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It starts small - a kiss to the cheek before he leaves for work, flowers at his desk when he gets there. Before his stomach can even growl for lunch he gets a special carryout delivery from his favorite Turkish restaurant. In the afternoon another bouquet arrives, this time accompanied by a box of chocolates - imported chocolates that Eren knows costs well over three hundred dollars.

When he leaves at the end of the day, instead of taking the subway a car is waiting for him outside to take him home. The ride is longer because of rush hour, but the interior is cool and comfortable in a way that the subway definitely is not, and there’s a bottle of champagne he can sip on as he waits.

Eren knows his face is red, can feel his ears burning - when the car pulls up to their high rise apartment complex and he gets out to follow the path of rose petals on the ground that lead into the foyer and to the elevator, which, instead of its normal smooth jazz jingle, plays the first song they ever danced to as he rides it up. The flower petals return when the doors open, the short hallway leading to their door covered in them.

The blackout blinds are closed when he goes inside, the living room artfully illuminated by tiny votive candles. And at the very center stands Erwin in his best suit and tie, shoes shined to perfection, hair slicked back, a wide smile on his face.

Eren drops his bag and rushes over to Erwin, buries his face in Erwin’s chest.

“Erwin,” he whines.

“Ah. Was it too much?”

Eren shakes his head. “It was perfect. You’re perfect. Thank you.”

He wraps his arms around Erwin’s waist and squeezes him in a tight hug. Erwin returns the gesture and plants a kiss on top of his head.

“Happy Birthday, Eren.”