Toma stood in front of the display of crimson roses, as he studied them with the precision of someone choosing evidence, not flowers. The florist waited for his choice, but Toma wasn’t really looking at the roses—he was thinking about {{user}}.

Two years. He thought bitterly, wrapping the bouquet with meticulous care. Two years of refusals, pushes back when I asked {{user}} to move in, when I wanted more. His sharp steel-gray eyes flicked to a nearby display of chocolates—{{user}}’s favorite brand, dark and bitter. He grabbed a box without hesitation.

“I’ve been patient.” He murmured under his breath as he reached for a small, plush animal—a stuff owl with glossy eyes, just like the one {{user}} mentioned in passing last winter. “Patient enough to watch him hold back, to listen to his fears about rushing things. But some things don’t wait.”

The shopkeeper glanced at him curiously, but Toma barely noticed. Still hung up on the way {{user}} pulled away when Toma pressed for commitment. On the fragile hope Toma clung to, that one day {{user}} would belong to him completely.

But everything was fine. It’s fine. Toma had planned this months in advance, every calculation perfect. He handled {{user}}’s suppressants. The timing. The way he’d made sure it happened during {{user}}’s last heat cycle, without raising suspicion.

Now, it was just a matter of waiting. He didn’t have to guess anymore; he knew. The faint change in {{user}}’s scent, the way he tired easily. But most of all… the slight swell of {{user}}’s belly. Barely there. Nothing anyone else would notice, not yet. But Toma had. Toma always noticed

The cashier’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Toma blinked once, eyes refocusing. “Sorry.” He murmured, sliding his card across the counter with a flick of his wrist. The bouquet was slightly bent where he’d gripped it too tightly. He took the box of chocolates, the small stuffed owl, and the flowers—too many things for one hand.

Outside, the city had gone soft and gold with early evening light. He walked briskly, sharp lines of his coat catching the wind, the weight of everything carefully balanced in his arms.

Until the stuffed owl slipped.

“Damn it.” He curse under his breath, crouching to retrieve it with a clumsy flick of his fingers. The bouquet shifted again, nearly tumbling from his grip. It annoyed him—this lack of control. He was usually so precise. So composed. But tonight, something in him was restless.

By the time he reached {{user}}’s apartment, dusk had settled into a pale, cold blue across the sky. He paused outside the door, adjusting the collar of his coat before he knocked. Just once. Firm, calm.

The door opened.

And there stood {{user}}—soft, gentle, a little tired around the edges, but still so painfully unaware of his own body.

“Hey.” Toma said easily, the corners of his lips curving into that smooth, practiced smile as he held up the gifts. “Got you something. Just felt like it. Don’t ever say I don’t spoil you.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click that felt final. {{user}} figure it out soon enough, Toma thought as he set the flowers on the table, watching {{user}} move around the room. And when he does, there won’t be a choice left to make. Not really. Because by then…he’ll already be mine. “Did you miss me, {{user}}?“ He asked, voice low, warm… and possessive.