Chapter Text
Chapter 1
It catches Suguru by surprise when they’re squeezed side by side at their favorite little restaurant— a thought, kind and warm.
I feel at peace.
He blinks as it echoes in his head, taking away everything else, and for a second he’s motionless.
Slowly, he lifts his head from his food and looks to the side, to where he knows he’ll find Satoru.
Satoru looks gentle, in the soft yellow light. There’s a content little smile on his lips as he fishes a piece of beef out of his bowl.
I feel at peace, he thinks, weighing the unfamiliar words on his tongue, slowly, even though he doesn’t say them out loud.
In that moment, Satoru looks up at him, and unabashedly steals a mushroom from Suguru’s bowl.
Suguru watches him plop it into his mouth with a satisfied hum.
I feel at peace, he realizes, and when he does, the thought threatens to break through Suguru’s closed lips.
Because there, on the tip of Suguru’s tongue, peace has a taste.
It is that of Satoru’s favorite dish.
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Chapter 2
He doesn’t realize Satoru has stopped walking until he’s already a good few steps ahead.
“Satoru?” He calls his name questioningly, turning around. It’s snowing much more heavily, now; the sidewalks are covered with a thin blanket of white that glimmers under the street lights.
He stops in his tracks when he sees that Satoru is standing still, eyes closed and face tilted up as the snowflakes spin around him. There’s the tiniest little smile, in the corner of his mouth, that widens when a moment later he lowers his head and looks at Suguru.
He looks so pretty it makes Suguru struggle for breath, with his silver hair and silver lashes and ocean blue eyes.
“Thank you for tonight, Suguru,” he says, gentle and warm, before closing the distance between them.
Before Suguru can reply, Satoru reaches for him. Suguru’s heartbeat stutters. Satoru’s hands, however, don’t touch him— they stop at his neck, where Satoru tightens his scarf where it’s come a little loose.
Satoru meets Suguru’s eyes. His breaths escape his lips in white little puffs, and whatever retort Suguru might’ve had dies in his throat, because there’s something tender, in the way Satoru is looking at Suguru, that makes everything around Suguru slow down.
Suguru is aware he should say something, but he finds that he can’t bring himself to.
Because there is snow, in Satoru’s eyelashes and on the bridge of his nose, and as Suguru just holds Satoru’s gaze, everything turns blue.
And maybe it’s because he’s a little drunk, but just this once, Suguru allows himself to take in the view.
He lets his eyes wander over the smooth expanse of Satoru’s skin, pale everywhere except for the tip of Satoru’s nose, a little red from the evening cold. Satoru is breathtakingly beautiful, Suguru thinks, and wonders for the umpteenth time how he could have not noticed it properly, before.
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Chapter 3
“Come here, Suguru,” Satoru says, lying on his back and patting his chest. “I barely even tried.”
Suguru panics. “There’s no need, Satoru, just go to sleep—”
His next words are muffled by the fabric of Satoru’s hoodie.
“Here, see? It wasn’t so difficult,” Satoru murmurs with a pleased tone while he wraps his arm around Suguru’s shoulders and pulls him to his chest, his statement a quiet hum in Suguru’s ear.
Suguru can barely hear the blood thrumming under his own skin, because there, beneath his cheek, is Satoru’s steadily beating heart. His pajamas smell like tangerines and his neck is warm against the tip of Suguru’s nose, and the scents from the restaurant and the dishes they shared are still clinging, a little, to his soft skin.
Satoru’s hand makes its way to Suguru’s hair once more. Before Suguru can protest, Satoru cradles the back of his head in his palm and starts all over again. He throws his other arm across Suguru’s back, and holds him in place.
“Do you want me to sing you a song?” He asks with mirth while Suguru burns, burns, burns.
“You’re an awful singer, Satoru,” Suguru whispers into the crook of Satoru’s neck, clenching his fists around the covers so hard it almost hurts.
“Awfully good, you mean,” Satoru bites back, but he must be grinning widely— Suguru can hear it in the way he speaks. “I really hope you sleep well tonight,” he adds, voice much softer, much quieter, before he tightens his grip around Suguru’s shoulders.
Suguru squeezes his eyes shut. There’s a feeling, under his breastbone, the same he’s been persistently ignoring for weeks, that threatens to burst through the seams of his chest at Satoru’s words. He can feel it rise to the back of his tongue.
When was the last time he allowed himself to receive kindness without feeling guilty about it?
Suguru’s hands shake just like they did earlier when he pries them away from the covers.
He is not a greedy person, he thinks as he buries his fingers in the folds of Satoru’s hoodie, tentatively clumsy, because Suguru has only ever given but never taken, and he doesn’t really know how to start.
He has never been greedy, he repeats to himself amidst the mess of his thoughts as he presses his face closer to Satoru’s neck, until all he can breathe is his scent.
Satoru smells like twelve years of the only certainty Suguru has ever had, and in this small space between their palms and their quiet exhales, Suguru, for once, lets go and allows himself to want.
And so he wants. So badly that it hurts. He wants even if it’s selfish and ugly, just like all of those parts of himself Suguru never shows anyone.
Suguru wants to have Satoru like this.
Suguru wants to be the only one allowed to have Satoru like this.
He has no fucking right, but he doesn’t want Satoru to want anyone else.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the pieces of the past days start slotting together, start forming a shape.
Suguru pushes deeper, closer, because now that he’s started he can’t stop anymore, until his chest is pressed so tight against Satoru that he feels Satoru’s breaths before they even escape his lips.
“Suguru?” Satoru asks, voice tinted with confusion and what sounds like concern.
“Just five minutes,” Suguru chokes out
Satoru has told Suguru that he is smart, some days ago.
Suguru wants to laugh.
His mouth is sticky wet with the flavor of tangerines.
Satoru doesn’t seem to need any further explanation. “Okay,” he just quietly agrees. “Let’s make that ten, then,” he adds soon after, because he’s always been a little bit extra.
Suguru is supposed to be smart. That’s what Satoru has said, but he couldn’t have been farther away from the truth—
“I’m working on this new pitching technique,” Satoru keeps on going conversationally, passing his fingers through Suguru’s hair.
“Mn,” Suguru hums because he can’t muster anything more, but that’s all the encouragement Satoru needs— his smooth voice carries through the room as he starts explaining the minute details of his new throw.
Suguru breathes in through his nose and exhales through his mouth.
On the tip of his tongue, the peace Satoru brings him makes space for something bigger, the remnants of Suguru’s resistance torn.
Because the truth is that Suguru is not really that clever.
After all, what kind of fool falls in love with his best friend?
Suguru.
Suguru does.
He’s so in love with Satoru that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He loves him so much that it makes his chest ache.
His head spins a little as the rush of awareness fills his mouth. How could Suguru have not realized sooner? It has been there, right in front of him, for—
For—
Oh.
I must’ve loved you for years, he thinks, and of course he has.
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Chapter 4
“You— you’re here for the kiss,” Satoru stutters, ears still bright red, lips still parted in disbelief.
“Mn,” Suguru confirms.
When Satoru makes no move, Suguru gathers whatever scraps of courage he has left. He takes a deep breath, one last inhale before the dive.
Easing his hold around Satoru’s arm, he lifts his hand.
Slowly, painfully so because his hand is still shaking and his heart is still beating too fast, he cups Satoru’s cheek. His fingertips graze the shell of Satoru’s ear, and Satoru’s silky hair.
Under his touch, Satoru’s breath hitches. Suguru waits for him to push him away; he almost gasps when Satoru doesn’t, and instead just looks at him with those wide, wide eyes, and blushes even more.
Had the circumstances been different, Suguru would’ve teased him about suddenly quieting down. Right now, however, he can only look; he can only take in the sight of his best friend, the only one he could ever love.
He can’t believe it’s happening. Doesn’t dare to hope, not yet.
The prospect of kissing Satoru suddenly overwhelms him. Putting his hand on the counter for support, Suguru rests his forehead on Satoru’s.
He needs a moment, a second, to ground himself.
Like this, the tip of Satoru’s nose tickles against Suguru’s cheek, and their lips are so close that Suguru can taste Satoru’s exhales on his tongue. It would take the slightest movement to feel that soft, pink mouth on his own. Satoru’s breath fans out over Suguru’s lower lip.
Before Suguru can get a hold of himself, Satoru speaks.
“Suguru,” he whispers, so softly Suguru can barely hear it even from that close, and Suguru’s heartbeat stutters, because with that one word, their lips brush. The touch is so faint it can’t be considered a kiss; still, Suguru’s head spins, and his knees almost buckle under his weight.
“Suguru,” Satory repeats, making their lips brush again. Making Suguru’s chest feel like it might burst. He says Suguru’s name like it’s a prayer.
“Yes?” Suguru asks. He has to close his eyes, because the sensation is too overbearing. His mouth tingles all the way to his collarbones.
Satoru pulls away, slightly, just far enough that their foreheads don’t touch anymore. He wraps his fingers around Suguru’s wrist.
Suguru’s eyes fly open. Satoru’s gaze is already on his, or maybe it never moved; he looks at Suguru as if he’s searching for something. There’s uncertainty, mixed within the blue.
Suguru’s hand falters, on Satoru’s face.
“Is this—” Satoru says, voice so small that it almost doesn’t seem like it belongs to him. “Is this a joke, or a prank?”
Suguru pretends that his stomach doesn’t drop. He wants nothing but to capture that perfect, smart mouth with his own, has come here for that, but he forces himself to stay put.
“It can be one, if you want it to,” he says, even though it makes him feel like his heart is being torn to shreds, because Satoru deserves this— he deserves a chance to step away. He deserves everything he wants. Suguru tries not to panic too much. Tries not to think how much will change between them if he misunderstood everything.
Satoru’s gaze jumps across Suguru’s eyes. “And what if I don't?” He seems so calm when he asks this— like his question is not making it hard for Suguru to stand upright; like it’s not picking Suguru apart and putting him back together.
Like he’s not reshaping Suguru around the meaning of his words.
Satoru looks calm, but Suguru has known him since they were kids.
His chest feels light when he cups Satoru’s face a little firmer. A little steadier. He traces the curve of Satoru’s cheekbone with his thumb.
Because Suguru can see how hard Satoru is trying to look brave. He can hear how fast he’s breathing, can feel how hard he’s gripping Suguru’s wrist.
Satoru’s face is so, so pink.
Suguru’s lips curl in an unabashed smile. “Then I hope you’ll have me.”
Satoru groans. “Oh my god Suguru. That mouth of yours is gonna be the death of me.”
He grabs Suguru’s face, and launches himself across the counter.
It’s Satoru, who closes the distance between them. It’s Satoru who slots his lips over Suguru’s, and seals all the words Suguru cannot say with a kiss.
