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Giyuu and Sanemi had been dating for quite some time.
Being with Sanemi felt like living in a dream he never wanted to wake from. He was attentive and gentle, always treating Giyuu with a softness that bordered on reverence, as if the slightest misstep might shatter him.
It was probably because Giyuu had confided in him about nearly dying from a serious illness. Since then, Sanemi had carried a quiet protectiveness in everything he did, wrapping Giyuu in a tenderness that never wavered.
Not that Giyuu ever complained. In fact, it was one of the many things he had come to love deeply about him.
Still, that same gentleness colored every aspect of their relationship—even behind closed doors.
Sanemi’s kisses were always soft, lingering with emotion, like he was trying to memorize the shape of Giyuu’s lips. Every touch was deliberate, every movement slow and careful, as though he feared Giyuu might vanish if he pushed too hard. When they made love, it was quiet and aching, like Sanemi was trying to savor something fleeting, and in the quiet between their bodies, Sanemi would murmur sweet nothings against his skin, words warm and unguarded.
Giyuu adored this side of him. No one else ever got to see it. The world knew the fierce, brash man, but this soft version existed only for Giyuu.
Still, he had heard the stories. Mostly from Tengen, who was all too happy to brag about Sanemi’s more reckless, pleasure-seeking days. It was never cruel, just playful banter, usually sparked by Sanemi teasing Tengen about his polyamorous lifestyle.
Giyuu wasn’t the jealous type. Not really, but he couldn’t deny a craving that had grown over time. Just once, he wanted to be handled like he was something to be claimed. He wanted to feel those strong hands on him without restraint, to be pinned beneath the weight of Sanemi’s strength, to feel the rough edges that the rest of the world knew so well.
And god, Sanemi was more than capable.
Those arms—cords of muscle wrapped in scarred skin—looked built to break someone, not cradle them. His stomach was firm and lean, every line carved with intention, and his thighs… Giyuu had to bite back a groan just thinking about them. Thick, powerful, and always on display in those gym shorts he wore like a challenge.
So tonight, as he waited for Sanemi to come home from the gym, Giyuu made a quiet, wordless decision.
He slipped into Sanemi’s sweatshirt—the one far too big for him, the one that always slid off one shoulder and left his collarbone bare. It exposed the Water tattoo just above his collarbone, the one Sanemi was understandably obsessed with. Maybe because, according to him, it was part of the very first tattoo collection he ever designed at Tengen’s parlor. It was a small thing, easy to miss, but to Sanemi, it meant everything.
To him, it was a signature. A claim. A silent promise inked into Giyuu’s skin.
And even though Giyuu had no memory of getting it, something about it felt right. Like it was proof that he and Sanemi were always meant to be more than just passing strangers.
Giyuu heard the familiar jingle of keys at the front door, the quiet clink of metal that always preceded Sanemi’s return. He shifted slightly on the couch, stretching out his legs and rolling his shoulders back just a bit, letting the oversized sweatshirt slip lower down one arm. The hem barely covered his thighs, leaving pale skin exposed to the cool air and, soon, to Sanemi’s gaze.
The door creaked open.
"I'm home," Sanemi called out, his voice low and a little rough, laced with the edge of lingering exhaustion.
"Hey," Giyuu replied, keeping his tone casual as Sanemi stepped inside. He stayed relaxed on the couch, one leg draped over the other, shoulders pushed back just enough to let the sweatshirt slip a little lower. "Have you eaten?"
"Yeah. Iguro and I grabbed something before heading home," Sanemi said, still distracted, flipping through the mail without sparing a glance.
Giyuu stayed quiet, patient. He watched as Sanemi toed off his shoes and walked further into the apartment, waiting for the moment those sharp, purple eyes finally landed on him.
When they did, the payoff was immediate, and satisfying.
Sanemi froze mid-step, gaze dragging slowly over Giyuu’s bare legs, the way the oversized sweatshirt clung to his frame, the tattoo peeking out from his collarbone like a deliberate invitation.
His jaw tightened.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now has to wait,” Sanemi warned, voice strained. “I’m disgusting. I need a shower.”
"Maybe I like you disgusting."
Sanemi let out a scoff, shaking his head as he dropped the mail onto the counter. "Giyuu..." he warned, his voice already unraveling. "I want to do this. Believe me, but you’re not going to like it when I’m dripping sweat all over you."
"Please," Giyuu murmured, his voice dropping into something low and deliberate, "I’ve had worse of your bodily fluids all over me."
That did it.
Sanemi’s breath caught, and a flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks in a way he couldn’t hide. He looked like he wanted to brush it off, to play it cool, but the way his gaze darkened gave him away completely.
Giyuu had him—and they both knew it.
Sanemi crossed the room in a few quick strides and leaned down, pressing a kiss to Giyuu’s lips. It was soft, teasing. Giyuu parted his lips, ready to deepen it, but Sanemi pulled back before he could.
For a moment, Giyuu just blinked up at him, lips still parted.
He really thought he had him.
"Later," Sanemi said, with that maddening smirk. "I need to shower."
Then he turned, walking down the hallway toward their bedroom, leaving Giyuu sprawled on the couch, warm, wanting, and just frustrated.
"Figures," Giyuu muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Sanemi to hear.
As expected, Sanemi’s steps paused. "What?"
"I said, figures."
A beat. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
Giyuu hesitated, then asked, quieter this time, "Don’t you want me?"
Sanemi turned fully now, brows drawing together. "Giyuu, what on earth are you talking about?"
Giyuu felt his bottom lip push forward slightly, his body reacting before his mind caught up. "It’s just... it feels like I want you more than you want me."
The words hung in the air, heavier than he expected.
He knew it wasn’t fair. Sanemi had just come home from the gym. He was sweaty, tired, and had said as much. All of this, this sudden surge of doubt, stemmed from Tengen’s stories about Sanemi’s past escapades. Giyuu hated how easily it crept in, how quickly insecurity bloomed in the quiet space between them.
He knew he was being irrational and yet, knowing didn’t stop the ache in his chest or the heat crawling up his neck in shame.
Sanemi crossed the room without a word and knelt in front of the couch, reaching out to cradle Giyuu’s face with both hands. His touch was careful—achingly gentle, like Giyuu might shatter if handled too roughly.
And Giyuu couldn’t tell what frustrated him more: that softness, or his own spiraling thoughts. Either way, everything about this moment made his skin feel too tight.
Sanemi’s thumb brushed across his cheek in featherlight strokes. “Don’t you ever think I don’t want you,” he said, voice low and earnest. “God, Giyuu… if you had any idea…”
“Then why are you always so... gentle?” Giyuu asked, the words escaping before he could think better of them.
Sanemi blinked, visibly thrown. “What?”
“It’s just… you never act like you really want me. I mean, we sleep together, yes. But it’s like you’re always afraid you’ll hurt me.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Sanemi looked at him, searching for the right response, but nothing came right away. A flicker of something—hurt?—passed through his expression before he quickly masked it.
Giyuu’s chest tightened with guilt.
“I don’t hate it,” he added quickly, his voice quieter now. “I love how you care for me. I really do. But sometimes…” He hesitated, then forced the words out. “Sometimes I wish I could also experience the Sanemi from Tengen’s stories.”
There it was—his whole insecurity, laid bare.
“Giyuu, this is about Tengen’s stories?” Sanemi frowned, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Oh, I’m going to kill that man.”
“It’s not that, I just…” Giyuu trailed off, unable to find the right words.
Sanemi exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Giyuu,” he began, his tone softer now. “That Sanemi was someone I’m not proud of. I was in a strange place back then, and yeah, I slept around. But that’s not who I am anymore. I have you now, and I’m more than content with what we have.”
But I’m not.
The thought was bitter and heavy, but he said it aloud before he could stop himself.
Sanemi froze, his eyes widening slightly. His hand slipped from Giyuu’s cheek, falling limply to his side. “Giyuu…” he said quietly. “I’m not sure…”
“What’s stopping you?” Giyuu interrupted, his voice trembling but steady with conviction. “I trust you, Sanemi. I know you won’t hurt me.”
“I’ve already hurt you enough in this lifetime,” Sanemi whispered.
Giyuu blinked, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”
Sanemi’s purple eyes lifted to meet his, intense and unguarded. There was something heavy in that gaze—sorrow, maybe guilt—but Giyuu couldn’t quite decipher it. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as the silence stretched.
Finally, Sanemi spoke, his voice low and uncertain. “Do you… is this what you really want?”
“Yes, it’s what I want—”
Sanemi did not allow him to finish, he surged forward and placed a hard, bruising kiss on Giyuu’s lips. He did not let up, not allowing Giyuu air to breathe.
Gone was the tenderness, the careful reverence with which he used to kiss him—this kiss was war. A brutal clash of lips and breath, all hunger and domination. And Giyuu was losing, utterly overwhelmed by the way Sanemi claimed him, took from him like he had every right to every breath, every moan.
Sanemi pulled back just enough to let him breathe, eyes dark and burning as they swept over Giyuu's flushed face. His voice was rough, laced with challenge and desire. “You want it like this, huh?”
Giyuu, panting, barely nodded. His voice came out low, wrecked, pleading. “Yes, Sanemi. Take me—give it to me.”
“Tch. Spoiled brat,” Sanemi muttered with a rough chuckle, his fingers already tugging at the hem of Giyuu’s sweater. “You even wore this fucking sweater. You know I lose my mind when you’ve got my shit on.”
His voice was low, thick with desire and something just shy of reverence. He yanked the fabric upward, impatient, until Giyuu’s torso was bare to the cold air and Sanemi’s greedy gaze.
A deep, involuntary moan escaped Giyuu as Sanemi’s teeth gently raked the tender skin of his collarbone.
“Did I ever tell you about the time you got this?” Sanemi murmured, his voice a low, rough vibration against Giyuu's ear.
Giyuu’s breath hitched, the memory distant and hazy. “N-no… I–”
“God, you were such a nosey nuisance even then,” Sanemi growled, punctuating the thought with a sharp, possessive bite that stole Giyuu's breath. He continued to litter the entire curve of Giyuu’s collarbone and neck with fervent, deliberate kisses and marks. “It wasn’t even a part of our usual tattoo repertoire, but you chose this specifically.”
Giyuu was now certain he would be strategically searching for a turtleneck tomorrow. Sanemi was not pulling any of his punches; he kept biting and marking him with a fierce insistence.
“You peeked at me working on this design,” Sanemi continued, his tone a mix of disbelief and rough affection. “I couldn’t believe anyone would ever choose my shit inked into their skin.”
Giyuu reached up, his fingers sliding over the front of Sanemi’s sweat-slicked shirt, the fabric clinging to his muscular chest. The dampness was the very reason he was so insistent on a shower. Sanemi let out a deep, satisfied rumble, immediately raising his arms in surrender to allow Giyuu to yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside.
“What can I say,” Giyuu sighed, deliberately drawing out the words in a husky whisper that held unmistakable meaning, “I like pretty things.” He let his gaze linger over Sanemi’s magnificent, naked torso, a beautiful roadmap of muscles and pale, silvery scars.
With that husky remark, Sanemi didn't hesitate. He swept Giyuu’s legs into his arms, gathering him up and lifting him effortlessly off the couch. Their mouths remained locked—a fierce, unbroken kiss—as they stumbled toward the bedroom, where Sanemi finally tossed Giyuu onto the center of the mattress with a powerful, unceremonious shove.
A sound of strained fabric followed as Sanemi yanked off his sweatpants with a sudden, raw urgency. He surged forward immediately, slamming his lips back onto Giyuu’s before the kiss trailed downward, blazing a path across his chest and torso.
Giyuu could not help the wanton moan that escaped his lips when Sanemi’s mouth closed around his nipple, grazing the sensitive bud with his teeth. It’s as if Giyuu woke something up in Sanemi with his request. Sanemi was hell-bent on marking his entire body up with his lips and teeth.
Sanemi’s hand dove down, his fingers catching on the waistband of Giyuu’s shorts. “Could have saved me the trouble and worn nothing at all.”
“Now where—oh.” Giyuu gasped, his voice cutting off sharply when Sanemi’s teeth found the sensitive skin where his hip bone jutted out. His breath hitched. “W-where’s the fun in that?”
Sanemi did not answer. Instead, he reached for the drawer on their bedside, taking the lube. He manhandled Giyuu to get into all fours, his ass up in the air essentially being presented to Sanemi.
Sanemi gave one cheek an experimental slap. Soft, and a bit hesitant but it was enough to have Giyuu crying out.
There was a pause, and Sanemi growled, his voice strained. Like he’s been wanting to slap Giyuu’s ass for a long time now, but held back. “Still such a freaky little shit. Your memory’s all fucked, but nothing’s changed, huh?”
Giyuu did not even know what that meant. Have they slept together before his amnesia? He had no idea, but he was far too gone to care.
Sanemi slapped the other cheek again. Then the other, then another. Giyuu was going insane with the lewd thwack, thwack, thwack sound that echoed the room coupled with his moans.
Before he knew it Sanemi had dipped one finger in, slowly crooking it in. Then came the other.
Giyuu moaned brokenly. He gave it a couple of experimental strokes, essentially slowing down the pace and Giyuu did not like it one bit. He wanted it hard, he wanted it fast, and most importantly, he wanted it now.
“Sanemi, please—”
His begging was cut off when he felt Sanemi’s tongue on his hole. Giyuu could not help the way he surged forward, he would have face planted on the headboard had it not been for Sanemi holding his waist tightly, in a way that he was sure that his fingers were going to leave bruises against his hips.
Sanemi lapped at his hole like a man starved. There really was no way to describe it, and Giyuu was seeing stars. He could feel himself drooling at how relentless Sanemi’s pace was. His tongue alternated from licking to prodding, and his entire mouth was just doing everything in its power to extract every possible moan from Giyuu.
When Sanemi finally came up for air, Giyuu chanced a glance at him. His mouth was shiny from what he had just done, and Giyuu would blush if his blood had been anywhere else but his crotch right now.
Speaking of hard crotches, Sanemi’s dick was fully erect and leaking. It was long and thick, silver hair dusted the bottom. Giyuu remembered thinking it was never going to fit whenever they slept together, but Sanemi coaxed him through it.
Now, though, Giyuu did not want Sanemi to do any coaxing. He wanted that dick inside him and he wanted to hurt.
Giyuu wiggled backwards, rubbing his ass on Sanemi’s dick, in search of the friction he craved for. He watched Sanemi’s lips curve up into a menacing smile, and he lifted his hand to give his ass another slap. “So fucking impatient. You want it that bad, huh?”
Giyuu could not even nod in response when Sanemi practically impaled him. Not bothering to do it slowly, he just buried himself to the hilt and Giyuu let out a scream.
The intrusion burned. It didn't matter that Sanemi had spent a couple of minutes meticulously stretching him out with his fingers and tongue. Giyuu was so accustomed to the slow, deliberate rhythm of their usual lovemaking that this sudden, rough change of pace made the tears prick at his eyes.
Sanemi, however, did not let up. The pace was brutally fast, bruisingly deep, and with every piston-like drive of Sanemi’s hips, Giyuu could hear the headboard slam against the bedroom wall.
Giyuu felt every drag of Sanemi’s cock on his insides, pressing against his prostate in such a desperate way, he could not help the gasps and moans that escaped his lips. His knees burned from being on all fours for quite some time now, the friction against his knees becoming unbearable, but Giyuu didn’t mind.
As usual, Giyuu didn't need to speak for Sanemi to know he was close. If there was one thing that was absolutely certain, it was this: Sanemi knew him. He knew the specific, stifled sound Giyuu made just before release. Sanemi was attentive to every hitch of Giyuu's breath, every wanton moan, and every fragmented scream.
Sanemi playfully pinched both Giyuu’s nipples before one of his hands made its way to his weeping cock, which had been, sadly, neglected until this moment. Sanemi tugged at the skin, once, twice, sweeping his thumb against the head.
Sanemi abruptly released Giyuu’s nipple and immediately shifted his grip to his hair, which was loosely contained in a ponytail. He gathered every strand inside his fist and gave a sharp, commanding tug. The sudden strain forced Giyuu’s head back, leaving his mouth open and his eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Giyuu felt the sudden rush of Sanemi's warm breath as he leaned close, whispering against his ear, though not before delivering a quick, sharp nibble to the sensitive shell. “I know you’re close, baby, come on. Don’t hold back.”
Sanemi was doing so much. The intense physical sensation combined with the intimate, demanding whisper, Giyuu could only wonder at the man’s sheer, brutal stamina. His pace, somehow, remained unbroken and fiercely consistent.
He continued his assault on Giyuu’s weeping cock while tugging at his hair a little more fiercely. “Ngh—Sanemi... I'm…”
“I know, baby, come on. For me.”
With that urging, Giyuu came undone with a broken moan. Ropes of his cum dirtied the sheets, and Sanemi stroked him through it all. It wasn’t until Giyuu’s hips stuttered that Sanemi let go of his cock and placed his hand on Giyuu’s hips with a bruising hold.
A singular, driving goal now consumed Sanemi: to finish. His pace shattered, becoming uneven and unceremonious, yet the bruising depth of his thrusts never wavered. Giyuu felt the subtle shift, the telltale sign of Sanemi trying to detach from him. Giyuu was profoundly grateful he was still lucid enough to notice, because there was no way in hell he was letting that happen. “No! Inside. Do it… ungh—inside.”
Sanemi froze, a muscle twitching in his jaw, as if Giyuu’s gasp had momentarily broken his focus. The pause was barely a breath long before it shattered, and he immediately plunged back into the brutal, relentless pace. “You’re fucking unreal, baby,” he gritted out, his voice hoarse with effort and awe. “F-fuck, how did I get so lucky.”
Sanemi immediately began pouring filthy, guttural words into Giyuu’s ear. Amidst the ragged gasps, he insisted on telling Giyuu how fucking glad he was for this, for them. The words were rough, yet deeply possessive: Giyuu was his, and only his, that he was the only one allowed to come inside Giyuu and paint his insides with his seed. That his claim was absolute.
The entire experience was filthy, primal, and utterly raw—exactly what Giyuu had craved. The intensity escalated when Sanemi’s hand, somehow having navigated from the tight grip on Giyuu’s hair, settled firmly around the base of his neck. Giyuu couldn't tell if the action was deliberate, but the sheer, effortless control was undeniably sexy. He could not help the guttural, choked moan that escaped his throat when Sanemi squeezed, ever so lightly, expertly constricting the air that rushed out.
With the sound that escaped his mouth, Sanemi's hips paused and with one last deep thrust, he emptied himself inside Giyuu. Sanemi's heavy, sweat-dampened torso fell forward to drape fully across Giyuu’s back.
Giyuu didn't know how long they lay there, their ragged breaths slowly synchronizing. Sanemi was a reassuring weight on his back, but Giyuu could feel the subtle tension in the muscles that kept him from becoming dead weight. He knew Sanemi was still trying his best not to hurt or crush him.
Giyuu could feel Sanemi softening inside him. When he slid out, he felt dollops of hot cum dripping out of his hole as he maneuvered himself out of the embrace. He couldn’t help how he moaned at the sensation.
“Where are you going?” Sanemi murmured, his voice thick, as he tightened his possessive hold around Giyuu’s waist.
“To shower,” Giyuu answered simply.
“Be honest, you seduced me into this so you could have first dibs on the hot water, didn’t you?” Sanemi joked, a hint of lazy affection in his tone.
“Why would I call first dibs,” Giyuu countered, a mischievous smile touching his lips, “when you can just join me?” He made a deliberate point of swaying his hips as he finally broke Sanemi's grip and made his way toward the bathroom.
Giyuu’s smile softened into pure contentment as he heard the familiar, heavy thud of Sanemi’s footsteps following him a moment later.
—
After the shower—and their other, ahem, extracurricular activities—were finally over, and both had reached their limit, they lay tangled together in the sheets, bodies warm and limbs heavy with exhaustion.
The calm didn’t last long.
Sanemi immediately insisted on changing the bedding, much to Giyuu’s dismay. A steady stream of grumbled complaints followed as Giyuu stubbornly clung to the mattress, wanting nothing more than to melt into it. In return, Sanemi gently scolded him, his tone firm but fond.
“There’s no way I’m sleeping on sheets sticky with cum,” he said flatly.
And so, after a begrudging compromise and fresh linens, they finally settled beneath the cool, crisp cotton.
Sanemi nestled close, his nose tucked beneath Giyuu’s chin, breathing slow and even as if trying to inhale his very presence. Giyuu, in turn, felt a quiet contentment bloom in his chest. His fingers drifted through Sanemi’s thick, snow-white hair, idly combing the strands with a soft, affectionate rhythm.
“Sorry,” Sanemi murmured, the words a gentle hum against Giyuu’s throat. “I wasn’t really paying attention to what you needed. I just… I thought I had to be careful with you.”
“Don’t apologize,” Giyuu chided softly, thumb stroking lightly over Sanemi’s scalp. “It’s my fault too. I didn’t say anything. Honestly… the way I tried to show it was pretty childish.”
Sanemi gazed up at him, violet eyes wide and unguarded, their usual sharpness softened by something tender—something vulnerable. Giyuu blinked, caught off guard by the rare openness in his expression. Could it be? he wondered.
“You know that I love you, right?” Sanemi’s voice was barely more than a breath, but the weight behind it was undeniable. “And there’s no version of me that will never not want you. Not one.”
A soft smile tugged at Giyuu’s lips, his gaze gentle and warm. “I know,” he replied quietly, affection woven into every syllable.
But Sanemi wasn’t done. His words hung in the air like a vow, fragile and unshakable all at once.
“I swear... no matter what lifetime we’re in, no matter what timeline, I will always love you. Even if you don’t love me.”
Giyuu’s brows knit slightly as a flicker of unease crept into his chest. He tilted his head, studying Sanemi with quiet concern. “Why are you talking about other lifetimes?” he asked softly. “What’s going on, Sanemi?”
For a moment, Sanemi didn’t answer. His eyes darkened, clouded with an emotion Giyuu couldn’t name—grief, maybe, or fear. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled.
“It’s nothing,” he murmured, too quickly. “I just... love you. That’s all.”
“I love you too,” Giyuu whispered, the certainty in his voice like an anchor. “In this life—and in the next.”
Sanemi’s expression faltered. His gaze dropped, shadows falling across his face as a silence stretched between them. Something unspoken passed through his eyes, something that made Giyuu’s chest tighten further.
“I don’t think you will,” Sanemi said at last, barely audible. And this time, there was no mistaking the sadness.
Giyuu’s heart skipped, and confusion flickered across his face. What does he mean? Why would Sanemi think that? Why would he not believe that Giyuu would love him?
The silence between them stretched out, thick with unspoken emotions. Sanemi, ever the observant one, noticed the shift in Giyuu's demeanor, the sudden stillness that settled like a weight on his chest.
“I just think… you’ve already loved me enough in this lifetime,” Sanemi said quietly, almost too softly. His voice cracked with raw emotion. “It’s my turn to return all the love you’ve given me, even if you never return my affections.”
Giyuu couldn’t wrap his mind around Sanemi’s words. What did he mean by that? Did Sanemi think he had loved Giyuu more? That there was some imbalance in the love they shared?
But that didn’t seem right. Giyuu knew, deep down, that their love wasn’t something that could be measured or compared. Still, the uncertainty gnawed at him. His throat tightened as tears threatened to gather in his eyes. He didn’t fully understand what Sanemi meant, but somehow—somehow, he did.
The weight of those unspoken words pressed heavy on Giyuu’s chest, but he didn’t break the silence. Instead, he tightened his hold around Sanemi, pulling him closer, as if trying to reassure both of them. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Sanemi’s head, breathing in the scent of him—comforting, familiar, like home.
Sanemi inhaled deeply, his breath slow and steady. Giyuu could feel his partner slipping into the quiet embrace of sleep.
“I think it doesn’t matter,” Giyuu murmured, his voice barely a whisper, a tremor of uncertainty still threading through his words. “It doesn’t matter if I love you in the next life.”
Sanemi didn’t respond, his body relaxing, sinking deeper into the peace of slumber. Giyuu knew, even without words, that he was already asleep, lost in the tranquility of the moment.
What mattered, Giyuu realized, was that he loved Sanemi now. Now—in this fleeting, fragile lifetime.
His heart ached with the truth of it, and a quiet resolve settled within him. “What matters is that I know I love you now,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re it for me, Sanemi. In this lifetime, and I pray… I pray that it’s the same, even in the next.”
The quiet settled around them like a blanket, soft and heavy with the comfort of unspoken words. Giyuu stayed still for a long moment, listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of Sanemi’s breathing, feeling the warmth of him nestled close. The storm of thoughts in his mind began to quiet, lulled by the steady heartbeat beneath his hand and the peace that only Sanemi ever seemed to bring.
His eyes fluttered shut, lashes damp with the tears he hadn’t let fall. The world outside their little moment could wait. Right now, here in the dark, love was enough.
And with his arms still wrapped around the one he loved, Giyuu finally let himself drift—slowly, quietly—into sleep.