Happy Birthday G

The dim lighting of the restaurant cast a soft glow, accentuated by the flickering candlelight at each table. The warm hues reflected off rich wood paneling and brass fixtures lining the walls, adding to the upscale atmosphere. Everywhere you looked, opulence was evident.

It was lavish, far too lavish for two college kids. Yet here you were, dressed in your ‘best’ which really consisted of whatever was clean. At least you weren’t alone, and your companion refused to let you forget it as they sighed once more.

Slender fingers plucked your phone from your grip, powering it off as they slipped it into the pocket of their coat.

"Hey-" you object, but their look stops you.

G’s dark eyes look almost black in the dim lighting, a perfect black eyebrow arched at your reaction. "No distractions, remember?"

"I wasn't distracted, I was just -"

G scoffs, their lips pulled into a small smile "Looking at the fifth cat video Cam sent you. The next date we go on I’m going to-"

"Date?"

G's eyes widened, realizing too late what they said. Their gaze flickers to the linen table cloth, to the candlelight, then to the waiter filling a wine glass.

You weren't official, not yet. The only thing missing from whatever this is, was a label.

Hell, the line between friendship and more blurred weeks ago. First, when you kissed at the karaoke booth, G was almost too drunk to remember – a miscalculation on their part they said. They needed something to calm down, and drunk G, it turns out, is more than calm. It blurred again when the two of you were in Cam's old room, working on a paper. A paper that was soon forgotten as your lips met. Only for the idiot to walk in.

Ask G, and they'll deny that Cam is one of their best friends, but it's true. He just happened to have the worst timing known to man. Still refusing to let the two of you forget what happened, and that you’ve had more action in his room than he has.

Who knows what would have happened if he didn't walk in...

G’s cheeks are flushed with color, a sight you’ve yet to get used to, pulling you from your thoughts. “Do you… want it to be. A date, I mean?” Despite how hard they’re trying to sound calm, their shaky hands fumbling with the stem of their wine glass gives them away.

“Would it be cheesy if I said yes? I mean, it’s-”

G purses their lips together, “Valentine’s, I know-”

“Your birthday.” You interrupt, feeling a bit smug when you notice how wide their eyes get.

“You remembered?”

“I did.”

“You remembered… and yet you didn’t get me a present?” There’s a small smile, just enough to pull at their lips and give you the slightest flash of teeth.

You snort, something the other patrons aren’t amused with, so you try, and fail, to cover it with a cough. “It’s a bit early to give you your present, let’s just… enjoy our date.”

The two of you talk about nothing and everything: how their family is, how yours is. G reminds you of your upcoming meeting with your advisor and that your midterm is in two weeks.

"Was I right?"

You sip your water, humming in satisfaction at the cooling sensation. "About?"

"Was he sending you cat videos?" G’s curiosity gets the better of them - if it had to do with you, it usually does. But you've no doubt it's also because they secretly want to see the cats.

"I'll forward them to you."

With a soft nod, G gives you back your phone, powering it on quickly and waiting for the cute videos that they have every intention of saving.

The waiter eventually returns, placing a piece of cake on the table. A lone candle was inserted in the icing.

“Here you go. One slice of Red Velvet. Please enjoy.”

G shoots you a look, unsure of when you even bothered to tell them. "Thank you," they murmur, picking up a fork. The fork pauses inches from their lips. Before they can take a bite, your fingers curl around the utensil, halting them.

"Allow me."

They frown, but you see the flicker of something in their gaze. You’ve seen it before – pressed together tight in a booth. And again, as your back pressed against the bed before your lips met in urgency. Without thought, your thumb brushes their lips, tracing the shape.

“Open up for me, G.”

They go still. A quiet intensity settles in the way their hand cradles yours, keeping your fingers against their chin. They don’t just hear the words—you can feel the shift. A wall, trembling. A hesitation, melting.

They guide your wrist back, swallowing hard. Their lips stained a deep red from the icing.

You brush the icing from the corner of their mouth with a slow, deliberate touch, before licking the icing off your finger.

They say nothing, but the taste lingers. Red Velvet—sweet, like their kiss, and dark, like the weight of their hand pressing into the base of your spine.

"Promise me," they murmur, their voice low and steady. "Whatever happens, we're friends first. We'll always have each other."

"I promise," you whisper breathlessly.

Another soft kiss—lingering, warm.

"So, how was my present?"

"The kiss?"

"And the cake. That part actually cost me money."

G smirks, their thumb brushing your cheek. "I think I liked it."

"You think?!"

"Well, I can't be certain. You might need to give it to me once more. Just to be sure."

Once, lead to twice. Which eventually led to the two of you being asked to leave the restaurant. But you made sure you didn't go empty handed. The rest of the cake was boxed up, and the two of you took languid bites of it throughout the night. In between conversations, some deep. In between your expectations of your new 'label' and before their eyes fluttered shut with your head on their chest.

"Happy birthday." you whisper, watching as G brushes their fingers along your arm.

"Best birthday, ever."