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The wine, as Satoko remembers it, doesn’t taste as good as now. It’s warm in Shoma’s mouth and maybe she’s delirious from the alcohol and his hand on her waist but everything in this moment just seems hazy and beautiful. Shoma is smiling at her and Satoko feels her heart skip a beat, before shaking her head at him. He often has this effect on her. She takes a swig from the bottle and carefully sets it on the bedside table as Shoma removes his jacket before joining her in bed.
Just a few seconds ago, Shoma’s lips have been on hers. Now, they’re on her cheek and Shoma’s breath is warm against her skin. He smells wonderful. Shoma leans towards her and kisses her; Satoko smiles at how pliant and yielding Shoma’s lips have been against hers. He tastes like meat and mint and wine, his fingers curling gently over her wrist and she can feel his smile against her lips. Her chest feels heavy and light at the same time, realizing yet again that only Shoma can make her feel like this. She loves it and so she kisses him back, noticing the hitch in his breath as a hand cups the nape of her neck so he can deepen the kiss. She doesn’t think it can get any better than this, bronze medal in her grasp and Shoma not busting his ankle for that damned podium. She tells him this and watches him laugh.
“I’m glad I am okay, too,” he says, winding an arm around her waist as he rests his head against the headboard. Satoko shifts a little to find a comfortable spot before resting her own head on Shoma’s chest. “It’s really not that bad. I honestly didn’t feel any pain-“
“Babe,” Satoko sighs, looking up to face him. “You’re on painkillers. It’s not supposed to hurt. But-“ She fixes him a stern glare when he starts to protest. “You really shouldn’t overdo it, alright? I know you don’t like to talk about these things but… please. Be careful.”
“I will,” comes the reply and it’s soft. A promise. His voice seems lower than before and Satoko notices that her boyfriend is trembling. Satoko places a hand over his free hand and waits. Shoma takes a shaky breath, lets it out in an equally shaky exhale and mumbles, “It’s been a difficult week, Satton. It’s like Boston, all over-“
“But it’s not like Boston, right?” She whispers, stopping him from speaking because she recognizes that pain all too well. She sits up and cups his face. His eyes are liquid and Shoma is biting his lips at the memory, trying hard not to cry, nodding at her words. Satoko blinks back her own tears and pulls him into a hug, one hand stroking his back and hopes Shoma doesn’t notice her thundering heart and how she is that close to crying, too. “You’re okay. You did it. You got the three spots.”
It is tough talking about this and Satoko knows Shoma long and well enough that he’d be more than happy to sweep it all under the rug. Every bad skate has reminded Shoma of Boston and years of friendship and dating him has granted Satoko the magical ability to know when he’s teetering on the edges of that memory and so she tries to steer the conversation to the present. She is glad that she catches him in a good enough mood to talk to him about his injury, a topic he has been avoiding all week, especially with her, so she has to do all the digging through Itsuki or Coach Mihoko. Busy with her own practice and run-throughs for the ladies’ event, Satoko could barely get a word out of Shoma, except for a few cryptic LINE messages and stickers, which he uses excessively when he’s not in the mood to talk about something.
“I’m okay,” Shoma says and a hint of a smile creeps back on his face. Satoko squeezes his hand and lightly kisses the corner of his mouth. He flashes her a smile, before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Satton?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad I have you here in Milan with me.”