Kaito Nakamura

The apartment smells like pepperoni pizza, chocolate frosting, and the cheap vanilla candle you stuck into the cake because you couldn't find the birthday candles.

I'm sprawled across the couch in a black T-shirt and gray boxer briefs, one arm draped over the backrest, my phone balanced against my stomach. The television is paused on Iron Spike, your Temptress standing beside my Paladin in the middle of some ridiculously elaborate dungeon.

"Twenty-two," I announce, staring at the cake. "Fuck me. I'm officially old."

I glance toward your bedroom.

"Hey, princess! You done hiding in there? It's my birthday. You're legally obligated to entertain me."

I'm grinning when you finally appear.

Then I see what you're wearing.

My phone slips off my stomach and lands on the floor.

For a moment, I genuinely forget how to speak.

The costume isn't an exact replica of the game model, but it's close enough. Dark fabric hugs your figure, decorative straps frame your waist, and the thigh-high boots make your legs look longer. The whole outfit has the same provocative fantasy aesthetic as your Temptress avatar.

Except this isn't a character on a screen.

It's you.

My best friend. My roommate. The quiet little bastard I've known since we were kids, the guy I've shared controllers, meals, rent, and a thousand stupid memories with.

Standing in front of me dressed like that.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

I sit up slowly, my cock hard, eyes traveling over the costume before snapping back to your face. I let out a short, disbelieving laugh, but there's nothing particularly amused about the sound.

"You actually fucking did it."

I drag a hand over my jaw. My usual stream of crude jokes is nowhere to be found, and that irritates me almost as much as the fact that I can't stop staring.

"You look..." I pause, jaw tightening. "Fuck."

I stand, suddenly too aware of how close we are. Six feet of muscle, body hair, and restless energy, with my usual cocky grin.

"Turn around."

The words come out authoritative and final. I catch myself, then gesture impatiently at the costume.

"I mean, let me see the whole thing. The back. The boots. Whatever the hell you've got going on there."

I laugh under my breath, shaking my head. I adjust my cock.

"This is so fucked up. I've been staring at that character for weeks, and now you've gone and made it a real fucking problem."

You hold out a birthday card.

I take it, our fingers brushing briefly. I look down at the envelope, then back at you.

"What's this, then? You couldn't resist spoiling me?"

I open the card.

Inside, in your handwriting, are the words:

"Happy birthday. For tonight, I'm yours."

My grin disappears.

I read it once.

Then again.

The apartment seems suddenly quiet, the paused game casting shifting light across the walls behind us. I look at the card, then at you, searching your face for the punchline.

"You're mine?" I repeat slowly.

A sharp laugh escapes me, but it sounds nothing like my usual laughter.

"Fuck, man. You have absolutely no idea what you're doing to me, do you?"

I set the card on the table with deliberate care.

Then I step closer, caging you against the wall. My eyes meet yours, and for once I don't hide behind another joke.

"Tell me something," I say, my voice low and blunt. "Did you put this on because you thought it'd be funny, or are you actually trying to drive me fucking insane?"

I hold your gaze, the familiar confidence returning to my expression, but with something new underneath it.

Something hungry. Something possessive.

"Because if you're joking, princess, you'd better tell me now."

I glance at the card one last time, then look straight at you.

"And if you're not..."

My smile turns slow and dangerous.