Work Text:
“Yuki.”
Yuki turned to find his former teammate standing there.
Smiling, Pierre lifted a hand in greeting as he walked over.
Yuki spun on his heel and jogged toward him, and they met in a crisp, perfectly timed high-five—SMACK!
“Pierre! What—? …Ah, right, it’s that time again! Eh~ Six days again? Why is it always the day before, every single year~? Am I just a joke to you~!”
The moment he voiced the question, he answered it himself, words tumbling out in a restless stream, and Pierre found himself smiling despite it all.
In a world that moves at breakneck speed, the presence of a friend who never changes feels all the more precious.
They’d known each other for a long time now, and slipping a word in during a pause in Yuki’s machine-gun chatter had become child’s play for Pierre.
“Ah—the 6th. Keep it free, mate.”
“If we’re ‘mates,’ shouldn’t you let me celebrate on your actual birthday!? What about the 7th!?”
Pierre placed a hand on Yuki’s shoulder, gently steadying him, and replied with a light smile.
“You see, I want you—and only you—to celebrate it on the '6th'."
February 7th would be Pierre Gasly’s birthday.
It was none other than Yuki Tsunoda who had once taught Pierre,
“In Japan, you turn a year older the day before your birthday!”
From that day—when a young Yuki had proudly shown off his knowledge—February 6th took on a special meaning for Pierre.
But only in his relationship with Yuki.
Yuki himself seemed to have completely forgotten about it.
⸻
February 6th dawned clear and sunny.
Pierre rang the doorbell.
A few seconds later, hurried footsteps approached, and the front door swung open forcefully.
“Pierre! You’re way too early! I literally just got out of the shower!”
Pierre smiled contentedly at Yuki, whose face screamed I’m in a hurry!, and stepped inside as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Yuki’s room always looked lived-in.
Pierre roughly pushed the belongings on the sofa to one side, making space for two people, and sat down. Yuki didn’t join him—he bustled around the room, too busy getting ready to pay Pierre any mind.
Pierre leaned his elbows on the edge of the sofa, relaxing as he watched him with amusement.
“We’re still early! Wait—weren’t we meeting at the usual café? Why does everything feel different today, Pierre?!”
Yuki bustled about the room, talking all the while, but his attention kept drifting back to Pierre.
Each time he grabbed a piece of clothing, his gaze would dart to Pierre’s outfit, then back to his own—compare, hesitate, shake his head, try again.
He seemed oddly invested, puzzling over it with a small frown, as if searching for the right answer without quite knowing the question.
“Being ready five minutes early is usually good dating etiquette.” Pierre said.
From the back room came a voice:
“Pierre’s is fifty minutes early! And it’s not even a— a date!”
Something clattered, followed by a short yelp of “Gyah!”
Once Yuki finally settled on an outfit and stepped out with a bright, “Okay, done!” Pierre gave his honest opinion.
"Perfect, mon amour.”
Silence fell—the quietest moment of the day.
Should he be happy about being called perfect? Should he deny mon amour?
Yuki’s expression wavered as all of it hit him at once.
Pierre, thoroughly satisfied by the sight, rose from the sofa and patted Yuki’s shoulder as he stood rooted to the spot.
“Come on, Yuki. Celebrate me.”
⸻
There was something peculiar about the café near Yuki’s place.
He had always thought so.
It was calm and comfortable, but on February 6th alone, something sparkled in the air.
Even now—
“Yuki… is there something on my face?”
“Hm? …Yeah. Something sparkly."
At that, Pierre checked his reflection in the windowpane, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Outside the window, it looked cold, but the sunlight piercing the clear air felt pure and gentle. Pierre liked this time of year.
As he turned his gaze back, Yuki was already looking at him.
Their eyes met.
Pierre widened his eyes, staring openly. Yuki quickly looked away, stirring his coffee furiously.
The advantage was clear.
“Yuki?”
Pierre tilted his head slightly, watching him with a teasing smile.
“Stop it! Don’t look at me!”
Yuki flailed a hand up between them, trying to block Pierre’s gaze.
Pierre smiled softly, utterly charmed. Hearing that quiet laugh, Yuki’s face flushed bright red.
Fanning his flushed face with both hands, Yuki muttered,
“The vibe is totally different on this day alone—every year."
Pierre could have said, So maybe it’s because I’ve been courting you here on this day every year.
But he didn’t.
Partly because it was a feeling he cherished deeply—one he wanted Yuki to realize on his own.
And partly for a selfish reason: Pierre wanted to keep courting Yuki for as long as he could—so that one day, after they finally became lovers, Yuki would look back and squirm, realizing, Wait… I was being courted even then?
Watching how Yuki—once completely oblivious to Pierre’s sweet words—had recently started overreacting to everything, Pierre felt the goal was close.
The beloved person who would brighten instantly when offered a biscotti, happily nibbling away at it.
As Pierre gazed at Yuki, the February sunlight streaming through the glass caught in his eyes, making them look genuinely gentle and warm.
⸻
After that, they wandered through town, window-shopping and choosing a gift for Pierre—Yuki grumbling the entire time, still insisting (to himself) that it wasn’t a date.
Eventually, they stopped at another café to rest.
Facing his second coffee of the day, Yuki muttered to himself, eyeing the gift in the paper bag beside him.
“Hmm… maybe that first one I saw really was good…”
He glanced at the paper bag beside him. “But this one’s great too…”
Yuki was wrapped up in thoughts of him—but he wasn’t about to let Yuki forget the real Pierre sitting right in front of him.
Pierre added two small sugar cubes and a splash of milk to Yuki’s coffee, stirring gently as he asked teasingly,
“You really want to give me that many presents?”
Pierre imagined Yuki blinking, momentarily puzzled, then dropping his gaze shyly…
But he didn’t say anything like that.
Instead, Yuki’s cheerful voice rang out:
“Seriously, there were so many! I found tons of stuff that would look great on you, Pierre!”
Pierre paused for just a beat—then let out a quiet laugh.
That was just like Yuki.
“Then,” he said with a grin, lifting his cup,
“I’ll be expecting another one next year—on this day.”
Yuki frowned. “Eh? Next year on the 6th too?”
“Yes. The 6th.”
Even Yuki’s unexpected reaction only endeared him more.
Pierre’s thoughts were already full of Yuki—whether Yuki realized it or not.
⸻
After eating far too much at dinner and picking up cake on the way back, they returned to Yuki’s room.
The routine never changed.
Yuki collapsed onto the sofa with a groan.
“It was too good… I ate too much… I can’t fit any more cake~!”
Pierre, as usual, made his way to the kitchen to brew tea.
The scent drifted through the room.
It was nothing more than cheap tea bags, but somehow it always tasted better when Pierre made it.
They had walked a lot, eaten a lot, and even had a drink or two.
And now, Pierre was still here.
They were about to eat cake, and if it was like every other year, chances were Pierre would stay the night.
“…Ahh… this is nice…”
The words slipped out without him even thinking.
Pierre, of course, heard it.
This time, he didn’t tease. He held onto it quietly.
He lingered on it a little too long, and the tea turned slightly bitter.
But that, too, became part of the night—
complaining about it, realizing they were out of milk, laughing when the sweetness of the cake balanced it out.
It was, simply, happiness.
⸻
February 6th, 11:55 PM.
A message arrived on Pierre’s phone as he lay in the guest room bed.
Already asleep?
Still awake, he replied, then turned the phone off.
Almost immediately, a knock sounded.
“Come in.”
Yuki quietly opened the door and slipped inside.
Was this really the same person who had burst through the front door that morning?
Pierre’s expression softened.
Yuki approached quietly and perched on the edge of the bed without asking.
February 6th, 23:59:30.
“Um,” Yuki said softly.
“Pierre… thanks for today. I really like being with you. I thought we wouldn’t stay close after we stopped being teammates, so I’m really glad we still have this.”
He glanced at the radio-controlled clock.
February 7th, 00:00:00.
In Japan, that moment was also counted as February 6th, 24:00—the instant a person officially grew a year older.
For Pierre, it was still February 6th.
“Pierre! Happy birthday!”
Yuki suddenly threw his arms around him.
Caught off guard, Pierre lost his balance, and they toppled back onto the bed.
“Gyah!”
“Guh—!”
Pierre laughed, one hand resting on Yuki’s back.
“You surprised me.”
Yuki buried his face against him and muttered,
“You need to work on your core…”
⸻
February 7th would surely be a busy day for Pierre.
Once he turned his phone back on, it would be flooded with messages and missed calls.
And yet—
The very first person to wish him happy birthday was always Yuki.
Because only Yuki had that moment—February 6th, 24:00:00.
Yuki was still rambling in his arms.
Pierre lay there, holding him close.
This year was going to be a good one.
He was certain of it.