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Kazuichi’s birthday had always been just another day to him, more or less. His family never had a whole lot of money, and with how stingy and perpetually busy his old man was on top of that, there was never really much in the way of celebration. Sometimes, his dad didn’t even acknowledge it. His mom would always set up something small, though, at least back when she was able to. None of his friends from back then ever remembered, and after year upon year of getting his hopes up, of thinking that this would be the year that at least one of them would say something, he’d all but forced himself to stop caring.
Not that he’d ever really stopped caring; it had still stung, the way that the people he regarded as his friends so readily celebrated one another, none of it ever directed towards him. It was just easier to try and force himself to stop caring, to stamp down the budding feelings of hope before they got out of hand and set him up for yet more disappointment. Disappointment which so quickly ignited an all-consuming shame–it was selfish to want attention so desperately, was it not? Even if people already saw him as the small, pathetic, attention-seeking wreck that he was, he still didn’t want to show it so openly, so he tried his best to play down the importance, year after year.
Point being, he’d holed himself up in his workshop today, poring over one of the abandoned single-engine aircraft that he’d towed over from the old airport–he didn’t have the faintest clue how to fly the thing, but he was considering bugging Hajime. He’s gotta have some…I dunno, Ultimate Pilot knowledge rattling around up there, or somethin’, he thinks, wiping a line of sweat from his brow as he stares down into the plane’s engine. It would be nice to get this plane fixed up, regardless of whether his plan for free flight training ended up shaking out. Just finishing his work on the plane would be enough to make this a good birthday, even if everyone else forgot. He really doesn’t expect anyone to remember.
Well, there’s one person that he desperately hopes will remember, but…he’s been so busy lately; Kazuichi has hardly seen him over the past couple days. The Future Foundation must have been on his boyfriend’s ass about something, likely regarding the broken mess formerly known as the Kuzuryu Clan; at least, that was what he’d assumed, seeing as how, in the few times Kazuichi had seen him, he’d been in the midst of a heated discussion with Peko. He knew what that was like; the Foundation had him working his fingers to the bone coming up with a way to deactivate the Monokuma army en masse , and yet those things still kept crawling out of the woodwork. Not that he particularly minded the work, it eased the guilt to help fix some of the mistakes he’d made, even if it was just a band-aid on a bullet wound.
Kazuichi sets his tools down, and takes one last look at the engine–making a mental note of all the parts he would need–before closing the engine compartment for the night. There wasn’t much more he could do without those parts; the time it had spent sitting idle had corroded bits of the engine, and it would never run in this condition. It wasn’t anything too bad, though. Nothing the former Ultimate Mechanic couldn’t deal with. Besides, the sun had already begun to set, and he was starting to feel a bit tired; working in the hot garage all day took a lot out of him.
He wasn’t surprised to see his cottage lights on–he was often so preoccupied with thoughts of his current project that he left them on all day.
What he was surprised to see, however, was the small man reclining on his couch, turning his one-eyed gaze towards the door as soon as Kazuichi steps inside.
“Welcome home,” he says with a smirk.
“Jeez, ‘Hiko, you’re gonna give me a heart attack!” Kazuichi walks over and flops down onto the couch next to him, draping an arm over Fuyuhiko’s shoulder. “I mean…” He trails off. He doesn’t want to just assume why Fuyuhiko is here. What if he didn’t remember, then if you tell him you’re just gonna make him feel bad? He furrows his brow. The last thing he wants to do is make his boyfriend feel bad for forgetting something so trivial. Fuyuhiko didn’t care much for celebrating his own birthday, Kauichi had learned. His parents had never bothered to do anything for it, apparently. Kazuichi found it a bit funny that, despite living in two completely different worlds, they were the same in that regard. “H-how was I supposed to know you’d be in here?”
“Tch. Aren’t you happy to see me?” Fuyuhiko leans closer, giving him a light, teasing prod in the ribs.
“‘Course I am,” Kazuichi squeaks, suddenly overcome with guilt. Jeez, does this birthday shit really put him this much on edge? He can’t wait until it’s over.
Fuyuhiko stands up. “Hold on, I’ll be right back,” he says, briskly walking out the door, his shoulders square. Kazuichi can only stare at the door, slack-jawed. Thankfully, his mind doesn’t have enough time to come up with a thousand explanations for why his boyfriend had so quickly run off–all placing the blame squarely on him–when Fuyuhiko returns, keeping his back to him.
“I know it looks like shit, but just–don’t fucking laugh, okay?” He suddenly whips around, and Kazuichi’s eyes drop to the platter that he’s holding with a white-knuckled grip.
The cake certainly isn’t much to look at, objectively. It’s clearly lopsided, the frosting messy, uneven, and littered with crumbs. Kazuichi must have spent a bit too long staring at it, because Fuyuhiko huffs, setting the cake down on the table and crossing his arms.
“Tch, I know, I know, but…ugh, I didn’t want to ask Hanamura for help, ‘cause I didn’t trust that creep not to do anything weird with it, so I… anyway. Probably fuckin’ tastes better than it looks, at least.”
Wait.
“You made this?” Kazuichi practically shouts the question, but he can’t help it. Not only did Fuyuhiko remember his birthday, not only did he make an effort to celebrate it, but he made the damn cake, too? Kazuichi feels a bit pathetic, for getting worked up over something that should be so common , but not even his inner critic can stop him from feeling like the luckiest guy on the damn island right now.
“Tch, yeah, you think anyone else would’ve made something that looks this fucking awful? I–well, Peko helped a little bit, but neither of us were the Ultimate Baker, so this is the best we got. Sorry it’s not–”
Kazuichi can’t help but laugh. He’s overjoyed, ruminating thoughts about what he did to deserve any of this discarded in favor of just enjoying it, and he bolts upright, tightly wrapping his arms around a spluttering Fuyuhiko.
“Oi, I told you not to fucking laugh–”
Whoops. “I-I promise I’m not laughin’ at the cake, I swear! It’s,” he sighs, “...the best birthday cake I’ve ever seen.” He really means it.
“Tch, really? That’s a fuckin’ shame,” Fuyuhiko scoffs, resting his cheek against Kazuichi’s chest, “Guess I’ll just have to fix that next year.” Kazuichi can see that the tips of his ears have gone red. Yeah, he was definitely the luckiest guy on the island–no, the planet , even. Fuyuhiko rests his hands on Kazuichi’s back. “Happy birthday, Kaz.”
And, for once in his life, it truly was.