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Atsushi’s lips brushed Akutagawa’s. The touch was supposed to be brief. Lasting only seconds, enough to just give him a lingering piece of the man he couldn't have. But Akutagawa didn't let him pull away, instead pressed further into it shock dismissed for desire. Lips opening and tongue swiping along Atsushi’s bottom lip.
Ripples slipped down Atsushi’s spine. His own mouth opening to welcome Akutagawa in. Hands finding the soft tufts of black hair, fingertips slid down to grip his hip. This was terrible and it was wonderful. Overflowed his heart with desire and anguish.
This couldn't work. This didn't make sense. They didn't make sense.
They were busted. Torn apart and raw. Their relationship was built on a dull hatred that's slowly morphed into reluctance.
They couldn't be together. It was absurd to believe otherwise. He couldn't love Akutagawa. He knew that. He knew that..and yet...
Something wet and warm ran down his cheek but he ignored it. Relished in the feeling of his body pressing flush against Akutagawa's. Warmth emanating from him and sinking into Atsushi chasing away the chill of the night that enveloped them. The ice in his chest melting, accepting, finally accepting what he'd promised himself he didn't feel. Didn’t want.
But all he wanted was Akutagawa. His touch. His presence. His love. And maybe through this touch; slide of tongues, movement of lips, and grip of fingertips, maybe he could convey that. He could convey his want. His desire. His affection.
Akutagawa pulled back, eyes lidded, sharpened steel softened around the edges, gaze not so flat, so empty. His thumb found the curve of Atsushi’s cheek, brushing away the stray tears that coursed down his face. Ran along the bridge of his nose.
“You're crying.” He murmured, voice quiet.
Atsushi nodded he didn’t have a voice to speak. After all he'd just told Akutagawa they couldn't be together. He'd just promised him they wouldn't work. They couldn't work. Their two worlds meant to collide and break the other apart. They didn't slot together perfectly like puzzle pieces.
“Maybe we should discuss this further.” The suggestion was spoken gently, open for decline. Atsushi nodded again. He did want to discuss this. Thoroughly. He did want this.
Even if this hurts. Even if this is bloody. Even if this is broken. Even if he's imperfect. Even if he's a devastation.
A broken reflection. Maybe. He could be Akutagawa's tattered imperfection.
And maybe Akutagawa could be his.