Chapter Text
Don was not the kind of man to pry, but Iro’s antics over the past few weeks had begun to concern him.
At first, he had wondered if Iro’s strangeness might have been caused by his ex-wife, Amelia, finally getting together with Victoria.
Since Iro hadn’t been very forthcoming about his feelings on the matter, as his amigo, Don had decided to avoid bringing the topic up for the time being. He could sympathize with how Iro must have felt; his own divorce had occurred just a year prior to when he had woken up in the Room of Swords.
So, instead of trying to force Iro to talk about his tumultuous feelings, he had instead tried to distract Iro with other things.
But his attempts to spend time with Iro had only seemed to make things worse.
When he tried to show him around his garden Iro merely shuffled behind, several feet away from him at all times, and then blurted out an excuse to leave early.
When he tried to do so much as have a normal conversation with his amigo, every expression Iro made was worn with a stiffness that was extremely unlike him.
So, when Don happened across a casual conversation between the seer (perhaps her name was Nephthys), Amelia, and Iro, he was shocked to find that Iro was behaving perfectly normally around seemingly everyone except for him. Iro spoke to Amelia in a manner that was not conducive to that of a broken-hearted and lonely man.
They even seemed… friendly with each other. Which didn’t make sense. If Iro was not acting strange because his wife had split up with him, why ?
And why did it only seem to be around him that Iro behaved strangely?
Since he had woken up in the Room of Swords, Iro had been the only person who had seemed to truly grow to trust him. Iro had been the one to stick up for him, and to joke around with him as if their situation was in any way normal.
He was the only one that made Don feel, if only for a moment, normal.
He brought with him a comfort and ease that Don hadn’t felt since before he had lost his family. Before he had met Amelia, and subsequently woken up in a strange land, of which everyone except for Don seemed to know his place in.
Of course, Iro had been as wary of him as the others, at first. And of that, he did not blame Iro. Don’s former self, though Don himself had never known nor, indeed, been him, sounded like someone worth being careful of.
But, despite Iro’s initial aggression, Iro had grown fond of him in a way that none of the others seemed to be able to.
All his life, Don had grown up with a big family; there had been no shortage of people to laugh with. No shortage of people to simply be near. No shortage of people to touch , and be touched by. No shortage of people who had cared about him.
And perhaps, he had taken that for granted. He had never known what it was like to be without warmth, and so he had never stopped to consider how easily such blessings could be taken away from him.
He had prayed to God before every meal, hands linked with his children’s, thanking God for the food, and for his family.
But had he ever truly stopped to consider how fragile that happiness might be? How lucky he had been, to even know such unconditional affection at all?
And when it was taken away from him without forewarning, without reason , he had been left with a pit in his stomach, with this inescapable knowledge of what it was like to be cherished, to be loved. This intimate knowledge of what it was like to have what he was suddenly sorely lacking.
He had been left with no knowledge of how to get it back. Because, having been born into it, he had never had to search for it.
And then it had, at least in part, been given back to him. In the form of his friendship with Iro, which was unsteady at first, but had soon flourished as well as any of the flowers in the garden that Don had left at home.
And Iro had become his home, first with his small demonstrations of a kindness Don was not sure he deserved, if he considered everything that his other self had done to Iro. Iro had become home with his smiles. Lopsided, and sometimes a little bit smug, as if every laugh he let out was some kind of inside joke with himself.
And, when it occurred to Don that Iro may have been behaving differently around him because he longer wanted his friendship, Don realized he had taken that home for granted, too.
He had thought things between him and Iro had been going well, despite their less than fortunate circumstances. Several days prior, Don might even have been presumptuous enough to call Iro his best friend.
The worst part was that he had no idea what he had done wrong. He had done everything he could to earn Iro’s trust, to be a good friend to him. Why was his only friend so distant?
Those were questions he intended to ask Iro to his face.
__________________________________________________________________
He waited patiently by the back entrance that he knew Iro would take to avoid him. They had left to collect more food so they could replenish the food supply nearly two hours ago, and they were due to be back any minute.
Don leaned against the wall by the open door, out of the line of sight of incoming people, and drew a calming breath. Finally, he heard familiar voices drawing near.
“We should have enough to last us through the week,” said one voice, which Don recognized to belong to Gyrus.
“I am surprised ye came on this mission, Gyrus. Ye usually stay back, making plans to finally bring down the evil Cockroach King, or making the necessary repairs to the ship.” This voice could only have belonged to Victoria, Amelia’s new lover.
Their voices grew louder as the group neared the ship, and the clanging sounds of footsteps on the metal drawbridge rang out into the air.
“Well, the man’s got to take it easy once in a while, right?” A voice that Don would know anywhere chimed in, gleefully. The sound of a hand slapping against skin accompanied it, and Don could almost picture Iro lightheartedly clapping Gyrus on the back of his neck, his palm a friendly and warm pressure on Gyrus’ skin. It was a casual show of familiarity that Don no longer received from him.
“Anyway, I’m sure Kodya…” Iro’s sentence trailed off when he noticed that Don had stepped out from the shadows of the doorway.
For a moment, Iro just looked at him from where he’d frozen on the spot. Gyrus moved forward, unbothered by Don’s presence, but he paused and turned when he realized that Iro was no longer following. Victoria stood behind Iro, clearly not happy that he had stopped. If the look on her sweat-sheened face was anything to go by.
The realm timer was high in the cloudless sky, and mostly full; a mere sliver of it was gone, though they had already been in the realm for two days. Don could already feel the humid air of the tropical realm sticking to his skin, and he almost instantly regretted subjecting himself to air outside of their ventilated ship, but he ignored the heat in favor of taking advantage of the fact that he’d finally managed to corner Iro.
“Amigo. I need to talk with you,” Don said.
Iro blinked up at him with his wide, violet-pink eyes.
“ Now. ”
Don repeated himself, and Iro averted his gaze and shook his head, as if he were trying to clear his head. “Ah. Well.” He glanced back in Victoria’s direction. He made an awkward clicking noise by placing his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “I think I’m needed here. Maybe we can talk, uh, some other time.”
Iro pushed past Gyrus, but Don sidestepped and prevented him from walking through the doorway. Gyrus frowned at the two of them, and Don watched as Gyrus visibly assessed the situation. Victoria stepped up behind Gyrus and they exchanged a series of looks with each other that mostly consisted of raised eyebrows.
Gyrus cleared his throat.
“I think Tori and I can take it from here, Iro.”
Victoria nodded in the affirmative, and grabbed the box out of Iro’s hands, stacking the large pouches she’d been carrying atop it. She seemed impatient to get back into the ship. Her fiery red hair clung to the sides of her face, and her face had taken on a similar complexion to her hair.
“Fantástico. Let’s get going.” Don forced what he hoped was a friendly-looking grin towards Gyrus and Victoria’s, and then he seized Iro’s arm and tugged him out into the hallway before Iro could come up with any other clever excuses.
Iro only seemed to realize where they were headed as Don guided him through a second sharp turn.
Iro pulled both himself and Iro to a stop just outside of their destination. “I’m pretty sure the others could help you with your garden. If you’re, uh, in need of assistance.”
Don huffed and turned the handle, pushing inwards to reveal the carefully crafted biosphere of his garden, which he had actually been making more progress on without a certain someone getting in his way.
“ No mames. You know that’s not what this is about, Iro.” Don beckoned him into the room. Iro hesitated, clearly not wanting to enter, but he eventually stepped inside.
Don closed the door with a click , and Iro resolutely stared at the furthest point in the room from Don that he could find.
“I’m…” Iro paused and pulled a face, his mouth twisting to the side, “not sure that I know what you mean.”
Don pressed himself up against the door and crossed his arms, more to prevent Iro from escaping rather than to play up any semblance of casualness.
Iro turned halfway towards him, hands clasped in front of him. Iro still couldn’t seem to make eye contact with him.
“I’m quite sure that you do.” Don pinched the bridge of his nose, and tipped his head down. He didn’t feel like making eye contact, either. “You’ve been acting differently around me. I’d like to know why.”
When Iro remained silent, Don squinted down at his own feet, his thoroughly chewed fingernails digging into the soft undersides of his arms. He half regretted dragging Iro over, and having gotten to the point so soon. In truth, he was afraid to hear the reason behind his only friend’s unusual behavior.
Iro might even refuse to give him any reason at all.
Maybe they would stay in this awkward tango, both aware of the fact that one was stumbling, but unwilling to decipher whose misstep had put the two of them in that situation.
Maybe it would be for the best. Regardless of whether they stumbled through it, or glided with such a grace they silently prayed it would never end, end it would.
The music would have to stop, eventually.
Whether Don succumbed to his destiny as the new warden of the Room of Swords, or Gyrus and the others succeeded in their escape, it would have to end. Maybe it would be more merciful to allow their friendship to become something Don wouldn’t need to miss. Something he could just let slip through his fingers without fumbling uselessly in a misguided attempt to recapture it.
Why?
Why was he so desperate to cling to whatever it was he had with Iro, despite knowing his desperate pleas would sooner or later fall upon not Iro’s, but Fate’s own uncaring ears?
Finally, Iro mumbled something in reply, but, even though they were separated by no more than five or so feet, Don was unable to catch anything but the words “Fault” and “I’m”.
Don watched intently as Iro wrung his hands out, a show of nervousness that Don might’ve been able to see matched on his face had Don been able to find the courage to look up.
“Hm?” Don covered his face with a hand, fingers half obscuring his vision. Don could only hope that his voice didn’t come out as nervous as he felt. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you, amigo.” Don stayed quiet while Iro opened and closed his mouth, as if the words he had meant to say had been snatched out of his mouth. It was rare to see Iro quiet, for once. And Iro’s silence only made him more anxious.
“I…” Iro’s wide and vulnerable eyes were somehow an even more startling shade of pink that Don remembered them being when they had last met his. “It’s not what you think. I’m not… I’m trying to not…”
Don slackened the grip he had on his forearms. “Trying not to… what?” Don’s voice came out more shaky than he had meant. Trepidation gnawed at his insides.
Iro turned away from him, his back pressed into a hard line.
Don could feel his throat constricting, and had he not been so caught up in the stiffness of his dearest friend’s movements as Iro walked over to sit by a planter with his legs crossed in front of him, he might have had the presence of mind to examine how and why Iro’s opinion about him had begun to matter so much. Instead, he stood, as rooted to his spot by the door as any of his plants were to the soil.
He willed his voice to work. “Iro, tell me. Do you not trust me anymore?” His voice came out as level as he could have hoped it to, when his stomach was twisted up by feelings he couldn’t begin to dissect. At his words, Iro visibly flinched, his back still turned to Don. Iro tightened the grip he had on his legs.
“If that’s the case, amigo mío…” Don managed to force his feet to unroot themselves from the ground. “You can tell me. I will understand.” He took several cautious steps towards Iro, not wanting to get too close for fear of frightening him. Iro didn’t say anything; he didn’t even turn in his direction, though he must have heard Don’s approach with how unbearably quiet the room was.
In a way, his cautious movements around Iro weren’t unfamiliar. He was always trying not to scare Iro away, it seemed.
“ No .”
Don stilled a couple steps away from him at the firmness of Iro’s tone.
Iro continued hurriedly.
“No . It’s not—it’s not like that. I trust you, Don, I just—” Iro cut himself off. He squeezed his legs to his torso and rested his chin on his knees. “I just don’t trust myself, I guess.”
Don tentatively crossed the remaining distance between them and kneeled beside Iro.
He examined Iro’s side profile out of the corner of his eye.
“I feel as though there’s something I’m missing,” Don said.
Iro turned his head away. “I keep making the same mistakes around you,” he murmured.
Don frowned. Before he could voice his confusion, Iro hurriedly continued in the same hushed tone, as if he were confessing something to his priest instead of his best friend.
“Over and over. And I thought that if I just… did everything over again, I could make everything better. And it would be like it never happened. But it isn’t.”
Iro finally turned to face Don, his head still rested on his knees. His eyes glistened, and Don realized with a shock that there were tears welling up in them.
“It isn’t at all. Maybe it is for you, but I can’t…” Iro looked away again, and he clenched the fabric of his pants so harshly that his fist shook. “I can’t forget. Even if no one else remembers, I can’t. ”
Don hesitantly reached over, but his hand stopped to hover just a few inches away from Iro. “I don’t… understand.”
Iro huffed out a forced laugh, and pressed his cheek up against his knee.
When Iro’s gaze tracked the hand Don still had outstretched toward him, Don quickly yanked his arm back.
“I don’t really understand, either,” Iro admitted, eyes still lingering on the hand that Don had pulled back. “I just thought that if I un made my mistake, everything would be easier. But, it seems like the more I go back in time and undo it, the more complicated things seem to get.”
Don stared at the opposite wall from them as he scooted closer to him. Iro didn’t move away, so Don inched forward until their shoulders brushed against each other. It was a ghost of a touch, but it was there nonetheless, taking up room in the corner of Don’s consciousness.
“This… mistake of yours, that you’ve been making around me.” Don frowned down at his clasped hands, his chest aching with a guilt that wasn’t unfamiliar to him after several months of having his own shortcomings called out by people he couldn’t remember ever knowing. “If it’s my fault that you’re upset, I’m sorry. It wasn’t ever my intent to cause you trouble.”
Iro leaned against him. “It’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault.”
Don pursed his lips, trying to find the words to comfort his friend. Iro’s weight was a warm reassurance against his side. It was something Don had been missing for longer than he’d like to admit to himself. He couldn’t even find it within himself to be annoyed at the way that Iro’s hair tickled his neck. “Have you ever tried telling me, then? Perhaps if I knew about the mistakes you’ve been making, I could help.”
There was a rustling sound against Don’s shoulder when he shook his head. “Honestly, Don… I don’t think this is something you can help me with.” He mumbled quietly. Iro’s hands clenched and unclenched against his knees, and Don tamped down on his urge to reach out and hold Iro’s hands steady.
“How can you be sure?”
When Iro finally turned to face him, it was with an incredulous look on his face.
“Because, you knowing would—it…” Iro lowered his voice, and somewhere in the back of his mind Don realized they were still sitting very close to each other, “it would change everything.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. He willed his eyes not to track the troubled line of Iro’s mouth.
Iro leaned precariously closer, and Don was on the precipice of something . He felt it, the same way he would know he was on the edge of the cliff even if he was blindfolded. He felt Iro’s breath brush his face the same way he would have felt the wind. He felt it, the way that the cologne Iro always wore filled his lungs in the same way he would’ve felt the ocean breeze. He felt it in the trepidation in his gut, that feeling that he wasn’t on stable ground.
He could fall, he could—
He could kiss Iro.
Once that idea took root, it was difficult to tune into what Iro was saying. He only just managed to catch the end of whatever long winded speech Iro must’ve been giving him,
“—and that’s why telling you would be a horrible idea, and would not work out for either us or our friendship in the long term.” Iro seemed pleased with his explanation, like he had succeeded in convincing himself in the time that it took to give it to Don.
His jaw clamped shut when he finally seemed to realize where Don was looking. Don felt almost disappointed, because he had enjoyed watching the various shapes Iro’s mouth formed when he spoke.
Iro’s eyes were wide and startled, but he wasn’t flinching away the way that Don might’ve expected him to. Instead, he seemed to search Don’s expression.
When Iro’s tongue darted out for half a second to run across Iro’s bottom lip, Don leaned in without thinking.
He braced his hand on Iro’s knee, and their faces were suddenly centimeters apart. He tilted his head to avoid bumping noses with Iro, but after that he felt unsure. He hesitated to close the gap between their lips.
Iro’s eyes were bright when they searched Don’s for one last time before Iro squeezed them shut. Don let his eyelids droop, and bridged the distance between their mouths.
The softness of his lips brushing against Iro’s felt like an answer to a question Don hadn’t even realized he had asked.
It was hesitant, and gentle, in a way he had never imagined Iro could be.
Don lifted his other hand to carefully cup Iro’s stubbled cheek. Iro’s jaw was rough and uncomfortable against his fingers, and Don couldn’t get enough of it. He caressed Iro’s face, and tugged him closer. He couldn’t understand how Iro’s lips were so soft. They were usually dry, and chapped, and—maybe Don had been thinking about them for a little longer than he’d originally thought.
Don opened his mouth to run his tongue along Iro’s bottom lip, and Iro hummed his approval.
Sometime during their kiss, Iro had twisted his torso so it was properly facing Don’s direction. He placed his hand on the nape of Don’s neck, and used it to guide him, until their chests brushed against each other.
Don moved his hand to run his fingers through Iro’s hairline. Iro’s scalp was still sweaty from his venture into the realm, but his hair was silky, and Don found that he liked how it felt.
When they finally parted, Don only moved an inch or so away from Iro.
Iro exhaled softly, his breath warm against Don’s face. Don could not bring himself to move away from Iro yet, so he slid his palm up and down the side of Iro’s sunburned face as they both steadied their breathing. The kiss hadn’t lasted especially long, but Don had been so afraid of frightening Iro away that he hadn’t dared to breathe.
The silence between them soon grew awkward, but Don wasn’t sure how to break it. He had no idea what to say. Ay, sorry I kissed you so suddenly, your mouth looked very soft. I couldn’t help myself. Or maybe he could say, we should kiss more, Iro. In fact, let’s kiss all the time.
He was saved from having to come up with a conversation topic when Iro turned so his whole body was facing Don, and buried his nose into the space where Iro’s neck and shoulder met.
Don moved the hand he had on Iro’s cheek to the back of Iro’s neck, and in response Iro huffed out a defeated sigh against his shoulder.
“This is what I was talking to you about,” Iro said.
“Hmm?”
Don’s brain had turned into mush when Iro leaned against him, and he struggled to remember what they had been talking about before they had started kissing. In fact, he couldn’t remember much of anything. His world had narrowed to focus on Iro’s every inhale and exhale.
“This,” Iro said. Then, more quietly, he added, “the kissing, I mean.”
Don’s palm began to trace soothing circular patterns across the back of Iro’s neck while he tried to understand what Iro meant. Iro had been avoiding him, but what could kissing have to do with it? He and Iro hadn’t kissed until just then, and Iro had avoided him for weeks.
Don’s hand froze where it rested on the back of Iro’s neck.
Oh.
“We’ve… kissed before?” Don asked tentatively. Iro had mentioned time travel, but Don was jumping to dangerous conclusions. Conclusions that planted a seed of hope in his mind. And hope was a dangerous thing, wasn’t it? It made him do things like want to believe in a future outside of the hellscape that was the Room of Swords, like the others did. It made him want to believe that he could be different from the Cockroach King, that he could be better , like Gyrus did. It made him want to believe in the tension between Iro and him, in the way that his heart raced at the thought that Iro might have avoided him not because he disliked him, but because he might feel that same dangerous hope in his chest that he did.
Iro remained unmoving from where he rested against him. Iro took a shaky breath, and then let it out slowly. He gripped the shoulder he wasn’t resting on, his fingernails digging into the fabric of Don’s shirt. The fabric of Don’s shirt was thick enough that it didn’t particularly hurt, though the thoughts racing through Don’s mind might have made it difficult for him to notice pain.
“Three times. I’ve kissed you three times before this,” Iro whispered.
Don felt his eyes widen as he stared down at where Iro still rested against him, face shoved into the collar of his shirt. ‘Rested’ might not have been the word for it; Iro’s back was hunched and filled with tension.
“Why?”
Why was the only thing that Don could think to ask him. He was aware that it was a frustratingly vague question, but it was the only thing that mattered. Not when, or how, but why . The rush longing that coursed through his veins made it impossible for him to care about anything else. He needed to know if it was possible that Iro felt the same yearning that he now realized had sat in his heart, unnoticed. Or, maybe, he had noticed it. And he just hadn’t dared to acknowledge it, until hope had come along and made him brave and foolish enough to try.
Finally, Iro lifted his head. He didn’t look Don in the eye, his neck craned so that he was hovering only a couple inches from Don’s neck. He had his attention focused on a fixed point above Don’s shoulder.
“I’ve… been thinking about that.” Iro’s grip on his shoulder tightened. He seemed to realize what he was doing and loosened his hold.
Iro looked up at him, a steady resolve in his gaze. It reminded Don of how Iro looked when they had their petty arguments about things that didn’t really matter to either of them. Iro was stubborn. Don was, admittedly, stuck in his ways, too. Maybe that was why it had taken so long for either of them to bring up whatever was going on between them.
“When it happened the first time, I was scared.” Iro admitted. “I didn’t want to think about what happened, or what it could mean. And I thought that if I just stopped it from happening I wouldn’t have to.”
Iro inhaled sharply. His expression was made up of a mixture of determination, and something unfamiliar that might have been akin to guilt, or yearning.
“But it kept happening. After it happened the first time, it was like I just couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I didn’t want to think about it, but I just couldn’t stop. Every time we were close, it was all I could think about.”
The rapid beating of Don’s heart reverbated in his ears. Silently, he moved his hand so that it was once again caressing Iro’s cheek. Iro reached up, and placed his own palm atop the back of Don’s. Iro was clearly no stranger to manual labor, and yet his skin felt softer than Don’s. It was still a little damp from his time out in the heat, but it felt warm and reassuring.
“After I kissed you a third time, I realized that I needed to change tactics. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship just because I can’t help myself when I’m around you. I thought that if I spent some time away from you those urges would go away.” He squeezed Don’s hand.
“But… they didn’t?” Don asked. If Iro’s fingers had been any lower on Don’s hand, Iro might have felt Don’s pulse pounding against his wrist as he voiced that question; he was certain he already knew the answer, but he was desperate to hear confirmation.
“No, they didn’t.” His grasp on Don’s hand weakened, and his shoulders slumped in a way Don had only known them to when Iro returned from one of the realms. It was the kind of defeated posture Iro only allowed himself to wear when exhaustion weighed on him and the promise of a warm bed, and safety, were the only things that kept his feet shuffling forward. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Don had dragged Iro over preparing to apologize for whatever wrong he had done. The last thing he had expected was an apology from Iro . Much less after a kiss.
“I don’t want to lose your friendship just because I—” Iro cut himself off. He glanced over at their still-touching palms, and his face twisted into several different, complicated expressions before settling back into a slightly more neutral one. “The point is, I’m sorry. I was impulsive, and…”
Iro turned his head away from Don’s hand. “I should—I should go.”
“What?” Iro had already started to move to get up, his fingers already fumbling in the pocket where his coin was kept, when Don’s body finally caught up with his thoughts. Don grabbed hold of Iro’s wrist forcefully, and he might’ve loosened his grip a little if he hadn’t been so afraid of Iro getting away again.
Again .
How many times was it, then, that Don had let him get away? Three times , he had said, but, really, it was more than that, wasn’t it?
When he had come to Iro’s room over a week and a half ago to confront him, and let himself turn away and head back to his own room, had it really been the right thing to do? After he had knocked on Iro’s bedroom door, he had pressed his ear against the cool metal and heard the faint hiccuping sounds of sobbing. As he had backed away from the door, he had told himself that he was leaving Iro alone so he could have the privacy he had locked himself away to get.
But he had known, deep down, that the reason he fled was because he was afraid. He was afraid that if Iro opened that door, Iro’s tear-stained face would tell him that it was somehow his fault.
It had been egotistical of him to imagine that he was somehow the reason for Iro’s sadness. But, ever since Don had woken up in the Room of swords, everything had been his fault.
Like a coward, he had let Iro slip away from him, over and over. Because he had been too afraid to face his friend.
So, when Iro gave him a shocked look and tried to wrench his arm free, Don kept hold of him and tugged him back down. “Not this time, amigo.” Don said, quietly but firmly. “You’re not leaving this time.”
And maybe Iro was a coward, too, for being unable to face the consequences of his actions. But Don would have to make a hypocrite of himself to judge Iro for wanting things to go back to the way they were, go back to the uncomplicated thing their friendship had started as. For weeks, he had wanted the same thing.
Don had pulled Iro even closer than they were before; Iro was practically sitting in his lap. Their faces were little more than an inch apart. It was easy for Don to stop any of the confusion written across Iro’s face from being verbalized.
He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Iro’s. It was meant to be a brief kiss, but his lips lingered longer than he had meant them to. He had only kissed Iro once, and already he had a nagging worry that he would never be able to get enough. When he convinced himself to begin to pull away, they managed to part little more than an inch from each other before he was drawn into it again by some invisible force. Iro’s arm was a reassuring pressure against the back of his neck; it tugged him closer, and their lips melded together.
When Don finally managed to drag himself away, Iro looked even more perplexed than he had before. Slowly his expression twisted into something Don might’ve found comical had they been in different circumstances. One of Iro’s eyebrows twitched repeatedly, and the corners of his mouth were pulled down to form a slight pout. There was an eyelash on his cheek, and Don couldn’t tell if it was Iro’s or his own.
Iro’s eyes were the last thing Don looked at, after he had finished examining his expression. Iro’s eyes were wide. And Don could’ve sworn that underneath the confusion in them, there was a spark of something akin to hope.
He reached out a tender hand, and used his thumb to brush the eyelash off of Iro’s face. His fingers always felt clumsy whenever they touched Iro’s skin, but he didn’t move his hand away.
He didn’t try to explain how he’d started touching Iro’s jaw with a clear and reasonable goal in mind, either. Instead he traced his fingers along the unshaven stubble that dotted Iro’s jaw. He couldn’t look away from the sharp indent of his Cupid’s bow, nor could he ignore the pinkness of his lips.
“…I must confess,” Don paused, and then spoke more quietly. His words were little more than a whisper against Iro’s face, “I don’t know what’s been going through your mind. But, I know what’s going through mine.”