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Tom Kazansky had been counting the hours forward—not because he was waiting for something, but because he wanted the day to be over.
“I don’t want anything,” he said for the third time that morning, straightening his jacket in front of the mirror. “No gifts. No cake. No surprises.”
Maverick, leaning against the doorway with a mug of coffee, simply nodded.
“Okay, Ice. Whatever you want.”
That was what unsettled Tom the most.
Mav didn’t argue.
Didn’t tease.
Didn’t flash that crooked smile or whisper something sentimental just to get a reaction.
He respected the silence.
The day passed like any other—briefings, paperwork, routine conversations.
Maverick stayed professional, attentive, but carefully restrained. No quiet happy birthday murmured under his breath.
No stolen kisses in empty hallways. Just long looks Tom pretended not to notice.
Because birthdays carried things he preferred not to touch.
Loss.
Absence.
The feeling that every year gained was something he hadn’t asked for.
By evening, Tom fully expected to go home alone. Maybe order takeout, turn in early, let the day fade quietly into nothing.
Instead, Maverick stopped in front of him, keys in hand.
“Come with me.”
“Mav—”
“It’s not a party,” Maverick said quickly, already reading the tension in Tom’s posture. “Just… come.”
Tom hesitated. Studied him for a long moment. Finally, he sighed.
“Fine. But not for long.”
The drive was quiet—not awkward, just soft, filled with something unspoken.
Maverick drove one-handed, the other resting close to Tom’s, not touching. Not yet.
When they arrived, Tom noticed the first thing immediately.
The lights were low.
Not off—just warm, dim, gentle.
The smell of chocolate wrapped around him as soon as he stepped inside.
“Hot chocolate?” he asked, almost disbelieving.
“With cinnamon,” Maverick replied. “The way you like it.”
Tom opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. He took off his jacket, set down his keys—and then he heard it.
A meow.
Small.
Uncertain.
“Mav…” Tom frowned slightly. “What was that?”
Maverick didn’t answer right away.
He walked into the living room and knelt beside a box placed carefully next to the couch.
“I promised there wouldn’t be a gift,” he said quietly. “So think of this as… company.”
He opened the box.
Inside was a tiny kitten, gray with soft stripes, staring up with wide, nervous eyes. He trembled a little, then let out another mewl and tried clumsily to climb out.
“Hey, little guy,” Maverick murmured. “You’re okay.”
Tom froze.
“Maverick…?”
“His name’s Rayo,” Maverick said gently. “Because he came into my life out of nowhere. And because… even fast things can stay, if they want to.”
Rayo managed to tumble out of the box and—after a brief hesitation—walked straight toward Tom. He sniffed Tom’s boot, then his pant leg… and sat down.
He purred.
Something cracked, very quietly, in Tom’s chest.
“I—I can’t accept this,” Tom murmured, even as he crouched down. “We said no—”
“It’s not a gift,” Maverick repeated softly. “He doesn’t know what day it is. Or what it means. He just knows he’s cold—and you feel safe.”
Rayo looked up and made a tiny prrt sound.
Tom smiled.
He didn’t realize it at first.
Maverick did.
“There it is,” Maverick whispered.
“What?”
“Your smile.”
Tom blinked, confused—and then noticed the way his lips were curved, the way his hand was already stroking the kitten carefully, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile.
“He’s… small,” Tom said. “Nervous.”
“Like you,” Maverick replied, smiling.
Tom let out a short, surprised laugh.
“Hey.”
Rayo adjusted himself, placing his tiny paws against Tom’s leg, purring louder.
“I think he likes you,” Maverick added.
“I think…” Tom said quietly, “…I like him too.”
Maverick stood and returned with two mugs of hot chocolate, handing one to Tom without startling the kitten.
“You don’t have to celebrate anything,” Maverick said. “You don’t have to say thank you. Just… be here.”
Tom took the mug in one hand, the other still resting on Rayo.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “For not pushing.”
“Always,” Maverick replied. “On your terms.”
The silence that followed was different.
Warm.
Full.
Rayo fell asleep soon after, curled against Tom, his purr steady and soothing.
Without really thinking about it, Tom leaned his head against Maverick’s shoulder.
“You know,” Tom said after a while, “I never hated birthdays.”
“No?”
“I just hated feeling alone during them.”
Maverick turned slightly and kissed Tom’s temple.
“Never again.”
Tom looked up at him—like he was seeing something new, something that had always been there but finally made sense.
“Come here,” he whispered.
The kiss was slow. Gentle.
Like permission to start over.
When they pulled apart, Rayo shifted between them, demanding attention.
Tom laughed—this time freely.
“I guess,” he said softly, “I can celebrate a little.”
Maverick smiled.
“Only with you.”
And for the first time in years, Tom believed that was enough.