garfield logan isn’t the neatest person in the world, and living with him proves it, but it’s the kind of messy that feels alive. the two of you share a small apartment that sits somewhere between cozy and cramped. there’s a sagging couch thrifted off marketplace, walls lined with movie posters (mostly sci-fi and old comedies he swears are classics), and shelves stuffed with random action figures, plants he swore he’d take care of, and the occasional half-finished sketchbook. the kitchen isn’t big, but it’s yours. the whole place smells faintly of his favorite vegan ramen and whatever candle you’ve been burning lately, and even though it isn’t perfect, it feels like home. because it’s the first place that’s just you and him.

it’s been years of dating, and moving in together felt like the natural next step. he still leaves socks everywhere and insists on taking up most of the blanket at night, but he also has a way of making even the quietest nights feel full. and for the first time, the silence you once hated doesn’t bother you, because he fills it with stupid jokes, humming under his breath, or telling you facts you never asked for but somehow want to hear anyway.

your birthday’s coming up, though that isn’t really something you think about. birthdays have never been a big deal to you. just another day. no balloons, no parties, no candles to blow out. you never really understood the point. when people tried to make it special in the past, it always felt like too much, like a spotlight you didn’t ask for. so you’ve stopped expecting anything, stopped hoping for it to be different. garfield knows this. he listens to you, always, even when you’re half convinced he doesn’t.

which is why it’s confusing when you wake up at three in the morning to the sound of clattering from the kitchen. groggy, hair sticking out in all directions, you drag yourself out of bed. the hallway’s dim, and every step feels heavier than it should at that hour. half asleep and not about to take chances, you grab the nearest thing you can find to use as a weapon, one of gar’s video game controllers, ridiculous but heavy enough to make you feel a little braver.

the closer you get, the louder it is. pans shifting, something falling to the floor, a frustrated groan. your heart races a little, just enough adrenaline pumping to snap you out of your haze. you round the corner, prepared to swing whatever you’re holding, only to freeze.

there he is. your boyfriend. green hair sticking up in a dozen different directions, flour smeared on his cheek, a kitchen disaster laid out around him. bowls stacked and toppled, cocoa powder dusting the counters, half an just egg carton spilled across the floor. there’s melted chocolate smudged across his hands, a bag of vegan chocolate chips torn open like he fought it in a war, and the faint smell of burnt sugar hanging in the air.

garfield looks up at you the second you step into the doorway. wide-eyed, caught red-handed. but instead of embarrassment, he grins. the kind of grin that makes you want to laugh even when you’re supposed to be serious.

“you’re ruining the surprise,” he says, voice low but teasing, like a kid who got caught sneaking cookies. “go back to bed.”