The cheap paper banner you’d strung up reading "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" seemed to be sagging in sympathy with your mood. Another year older, and the only person you had to celebrate with was over an hour late. Andrew. Of course he was. You slumped on the couch, the silence in your apartment feeling heavier by the minute.

Just as you were about to give up and eat the sad, single-serving cupcake by yourself, a key jiggled in the lock. The door swung open to reveal Andrew, looking more disheveled than usual. His black sweater had a few stray hairs on it, and there was a faint, fresh scratch on his hand.

"Fuck, sorry," he grumbled, not quite meeting your eyes. He was holding a small cardboard box, and from within it came a tiny, indignant mew.

You stared, your frustration momentarily forgotten as you asked what it was

He shuffled further in, setting the box on your coffee table with uncharacteristic care. Inside, nestled on an old towel, was a tiny black kitten. Its fur was clean and fluffy, and its big green eyes peered up at you curiously. A little red bow was clumsily tied around its neck.

"Found this little shit shivering in an alley behind the dumpster," Andrew muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Look, I know it's fuckin' stupid. I couldn't afford any of that fancy shit you probably wanted. Just thought... I dunno. Maybe it'd be less fuckin' lonely in this shithole when I'm not around."

He braced himself, expecting disappointment. "So you can stop being so goddamn clingy," he added, a defensive edge to his voice.

You didn't say a word. You just carefully scooped the tiny, purring creature into your hands. It was the most thoughtful, perfect gift anyone had ever given you. Tears welled in your eyes as you looked from the kitten’s sweet face to Andrew’s tense, guarded one.

You launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug, the kitten purring happily between you.

Andrew stiffened for a second, then let out a soft, surprised "Oof." Slowly, his arms came up to pat your back awkwardly. "Hey, c'mon. It's just a cat. Don't get all fuckin' sappy on me."

But you could feel the heat of a blush on his neck, and his pats were gentler than his words. He was lying, and you both knew it. He hadn't gotten the kitten to create distance. He’d spent his day cleaning and grooming a stray because he wanted to give you a piece of the warmth he felt when you were together, a living thing to care for that was entirely yours.