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Saruhiko's bones feel like they're on fire. It doesn't matter much to him that he knows they're not—intellectually—because he can't convince his brain of the truth.
"I hate you," he says bluntly.
"Yeah, I hate you too." But Misaki's hand is warm as he rubs circles on Saruhiko's back where he's bent over with discomfort, and there is no bite in Misaki's voice.
It's disappointing. Misaki should hate him, should at least think about him the way he did when they parted, but right now, he's all bland comfort, and it doesn't, shouldn't make Saruhiko feel any better. Once it might have, but time has since passed and Saruhiko doesn't want such impersonal comfort.
"Go away," he grits out through clenched teeth.
Misaki takes a deep breath, and Saruhiko realizes he hasn't been looking at Misaki because now he is and he notices that Misaki's face is red and he's been breathing in like he's bracing himself for something.
"Yeah, not going anywhere, asshole," Misaki says. And he doesn't. He stays and Saruhiko is too far gone into this flesh-melting heat to try and force Misaki away.
The cold of the air conditioner doesn't help. The cool of blue aura lighting up Saruhiko's arms and body doesn't help. Nothing helps, until Misaki finally takes in one more breath with an intensity and finality that makes Saruhiko wonder just what exactly he plans to do, then leans over and kisses Saruhiko like his life depends on it.
It's like nothing Saruhiko has imagined. He just grabs hold and doesn't let go and sinks into this feeling with a sense of rightness he can't shake. He's needy and shaking and desperately hungry for nothing but Misaki, thrumming in his veins, hot skin under his fingers, mouth under his mouth, drinking in the taste like he's been starving for it
His body lights up with focused want and all that heat suddenly has a target. Saruhiko tries to catch his breath and fails, unable to let go, to stop kissing or holding on with a grip he knows is too tight by the way Misaki winces.
This isn't comfort anymore and it's everything Saruhiko could ever have wanted as Misaki pushes him down onto the bed. Misaki's mouth on his, Misaki's hands on his body, his body hot and hard against Saruhiko, and every inch of Saruhiko feels like it's on fire. He's red and burning with something other than just his aura. He can't even find it inside him to reach for blue. Misaki isn't looking anywhere else but him.
"Misaki." He hates the way his voice rasps out, uncertain, disbelieving that this could last.
Misaki just moves his mouth sideways to Saruhiko's neck, his fingers tugging at Saruhiko's clothes, and it's a heat, it's just a heat, and the thought cuts through the need growing between them, enough for Saruhiko to push Misaki away with a hiss.
Misaki's breathing hard, mussed already, lips red, red hair tousled, and clothes askew. Saruhiko has never wanted anything more.
But Saruhiko doesn't want pity or comfort or support. He wants everything or nothing and he doesn't know how to make Misaki understand that.
"I'm not going anywhere," Misaki finally says, after a long moment, voice quiet and steady. He doesn't reach out, not at first, and so Saruhiko doesn't have to push him away. He's not sure he could manage it again. "I'm not going to leave."
Ever. Saruhiko doesn't want him to leave ever.
"You will," he says with narrow eyes. "You'll go back to Homura and do pointless boring things and be boring all over again."
Misaki flushes, and it's gorgeous, even if Saruhiko knows it's anger and embarrassment, not all the things Saruhiko wishes he could feel.
"I'll go back to my clan," Misaki says, "but it doesn't have to be all the time." He shrugs. It's more than he's offered before.
Saruhiko turns away, exhales shakily. It's not enough. It's never been enough. There isn't space for this inside him. "Go away," he says again. He's trembling with how badly he wants something he can't ever find a way to name, and it's both more and less than the demands of his body.
But Misaki's never been good at listening, and he's never been good at going away when he's told. He's too close as he settles next to Saruhiko, slow and steady, a soothing touch on Saruhiko's shoulder, only slowly moving up to stroke Saruhiko's cheek, and he can't breathe. He puts his head down and shudders at Misaki's touch.
"I won't go away," Misaki says quietly. "Let me help you."
He hates himself for melting under that touch, in the heat, but he melts and he lets him. He allows the need to consume him and their world shrink, for just a little while, to nothing but each other.