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Summary
“Yours?” Shinsuke tugs loosely at the collar, dragging it to the side and letting it slip down the slope of his shoulder. His fingers follow the movement of the fabric along the line of his collarbone and Atsumu watches them with eager eyes, drinking it in greedily. “And what would that make the person wearing it then?”
“Mine,” Atsumu is quick to respond, a hoarse whisper, rushed and demanding. “Mine, all mine.”
Kita doesn't let the long distance between them get Atsumu down for too long.