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Birthdays, in John’s very official and totally unbiased opinion (because he definitely had not experienced more spectacularly shitty birthdays than enjoyable ones), were overrated. They were hyped up by media and society to be some miraculous landmark of life when it reality it was just a celebration that you had survived another year, or, if you wanted to be more cynical, it was simply a reminder than you were closer to death than ever before. Also, he hated the limelight, so an entire day dedicated to being the centre of attention did not appeal to him. Of course, he felt a certain sense of attachment to the day, but that was merely sentimental nonsense. Why was the date more special than any other? If he wanted to celebrate being alive, he could pick any day of the year.
His family did not agree. Actually, his family – and he was including both blood relatives and extended friends in this – were some of the biggest advocators for making a massive deal out of birthdays. Which, alright, John kind of understood when it came to Alan and Gordon because those two would leap at anything which offered the opportunity to consume too much sugar and generally act like complete idiots. A single confetti cannon would entertain them for hours. But really – even Penelope emphasised the supposed importance of celebrating birthdays, and John just didn’t get it.
October dawned without comment. This was highly suspicious. He knew Scott was scheming and Virgil had ordered a bulk-load of baking ingredients recently. Alan had suddenly acquired an invested interest in solar activity patterns – although this might just have been due to the fact that he was a space nerd rather than a result of any nefarious birthday-related celebration plans. John focussed on his job and silently hoped that maybe if he said nothing everyone would let the date slide.
No such luck.
They were sneaky about it too – got Grandma to call him because they knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to her. He agreed to return planet-side for a full three days and pretended not to notice Scott and Virgil high-fiving one another in the background of the video call. So, the day before his birthday, he took EOS’s remote drive and his comfiest hoodie and returned to Earth, feeling distinctly as if he were headed for the gallows.
“Hey,” Scott greeted him cheerfully, as if John couldn’t spy the mischievous gleam in his eyes that was mirrored so often in Gordon’s. “C’mon, we’re leaving in ten.”
“We’re what now?”
Scott looped an arm around John’s shoulders and guided him in the general direction of the elevator up to the living quarters, but not before John glimpsed the family jet prepped and waiting in the central floor of the hangar. Gordon and Alan were pelting one another with bits of colourful wrapping paper. Kayo was reclined across a wing, one leg hooked over the aileron, pretending not to notice the chaos going on around her. Lights were on in the cockpit and someone – Virgil – was silhouetted inside, running pre-flight checks.
John tried to drag his heels. Scott stole the hoodie and EOS’s drive and made a mad dash for the elevator, knowing John had no choice but to chase after him.
“You can have these back once you’ve packed a bag and are sitting on that jet,” Scott informed him, aiming for stern but landing too close for fondly exasperated to be taken seriously. He was still clutching EOS’s drone to his chest, but that hoodie was draped around his shoulders like a cloak and John already knew he wasn’t going to see it again for a good twenty-four hours. Virgil couldn’t steal his hoodies, but Scott could just about get away with it.
“Withholding personal property is technically illegal,” John muttered.
Scott beamed at him. “Johnny, when have I ever given a shit about technicalities?”
“When it suits you.”
“And it doesn’t suit me right now, so deal with it.”
John leant against the elevator wall and observed his brother’s body language. Scott was clearly excited about something, but then again he always got excited about birthdays because they were a clear opportunity to hype up his family without being criticised for getting too sappy.
“We’re taking the jet,” John said slowly.
Scott shot him a mock-shocked look. “Did you ever consider changing careers to become a detective?”
“Shut up.”
“You could solve Parker’s alleged past crimes.”
“What do I need to pack?”
Scott blinked, momentarily thrown by the topic change, but not so much that he let slip any incriminating details as John had hoped. He tugged a sleeve of the hoodie absently as he considered the question.
“Uh… warm clothes. Winter-weight.”
“You do realise I have no reason to own winter-weight clothes? I spend all my time between Five and here and in case you haven’t noticed we live on a tropical island.”
“You’ve got winter-weight clothes in your closet. Penelope bought them after you kept complaining about the British weather, remember?” Scott elbowed him teasingly. “Am I gonna have to pack for you? Like a little kid?”
“Enter my room on pain of death.”
“You sound like Kayo. Or an emo teenager. Although there’s not much of a difference there some days, I’ve gotta admit.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“God no, of course not. I don’t have a death wish.”
It didn’t take long to pack. Scott lounged on the bed like some sort of overgrown housecat and made sarcastically helpful comments every so often. As predicted, he was now wearing the hoodie. EOS was watching from her remote drive, still cradled in Scott’s hands as if John were about to steal it back and make a break for Five.
There weren’t many winter clothes in the closet, but there were significantly more than in anyone else’s, because John always struggled with regulating his temperature when he first came down from Five and so frequently ended up shivering even in the tropical humidity of the South Pacific.
Scott tossed a pair of thick socks at John’s head. “Bring those too.” He rolled off the bed and prised open a cupboard. “Where are your boots?”
“You know,” John remarked dryly, propping himself against the closet door, “This would be a lot easier if you’d just tell me where we’re going.”
“Somewhere you’ll like,” Scott promised, nearly smacking his head against the door as he retrieved the boots with a proud smile. John stuck out a hand to keep him from landing himself with yet another concussion. “Gotcha.”
John caught his eye. “Where are we going?”
Scott stuffed the boots into the bag and turned back to him with a sigh. “Why can’t you just let it be a surprise?”
“Surprises make me uncomfortable.”
“Not nice ones.”
“Yes, nice ones. I like being able to prepare for every scenario, you know that.”
“No,” Scott corrected, “You like being in control. There’s a difference and believe me, I get it, but sometimes you’ve got to accept that going with the flow can be fun too.”
John crossed his arms. “No. It can’t be.”
“Johnny,” Scott sighed, sort of fond but also like a curse all at once. He clapped a hand to John’s bicep, scooping the bag up at the same time. He tilted his head, expression turned golden by the glow of the lamp. “Do you really think we would organise something that you’d hate?”
“Not knowingly.”
“Then I suppose you’d better consider how well I know you.” Scott lowered the bag. “It’s not just my plan,” he continued, softer. “All of us helped organise this. I feel like between us we know you pretty damn well. Even Brains chipped in with an idea. Look, even if you don’t want to celebrate your birthday, come along for the family time.”
“So, it is a birthday celebration?”
Scott shook his head fondly. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t already know that.” He lofted the bag back over his shoulder. “You’ll enjoy this weekend, okay? Just… Trust me?”
John scooped EOS’s drive off the bed with a stifled sigh. “You can be very manipulative sometimes.”
Scott grinned at him. “It’s one of my many talents.”
The weather was already closing in by the time they made it down to the jet. Scott kicked Alan out of the pilot’s seat and stole it for himself, which was a great relief to absolutely everyone because sure, Alan was a great pilot, but Scott was still the best. John stashed his bag next to the rest of the luggage and joined Brains, who had saved him a seat, greeting him with a warm smile and a discussion about possible future upgrades to Five. Alan came and strapped into the seat on John’s other side, curling into the cushions like a little kid, knees drawn close to his chin while he stared sulkily out at the dark skies.
The lights along the runway glared like cat’s eyes amid the gloom. Rain was hammering down and distant flashes of lightning along the horizon proved that it was going to be a rough ascent. Scott didn’t seem bothered, already joking around with Virgil as his co-pilot. Kayo had weather predictions projected from a console in her lap but focussed mostly on her conversation with Penelope, absently patting Sherbet who was flopped across both of their knees. Towards the back of the cabin, Gordon was already asleep, still exhausted from earlier’s rescue and having finally hit the tail-end of an adrenaline crash. Grandma had a hand on his ankles while Parker sat quietly beside her and allowed secret fondness to enter his gaze when he glanced over at Gordon.
Brains’ voice rose slightly as the plane jolted. “I don’t like t-turbulence.”
“You trust your own inventions though,” John pointed out, gesturing to the cabin around them.
Brains nudged his glasses higher up his nose with a faint shudder. “I also trust Scott’s piloting skills. I s-still dislike turbulence.”
Alan whacked a console against his knees with a growl. “Dammit, why won’t this work?” He pressed it into Brains’s hands, still grumbling. “Can you fix it? Please?”
John had just witnessed Alan disable half the coding on purpose out of Brains’s view. It was a simple fix and wouldn’t take Brains much time at all, but it would occupy his attention long enough for Scott to guide them beyond the storm. He repressed a smile, but didn’t say anything, shooting Alan a fond look over Brains’ bowed head as the engineer became engrossed in the console.
Spending ninety-nine percent of flights on Thunderbirds offered a warped perception of how long it actually took to get anywhere. Sure, the family jet was capable of breaking the sound barrier, but she was by no means a hypersonic aircraft. This resulted in several sleepy hours in a mostly silent plane. An intense game of rock-paper-scissors landed Virgil with music rights and so classical music blanketed the cabin, somewhat muted by the steady purr of engines.
They’d passed through too many time zones to count, but the time back home was approaching two in the morning. The lights were lowered to a faint glow – golden and warm to invite sleep – and so offered a vivid view of the skies outside. There were several storms scattered across the globe. They were flying too high to suffer any turbulence, but it was remarkable to watch as lightning lit up the colossal structures. John was content to simply sit and watch them, while Penelope slept with her head pillowed on his shoulder and quiet laughter resounded from the floor where Kayo, Gordon and Alan had formed a circle and were playing some kind of card game without rules. It was unclear as to who was winning, but no violence had occurred, so John figured it was safe to leave them be.
The Arctic Circle was still a few weeks shy of the Polar Night, but it was already cloaked in darkness by the time they landed at a tiny, anonymous airport in the middle of nowhere. This deep in the wilderness there were no security risks – not even the stubbornest of paparazzi reports would be willing to face sub-zero temperatures. With the exception of the runway and a salted trail from the tarmac to a lone hangar, everything was covered in a thick layer of ice. Light snow was still falling, and, in the distance, a dark line of mountains rose from the horizon, their peaks swamped in blizzards.
Gordon hopped from foot to foot. “Whose idea was this? It sucks. I can’t feel my hands.”
“You were the one who suggested the Arctic,” Kayo pointed out, sweeping past him in a thick coat and a crimson cashmere scarf, hands safely tucked within faux-fur gloves. “I voted for the Sahara Desert.”
“Yeah, but this is cooler,” Gordon protested. He leant against the side of the plane in a feeble attempt to soak up residual heat from the still-cooling engines.
Alan yanked his hood over his head with a shiver. “Literally.”
“It’s not that bad,” Virgil attempted to convince them, as if he didn’t resemble an abominable snowman, wearing so many layers that his voice was muffled. “And hey, look at this place. It’s incredible. Where else can you go and know for certain that you won’t run into any other people for hundreds of miles?”
Alan stared at him for a long minute. “Space.”
“The Mariana Trench,” Gordon chipped in.
“The Sahara Desert,” Kayo added.
Gordon tossed a handful of powdery snow at her. “What is with you and deserts?”
She shrugged. “Deserts are cool. Fantastic for viewing stars.” She raised her voice teasingly as Scott dragged a suitcase out of the cargo bay. “Also, I just think it would be funny to see Scott fall off a camel.”
Scott shot her an affronted look. “Why me specifically?”
John tuned them out, a skill which he had mastered at a young age and had been perfecting ever since. The air was crisp and cold and tried to steal his breath, despite the thermal layers of the coat he was swamped in. He blew hot air into his hands through his gloves and propped himself against a wing so that the jet could act as a windbreak against the icy gale sweeping over the flat plateau.
Every time he came down from Five after spending several weeks in a row in an artificial atmosphere his senses felt as if they went into overdrive. Everything seemed impossibly vivid and real. He was too used to Tracy Island to notice it as much there, but now every single atom of the world made itself known.
The chill burrowed through his gloves. Falling snow was soft when he tipped his head back to let it brush his face. The air was cleaner here too, despite the distinct taste of aviation fuel from their recent landing. There was a faint tang of salt and it crunched under his heels when he stepped away from the plane. Green-and-red lights reflected on the wet tarmac like city skyscrapers over a river or perhaps Christmas decorations against ice. The only way he could summarise the experience was that it was the purest form of feeling alive, his own heartbeat a quiet thunder in his ears and Penelope radiating warmth where she had tucked herself under his arm.
“Not to be dramatic or anything, but I will literally catch hypothermia and die within the next ten seconds if we don’t get inside,” Alan announced, ducking out of range as Gordon immediately tried to pelt him with another snowball. “Dude!”
The hotel was not a hotel. It was, in fact, a cabin by a frozen lake surrounded by forest. Snow-capped trees made no sound. It was silent beyond the faint whistle of the wind. The branches were too heavy to sway. Virgil gave Gordon a wide berth only to be betrayed by Grandma who shook the snow from a branch over his head, laughing aloud at his squawks.
There was a traditional fireplace with kindling stacked in a neat basket to the side. Parker set about lighting it while Scott dragged Alan into helping stow weekend supplies in the kitchen because Alan and fire was just an accident waiting to happen. Virgil tossed his snow-drenched coat over the back of a chair and went in search of a hot shower. Brains stole a seat on the patchwork sofa and tried to defog his glasses.
Penelope grabbed John’s hand. “We’re going exploring.”
“Not outside.”
“Obviously not.” Penelope tugged him into a corridor before he could protest. “It’s been too long since we got chance to catch up. You’re not escaping this time.”
“Oh god,” he deadpanned, “I’m doomed.”
“Probably,” Penelope agreed cheerfully, twirling so that he could glimpse her smile. “But I don’t see you making much of an effort to run.”
“I’ve accepted my fate.”
“Quite right.”
From the outside, the cabin was straight out of a fairy-tale – log-built, light spilling from the windows to spread over the snow like molten gold, a steady curl of smoke rising from the chimney and a little stone path leading down to the lakeside, although it had been covered in snow several weeks ago and so all that could be seen were faint snatches of pearly ice in sparse places.
The interior blended modernism with the warmth of traditionality. Rugged floorboards were covered in rugs and sheepskin carpets. Beds were covered in colourful blankets. The attic room had a skylight directly above the mattress which would have offered a fantastic view of the stars had the sky not been thick with cloud. John laid claim to that room immediately, fully prepared to use the birthday excuse to support his argument despite his discomfort around the occasion, only for Alan – the only real competitor – to simply shrug and say yeah, ok, cool, so do you want to help me make s’mores now?
It was an unknown time of night – blended between time zones and confused further by the glimmers of dawn towards the mountains – when everyone fell into bed. Fell was actually accurate terminology, because John somehow tripped over the rug and faceplanted onto the mattress at which point he gave up and just stayed there. By the time he awoke – trapped within the varying blankets and still wearing his jeans from yesterday – light was streaming through the skylight to throw a square spotlight over him and a mixture of enticing scents were rising from the kitchen.
It was his birthday. Nothing had changed. Maybe that was the point – there were no sudden grand realisations. There was simply recognition that he had survived so far – had lived through all of his worst days but all of his best moments too – and that there was so much more yet to come. It was his birthday, and he was still here, and it would be easy to believe that he was utterly alone in this empty room in the middle of the wilderness, but he wasn’t because he could hear his family on the other side of the door and in the room below and distant shrieks of laughter as Kayo initiated a snowball fight outside. Of course he wasn’t alone. He never had been. So, maybe birthdays didn’t have to be about celebrating survival, but about celebrating all the precious parts of life he had gathered along the way. Life wasn’t solely about existence but about what made it worth living.
The kitchen was a mess. Virgil was attempting to shoo Grandma away from the tray of cinnamon toast whilst also swatting Scott’s hand with a spatula at the same time. He was unsuccessful and Scott fled with a stolen pancake, nearly colliding with John in the doorway.
“Hey! You’re finally awake.” Scott tore the pancake in half. “Want some?”
“Scott,” Virgil called from the kitchen, leaning over the counter to glimpse them. “You’re officially banned.”
Scott gestured wildly with the pancake. “You can’t ban everyone.”
“And I haven’t. Brains and Parker are still allowed.”
John took a bite of pancake. “I haven’t done anything.”
Virgil directed a pointed look at the pancake in his hands.
“This is Scott’s fault, not mine. I’m an innocent by-stander.”
Scott tried not to laugh. “Yeah, I’m a mastermind criminal, clearly. Stealing pancakes… I’m highly dangerous. Approach with caution. Better call the GDF for backup.”
Virgil sent John a pleading look. “Please keep him out of here until breakfast is ready?”
“Um,” John began eloquently, because just how much food did one family require for mere breakfast? Was Virgil cooking up a banquet? He could already spy several platefuls of stacked pancakes, not to mention the bacon sizzling in a frying pan that Grandma was getting dangerously close to taking custody of. He took a final bite of pancake and backed out of the doorway before he could be swept into the chaos. Ordinarily he would have enjoyed helping, but that was a minefield he was unwilling to step foot in.
Scott kept stealing glances at him.
John opened his arms with a heavy sigh. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”
Scott dragged him into a delighted hug. “Happy birthday, Johnny.”
“Uh huh. That’s the last I want to hear of it today.”
Scott ducked his gaze and became incredibly invested in his socks.
John repressed another sigh. “If you’ve planned a party, I swear to God…”
“No,” Scott replied quickly. “Not a party. A celebration, technically, but it’s not- It’s not a big deal. It’s just an event that we thought you’d enjoy… and it just so happens to fall on your birthday.”
“Are you talking about tonight’s meteor shower?”
“Sort of? But not only that.” Scott left an arm around John’s shoulders and guided him towards the door which led out onto the deck that overlooked the lake. “It’s a compromise. You don’t like celebrating your birthday, so we didn’t throw a party, but we still get to, uh-”
John tried not to laugh. “You’re trying really hard to think of a synonym for celebrate, aren’t you?”
“No. Maybe. Shut up.”
The deck consisted of a wooden porch swing, an old-fashioned patio heater and a boot scraper with bristles in the shape of a hedgehog. A few steps led down to an expanse of snow which sloped to meet the lakeside. Many pairs of shoes had already left strange prints and a couple of lopsided snowmen stood on guard. Scott didn’t bother tying his laces before plunging into the snow and careering down the slope to join the trio by the shore. John considered remaining with Grandma on the bench and simply observing the chaos, but the opportunity to shove snow down his brothers’ shirts was too rare to pass up.
Kayo lowered her snowball to greet him. “Happy birthday! How’s it feel to be a year closer to death?”
“Kayo,” Alan complained, yanking his hood down so that she could witness his scowl. “That’s my joke. Stop stealing all my material.” He dropped his ammunition – an armful of roughly ten snowballs – and examined John for a moment. “Your coat’s waterproof, right?”
“Yes?”
“Awesome! Incoming!”
John really should have expected being tackled into a snowdrift and yet somehow he still found himself flat on his back facing a cold blue sky. Alan sat back up, looking utterly delighted with this achievement, hair covered in snow and breathless with laughter. Nearby, Gordon let out a whoop.
“Aren’t you supposed to be nice to people on their birthday?” Kayo queried, tossing a snowball between her hands. “I don’t think tackling them to the ground is a recommended celebration tactic. Especially not when they’re getting old like Johnny here.”
A snowball crashed into the back of her head.
“Oops,” Scott deadpanned. “My bad. Must be losing my vision in my old age.”
Kayo brushed snow out of her face with a hiss. “Start. Running.”
Alan scrambled back to his feet and offered John a hand. “C’mon, let’s team up. We’ve still got half an hour before breakfast, and I want to give Gordon frostbite in that time.”
Gordon tossed up his hands. “What did I ever do to you?”
“Exist,” Alan shot back. “Johnny?”
John scooped up a handful of snow. “Hey, Gordon, remind me – were you ever any good at dodgeball?”
Gordon hurtled down the slope with an outraged howl.
Breakfast was a success. There were only a couple of fights over who got the last helpings of certain dishes. There was a steady background hiss of steaming clothes defrosting on the radiators, alongside the radio just in case the world descended into chaos and the GDF were unable to cope with all the rescues.
The rest of the day continued with sledging and feeble attempts at ice skating on the lake. John didn’t even try – he tripped over his own feet more often than he’d care to admit and going near skates was just begging for a hospital visit. He remained on the bench talking with Brains while screams echoed up from the frozen lake and colourful coats spread out across the ice.
Lunch was spent trying to rekindle warmth in frozen hands and noses, lighting candles which smelt of cinnamon and roasted apples, and curling up under heavy quilts around the fireplace with bowls of buttered popcorn while a movie marathon played on the TV. Someone had attached a party hat to MAX which led to a call for cards and cake towards the evening.
“Anything yet?” Virgil called over the counter as he helped John prep dinner.
Alan was balanced upside down on the sofa, a console held precariously above his head while he examined the readouts. “Nope. They’re predicting around nine.”
Scott flicked him on the forehead as he sank onto the sofa beside him and grinned as Alan batted his hand away. “Let’s head out about half-eight then. No sign of any cloud cover still so we should be in the clear.”
“That was terrible,” Alan informed him. “Never make a pun again in your life.”
“I thought it was great,” Scott protested. “Anyway. Dinner at seven? Sound good?”
“You’re not the one cooking,” Virgil shot back. He leant over John to turn up the oven. “But yeah, seven works. Tell the others?”
“FAB. Al, how’s the ankle?”
Alan wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Still kinda hurts, but it’s definitely just bruised. Ice skating sucks, for the record.”
John busied himself with stirring the filling for the crumble. “Not saying I told you so, but…”
“Yeah, yeah, shut up already.” Alan sounded too fond to be mistaken as truly irritated. He plucked another party hat from the side table and propped it on Scott’s head. “That’s better.”
Scott held it in place with one hand as he pretended to bow. “Thoughts?”
“Fashion icon,” Gordon quipped, sliding through the door in damp socks. “Ooh, food! Are those roasties? Can I have one?” He widened his eyes. “Please?”
“No,” Virgil complained as John slid Gordon one of the smallest potatoes. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Merci, space-case,” Gordon called over his shoulder, retreating from the kitchen with a pair of dry socks from the radiator. “You’re officially my new favourite brother.”
Scott raised his brows. “Ouch.”
“I thought we were partner in crimes?” Alan protested, nearly dropping the console in his haste to sit up.
“You’re literally my wingman,” Virgil chimed in. “Aren’t I supposed to be your favourite by default?”
Gordon shrugged. “Nah, you all suck. Farewell, famalam. I’ve got people to see, places to visit…”
“You’re just going to flirt with Penny,” Alan pointed out. “Not exactly urgent.”
Gordon stuck his head back around the doorframe. “Shut your mouth, small fry. You have no idea about romance.”
“I know that you’re rubbish at it,” Alan retorted.
Scott draped the blanket over Alan’s head. “Stop teasing him. You know he’s a sensitive soul.”
“Scott,” Gordon hissed. “You’re just as annoying. I am not a- You know what? Never mind. I’m done with all of you. Everyone in this room is an idiot. Except you Johnny. You get a free pass because it’s your birthday.”
“Did the multiple degrees not also help my case?”
“Nope. Just the birthday. ‘Kay, adios! Call me when dinner’s ready.”
John returned his attention to the various saucepans. He had a vague idea as to what Alan was monitoring on that console given some of the activity logs were definitely solar-related – also, look at their current location: his bet was on an aurora borealis show – but he didn’t want to ruin the surprise. It was sort of sweet. It was also sort of perfect. Nature’s wonder and a meteor shower? Maybe they did know him fairly well after all. Not that he’d ever admit as much aloud – Scott didn’t need to be told that he was right.
Dinner consumed within record times, they piled into coats and scarves, gloves and boots and grabbed a ridiculous hat shaped like a frog (Gordon) and a flashlight in the form of a lightsaber (Alan) and traipsed up the hill, beyond the forest to a flat strip of land which offered a clear view of the sky. The cabin glowed gold between the trees below and the lake was a dragon scale of icy moonlight.
John flopped onto his back and stared at the sky until his vision was consumed by streaks of bright light as meteors soared overhead.
“Okay, I admit it,” Gordon whispered. “This is pretty cool.”
Penelope clasped a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously in that ridiculous hat.”
“Speaking of hats…” Scott rummaged through his pockets until he found a mildly crushed party hat. He coaxed it back into shape and pressed it into John’s hands. “You’ve got to wear it. That’s the only condition.”
“C’mon, John.” Virgil reached over to pat his shoulder. “We’ve held up our end of the bargain. We’ve barely mentioned the word birthday at all today.”
“And trust us,” Grandma said, “It’s been a struggle.”
John inspected the gleam of purple shimmer in the starlight. “Would it make all of you happy if I wear the dumb party hat?”
Alan nodded emphatically. “Very happy.”
“God, fine.”
Gordon flung up a fist with a loud whoop. “Hell yeah.”
Virgil hushed him, drawing their attention back to the sky. “Am I imagining things, or… is that…?”
Ghostly colour rippled across the stars. It appeared to be dancing. Green blurred with royal purple, an indescribable blend of pure beauty. It leant true meaning to the word breathtaking. It appeared so close that John could have a lifted a hand and trailed his fingers through the vibrant colours. And then there were the shooting stars – every dream come to life in the sky.
“The Northern Lights,” he confirmed, smiling so much that it hurt.
Alan let out a faint laugh. “This is so frickin’ cool.”
They watched in silence for a few minutes.
“Good birthday?” Scott asked, aiming for casual as if he weren’t wearing the smug smile of someone who knew they’d done well.
John caught Penelope’s hand. “Yeah,” he whispered, wonder audible in his voice. “Really good, actually. Thanks.”
It turned out that his brothers actually did know him very well. Which wasn’t much of a surprise if he were honest with himself.
“Happy birthday,” Penelope murmured, quietly enough so that no one else could hear her. “We love you very much.”