You’re up before the sun, which is honestly shocking, considering you and Pablo stayed up past midnight. Not for wild party reasons or anything, just to be dramatic about the moment he officially turned twenty-one. You’d made him sit on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and counted down the last ten seconds of his youth like it was New Year’s. He’d grinned the whole time, let you yell “happy birthday!” way too loud, and kissed you like he was proud to be celebrating it with you.

Now he’s still fast asleep, all curled into himself with the sheets tangled around his hips and his hair a total disaster. His mouth is parted, soft snores escaping every couple of seconds. You almost feel bad waking him up.

Almost.

You crawl back into bed and press a kiss behind his ear. “Pablo.”

He groans and pulls the pillow over his head.

“Pablooo,” you say again, dragging the vowel out this time, and he blindly reaches an arm to trap you against him like that’ll shut you up.

“Five minutes.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles. “Still tired.”

You poke at his side until he rolls onto his back, squinting up at you with the grumpiest expression imaginable.

“I was dreaming,” he complains.

“Oh yeah? About what?”

“You. But you were being nicer in the dream.”

You laugh and lean in to kiss his cheek, his jaw, the tip of his nose. “Well, dream me didn’t bake you a cake yesterday, so real me still wins.”

He sighs dramatically but slides a hand around your waist. “You just want me up so you can give me my present.”

“Guilty.”

He opens one eye. “Is it you in lingerie?”

“Absolutely not. Your mother is literally expecting us in two hours. I refuse to be responsible for making us late.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if we were,” he mutters, tugging you down against his chest anyway. “Just five more minutes like this.”

You let him have ten.

By the time you’re in the car, he’s fully awake, bouncing his knee the whole ride to his parents’ house. He tries to act casual about it, like this is just another birthday, but you know better. Pablo’s always had a soft spot for home. For his mom’s cooking, his dad’s dry jokes, his sister’s dramatic stories, and the way Javi always slips him a beer behind his mother’s back.

The door swings open before you can knock. Belen lights up when she sees him.

“Mi niño!” she says, already pulling him in for a hug. “Feliz cumpleaños, mi amor.”

You hang back for a second, watching how Pablo melts into her. He’s taller than her now, a little buffer too, but he still hugs her like he’s fifteen.

Then she turns to you and gives you a warm hug too. “Gracias por cuidar de él.”

You smile. “He’s not that hard to take care of.”

Pablo snorts from beside you. “See? Proof. I’m low maintenance.”

“You’re emotionally clingy and you always forget where you put your keys,” you tease.

His mom laughs. “Just like his father.”

The house smells amazing, like garlic and peppers and something warm baking. Aurora appears from the kitchen with a tray of little croquettes and a giant grin.

“¡Felicidades, tonto!” she says, setting the tray down so she can pinch both his cheeks at once.

“Ow. You’re literally older than me and still bullying me.”

“That’s my job,” she says sweetly, then hugs him tight. “Happy birthday.”

Her boyfriend Javi claps Pablo on the back and hands him a bottle of beer.

“Belén’s distracted,” he says with a wink.

The living room is already decorated with balloons and a big blue banner that says Feliz 21, Pablo. There’s music playing softly from the kitchen speaker, and when you glance out the window, you see the table on the patio is already half set for lunch.

It’s warm. Not just the temperature, but the whole house. Loud and lived in and happy. And Pablo is glowing in it.

You help Belen in the kitchen while Pablo goes outside with his dad and Javi to fire up the grill. She chats about everything and nothing while she lets you plate up salads and sneak little bites when she’s not looking.

“He’s been so much calmer this year,” she says at one point. “Still intense, still a Gavi, but softer.”

You smile to yourself. “He’s growing.”

“He’s happy,” she says. Then, after a beat, “I think you have something to do with that.”

Lunch is a feast. There’s grilled meat and peppers, roasted potatoes, fresh bread. Belen tops up everyone’s drinks while Javi tells stories about his university days, half of which Aurora interrupts to correct.

Pablo keeps a hand on your thigh the entire time under the table. Sometimes he taps your knee when he’s amused, or squeezes when someone makes a joke at his expense. He barely looks away from you when Belen brings out the cake.

It’s simple, chocolate with blue icing and a little fondant football on top, but he looks genuinely touched.

“You made this?” he asks his mom.

“Con amor,” she replies.

He turns and kisses her cheek. “Gracias, Mamá.”

Everyone sings. Pablo pretends to hate it but smiles through the whole thing anyway, then blows out the candles in one breath. You nudge him under the table.

“What’d you wish for?”

He grins. “Not telling you.”

“You’re such a brat.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I wished to marry you someday. Who knows.”

Your face heats instantly. Belen catches your eye and winks. Pablo Sr. groans.

“Dios mío,” he says, standing. “I’m getting another beer.”

Later, back at home, you kick your shoes off by the door and fall face-first onto the couch. Pablo collapses right next to you.

“That was a lot of food.”

“You had three helpings of potatoes.”

“They were so good,” he says, stretching out his limbs. “I’m in pain.”

You laugh. “Worth it?”

“Completely.”

He turns to look at you, propping his chin on your shoulder. “Today was perfect.”

You smile and smooth a hand over his curls. “You deserve it.”

He leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “Can I open your present now?”

“I already gave it to you this morning.”

He pouts. “That wasn’t a present, that was teasing.”

You blink at him, pretending to be offended. “Excuse you. That was a very thoughtful, very affectionate wake-up call.”

“I was asleep. I don’t even remember it properly.”

You laugh, tugging him closer. “Fine. You want your real present?”

He nods eagerly.

You kiss him once, slow and sweet, then pull back to reach under the couch cushion. His eyes widen when you hand him the little box.

“Is this…?”

“Open it.”

Inside is a silver chain bracelet with a small engraved plate that reads mi sol. He goes quiet, turning it over in his hands.

“I know you don’t wear a lot of jewelry,” you say softly, “but you’re always saying the sun makes you feel calm, so I thought-”

“I love it,” he says, immediately. Then again, quieter, “I love it.”

You help him put it on. He stares at it for a long time, then looks at you like he’s seeing the sun itself.

“You’re my favorite part of today,” he says.

You smile, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Even more than the potatoes?”

He kisses you. “Way more than the potatoes.”

His hands find your waist, tugging you gently onto his lap. The kiss deepens, slow and steady. There’s no rush in it. No urgency. Just that soft buzz of being in love and full and tired in the best way.

“You’ve still got chocolate on your lip,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to the corner of his.

“Take it off, then.”

You do.

And then a little more.

And maybe you forget about the cake leftovers in the fridge and the two missed calls from Aurora. Because right now, it’s just Pablo’s warm hands on your hips and his soft voice saying your name in the hush between kisses.