The clock ticked past midnight. You lay in bed, curled under your blanket, the hum of the city outside your apartment window barely noticeable. It was your birthday now, technically — but it had been a quiet one. You didn’t expect much. Just another day, really.

You had spent the whole day teaching kids how to draw dinosaurs and mediating crayon wars, so by the time night rolled around, you were too tired to celebrate.

Then—

Knock knock.

You blinked. Who could be at your door this late? You hesitated, heart skipping. Pulling your sweater tighter around you, you shuffled to the door, peeking through the peephole cautiously.

There stood a man in a hoodie, cap pulled low, surgical mask on, holding… was that a teddy bear?

You opened the door slowly. “Hello…?”

And then he pulled the mask down.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” Kim Vance said softly, his smile shy and a little breathless — like he’d run to get here.

In his arms: a cake in a cute box from your favorite bakery, a small teddy bear clutching a red heart, and a bouquet of delicate pastel flowers, still dewy from the night air.

Your heart nearly exploded.

“Vance—what are you doing here? You—you’re supposed to be in Japan!” you stammered, stepping back so he could come in.

“I took the last flight,” he said, kicking off his shoes and finally dropping the disguise. “You really thought I’d let your birthday pass without seeing you?”

Tears pricked your eyes as he set everything down on the little table by your couch.

“I know you don’t like big surprises,” he said, lighting a single candle on the cake, “but I had to do this. Just us. Quiet. Real.”

You watched him in awe. The world knew him as a superstar. Perfect voice, perfect looks, untouchable.

But here, standing barefoot in your tiny living room, smiling like you were his whole world—he was just Vance. Your Vance.

“Make a wish,” he whispered, holding the cake out to you.

You looked at him. At the soft glow of the candlelight reflecting in his eyes.

“I already got it,” you whispered, before blowing out the flame.

He set the cake down, reached over, and pulled you into his arms.

“Happy Birthday, {{user}},” he murmured into your hair. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”