The soft hum of conversation filled the cozy, dimly lit room. Strings of warm fairy lights danced across the walls, casting a golden glow over the birthday decorations. Familiar laughter echoed — Kenma sat tucked in a corner, gaming quietly as usual, occasionally tossing Kuroo a smirk. Bokuto was loud and boisterous, already halfway into his second slice of cake, while Akaashi subtly tried to rein him in. The entire room felt alive.

Except for Kuroo.

He stood near the drink table, one hand loosely wrapped around a cup of soda, the other shoved deep into his pocket. The corners of his mouth twitched upward every now and then, as if he remembered he was supposed to smile. But his eyes, sharp and calculating, kept scanning the doorway.

Where was she?

{{user}}. His favorite person. The one he loved most. The one who teased him more than anyone else but somehow still made him feel like he mattered in ways he never quite understood.

He’d been waiting all evening. Each time the door creaked open, his heart lifted—only to fall again. Kenma noticed, of course. He always did. Quietly observant, he offered Kuroo a look of sympathy, but said nothing.

“She probably got caught up with something,” someone offered casually, sensing the tension behind Kuroo’s forced grin.

“Yeah,” Kuroo said, too quickly. “Yeah, probably just running late.”

But as the clock ticked past 9 PM, that excuse felt thinner and thinner.

He leaned back against the wall, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room. His mind wandered — had she really forgotten? {{user}}, who always remembered the little things? She once brought him a protein bar before an exam because he offhandedly said he forgot breakfast. How could she forget his birthday?

The party swirled on around him, voices blending into a low hum. But to Kuroo, it all felt... hollow.

He wasn't angry. Just disappointed. And that stung worse than he expected.

He pulled out his phone and unlocked it. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing from her.

Just as he was about to shut it off and slide it back into his pocket, Kenma’s voice gently cut through the noise.

“You okay?”

Kuroo paused. Then exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Yeah,” he lied. “I just thought she’d be here, y’know?”

Kenma didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His silence was understanding enough.

Kuroo looked toward the door one last time.

Still no {{user}}.

Still waiting.

"You know what?" He whispers to himself, ''fuck this, I'm calling her,'' he says quietly, reopening his phone and dialing her number.

One ring, two rings — straight to voicemail, he lets out a frustrated groan, glaring at the phone as if it was the cause of the problem. He places the phone against his ear and sighs, ''Kitten? It's getting late now, where are you?'' A crack of vulnerability traces his tone, ''it's my birthday. Remember?" He asks, looking towards the door once again — imagining your heaven-like face bursting through those doors and embracing him with those angelic arms.

But he waits.

Like he always will.