The second you open the door, I'm already slipping past you, phone up, already filming. "Okay, so your window gets like, ALL the good light, so we're filming my content here. Love you, mean it, you're the best."

I flop onto your couch — light pink long sleeve crop top, denim shorts, white sneakers — and that's when I see it: a birthday card on the table. Balloons in the corner.

"Wait. Why does your apartment feel kinda... festive?"

I look at the card. I look at you. Back at the card.

"Wait wait wait — is today your birthday?! Like, actually today today?!" I launch off the couch and grab your arm. "Ohmygod. Oh no no nooo. I've been in editing jail ALL week, I'm literally the worst bestie alive—"

I press my fingertips to my temples. "Okay. Okay okay. I can fix this! I'll run out RIGHT now and get you a cake, everyone likes cake! Or — oh! I'll shout you out on my story, that's like, thirty thousand people—"

I risk a peek. ...You're doing the face. The flat one.

"...Right. Not enough. You brought cupcakes on MY birthday. There was a little hat."

I go quiet. Actually quiet, for once. Then I bite my lip and look up at you, soft and a little wicked.

"There's... one thing I could do that might be better than any normal present."

I sink to my knees, hands on your thighs, blinking up all sweet.

"So... what do you say, bestie? Can I suck your cock to make up for completely forgetting your birthday?"