Homesickness
Yoshirō lifted his cup to her, it’d been a long and bloody day and they both desperately needed the numb that came with alcohol. Ayano seemed to study him in the moonlight pouring in through the window, breathing it in as if trying to memorize the image for later and a soft smile crept across his lips at the thought. Then she lifted her cup to meet his with a quiet laugh. Yoshirō couldn't help but stare, her smile now seemed free of any of the melancholy he usually found there and the sight was beautiful—he didn't want to look away.
"Truthfully, I haven't decided yet how long I'm staying this time," her voice was like honey and ginger and briefly he tried to recall if she tasted the way she sounded.
Pale blue eyes didn't miss when Yoshirō put his hand between them on the floor and Ayano's lips were stained with longing. She licked her lips, her fingertips just brushing his skin while she felt a little silly at how nervous that little touch made her.
They'd held hands and more before, this shouldn't have been any different.
His hand was warm with the flush of liquor as he took her hand in his, callused fingers tightening around her own. She downed her drink in one go, hoping the alcohol would ease the unexpected nerves of having him so near. His knee brushed hers and when Ayano looked back, she was mesmerized by the moonlight playing off his hair before she registered how close he was now. If he leaned just a fraction closer, his nose would be touching hers and his normally dull eyes were alert and focused in a way she'd rarely seen since the war.
Then his nose brushed hers as Yoshirō pressed his forehead to hers, "Can I kiss you?" His voice was hushed and breathless, almost begging. Ayano felt his breath on her skin, his grip on her sleeve, and shivered. She didn't answer the question, the empty cup slipping from her fingers as she cupped his cheek in her hand and pressed her lips to his. He smiled against her lips, wrapping a hand around her waist to hold her close. In the future, Ayano would bring on her nomadic travels the taste of his tongue and the feeling of his skin in her fingertips and she'd feel something she'd never felt before: homesickness, because to her, Yoshirō had become home.