Akaashi Keiji- love of my life

Your birthday

 "Keiji," you nudge him. It takes him a moment to look up, since he's absorbed in his novel and absently tapping at your legs stretched across his lap. When he finally looks up, you ask, "What are we doing about the Christmas lights?"

He glances at the mentioned items – string lights tossed from corner to corner of the living room, snowflakes plastered on the window, a little Santa figurine next to the TV.

"What about them?"

"It's mid-January."

"Christmas lights can stay up in January. It's not like there's a rule against it. 'Sides. It's cozy." And then he's back in his book, adjusting the way you're both sitting and making sure you're comfortable before leaving you be.

As blue as the sky is on a crisp (and hellishly cold) January afternoon, Akaashi is a mystery. You've been with him, god, like, three years now. Often, it feels like you know everything about him, then he'll surprise you with something new like his sudden and unprompted interest in Korean game shows. All at once, you'll be confronted with the fact that you've known him forever and barely any time at all.

But the time is not really the question here. The question is how you got so lucky to be with a man who knows that birthdays are meant to be spent on the couch with your lover, candles lit on the table and a comfortable blanket on you. He reads, as he does, occasionally glancing at the nature documentary you put on for both educational and background noise purposes.

A man who knows that grocery store cake slices are just as good as large, full cakes bought from bakeries but require less fridge space. A man who takes you out for breakfast, takes you home for the rest of the day.

Like he knows exactly what's happening in your head, he starts to sing under his breath, ignoring the dramatic music of the predatory dolphin chase on the TV:

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Placing his bookmark appropriately, he puts the book down and reaches for your hand. You give it to him, because what else do you do when the voice of an angel is singing at you in the candlelight?

He kisses the back of your hand, ashy and dry as it is.

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover

You expect him to continue, but he doesn't, cocking an eyebrow at you. You know why he does it; you know what line comes next and why he wants the role reversal for this specific line. So you sing back, slightly off-key:

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover

He takes the song back then, singing softly but proudly:

Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close? Forever and ever...

"Happy birthday, love," he says for the twenty second time today. One for each year of your life up to this point. You're not counting, personally, but he has a set of tally marks on his wrist under sweater sleeve, just to be sure.

With a hand on your cheek, he looks between your two eyes with his own. His blue eyes flicker to your lips. Back to your eyes. And then his lips are on yours and it feels exactly like the one he gave you for Christmas, like your New Year's kiss, like every other kiss. Full of life and full of him.

And honestly? This is the best birthday gift, third year running. Everyone probably wants an Akaashi Keiji, but you're the only one who gets to have him like this.

If that isn't a wondrous gift, what is?