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Aaron doesn’t remember every birthday.
He knows there were parties when he was little. The kind with folding tables and grocery store cake, paper plates bending under too much frosting. He knows there were balloons at some point, and kids he recognized from class, and presents that were mostly toys he’d forget about a month later. His mom has photos somewhere. He’s seen them in passing, him missing his front teeth, smiling too wide, holding up something plastic and brightly colored.
Then elementary school happened.
The stutter got worse and the dyslexia got noticed. Reading aloud in class became a nightmare, and people started laughing, quietly at first, then bold. He learned very quickly how to be smaller, talk less. He went from loud and energetic to timid and emotional in less than a school year because of it all.
The parties stopped without anyone ever saying they were stopping.
He doesn’t remember asking for one and being told no. He doesn’t remember making a decision about it. They just… faded out of existence. One year there was cake, and the next year there wasn’t, and after that it stopped occurring to him as an option.
He’s okay with it. Really, he is.
It hurts a little, sure. Noticing other kids pass out invitations, watching them whisper about laser tag or bowling or arcades. But by then Aaron is already used to the disappointment. Accepted that he probably won’t ever have friends like that, ever have people who clap him on the back and shove a present into his hands and yell surprise.
That’s fine.
As much as he wants a party, as much as he wants to walk into a darkened room and have the lights flick on, as much as he wants companionship and trips to the arcade and the loud joy everyone else his age seems to have, he’s fine without it.
He’s fine.
In high school, birthdays become louder. More obvious. People stop pretending they don’t care about it and start using it as an excuse to go crazy.
Aaron pretends harder.
He watches people pile into cars, hears about weekends he’s not part of. He feels the jealousy flare sometimes, then disappear just as fast, replaced by logic. He can’t picture himself throwing a party anyway. Who would come? What would they do? How long before it got awkward?
He only gets presents from one person: his mom.
Money’s tight, it always is. She tries anyway. A hoodie, or a book, something she knows he would enjoy. For some reason, he’s always surprised. When she hands it over, she always gifts him an accompanying apology, and he hates that more than anything. He always tells her it’s perfect. He always means it.
College doesn’t change anything.
He doesn’t bring his birthday up to the people he meets. He’s busy, has responsibilities. He’s working late night sets, chasing opportunities, building something out of nothing. He doesn’t regret it at all- but debuting as a comedian young wasn’t going to be easy. People he knows aren’t people he knows like that. They don’t ask about it and he never offers.
When his birthday comes around, he treats it like a technicality. Another day, another shift, another open mic. The day is like any other: unremarkable.
Distantly, sometimes, he thinks about how nice it would be. He doesn’t let himself linger on it.
There’s one year, one mistake, where it hurts more than usual.
They’re in a cabin in Yellowstone. His girlfriend at the time, her friends everywhere, loud and close in that way that makes him feel like a guest in someone else’s life. Her birthday is the day after his.
On his birthday, he doesn’t say anything.
However, that night, one of her friends pulls him aside, voice conspiratorial and excited, telling him about the plans. The cake, decorations, and surprise they had planned for her. The friend asks him to help keep her distracted and make sure she doesn’t suspect anything.
Aaron smiles. Nods and helps. The pit in his stomach grows deeper.
It’s no one’s fault. He knows that. He didn’t give them the chance, and he can’t fault anyone for that.
It still hurts.
He watches her blow out candles that night, watches everyone cheer, watches her cry a little when she realizes how loved she is. He claps with everyone else, and he feels fine.
Later, alone in the bathroom, he stares at himself in the mirror longer than necessary and wonders, briefly, stupidly, what it would feel like to have people do that for him.
He lets the thought go. He’s fine.
Now, years later, his birthday is coming up again, and he’s on the phone with his mom.
She asks, gently, “Do you have any plans this year? 30!”
He laughs, keeping it light. “Mom, you know I don’t really celebrate it.”
There’s a pause on the other end, the kind that means she’s choosing her words carefully. “Well,” she says, “still. Its different, I just thought I’d ask.”
After the call ends, Aaron sits there longer than he needs to, phone in his hand.
This year is different. Not because of the new decade he’s entering.
For one thing, he has something steady going on. Not just hustles, but something consistent. Being a cohost on Kevin’s show means structure, coworkers, people he sees regularly. People who know him.
Kevin, who tries so hard to be funny and somehow is anyway, sweet and earnest and always a little unsure of himself.
Denny, sharp and sassy and mean in a way that only works if you know him, which Aaron does.
Herm, tall and sarcastic, judgmental eyes paired with perfect timing, always there when you meed him.
Zane, quieter, older, humor walking a fine line.
Aaron’s grateful for all of them.
That’s why he feels weird when they start acting… off.
If he thinks hard enough, he can pinpoint when it started. It was during the Jenga video on KL2.
They’ve already begun filming, and the tower is set up, already leaning in a way that makes Aaron nervous, palms pressed flat to his thighs like that might stabilize it by association. They’re all standing around for this video, since they’re playing a jumbo version of Jenga.
He had been telling the story of why he had been so late, how his uber driver drove off with his things still in the car, and how he had been dragged off to a surprise party when he had tried to charge his phone.
They go on a side tangent talking about how crazy the situation Aaron had been in was. How ridiculous the situation is, how Aaron always ends up in stuff like that, how he somehow attracts chaos by minding his own business. Someone jokes that it’s a curse.
Aaron laughs along. He thinks that everyone knew that this part will get cut out, and thats why they felt comfortable asking. He doesn’t even remember who, just remembers a voice cutting through the conversation.
“So when is your birthday, Aaron?”
Aaron’s stomach drops immediately. For some reason, he hadn’t expected the conversation to lead someone to be curious about his own birthday.
He doesn’t even look up. “What?”
Denny snaps his fingers. “Wait! I know this.”
Kevin blinks. “You do?”
“Yeah, of course I do,” Denny says, pointing vaguely at Aaron like the answer might be written on his forehead. “It’s.. no, hang on. It’s not October. Is it October?”
“How do you not know? Haven’t you guys been best friends for years?” Zane asks Denny suspiciously.
Denny frowns. “Okay, well-”
They start laughing at him, good natured, the way they always do. Herm makes a joke about Denny not remembering his own birthday. The bit plays out, and they’re as funny as always.
Aaron can barely hear it.
His heart is beating too fast. Acid curls in his stomach, hot and familiar. He keeps his eyes set on the Jenga tower.
He has excuses for situations like this. He always does. It’s a system he’s perfected over the years when he forgets to control the conversation from turning on him and focusing on the day he was born. Its always the same: deflect, but not too obviously, joke, and make it an ordinary thing.
But this situation is different. These people are different.
He knows Denny doesn’t know. He’s made sure of that.
Not just Denny. Any of them.
Aaron has kept it from all of them on purpose.
He tells himself it’s circumstantial, that it just never came up, but that’s not true. He’s steered conversations away when they drifted too close. Let jokes land without correcting them. Let assumptions harden into facts because it was easier than explaining.
He doesn’t like that about himself.
There’s something cowardly in it, he thinks. Something small. Like he’s decided in advance that he doesn’t deserve whatever might come from being honest. Like he’s preemptively sparing everyone the inconvenience of knowing him that well.
He can’t even pin down a single reason.
Maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with the day as a whole. The weight of it. The way it sits on his chest from the moment he wakes up, the quiet tallying of hours until it’s over. If no one knows, he can pretend it’s just another line on the calendar he doesn’t have to acknowledge.
Maybe it’s easier not to hope.
Hope has always been the problem. Hope is what makes disappointment sting instead of pass through. He learned that early, learned it well, and apparently never unlearned it. Keeping his birthday to himself feels like proof that he’s learned the lesson correctly.
Or maybe he’s just afraid of how transparent it would make him.
Afraid that if they knew, they’d look at him differently. Like someone fragile. Like someone who wants something he insists he doesn’t. Afraid of awkward, well intentioned wishes that feel rehearsed. Afraid of hearing happy birthday and having to decide whether it means anything at all.
And worst of all: afraid that it might mean something, and that he wouldn’t know what to do with that.
“So?” Kevin asks, curious. “When is it?”
Aaron smacks his lips nervously. “Ah- Why?”
Kevin shrugs. “Just curious.”
Denny has gone quiet by now. Aaron knows he’s suspicious, of course he is, and it’s only a matter of time before this all explodes in his face. He doesn’t know what he could even say if Denny directly asks why he doesn’t know when Aaron’s birthday is.
He stills, breath shallow. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t really keep track?”
Herm raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know your own birthday?” It sounds ridiculous coming from Herm, no non-sense Herm, like that.
Aaron laughs, too quick. “I mean, I know it. I just. It’s not a thing I do.”
The air tightens, just a little.
Kevin opens his mouth, then closes it. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Sure.”
Denny studies Aaron for half a second longer than necessary.
Aaron forces a smile.
A second later, Denny looks away. It seems like Denny concedes, decides that whatever he was going to say was better kept for another time.
Aaron can’t help but be relieved.
Zane claps his hands once, loudly ending the awkward moment. “Alright! Who’s starting?”
They move on. The game continues. The moment passes.
But it doesn’t really.
Aaron can feel it, unspoken, like something they almost touched and didn’t. When the video wraps, no one brings it up again.
He tells himself it’s nothing. But then, Aaron notices things, weeks later, as the day approaches.
It’s little things at first.
Conversations that stop when he walks into the room.
Denny asking him oddly specific questions, like what his favorite cake flavor is, or whether he prefers drinks or food, and if he’s busy “in general.”
Herm deflecting when Aaron asks what’s up.
Once, Aaron walks into a bakery on his way to the studio, just to get something sweet to treat himself, and sees all of them crowded around a booth, whispering. The silence when they notice him is immediate.
“If I didn’t know we had to film in an hour, I’d think you guys were talking crap about me,” Aaron says, half joking.
Herm shrugs. “You hate sweets.”
“That’s not true.”
Kevin squints at him. “You literally complain every time we have donuts.”
“I complain affectionately.”
They laugh. It’s awkward anyway.
He tries not to read into it.
Then he realizes they’re having to film KL2 again on the day of his birthday. May 30th.
The thought settles heavy in his chest before he can stop it.
It’s fine. His birthday is just like any other day to him! He doesn’t have plans, anyway, so when Kevin asks everyone to confirm the schedule, he doesn’t hesitate.
Still, the day itself feels… strange.
They keep making jokes he doesn’t get. Side glances. Half smiles. Denny says something about “big days” and Kevin nearly chokes trying not to laugh.
No one explains anything. There’s this excited energy, like everyone is anticipating something huge.
By the time they sit down to film the last KL2 video of the day, Aaron’s chest hurts in a way he doesn’t have a name for.
They’re filming some new card game Kevin found online. Something with dumb cards and forced honesty and a “leave the room” mechanic that Kevin swore would be great television.
Aaron doesn’t trust that sentence.
“Okay,” Kevin says, clapping his hands together. “Rules are simple: one person leaves, and the rest of us answer a prompt about them. Then they come back and we discuss, and they tell us what they really would have answered.”
Denny squints at the box. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Herm hums. “This is gonna hurt feelings.”
Zane smirks. “Perfect.”
Denny leans back in his chair. “Who’s first?”
Everyone looks at him.
He blinks. “Oh, so we’re starting hostile.”
Kevin laughs nervously. “No, no… you’re closest to the door!”
“That’s crazy,” Denny says.
Zane points. “Go. Shoo.”
Denny stands, mock salutes. “Say nice things about me.”
Herm doesn’t look up. “No promises.”
x
The game is actually really fun to play. After Denny goes, it’s Zane’s turn, then Herm’s, then Kevin’s.
As they discuss the prompts, there’s a lot of almost looking at Aaron, then stopping. Denny keeps saying stuff like, “Nah, don’t say that yet,” or “Save it,” and Herm keeps cutting him off with a cough.
At one point, Kevin says, “This is gonna be so worth it,” and then freezes.
Aaron raises an eyebrow. “What is?”
Kevin shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Right..” Aaron says.
It shouldn’t bother him, but it does.
By the time Kevin finishes his turn, Aaron’s already tired. The jokes keep brushing past him, not at him, and that’s worse. Usually when they focus on him, it feels familiar. This feels like they’re laughing at him, somehow, and not with him.
“Alright,” Kevin says, swallowing. “Last one.”
Everyone looks at Aaron.
He blinks. “Oh. Why am I nervous?”
Denny grins. “Don’t be dramatic.”
Herm adds, “Go. We’ll be nice.”
“I don’t believe you,” Aaron says, standing anyway.
He hears them giggling at something behind him.
Aaron pauses. Turns. “What?”
Denny’s already looking at the table. “Nothing.”
The door shuts.
x
In the hallway, Aaron doesn’t lean on the wall. He paces.
He thinks about his mom asking about plans. About how filming landed on his birthday and how that somehow felt fitting. About the pastry shop, the weird secrecy, the way conversation keeps cutting when he enters rooms.
He tells himself he’s being dramatic. They always dogpile him a little, gay jokes, height, forehead, the usual stuff, and it never actually bothers him. Usually it feels like rhythm.
He can hear them through the door, muffled laughter, Kevin’s voice spiking too high. He can’t make out words.
“Alright,” Kevin calls. “Come back in.”
Aaron steps inside-
And the room is dark.
Not dim. Dark.
His heart drops straight through his chest.
For half a second, he thinks: Oh. This is it. They’re done. They wrapped early. They didn’t tell me.
He stands there, stupidly.
“…Hello?” he says.
A beat.
“SURPRISE!”
The lights flip on.
Confetti. Balloons. A cake on the table with his name frosted on it. Denny yelling too loud. Kevin clapping like he’s trying to keep himself from crying. Herm standing there with the softest grin Aaron has ever seen on his face.
Aaron just stares.
“What-“ His voice cracks. He clears his throat. “What is happening?”
Denny steps forward. “Happy birthday, A Boogie.”
Aaron laughs once, sharp and disbelieving. “I’m in shock right now.”
Aaron looks at Denny. Then Kevin. Then Herm.
“I thought you guys were sick of me,” he admits quietly.
Kevin shakes his head hard. “No. God, no.”
Zane adds, “We were trying not to ruin it.”
Aaron presses his lips together, overwhelmed. “You were acting so weird.”
Denny snorts. “We’re weird? Why didn’t you tell us today was your birthday!”
Aaron exhales, something unsteady leaving his chest.
Kevin’s still beaming, even if a little strained. “Okay!” He finishes the outro, calling their fans to wish Aaron a happy birthday.
The crew swarms Aaron after, side hugs, claps on the back, overlapping happy birthdays. It’s loud but easy, a warm, unforced kind of thing. Aaron can’t held but smile, even if he’s unused to this type of attention.
Later, it’s just the five of them, drinks in hand.
Aaron shakes his head, still dazed. “How did you guys even know?”
Denny shrugs. “I realized we’ve never celebrated it. We’ve known each other forever, and then I thought about it, and I realized you’ve always been kinda skittish about birthdays. So I asked your mom.”
Aaron blinks. Then laughs. “Oh. That makes sense, actually.”
Denny squints at him. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He asks again.
Aaron shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. “I don’t really celebrate.”
He expects it to pass. A joke, maybe.
Instead, the group goes quiet.
Kevin’s smile fades, enough that Aaron notices. Herm sets his drink down, careful, like he doesn’t want the sound to interrupt something. Zane straightens, arms uncrossing.
“That’s…” Kevin starts, then stops. He swallows. “That’s not the same as not caring.”
Aaron rubs his thumb along the seam of his cup. The condensation leaves his skin cold. “It’s fine,” he says. “I just don’t make a thing out of it.”
Denny’s voice is softer than Aaron’s ever heard it. “Since when?”
Aaron exhales through his nose. He hadn’t meant to dig this up, at all. “I don’t know? It’s been a while. Maybe when I was really young, but I’ve never hosted or been thrown a party before.”
Herm nods once, like he’s filed that away. “So.. you learned not to expect it.”
Aaron shifts his weight, fingers curling around the cup. “I guess. It’s fine, though. Plenty of people don’t do anything for their birthdays! They just treat it like any other day.”
Kevin leans closer, slow, giving him time to pull away if he wants to. The warm, dim light of the bar they’re at accentuates his face, and Aaron realizes that the frown on Kevin’s face means he’s upset for him. He doesn’t pull away as Kevin’s hand settles on Aaron’s shoulder, steady.
“Well, you shouldn’t have had to do that. You should’ve had the right to choose, you know?”
Aaron laughs quietly, breathy. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
Denny shakes his head. “Doesn’t have to be,” he says. “Still sucks.”
Herm meets Aaron’s eyes, earnest. “You deserve people showing up for you.”
Aaron opens his mouth, then closes it again. His throat feels tight, and he doesn’t know why. “I’m okay,” he says, softer than before.
“We know,” Kevin says. “That’s not the point.”
Denny nudges Aaron’s shoulder, light, grounding. “You’re our brother, Aaron. We also want to have a day where we can love and appreciate you!”
That earns a small smile from Aaron, even as his chest feels strange and fluttery. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
Denny pulls him into a hug. “Well. Too bad.”
Then, Herm, “You’re stuck with us now.”
Zane snorts. “Congratulations. Your birthday will officially be a recurring bit.”
Aaron laughs, real and easy.
For once, the day doesn’t feel ordinary. He thinks that if he’s with them, it never will be.