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Lighter didn't have any expectations for his birthday.
The very first time his birthday came around since getting pulled out of the underground fights and joining the Sons of Calydon, a month had already passed with not a single word spoken about it. And he kept it that way. He liked it that way. Of course, at the time, he very much so kept to himself, hardly speaking if he wasn't already responding with half-hearted grunts or the occasional "got it" every time he'd accept orders. So why bother with something as insignificant as that? It's not like he deserves a celebration anyways.
His last ever celebration was with his old friends.
This year, he'd spend it alone. It was fitting, in his eyes.
When February came by, it was Billy who was the first to find out. He was blabbing on about something regarding ages and how big sis knocked someone on their ass when they asked Big Daddy how old he was, when suddenly...
"Hey, Lighter, how old are you anyway?" Billy would ask cheerfully, crisscrossed as they sat together under the desert stars, 'sharing' a drink while Billy spoke for the both of them. Lighter isn't sure how Billy managed to drag him out here like this, but it wasn't... bad. It was nice.
But Lighter hesitated, unsure if he should answer Billy's question. It was irrelevant, unnecessary, and he saw no reason in revealing anything about himself to anyone here, especially since he barely said a word back to Billy the entire night.
And yet, Lighter's mouth moved before he could stop it. "...I'm twenty-four." He pauses before shaking his head. "No wait... I, uh, just turned twenty-five."
Oh no.
If not for the fact that Lighter was mentally punching himself for saying too much, he would've chuckled at Billy's animated expression.
"Huh? What?!" Billy gasped, reaching up to grab Lighter painfully by his shoulders, vigorously shaking him back-and-forth with the LEDs on his face all teary-eyed. "When? Are you telling me we missed your birthday!?" He cried, and Lighter sighed as he continued getting shaken like one of Burnice's cocktails.
Well, the cat was out of the bag. There was no use in denying it.
What would come of it anyway?
A few days later, he comes back after a mission to tacky, mismatch decorations, a half-raw and half-burnt cake, and all the Sons of Calydon holding up a sign that said, 'Happy Birthday, Lighter!' that too, was slightly on fire. (And no, he wasn't tearing up that day. It was just the sand in his eyes and the horrible cake he was forced to eat and the fact that he couldn't enjoy a quiet day. He wasn't getting attached, not one bit.)
That same year, on his actual birthday when he turned twenty-six— not only was the cake a little better— but the Sons gifted him the combustion gauntlet that they all pitched in for. Custom-made by Big Daddy, paid for by Lucy, powered by Burnice's special fuel, transported by Piper, tuned by Caesar and then presented by Billy.
Upon learning that this gift had a little bit of everyone's soul poured into it, well... how could he not tear up?
And yes, Lighter admitted it this time.
(They all apologized that it wasn't a pair, that they meant to give him two. But Lighter didn't mind, he didn't mind at all. This was more than enough.)
Now, this year, he was turning twenty-eight.
Lighter didn’t have any expectations for his birthday.
Yet, he knew exactly how it would go, just like every year. The moment he opened his eyes, the first thing he reached for was his phone. Sure enough, as soon as the screen lit up, an avalanche of notifications awaited him.
There were the usual suspects: Caeser’s text, riddled with typos and random capitalizations, made Lighter shake his head with a smile. Burnice’s message was a visual explosion of emojis—he counted at least six different kinds of balloons, followed by an absurd number of exclamation points. Lucy, ever the sentimental one, had written a heartfelt paragraph that was so thoughtful it made him pause for a moment before moving on. And then there was Big Daddy, keeping it short and to the point: “Happy Birthday, kid.”
The only difference this year is that he got one from Belle too.
Notably, the other manager has not sent one.
He shakes it off. He was getting greedy now, wasn’t he?
After a quick shower and throwing on his usual casual gear—worn jeans and his favorite leather jacket—he grabbed his keys and helmet and headed out. His bike rumbled to life with a familiar growl as he pulled out onto the open road, the morning air cool against his face.
It didn’t take long to reach the usual spot where everyone gathered. As soon as he kicks the stand down, the sound of someone yelling his name reaches his ears. He turns just in time to see Billy barreling towards him.
“Happy birthday, lil’ bro! I came all the way here just for you!” Billy practically roars, enveloping Lighter in a bear hug so tight it felt like his ribs might crack.
Lighter chuckles, patting Billy on the back. “Thanks, man. You really didn’t have to—”
“Of course I had to!” Billy interrupts, releasing him with a grin. “I'll never miss one!"
Before Lighter could respond, the rest of the crew was already making their way over, Caeser leading the charge with a cupcake in one hand and a party hat in the other.
“Happy birthday, Lighter!” she chimes, forcing the hat onto his head before he can protest with a wild grin.
“Another year older, huh?” Piper teases, handing him a gift bag with a yawn. “Don’t worry, you don’t look a day over yesterday.”
The laughter and chatter swirled around him as more people joined in, each bringing their own energy to the mix. Despite himself, Lighter felt his chest swell with warmth. He hadn’t expected much, he never expects anything, but somehow, his companions always managed to make him feel like the most important person in the world on this day.
As he looks around at the familiar faces, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't undeserving of this kind of joy.
-
“Are you sure? I don’t mind putting in some work today, Big Daddy. You know I get restless when I’m just sitting around.” Lighter says after they’ve chatted for a little, adjusting his glasses.
At this, Big Daddy shakes his head. “Of course I’m sure.” He huffs, crossing his arms. “Besides, you won’t just be sitting around with what the girls planned for today.”
Chuckling, Lighter sits up from the post he was leaning on and stretches, working out any kinks. “Figures.”
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
-
Normally, any special drinks Burnice liked to cook up, Lighter would avoid. They were either far too sweet or far too strong for his liking, and Lighter didn’t feel like getting dizzy—or suffering a sugar rush—today. Yet, Burnice wasn’t one to take no for an answer, not when she was so adamant about this particular creation. She had worked hard on it, she claimed, for his special day. Her wide-eyed insistence and the infectious enthusiasm in her voice made refusal nearly impossible. So, with a reluctant sigh and a resigned shrug, Lighter allowed himself to be led to the bar like a lamb to the experimental cocktail slaughterhouse.
Seated on the high stool, he leans his elbows on the polished surface and watches with amused skepticism as Burnice dives into her performance. She mova like an exuberant whirlwind, grabbing bottles, shaking mixers, and sprinkling unknown powders with dramatic flair. Her energy was relentless, her focus laser-sharp. It was hard not to be entertained by her sheer passion for the art of mixology, even if it often resulted in undrinkable concoctions.
Finally, she pours the product of her efforts into a tall glass, the liquid catching the light as it cascaded. It was a vibrant, almost radioactive yellow, fizzing with an effervescence that seemed a little too lively. Lighter eyes the bubbling drink warily, trying to guess its ingredients. It has a strange, citrusy aroma that was both inviting and suspicious.
"Ta-da!" Burnice proclaims, sliding the glass toward him with a flourish. "I call it Lighter Fluid! Perfect for you, Mr. Birthday Boy."
Lighter raises an eyebrow at the pun. "You're kidding."
"Nope!" she chirps, clearly proud of her handiwork.
He hesitated, staring at the glass like it might bite him. The last time he’d indulged her creativity, he’d ended up with something that tasted like melted candy and regret. But Burnice was watching him now, her hands clasped together, her expression hopeful and eager.
"Well, here goes nothing," he mutters under his breath, lifting the glass to his lips. The fizz tickled his nose, and the first sip hit his tongue with a surprising burst of flavor—bright, tangy, and just sweet enough without being cloying. He blinks in surprise. Lemon...
"Not bad," he admits, taking another sip. Would the proxy like this drink as well?
Burnice grins triumphantly, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Told you I nailed it!"
-
"C'mon Lighter, you haven't opened my gift yet~" Piper says, swinging back and forth as if to keep herself awake. Her tired eyes glimmer with a mix of anticipation and mischief as Lighter quickly puts his phone away. "You best hurry so I can take a nap, I woke up early just to greet you, ya know."
Chuckling bashfully, Lighter sits down with her and pulls the gift bag closer, brushing off some stray crumbs from the nearby table. "Sorry, Piper, things got a little hectic this morning. Plus," he pauses, offering her a sheepish grin, "I wanted to open it with you."
She lazily grins back, propping her elbows on the table. "Awww, ain't you just sweet~" she teases, though her expression softens as she watches him carefully start to unpack the gift, handling it like it might explode at any moment. His deliberate movements make her grin widen, her chin resting on her palms.
Lighter removes the red tissue paper layer by layer, eventually pulling out a plastic package filled with something soft. It takes a moment of examination for him to realize what it is: new bedsheets. The pillowcases, smooth and shiny, are a bold tiger-print design, while the sheets themselves are an elegant black, boasting "1,000 thread count" in gold lettering on the packaging.
He stares at the set, processing, and wonders for a brief second if she went all the way to New Eridu to get something this fancy. Distantly, he wonders if Wise would enjoy something like this.
"This is..." he begins, but before he can say more, Piper cuts him off.
"I noticed you've been sleepin' like crap lately," she says matter-of-factly, clicking her tongue like a disapproving teacher. Her finger wags back and forth. "So, I figured some nice, comfy sheets might help. And don't worry—new pillows are on their way, too. Plus, silk’s good for keeping your hair nice and fluffy~" She punctuates her explanation with a cheeky grin, reaching up to ruffle Lighter's hair.
Caught off guard, Lighter bows his head to hide his smile. "Thank you, Piper," he says, his voice warm and sincere. He’s not just grateful for the gift itself—though it’s thoughtful, bordering on extravagant—but for the fact that someone had noticed how run-down he’d been. Between late-night skirmishes with rival gangs and restless nights in his cold, uncomfortable bed, he hadn’t realized how much his exhaustion was showing.
She straightens up and stretches her arms above her head with a long yawn. "Well, that's my good deed for the day. Time for me to catch up on some Z's," she declares, walking back towards her usual napping spot as Lighter pushes his glasses up back in place with a small smile.
-
For a brief moment, Lighter checks his phone again. He's been doing that a lot today, his thumb hesitating over the proxy's contact. The faint blush dusting his ears deepens each time he hovers, as if the mere thought of sending a message might be too much. Really, he’s gotten greedy lately. Too greedy. The Sons of Calydon have spoiled him rotten on his birthdays over the years, showering him with camaraderie and care in ways that make him feel more like family than a mere gang member. And now? Now, he’s wishing for something more—something, or someone, completely out of reach.
This wasn’t good.
Lighter didn't have any expectations for his birthday.
(He shouldn't.)
"Hey! Lighter! Quit dawdling and come join us!" Caeser’s booming voice snaps him out of his thoughts. Lighter shoves the phone back into his pocket in a flustered rush, turning toward Caeser and Lucy, who are both standing nearby. They’re armed with nitro fuel—Blazewood’s signature, overly strong drink—and their excitement is infectious.
Right. It’s time to cut the cake.
As Lighter approaches, Caeser and Burnice ambush him, plopping the infamous tiger-print party hat once again onto his head without waiting for permission.
“C’mon, sit down! The birthday boy gets the throne!” Burnice jokes, gesturing to a barstool as she sets down a tray of drinks for everyone.
Lighter sighs good-naturedly and takes his place at the bar. They skip the singing—something that Blazewood unanimously vetoed years ago—but jump straight to slicing the cake. As usual, Lighter gets the first slice, which he accepts with a small smile.
The rest of the group (most prominently, Billy) cheers, grabbing their own slices and settling in at the various tables scattered around the bar. Caeser and Lucy flank him at the bar, both grinning ear to ear as they dig in.
For a while, it’s perfect. The lively chatter of the gang fills the space, the warmth of friendship wrapping around them all. But then, Caeser notices something. Lighter, though smiling, has barely touched his cake. Instead, he’s idly picking at it with his fork, lost in thought.
“Hey, what’s wrong, Lighter? The cake ain't good this year?” Caeser asks, leaning in with a frown. Her voice is loud enough to draw Lucy’s attention as well.
Lighter jolts, shaking his head quickly. “No, no! It’s great, Boss.”
Lucy raises a skeptical brow, her fork pausing mid-air. “Are you sure? You’ve got that look like something’s on your mind. Did you not have a good birthday? It’s fine if you didn’t, you know. We can handle it.”
Again, Lighter shakes his head vehemently. “Trust me, guys, I had a great time. You always go all out for my birthday, and I'm seriously grateful. Thank you.”
“Then…?” Caeser and Lucy ask in unison, leaning in closer as if trying to read his mind.
For a moment, Lighter doesn’t respond, his grip tightening around the fork. He glances toward his pocket where his phone is tucked away, a silent weight pressing against him. The truth is, he had enjoyed the day—the celebration, the cake, the warmth of his friends—but something still felt incomplete.
And Lighter's ears turn red again. He crosses his arms tightly, as if the gesture alone could shield him from their probing stares, his shades conveniently hiding the embarrassment in his eyes. "I-It's nothing, just… I mean, I dunno... was hoping to hear from someone is all..." His stammering, coupled with his uncharacteristically shy demeanor, paints a picture that only his closest companions would recognize—a rare glimpse of vulnerability from the undefeated champion.
Lucy, ever the perceptive one, narrows her eyes, a sly grin spreading across her face. "Oh, I see how it is," she says, drawing out her words like she’s savoring the moment. "You mean Wise, don’t you?" Her giggle rings out as she leans back in her chair, arms crossed with smug satisfaction, clearly reveling in Lighter's sudden fluster.
Lighter's blush deepens instantly, his composure crumbling further. "W-What? I didn’t—" He stumbles over his words, his voice cracking slightly as he gestures vaguely with his hands, caught in the crossfire of his friends' teasing.
Caeser, however, furrows her brows in confusion, glancing between the two. "Huh? Wise? But why him?" Her tone is genuinely baffled, and her straightforward curiosity only makes things worse.
Lighter nearly groans aloud. Oh, Caeser, please, for the love of everything, don’t make this worse... he thinks, silently willing her to drop the subject.
But Lucy is already leaning in, her smirk widening. "Oh, come on, Caeser. You haven’t noticed? Lighter gets all shy whenever Wise is around," she explains, delighting in her own observation. She turns back to Lighter, her tone turning singsong. "I think someone’s got a little crush~."
“Lucy!” Lighter hisses, his voice a mix of embarrassment and exasperation as he slumps further into his seat, wishing the hollow would swallow him whole. His ears are practically glowing at this point, and he struggles to find a rebuttal that doesn’t sound like a confession.
Caeser gasps, her eyes going wide, and her face flushes a deep red as she cups her cheeks. Her excitement bubbles up like a kettle about to whistle, and it’s clear she’s just connected the dots Lucy figured out ages ago. “R-Really?” she nearly squeals, her voice high-pitched with glee. Lighter swears she’s picturing some grand, romantic scene straight out of one of her comic books. “Well, don’t worry because—”
But whatever reassurance Caeser was about to offer is interrupted by the distinct sound of tires scraping against the rough desert ground, as if on cue. The noise cuts through the conversation like a knife, and Lighter’s head snaps toward the source. It’s sharp and familiar, though for a moment, he wonders if it’s just his tinnitus playing tricks on him again.
Lucy, however, laughs, catching the shift in his demeanor instantly. “Oh, you’re hopeless,” she teases, leaning back in her chair with a small smug 'hmph'!
Lighter barely hears her. His attention is laser-focused as he watches the vehicle roll in, its silhouette cutting through the golden-red haze of the desert like something out of a dream. His heart pounds against his chest, each beat louder than the last as he holds his breath.
And there it is—the unmistakable Random Play van, dusty but somehow still managing to look cool as it glides to a stop. The driver’s door creaks open, and the first thing Lighter sees is that familiar tuft of smoky-grey hair, standing out like a thundercloud against the sun-baked horizon. It’s a sight that never fails to make his stomach flip, and today is no exception.
Wise.
Even from a distance, Wise looks like a storm personified—a mix of calm, control, and untamed energy all at once. He steps out of the van, his movements fluid and deliberate, and then he turns toward the group with that brilliant, effortless smile that always makes Lighter feel unsteady.
(He doesn't expect anything he doesn't expect anything he doesn't—)
Lighter feels a little dizzy, his thoughts a chaotic whirl. Every instinct in him screams to drop the act, to abandon his practiced composure and just run up to Wise, to pull him into a hug and hold on like his life depends on it. But years of habit keep him rooted in place, his mind racing to maintain the mask of calm indifference.
Instead he takes a steadying breath and rises from his barstool, ignoring the way Caeser and Lucy exchange knowing looks behind him. They’re saying something—encouraging words, no doubt—but he doesn’t catch them. His focus is entirely on Wise, who’s walking toward them with his hands inconspicuously hiding behind his back, that easy smile still firmly in place.
Each step feels heavier than the last, but Lighter meets him halfway the walk, his heart still hammering in his chest. “Hey,” he says, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.
Wise tilts his head slightly, his smile widening and the corners of his eyes crinkling so beautifully. “Hey yourself. You didn’t think I’d miss your birthday, did you?”
Lighter’s ears burn red for the umpteenth time that day, and he coughs into his fist, hoping to mask his flustered state. “W-Well, I mean, you didn’t, uh... didn’t text me,” he manages, his voice wavering slightly despite his best effort to sound casual.
Wise chuckles, the sound warm and low, and takes a step closer. Lighter swears his heart is trying to break free from his ribcage at this point. “I wanted to tell you in person,” Wise says softly, a hint of bashfulness slipping into his tone as he rubs the back of his neck. For just a moment, he seems unsure of himself, but then he straightens up, standing tall and confident again. He cranes his neck slightly to meet Lighter’s deep gaze.
“Happy birthday, Lighter.”
And for a moment, the world seems to stop spinning.
The hum of the desert breeze fades into the background, the laughter and chatter from the bar muffled as Lighter focuses entirely on the man in front of him. Wise’s words reverberate in his mind, and the weight of their sincerity makes his breath hitch. How he manages to string a response together, he has no idea—his brain feels like it melted minutes ago, and his heart has apparently decided to lodge itself in his throat, threatening to choke him with every beat.
“Thank you, Wise,” he finally says, his voice quiet but earnest, each syllable carrying more emotion than he intended.
Wise’s smile grows impossibly brighter at Lighter’s response, and for a moment, it feels like the sun itself pales in comparison. Lighter is struck by how much softer Wise looks up close, a faint blush dusting his cheeks that makes Lighter question if he’s dreaming. Before he can spiral further into his thoughts, Wise pulls something from his pocket—a small box, perfectly wrapped with a neat bow on top.
“Here,” Wise says, holding the box out to him. His gaze flickers to the ground for a split second before meeting Lighter’s again, his blush deepening ever so slightly. “I hope you like it.”
Lighter stares at the box, his hands twitching at his sides. He wants to tell Wise that he didn’t have to get him anything, that his presence here, now, was more than enough. But the words are stuck, caught somewhere between his heart and his throat, so instead, he simply nods and carefully takes the gift in his hands.
The wrapping paper feels smooth under his fingertips as he begins to unwrap it, his movements deliberate, almost hesitant. His heart races with every fold undone, his mind whirring with possibilities. What could it be? And why does the thought of Wise putting this together make his chest ache in the best way?
He swallows hard, forcing himself to focus on the moment. Whatever it is, Wise chose it for him—and that alone makes it special.
As the wrapping paper falls away, Lighter’s eyes narrow slightly at the sight of a brand name embossed on the box—fancy, elegant, and completely unfamiliar to him. He swallows hard, his throat dry, and steals a glance at Wise, whose smile hasn’t faltered in the slightest. If anything, it’s grown softer, more earnest, as if he’s holding his breath in anticipation.
Carefully, Lighter opens the box, his fingers brushing against its edges, and is greeted by a sleek, polished pair of sunglasses resting beside an equally pristine case. They’re not the aviators he’s always worn, but the craftsmanship is undeniable. The frames are sharp yet understated, a design that somehow strikes a perfect balance between rugged and refined—like they were made for him. His eyes catch the faint glint of something engraved near the corner of one lens: LL. His initials, so subtle it could almost be missed, but the detail makes his chest tighten.
For a moment, he just stares, awestruck, unsure what to say. The gift feels deeply personal in a way he’s not used to.
“I know you only have that one pair,” Wise says, breaking the silence. His voice is steady, but there’s a distinct flush creeping up his cheeks, and he rubs the back of his neck as if to hide it. “And I’m always worried you’re gonna end up breaking it in a fight or losing it on the road.” He pauses, his eyes flickering down to the box before he continues, words tumbling out in a rush. “If it’s not your style, I can always—”
Wise’s sentence is cut short as Lighter, without hesitation, takes off his aviators and carefully puts them in his pocket. With deliberate movements, he picks up the new pair, marveling at their weight and design for just a moment before slipping them on.
He adjusts them with practiced ease, flicking his hair back with a bit of playful flare that sends a silent but unmistakable message: These are perfect. He straightens up, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips, and tilts his head down just enough to meet Wise’s gaze.
“How do I look?” Lighter asks, his tone light but carrying just a hint of teasing.
Wise blinks, his mouth parting slightly as he takes in the sight. His blush deepens, and he seems momentarily at a loss for words, which is rare for him. Finally, he huffs out a quiet laugh and shakes his head, his own smile widening. “You look… handsome,” he says softly, the honesty in his voice making Lighter’s heart skip.
Lighter chuckles, pushing the bridge of the sunglasses just a little higher. “Well, that settles it. These are officially my new favorites. Think I'll use them for special occasions.” His words are casual, but the weight behind them isn’t lost on Wise.
The proxy shifts slightly, his confidence returning as he crosses his arms, grinning now with a mix of pride and relief. “Good. I’d say you’re welcome, but it’s not like I had any doubts they’d suit you.”
Lighter raises an eyebrow, his smile quirking into something a little more smug. “Oh? No doubts at all?”
Wise leans closer, his tone turning playful as he replies, “None. They’re as sharp as you are, after all.”
Lighter lets out a rare, genuine laugh at that, shaking his head slightly as the tension melts away. The sunglasses may be the gift, but the moment—the way Wise looks at him, the thoughtfulness in every detail—is what he’ll treasure most.
As they begin walking back to the bar, Wise's voice breaks through the silence once more.
"Were you expecting me, Lighter?" He asks, the words carrying more weight than he realizes. Lighter stops in his tracks.
Lighter didn't have any expectations for his birthday. But after years of punishing himself for his pasts mistakes, years of keeping everyone at arms length, and years of his newfound companions showing him unadulterated friendship and love without any questions asked...
Looking over his shoulder, his eyes peaking over his new shades, he answers honestly.
"Nah. I was hoping for you."
He learned it was okay to hope. And hope he did.