Chapter 1: Begging for Birthday Peace

After five years of chasing Michael Donovan and clinging to him like static on a winter sweater, I’d finally pushed him too far.

In my shabby rental room, thick with the smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke, exhaustion carved shadows into Michael’s usually sharp features. The bare bulb overhead flickered, throwing harsh lines across his face.

"So, what’s the story this time, Ryan? Car crash? Cancer? Or you trying to off yourself again?" His voice was heavy, the kind you get after a twelve-hour day and a nightmare commute.

He paused, rubbing his temple. "Tomorrow’s my birthday."

He let that hang in the air before continuing, almost pleading: "If possible, I hope you can disappear for one day and give me some peace. Can you do that?"

I leaned back against the iron headboard, a menthol cigarette dangling from my lips. For a moment, I just stared at the ceiling, smoke curling upwards. Michael’s words echoed in my head. The taste of menthol lingered, cheap sheets scratchy under my fingers. I was stunned, even as my life countdown—some supernatural curse I never asked for—ticked away on my wrist, the numbers dropping fast every second we were apart.

"Sure, that’s easy enough," I said, my voice flat.

I let out a lazy laugh that didn’t reach my eyes. Suddenly, I was back in that ER years ago, alone under flickering fluorescent lights, watching the seconds on my life tick down, knowing Michael’s number was the only one that could save me. I’d wanted to call anyone else. But there was no one else.

How annoying—I won’t be able to pester you anymore after this.

"Then let me wish you a happy birthday in advance."

This time without me, you’ll definitely be happy.