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The man is aflame with purple, soft violet, lightning blue blazes. His shoulders and cheekbones are kissed by the flames, his knees lingering crimson on the firm ground, his hands open to the skies on his thighs like an unwhispered prayer. It almost looks like he inhales the flames, freezing them into something tangible in his lungs, and exhales in fumes in all shades of lilac. He is self-destructing, burning on his own, in his own appetite, in his own greed, in his own carnal hunger.
There is no stopping him.
His eyes shoot open, and Sakusa can feel the hue of golden swirling into the colors of wisteria, the fleeting lilac, and faint blue; he can see his gaze reflecting on the shiny surface, can see as the man stares at him with full, unannounced, overwhelmingly present desire and absolutely no shame for his appetite.
It’s more than desire or appetite, really. The man on his knees in front of him is alive; fully, breath-takingly, jaw-droppingly ravenous for life and for everything it brings. His gaze is wolfish, and Sakusa can feel the sharp canines almost grazing his neck. He watches as more flames surround the man, licking the air lewdly, returning to their source and washing the man in an endless circle; rise, fall, rise, fall.
Sakusa knows that he’s a mere step in the man’s journey of devouring life as a whole, with all its frozen fingertips and scorching eyes. He knows he might not be remembered. He thinks, for all he knows, he could be just another number, just another color in the heavy catalogue of the man’s blindingly bright memory.
His eyes dance with the flames. The wooden floor does not creak or burn, nor does anything else in the room. Only the man, with his sole presence, is on fire. The dirty blonde hair swirls around as flames borrow colors from it, and give back in return. The lethal stare pins Sakusa to the ground.
Sakusa feels almost suicidally reverent. To witness someone burst into achingly beautiful flames, to watch silently as the process unravels itself with full nudity; they are too much, way too much than Sakusa thought he would see in his lifetime.
He wants to drop to his knees. He wants to worship this passion, these flames, the lazy licks of lilac at the exhausted sunflower hair, the now closed eyes. He wants to burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles, and sizzle after a pop. He wants to be a part of this, to be a part of something with such heavy meaning that you do not carry it, but it carries you; you entrust your soul with it and it borrows your existence at moments when it needs to manifest itself. He wants to be a mere channel to this inner parallel life; he wants to be a part of the greater whole, he wants to watch the parts coming together and making something greater than the sum of their parts.
Sakusa wants to belong. Just the way Atsumu does.
He slowly drops to his knees, and keeps watching the rainbow parade of flames.