Cake?

He DESPISES sweets.

Going out for dinner?

Too stuffy, too formal, he might not enjoy himself.

Cycling through option after option, he found himself further and further descending into absolute frustration before a voice chimes in the back of his head. A particular, IRRITATING voice of a scruffy younger twin commenting on a carnival on the docks of the city.

Jaw sets, brows furrowing deeply as he considers the option. It would be loud, crowded, with copious amounts of scents filling the air upon being jostled around at the pitched screams of excitement of children and crying babies. Yet, as he imagines Grimmjow's jovial expression and eagerness, dragging them towards a game stand, the Devil comes to the slow realization that perhaps, just perhaps, it wouldn't be so bad if they were together.

His steps slow to a halt, lifting silvery crown as knitted brows smooth out with a low sigh that escapes from nostrils, shoulders dipping in acceptance. It would be enjoyable, if only because it would be worth experiencing the arrancar's joy and excitement at the festivities taking place.

' They've even got a fireworks show that happens at the end of the night. Fireworks, Verge! C'mon, you know you used to love that shit! '

Corner of his lip twitches, arms folding across chest as eyes slip closed as Dante's voice echoes in his mind again. He had scoffed at the insinuation that he had ever enjoyed something so brazen and obnoxious, but as he thinks on it now—

Head turns at the sound of footsteps, the familiar presence that blankets him as the one he had been hoping to see now enters the room. Iridescent gaze settles on Grimmjow, and for a moment it's a faint softening that passes over usually stony expression. The Devil unfolds his arm, a hand extending towards the arrancar in a slight motion for him to step closer.

Once he's close enough, fingers gently entangle with his and draw him closer, guiding that hand to lift and rest flat against his chest, over his heart. That familiar thrum beats beneath death's hand. Infinitely destructive, yet in their lifetime the Devil found them only capable of mending what once he believed wholly demolished. Slow breath leaves him, closing eyes as head dips forward to rest gently against Grimmjow's.

They wonder how to broach the subject of celebration, if Grimmjow would even present any kind of desire to do so ( a part of them hopes he does ), or if he even remembers what day it is or what it means. He dreads the outcomes that could result from askance, and they're certain that Grimmjow can tell something is off from the way that heartbeat now picks up an unsteady rhythm.

' — Vergil? Hey, what's up? ' The voice breaks through the uncertainty that plagues them, unclenching jaw he didn't realize he had clenched. The Devil pulls away, but doesn't break contact entirely ( still holding Grimmjow's hand to his heart ).

' It's nothing. I was— thinking. '

' About what? '

' — What to do today. ' Weight shifts, ' with you. ' Voice softens, scowl resting upon features before clearing his throat, fingers clutching around Grimmjow's hand ever so gently. ' Dante— mentioned a carnival taking place in the city today. ' They hesitate, shrugging shoulders in an attempt to nonchalance, but a ghost in the back of their mind whispers that Grimmjow isn't dull, not in this instance.

' Perhaps— if you would like to— we could attend. ' Pale gaze finds the vibrant blue of Grimmjow's, flickering in between them in attempts to discern what thoughts were passing through Grimmjow's mind in that instance. He feels the slight twitch of fingers in his grip, and he allows it to slacken briefly in order to bring his hand up to his lips, grazing them softly over scarred knuckles. ' To celebrate your birthday, I believed that perhaps— '

How embarrassing, that the Son of Sparda was fumbling over his words like some love-stricken schoolboy. He considers dropping the attempt then and there, before a rough hand lifts to cradle cheek, the iciness of it a shock to the system to the point where any flame of doubt is doused by the hearty laugh that rips from the lips of the man in front of him. Gaze flicks up, brows raising upon forehead in surprise before finding that there's a faint smile that spreads upon lips in response. Barely for a few seconds does it last before hand slips from own and arms wind around the Devil's shoulders to pull them into a crushing embrace.

Surprised grunt leaves him, hands hovering around Grimmjow's waist, uncertain as of what to do in the given moment.

' I'd really, really like that. To spend time with you . ' The gruff voice confirms. Vergil can almost sense the wide grin splitting Grimmjow's face, and his heart slows with embrace slowly returned. He swallows, wetting the dryness of his throat before clearing it, turning head to press lips against temple, low hum leaving them and closing his eyes before quiet murmur dispels into his hair.

' I was hoping you'd say that. ' A pause.

' I heard there would be fireworks at the end of the night. Perhaps we could share a celebratory birthday kiss? ' Teasing lightness edges into his tone, before Grimmjow pulls away, hands firmly resting on the Devil's shoulders as expression grows more serious. For a moment, Vergil finds himself bemused by the look they're given, smile fading if only somewhat.

' Why wait until the end of the night? I want my birthday kiss now. ' There's no hesitation, no room for Vergil to respond or retort before hands on shoulders now move to cup his face and pull him down for their lips to meet.

Happy Birthday, Mi Cielo.

squints while looking around, then back again. ‘ hey. we’re friends n all that right ? can i borrow some money. ‘

He's already set aside the notes he's taken, setting about to organizing the stack of books that he had poured over. Standing from his desk, he takes a small pile and approaches the bookshelves, carefully slipping the old books back into their designated place. Everything has their place, down to the subjects and perhaps even matching colors, clean and organized. At least until he gets to the middle of the stack he has in his arm, the rustle of a familiar soft-cover magazine slipping from the pile and slapping onto the ground. He stares at it for a long while, features twisting in disdain at the nude figure on the front posed rather provocatively.

Grimmjow.

Sighing, he lowers himself and picks it up, pinching it between thumb and forefinger as he brings it close to the wastebasket and drops it in, along with the images that he had seen, wiping the slate clean once more. He would have continued on his way had he not looked outside, spotting the one to blame for the lewd magazines he often found strewn about. It takes him a second or two to realize that he had made the executive decision to NOT wear a shirt, pushing a lawnmower that briefly had his mind wander as to WHERE he had dug it out from. Unfortunately, the train of thought it immediately broken when the man glances over to catch the Devil staring, and the grin that tears across his face is unmistakable.

Oh no.

He can barely hold back the groan that threatens to leave him, opting instead to narrow their gaze at Grimmjow as he begins to flex ( rather embarrassingly ) in front of the window. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, but posing in broad daylight . . . A part of him hopes that no one else is passing by. Approaching the window, his hand reaches out to rest against the frame, lips pursing briefly as he continues to stare . . .

Before the blinds rattle and snap shut.