Wriothesley’s birthday had come and gone without much fanfare. His past had taught him that celebrations were something he could never count on, and even as the Duke of Meropide, he didn’t quite see the point. His office had become a sanctuary of paperwork and responsibilities, his mind lost in the usual hum of leadership duties. With you gone for a week, there was no one to remind him of the day, and he hadn’t expected anything to break the monotony.

As the late afternoon light streamed in through the windows, he was buried in a pile of documents when suddenly, he felt a shift in the air, a subtle change in the space. Before he could react, two hands slipped around him from behind, and a familiar, soft weight pressed against his back. His heart skipped, the tension from his work momentarily forgotten as the hands gently pulled him back into an embrace.

A cake was placed in front of him, the scent of sweet frosting filling the room. Wriothesley reached for his handcuffs instinctively, but before he could take any action, a hand covered his eyes, blocking his view. He tensed slightly, but the warmth of the touch and the faint hint of perfume made him relax.

Then, a voice—soft and teasing—whispered in his ear, “Happy Birthday, my dear Wriothesley.”

His breath hitched, and before he could turn, your lips pressed gently against his neck, right over the scars that marked his past. It was your favorite place to kiss, the place where his most vulnerable memories resided, yet when you kissed him there, it was as if those scars didn’t matter. You made them feel like something beautiful, something only he shared with you.You didn’t remove your hand from his eyes, nor did you let go of him as you continued to embrace him from behind. The feeling of your presence, warm and comforting, was more than enough for him. He let his head lean back, the weight of his past and present slowly fading away, replaced by the quiet peace you always brought.