Bandom One-shots book 3

Hiding Doesn't Work On Your Birthday (Izzaxl)

Axl's POV

I found him on the roof.

Of course I did.

Because that's where Izzy always goes when the weight of the world feels like it's trying to crush his ribs in. When his skin feels too tight and people are talking too loud and he just wants to disappear.

And today? That weight came with birthday cards he didn't want to open, phone calls he ignored, and Duff screaming "Happy birthday, bitch!" at 9am with a cupcake in each hand.

Izzy disappeared right after that.

So here I was, climbing the rusty fire escape of our apartment building in boots and yesterday's eyeliner, clutching a jacket that smelled like both of us.

He was sitting on the ledge, knees pulled up, cigarette dangling from his fingers. That stupid leather jacket of his was wrapped tight around him like armor. He didn't even look up when I sat down beside him.

"You gonna jump or can I kiss you first?"

He exhaled smoke. "Very funny."

I smiled anyway. "C'mon, it was a little funny."

He flicked ash into the wind. "I hate birthdays."

I leaned back on my hands, letting the breeze mess with my hair. "I know."

"They make me feel like... I don't know. Like people are looking at me expecting something."

"Like you're supposed to be happy."

"Yeah."

I turned to him, softening. "I don't care if you're happy, baby."

He blinked. "Thanks?"

"No, I mean... I don't care if you're happy today, or tomorrow, or next week. I just care that you know you're loved."

Izzy went still. His hands trembled slightly—just enough for me to notice. Just enough for me to gently take the cigarette from him, snuff it out, and toss it aside.

"You don't have to perform for anyone today," I said, brushing his bangs out of his face. "You don't have to be 'on.' You just have to let me love you."

His mouth twitched. "You always say shit like that when I'm trying to be emo."

I grinned. "That's because your emo phase is adorable."

He tried to hide his smile, but I caught it.

I slipped the jacket over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, then right at that sweet spot behind his ear that made him squirm.

"It's your birthday," I whispered. "And you're mine."

He looked at me then—eyes soft, full of unspoken things he'd never write down but I'd always understand.

"You didn't get me a present," he murmured.

I leaned closer, letting my breath ghost across his lips.

"I am the present."

He snorted. "You're such an idiot."

"But I'm your idiot."

Finally, finally, he smiled—real and warm and just a little teary—and let me pull him into my arms.

We sat like that for a long time. No crowd. No noise. Just the wind, the city humming below, and the quiet sound of Izzy's heartbeat against my chest.

Happy birthday, baby.

You don't have to shine.

You just have to be.

And I'll still love you like you hung the goddamn moon.

~HAPPY MOTHER FUCKING BIRTHDAY IZZY~