[touching someone without actually touching them is—there is a disconnect? a misfire in the brain as one registers the contact that does not exist. suguru sees satoru's fingers fold over his own; suguru sees the sliver of space between their hands, so thin as to be nonexistent—and yet there is only weight. pressure. the discomfort that is holding onto something that simply is not there.
it doesn't matter that suguru expected this, just as it doesn't matter that this is far from the first time suguru has experienced this. there is something off—wrong—about touching satoru without touching him at all, because it serves as yet another measure of how everything between them has changed. suguru, despite himself, remembers what it was like to be allowed in.
he does not expect satoru to let him in once more.
but satoru at his best, as suguru knows, is satoru breaking the rules, testing the limits, pushing the boundaries—so how quintessentially him, really, to allow suguru in when suguru least expects it? to allow suguru a moment—just a moment—to process the warmth of his skin, the ease with which their hands fit together, before he takes it that much further, leaning into suguru's space with no hesitation whatsoever. as though this closeness is his right.
suguru should take this as a warning, of sorts. a gentle reminder that he has no way to keep satoru at bay—except that it wouldn't matter if he did. he knows this. satoru would always, always, find a way through, not because he is the strongest—but because after all of these years, he remains the one thing suguru can't let go.
and that's what makes satoru so very dangerous. techniques can be accounted for, planned around; emotions, however, cannot, as evidenced by the way suguru's chest tightens as he holds satoru's gaze. what would he have done ten years ago? step on satoru's toes? kiss the corner of satoru's mouth in the hopes of flustering him? suguru wonders, briefly, if such a trick would still work—but the thought leaves him as a sigh, so soft it's almost impossible to hear. what matters now is the prickle of satoru's cursed energy, a sensation every bit as familiar as satoru's touch. that is what suguru should focus on; that is where suguru should direct his full attention.
but while suguru's eyes do drop to their hands, noting that sliver of space which no longer exists, leans infinitesimally closer? not quite willing to match satoru's daring; unable to resist satoru's pull. some things never change.]
I swear.
[a binding vow is such a simple thing, in theory. suguru speaks the words and allows his cursed energy to mingle with satoru's, a sort of push-and-pull that is all that is required to lock them into an entirely new form of coexistence—but as suguru looks back up at satoru, he thinks of the complexities. binding vow or no, they do not fit together as easily as they once did.
and that is what sends suguru pulling away, after lingering for a second longer: the thought that they could. maybe.]
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it doesn't matter that suguru expected this, just as it doesn't matter that this is far from the first time suguru has experienced this. there is something off—wrong—about touching satoru without touching him at all, because it serves as yet another measure of how everything between them has changed. suguru, despite himself, remembers what it was like to be allowed in.
he does not expect satoru to let him in once more.
but satoru at his best, as suguru knows, is satoru breaking the rules, testing the limits, pushing the boundaries—so how quintessentially him, really, to allow suguru in when suguru least expects it? to allow suguru a moment—just a moment—to process the warmth of his skin, the ease with which their hands fit together, before he takes it that much further, leaning into suguru's space with no hesitation whatsoever. as though this closeness is his right.
suguru should take this as a warning, of sorts. a gentle reminder that he has no way to keep satoru at bay—except that it wouldn't matter if he did. he knows this. satoru would always, always, find a way through, not because he is the strongest—but because after all of these years, he remains the one thing suguru can't let go.
and that's what makes satoru so very dangerous. techniques can be accounted for, planned around; emotions, however, cannot, as evidenced by the way suguru's chest tightens as he holds satoru's gaze. what would he have done ten years ago? step on satoru's toes? kiss the corner of satoru's mouth in the hopes of flustering him? suguru wonders, briefly, if such a trick would still work—but the thought leaves him as a sigh, so soft it's almost impossible to hear. what matters now is the prickle of satoru's cursed energy, a sensation every bit as familiar as satoru's touch. that is what suguru should focus on; that is where suguru should direct his full attention.
but while suguru's eyes do drop to their hands, noting that sliver of space which no longer exists, leans infinitesimally closer? not quite willing to match satoru's daring; unable to resist satoru's pull. some things never change.]
I swear.
[a binding vow is such a simple thing, in theory. suguru speaks the words and allows his cursed energy to mingle with satoru's, a sort of push-and-pull that is all that is required to lock them into an entirely new form of coexistence—but as suguru looks back up at satoru, he thinks of the complexities. binding vow or no, they do not fit together as easily as they once did.
and that is what sends suguru pulling away, after lingering for a second longer: the thought that they could. maybe.]