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The warmth of his hand on hers usually made her feel oblivious to reality. Today was no exception.
There was something exciting about sitting together and gazing out into the vast space, covered by the high glass walls that separated them from the outside. Alone, exposed to anyone finding them. Because their hands, gently intertwined, had the power to imply something more than what this situation really meant.
The truth is that Shuichi preferred to go straight to bed after training. However, Kaito - who seemed more tired every day - forced her to stay by his side with the excuse that there the stars seemed to look even brighter than at home. She wasn't sure about that; she had never been very observant about it. And even though Kaito's deep voice against her ear usually sounded annoying, moments like those, where he would just stay in silence and gaze at the infinite sky with melancholy, seemed simply wrong.
Maki turned her head a little, trying to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually full of life and energy, lay almost closed, staring at nothing. As if all the stars, celestial bodies, and constellations that he had memorized had - suddenly - stopped being interesting. And if she didn't know Kaito well enough, she would think something was wrong. But it was Kaito, and nothing was ever wrong with Kaito.
So she took his hand and squeezed it, snapping him out of his trance. His fingertips traced her knuckles gently in response. And something shrank inside Maki's heart, because the warmth emanating from Kaito was special. Suddenly it seemed that his callused hands, that his eyes – that were suddenly brimming with joy – were deadly weapons aimed directly at her heart. And it hurt, it hurt like a bitch.
"Sorry, Maki Roll. I got a little distracted,” and he laughed. As if his uproarious laugh could solve everything (his uproarious laugh could solve everything), "As I was saying, the Big Dipper..."
Kaito babbled for fifteen minutes before falling asleep. It took Maki five more minutes to notice, solely and exclusively because he let out an imperceptible cough. He slept quietly, peacefully, and she thought that that was the only way it seemed right for Kaito to be silent.
She squeezed his hand again, feeling comfortable with the heat, the feeling that this simple and intimate action produced in her. Kaito, in his dream, squeezed her hand back. And Maki hated him; she hated him so much. Hated his soft touch, his pure feelings, and the unbearable heat he provoked inside her.
Love was a strange feeling, she thought. At least for her.
She moved a little closer to him, camouflaging her careful movements in the boy's loud snoring. She snuggled against him selfishly, listening to the calm beat of his heart. Breathing in the scent of his cologne. Breathing in everything about him that drove her crazy, that didn't let her breathe.
And she felt stupid, because they were trapped in a situation that did not allow feelings like that. She was tremendously selfish. But when she felt the boy's arms wrap around her waist, his beard caressing her head, the soft touch of his lips against her knuckles, she allowed herself to love. Just for that moment. Just for that moment.
Because Kaito's calm eyes, which looked at her with a devotion that no one (no one) had ever looked at her with before, hid a lot and at the same time said everything about her, about them . Silent feelings, not worth putting into words, not worth interrupting that comfortable silence under the stars.
That is why Maki whispered them, because she knew he wouldn't be able to hear them. And she hid her head in that specific spot on the boy's chest that seemed made especially for her, while he let out an imperceptible laugh and pulled her even closer to him.
The night, growing darker, seemed to want to lull them – just like in those stories about tragic lovers that were nothing more than nonsense in Maki’s eyes.
“Don't fall asleep, Maki Roll,” he whispered, resting his head against hers, “You are going to catch a cold. You have to stay strong by the time we get out of here, okay? "
By the time we get out of here together, he said.
He stirred in her grasp, rising from the ground, and offering her a supporting hand. She got up on her own, ignoring the laugh that escaped Momota's lips. However, when they made their way back to the bedrooms, she took his hand again - because she was selfish, and she was going to make it clear as many times as necessary.
Until they got out of there, together.