It wasn’t any bragging on Delilah’s part that told him.

It was a calendar, simply tacked onto the side of the refrigerator as it hummed away the morning in the kitchen.

It was only a few days short of two weeks that Julian had been alive, so to speak. Delilah, patient as ever, had taught him to count the days on this calendar. Together, they used a marker to scratch out the days as they passed. It was apparent even before his salvation that Julian, as a monster, had no concept of time. The fact that the sun rose and set before his very eyes was a fascinating blessing for him, and he wept the first few days simply seeing such a natural, everyday phenomenon. Every step of the way, Delilah was there and held him close.

It took almost eight days for Julian to learn to keep track of the time he now had. The wall clock was paid attention to, though not as often as it likely should have been. It was as if his own personal clock had begun to tick again after being dormant for so many years. Before, in the cold darkness of the Rift, no youma had time. It was a sunless eternity in which they existed. For them, time was endless, life was deathless, sleep was dreamless.

Now, dreamless sleep was a blessing, as Delilah had come to find.

The nightmares were vivid and horrifying, to the point that Delilah had awoken to hear his bloodcurdling screaming. Through the tears and incoherent stammering, she held him, rocking back and forth gently to calm his terrified soul. She would rake her nails through his hair, whispering gentle words into his ears. Eyes wide, body shaking, he could cling to her and sob brokenly until sleep took him again. Delilah had placed a small radio and made it play soft music at all times to keep him calm at night, when the terror was most apparent.

Julian wanted so desperately to thank her for the selflessness she’d shown, and to thank the others who’d saved him that night. They didn’t have to spend time with him, or visit him, or bring him food to eat. They didn’t have to be patient, or be kind. And yet… they were. Lacking the ability to walk in a straight line, the young man was panicking over the very idea of gratitude. How could someone so reliant upon others thank them enough?

It was something Mercy said earlier that sparked this endeavor - twenty-first birthday. It was even marked on this calendar by someone’s hand - a small cupcake sticker marking the date. Delilah was born on this day, twenty-one years ago. Julian stood in the kitchen, fidgeting before the calendar with the tiny cupcake sticker.

He had to do something.

With no money to buy a gift, no car to drive (and no skill to drive it), Julian found himself panicking in the middle of the kitchen. Knees wobbled to and fro and he stammered, a death grip on the kitchen counter near the stove to keep from falling. What did someone give to someone else for living twenty-one years? A gift, surely, but what could something like himself give to Delilah?

With a sniffle, for the waterworks were about to start, Julian opened the nearest cupboard with one hand and leaned against the counter for support. With his other hand, he wiped the tears starting to form. Through blurring vision, he found a few thin boxes of premade mixtures - cake batter, cookie dough, cupcake mix, cornbread mix, pumpkin pie filling. Shivering hands reached up to grip the closest box, chocolate cupcake mix, and he placed his prize on the counter before him. Could he make this? Could he make this successfully?

He had to. He had to thank Delilah, on this day of all days. It was important, and even if it took two hours longer than any cupcake preparation should reasonably take, it would be done.

For Delilah.

Taking time to not only wipe his tears, but read and reread every single instruction present on the back of the box, the process dragged on at an agonizing pace. He knew what the oven was, he knew what happened in an oven. He knew it had to be turned on, and switched to the proper heat setting. He knew frosting needed to be involved in some capacity. Did Delilah even have any frosting? Julian panicked and nearly dropped the box he spent fifteen minutes pressing into his face. If there was no frosting, he couldn’t give Delilah any cupcakes. Cupcakes needed frosting. It was a natural law. If Delilah didn’t have any frosting, he would have to ask her for frosting, and that would ruin the whole idea!

What about baking tins? OH NO.

Julian hastily slammed the cupcake box onto the counter and pressed his hands to his face. He was emotional both by nature and by circumstance - without the narrow psychology of a youma’s brain to dampen his emotions, and lacking the appropriate coping mechanisms, the bluenette boy was an utter mess.

No, he wouldn’t ask Delilah for help. If he was going to learn to be a real person, he could figure this out. Just… calm down.

Calm… down….

Five minutes were spent in wheezing terror, Julian repeating calming phrases to himself over and over, hoping Delilah wouldn’t hear him in the back room. She was busy, he needn’t bother her for every little thing. She already helped him learn how to stand properly in the shower, and clean up after himself in the bathroom. He could handle cupcakes.

Another wheeze escaped his lips and he toddled over to the humming refrigerator, reminding himself not to get distracted by his distorted metallic reflection therein. A quick tug opened the door and dull yellow light greeted him with the cold air. Sure enough, blessings sat upon the highest shelf - chocolate frosting in a tub. A squeak of glee followed soon after, and Julian held the tub as if it were a newborn. Both hands gripped his cylindrical prize and he mimicked what Delilah liked to do - close the refrigerator door with her hip. Julian missed the first two times, but succeeded in the third without falling flat on his face.

Beneath the oven, in the cupboard to its right, were several types of baking sheets. One was long and flat and made wub wub wub noises when shaken, one was a big indentation for cake layers, and one… one had several smaller indentations, for tiny cakes.

Cupcakes! He was getting the hang of this.

There were twelve dents for twelve tiny cakes. This would do. This would do nicely. Time to follow the instructions…

Little paper pants. They all needed little paper pants.

While cupcakes typically baked for 15-20 minutes, the entire preparation process took Julian over an hour of very careful and deliberate decisions. The box had to be checked and re-checked several times, for he wanted these cupcakes to be successful. He couldn’t figure out how to set a microwave or oven timer, so he neurotically checked the wall clock instead. Once the cupcakes began to rise, a sweet chocolate smell filled the apartment.

He was so proud.

Delilah kept a puffy glove by the stove, for safety, she said, and he donned it and marvelled at how thick it was. Cupcake removal took much longer than it should have, but these cupcakes were precious, precious things. Much too hot to frost just yet, Julian procured a plate from the cabinet, where Delilah showed him they were. We eat our food on plates, and you can find the plates here. Every morning at breakfast, Delilah had Julian help set the table and gather all the utensils. Repetition was incredibly helpful in his recovery. A plain white ceramic plate secured and knife at the ready for frosting, Julian began the delicate process of cupcake removal. Still wearing the oven mitt and heavily concentrating, a single cupcake was extracted and placed on the plate. Its side was caved in from pressure, but it still stood, and looked like a normal cupcake.

Giddy excitement coursed through his body like electricity as the lid to the frosting tub was removed and a glob of delicious chocolate was placed on the singular cupcake. Like hair! he thought, and it made sense with the tiny paper pants each cupcake had to wear.

Present completed almost two hours after the process had begun, Julian began the slow and arduous trek to the back of the condo. Each step was deliberate, focused, for he couldn’t fall now. He had no extra hands to grip the walls if he took a tumble, and the cupcake would be ruined. Delilah already spent time cleaning the carpet after previous spills (over which Julian felt tremendous guilt).

Delilah, woman of the day, was working quietly in her bedroom, hunched over a sewing project. Julian thought her to be marvellous with a needle and thread, and complimented her skills daily. The raven-haired young lady seemed so focused on her project that she did not hear Julian enter the room. There was some spare space on the desk near Delilah’s arm, and it was there that the single cupcake was placed slowly.

Taking a deep breath, the unsteady young man began to sign a song to her. It was an off-key tune, with many stutters and stops, but Julian put a great deal of heart into it.

H-happy… birthday… to you~
Happy b-birthday… to you~
H-happy… birthday, d-dear… De-li-lah~
Happy… birthday… to you~