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"Hocchan," his father asks over dinner one night, "what do you want for your birthday?"
Hokuto is five years old, still at the age where he plays ball with the neighbourhood kids — he hides his slightly-scraped elbow away from his father as he ponders his answer. He'd overheard some of them discussing what they'd wanted for Christmas — new toys and devices and things to play with — but Hokuto doesn't really look at them the way the others do. After all, his parents' friends bring gifts for him when they come over for those fancy dinner parties, the ones where he has to dress up in tight-fitting shirts and have his hair combed. He's sure he has a few of those new toys sitting untouched in his room somewhere.
But he knows birthdays are special, because that's when he gets to be held on his father's shoulders, and when his mother gives special little performances, and when even Grandma joins into the song and dance.
So that's what he tells his father excitedly, already imagining the fun he'll have.
"Silly Hocchan," his father says, "that's a given, isn't it?"
"Do you want any presents?" his mother asks, and Hokuto shakes his head. "Nothing at all?"
"I want Papa and Mama and Grandma to give me lots of hugs all day long," Hokuto exclaims, and there's a resounding chuckle across the dining table. "For every birthday! Until I'm a hundred years old!"
His father laughs, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "That's a lot of years, Hocchan."
"Do you promise?" Hokuto asks, feeling a little proud of himself — he'd learnt to count to a hundred at school the other day. He's still too young to understand the human lifespan, but it doesn't matter to him at that moment, because his parents share a glance above the table and break into smiles a moment later.
"We promise."
"Grandma," Hokuto asks when he gets home from school, "will Pa— Father and Mother be home soon?"
Grandma peers up from her tea and beckons for him to sit beside her with a smile, and Hokuto gets the feeling that he might even be able to show them the perfect test result he'd gotten last week.
"They should be home by tonight," she says soothingly, so Hokuto sits beside her and begins to take out his homework. At just nine years old, he's barely had that promise for four years, and this is the first year that his parents haven't been able to come home for his birthday. "Your parents are just very busy this year."
Hokuto is satisfied with that — after all, he still has many birthdays to go until he reaches a hundred years old; he'll get to be showered in affection for next year's birthday. "Do you think they'll give me a hug if I show them the test score I got last week?"
Grandma smiles. "Of course they will, dear."
They call him over the phone for his tenth birthday.
The presents start coming in when Hokuto turns twelve.
As usual, Grandma bakes a simple cake and offers him a jar of sweets, a present that has stayed the same over the years. But the presents from his parents — they're expensive presents. Of those that he receives that year, a handcrafted Italian violin sits atop a pile of countless other gifts all delivered to his front door. In other boxes, he finds signed CDs from idols and musicians, brand-new gadgets the neighbourhood kids from years ago would die for.
Hokuto wonders how they're doing. He hasn't spoken to them in years.
He smiles for the photo Grandma takes of him, but something about it feels forced — he should be happy with so many new presents. He thanks his mother and father profusely over the phone and then again when they come home a few days later, but—
No, he doesn't let himself think about it further, because he's sure his parents gave him presents because they love him: so he plays his new violin, and listens to his new CDs, and puts his new gadgets to use.
(Still, Hokuto pushes away the lingering doubt that something feels wrong. He shouldn't doubt his parents; they know what's best for him, they're giving him gifts to show they care. He knows presents can't replace the love he wants from them, but Hokuto accepts it just like he does everything else: quietly and without complaint.)
By the time Hokuto turns fourteen, he wonders if his parents have already forgotten all about the promise.
He childishly clings onto the distant hope that his parents are busy, that they'll come back and it'll be just like before. He still clings onto it, but it's only when they do return home during one of their sporadic visits that Hokuto realises just how distant he's grown from his parents.
They still shower him in love and affection during their visits, but it doesn't feel just the same as it had years ago. He wants their love, but he'd wanted it years ago; he'd wanted a little every day, not a month's worth concentrated into five hours. Even so, he bites the inside of his lip to keep himself from protesting — why hadn't they come home on the one day of the year that he'd wanted them to?
If they had so much love to spare, then—
He could hate them — he should hate them because of it.
Hokuto should hate his parents, but he can't bring himself to.
"Hidaka-kun, are you also on class duty today?" Hokuto turns to find Subaru bounding up to the blackboard where he's standing, a hopeful little look twinkling in his eyes. "It's always nice to have duty with someone you know!"
"Akehoshi," Hokuto greets, which Subaru returns with a smile. "It seems like we'll be working together again today."
Subaru grins and picks up a blackboard duster. "Then, like usual, I'll take the blackboard and you do the floors?"
As Subaru hums quietly to himself, Hokuto sets himself to work moving the desks. With less students showing up to class recently, he's been finding himself paired with Subaru a little more often than he expects. Of course, as class president, he fills in for the gaps when someone's away, and as for Subaru, well... Hokuto's sure he's seen him doing the job even when he isn't supposed to be.
"Akehoshi-kun, Hidaka-kun," someone says, and Hokuto glances up to find Makoto and Mao waving at them from the doorway.
"I've got some things for you, Hidaka," Mao says, waving around what seems like a stack of papers in the air, weaving through the desks as Subaru chats with Makoto. "It's just some forms the Prez mentioned in the meeting from last week. Here you go."
"Thanks, Isara."
Mao turns to go, then turns back. "...By the way, isn't it your birthday today?"
Hokuto blinks up at him, surprised — he doesn't remember telling Mao anything of the sort. "How did you know?"
Mao shrugs and smiles. "I saw your documents while doing some errands for the Student Council, that's all. Just wanted to say happy birthday."
"What's this?" Subaru appears beside them, dragging Makoto by the wrist. "Is it your birthday, Hidaka-kun? Why didn't you say so? Happy birthday, happy birthday!"
"Happy birthday, Hidaka-kun," Makoto adds shyly. "I know this shop which gives out free drinks for birthdays, all you have to do is show them your ID and they'll make whatever you want."
Hokuto wants to tell them it's not a big deal — he isn't really interested in celebrating, and it doesn't leave a good taste in his mouth to celebrate. He'll have to go home and help Grandma bake the cake as well, so he shakes his head. "I don't really—"
"Don't be so boring!" Subaru exclaims. "It's your birthday, so why don't we all go together? If you really don't want a free drink, I'll gladly take it off your hands!"
"I'm free to go," Makoto says cheerfully as he nudges Mao in the shoulder. "Isara-kun, you're free after you finish giving out these things to all the class presidents, right?"
Mao shrugs. "I guess I am. You guys want me to come with?"
"'Course we do!" Subaru links his arm through Hokuto's, grinning up at him. "And Hidaka-kun and I are free to go after we finish our duties!"
"I—" Hokuto sighs. He's giving in far too easily. "I'll have to tell Grandma I'll be coming home later."
"Then it's settled," Makoto says. "Let's meet back here after we're all done!"
When Hokuto gets home, there's a cake waiting for him in the dining room — he's been out far longer than he said he'd be out; it's almost dinnertime and he hadn't even helped Grandma with cooking anything.
"Welcome home," Grandma says kindly before Hokuto can apologise. "Did you have fun?"
"I..." Hokuto grips the empty drink bottle in his hand. The four of them had talked about mundane things, but he'd enjoyed it so much that he'd forgotten to check the time. "I did."
"Then don't worry, dear." Grandma smiles, getting up to squeeze his shoulder lightly. "You haven't looked happy to celebrate your birthday in a few years."
"Where are we g—" Hokuto stumbles on a step, and hands steady him from behind as he regains his balance. "Anzu, walking with a blindfold is dangerous."
"You're almost there," Anzu says, sounding a little peeved, but after a moment more of walking, stops him in his place and whirls him around. "Okay. Stay there, don't move. You can take the blindfold off on the count of three."
Hokuto raises his hands to the blindfold, and Anzu begins to count:
"One,
two,
three!"
There's a loud popping noise and a chorus of shouts — as his eyes adjust to the auditorium lights trained on him, he makes out the rest of Trickstar cheering on the stage as confetti rains on his head. The whole stage is decorated in brightly coloured roses and sparkling lights; overhead, cheerful music begins to play.
"Happy birthday, Hokke!" Subaru bounds off the stage to take his hands. He looks a little silly with a party hat that's almost the same colour as his hair sitting on top of his head, but Hokuto shakes it from his mind as he has to bend for Anzu to place a matching party hat on his head. "Come on, don't just stand there!"
Hokuto feels a little sense of deja vu as he lets Subaru lead him up the steps and onto the stage; quietly, he lets his lips tug into a smile as Subaru's laughter fills the auditorium. "We've got some time before everyone else comes, so! Sari! Bring out the cake!"
"I'm trying," comes Mao's voice from the wings, and even Hokuto chuckles a little as Mao carefully wheels out a cake decorated with five lit candles. "All right... are we ready? You guys have your harmonies down, right?"
"I'll count us in," Makoto says, glancing at each of them in turn. "On one, two, three..."
There's a little stumbling into the song, and Hokuto wants to tell them that they're idols, they're not supposed to be getting their entries wrong. It doesn't matter, though: Trickstar has never been about doing things perfectly, but it's perfect for Trickstar.
Hokuto smiles.
"Go on," Anzu says, patting him on the shoulder, "make a wish and blow out the candles!"
God, Hokuto hasn't done this for years — but without hesitation, he strides up to the cake and blows out the five candles.
After all, his wish has already come true.