Dust fairies danced in the sunlight where it filters through the curtains. The day started anew. Thereâs no incessant ring of an alarm nor dregs of anxiety left from the night before. Everything is still, and you are in bed with a man that loves you.
There was once a time in your life that you had gone what felt like years without touch.
Youâd never been any good at making people want to stick around. An ugly, rusted thing. Relationships required vulnerability that meant opening up to the possibility of being hurt. Loneliness became the easy option in the end; having been dealt enough pain to last another lifetime, you were too scared someone might smell the heartache on your clothes to let them close enough anymore.
But Shouta was different.
You think you saw it in him first. Call him a kindred spiritâ though Aizawaâs loneliness was as deceptive as the rest of him. Unapparent. At some point in his life he learned to spread himself thin enough that no one could see it. Even if you tried he never gave you enough time to parse all the pieces.
Back then watching him made something deep inside you ache. A visceral hunger for companionship and comfort. For true familiarity. Not only did the intensity of your desires scare you, they humiliated you. Stripped you bare and left you frayed like an exposed nerve. For months on end you fretted over who would notice, yet the shoe never dropped.
Progress accumulated slowly. You learn that some things just take time. Brushing against one another in the hallways. Feet knocking together under the staff desks. A finger outstretched to map out your knuckles as he passes you a cup of something hot. Your cravings swallowed you whole and you sought more. He came at you with a soft sort of intent that belied both fondness and caution, repeatedly, until his touches didn't seem so accidental after all.
You lay beside him now, languorously and without grief. A disquieting peace settled over the bedroom. Sound is drowned out by Shoutaâs shallow, soft breathing. The limp drag of his hand over your stomach, buried into your neck. Youâve reached the end of a book; the last page, completely blank and there only to cushion its conclusion.
Slowly, you turn to face him. Shoutaâs nose wrinkles at the disturbance but he doesnât wake. You smile at the thin halo of light crowning his head and reach to coil a dark curl around your finger, bloating with a feeling you canât put a name to. Weightlessness that pinned you heavy to the mattress.
His eye twitches as your finger traces gently along the scar on his cheekbone, soon flitting open only to flinch away from the sun. You laugh at the sound of discontentment.
Shouta exhales a drawn out breath and smacks his lips. âMmph,â he grunted inaudibly.
There is no urgency to fill the silence or apologise for your nakedness. You hum, besotted, and happy to let him rest for a while longer, only to startle when he threads your hands together. A quick look at his face tells you heâs not awake.
Even so, held close between your bodies, in his half conscious state Shouta intermittently squeezes every few seconds as if to remind you that heâs still thereâ
And that youâre not alone.
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