Conter(xCris) oneshot - Everyday Like It's Your Birthday

conterxcris

It is August 4.

Almost.

Conter had been pacing his kitchen for twenty minutes. Earlier, he paced in his room. And then his bathroom. And then in his living room. And then his room again.

He'd been trying for a week now.
A week he'd been attempting to reach his family.

The problem wasn't that Conter missed his family. Actually, it was quite the opposite. He stopped trying to remember who was with him and when. He stopped trying to remember any of it.

There was nothing to miss. Not unless he particularly enjoyed the thoughts of his old life, which included a just-for-fun notebook page tallying the number of times he'd been mistaken for a sibling by his own immediate family.

He stopped bothering after the second page.

No, it's just...
He's lonely.

Tonight, at least. He tends to feel particularly isolated around this time of year, despite the fact it usually didn't bother him to be alone. He kind of likes it actually. But the team's support made him realize something for the thousandth time over.

It'd be nice to have a blood family, wouldn't it? People always claim blood is thicker than water— until you don't like your family. Then suddenly family is what you choose, apparently.

So what, he wanted to believe he had a real family for a night. Sue him.

Conter flips through his contact list. Usually his family wouldn't be so close to the top. He'd tried. He tried brothers, sisters, siblings, aunts, uncles. At least the siblings held enough respect for him that they answered. Cousins never bothered to remember his name, so of course he got no response. No luck anywhere. The only notable response really was a "Sorry man, I'm getting married tomorrow'' from an older brother. Which he's absolutely not that sorry about it, but hey! His brother is engaged apparently.

All in all, uneventful.

He stares at the bubble moving in his latest message. It had only taken her all week to finally respond.

"Sorry sweetie, I'm busy."

Well.

He wasn't betting on it anyways.

Conter closes his phone and watches his mother's message fade to black. His own face stares back at him. It doesn't look sad.

Conter holds his phone to his chest, knowing it would be useless to set it down when it's the only company he has. He'll get a call soon anyways, probably. The team is very enthusiastic about birthdays.

He drags his paws as he trudges back to his room. It doesn't take long. It's not a very large house. If he squints, he can imagine that the tight walls are a cozy little burrow, or something.

Conter drops onto his bed, rolling onto his side to face his further wall. As short as he is, he never fit on the twin sized mattress he found in the attic. He's too big for the room he's in. Too big for the bed, too big for the dresser, too big for the tv sitting on its own box a few feet from him.

Yet the space makes him feel so small.

It makes him feel alone, not lonely.

So he flips onto his back, ears flopping on either side of him against the pillow. He brings his phone to his face and taps a more familiar contact before he can think otherwise. It only rings once.

"What's up, beautiful?" A groggy voice greets.

Conter doesn't notice the smile on his face until he hears it in his own voice. The pet name didn't sit right on his ears, but to each their own.

"Hey man. You weren't sleeping, right?"

Some shuffling happens on the other end of the speaker. Bedsheets, he's fairly sure. That answers that question.

"No. No, I wasn't." His boyfriend sniffs. The tap of a touch lamp can be heard.

Conter's nose twitches. "Someone hasn't been watching the calendar. There's, like, an hour left," he confirms with a glance to his phone's clock.

There's another sniff and shuffling. He can hear the thump of his boyfriend laying back down.
"Why? What's tomorrow, Saturday?"

Conter feels something squeeze in his chest.

"Yeah, Saturday. August 5th."

"And...?"

Conter's phone is shaking. He's not sure why. He feels fine.

"Nothing, sorry." What was a reasonable enough excuse? He needs an out. Who's the first person to come to mind?
"Cris put me up to this."
Cris. Cris was his first thought. It felt right to say, even if the situation was infinitely not right.

"Ah. Come on bunny, it's late."

He feels like he's being constricted. Those words still don't satisfy his stomach. The opposite, actually.

"Well, you know. A bet is a bet." Conter pulls at his ear absently. He messes the fur, smoothes it down again. Over and over again.

"A bet is a bet." Shuffling. Belatedly, Conter realizes it's a nod.
"Whatever. Have a good night, little bunny. Sleep well.

"Goodnight."

The call ends. He doesn't notice if anything else is said, and he can't quite care. He sets his phone aside. He doesn't know when exactly he stopped smiling, but he feels it now. There's a weight on his chest.

It's familiar.

He never wants to feel it again.

Conter nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels buzzing next to his head. He rolls over to face the wall, grabbing his phone. At least the close wall makes him feel tight and safe.

His bright screen display is paired with an obnoxiously familiar photo.

He accepts without a thought.

"Hey loser! Why didn't you call me first? We have an hour! Talk to me, damn it! You didn't invite me to your party!"
Conter's form softens. His phone isn't shaking anymore.

"You know I don't throw parties, Cris."

"At least go along with it!"

Conter does as his friend wishes. They talk. They talk for an hour. The first happy birthday he hears comes from Cris. It becomes a group call when everyone else wakes up, alarms set for midnight. Farfadox is diligently the first to wake—minus Cris, of course. Cris was just a given. Cris is his best friend. Conter didn't expect anyone else from the team to beat him to it.

Serpias is next, although only seconds after Farfa, the cat being mostly nocturnal. She picks up the phone and yells her happy birthday as loudly and quickly as she can, trying to beat Farfadox to the chase. Destri joins the call third, woken by Serpias in the other room.

Shadoune is fourth and the only one who doesn't immediately spoil whatever he bought Conter for the occasion.

Spreen is last. Not for any reason Conter should take to heart. Bears just love to sleep. Meaning, they hate waking up. But Spreen wakes for Conter anyway, and he couldn't be happier about it even if the bear doesn't speak much beyond sleepy mumbles and curses.

They talk for another hour.

Everyone says goodnight. Unspoken anticipation thrums through them all, excited to both sleep and wake up tomorrow for an unforgettable birthday party like always.

When Conter's screen flickers to black, a smile stares back at him.