Kikuchi Fuma wasn’t the type to make a big deal out of birthdays. If anything, he found them a little embarrassing—especially this one. Thirty. A whole new decade. The same age as Nakajima Kento, even if just for a few days. It shouldn’t mean anything, but it did.
Not that he would ever admit it.
So when he woke up on March 7th to an empty apartment, he figured Nakajima had just gone out for work or errands. Nothing unusual. But there was something… odd. The place was too quiet, like it had been carefully abandoned.
Kikuchi stretched, rubbing his face before rolling out of bed. He wasn’t expecting anything special—until he noticed the note on the table.
"Come to the studio. Don’t be late."
Kikuchi raised a brow. That was definitely Nakajima’s handwriting, slightly messy but confident. His lips twitched. What’s he up to?
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When Kikuchi arrived at the studio, the lights were dimmed, and for a second, he thought he was in the wrong place. Then—
"Surprise!"
The lights flicked on, and there stood Nakajima, right in the center of the room, surrounded by balloons and a table set up with cake.
Kikuchi blinked. “You…”
“Happy birthday, Kikuchi,” Nakajima grinned, looking so pleased with himself.
Kikuchi cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how warm his face felt. He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to play it cool. “You did all this?”
“Of course.” Nakajima tilted his head, eyes sparkling up at him. “You didn’t think I’d just let your thirtieth birthday pass without doing something special, did you?”
That look—those big, moist eyes gazing up at him, full of unfiltered joy—was Kikuchi’s greatest weakness. It always had been. His grip tightened in his pockets. “I don’t need anything special,” he muttered. “Just another day.”
Nakajima pouted. “I knew you’d say that.” He took a step closer, peering up at him with a knowing glint. “But I still wanted to do this. Because…” He hesitated, then smiled softly. “Because I love you, Kikuchi.”
Kikuchi felt his throat go dry.
Nakajima had always been the type to express his feelings freely, while Kikuchi… well, he struggled. He felt everything so deeply but found it difficult to put into words. And now, standing here with Nakajima looking up at him like that, saying those words so easily—how was he supposed to react?
He wanted to say it back. He really did. But instead, his hands twitched at his sides before he reached out, hesitating for a split second before ruffling Nakajima’s hair, the closest thing to affection he could manage without combusting.
Nakajima huffed but leaned into the touch anyway. “That’s all I get?”
Kikuchi exhaled through his nose. “You already know.”
“But I like hearing it,” Nakajima teased.
Kikuchi clicked his tongue, feeling heat creep up his neck. “...Yeah. Well.” He glanced away. “I’ll work on it.”
Nakajima’s laughter was light, filling the room like music. “Alright, alright. I’ll be patient. But for now—come eat cake. I made sure to get your favorite.”
Kikuchi sighed but followed him, shaking his head. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”
Nakajima turned to look at him over his shoulder, smiling fondly. “I wanted to.”
And just like that, Kikuchi knew—no matter how many birthdays came and went, as long as Nakajima was by his side, they would always be special.
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Nakajima was mid-bite into the cake when he heard it—so soft he almost thought he imagined it.
"...I love you."
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He blinked, looking up. "Huh?"
Kikuchi was staring at his plate, pretending to be very interested in the frosting, but the tips of his ears were burning red. "I said... I love you."
This time, Nakajima knew he wasn’t imagining it. And for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
Kikuchi was never good at saying things like this. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel them—Nakajima had always known—but hearing it out loud, softly, shyly, was something else entirely. Something precious.
Nakajima’s chest tightened. His fingers curled around his fork, then relaxed. Slowly, he set it down and stood up, stepping closer.
Kikuchi still wasn’t looking at him. His jaw was tense, his muscles stiff like he was bracing for impact.
Nakajima smiled.
Reaching out, he touched Kikuchi’s hand, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Say it again.”
Kikuchi groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You heard me the first time.”
“I know, but I wanna hear it again,” Nakajima teased, eyes twinkling.
Kikuchi shot him a look—one of his signature annoyed glares—but his usual sharpness was missing. His lips parted, but nothing came out at first. Then, after a long pause, he sighed. "...I love you."
This time, Nakajima felt it.
Warmth spread through his chest, overflowing. Without thinking, he moved forward, wrapping his arms around Kikuchi, pressing himself into his warmth.
Kikuchi tensed, then let out a small breath as his arms came around Nakajima—strong and steady, holding him close.
Nakajima rested his forehead against Kikuchi’s shoulder, eyes closing. “You’re so cute, Kikuchi.”
Kikuchi groaned. “Take it back.”
“Never.”
Kikuchi sighed heavily, but his grip tightened just a little.
Nakajima smiled to himself. He wanted to cherish this moment forever—the rare, raw softness of Kikuchi Fuma, the quiet love wrapped around them like a warm embrace.
“Happy birthday,” he murmured.
Kikuchi hummed, resting his chin lightly on Nakajima’s head. “It is now.”