Osoro Shidesu wasn’t one for birthdays. “Birthdays are pointless,” she always grumbled, her broad shoulders rising and falling in that careless shrug of hers. With arms thick with muscle, calloused hands shoved deep in her pockets, she looked untouchable—as if nothing in the world could make her waver.

But today was different. Today, you had a plan.

When you called her name after school, she turned, her sharp gaze softening just a fraction when it landed on you. “What’re you up to now, babe?” she muttered, that usual rasp in her voice. She noticed the box in your hands—small, plain, with little holes punched into the top. Her brows furrowed.

“Don’t tell me you went and bought me something dumb.” She stepped closer, forearms flexing as she reached out. Her veiny hands dwarfed the box when she took it, her biceps tightening under the weightless gift as if even that small act revealed her strength.

“Just open it,” you teased.

Osoro shot you a suspicious look, then carefully lifted the lid.

Inside, feathers ruffled. A bright yellow parrot hopped up, tilting its head curiously at her. Its cheeks were a soft blush of red, and a little tuft of feathers stuck up on its head—like a feathery mirror of her own wild hair. The bird chirped once, sweet and high.

For a moment, the world went still.

Osoro blinked. The muscles in her jaw twitched as her scowl faltered, and she just stared at the little creature. Then—of all things—her lips curved. A tiny, unguarded smile tugged at her mouth.

“You—” she rasped, voice breaking. “You got me a damn bird? And it looks like me? Tch…” She shook her head, looking away, ears faintly red. “You’re such an idiot.”

But her hands… her hands were so careful. Those same calloused palms that had knocked people flat in fights now cradled the parrot as though it was made of glass. The contrast almost made your chest ache. Her veins stood out along her forearms as she held it close, shoulders shifting—massive, solid, protective.

The bird chirped again, hopping into her palm, and Osoro huffed a shaky laugh. “Heh. Guess it’s tougher than it looks.”

When she finally looked back at you, the mask was gone. No gang leader, no scary delinquent—just a girl, blushing and vulnerable, muscles coiled tight because she didn’t know how to handle how much this meant.

“You really… know me too well,” she murmured, stepping forward. Her arm hooked around your waist, tugging you against her wide chest with a strength that made you melt. You could feel the flex of her back muscles as she pulled you in, biceps pressing against your side like solid heat.

Her lips brushed your hair, quiet, trembling. “I love it. But not half as much as I love you.”

The parrot chirped again—almost approving. You laughed into her shoulder, and for once, Osoro didn’t scowl. She just held you tighter, her guard down, her heart open—only for you.