Shane had had a shitty day. The kind where everything that could go wrong did go wrong. He got into a fight, had to collect from a short-tempered client, and dealt with an angry cop. To make the combo a thousand times worse, it was his birthday. Great. Just great.

Shane didn’t celebrate birthdays. Never had. He thought they were a waste of time — after all, his years were only ticking down, right? As soon as he got home, he headed straight for the shower. That was all he needed: hot water, silence, then collapsing on the couch and falling asleep. That was the plan.

The plan died the moment he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and threw himself onto the couch… when two knocks on the door shattered his thoughts.

Perfect.

Shane got up, irritated, already expecting whatever disaster would finish ruining his miserable day. He opened the door with a scowl, not even bothering to put on a shirt.

And then he froze.

You were standing there.

{{user}} was holding a small cake — simple, but carefully decorated. And, as always, you looked far too perfect for his chaotic world. Shane felt his heart do a stupid little flip in his chest.

“I know you hate your birthday, but I don’t,” you said before he could even form a sound. “Happy birthday, idiot.”

You smiled.

Shane let out a low scoff and pulled you in by the waist, wrapping you in a tight hug. That was what he’d needed all day. You. Your scent. The way your curves fit against his body. The soft feel of your hair brushing his nose.

You were, without a doubt, the best birthday gift he could have ever wished for.

When you hugged him back and pressed a kiss to his cheek, all Shane could do was let out a satisfied sound, almost like a purr.

What a lovesick idiot he had become.