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Steve Harrington was not the kind of person who planned cheesy romantic gestures.
Okay.
That was a lie.
He was absolutely the kind of person who planned cheesy romantic gestures — he just preferred that no one noticed.
And this year, even though Jonathan had casually said, with that soft evasive smile of his, that “dates don’t really matter,” Steve had still bought fairy lights, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a card he’d been hiding in the inner pocket of his jacket for a full week.
The problem was… Jonathan truly seemed like he didn’t care.
“We don’t have to do anything,” Jonathan had said that morning, carefully cleaning his camera lens like it required surgical precision. “It’s just another day.”
Just another day.
Steve tried not to let that sting.
Because he didn’t want it to be special because of Valentine’s Day.
He wanted it to be special because Jonathan was.
⸻
The kitten appeared at exactly 3:17 p.m.
It literally appeared.
Steve was struggling with a stubborn red balloon — apparently they were harder to inflate than they looked — when he heard a soft meow from the porch.
Jonathan looked up immediately.
“Did you hear that?”
Another meow.
Louder this time.
When they opened the door, they found him: a tiny white kitten with a perfectly pink nose and a red collar with a small glittering heart attached to it.
The heart jingled when the kitten took a wobbly step forward.
Jonathan crouched first.
“Hey there… where did you come from?”
The kitten didn’t hesitate.
He walked straight past Steve’s legs and pressed himself against Jonathan’s knee.
And then he started purring.
Loudly.
Very loudly.
Steve felt something strange twist in his chest.
“I think he chose you,” Steve murmured.
Jonathan smiled — that soft, warm smile that made everything feel worth it.
“Maybe he chose us.”
⸻
Letting him inside was a mistake.
An adorable, chaotic, completely unavoidable mistake.
Within ten minutes:
• The kitten had stolen Steve’s shoelaces and was dragging them triumphantly across the living room.
• He had climbed inside Jonathan’s camera bag.
• He attempted to scale the curtains.
• And he had popped one of the red balloons with surprising violence.
“Hey, you tiny romantic menace,” Steve muttered, trying to reclaim his shoe. “That cost money.”
Jonathan was laughing.
Actually laughing.
And Steve decided that even if the rest of the day went terribly, that sound alone made it worth it.
⸻
The argument started small.
Like they always did.
Steve said it without thinking.
“I just wanted it to be special.”
Jonathan stiffened.
“It doesn’t have to be special.”
“But I wanted it to be.”
Silence.
The kitten jumped onto the couch.
Jonathan avoided Steve’s eyes.
“Sometimes I feel like if we make things special… we’ll ruin them.”
Steve frowned. “Ruin what?”
Jonathan hesitated.
“This.”
That.
The word hung between them.
The kitten, blissfully unaware of emotional tension, pushed his tiny head against Jonathan’s hand.
Purr.
Louder.
Then he walked over to Steve.
Purr.
Even louder.
And then he did something completely ridiculous: he squeezed himself right between them, pressing his tiny body against both of them at once, forcing them closer together so he wouldn’t fall.
Steve let out a surprised laugh.
“I think he’s tired of us.”
Jonathan sighed softly.
“I just… I’m scared that if we celebrate it, something bad will happen after.”
Ah.
There it was.
Not indifference.
Fear.
Fear of losing something good.
Fear of breaking something fragile.
Steve shifted closer, the kitten sandwiched between their chests like a fluffy mediator.
“We’re not going to ruin it by caring about it,” Steve said gently. “And even if something does happen someday… we’d still be us.”
Jonathan finally looked at him.
The kitten started purring so loudly his whole tiny body vibrated.
Jonathan laughed quietly.
“He’s manipulating us.”
“Absolutely.”
The kitten lifted one small paw and tapped Jonathan’s cheek.
Steve leaned in.
“Let me try again.”
Jonathan didn’t pull away.
The kiss was soft.
Slow.
Careful.
The purring vibrating warmly between them.
The kitten, satisfied, curled up and closed his eyes.
⸻
Later, they tried to cuddle on the couch.
Tried.
Because the kitten had decided the only acceptable sleeping position was directly between them.
Every time Steve wrapped an arm around Jonathan, a white paw intervened.
Every time Jonathan leaned closer, the kitten adjusted strategically.
“He’s sabotaging us,” Steve whispered.
“He’s refereeing.”
The kitten opened one eye.
Purred.
Only when they were touching.
Jonathan noticed first.
“Look…”
They shifted slightly apart.
The purring softened.
They leaned closer.
The purring grew louder again.
Steve blinked.
“Is he… synced to us?”
Jonathan stroked the kitten’s soft head.
“I think he just wants us okay.”
Steve looked at the red collar.
The tiny heart shimmered in the soft pink light.
“What are we naming him?”
Jonathan thought for a moment.
The kitten yawned.
“Cupid.”
Steve grinned.
“Of course.”
⸻
The night didn’t end with fireworks.
No dramatic speeches.
No grand declarations.
Just soft pink lights, shared strawberries, and a white kitten sleeping on top of their intertwined hands.
Jonathan rested his head on Steve’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For pretending I don’t care.”
Steve kissed his hair.
“I know.”
Comfortable silence.
The steady rumble of purring filling the space.
Jonathan whispered softly:
“I think Cupid has four paws.”
Steve smiled against his forehead.
“And excellent aim.”
The kitten flicked his tail without opening his eyes.
And for the first time all day, Jonathan stopped being afraid that something would break.
Because even if the world was chaotic, even if the future was uncertain…
There was a steady purr between them.
Constant.
Present.
And for now—
That was enough.