@mangher said: Any other day he would have been staring with a different type of energy, hunger too, perhaps. Now, he felt small. Foolish for asking. The sensation of incompetence and vulnerability was something he usually allowed to simmer, and it would for days while he tried to get up from the pit he had slung himself in. But… a part of him wanted this, despite the uncertainty.
He felt like an open wound. The look Kang-dae gave him cut him open just as much as it patched him up. The touch burned and soothed the turmoil in him at the same time. It was weird. It felt so weird. The grip on the shirt tightened. He barely dared to breathe. Then came the confirmation.
Some of the tension left his shoulders, even if not all of it. His lashes flutter for a moment and he lets out a shaky exhale. Lips curve into a small smile. He'd probably have uttered his thanks to Kang-dae had they not cupped his face so tenderly. Takuya felt his heart skip a beat. A sensation he almost had forgotten he too could feel.
"Dae--!" his breath hitched at the first kiss on his temple. Eyes squeeze shut and his hands tremble where they hold onto the shirt. Legs squeeze together, though not from arousal, but as if he tried to make himself smaller, to perhaps squirm away. Takuya's cheeks were dusted pink, emotions swim in his eyes when he opens them again. Lips are pressed together like he's trying to get the feeling of Dae's off, or maybe preserve it.
His shoulders had risen slightly, he feels almost shy. A sharp canine tucks his lower lip under it and he nods. Tentative at first, then again more firm. "Yeah… Yeah, I-- I will," his hands start to lower, as does his gaze again. He makes no move in taking his own shirt off, or putting Dae's shirt on.
Takuya's feet twist inwards and his toes curl. The pink on his cheeks turns a shade darker. His heart beats faster in his chest and it's too loud in his ears, while anxiety bubbles in the pit of his stomach. This was fine, though. This was Kang-dae and not… and not Katsuro.
"Help… me put it on?" he asks carefully, looking up at the human in front of him. Looking up at his Kang-dae, with what could only be hope, and a plea for something so simple. Intimate. Takuya feels himself tremble when his shirt is taken off. He keeps looking over to Dae for any shift in expression, demenour. There's none. He's still warm, he's still caring. It cracks something inside him that has Takuya's lip wobbling.
Kang-dae's shirt is warm. On his more slender build, it's big, but comfortable. The scent that surrounds him, settles on him, is precious. Takuya can't stop the first tear that escapes his eyes, nor the second or third. He sniffles. Arms raising up to wrap around Dae, naked or otherwise.
With his nose buried in Kang-dae's neck, Takuya allows himself to feel.
Such agony, to linger in that harsh in-between. The knowledge of Takuya’s cowering discomfort, paired with the quiet plea in his eyes. There was nothing sexual about this moment. It was a tightrope they balanced on together.
Their limbs squirmed, begging for distance, yet Kang-dae understood all too well that nothing was ever quite what it seemed with the fox. So the human let the moment linger. He neither chased nor retreated.
His own heart pounded heavily in his chest. It would be far too easy to shatter this fragile equilibrium. The distance between being touched and being cherished had once felt insurmountable between them. The two, as poetry so often noted, were not the same.
But it wasn’t like that between them anymore. Somewhere in the void of his memory, Kang-dae had resolved that the man he held in his hands would one day know—without doubt—how deeply he was cherished.
And that he, too, would be cherished in return.
Takuya’s eyes held an unfathomable depth of truth. Perhaps that was why they kept turning away. Kang-dae held his breath. They stood at an impasse, a silent agreement without motion. He remained captive to whatever crumbs of vulnerability his lover was willing to offer.
Am I only the observer of your truth? The audience? Or… can I claim the leading role by your side?
Water slid from his nape, tracing down the column of his throat and past his clavicle. Stray droplets fell from the ends of his dark curls, splattering between their feet. Kang-dae’s stance remained firm; Takuya’s shifted restlessly. Tenderness soothed any ache he might have felt.
He was powerless but to love them. Such was his nature, Kang-dae supposed.
A patient smile greeted Takuya’s hesitant gaze. Where the yokai felt nervous, he would be confident. Where Takuya was unsure, Kang-dae would be certain. A gilded door had cracked open before him—just a sliver—but it was enough. Enough for him to slip his hand inside, to hold it open, and peer at the heart waiting within.
They had both waited a very long time. He wouldn’t leave them wanting now that they had finally dared to reach out.
“Of course,” he murmured.
He moved in a rhythm old as time. Fingers plucked at the hem of their shirt, guiding trembling arms upward until the fabric slipped cleanly over their head. The dark gray turtleneck, Kang-dae decided, would suit his lover perfectly.
Their statures were different enough that he didn’t need to worry about bunching fabric.
“Arms up for me once more, love.”
Not long after, both appendages slipped smoothly into the long cashmere sleeves. Kang-dae pressed a kiss to the top of their head. He nearly missed the first crack of their composure.
A fragile sound broke the air—so faint it seemed to wish to remain unheard. Kang-dae pulled back to look at them.
Tears streamed down the proud Miyako’s face, one after another. Those smiling lips were twisted into something complicated. For a moment, he feared he had done something wrong—wanted only to fix it…
Until Takuya’s arms wrapped tightly around him, telling him that perhaps… he already had.
“Takuya,” Kang-dae breathed, pulse thrilling with surprise. He pulled them closer, one hand pressed to the small of their back while the other cradled the back of their skull. Soft red hair brushed his nose. Warm breath and tears painted his skin.
The bad, the good—mistakes or victories—none of it mattered then. Only this moment.
“Well done,” he whispered, a strange heat burning behind his own eyes. Kang-dae held them tighter and buried his face in the scent that always reminded him of mulled wine on a winter’s day. “Thank you.”
I’m proud of you. I love you.
