Because in Chapter -7, Takuya is drinking red wine.
Hate Me by Red
Asakura Saki had hated Hiiragi Takuya from the moment he saw him.
Hated his designer outfit (black shirt, highlighting the unnatural hair color, open at the collar, beige pants that cling just so, showing off a tight ass and muscled legs).
Hated his fake smile and laugh for the crowds (twisted lips, eyebrows raised, so in tune with the perfect features that it might almost be real).
Hated his red wine (held just so, tinting the lips just a little darker), hated his dark eyes (couldn't stop wanting them to look at him), and hated all those associated with him (hovering father, hovering women, hovering fans).
This was not rock.
But there was some sort of poetic justice in it, when the party was closing down and Hiiragi Takuya was still there with his shirt undone one more button than proper and looking interested and more than a little buzzed. Kondo was gone, most likely making out with Minefuji in a closet somewhere. He picked out a song with the amp turned down low, just for the two of them.
And when he bent over to put the precious guitar in it's case, he felt the eyes on his back. He hated being stared at.
If nothing else, he knows how to be graceful. He had been drinking all night, to take off the edge, but it did not affect this faculty at all. His hand dragged through the hair on the back of his head and contemplated this Takuya's face.
He knew what Takuya would see when he looked at him. The delacate, almost female features. The earring, the make up, yellow eyes and a little smirk. But when he looked at Hiiragi Takuya, he didn't know what he was supposed to see.
He just saw an attraction, a desire, a...
He hated having no words.
So he kissed him, felt him receide and then press back, like a wave, and all of a sudden Saki was below it, mouth pulling against the lips like they were the source of his last breath before he fell under.
Both their eyes were bleary when they parted, and they were panting.
All he can think to say is: You are so closeted.
And all Takuya did was agree.
He was still there, in the morning, when Asakura woke up, make-up smudged around his eyes and body aching oh-so-pleasantly in the way that it did after really good sex. He was wearing one of Saki's t-shirts and a pair of track pants that he didn't really remember owning, sitting at his tiny kitchen table.
He explained that he woke up and needed to clear his head, so he went for a run. He borrowed some clothes, if you don't mind. He hadn't wanted to leave and have Saki wonder what had happened to him. And he didn't feel like seeing his family right then.
Well then, that was fine. And what did you think of the sex? Was it good? Did you like the feeling of a man's arse around your cock? Will you let me do it again?
He hated this sudden fear of loss.
But when Hiiragi Takuya was at the door and hesitated, his traiturious heart sped up and Takuya asked him: May I come see you again? Soon? He hated falling in love with a bastard of a prude who always looked good, even in sweaty running clothes and who actually went running, for fun, and whom he couldn't lie to, and who fucked him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world.
Quick ending, no? Comment.