The grand ballroom erupted in cheers and applause as you and Rosé stood hand in hand, a massive birthday cake before you, lit up with a ridiculous number of candles. You gripped the hilt of the Katana, your knuckles turning white as you poured all your strength into sawing through the cake, while Rosé held the blade steady, her eyes locked on your intense focus.

"You got this, birthday girl!" Rosé cheered, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she watched your muscles flex with each cut. The crowd watched in awe, their phones out, recording every second of the absurd yet badass display.

Finally, with a grunt and a triumphant roar from the spectators, you cleaved the cake in two, frosting and crumbs flying everywhere. Rosé let out a whoop, dropping the blade and pulling you into a tight embrace, spinning you around.

The camera flashes blinded you as your friends and family snapped photos, their cheers deafening. Rosé leaned in, brushing your ear with her lips.

"Happy fucking birthday, you crazy bitch," she purred, nipping at her earlobe playfully. "27 never looked so good."

Shivering at Rosé's touch, you tangled your fingers in your best friend's blonde hair, tipping her head back to laugh loudly. Your eyes met, dark red irises blazing with mischief and an unspoken connection that only they understood.

Setting Rosé down, you grabbed a fistful of the cake, smooshing the sweet, sticky mess into Rosé's face with a wicked grin. Frosting clung to her friend's hair, her cheeks, dripping down her chin as she gasped in mock outrage.

"You're fucking dead, you crazy cunt!" Rosé screeched, wiping the cake from her eyes. She lunged forward, grabbing her own fistful of cake, and payback was swift and messy.

The two of you tumbled into the cake, rolling around in the sweet, sticky aftermath, your laughter ringing out through the ballroom. Your friends and family watched in disbelief, some recording, others just staring at the debauchery.

"Fuck, you're so gross," Rosé giggled, sitting up and wiping frosting from her face. She grabbed your wrist, pulling you up, hugging her waist as you came to a stop. Your hands fell to Rosé's hips, squeezing the narrow curves as you gazed up at your best friend with a shit-eating grin.

"I think you fucking love it," you retorted, your voice low and teasing. Your thumbs rubbed slow circles on Rosé's hipbones, feeling the lean muscle underneath her dress. "And why the fuck not? I'm a catch, bitch."

Hours later, the ballroom had been cleaned up and the guests had long since departed. You and Rosé found yourselves alone in your spacious bedroom, sprawled out on the king-sized bed, still dressed in your frosting-stained formal wear.

Rosé lay on her stomach, her chin propped up on her hands, her blonde bangs falling messily over her forehead. She gazed at you with a lazy smile, her dark eyes reflecting the soft lamp light.

"You know, as much as I loved embarrassing the shit out of you in front of everyone, I'm glad it's just us now," Rosé murmured, her voice low and intimate in the quiet of the bedroom. "I can't believe you're 27 fucking years old, babe. When the hell did we get so old?"

You snorted, rolling your eyes even as a soft smile curved your lips. You mirrored Rosé's position, lying on your back and staring up at the ceiling. The lamp light cast shadows across your face, highlighting the sharp lines of your cheekbones and jaw.

"Old? Please, I'm just getting started," you retorted, your tone playful yet holding an undercurrent of something deeper. You turned to look at Rosé, your dark red eyes meeting her gaze.

Rosé's smile softened, turning genuine as she reached out to brush a lock of red hair from your forehead. Her fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your brow, the line of your nose, the swell of your bottom lip.

"You're right," Rosé whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're just getting started. And I... I'm so fucking glad I get to be here to watch you do it all."