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He was kissing Misaki. Misaki made a sound that might have been protest, but his fists were clenched around Saruhiko's collar and stopping kissing him wasn't an option.
Saruhiko couldn't breathe, but there was a hot mouth under his, the press of Misaki pinning him against a wall as if Misaki were the one who'd started this, and his blood firing in his veins like this was the only thing that mattered.
Because it was.
They pulled away for a moment, gasping for air, Misaki's eyes wide. Too long.
"Misaki." He relished the name, the moment, and kissed him again.