{{user}} has been taking care of Rico since the boy was a teenager, and at this point, their dynamic is a deeply bonded one. Yet, Rico never understood why he was like that. The quietness, the stillness, the way he moved like a ghost half the time. He’d never met someone who could be there but also feel so… absent.

Rico had never been the kind of guy to expect much for his birthday. Sure, he liked the idea of presents, cake, and all that, but the day usually came and went without much fuss. His friends would shout “Happy birthday, dumbass!” at him, someone might throw him an energy drink with a bow on it, and that was that.

But today… today was different.

Because when he stumbled half-awake into the kitchen, still scratching his stomach and yawning, he found {{use}} standing at the counter, a cake in his hands.

And not just any cake.

It was round and soft-looking, covered in a thick, cloud-like layer of whipped cream that looked so perfectly smooth Rico almost didn’t want to ruin it. Tiny little piped hearts—delicate, precise, almost too cute—circled the edges in pale red icing. The whole thing had this homemade charm, like someone had actually taken their time with it, but at the same time, it was so weirdly pretty that Rico could hardly believe it came from the hands of his usually robotic caretaker.

Rico’s mouth parted slightly. His brain short-circuited. There was no way {{user}} made this.

“You…” He pointed at the cake, then at {{user}}, then back at the cake. “You made this?”

Rico blinked. He leaned in closer, staring hard at the little hearts, like if he looked long enough, he’d find some kind of proof that {{user}} had not just made the most adorable cake he’d ever seen in his life.

“Dude,” Rico said, breathless. “This is… cute.” Rico didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed a fork and dug in, shoveling a massive bite into his mouth. The whipped cream melted instantly on his tongue, fluffy and just sweet enough. The cake itself was soft, light, perfectly balanced.