Everyone knew what February 14th meant.
The halls of MBCC were alive with an unusual warmth today, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile walls that usually defined the place. Sinners exchanged chocolates and teasing words, some more enthusiastic than others. Even the more indifferent ones couldn’t completely avoid the festive atmosphere.
Chameleon knew it too.
She had received chocolates throughout the day—small tokens from various Sinners, accompanied by playful smirks and flirtatious remarks. She accepted each one with her usual charm, a graceful smile curving her lips as she laughed softly at their antics.
But not a single one was given because it was her birthday.
She had never told anyone.
Not because she was ashamed of it—no, that wasn’t it. It was just… unnecessary. She had long since stopped celebrating. Ever since her parents died, February 14th had become just another day.
And yet, despite all her rationalizing, despite how much she told herself she didn’t care, the quiet ache in her chest remained.
___
The air inside her confinement cell was still, untouched by the warmth that filled the rest of MBCC.
Chameleon closed the door behind her with a soft click, exhaling as she leaned against it. The smile she had worn all day faded into something unreadable. She lifted one of the chocolates she had received, turning it between her fingers before setting it aside without tasting it.
A habit. A routine.
She was used to this.
And yet, when she lifted her gaze, the sight that met her made her breath catch.
A cake.
Candles flickering softly in the dim light.
Presents—wrapped neatly, stacked beside it.
And you.
You stood there, watching her, waiting.
For a moment, she couldn’t move.
Her mind grasped for an explanation, but there was none. No trick, no hidden intent, no ulterior motive. Just… this.
Her birthday. A celebration meant for her.
Her throat tightened. "Chief…"
Your voice was gentle, steady. "Happy birthday, Chameleon."
The words struck something deep within her—something raw, something fragile, something she had long since thought dead.
Her fingers twitched. A slow, quiet tremor ran through her.
She had told herself she didn’t care.
She had told herself she didn’t need this.
But when the first tear fell, she realized just how much of a lie that had been.
She barely noticed the way her vision blurred, the way her breath hitched, the way her body trembled as something deep inside her cracked open.
And then, before she could stop herself, before she could compose herself—she broke.
The moment the tears fell freely, your eyes widened slightly, as if you had never expected this. For a split second, you hesitated—almost dropping the cake in your hands before you caught yourself, setting it aside with careful precision.
Then you were there, in front of her, arms wrapping around her without hesitation.
The warmth of your embrace unraveled something inside her.
She clung to you, her fingers curled tightly against your uniform, her breath uneven as silent shudders ran through her body. The weight of years—of loneliness, of unspoken grief—pressed down on her, but for the first time, she didn’t have to bear it alone.
Your arms around her were steady, grounding. You didn’t speak, didn’t question, didn’t try to fix anything. You just held her.
And that was what unraveled her the most.
Her breath hitched, and she buried her face deeper against your shoulder, as if hiding the evidence of her breaking apart would somehow undo it. "This is ridiculous," she whispered, voice thick with emotion.
You exhaled softly, your fingers threading through her hair with slow, deliberate care. "No, it’s not."
She let out a shaky laugh, half-choked, half-bitter. "I shouldn’t be crying over something like this."
"You should," you murmured, the warmth of your breath brushing against her temple. "Because it matters."
Chameleon squeezed her eyes shut.
She hated this.
Not the warmth, not the comfort, not even the vulnerability she had always hidden so well.
She hated that this meant so much to her.
That you meant so much to her.
A sharp inhale, then a slow, shuddering exhale. "You’re too soft, Chief," she muttered, voice muffled against your uniform.
You hummed, a quiet, knowing sound. "And yet, you’re the one holding onto me like you’ll fall apart if you let go."
Her fingers twitched.
Damn you.
Damn you for seeing through her so easily.
For making her feel this way.
She pulled back slightly, just enough to lift her head, to meet your gaze. Her vision was still blurry, her lips parted as if searching for something to say, something to deflect, something to keep herself from drowning in this unfamiliar tenderness.
But she found nothing.
Only you.
And before she could stop herself, before she could second-guess the ache in her chest, she leaned in.
Not quite a kiss, not quite anything—just the brush of her lips against the curve of your jaw, fleeting, uncertain. A test. A hesitation. A silent question.
You stilled, and for the first time tonight, she saw surprise flicker in your eyes.
Then, warmth.
Understanding.
Your arms tightened around her, pulling her back in—not with force, not with expectation, but with quiet acceptance.
Chameleon let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.
Your arms remained wrapped around her, firm and protective, grounding her as her walls crumbled. You were her anchor in this moment, the only thing keeping her from drifting away.
Slowly, Chameleon pulled back again, just enough to look up at you. Her eyes were red, lashes damp, vulnerability laid bare in the lines of her face. Her lips parted, a question lingering there, but no words came.
You waited, giving her the space to gather herself.
After a moment, she laughed, the sound brittle and raw. “I must look pathetic right now.”
Your expression softened. “Not pathetic. Just… human.”
She grimaced, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “That’s worse.”
You reached out, catching her wrist before she could turn away. Your touch was gentle, your grip firm. “I don’t think so.”
Chameleon’s eyes widened, the sincerity in your voice striking her like a physical blow. Her shoulders tensed, her gaze shifting to the cake behind you, the candles still burning. “You… did all this for me?”
“I did.”
Her throat tightened. “Why?”
“Because you deserve it,” you said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
She opened her mouth, then closed it, her mind struggling to process the weight of your words. You said it so easily, so matter-of-factly, as if her worth was unquestionable. As if it was something you never doubted.
She looked at you, truly looked at you, and saw no trace of pity or obligation. Only quiet certainty. Only you.
“I didn’t think anyone knew,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never told anyone.”
You smiled softly. “I pay attention.”
A flicker of warmth touched her chest, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation. “You’re too good at that.”
You shrugged, releasing her wrist. “It’s my job.”
She laughed, this time softer, more genuine. “Always so serious, Chief.”
“Someone has to be.”
A beat of silence, and then your expression shifted, something more vulnerable surfacing in your eyes. “…Do you like it?”
Her heart twisted. You were nervous. She could hear it in your voice, see it in the way you shifted your weight, waiting for her answer. The thought of you caring this much, of you putting yourself out there like this, just for her…
It was overwhelming.
She looked at the cake again, at the presents neatly stacked beside it. The candles were still burning, waiting for her. No one had ever done this for her before. No one had ever cared enough to even try.
Her eyes stung, the threat of tears returning, but she refused to cry again. Not now. Not when you were looking at her like that, like she was something precious. Something irreplaceable.
She took a breath, steadying herself. “I… I love it,” she confessed, the words thick in her throat. “No one’s ever… No one’s ever done this for me.”
You smiled, relief softening your features. “I’m glad.”
Another pause, and then you stepped back, gesturing to the cake. “You should make a wish.”
Chameleon stared at the candles, the tiny flames dancing, fragile and beautiful. A wish. It was a childish notion, one she had long since abandoned. But as she looked at you, standing there with that gentle, unassuming smile, she found herself wanting.
Wanting this moment to last. Wanting this warmth to stay. Wanting you.
She took a slow breath, her eyes never leaving yours. Then, closing her eyes, she made her wish.
She wished for this feeling to never fade.
She opened her eyes and blew out the candles, their flames flickering before disappearing into wisps of smoke. For a heartbeat, the room was shrouded in darkness, the shadows stretching long and heavy. But then the lights above flickered back on, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow.
Chameleon looked at you, her chest tight. “…Thank you.”
You tilted your head. “For what?”
“For… this. For remembering. For… caring.” Her voice faltered, unsteady and uncertain. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think anyone would.”
You took a step closer, your presence steady and unwavering. “You’re not as invisible as you think, Chameleon.”
She swallowed, the truth of your words sinking deep, breaking apart the loneliness she had carried for so long. “Guess not.”
A beat of silence, and then she laughed, the sound light and almost disbelieving. “This really is the dumbest thing to cry about.”
You smiled, reaching out to gently wipe away a tear she hadn’t realized was still lingering on her cheek. “Like I said, it's not dumb. Just human.”
She leaned into your touch, her eyes closing for a brief, stolen moment. You were so warm, so solid, so painfully real.
She was terrified of losing this.
Of losing you.
Her eyes opened, vulnerability raw and unguarded. “…Can we stay like this? Just for a little while longer?”
Your expression softened, understanding flickering in your eyes. “As long as you need.”
She exhaled, the weight on her chest easing, the ache in her heart softening. You were here. You weren’t leaving.
She reached out, fingers curling around the fabric of your sleeve, grounding herself in your presence. “Don’t… don’t let go.”
Your arms came around her once more, holding her close, cradling her against your chest. “Never.”
And for the first time, Chameleon believed it.
For the first time, February 14th was more than just a reminder of everything she had lost.
It was the beginning of everything she had found.