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It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
Only supposed to be an occasional midnight rendezvous between two consenting adults that consisted of tacky skin and dreamy sighs—just enough to cover the baser instincts of being a human. To feed the craving of a human’s touch, warm and specifically calloused from years of wielding dual blades until said-callouses were moulded by the leather grip. To let you stare into the blood moon of the night, crimson eyes following the movement of your bodies until both were a synchronised fluidity.
And it was, for a while, something to do to kill time and de-stress. A Rubik’s cube can only be as interesting as it is for the first fifty-solves until you turn to another cigarette, another conundrum to wrap your mind around.
So your mind has made itself up and decided this should be your conundrum now.
The cesspool, that is, of feelings that have developed over the course of your time sleeping with a Defence Force member, Vice Captain Hoshina Soushirou, and its effect on your poor little heart. Blackened by tar, pumping sticky, gooey, wretched unrequited blood to the rest of your body. For research, you foolishly thought to yourself, because nothing made a better experiment than your destructive-self.
Your brain is affected by it the most.
Out of the twenty-six hours you devote your time to work, you owe yourself an additional two more hours spent on contemplation. Spent on thinking of the way you touch the back of his neck as he dives in to kiss you. Spent on the way he falls asleep on you like you’re some premium mattress.
Spent on how you still wake him up hours before anyone else so you can tell him to get out of your apartment so nobody suspects he was gone for the whole night.
So you can pick yourself back up before the sun rises.
God, you are a fool.
It’s half-past four in the afternoon. The cigarette you haphazardly put-out still wafts familiarity in your cramped space as you scratch away in your sketchbook. Nothing seems to be coming together lately, all of your designs seemingly lacklustre and boring. Perhaps a reflection of yourself, a mirror image of your nasty turmoil. Whoever imagined being a fashion designer was looking at your life through rose-tinted glasses; there is nothing glamorous being fourteen-hours in sleep-debt.
You take off your glasses and rub your eyes, sighing into your knuckles. Even your eyes are tired of your inner discourse. You lean your head back into the wall, thinking of what to eat instead since your work isn’t working itself out for you—might as well nourish your body instead.
The music player above the convenience store’s door is on its last rope, the chime distorted and eerily loud. Greeting the counter attendant briefly, you make your way to the hot foods section, looking at all the different things you want to eat but can’t seem to decide on.
Your brain fixates on the hot bar, vision going glassy. This is where you met Hoshina the very first time, a late encounter when you couldn’t sleep because your deadlines hover over you like a ring of death reapers. He had made a trip off-base to look for a specific can of sake, wanting to taste it after a satisfying clean-up.
The store had sold out of it. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you bought the entire case when it restocked because it was your favourite sake too. You recommended something else to him and jokingly said you’ll call him when the sake restocked.
He shockingly held out his phone to you. You punched your number in, gaze on his cheshire grin, and before you could take it back, he had snatched his phone up and gave you a two-fingered salute goodbye. All you could think about that night was how you could replicate the colour of his eyes because it’s been the missing piece to your collection this entire time.
The messages you traded were curt, to-the-point and short, no fluff in between. Sometimes he would take a picture of a slain-chunk of Kaiju with its guts leaking out onto the pavement. Sometimes it would be the corner of a screen, with only the time showing that he also was an occasional insomniac. You had sent a corner of your sketchbook with a tiny doodle of his favourite sake can.
The two of you toed some weird line for a while. Some liminal space between acquaintances and friends. Never more, never laced with desire. Like a virtual pen pal of sorts that communicated in kaomojis and blurry pictures.
It was then you decided to push against the barrier a little. You had asked for pictures of his eyes in your four a.m. sleepless fever to try and pinpoint the shade of translucent red you needed, lacking any explanation. He asked what he’d get in return, and so, in your weird-ass glory, you had taken a picture of the case of sake in your home and sent him a non-flirtatious message:
Half of this is yours.
His response was just as quick:
I’m coming over. Address?
That night still makes your face heat until the threat of combustion bubbles beneath your skin. Maybe it’s the way looked up at you as he dragged his tongue over your folds, the air smelling faintly of graphite and sake and your arousal. A surprisingly egotistical taunt from the humble man mumbled to your sex, “Go on, take a picture. ”
As if you could forget about it.
You blink the memory away, reaching forward to grab the first two things your hand touches (a container of yakisoba and half an okonomiyaki) and make your way to the counter to check out. The TV is muted, broadcasting a live update on a Kaiju attack announced forty-minutes ago. You clutch at your phone in your sweater pocket, your message left unread. You ask the attendant for another pack of cigarettes, even though you’re sure you still have a box at home. Your eyes are glued on the TV, the third division’s captain confirming the threat has been contained with only minor casualties.
Hoshina is nowhere on sight and you’re not sure if you should be more concerned or less.
”Miss, would you like your food heated?”
You snap back to the counter, shaking your head, “I’m alright, thank you. Did you by chance receive another shipment of that sake I asked for? Your colleague may have left you a note that someone was requesting for it.”
The cameraman pans over to the knocked over Kaiju, shaky footage giving you a headache. You look back at the attendant once more. They bow in a slight apology, “Looks like it’s still on backorder. We apologise for the convenience.”
You hold up your hand, waving it slightly, “Don’t worry. I live nearby and will pick it up as soon as you have it. Just thought I’d check.”
A melted-chime signals your leave from the store, your feet picking up speed as you walk back to your home. Your phone had vibrated in the middle of your conversation and you caught a glimpse of ‘ Open the door.’ Never before have you wanted to be at home so badly until now, even with your impending creator’s block.
And sure enough, leaning against the railing in front of your apartment door was the object of your dreams and the subject of your creations.
"Hoshina,” voice quiet, implications louder (probably), “Are you alright?”
He smiles almost cheekily, “‘Course. Whatdya take me for? I’m a vice captain for a reason.”
“You didn’t respond,” he finally looks at you, fully, eyes warmed by the egg-yolk sunset. Unreadable, like how all of your interactions end up being, you try to divert the unspoken words, ‘I was worried .’ Instead you ask, “Did you eat?”
This is unfamiliar territory, you think, sharing a meal in your cramped apartment. Your sketches all over the place, the unsatisfactory ones crumpled into balls by your overflowing trash can. Pieces of your brain dumped on the floor.
"Did a Kaiju c’mere to tear up your place too?”
"Might as well have, I’ve been pulling my hair out trying to come up with designs worthy of my attention,” you bend forward and clear your low table off, stacking all the drawings in a neat pile before you place the bag of food down.
Hoshina hums behind you, thoughtful, calculating. Like he’s pondering something. You stand up and nearly jump out of your skin when you realise he’s standing so close to you, your back bumping into his solid chest.
Looking over your shoulder, your brows furrow and you ask, “Did you need something? You’re standing so close.”
“I haven’t eaten yet, for the record.”
Subliminal phrasing is the only way Hoshina prefers to speak to you. In riddles and unexplicit messages, and yet somehow, it all transpired into a growing, heated pit that you come to finally understand. It’s all actions between you two. Dialogue normally sparse in the four-walls of your home. Instead of air, it’s made of humid puffs and whimpers, the sound of lips on skin, metal clinking, and whispered heat.
Hoshina shields the steamy water from hitting you directly, not waiting to take all of your clothes off fully before tugging you into the shower with him, other than your shorts who have been spared the torture. The water runs a murky colour, like the tiny cup of diluted, watery pigment by your paint set. He gently grasps you by the front of your throat, thumb tilting your chin up so he can capture your lips in a soft kiss. He parts his lips, flicking his tongue against your upper lip, smirking against you when you whine.
“You got my clothes all wet.”
“Inevitable. I saved ya some heartache,” he pushes your damp shirt up, cold fingers raking down along your sides until they slip beneath your panties, ripping the lacy thing off you.
You pull away, glaring at him, “What the hell? I liked those.”
“I’ll buy ya more,” he leans forward murmuring against your lips, “I’ll buy ya so many, ya won’t care how many I ruin.”
His mouth covers yours again, canines now nibbling on your bottom lip in a subtle apology. You acquiesce, letting him deepen the kiss, tongue running along your lip. You trail your hands up his midsection, reaching for the zipper of his combat suit, gently tugging it downward. His hands leave your sides briefly to help you take his uniform off, leaving it in a wet sop on the floor.
You throw your own shirt into the same pile, watching as he pushes his hair, slicking it back with the rest of it. Resting your head on the tile, you admire his physique beneath your lashes. He’s corded, his smaller frame deceiving as he is mostly made of dense muscle. There’s strength in his shoulders, arms, and pectorals, contrasted with a rather delicate waist that tapers down before erupting in another display of well-trained legs.
“Ya done looking, angel?”
Finally gazing back up at him, you smile, “I forget how strong you actually are beneath your cheekiness.”
He furrows his brows, “Forget? That’s… almost offensive.”
You laugh, the sound echoing in the shower, “Maybe you can remind me then.”
Hoshina doesn’t waste another moment, closing the distance again and pressing his body against yours. You sigh at his warmth, sliding your arms over his shoulders. On habit, you grab onto the little hairs at the end of his neck, tugging at the strands lightly as you let him kiss you again. You swallow his moan, tongue gliding along his as his hands make their home on your waist. One hand grips the flesh, the other one lightly trailing up your chest, cupping one of your tits in it. His thumb ghosts over your nipple, your body instantly reacting to his touch.
He breaks away from the kiss, nudging you to look to the side with his nose. Nibbling your ear lobe, he exhales, “So responsive. I barely touched ya.”
You mewl as his other hand meets with the neglected bud, his thumbs swiping over both now in an achingly slow pace.
“Hoshina—”
“Whaddid I tell ya to call me,” he presses a kiss behind your ear, “When it’s just us two…”
Through your muddled brain, you manage to push out, “Soushirou… Please, I—ahh—!”
He bites down on the side of your neck, sucking at the skin until he leaves a mark. That’s new, marking you. You don’t allow it for… many reasons. Most obvious one is because the paparazzi would have a field day trying to fit puzzle pieces together. You’re a well-known designer who shies away from the public eye and that would undoubtedly attract them like moths to a flame. So, Hoshina is always careful to abide by your rules; this is the first time he defied it without a warning, without an option for you to have an out. You don’t hate it, in fact, it goes straight down, a heat so intense that your slick is melting out of you like liquid gold.
He pulls away, kissing the blooming bruise a few times, a silent apology—an acknowledgement—that he did something he wasn’t supposed to.
“Reprimand me later,” his voice is soft and it makes your chest throb painfully, “The way you say my name just—” he sighs against your skin, nosing down your neck before he reaches the top of your chest. This time, he bites the supple flesh, not hard, but enough for you to wince at the odd sensation.
“—It drives me insane .”
Pressing you against the tile, he bends down a little, looking up at you, and you watch as he sticks out his tongue, flicking it over your left bud first, once, twice, three times, his eyes focused on the way yours fall into a hard blink as his warm mouth closes over the puffy bud. He kisses you there, delicately, before repeating the same to your other nipple, and you lean back, nails digging into the tops of his shoulders.
In all honesty, you’re not sure at one point he reached over to grab soap from the bottle, but you don’t complain when he runs them up the back of your thighs, hands gliding up your ass and on to your lower back. He rounds them to the front and you jerk back a little, your tummy a bit on the ticklish side.
He stands up straight, resting his forehead against yours as he takes his time, lathering the soap on your front side, taking extra care around your collarbones and chest.
You sigh as he takes care of your body, the sensation melting you. Tender, like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to spend all that time with you.
You catch his hands when they try to go lower, muttering, “My turn.”
Wanting to return the favour, you try to mimic his movements too, running your hands up his muscular back, fingers dipping into stiff muscles. He leans into your touch, head now laying on your shoulder as you press him closer to your soapy front. You hold back on commenting how clingy he seems today, moving slower than he normally would, keeping his skin on you when he can. Truthfully, you’re afraid to speak something into existence, so you keep your mouth shut.
He holds you closer, your chest pressing against his and he groans, the heat of his cock rubbing against your slippery skin. You reach down, nipping at his jaw line, to keep him distracted before he lets out a hiss, your hand wrapping around him.
Heavy in your hand and using a loose grip, you lazily stroke him. Thumb rubbing at the tip, he reciprocates your touch and humps himself into your hand, little moans exhaled into your ear.
Hoshina walks the two of you backwards (or forwards for you), a shock of lukewarm water doing little to nothing at cooling the two of you off. But your yelp dissolves into a giggle, Hoshina returning your smile.
He takes your hand and puts it back on his shoulder, your fingers joining together behind that little dip between his shoulder blades, “Sorry, had t’rinse us off,” fingers snake into your scalp, lightly tugging your head back so he can look down into you with his candy red ones, “Wanna fuck ya properly.”
You shiver, from the cold, from his words—both at this point, dazed as he presses another kiss to your neck.
Warmth envelops you, Hoshina taking care to wrap you in a towel first, patting your skin dry while he continues to mouth along the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Without stopping his motions, he somehow knows you permanently keep his spare towel behind the door, wrapping it around his waist as he walks you to your futon.
“Liftin’ ya, angel.”
With a little hop, you wrap your legs around his waist while he supports you from your bottom.
“Fine, I get it, you’re strong, Soushiro,” your chuckle comes out breathy as he gingerly sets you on your futon.
He smiles, “Wanted t’make sure ya remember for next time.”
Hands that you can recognise in your dreams drag down the outside of your thighs, your towel falling open. He sucks in a breath at the sight of your body, as if he’s seeing it for the very first time instead of his twentieth.
“Beautiful,” his gaze drops lower, tongue darting out to wet his lips when he’s fixated on your lower half. He raises your legs by your knees, urging you to hold them up to spread yourself apart. A gentle thumb swipes at your slit, your hips jerking at the touch. Hushing you, he continues for a few more motions, before his other thumb joins, slowly revealing your dripping pussy beneath your puffy lips. Hoshina’s stare is so intense that it unconsciously makes you clench around nothing.
“Fuuuck ,” he collects some of your slick on his thumb, bringing it up to his mouth to lick, “Taste so sweet… need more.”
In a matter of seconds, he’s already between your legs, tongue delving between your folds. You throw your head back, hips rocking into his face desperately, finally getting some friction where you need it the most.
“Haahh… mmm—!” You whimper. His tongue is precise in its movements, rubbing deliberately to both the left and right spaces beside your clit. An unfair move if you were asked the question, a sweet spot that turns your brain into mush. He flattens his tongue as he runs it over your opening, just barely dipping into your hole. You squeal, “Soushirou, d-don’t tease, please!”
He closes his mouth over your clit, lazily moving in a circular motion over the bud while applying light suction. Your thighs almost slip out of your grasp, skin sweaty beneath your palms. A hand comes up to support one of your thighs up, the other one guiding your other leg over his shoulder.
He stares at you while he shakes his head back and forth, tongue inching side-to-side over your clit. Red eyes cloud hazily with lust, the same way shrouds of dust float up in your room while the sun sets. If you weren’t so occupied by your pleasure, maybe you could see hearts in his pupils, eyes almost rolling back at how you sound, how you taste.
You mewl, feeling a mixture of his saliva and your arousal dampening your futon. The idea of him being so lost in your cunt has you reeling, an exasperated, “I-I’m g-gonna… C-Coming, Soushirou!”
He doesn’t even stop to let you know he’s heard you, doesn’t have to when you feel a finger slipping into you as his tongue continues its flicking. You gasp when he easily adds another finger inside, grazing the top of your walls and easily finding that hardened spot that has you seeing stars. The pads of his fingers circle at it with light pressure, your mind blanking out at the pleasure, the tension tightening in your lower belly. He adds to it—you’ll fucking kill him for this—placing a firm hand on top of plush mound, he pushes down.
Walls clench around his fingers, the feeling building, building, building. His tongue nudges right below your clit, flicking at it light and fast, his fingers switching to a scissoring motion. It hits you all at once, your jaw slacking, thighs tightening around his head. Delayed, your squeal breaks into a moan as warm liquid spurts out of you. You can barely hear Hoshina groaning from below, working you through your orgasm.
The tears that have built up in the corner of your eyes have rolled down your cheeks, your body going numb from the pleasure. It’s only in the complete silence that you finally come to, immediately loosening your legs around his head.
“S-Sorry, I—I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Hoshina sits up, sucking your essence off your fingers. He swallows, “God, no. I was kinda hopin’ ya would though.”
You giggle, feeling the sleepiness starting to seep in, “I made a mess on you.”
“‘S’fine. It was hot and I can always shower again,” he takes his towel off to clean the liquid from his skin, his cock hard and a deep shade of red at the tip. Tossing the towel to the side, he yanks you by the hips downward until your bottom is flush with the tops of his thighs.
Hoshina brushes his lips against you. He smells of your arousal. Musky, tangy, and your body soap. Tilting your head up, you return the kiss as tenderly as he does, his hand cradling your jaw, your hand above his heart. It thumps steadily against your palm.
He pulls away, air rushing into your lungs. You think he looks so pretty with his flushed skin and half-lidded look, but you probably won’t admit that to him for the time being. A thumb traces your bottom lip; without breaking eye contact, you part your lips and take the digit in, tongue flicking at it.
It comes out with a pop, his gaze flicking down to your cunt, “Ya ready, angel?”
"Yeah,” your response comes out breathier than you wanted.
With his hand by your head, he stares at where his cock bumps into your puffy pussy, exhaling through his nose at the contact. Gently prying your lower lips apart, he grinds his cock in between your folds, brows furrowed as he watches your slick coat the length of him.
"Shit, you’re so wet.”
Pulsating beneath him, like a siren’s call, he positions himself at your entrance. Slowly, he pushes through the first ring of muscle, letting out an uncharacteristic whine. Eyes locked on, he watches inch-by-inch the way he disappears inside you, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth, pussy pulling him in with a vice grip.
"How’re ya so tight even after all this time?”
A rhetorical question, but you grin up at him briefly before it turns into a gasp, “Soushirou—-"
"Fuuuck ,” he bottoms out inside of you, pushing through the last inch and a half. Impatient. You involuntarily clench around him, seeing how much of a mess he’s becoming. His hand flies out to your thighs, pulling them apart as if that will stop you, “D-Don’t do that… I won’t last.”
The two of you sit there for another few minutes, Hoshina gaining his bearings after you’ve adjusted around him. Shallowly, he thrusts, his head slack on his shoulders as he feels your walls glide deliciously around him. Fingers dimple the supple skin of your thighs, an anchor for himself as he gets lost in the feeling of your cunt. He blinks, pupils dilated and zeroed in on you; you feel your heart stop for a moment.
Leaning down, his lips hover yours, hips pulling almost all the way out until only the tip is nestled at your entrance. With a few test pumps— warnings —in one fluid motion, he slams himself into you.
You cry out, your hand immediately slapping over your own mouth, tears pricking the corners of your vision. Lips curled into a dangerous smirk, Hoshina repeats the motion again and again, your entire body shifting up on the bed.
“Don’t do that,” heated fingers grab at your wrist, prying it apart from your face, “Wanna hear how good you’re feelin’.”
“N-Neighbours…” there isn’t any real substance to your reply, not when you look like the way you do beneath him. Starry-eyed and kiss-bitten, roses blooming beneath your skin.
He knows it too, you think, a low groan exhaled into your ear, “Let them listen. Bet they can’t get ‘nuff either because ya spoil them,” you whine, high-pitched and broken, the head of his cock nudging into that ribbed wall.
“Let them know ya got somebody that fucks ya ‘til you’re screamin’.”
All of your thoughts melt away, succumbing to the only thing that’s on your mind—how full you are, how complete Hoshina makes you feel. Your jaw relaxes, tiny pants puffing out of you with each thrust.
It might be a stretch, but you swear the air that gets knocked out of your lungs somehow makes more room for his cock.
Your eyes fall shut, your will to look into crimson falling to pieces lest you think about your complicated situation with the Defense Force member.
Because Hoshina fucks you like you’re his.
He exhales into your skin, your eyes fluttering open when he nips at your shoulder.
“So pretty.”
Diamond tears freely fall down your cheek, his fingers gently swiping them away.
“So fucking pretty.”
He grunts, slipping one of your legs up over his shoulder, body encasing you. His thrusting pauses, the only thing you can focus on is hearing his breath mingle with yours.
These hands that train to annihilate, cradle your head like you’re a precious gem that’s meant to be cherished. Tilting your head up, his nose brushes against yours, a tender touch that tugs at your chest, lips meeting yours once more.
Softly, slowly, apologetically—a silent sorry for all the time that drags between you two. The push, the pull, the dance you both inevitably find yourselves in the longer you prolong your denial. You don’t think of anybody but him when he’s gone. How gingerly his tongue runs along yours, a soothing caress. How his lips claim yours over, and over again, stealing your air and taking it for his own. Your first mistake was letting him kiss you at all.
Because Hoshina kisses you like you’re his too.
You gasp into his mouth as he restarts his rhythm, using your current position as leverage. You’re not flexible by any means, but you become limbless as the pleasure rocks through you. Swallowing your mewl, he bites down your lower lip as his hips snap into you, “Feel s’good, angel, like you were made for me.”
Hips shifting into slightly different angles, he finally catches the one that makes you squeeze your eyes shut, stars erupting behind your eyelids, “Right there!”
With one arm keeping your leg steady, his other hand wraps around your throat. Not to take anymore of your air, but to remind you that he’s here. Lightly stroking the skin on the side with his thumb while he pumps himself into you, your vision goes blank. Fingers find their way to your clit, gently circling around it, causing you to clench around him.
He groans, “Squeezin’ me so tightly. You like me that much?”
His question swirls in your lust-addled brain. You wonder what it’s like to not have to make him leave after you wake up, as if your time together wasn’t just a fever dream. You want to hear him whisper your name at night, reaching out to pull you close more often than not. You hope he thinks about you just as much as you do.
"U-Unfair question— haah —Soushirou.”
His thumb gently nudges into your clit, kneading it.
"Can’t help it,” your walls pulse around his cock, “You look so cute with your pussy drooling all over me,” he grins, his canines distinct under the moonlight. You knock your fist against the arm that’s holding your leg up, your brows furrowed at his vulgarity. He laughs, catching your hand and placing it on the back of your thigh, “Hold yourself up f’me.”
The moment he feels your leg is secured, he shifts his weight, changing his pace until he’s hitting that sweet spot again, fingers flicking at your clit faster. He groans, throwing his head back and you wish you could mark up the expanse of his chest, his neck. Make violets bloom over the ivory skin, secretly hoping it’ll stain his heart in the same way he does to you.
Raising a hand to your chest, you toy with your tits, the string in your lower belly about to snap.
"I’m—I’m gonna…!”
“Give it to me again, angel,” his hand slides to the side from your throat to the space where your neck meets your shoulder. He braces himself there, pulling you down onto his cock while he thrusts upward, “Give yourself to me.”
Intense heat blooms in your lower abdomen, searing that string of tension until all that’s left is blinding-pleasure.
"Thaaat’s it, good girl.”
White-hot, a sensation burns you from the inside and out, numbing your nerves from almost head to toe. It’s a feeling you will never get used to, coming undone, while Hoshina’s eyes hungrily watch you fall apart. You can feel your walls fluttering around him, and he graciously gives you a moment before he thrusts at a pace that has your clit throbbing beneath his languid fingers. He traces barely-there figure 8’s, his cock working you through your orgasm in deep strokes. Or maybe it’s having the opposite effect with how precise he is at sliding against the same spot. In no time, another short burst of fireworks erupts from your cunt, walls spasming around him a second time around.
He groans, “Coming, fuck, fuck, fuck —!”
Hoshina stills, panting as he pulsates inside you. Warmth rushes in and you sigh, rubbing your fingers down his biceps, feeling every bump and crevice, every scar he accumulated over his years of service.
He ushers your legs around his waist, leaning down close to you until he’s inches from your face again. When you blink, your vision wipes clear, a fresh set of tears rolling down your cheeks. His fingers are already there to push them away. Brushing against your lips in a feathery kiss, he asks softly, “You still with me?”
You nod, “Y-Yeah…”
“Good,” he pecks the corner of your mouth, “Thought I killed you there.”
You scoff, a smile spreading over your lips, one of your hands repositioning the angle of his face so you can kiss him fully, “Ascended for a split second, maybe.”
Hoshina cleans up your futon while you use the toilet. His need for being clean overrides your pleas for him to come back into bed with you, taking a quick rinse after pulling the covers around your shoulders so you can wait all cozy for him. He doesn’t comment that you’re wearing one of his t-shirts that he left behind from a while ago as a pyjama shirt.
The two of you eat in relative silence, a few extra bites of your yakisoba fed to him. Both of your eyes land on a sketch stuck to your wall, of a pretty man with excellent facial proportions and a smile that rivals the sun. Description vaguely matching the muse that sits beside you.
If the silence was anything to go by, perhaps the elephant in the room is more noticeable than you thought.
Thoughts you constantly fight to push into the far corners of your mind—the ones that make you think that there is a path with Hoshina, the ones that tell you there isn’t a path with him at all—end up rebounding against each other in your brain. Racing toward a finish line that wouldn’t ever come, you’re lying to yourself, blatantly, because he has already taken up whatever space it could inflate itself into. Your brain, your heart, the damned empty space beside you on your futon.
Hoshina pulls you close when the two of you return to bed. It sort of hurts, a double-edged hug that leaves you wanting more. Your fingers find their way in his hair, gently curling around strands. You’re lulled to sleep by the rhythmic thumping beside your ear, a slumbering bliss where you dream of being his for one night.
Of a languid breeze that runs its fingers through your hair, Hoshina smiles warmly at you. It’s a forever-kind of world, where questions are answered, and thoughts are spoken. A saccharine dream that’s filled with sweet, curious memories, bite-sized and lovely.
And it’s when the sun hits your eyelids, do you come back to reality. Walls stained with tangerine highlights and plum lowlights, it’s well-passed the time you normally wake up to tell Hoshina he has to leave you. As you stretch your arm, fingertips feel around the space beside you. Barely warm, still-wrinkled, minimal signs that someone was here. That last night wasn’t some figment of your imagination.
You sit up in bed, staring at the shape of a body that is no longer here. In every scenario you tried to think of, you have failed to prepare yourself for the void settling in. Large empty spaces deflate after being filled to the brim with the affection you let yourself indulge in.
A terribly stupid oversight on your part, thinking that perhaps you were something.