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It was the first warm day of spring — sunlight filtering gently through the trees, scattering gold dust across the grass of the park where the Hunting Dogs had decided, somewhat chaotically, to hold a birthday picnic for Jouno Saigiku.
The idea had not come from Jouno, of course. If anyone had asked him, he would have brushed it off with a dismissive hum, muttering something about how birthdays were nothing but arbitrary reminders of decay.
But Tetchou Suehiro had decided otherwise.
The day began in the kitchen of the Hunting Dogs’ headquarters, where Tetchou stood wearing an apron that read “World’s Best Partner” — a gift from Jouno last year, which Tetchou had kept like it was a medal of honour.
Spread out before him were bowls, whisks, and an alarming amount of flour.
“Is that supposed to be… edible?” Tachihara asked, cautiously stepping into the kitchen. He wore a hoodie and carried a small basket filled with drinks for the picnic. He stopped mid-step when he saw the disaster that was unfolding on the counter.
“It will be,” Tetchou replied, completely serious as he tried to crack another egg into the batter — one-handed. He failed, of course, and half the shell fell into the mix.
Teruko leaned against the doorframe, sipping from a cup of iced coffee. “I’m terrified and impressed at the same time. You really think Jouno’s gonna eat that thing?”
“He will,” Tetchou said firmly, lifting the whisk. “I read that it’s important to make things by hand. He’ll appreciate the effort.”
“Or die trying,” Tachihara muttered.
From the corner, Fukuchi watched the chaos unfold with a faintly amused expression. “Just don’t burn the base down, alright? I’d like to make it to retirement with my taste buds intact.”
“Sir, yes sir,” Tetchou said immediately, which only made Fukuchi sigh and walk away.
By the time the cake was in the oven, half the kitchen looked like a snowstorm of flour had passed through. But when Tetchou finally took the cake out — miraculously — it looked… decent. A little lopsided, sure, but golden and warm, the smell of vanilla and butter filling the air.
Teruko peeked closer. “Okay, it looks edible. I didn’t think you had it in you, soldier.”
“Now the decoration,” Tetchou announced, determination gleaming in his eyes.
He pulled out a piping bag and began to decorate the cake with intricate precision, like he was assembling a weapon. Thick swirls of cream, fresh strawberries, and bits of chocolate shaped into tiny flowers. His movements were methodical, focused — the same way he handled his sword. The only giveaway of emotion was the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he carefully spelled out:
“Happy Birthday, Jouno.”
When he was done, the cake looked surprisingly… beautiful.
Tachihara whistled. “Wow. Didn’t think you had an artistic side.”
“I wanted to make it perfect,” Tetchou said quietly, wiping his hands on his apron. “He deserves it.”
They arrived at the park a little after noon. The sun hung high, scattering light through the budding leaves. Teruko had chosen a spot beneath a broad oak tree, spreading out a checkered blanket. Tachihara carried the picnic basket, while Tetchou guarded the cake box like it was a priceless relic.
Fukuchi even brought a portable grill for skewers, grumbling about how “it’s not a proper picnic without meat.”
When Jouno finally arrived — led by Tetchou, of course — he tilted his head slightly, sensing the light breeze and the faint laughter echoing from the group. His long white-red hair shimmered faintly in the sun, and though his expression remained unreadable, there was something softer about him today.
“Why,” he asked calmly, “does it sound like you’ve planned something ridiculous?”
Teruko was the first to respond. “Because we did, birthday boy.”
Jouno’s lips twitched. “I thought I told you all not to make a scene.”
“You did,” Tachihara said, grinning. “We ignored it.”
Jouno sighed, the faintest smile ghosting across his face. “You’re insufferable.”
Tetchou stepped forward then, his voice steady but warm. “Happy birthday, Jouno.”
He set the cake down in front of him and opened the box. The scent of cream and strawberries wafted through the air. For a moment, Jouno said nothing. He just stood there, still and quiet. Then, in a tone softer than any of them expected, he asked, “You made this?”
“Yes,” Tetchou said.
“With your own hands?”
“Yes.”
Jouno’s fingers brushed the edge of the box. He chuckled quietly — a rare, genuine sound that caught them all off guard. “That explains the uneven icing.”
Teruko gasped. “Was that… humour? From Jouno?”
Tachihara smirked. “He’s evolving.”
“Don’t make me regret this,” Jouno replied coolly, but there was no venom in his voice.
They sat together under the oak tree, laughter mingling with the sound of rustling leaves. Fukuchi grilled skewers while Teruko and Tachihara played a quick card game. Tetchou sat beside Jouno, cutting neat slices of cake and handing him one on a small plate.
Jouno took a bite, silent for a few seconds. Everyone waited.
Then, at last, he said, “It’s… edible.”
The group erupted in cheers and applause. Teruko nearly fell backward laughing. “High praise! Straight from the man himself!”
Tetchou smiled faintly, his chest swelling with quiet pride. “I told you he’d like it.”
Jouno tilted his head toward Tetchou, lips curving ever so slightly. “Thank you, Tetchou. You went to too much trouble for someone like me.”
Tetchou frowned softly. “You’re worth it.”
That made Jouno pause. For a fleeting moment, his usually stoic expression softened — his unseeing eyes seeming to catch the sunlight in a way that almost looked like he felt it rather than saw it.
“…You always say things like that so easily,” he murmured, shaking his head. But his tone carried a quiet fondness, something almost too fragile to name.
By the time the sun began to sink, the group had relaxed into easy conversation. Teruko and Tachihara had fallen asleep on the blanket, while Fukuchi sat quietly, watching the horizon.
Jouno sat beside Tetchou, the leftover cake box resting between them. The breeze carried the faint scent of strawberries and grass.
“Today was… pleasant,” Jouno admitted after a while, his voice low. “I didn’t think I’d ever call a day like this that.”
Tetchou smiled, leaning back on his hands. “You deserve to have good days too, Jouno.”
Jouno turned his head slightly toward him. “And you, Tetchou Suehiro, are far too good for this world.”
“That’s fine,” Tetchou said simply. “As long as I’m good enough for you.”
Silence stretched between them, comfortable and full. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be broken — because both of them understood it already.
Finally, Jouno reached out, fingers brushing lightly against Tetchou’s hand. “You are,” he whispered.
And as the sun dipped below the trees, the world bathed in warm gold, the Hunting Dogs — for all their chaos, scars, and strange camaraderie — sat together in quiet peace.
A rare, fragile moment of happiness.
And Jouno, for once, allowed himself to feel it.
He thought:
Perhaps birthdays aren’t so meaningless after all.