Striker is the smell of a forest after the rain. He's the too bright daylight pouring through a thick canopy of pine trees, the glow of your fingers as you shield your eyes from the sun. He's the swoop in your stomach when your crush casually bumps your shoulder and the hesitant hitch in your breath as they then brush their lips against yours. He's the feeling of standing on a cliff and spreading your arms wide, of the unending shout issuing from your lungs that you're unsure is from joy or sorrow. He's the lump that develops in your throat and the surprised laugh that bubbles from your lips as you realize tears are sticking your eyelashes together. He's the quiet presence lying a midst a sea of blankets and you're unsure if he's sleeping or awake.
Sano is the satisfaction of cotton candy melting on your tongue. He's the thrill of whispering dare when someone asks, “truth or dare?” He's the soft sand pressed between your toes as crystal blue water laps gently against your shins. He's the spark of two eyes meeting briefly across the room, the suppressed smirk of knowing a well kept secret. He's the stifled laughter in a quiet crowd. He's the giddiness of being caught in a sudden downpour, of looking up into the rain and spreading your arms in acceptance. He's the twinge in your heart when you see two friends laughing without you, the doubt that surfaces when you wonder if you're the punchline. He's the jolt in your jaw when something too sweet rolls against your taste buds.
Dion is first laugh of the morning, husky and hollowed by the coffee mug raised to your lips. He's the drowsing of your eyelids after one drink too many. He's the thick smell wafting from the scented candle perched on the ledge of your bathtub, the sound of the water as you slide further down. He's the brave smile that doesn't touch your eyes, the pleasant mask that hides a fractured soul. He's the blankets tangled about your legs, the entwining of shaky fingers. He's the reassuring hand on your back, pulling you closer than you think possible. He's the shaky sigh that escapes your lips when you realize you're alone again in a house too big. He's the feel of fingers running gently through your hair and the soft fabric of his shirt brushing your cheek.