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Jonathan’s birthday starts wrong before he even opens his eyes.
He wakes up with that strange tightness in his chest.
Not exactly sadness.
Something older.
Something that feels like expecting too much.
Steve is already in the kitchen when Jonathan walks in. He’s frowning at his phone.
“Everything okay?” Jonathan asks.
“Yeah. Yeah, just work.”
He doesn’t look up when he says it.
Rocket is perched on the couch, watching with the kind of feline intensity that suggests he understands far more than he should.
Jonathan nods.
He doesn’t want to start the day looking for problems.
But the silence stretches.
At breakfast, Steve answers distractedly.
Jonathan tries to joke. Steve smiles a beat too late, like he has to remember to do it.
Something tightens in Jonathan’s chest.
“You don’t have to pretend today’s special,” Jonathan mutters finally.
Steve looks up.
“What?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“Jonathan.”
There it is. The tone. The one that says he’s already tired.
“I just…” Jonathan exhales. “I feel like you don’t look at me the same anymore.”
Steve blinks. “What are you talking about?”
“Like I’m not… I don’t know. Like I’m not the same.”
Steve runs a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his face.
“Not everything revolves around you, okay? I have stuff on my mind.”
The silence afterward is brutal.
Jonathan goes still.
Steve realizes it too late.
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
But it’s already out there.
Jonathan nods. Small smile. Polite.
Like he’s eight again.
“It’s fine.”
It isn’t.
The knock at the door comes before noon.
Jonathan opens it.
And the world rewinds twenty years.
Lonnie.
Crooked smile. Stale cigarette scent.
“Well, look at that. The birthday boy.”
Jonathan freezes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Can’t visit my son?”
Steve appears behind him.
The air shifts.
Lonnie steps inside without being invited.
He looks around the house. Looks at Steve. Assesses.
“Nice place. Guess someone here knows how to make money.”
Jonathan drops his gaze.
Rocket disappears under the couch.
“We didn’t know you were coming,” Steve says evenly.
“Won’t stay long. Just wanted to see how the kid’s doing.”
Kid.
Jonathan feels something inside him shrink.
Lonnie steps closer.
“Still the same, huh? Too sensitive.”
Jonathan swallows.
“You always exaggerate. Even as a kid, you couldn’t handle anything.”
The air goes thin.
Steve steps forward. “That’s enough—”
“I’m talking to my son.”
Jonathan isn’t really hearing anymore.
The words blur into old echoes he never asked for.
Stop crying.
Don’t be dramatic.
Toughen up.
The floor feels unsteady.
“I’m going out for a bit,” Jonathan says automatically.
No one stops him fast enough.
The air outside is sharp and cold.
He walks without direction.
The bridge appears before he thinks about it.
He grips the railing. His hands tremble.
Steve’s words echo.
Not everything revolves around you.
His father’s words overlap.
You exaggerate.
He feels small.
Invisible.
Not enough.
He doesn’t plan to fall.
But he isn’t careful either.
His shoe slips on damp concrete.
One second.
Then nothing.
The water steals the air from his lungs.
The cold is violent. A shock that scrapes against bone.
His body reacts before his mind does.
He tries to swim. His hands feel numb. His clothes drag him down.
The water is too cold.
Too much.
Back at the house, Steve is already regretting everything.
He went looking for Jonathan.
Lonnie’s car is still outside.
Something feels wrong.
Rocket is frantic. Yowling. Running toward the door.
Steve runs.
When he reaches the bridge, the first thing he sees is the camera.
Broken.
Near the edge.
His stomach drops.
“Jonathan.”
He doesn’t think.
He jumps.
The water slices into him like glass.
He sees movement. Weak.
He grabs him.
“Hey. Hey. Look at me.”
Jonathan is conscious. Barely.
He’s shaking violently.
Not just from the cold.
Steve swims like the world depends on it.
Because it does.
When he drags him out, Jonathan’s lips are pale.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan whispers.
Something inside Steve fractures.
“No. Don’t say that.”
The hospital is white lights and thermal blankets.
Jonathan can’t stop shaking.
Lonnie shows up.
“This is ridiculous. He’s always been dramatic.”
Steve turns slowly.
There’s something different in his face now.
Not the uncertain boy from high school.
“You don’t get to talk to him like that anymore.”
Lonnie scoffs. “And who are you?”
Steve steps closer.
“I’m the one who stays. The one who loves him. The one who doesn’t make him feel small.”
Silence.
“Leave,” Steve says.
Lonnie hesitates.
Then he does.
Jonathan is awake when Steve returns to the room.
Red eyes. Fragile.
“I didn’t mean to ruin today.”
Steve sits beside him.
“You didn’t.”
Jonathan swallows.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m still that kid.”
Steve takes his hand.
“You’re not.”
That night, back home, Rocket leaps onto the bed, sniffing, meowing softly, as if making sure Jonathan is still real.
Steve disappears for a moment.
He comes back carrying a small pet carrier.
Jonathan frowns.
“Steve?”
A tiny meow answers.
A tuxedo kitten peeks out. Wide eyes. Trembling whiskers.
Jonathan blinks.
“No…”
Steve kneels in front of him.
“You are not what he says. You never were.”
The kitten toddles forward and curls against Jonathan’s chest.
Jonathan starts crying.
This time it isn’t shame.
It’s relief.
Steve kisses him.
Slow.
Protective.
Steady.
“Happy birthday, Jonathan.”
And for the first time in years… the word doesn’t hurt quite as much.