Hajime no Insho
sho sanjushichi.
“What are we celebrating?”
Akira chuckled. “What do you mean, ‘what are we celebrating’? We’re celebrating us, genius.” He grinned, leaned forward, and pressed his mouth to Takanori’s, and he pressed a glass into his hand when he pulled back. “We’re celebrating us, and we’re celebrating you, and we’re celebrating your father finally coming to terms with how amazing you are.” He flashed a smile, laughing mutedly into another kiss, and winked as Takanori pulled back. “And we’re celebrating the fact that this is, in fact, our third Christmas together, and I love you just as much as I did the first time we kissed.”
Takanori smiled, and he rested his free hand on Akira’s cheek, closing his eyes and kissing the blond’s forehead, his soft laugh warm against Akira’s skin. “Two and a half years later,” he murmured, “and being with you still makes me feel like a teenage boy out with his first love.” He smiled, his lips pressing softly against Akira’s skin once more. “I love you.” His voice was quiet, and he hummed ever so softly as Akira claimed yet another kiss, and the familiar greenhouse-of-butterflies feeling returned to his stomach once more.
Akira whispered an “I love you, too” against Takanori’s mouth, and he smiled and let his fingers drag over the singer’s yellow hair, and his heart was beating madly as always, and his pulse was running a marathon in his veins. “God, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”
Takanori chuckled softly, drawing back to touch his fingers to Akira’s lips, and he smiled. “Maybe it’s not just luck. Maybe fate had something to do with it, too. What else could have brought me someone like you?” He smiled again, and he felt his cheeks heat just slightly as he let his hand drop, and he watched as Akira’s gaze fell to the wine he’d bought, and he instead let his hand gently rub the bassist’s leg as Akira poured both of them a drink.
And Akira chose not to acknowledge how incredibly movie-esque the moment was, instead raising his glass once it had a sufficient amount of wine in it, let it clink against Takanori’s, and murmuring, “To fate,” before they took a drink, and Akira winked at the singer, grinning as their glasses were set aside and he handed Takanori his gift. He smiled as Takanori picked the small box up, turning it over in his hands, and he rested a hand on the singer’s leg, rubbing gently.
And Takanori carefully slid the ribbon from the box, biting his lip to hold back a grin, incredibly flattered that Akira had taken so much care in wrapping this gift for him, and then he picked at the wrapping paper, letting it fall to the floor, turning the box over so that it was lid-up in his palm. And he raised an eyebrow at Akira, a small smile lifting his mouth.
“Open it,” the bassist said gently, chuckling, and he watched as Takanori lifted the lid, his eyes sparkling as his gaze fell upon the pendant that gleamed up at him. He watched as Takanori brushed his fingers over the object, and he was beaming as Takanori grinned and gifted him with a kiss. “I saw how much you loved wearing it for interviews and such,” he said. “I took the liberty of convincing our managers to let you keep it.”
“Akira…”
“Here,” the blond said, gently taking the box from the singer’s hands, lifting the pendant and holding it up, setting the box aside. “Let me put it on for you.” He smiled as Takanori nodded, and he leaned forward, bringing the two ends together at the back of the singer’s neck, and he chuckled as Takanori’s skin prickled beneath his touch. He smiled, gently kissed the side of Takanori’s neck, and then he drew back, watching as Takanori bit his lip and glanced down at the gift he’d been given, chills coursing their way through his spine.
“Thank you, Akira,” he said quietly. “You’ve no idea how you make me feel, but…thank you for being around for me to feel it.”
Akira touched his fingers to Takanori’s chin, silently asking for him to look up, and he smiled when their gazes met. “You never have to thank me for being here,” he said. “Because I will always be around to make you happy.”
The singer smiled, and he fiddled with his pendant for a moment, and then he reached over to the coffee table, picking up a simple envelope and setting it in Akira’s lap. “You know I like to anyway,” he said, and he closed his hand around the hand at the side of his neck, softly kissing Akira’s knuckles and then letting go, motioning for the bassist to open his gift.
The bassist smiled, raising his eyebrow a little, and then obliged, gracefully opening the envelope and removing the single sheet of paper that rested inside. And he looked up at Takanori, who looked as though he wasn’t sure what Akira thought of his present, and then returned his attention to the simple sheet of paper, and he realized that there were lyrics on the page.
And as his eyes scanned over the words that Takanori had written, his hand reached out, finding the singer’s easily and giving it a small squeeze, and he read the page over a few more times, letting the lyrics and their meaning sink in. And then he looked up, and there was a teary smile on his face.
“’nori, these are…”
“I wrote that one for you, too.”
And for a moment, Akira was speechless as he gazed into Takanori’s eyes. His heart was pounding, and he was sure that his pulse was racing, and he just knew that Takanori could feel it against his hand, and he couldn’t imagine what he’d done to deserve the love that the singer had for him. “’nori, are you really as happy as all of this?” He lifted the page slightly to make a point of what he was referring to, and his heart skipped a beat when Takanori nodded, wearing a soft smile.
“Yes, Akira, I am, thanks to you.” He smiled again, and he tugged Akira closer, and he brushed at the corners of the blond’s eyes with his thumb as they kissed. The contact was soft, and it was tender as hell, and Takanori funneled all of the love that he possibly could into that one connection of their lips. And once the kiss was over and their foreheads were resting together, Takanori could only think that there was nothing better than this.
And they were quiet for a moment, Takanori humming softly, and then Akira broke the silence with the softest murmur of the singer’s name, and he received a soft hum in response. “I love you,” he whispered, and he felt chills as the back of Takanori’s hand brushed against his cheek.
“I love you too,” Takanori said, and his voice was just as quiet, just as gentle.
And Akira smiled, resting his hand over the singer’s, and glanced into his eyes. “Dance with me?”
“But Akira, there’s no music.”
The blond shook his head, smiling. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “We can make our own.”
Takanori chuckled softly, pressed forward for a kiss, and then smiled. “Okay,” he said softly. “Let’s dance.”
Akira grinned, slipping from the singer’s grip, and rose, extending his hand, smiling as Takanori accepted his offer and rose as well, and then he led him to the center of the carpet and pulled him close.
And then they danced.
Akira chuckled. “What do you mean, ‘what are we celebrating’? We’re celebrating us, genius.” He grinned, leaned forward, and pressed his mouth to Takanori’s, and he pressed a glass into his hand when he pulled back. “We’re celebrating us, and we’re celebrating you, and we’re celebrating your father finally coming to terms with how amazing you are.” He flashed a smile, laughing mutedly into another kiss, and winked as Takanori pulled back. “And we’re celebrating the fact that this is, in fact, our third Christmas together, and I love you just as much as I did the first time we kissed.”
Takanori smiled, and he rested his free hand on Akira’s cheek, closing his eyes and kissing the blond’s forehead, his soft laugh warm against Akira’s skin. “Two and a half years later,” he murmured, “and being with you still makes me feel like a teenage boy out with his first love.” He smiled, his lips pressing softly against Akira’s skin once more. “I love you.” His voice was quiet, and he hummed ever so softly as Akira claimed yet another kiss, and the familiar greenhouse-of-butterflies feeling returned to his stomach once more.
Akira whispered an “I love you, too” against Takanori’s mouth, and he smiled and let his fingers drag over the singer’s yellow hair, and his heart was beating madly as always, and his pulse was running a marathon in his veins. “God, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”
Takanori chuckled softly, drawing back to touch his fingers to Akira’s lips, and he smiled. “Maybe it’s not just luck. Maybe fate had something to do with it, too. What else could have brought me someone like you?” He smiled again, and he felt his cheeks heat just slightly as he let his hand drop, and he watched as Akira’s gaze fell to the wine he’d bought, and he instead let his hand gently rub the bassist’s leg as Akira poured both of them a drink.
And Akira chose not to acknowledge how incredibly movie-esque the moment was, instead raising his glass once it had a sufficient amount of wine in it, let it clink against Takanori’s, and murmuring, “To fate,” before they took a drink, and Akira winked at the singer, grinning as their glasses were set aside and he handed Takanori his gift. He smiled as Takanori picked the small box up, turning it over in his hands, and he rested a hand on the singer’s leg, rubbing gently.
And Takanori carefully slid the ribbon from the box, biting his lip to hold back a grin, incredibly flattered that Akira had taken so much care in wrapping this gift for him, and then he picked at the wrapping paper, letting it fall to the floor, turning the box over so that it was lid-up in his palm. And he raised an eyebrow at Akira, a small smile lifting his mouth.
“Open it,” the bassist said gently, chuckling, and he watched as Takanori lifted the lid, his eyes sparkling as his gaze fell upon the pendant that gleamed up at him. He watched as Takanori brushed his fingers over the object, and he was beaming as Takanori grinned and gifted him with a kiss. “I saw how much you loved wearing it for interviews and such,” he said. “I took the liberty of convincing our managers to let you keep it.”
“Akira…”
“Here,” the blond said, gently taking the box from the singer’s hands, lifting the pendant and holding it up, setting the box aside. “Let me put it on for you.” He smiled as Takanori nodded, and he leaned forward, bringing the two ends together at the back of the singer’s neck, and he chuckled as Takanori’s skin prickled beneath his touch. He smiled, gently kissed the side of Takanori’s neck, and then he drew back, watching as Takanori bit his lip and glanced down at the gift he’d been given, chills coursing their way through his spine.
“Thank you, Akira,” he said quietly. “You’ve no idea how you make me feel, but…thank you for being around for me to feel it.”
Akira touched his fingers to Takanori’s chin, silently asking for him to look up, and he smiled when their gazes met. “You never have to thank me for being here,” he said. “Because I will always be around to make you happy.”
The singer smiled, and he fiddled with his pendant for a moment, and then he reached over to the coffee table, picking up a simple envelope and setting it in Akira’s lap. “You know I like to anyway,” he said, and he closed his hand around the hand at the side of his neck, softly kissing Akira’s knuckles and then letting go, motioning for the bassist to open his gift.
The bassist smiled, raising his eyebrow a little, and then obliged, gracefully opening the envelope and removing the single sheet of paper that rested inside. And he looked up at Takanori, who looked as though he wasn’t sure what Akira thought of his present, and then returned his attention to the simple sheet of paper, and he realized that there were lyrics on the page.
And as his eyes scanned over the words that Takanori had written, his hand reached out, finding the singer’s easily and giving it a small squeeze, and he read the page over a few more times, letting the lyrics and their meaning sink in. And then he looked up, and there was a teary smile on his face.
“’nori, these are…”
“I wrote that one for you, too.”
And for a moment, Akira was speechless as he gazed into Takanori’s eyes. His heart was pounding, and he was sure that his pulse was racing, and he just knew that Takanori could feel it against his hand, and he couldn’t imagine what he’d done to deserve the love that the singer had for him. “’nori, are you really as happy as all of this?” He lifted the page slightly to make a point of what he was referring to, and his heart skipped a beat when Takanori nodded, wearing a soft smile.
“Yes, Akira, I am, thanks to you.” He smiled again, and he tugged Akira closer, and he brushed at the corners of the blond’s eyes with his thumb as they kissed. The contact was soft, and it was tender as hell, and Takanori funneled all of the love that he possibly could into that one connection of their lips. And once the kiss was over and their foreheads were resting together, Takanori could only think that there was nothing better than this.
And they were quiet for a moment, Takanori humming softly, and then Akira broke the silence with the softest murmur of the singer’s name, and he received a soft hum in response. “I love you,” he whispered, and he felt chills as the back of Takanori’s hand brushed against his cheek.
“I love you too,” Takanori said, and his voice was just as quiet, just as gentle.
And Akira smiled, resting his hand over the singer’s, and glanced into his eyes. “Dance with me?”
“But Akira, there’s no music.”
The blond shook his head, smiling. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “We can make our own.”
Takanori chuckled softly, pressed forward for a kiss, and then smiled. “Okay,” he said softly. “Let’s dance.”
Akira grinned, slipping from the singer’s grip, and rose, extending his hand, smiling as Takanori accepted his offer and rose as well, and then he led him to the center of the carpet and pulled him close.
And then they danced.