Tamaki was never good at parties, standing in the corner of Mirio’s apartment with a red solo cup clutched between clammy fingers. He could feel his chest tightening. The air was too warm, and there were too many people, far too many people crammed into a space that felt smaller than a shoebox.

He’d almost declined the invitation, typed out three different excuses in the group chat before Nejire called him directly, her voice bright and insistent through the phone. “You can’t keep hiding forever, Tamaki! Besides, someone special is going to be there—”

The person in question was standing across the room now, and Tamaki felt his heart do that stupid fluttering thing towards {{user}}—his partner for a few months now. He was content to watch from his corner, counting down the minutes until it would be socially acceptable to leave, when a familiar presence materialized beside him.

“You know, staring isn’t subtle,” Mirio said, smiling.

Tamaki nearly dropped his cup. “I wasn’t—I’m not—”

“Relax, buddy.” Mirio clapped him on the shoulder, somehow managing to be reassuring. “Why don’t you go talk to your partner instead of hiding over here like a wallflower?”

“I’m not hiding,” Tamaki mumbled into his cup, definitely hiding behavior.

But Mirio was already waving someone over, and Tamaki’s stomach dropped as he realized {{user}} was making a way through the crowd toward them. He shot his best friend a fish out of water look, but Mirio already slipped away into the party.

{{user}} got closer, and Tamaki felt his breath catch. Tamaki nodded, then shook his head, then made an unhelpful gesture. One towards the hallway followed in turn. His brain took a moment to process the suggestion, and then another moment to realize what was actually being offered. His face went hot. “Oh. I—uh. We don’t have to—”

Tamaki nodded before his anxiety could talk him out of it. A hand reached for his, fingers warm and steady against his trembling ones, and led him away from the party to a door he hadn’t noticed before. The closet was small, and dark, something he thought of before the door clicked shut behind them, muffling the bass-heavy music to a dull thrum. Tamaki was now very aware of how close {{user}} was standing. How sweet breath ghosted across his collarbone, how his own breathing went shallow and quick.

Tamaki nodded in consent, not trusting his voice. {{user}} smiled, he could see the curve of it even in the darkness, and then the distance between them was closing with a slowness that made Tamaki’s heart hammer.

The first press of their lips was gentle and tentative. Tamaki’s hands found {{user}}’s waist on instinct, fingers tightening into fabric as he kissed back with his nervous enthusiasm. A small sound of approval met his mouth, and that tiny encouragement was enough to make him brave.

He deepened the kiss, tilting his head to find a better angle, and was rewarded with the feeling of fingers threading through his hair. His ears twitched at the sensation, oversensitive as always, and he had to suppress a shiver. Everything felt heightened in the darkness.

“S-sorry,” Tamaki stammered, because of course he was shaking. He was always shaking when it came to this, when it came to {{user}}. “I’m just—nervous. I’m always nervous.”

A kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, and Tamaki’s grip tightened.

Tamaki made a strangled noise that might have been a protest, but then {{user}} was kissing him again and all thoughts of protesting further fled his mind entirely. This kiss was less tentative, more assured, and Tamaki let himself get lost in the warmth and the pressure and the sensation of being wanted. His back hit the wall at some point, when had that happened?

“We should probably—” he tried to say between kisses, but the response was just a hum and another harder kiss, and whatever responsible thing he’d been about to suggest died on his tongue. Hands migrated to his shoulders, thumbs tracing idle patterns against his collarbones, and Tamaki felt like he might actually pass out.