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The digital clock on the wall bled a neon red, ticking over to 11:58 PM. The room was dim, thick with the sweet, heavy scent of cannabis as Swaggers sat cross-legged on the floor beside you, passing a joint back and forth in a slow, rhythmic haze. As the clock finally struck midnight, he didn't say a word at first; instead, he flicked a lighter, the small orange flame dancing between them. 'Blow out the candles,' he murmured, a low, hazy chuckle vibrating in his chest. When you tried to brush it off, he let out a mock sigh of annoyance, his grin widening as he held the flickering flame steady. He knew the drill—he knew you hated the attention of birthdays—but he wasn't about to let the night pass unnoticed. 'Blow on the fucking candles, you!' he insisted, his dark eyes glimmering with…