I’m in my underwear, making coffee when there’s a knock at my front door. Shaggy jumps off the couch, yapping excitedly. For a second, I consider throwing on some pants, but the only person it could be is Brewer.

Sure enough, when I open the door, he’s standing there with a smile on his face and a present in his hands. My heart flips, and I gape at him.

“What’s that?” I ask, my throat suddenly dry.

“A little birdie told me it was someone’s birthday,” Brewer says smugly, thrusting the gift at me. “You’d better get dressed; we’re already running late.”

“Running late for what?” I ask as he pushes past me and plops down on my couch.

“For your birthday,” he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay, back up. Who told you it was my birthday?”

“I peeked in your employment file. Enough with the questions, open your present.”

I stare at him open mouthed for several seconds, the weight of the gift heavy in my hands. I can’t remember the last time I got anything for my birthday. My parents didn’t believe in birthday gifts after ten years old. They said birthdays were for children. I can’t even begin to wonder why he was looking at my file or what possessed him to get me a present and apparently plan some sort of outing. But it’s making my chest ache and my throat feel tight.

My fingers are trembling as I tear the brightly colored paper off the gift, and I’m thrown even further off balance when I see what’s inside.

“This is...I don’t…” I stutter, turning it over in my hands in awe.

“You like it, right?” Brewer asks, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. “I mean, I know you like the models and you said the Golden Gate Bridge inspired you, so…”

“It’s perfect,” I assure him, looking again at the image on the box. “I can’t wait to build it and put it next to the others.”

“Good,” he breathes out what sounds like relief. “Now get dressed.”

“Do I get to know where we’re going?”

“Ugh, I was going to wait until we got there to tell you, but I get the feeling you’ll be more cooperative if you know. I got tickets to a film festival today. All classics— Casablanca, Singing in the Rain, and The Sound of Music, to name a few.”

I’m so overwhelmed by the gesture, I find myself striding across the room and scooping Brewer up off the couch. It was meant to be a hug, but before I know what’s happening, my lips are against his, my hands in his hair. Brewer whimpers against my lips as I suck his bottom lip and then thrust my tongue against his.

“This will definitely make us late,” Brewer warns, wiggling against my prominent erection.

I grumble in my chest, and Brewer chuckles. Reluctantly, I set him back down. I run my thumb along his now swollen bottom lip and look into his eyes, bright with his infectious smile.

“Thank you, Micah.”

“Any time, Pete.”

I head over to my dresser and set my new model set down, excited to work on it later and completely at a loss for words that he would get me such a perfect gift. My head swims with confusing emotions as I pull on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.

“You want coffee?” I ask as I head back to the kitchen to pour my coffee into a travel mug.

“Nah, but I’ll take tea if you have some.”

“Sure, give me a minute to make some hot water. Is it too much to assume you actually ate breakfast?” Brewer’s silence answers the question for me, so I pop a few slices of bread into the toaster and pull out a container of berries from the fridge. “I have toast and fruit you can eat in the car while I drive.”

“Tank, you don’t have to do that.”

“Someone has to take care of you. Because frankly, you’re doing kind of a shitty job of it on your own.” I half expect him to argue with that assessment, and when he doesn’t, I almost wonder if it’s worse than I realized. “Strawberry or raspberry jam?”

“Raspberry, please.”

With his breakfast prepared, I hand him a little travel container with the fruit and toast inside it and then gesture toward the door.

“When’s your birthday by the way?” I ask once we’re in the car and headed toward the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel where Brewer told me the film festival is being held.

“It doesn’t matter,” Brewer waves off my question.

“Dude, after all this today, you bet your ass I’m going to make your next birthday insane.”

“Don’t worry about it; I don’t celebrate.”

My heart twists painfully. “Because of your brother?” I guess.

“Yeah. Can we drop this, please?”

“I can’t, not until you tell me when it is.”

Brewer sighs. “It was last month, September 5th.”

“Wait, wasn’t that the night you wanted to come to my place instead of hanging out at the club?”

“I guess so,” Brewer says sounding nonchalant as he munches on the toast.

“You didn’t want to get wild on your birthday? Maybe get laid?”

“I did get laid on my birthday,” Brewer points out.

“That was a scene so that doesn’t count,” I argue.

“It felt like it counted when I came so hard I nearly blacked out.”

His words send a pulse of heat straight to my dick. “You know what I mean,” I insist.

“Mmm,” he makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. “What I’m hearing is if I don’t end this birthday event with a bang—so to speak—it’ll be a bust.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I’m just teasing you, teddy bear. However, I do fully intend to suck you dry later. It is your birthday, after all. And you’re right: birthday sex is a must.”

I ignore my pulse pounding in my now hard cock, pressing against my zipper. “Which brings us back to my original question of why you wanted to come to my place instead of hook up with that guy on your birthday.”

“I don’t know,” Brewer answers with a sigh. “I had a good birthday, though.”

“I’m glad. But next year, I’m doing something more for you.”

“Thank you.”

I reach over and give his hand a little squeeze. And, just because it feels nice to touch him, I let it linger there for the rest of the drive.

At the theater, we get snacks and find seats near the front. I sneak a glance at Brewer out of the corner of my eye as we settle in. I can’t believe he organized this for me. He’s given me more than a few glances at his less than ideal childhood, so it’s only fair I return the favor.

“I haven’t celebrated a birthday since I was ten,” I admit as we wait for the first movie to start.

“Why not?”

“My parents are…” I try to think of a nice way to describe my parents. Because, they’re not bad people, and I don’t want to give that impression. “They’re very practical people. Did you know I grew up on a dairy farm?”

“No,” Brewer laughs with surprise. “I can totally see you throwing bales of hay around though.”

“Yeah, my parents loved that I was naturally a big guy, put on muscle easily. I was perfect for farm work,” I agree with a hint of bitterness in my voice. Maybe if I’d been a scrawny kid they wouldn’t have been so disappointed in me.

“But you never wanted to do farm work. You always wanted to be an architect.”

“Yeah. They thought it was so frivolous and silly. They wanted me to get my head out of the clouds and focus on real work.”

“Designing bridges is real work,” Brewer assures me, putting his hand over mine. “And one day, when I drive across a bridge you designed, I’ll be really proud of you.”

Tears burn in my eyes, and I turn my head away so Brewer can’t see the emotion on my face. Thankfully, the lights go down and the first movie starts, so I don’t have to attempt to think of a response to the most perfect thing Brewer could have possibly said.

* * *

After the movie-marathon, Brewer insists we stop at a bakery on the way back to my place to get a cake.

“What am I going to do with all this cake?” I ask, as I climb back into Brewer’s car holding a rainbow cake Brewer insisted was perfect.

“Eat it?”

“Smart ass,” I snort and shake my head.

When we get back to my place, Shaggy bounces around happily, and Brewer stoops to greet him while I set the cake on the kitchen counter.

“Come eat some cake. You’re not leaving me with this whole thing on my own.”

“Wait, don’t cut it yet,” Brewer insists, rushing over to me. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out one candle. “I only had one at home, and I figured lighting thirty candles would be a pain in the ass. So, this should do.”

He sticks the candle into the cake and pulls out a lighter to light it.

“Please don’t sing,” I beg.

“Party pooper,” Brewer complains. “I won’t sing, but you have to make a wish.”

I look at the flickering flame for a second, trying to remember what types of frivolous things I always wished for when I was a kid. It’s not like it’s real anyway, so I don’t know why I’m thinking so hard about what to wish for. A million dollars? A sunnier personality?

I look up at Brewer, smiling at me over the cake, and a warm sensation fills my chest. I wish this was real.

The thought is like a punch in the chest, making the air fly out of my lungs and my heart race. It was a fleeting thought. Of course, I don’t mean it. I hurry to blow out the candle before any more crazy thoughts can manifest.

“What did you wish for?” Brewer asks.

“I wished for a blowjob,” I joke.

“Coming right up.”