Work Text:
Mikoto returns from a demanding night out on the streets. Midnight frost clings like a smog to his jacket, rivaled by the equal bite of a last cigarette.
His steps quiet only mildly after kicking off his shoes, but still, his heavy-footedness feels nothing like a threat and everything like a heartbeat pattering torwards you.
In your room, you lay upon the crisp pillows and duvet. Your immobility has left the bed just as neat as it was when you dragged yourself up and made it this morning- though, the real reason you summoned the energy to get up was to give Mikoto a morning kiss before he headed out. You remember the way he grunted against your lips, slow and pleased and faithful in your (hopefully) improved mood compared to these last few days.
You remember the morning from two days ago as well, when he combed your hair out on the balcony until you didn't feel like sitting yourself up anymore. His heat kept the snow off of you, radiating from every inch of him while you snuggled back between his legs, head crooked against his shoulder and a strong arm crossed over your hip.
His chest feels the warmest.
Hey,
He's concerned, you thought. Perhaps it seemed like you just collapsed against him.
give me a kiss.
Never mind.You opened your eyes, in them a futile stare as you tilted your chin up to meet his lips. He glanced down, and he kissed you hard on mouth.
Like you've been gone on vacation and god, he missed you. Or maybe you went missing on that vacation, and searching a little harder will bring you back to him..
You remember hoping it would bring you back too, but that was two days ago, and you've been missing for another nineteen before that. You remember reading the logistics that the longer victims are missing, the more likely they are to never be found.
Now, you think back to that first morning, twenty-one days earlier.
It was the bathtub where he found you, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, the water far too hot and your dry, bloodshot eyes far too angry and cold. Your phone was destroyed, shattered at the other end of the bathroom beneath the door's hinges.
At the time, nothing made sense, and that translated -among other things you've performed that week in your despair- to the idea of taking a dressed bath. And mutilating your phone that recieved such an agonizing. And hacking off inches of your hair because fuck, it was your best friend that gave you the awful cut and he took himself off the face of the earth before he ever got to see it grow out like he promised it would.
You felt nothing and everything, like being trapped in a living, growing cloud that couldn't seem to figure out what to do with you.
It was Mikoto that pulled on your shirt as you sobbed, clawing to stay in that bath. Screaming you needed to know what it felt like to lay there like he did, since you felt like you were dead now too, anyway. You didn't need the pills or the razor.
It was Miktoto who cleaned your mess and cooked your food and took his cigarettes out of your mouth to replace it with something much more intoxicating of his-
-you remember to take back what you thought about his chest being the warmest, because it's his tongue that beats the game-
He didn't scold you for acting juvenile this past week like he usually would've. Not even for being lazy, hurting. For not having the energy to wash your face or balm your lips and make yourself pretty for him. For becoming mute, like a grieving brat that's undoubtedly hard to deal with.
Tonight though, you feel different. Perhaps, better.
Tonight, as he climbs into bed with you, neglecting to change into something a little more comfortable, you roll over to face him. His skin still smells like winter- Christmas, you think- and you can sense the exhuastion on the tip of his tongue as you kiss him. His jaw moves slow as he accommodates your lips, and his fingers slower to grip on your waist and pull you closer. He can feel the difference too, you can tell.
And deep down, you hope he knows things will change, and you'll be alright. That you'll regain your passion and starry eyes and the fiercness of your little hands, gripping his arm to pull him to your next adventure. Your talkative heart and overactive mind and the nights you two spend neglecting sleep for a trip above the rooftops, where the only heat you can feel on those barren platforms is his. Just the way he likes it.
And you'll be smiling, too.
You'll be alright, the both of you.