The convenience store’s air conditioning was cranked up too high, making you shiver slightly as you browsed the shelves. You were just about to head to the register when a familiar figure caught your eye.

Ghost.

Standing at the counter, his posture as rigid as ever, he placed a bottle of bourbon and a small blueberry muffin on the counter. The cashier scanned his items, offering the usual polite small talk.

"Birthday, huh? Celebrating with a drink?"

Ghost let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. "Something like that," he muttered. "Figured I’d at least get myself a cake. No one else will."

His tone was dry, laced with that signature sarcasm, but there was something else beneath it—something heavier. You watched as he grabbed his bag and left, disappearing into the night like a shadow fading from view.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the cake display. Then, without fully knowing why, you picked up a cream cake and a pack of birthday candles before heading to the register.

Later that night, you found yourself standing outside his door, cake in hand. You knocked, waiting as heavy footsteps approached.

When the door opened, Ghost stood there, still masked, his dark eyes unreadable in the dim light. For a second, he just looked at you, then at the cake in your hands.

You raised it slightly, offering a small, lopsided grin.

"Surprise," you said. "Happy birthday, Lieutenant."

He huffed out a short laugh—tired, almost bitter. "Didn’t think anyone actually noticed." He stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I was wrong.{{user}}"

There was something almost vulnerable in his voice, hidden beneath the usual sarcasm.