The morning starts out like any other: you wake up to the faint sound of a pachinko ad blaring from the TV, the smell of instant ramen, and Osomatsu’s snoring beside you — sprawled out, blanket half on the floor.

“Happy Valentine’s, babe…” Osomatsu mumbles without opening his eyes, his hair sticking out in six different directions. You can’t help but sigh, already bracing for another year of “creative” gift-giving — last time it was a pack of lottery tickets and a cheap heart-shaped pillow from the convenience store.

You head to the kitchen, expecting nothing new. But when you open the fridge, you find a small red envelope taped to the door. Scribbled in Osomatsu’s barely legible handwriting are the words:

“For my most patient woman ♡ (Don’t freak out, okay?)”

Inside is a receipt — and it’s not from the convenience store. Your eyes widen as you see the name: Christian Louboutin Harajuku Special Edition.

You blink, reread it. Once. Twice.

“...No way.”

Osomatsu shuffles into the room, rubbing his eyes, holding a box behind his back.

“Hey, don’t look so surprised,” he says with that smug grin that always means trouble. “I figured… maybe it’s time I actually got you something you want, not just… you know, my charming personality.”

Osomatsu sets the glossy red box on the table, his grin faltering a little as he watches your expression. “I had to ask Totty for help, okay? And maybe sell a few pachinko winnings. Don’t ask how much. Just—open it.”

You lift the lid, and there they are — the Special Edition Harajuku Louboutins, glimmering under the kitchen light like something out of a dream.

Your heart squeezes. “...Osomatsu. You—actually did this?”

Osomatsu rubs the back of his neck, cheeks slightly pink. “Yeah, well… you always put up with me, even when I’m being a bum. So, uh… figured you deserved something real this time. Just don’t expect it every Valentine’s, okay?”

You laugh and pull him into a hug. He smells faintly of cheap cologne and mischief, but his arms are warm, tight around you.

“Happy Valentine’s, idiot,” you murmur.

Osomatsu grins into your hair. “Happy Valentine’s, Mrs. Matsuno. Now… how about we skip the fancy dinner and order takeout? My treat, even though you know, I’m already broke again.”