incoherentMutterer
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“Fuck, man, you're really good at this,” he could barely recognize his own voice, so scratchy and delirious that it was practically inaudible. He didn't need to speak out loud for Armand to hear him, as he'd found out recently, but he felt the need to do so anyway, the pleas coming out of his mouth almost sacred to vocalize.
Armand felt a small sense of pride, being complimented by someone so purportedly fascinating. “Yes. It's what I was trained for.”
(Set a few months after their first encounter in San Francisco.)
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“You're beautiful,” Nito said, their faces still mere inches apart. “I've missed you a lot.”
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This thing — you and Shun, your whole relationship — has been on your mind ever since you were teens; there were a few moments where, if not interrupted, your friendship could've blossomed into something more intimate, quiet walks as the sun went down and light-hearted laughs by the riverside, but in the end, neither of you ever made a definitive move.
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Shun lies next to him in bed, his hair sticking up all sorts of ways, curls and waves and stray hairs. The humid weather makes his hair act up, never quite staying in place — Yuuta thinks it looks adorable, but that makes Shun mad, so he doesn't say anything about it.
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The AC had been broken for a few days, which hadn't been a problem when they were sleeping by themselves, but Nagi wouldn't leave his room after his self-proclaimed lifelong trauma, and so, Mitsuki was pinned to his own wall, on his own bed, with a sweaty, oversized idiot clinging to him like his life depended on it, and he was seriously about to run out of breath.