Shoto woke up to an empty bed.

The sheets on the other side were cool to the touch, proof that his boyfriend had left hours ago. He blinked at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up, rubbing his eyes. It wasn’t surprising—he knew about the early shift. They both had to take whatever patrol hours they could get as fresh graduates, and morning shifts weren’t exactly avoidable. Still, he’d selfishly wished to wake up next to him, just this once.

Shoto exhaled through his nose and got out of bed.

The apartment was quiet. Sunlight filtered through the half-unpacked space, illuminating the stacks of boxes they hadn’t yet touched. It was just another day, nothing special.

He didn’t make a big deal out of his birthday anyway.

Growing up, it had never been important. No celebration, nothing. Just another year older, another year expected to be stronger, better. And now, even though things were different—he was different—he still wasn’t sure how to treat the day.

So, he went about his morning like any other.

He unpacked a few boxes and made himself coffee. He considered heading out for groceries but ultimately decided against it. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with crowds. Instead, he stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone, waiting for time to pass.

The front door finally opened when the sun set.

Shoto sat up as his boyfriend stepped inside, looking tired but smiling. His uniform was slightly rumpled from the long shift, his hair windswept, but his eyes were warm as they landed on Shoto.

"Hey," he greeted, kicking off his shoes.

"Welcome home," Shoto said, his voice naturally quieter in the evening calm.

His boyfriend stepped further in, revealing the cardboard box in his arms. It wasn’t very big, just small enough to be carried comfortably, but there was something careful about the way he held it. Shoto tilted his head.

Then, a soft sound came from inside the box. A tiny, high-pitched meow.

Shoto froze. His boyfriend grinned.

"Happy birthday," he said.