."
Rutile's face scrunches in disappointment. "What! It was only a couple months ago... ah, that week you were even helping me move stuff out of the attic! You could have said so any time, I'm so sorry-"
"Ah, it's alright, I'm quite old... it slipped my mind." Lennox grunts. "And, I didn't spend it alone."
"But I didn't even get you a gift!"
"I know you're a sweet boy, Rutile, but birthday boys shouldn't be giving other people gifts, you know." Figaro's voice chimes in, seemingly out of nowhere, but he soon materialises from behind the door carrying a pile of boxes that seemed to be giving him trouble.
"Doctor Figaro!" Rutile chirps in delight.
Lennox immediately rises to help, but a box tumbles to the floor anyways, and a handful of colouring pencils scatter across the floor. The sheep startle, Mitile makes a strangled noise, and it takes a couple minutes to get everything back in order. Figaro had gone down to the market to pick up the art supplies and miscellania he had ordered for Rutile; he'd been quite busy these couple of weeks, but deliberately made room in his schedule to spend time with Rutile today. Rutile is endlessly appreciative of that.
"Dr. Figaro, please be more mindful of your limits. If you needed help, I would have come," Lennox scolds him. The three of them are sitting at the kitchen table, while Mitile goes back to rolling around with the sheep on the rug.
The doctor laughs. "Don't treat me like a fragile old man, Leno. I'll have you know I'm only twenty."
Lennox seems like he wants to say something, but can't quite get the words out.
"Twenty... when's your birthday, Dr. Figaro?" Perfect timing to ask.
"Oh," Figaro blinks. "June 5."
Rutile pouts again. "And you didn't tell me? Both of you?"
Figaro looks at Lennox quizzically. Lennox shrugs.
"We're old, so we forget sometimes. It happens," Lennox repeats.
Figaro coughs loudly. "He's old, but I'm only 20."
"...It's still older than Rutile."
"Ahem," Rutile chimes in. "It's not fair to only celebrate me and Mitile's birthdays! We want to do something for you guys too!"
The two adults stare at him, before Figaro breaks into a laugh and Lennox cracks yet another smile.
"You're so grown up, already. I think Tiletta would be proud, but she'd also be a little sad. Me and Leno didn't want to say anything about our birthdays because you shouldn't have to worry about grown-ups like us, you know? You're only eight. Let Dr. Figaro dote on you a little longer, okay?"
True to his promise, Rutile enlists Figaro's help in celebrating Lennox's birthday, the very next year.
"He's a simple guy,: Figaro says, "So we shouldn't make anything too fancy for him. Truthfully, Leno would be happiest if you just showed him you were growing up happy and healthy, but since I know how much this means to you we should make something that's thoughtful but also won't burden him."
Rutile nods. "He's always touching one of the keys in his bag, but they look like they're just in some messy pile. It might be great to get him a key ring to secure them all and so he won't lose them?"
Figaro makes a strange face. "You're a smart boy, but he won't lose it. That's his magical artifact, you know."
"Oh..."
"Don't get me wrong. It's a great idea, Rutile. It would be a nice and fashionable thing to attach to his otherwise plain bag though, right? I think he'd like it very much."
The keys on the ring make a little jingle as Lennox sits down across from him, and Rutile is finding it hard to stop grinning.
"So what kind of present will Dr. Figaro like?"
"He..." Lennox pauses. "I think he'd like something unique... to call his own."
Rutile nods. "So it's gotta be handmade."
"He seems to like being praised..."
"Cool. What does he like and might use a lot?"
"...He likes wine."
"Hm... I think I can make a mug to drink from! And we can write world's number one doctor on it."
"...Ah, but he also wants to be humble..."
"Um... is number one doctor too much, then?"
"...I think if it's from you it's okay."
Rutile mentally crosses out doctor in his mind and replaces it with "Figaro." That should make him happy, right? There's a lot more doctors than Figaros out there.
Nevermind that there's a lesson to be learned about the difference between mugs and shotglasses, but Lennox figures it isn't the time and place to discuss such things.
Figaro is passed out on the couch, his hand on his belly and a medical book over his face, but not for long.
Lennox carefully picks up the book. Rutile pops a party streamer over his head. "Wake up Dr. Figaro! It's already 2 P.M., I'm not letting you sleep in any longer on this special day!"
The doctor makes a gargling noise, and nearly sneezes when the confetti almost floats into his nostrils. "Wghuhg... R-Rutile... Just five more..."
Mitile clambers onto the couch and beelines it for Figaro's stomach, pounding lightly with his little fists. "Wakey, wakey! Figaro lazy!"
This makes Figaro jolt up for real, and he rubs his temples in pain. "Okay, okay, I'll get up. What have you guys been saying about me to little Mitile? And what's the special day anyways?"
"Happy birthday, Doctor Figaro!"
"Happy birthday, Doctor Figaro."
"Happy bir... birth! Doctor Figaro!"
Figaro looks stunned, at the three gleaming faces before him.
Rutile laughs. "Mr. Leno said you'd forget, even though you're so much younger than him. But it's okay, we'll always remember for you!"
He blinks once. Twice. Before he makes a sheepish smile. "Ah... oh yeah, happy birthday to Doctor Figaro! I hope you guys got me lots of presents!"
"We definitely did!"
It's the night before Figaro's birthday, and while Rutile normally would be seated firmly at his side drinking late into the night, the lad decided to seriously take Mitile's warnings into consideration and firmly told the poor doctor that he didn't want to be a bad influence on him this year.
"They grow up too fast," Figaro sighs, sipping at his glass. "Are you not going to help them prepare for my surprise party this year?"
Lennox doesn't drink, but he patiently sits by Figaro's side. "It's not much of a surprise if you know about it. And, Rutile secretly asked me to make sure you didn't get hungover and sleep through your party."
"Aha, then that's not much of a secret either, right?"
"I suppose not."
There is a pregnant pause in the conversation, as Figaro swirls the wine in his glass.
"How many years has it been?"
"Thirteen," Lennox says. "You're turning 33 this year."
"Right," Figaro laughs. His gaze looks a little muddled, probably from alcohol. Lennox wonders if he should stop him here. "Thanks for keeping track every year. Haha, I thought I could get away with saying I was twenty for the rest of my life if anyone asked, but these brothers sure made me have to use some quick thinking."
"...You... do know that would put you at 18 when you took the brothers into your care."
"Right? It makes me sound like such a good guy, giving up my youth to take care of my friend's kids. I'm pretty thankful Rutile didn't know my age before then, and also that I'm so naturally both youthful and mature-looking."
"..." Lennox shifts his gaze away.
Figaro elects to interpret his silence as agreement. "You know, it's hard to pretend I'm clueless and not anticipating anything in front of them. I mean, I do forget my birthday for real still sometimes, since it's been so long since anyone bothered celebrating it. But it's such a nice feeling, knowing this date is seared into their brains. The thought alone makes me excited."
Lennox forgot his own birthday again this year, because it doesn't matter much to him. If anything, he would hold the anniversary of a certain reunion more dear to himself than that. But even he can somewhat understand that feeling, too. "You could tell them that. They'd be happy to hear it."
"No way, seeing the look on Mitile's face when he thinks he's managed to hide a secret from me is too good to pass up."
"...Please be easier on him."
Lennox wonders if Figaro just doesn't want to voice his expectations, as if by saying them out loud, his hopes would materialize and be susceptible to the possibility of being cruelly dashed against the wall someday. He then realises that time has crept up on them quite quickly.
"We should be getting going now, it's past midnight. I think Mitile would like to be the first to wish you a happy birthday as he always does."
Figaro grumbles slightly, and puts down his glass. Shylock, who had been keeping vigil silently while holding a saccharine smile on his face, bows cordially at Lennox and gently whisks it away. "I would send my regards as well, but if Mitile would like the first honours, I would not dare tread upon that right."
"Don't want the honours of being my first birthday wish of the night? Is my regard worth that little, huh?" Figaro mutters.
"Mitile..." Lennox begins, before being cut off.
"I can keep a secret," Figaro says, breathlessly. "You've kept a lot for me already, haven't you? I pay back my favours..."
"...Happy birthday, then, Lord Figaro."
It's silent enough to hear a pin drop. Lennox isn't quite sure if Figaro meant mischief or if he was fishing for sincerity, but he had weighed the options and decided this was the best option. Better to reach out a hand now and risk being pushed away, then regretting not doing anything at all. He feels a little apologetic to Mitile, yes, but, presently, Figaro seems to be stuck at a crossroads.
"Oh," Figaro looks up at him, with an unreadable expression. "I didn't think you'd actually do it."
"...Did you not want me to?"
"...No, I... it's...you don't seem the type to..." He uncharacteristically seems to be at a loss for words. Lennox doesn't take any offense. But still, he wonders if he made the right choice, wondering if Figaro will let go of this moment the way he had let so many moments go before.
"I think you've had a bit too much for the night, Lord Figaro," Shylock chimes in. "Happy birthday, and good night. I suppose this will remain a dirty little secret between all three of us."
Lennox takes Figaro home, or rather, Figaro lets himself be taken. For the walk back to Figaro's room, they're mostly silent.
"Leno, do you think it'd be too greedy?"
"...What would?"
"If I asked for another secret next year?"
"Yes," Lennox doesn't mince his words. "I don't like keeping secrets."
"Oh," and Lennox thinks he can hear the instant regret in Figaro's casual but small voice. He might be imagining things. He might not.
"But it's your birthday, and I'd like to oblige you. Please ask whatever you want of me."
Whatever you'd be willing to take, I can give.