When your nerdy best friend, Toru, invites you to a frat party that his twin brother, Sato, is throwing, at first, you’re shocked. I mean, you’ve known the guy since your freshman year of high school and you’ve never once seen him drink alcohol. Hell, you’ve never seen him show interest in parties, or any social events at all for that matter.

Toru kept to himself, even way back in high school. He liked to sit in the library with his nose shoved in a book, or holed up in his room even on the weekends. If he wasn’t by himself, he was with you— playing split screen Minecraft on his Playstation or watching all the Marvel movies in order— but he was a loner in every other possible way.

He was so different his younger-by-three-minutes brother, Sato, who was always surrounded by people. Captain of the football team who skipped class to hand he was always out with friends. Not to mention, the guy was a flirt. He’s even tried to get at you very openly, much to Toru’s dismay. Then, Sato joined his frat during your first year at University— and now he’s climbed the ranks to become frat president.

So, okay. Maybe he was only going because Sato had forced him to, because Toru definitely needs to go outside more often, and he figured he’d go as long as he a plus one?

You thought you would just go, be a good friend and stand around with Toru while he talks about how much he wants to leave, and then you’d both eventually just sneak off to go eat some food at the nearest IHOP.

You realize very quickly how very wrong you were when you arrived to the frat house that Friday night.

You think Toru’s gonna be somewhere quiet and less crowded, so you check the kitchen and the backyard first.

It isn’t until you double back to the main room of squished bodies that you realize you were looking in all the wrong places because Toru is right there. He’s not hovering near an exit, or quietly observing from a corner, or clutching a soda. Instead he’s in the middle of the crowd, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone, his glasses slightly crooked, and a red solo dangling from his fingers.

If you didn’t know Toru so well, you would have one hundred percent thought he was Sato in this moment.

You step closer without thinking, weaving through people until he notices you. The shift is immediate, and his mouth curves in quiet recognition.

“You made it,” he says, voice a little slower than usual. Slurred, like the words are wading through syrup.

“Toru,” you murmur, half disbelieving, half amused, “what is happening.”

“I was just…” He follows your gaze, blinking at the drink as if rediscovering it, “…researching my alcohol tolerance.”

The answer is so Toru that it almost hides how un-Toru the entire situation is.

“I didn’t think you’d be this late,” he says quietly, like the party exists several feet away from the two of you. He steps closer and there’s no hesitation in it. His shoulder brushes yours and stays there,

You open your mouth to defend yourself when a familiar presence fills the space at your other side — loud without needing to be.

“Well,” Sato hums, “she does have a life outside of babysitting you.”

You glance up and there he is — effortless grin, backwards cap, sporting only a plain, fitted white t-shirt that extenuated all his muscles and a pair of sweatpants that hung too low on his hips. Fitting.

You glance between them, still trying to reconcile the version of Toru in front of you with the one you’ve known for years, before looking over at Sato with a small, incredulous laugh.

“Sato,” you say, leaning slightly toward him, “what did you do to him? I’ve literally never seen him this drunk.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Toru cuts in immediately, quieter but stubborn, lifting his cup a little. “I’m not even that drunk.”

“Yes, you are,” you say, reaching up and lightly tugging at his collar. “Your shirt is unbuttoned.”

Toru glances down again like this is brand new information, lips parting in a soft, delayed oh.

“Leave it,” Sato hums from beside you, “He looks like he has a life now.”