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The party was starting to wind down.
It wasn’t supposed to have been a big party. Kota had first started by inviting his closest friends that were still within a train ride away, but no one got back to him. Then his closest friends within a plane ride away, which didn't get a lot of hits. Then his not so close friends near and far, but still the fear escalated inside him of no one coming to the party, no one remembering him and being alone, even as the RSVPs began to trickle in.
He sat in his apartment and stared at his phone. He could invite...him. Or. He could invite the world. Would the world remember him?
Kota had invited the entire internet to his birthday party, and the internet had not disappointed. There were cosplayers and pop stars and wrestlers and comedians and ordinary citizens, some American college professors politely conversing with television presenters, a lost-looking Dutch tourist talking to a flamboyant retired wrestler.
Togi Makabe had done an impressive job rounding up a dessert table for the party: dozens of pastries and cupcakes and custards and even a multi-tier birthday cake, big enough to hold thirty five candles in concentric circles around the edges. The Americans took many pictures, and the Dutch guy drank a lot of sake and taught them a song about sausages. It wasn't the weirdest night Kota had ever had, by far, but it was more people than had ever been at his apartment, and they spilled out onto the balcony and into the hallway and kindly into a neighbor's place as well. (He invited the neighbors too, just to be sure.)
It was so late it was early. The cake dwindled to a few slices. There were spilled drinks. A neighbor put Juice Robinson to bed on his sofa then said good night himself.
"Goodbye," Kota said to the Americans, bowing. "Goodnight. Happy birthday to me." He turned, letting the door start to close behind him.
"Happy birthday," a familiar voice said. The door did not click shut.
Kota turned. "Technically, it was yesterday," he said.
"Better late than not at all," Kenny Omega said. He was standing in the doorway cradling a fancy wrapped package in his arm, the gold ribbons curling over the black sleeve of his leather jacket.
Kota shook his head. "Come in, idiot."
Kenny's face lit up with a grin. "Is that how it is."
"I did say come in."
Kenny entered and shut the door. Suddenly it was very quiet.
"What made you think you were invited?" Kota said suddenly, a little bit harsh, gesturing with a half-full bottle of whiskey.
"You invited everyone on Twitter," Kenny said. He set his gift down on the table next to the remains of the cake. "I’m on Twitter."
"So you saw." Kota sloshed the brown liquor into two clean looking glasses and put the stopper back on. He thrust a glass at Kenny.
They held eye contact for a tense moment, then knocked back their drinks. Kenny grimaced, and Kota laughed.
"Did you open gifts already?" Kenny asked.
Kota nodded.
"Open mine," Kenny said. He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across the arm of a chair.
Kota pulled at the golden ribbons, letting them fall to the floor as the bow slipped untied. He ran a finger under the folded and taped edge of the paper, turning the box upside down and right side up again. The paper fell away too.
He lifted the lid of an ornate cardboard box with gilt edging.
"Did you think I wouldn't have enough sweets at this party?" Kota asked, eyeing the chocolate bon bons sitting slightly askew on delicate rose tissue paper.
"They're the best in the world, I was assured," Kenny said. He moved into Kota's space, making his presence felt with the warmth of his body. "Here." He picked up a candy from the box and held it to Kota's lips. "Try one."
Kota opened his mouth, suppressing a smile. Kenny held the chocolate with two fingers and his thumb, gently offering it. Kota took a bite. The ganache at the center was soft and the chocolate coating snapped crisply.
Kenny held a hand under Kota's chin to catch any crumbs, but Kota batted it away. He chewed and swallowed. "More," he said.
"Told you," Kenny said. His fingers brushed Kota's lips as he fed him the other half of the truffle. He took his hand back and licked a smear of chocolate from his own thumb.
Kota widened his eyes and opened his mouth. Kenny plucked another chocolate from the box and put it to Kota's lips, held gently between thumb and forefinger. Kota sucked on the candy and Kenny's fingers as well, letting the chocolate melt and soften.
Kenny put his other hand around the back of Kota's neck. "Easy. Don't bite off more than you can chew."
Kota smiled and closed his mouth around the whole chocolate, pulling away from Kenny's fingers. He gulped it down. "Oh," he said. "You're so wise now. I see."
"I've had a lot of time to think," Kenny said, raising his eyebrows. His forehead was creased, much more than Kota remembered. Kota stroked it with his thumb, trying to smooth the worry lines.
"We're older now," Kota said. He stepped away, going back to the remains of the dessert table.
"What am I doing," Kenny said, frowning harder. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--"
But he was silenced by a slice of chocolate cake with strawberry cream shoved at his mouth by Kota. He opened, instinctively, and let Kota feed him the sweet pastry. He chewed and swallowed as Kota fed him the entire slice of cake, bit by bit broken off in his hand.
By the time the cake was gone, they were both breathing hard.
"Better?" Kota asked.
Kenny wiped his mouth with the back of his thumb and looked at it. "I'm probably a mess."
"You were always a mess," Kota said, smiling. He took Kenny's hand, guiding it down, and leaned in, gently kissing his chocolate-smeared lips.
It was as sweet as they remembered.