This is for The Dwelling Darkness, who wanted the following: It's Akari's birthday but he doesn't really care about the festivities. A birthday is like any other day of the year to him. Everyone remembers except Hirato, and for some reason, this bothers him...
Guys, you didn't think Akari could outfox the foxy Hirato, did you?
Also, there's an easter egg here for those of you who read 'Aloft.' For those of you who don't read that story: 'Aloft' is my favorite of all the stories I've written so I'm trying to generate traffic/support. So try it, but don't feel obligated to favorite or follow if you don't like it.
The day's gone from bad to goddamn unsalvageable, and it's not even noon.
Akari glances at his wristwatch, thin blond brow quivering in irritation. He's been avoiding any and all humans since sunrise, preferring to keep company with lab animals and microorganisms. The futility of these efforts is made abundantly clear when he nearly trips over a gigantic package that's been deposited on his office floor.
Yogi.
The misshapen lavender bow and Nyanperona wrapping paper are the handiwork of none other than Hirato's puerile, doe-eyed second-in-command. He sighs heavily and makes mental note to ensure that the young man's next checkup is the stuff of nightmares. A grimace twists the doctor's lips as he makes for the coffee maker, long legs stepping agilely over the travesty of a birthday present.
Akari abhors birthdays. It's only natural, he supposes. His professional life is dedicated to arresting the ravages of time. A birthday celebration is therefore anathema to his physician's philosophy. Only primitive idiots would glorify coming closer to death.
More than anything, however, he hates his own birthday. It's not that he loathes growing older. Quite the opposite, in fact—the genius scientist relishes new knowledge gained by time's passage. Rather, he simply cannot endure Research Tower's stubborn insistence on commemorating the occasion of their director's birth. Every year, Akari hopes that increased anti-sociality will circumvent any such festivities. Every year, his employees meet this resistance with heightened enthusiasm.
Truly, birthdays are a menace.
He reaffirms this assessment as Tsukitachi waltzes through the door, announcing his presence with fistfuls of confetti thrown in the blond's general direction. Several pieces of tiny metallic paper land in Akari's coffee, prompting him to scowl at his interloper.
"Happy birthday!" the redhead shouts, adopting cheer best reserved for pet stores and sweet shops.
Akari groans in response. "Go away. I don't have time for you today. I have to organize data from the second ship's latest expedition."
Tsukitachi shakes his head and tuts dramatically. "No, no, no. No one works on their birthday," he declares, hands on his hips like an admonishing school teacher.
"Unfortunately, not all of us are afforded the same luxuries as feckless airship captains." Having fished the offending detritus from his beverage, Akari takes a grateful sip, letting its bitterness pool in his mouth before swallowing thankfully.
"You're so mean, Akari-chan." Still, Circus' First Commander is undeterred. He's too inured to his friend's standoffishness to take such utterances personally. "Anyway, speaking of captains, where's Hirato?"
"How the hell should I know?" Akari grumbles. "Protozoan intellectual processes are completely alien to me." He notes a sharp, lancing pain in his chest. Before he can guess at its origin, however, it disappears.
Tsukitachi sighs in mock frustration. "We planned your party weeks ago!" With that, the younger man herds the physician out of the office, practically dragging him along. "He'll just have to be late, then. I don't want the ice cream to melt."
They stop in front of the meeting room. Dread coils low in Akari's stomach as the doors swing open and he's assaulted with more confetti and streamers. Members of both airships and Executive Tower are in attendance. Tsukumo offers up a hand-made, albeit amateurish Hearty plushie while Nai watches nervously from afar. Clearly, the two crafted it together. Because he respects her (and only her), he mutters a hurried thanks before moving on. Tokitatsu slips him an elegantly-wrapped rectangle box, doubtless containing an exorbitantly-priced fountain pen. The two are exchanging pleasantries when Tsukitachi sidles up and says, "I got you a puppy!" He titters and points excitedly to a sizeable holed box beside the small mountain of presents heaped precariously atop the conference table. Vermillion irises go wide with horror. "Just kidding, Akari-chan. It's an espresso machine! Hirato wanted one."
My day is going to be so very long, Akari thinks exhaustedly. And I still have that data to collate.
Thus, the party commences in earnest.
It's quite late before Akari is able to extricate himself. There were three different cakes (including a particularly delicious one baked by Jiki). There was ice cream and chocolate enough to drive a cadre dentists to suicide. There were songs sung off-key, mildly-intoxicated laughter (on the part of Tsukitachi and Tokitatsu), and a day of well-earned frivolity. In spite of himself, Akari had a marginally pleasant evening.
The only thing missing was Hirato.
His black-haired, shifty-eyed devil of a lover monopolizes his attention as he lumbers back to his office. It's unfair to expect Circus' Second Captain to be omnipresent, he knows, especially since Hirato's professional commitments rival his own. Nevertheless, something about having everyone else there made his partner's absence that much heavier. Akari feigned his typical ill-humor throughout the celebration, yes, and even managed to crack a genuine smile when no one was looking. Yet a dull ache settled in his bones and hadn't ebbed even in the midst of such exuberance.
He refuses to interrogate these feelings beyond acknowledging their irrationality, though. Instead, the spent researcher flops into his chair and switches on his computer. I'll worry about Hirato later. Right now, I have work to do. Immediately, a metallic chime sounds, indicating that he's received an email. It's from the subject of his recent thoughts:
Forgive me for not coming to your birthday party. I was preparing your gift, which is attached to this message. -Hirato
Akari opens the attachment and sputters in astonishment. While he was being waylaid by a drunken Tsukitachi, his lover had catalogued every shred of data that Airship Two collected. Rows of color-coded files materialize before him in perfect formation, each labeled according to the type of information contained therein. The overture amounts to hours worth of effort.
"Oh, Hirato..." he whispers, the syllables of his paramour's name inflected by deep affection. Sometimes, his protozoan idiot can be incredibly thoughtful and romantic.
"You like it, then?" Hirato asks, emerging from the doctor's living quarters. The brunet strides forward and leans against the desk, arms crossed over his chest and rhinestone eyes glittering impishly. "It's difficult shopping for a man who has everything," he confesses. "In the end, I settled for gifts of an abstract variety."
"Time." Akari replies softly, still taken aback by the gesture.
"Well, you do seem in perpetual lack of it." Hirato's self-assured grin entices like never before.
"And?"
"And what?"
"You said gifts, in the plural. What else do you have for me?" Akari asks, fingers twining around the captain's necktie in solicitation.
His bedmate's resultant leer is positively demonic. "Yes... your second gift." Before the researcher registers the movement, he feels the cool metal of a handcuff clicking securely around his wrist. A gloved hand curls under his chin. "It's whatever you want, Akari." Velvet lips press gently against the corner of his mouth. "However you want it," Hirato murmurs in a manner intimating that none of the doctor's directives will go unfulfilled tonight.
And Akari finds himself reconsidering his bad opinion of birthdays.