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He likes the sound of twenty two.
First of all, it’s far better than twenty one. Last year was a complete mess and there were a lot of tears and a lot of ice cream and a lot of failed tests, many late night phone call rants to his sister and way too many friends were ghosted.
(Including himself. Fuck Izu-chan from high school. Fake-ass friend.
Takahiro only hopes his third year of university goes better than the first two.)
Second, every Instagram happy birthday story he got tagged in had the Taylor Swift song playing and Takahiro was beaming so wide that Issei, lying with his head lolling down over the mattress and looking at him upside down had very seriously told him that his cheeks were going to split.
(‘You are not allowed to be mean on my birthday,’ Takahiro had replied.
‘Are you gonna finish the chai?’ Issei had responded. ‘And what’s the point of demanding a breakfast in bed if you’re gonna eat on the floor?’
‘I’d like if you shut the fuck up,’ Takahiro had told him. ‘I’m the birthday boy.’)
The third thing he likes about twenty two is that Issei is here.
Here, in Tokyo here, spending the next whole month in Takahiro’s shitty little apartment and taking up space in his bed and walking around shirtless way too fucking often. He makes breakfast and Takahiro goes to class and he comes home to warmth and laughter and actual meals instead of silence and assignments and ramen, which is insane.
This morning he’d woken up to Issei, three seconds from sticking a candle on his birthday pancakes and he’d let out an embarrassingly high pitched scream and shoved him away from the tray and Issei had had no idea what was wrong with thick-wax-wrapper-less-candle-on-pancake, and despite all of his bullshit he still wants Issei to live with him.
But that’s an issue for another time.
Issei had deigned to come with him to what would be Issei’s first college party, a giant thing Akinori was holding in his honor at his apartment, no clean-up and booze on him. Takahiro had protested, said it wasn’t necessary.
‘Don’t act like you’re not preening at the idea of a you-party,’ Akinori had said. ‘Attention seeker bitch.’
‘Says you,’ Takahiro had said, very much not preening.
And the party’s going fantastic .
He’s pleasantly buzzed, surrounded by people he knows vaguely from uni and friends of Akinori’s, all congragulating him and laughing at his jokes and he’s thriving, music thrumming and Akinori’s asshole roommate’s beloved RGB lights changing colors every two seconds.
He finds him in the kitchen going head to head with shots with Yuuji.
Rookie mistake, Takahiro thinks, pulling a dizzy Issei away from the kitchen with all his friends laughing around them as Issei wraps his arms around his waist and protests as Takahiro drags him through people towards his beloved friend’s couch where Akinori is already sitting.
Issei’s breath is hot and sweet against his ear, so close and Takahiro’s side is against his chest, his belly flipping.
‘Aren’t you supposed to get mellow in your old age? And not, y’know, more of a bitch?’
Takahiro yanks his hair and Issei yelps, kicks his shin and Takahiro shoves him off so he can run for the spot on the couch.
He’s beaten by Yuuji who throws himself over the back and laughs when Takahiro groans loud and dramatic.
‘It’s my fucking birthday, are you fucking kidding me, Yuu-‘
‘Early bird,’ he replies superiorly, ‘gets the worm.’
‘It’s, like, one A.M, man.’
‘And you’re nothing like a bird,’ Issei says decisively. ‘More like- some weird fucking ferret.’
He nods to himself as Yuuji squawks and Akinori laughs, leaning into his side and Takahiro nods along with Issei, appreciative. ‘Oh, good one, Issei. Yeah. Yeah, he’s a ferret.’
‘One hundred percent, man, look at his little ferret ears and eyes-‘
‘-And his ferret hair, oh, that little ferret angry face-‘
‘Shut the fuck up,’ Yuuji says, sinking into the couch, ears pink. Akinori ruffles his hair, cooing, ‘Aww, so cute-‘
‘Shut up-‘
‘We will stop only if,’ Takahiro says, ‘you let me and Issei sit on the couch.’
‘Fine,’ he agrees after some consideration. ‘Only because it’s your birthday.’
Takahiro beams and Akinori complains, ‘Why do I have to get up, it’s my apartment-‘
‘My birthday,’ Issei says.
Takahiro nods. ‘His birthday,’ he repeats.
Akinori stares at him as Takahiro yanks him up by the hand and immediately relaxes into the spot he vacated.
‘No?’ he says confusedly. ‘It’s Takahiro’s?’
‘Ours,’ Takahiro says. ‘We're besties. What’s mine is his.’
Issei nods and sits down on the couch as Yuuji vanishes to find chairs, presumably.
‘This couch, for example,’ Issei says, getting comfortable, his arm brushing over Takahiro’s shoulders. He pats the back. ‘Ours.’
‘He’s getting on my fucking nerves,’ Akinori says.
‘It’s okay Akinori,’ Takahiro says. ‘It’s his birthday.’
Yuuji comes back and Akinori instantly sits down on one of the kitchen stools he brings with him.
‘It’s Issei’s birthday?’ Yuuji says, eyebrows furrowing. ‘I thought it was Takahiro’s-?’
Akinori groans and Takahiro laughs, melting into Issei’s side and he’s warm and comfortable and shifts to accommodate for him and Takahiro is happy.
Nothing, he thinks, could ruin this night.
‘No, you fucktard, it’s just the principle of the matter, I don’t give a fuck-‘
‘-oh yeah, then why the fuck are you so pissed-‘
‘-because it’s such a fucking shit movie, it’s a garbage film and-‘
‘That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard, it’s the best film of the 2010s-‘
‘Hah - oh my god, gimme a fuckin’ minute, I need to laugh about you just saying that because of how completely wrong you are-‘
Akinori sighs as he takes a sip of his beer.
‘I’m fucking right, asshole-‘
‘-get off your fucking high horse and think about it you stupid fucking cunt,’ Takahiro spits. ‘It was propaganda.’
He rolls his eyes when he hears Issei click his tongue. ‘Propaganda my fucking ass, you pretentious bowl of shit-‘
‘-you cannot fucking deny the fact that-‘
‘-you are so fucking overdramatic when you’re drunk, oh my god, Hiro-‘
‘-okay, shut the fuck up, you’re drunker and I’m nothing compared to you-‘
‘Now, now, don’t be self-loathing-‘
‘-you’re trying to distract me-‘
‘-oohhh, it isn't hard-‘
‘-it’s a shit film, it doesn’t even deserve the title of a film-‘
‘It’s a cinematic masterpiece-‘
‘It’s fucking Minions !’ Takahiro exclaims. ‘Holy fucking shit, it’s fucking goddamn Minions-‘ He hears someone laugh and he barely registers it, glaring at Issei.
‘Okay fine then how the fuck is it propaganda, what’s your argument for that, genius-‘
Takahiro rears up. ‘Fucking America is trying to make us like denim-‘
‘-Oh my fucking god, holy shit,’ Issei interrupts, voice high. ‘ Not this again-‘
‘-Fucking denim is not necessary everywhere-‘
‘-It’s fabric what is your goddamn problem with it-‘
‘-fucking ugly as shit and they’re trying to get us used to it and branch out with more than jeans and jackets so they can-‘
‘You’re a fashion disaster, you can’t fucking say that-‘
‘-sell more fucking jean shit to us and steal all our fucking money,’ Takahiro finishes loudly, glaring at him.
Issei throws his hands in the air frustratedly and spills his drink in the process but he barely seems to notice in his irritation. ‘You are wearing the ahegao hoodie right now. You are literally wearing the-‘
‘This is yours, mother fucker ,’ Takahiro says viciously.
Issei gapes at him, mouth open and outraged. ‘Oh my god- you bought me that, you total fuckin’ tool-‘
‘-it’s still yours-‘
‘-how dare you use it as an argument when you quite literally fucking bought it for me-‘
‘-as a gag gift-‘
‘-gag on this fucking-‘
Akinori wolf whistles.
‘-Not like that, asshole-‘
Issei stares at him with frustrated dark eyes and Takahiro stares back, blood thrumming. In the flashing lights and thrumming music, he’s completely focused on his face and it’s starting to get to him.
He wants to-
Issei interrupts mid thought, ‘I cannot believe you think the Minions movie is propaganda for denim-‘
Takahiro loses his train of thought and says, ‘Oh my god, I am gonna punch you in the nuts-‘
‘-you couldn’t fucking reach , asshole-‘
‘Wow,’ Yuuji says out of nowhere, sounding blown away. ‘You guys have a lot of pent up sexual tension.’
Akinori snorts into his beer and Takahiro stops mid creative insult to stare at Yuuji. He’d almost forgotten they were there.
‘Excuse me?’ Takahiro asks, thinking he’s misheard him over the booming bass music, because why on Earth would Yuuji say that.
Yuuji grins and the party lights turn red, which Takahiro thinks his literature professor would say signifies evildoing and the presence of Satan.
‘I said,’ he says slowly. ‘You guys have a lot of pent up sexual tension. Do you need me to like, explain to you what that is, or-’
‘That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard,’ Takahiro says simply. ‘I would never fuck Issei.’
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Issei turn full body to stare at him.
Akinori leans back against the wall behind his stool as Yuuji says, ‘Y’know, I don’t really believe you, ‘cause you guys have so much chemistry that it is actually insane.’
Takahiro squints. ‘No we do not. Akinori, do we have-‘
‘Yes,’ he says instantly. ‘You have so much tension that it makes me physically uncomfortable.’
Takahiro frowns at him and then turns to Yuuji to say, ‘You’re completely mistaken. Issei and I are strictly platonic best bros and he makes me so angry that I know I would never subject myself to that kind of torture to sink as goddamn low as to date his Weeknd stan ass-‘
‘Hey now,’ Akinori says reproachfully. ‘He has some good- well, one good song-’
‘We have no sexual tension,’ Takahiro finishes.
Issei is still regarding him and something in his silence feels disbelieving, irritated, and Takahiro ignores him and smiles threateningly at Yuuji.
‘Okay,’ Yuuji says easily. ‘Then prove it.’
Takahiro blinks. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Prove it,’ he repeats. He lifts a ringed finger from his beer bottle to point at Issei, then at Takahiro. ‘Make out, keep it PG.’
‘What.’
‘You heard what I said.’
Yuuji is grinning now, wide and easy and sharp and Akinori is watching him with an impressed, pleased look on his face.
Takahiro glances over and Issei has shut his eyes.
His face is taunt and his eyebrows drawn together. He looks unbearably attractive.
‘Okay,’ Takahiro says, hoping the switching lights hide his flush. ‘That is the stupidest and also horniest thing I’ve ever heard, you just want to see us kiss-‘
‘What, are you chicken?’
Takahiro’s mind goes blank.
He hesitates though, just for a second and Yuuji’s grin is sharklike and his eyes glint orange in the party lighting which, Takahiro decides, symbolizes assholery.
‘Think you’ll end up liking it? Afraid of losing?’ he says.
Takahiro’s fists clench.
Yuuji drops his card and it’s an ace.
‘Are you fucking pussy, bro?’
All trace of hesitation drops from his features and he turns to look at Issei, who Takahiro knows would look amused if he wasn’t so irritated about Takahiro saying he wouldn’t fuck him.
Why can’t he chill, Takahiro wonders. Takahiro is obviously lying.
Takahiro feels like he’s standing at the front of class for a presentation he doesn’t know jack shit about and his partner is stupid and also mad at him.
Thankfully, he reminds himself, Takahiro is excellent at bullshitting and has never gotten a failing grade once. Except for that one time in Math and he retains to this day that the teacher hated him.
And thankfully, Issei is never really mad at him.
He can do this.
Okay,’ he says confidently. ‘We got this. One kiss, eaze.’
Issei starts, ‘I don’t remember agreeing to-‘ then shuts up when Takahiro blinks up at him.
‘Okay,’ he agrees, lower. His eyes are still full of frustration, heated from the argument like Takahiro’s probably still are too. Takahiro is just viciously delighted he caused cracks in that poker face.
He refuses to examine it, buries the heat in his hands.
‘One kiss,’ Takahiro states firmly, and leans in.
Issei’s mouth is soft and firm and inviting all at once, and Takahiro’s eyes flutter shut and he tries not to melt into him, aware of Yuuji and Akinori watching them.
Then Issei presses down into him and tilts his head ever so slightly and Takahiro has to hold back a groan at the perfection of the slide, the taste of him.
He pulls back quickly and hears the slick pop, audible to just him and Issei.
Issei is looking at him and his lips are parted, his eyes blown wide.
Takahiro blinks to hide how dazed he is, and licks his lips once to taste his mouth and beer again, then opens his mouth to tell Yuuji he’s won and Issei’s hand cups his jaw and mouth is on his again, chasing him.
Takahiro groans and wraps his arms around his shoulders and pulls him in closer,
Issei’s arm wraps around his back and his hand is sliding up to his hair, tilting his head as he sees fit and Takahiro nips at his bottom lip and feels him moan, and shivers slightly.
He gets almost dizzy, getting lost in Issei pressing closer into him and kissing him hungrily, lost in Issei’s arms around him and his lips and his little moans.
Then Issei’s licking into his mouth and he loses all coherent thought.
Issei’s hand cups at his thigh and Takahiro lifts it up over his lap to straddle him and suddenly they’re flush, his knees around Issei’s waist, chest to chest and Takahiro’s mouth goes slack for a second at the feeling even as the hand moves up to his hip to squeeze.
‘Damn,’ Yuuji’s voice splits them apart and Takahiro almost falls off the couch in his scramble to get off of him and Issei is staring at him with his eyes dilated.
Ah, he remembers dazedly. Right.
Takahiro is vaguely aware that his breath is coming out in pants.
‘You guys totally have zero sexual tension,’ Yuuji finishes, voice dripping sarcasm.
Takahiro swallows, and Issei wets his lips and Takahiro’s eyes flit down before he can stop them.
His ears zero in on Akinori laughing and Yuuji sipping at his beer, self-satisfied, the rest of the party going on around them and people laughing and music thumping even if all he wants to focus on is how much darker Issei’s eyes have gotten.
They have gotten substantially darker.
Holy shit. Takahiro feels almost woozy.
‘You-,’ he breaks off and watches Issei’s hand go up to wipe his mouth and feels his belly twist hotly.
‘You weren’t supposed to kiss back, asshole.’ His voice breaks slightly, and he winces internally.
Issei grins, and says, ‘My bad.’ He doesn’t look even remotely sorry. All he looks is wrecked and messy and swollen lipped and unfairly smug.
He’s watching Takahiro with lidded eyes. Takahiro is probably similarly mussed up.
Takahiro nods unsteadily, then says, ‘We have no sexual tension.’
Yuuji laughs out loud and Akinori says wearily, ‘I don’t have enough alcohol,’ and walks towards the kitchen.
Issei’s grin only gets wider and his gaze doesn’t waver.
‘Okay, sweetheart,’ he agrees indulgently.
Takahiro feels his face flush.
Yuuji is still leant against the wall and ignoring the loud party around them, bodies and music and whooping, observing with interested eyes.
‘Yuuji. Why are you still here,’ Takahiro says, closing his eyes.
‘Aw man,’ he says. ‘I was hoping you guys would let me stay and watch-‘
‘Alright Yuuji,’ Takahiro interrupts steadily. ‘You have made your point.’
‘Maybe another time, Yuu,’ Issei tells him politely, and Yuuji says, ‘Oh, thanks dude!’ and Takahiro repeats louder, ‘ Alright Yuuji.’
‘I am so goddamn nice,’ he responds, ‘that I won’t even make you admit it, or say I told you so. Also,’ he adds, pushing off from the wall and clapping Issei on the shoulder, ‘You’re welcome.’
He walks towards where a group are playing beer pong. Takahiro is so jealous of him.
He watches him go for two seconds and then turns and Issei is staring at him with a horrible mix of tender and hunger and pain. Takahiro wishes he felt pissed but all he feels is flushed , shivering at the look in his eyes.
He came to this party for attention.
Now he’s convinced he’s gonna explode from the stupid amount of attention he’s getting from a single man.
‘Issei,’ he says.
‘Yes,’ he responds. Takahiro sees the hesitation, the apprehension in the set of his jaw. He looks like he’s ready to get rejected even though he must know, he’s not fucking stupid as much as Takahiro jokes that he is.
Takahiro ate the whole plate of semi burnt pancakes this morning, drenched in powdered sugar and honey, overly sweet the way he likes them. He’d sniffed the rose in it’s thin glass, felt himself flush.
He lets Issei in his bed and he introduces him to his friends and he let Issei drive him in his shitty truck.
Takahiro sighs, and gives in.
‘Kiss me, asshole.’
He barely gets to finish his sentence before Issei’s mouth is on his again.
Takahiro laughs breathlessly into the kiss, and Issei’s leg swings over his lap and suddenly Takahiro is lapful of gorgeous boy and he’s being kissed so hard and it’s his fucking birthday.
He fists Issei’s hair and drags him closer, impossibly closer, heart beating to the time of Issei’s and the bass beat overhead.
Through the heady kiss and the hand at his nape, Takahiro can’t believe he’s only just now, half drunk and on the couch tucked away in the corner at his own terrible twenty second birthday party realizing he wants to pull him even closer till they’re the same person and maybe he’d be content then.
He feels Issei’s wide grin against his lips and Takahiro tugs his hair harder, cups his hip to bring him closer and closer till they’re both shuddering out moans at the friction.
‘Takahiro,’ Issei mouths.
Takahiro blinks his eyes open and Issei is panting against his lips, face flushed and gleaming and ‘The shifting lights,’ he decides, ‘aren’t all that douchey.’
‘They do make you look gorgeous,’ Issei agrees, lips curving. His hand slides up Takahiro’s shirt and Takahiro laughs unbidden, twisting away because he’s ticklish.
‘Issei,’ he prompts.
‘Hiro,’ he says, kissing the corner of his mouth. ‘Let’s go home.’
Takahiro beams, shoves him off and tugs his head down even as he trips to kiss him again, gentle and soft.
‘It’s my house not yours,’ he murmurs into it.
‘What’s yours is mine,’ Issei replies, and Takahiro laughs all the way out the door.
(Best birthday ever, he thinks.)
(‘Really?’ Issei says skeptically, in the car. ‘Hm. That's odd. My favorite birthday of yours was in third year when it was snowing so fucking hard and Oikawa held you down and I shoved snow down your shirt-‘
‘It got in my fucking pants, you sick little bitch,’ Takahiro hisses, hands tight on the steering wheel as Issei laughs himself stupid.
‘You’re so fucking drunk,’ he mutters. ‘See if I let you in the bed.’
‘You don’t have a futon,’ Issei says, beaming at him from the passenger seat, face glowing like he’s twelve and not twenty one and Takahiro loves the shit out of him.
‘The couch is free,’ is all he says instead.
‘You like me too much.’
Takahiro leans over the gearshift to kiss his cheek and then goes back to staring out at the road, ears burning.
‘I love you,’ Issei whispers, sounding awestruck. Takahiro flushes firetruck red and curses his pale skin, curses Issei’s easy mouth and drunken confessions.
‘Stop talking or I’ll make you walk back.’
‘It’s my truck,’ he points out.
‘Oh but what’s yours is mine , baby,’ Takahiro says, smiling widely, and Issei groans, a dull thump sounding as his head hits the back of the seat. Takahiro takes a sharp turn and lets himself laugh out loud as Issei’s groan gets louder and he clutches the dashboard and the side of his seat. ‘You fucking suck!’
Takahiro hums, and turns the radio up in response.
‘You wouldn’t though,’ Issei says after a few minutes.
‘Why wouldn’t I.’
‘You love me too much.’
‘…’
‘Admit it.’
‘Maybe,’ he says, burying his smile in his upturned jacket collar.
Definitely the best birthday ever.)