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before bed kiss. 🧍🏾♂️ souma and mr geto sir.
it’s in bed that he feels the most restless.
like an earthquake, memories that he’d long since buried would resurface, the epicenter of which started with the familiar voices of old classmates and friends murmuring his name, in the dark, sometimes obtaining a physical form in the corner, sometimes as lingering touch on the set of his brows, ghostly as thin air. he rolls up on his bed and is greeted by the blurry vision of still curtains. summer’s embrace coated him in a layer of sweat, uncomfortable enough that lying down and still on his mattress does little to appease the thoughts swirling in his mind.
it’s until he grasps at the strings of consciousness that he notices the body lying next to him, the soft breathing pressing at his sides as though cradling a new-born bird in hand, warm and fragile to the touch. the night sat still, eerily so. if a pin dropped, maybe souma and him would’ve been able to hear it echo in the quietness of the room.
“can’t sleep?” more like an observation than a question, suguru whispers from his position, his voice a hiss as though every syllable carried the weight of exhaustion as they left his lips. though this night is like any other, souma’s presence in his room is entirely new. not for the first time he’s overcome with urge to touch him, unsure whether the souma in front of him is corporeal or a midnight illusion, a haunting presence to torture his lonely soul.
or an escape.
suguru blinks weariness away, a single digit traces the sharp dip of souma’s nose, then down to his lips. there, his skin is greeted by the warmth of his shallow breathing. he remembered, then, like a flame flickering before it’s put out, the taste of those lips against his own.
they’d been soft, feather-like, and bittersweet. it had none of the innocence he imagined, so foreign, and he remembered having to chase after the sensation, as though it eluded him, not out of fear but something else entirely. ‘have you been told’ he’d said in an undertone, burying his nose in the crook of his shoulder, lips pressed onto sun-kissed skin and into a thin smile, ‘that you’re like a scaredy cat.’
although he meant nothing bad by it, his words gained him a light reprimand, and the moment subdued into quietness and then into deep sleep. he wondered how long souma had lay awake, if he’d waited for suguru to open his eyes and pick up from they stopped - the conversation or the intimate exchange altogether. he glances at the clock on his bedside. it’s way past midnight.
“usually, people are scared of the dark.” the hand that touched souma’s face had moved down, two fingers waltzed across his arm and the dip of his waist, voice going down by a few octaves, “sorcerers aren’t the exception. i believe that there’s an irony in that. we’re born with the ability to stare into the dark, the blackest darkness you can imagine, and yet we can conjure a primal fear like that. if a darkness curse existed, i wonder if it would be something that can be exorcised. it’s rhetorical, you don’t have to answer.”
a pause. their gazes meet, gold and grey, the shades of a cloudy sky. though it’s too hot outside to bring their bodies closer, the proximity mirrors the feeling of spilled blood.
“are you afraid of the dark?”
@sukareo
"let me see your hand" - 6918 🥺
here’s the charm about illusions: you can almost believe them.
it takes practice, a wild current of willpower to deceive oneself better than false replications, and perhaps that’s the trick of it: what is true and what is a lie? who’s to decide what the fabric of reality truly feels like under the touch? it’s a role reserved only for the strongest, that’s what he believes.
mukuro presses their palms flat against each other, sensing - believing that he is - the warmth that passes through leather gloves, pouring like hot liquid until something melts inside his ribcage. it’s all sorts of familiar: he’s felt it when victory is close, when the first breath of wind caught in his lungs after escaping the endless, pearl-white corridors of the facility in which they kept him and the rest. it had rained earlier that day, so the damp feeling stuck for days after that, shriveled skin and muddied feet.
it’s at that moment that he realizes he’s smiling. something mirrored in kyoya’s eyes, something that makes it harder to break away from the curious digits curling around his own. mukuro locks their gazes, narrowing the space in-between, “shyness doesn’t suit you, all things considered. although your fangs have long since been plucked out, i did always enjoy seeing you struggle to protect your dignity.”
hibari kyoya must think himself stronger than they’d last been, ten years ago. the moment mukuro’s words leave his mouth, he’s pulled closer and his collar is clased around a tight fist. it’s a thorny encounter, of sorts, but he welcomes it, for lack of anything better to do. a smirk tugs at mukuro’s lips - this temper… is endearing.
his free hands lifts to tangle a loose strand of ink-black hair.
“see? that’s much better.”
@sukareo