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A small startled gasp is how he's awoken. It's still dark outside, he realizes as he sits up. Hot tears running down his face as he turned to let his legs dangle off of the bed. A lingering ache all over his body. God it hurt, but he knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him. It didn't really happen but it felt like it did. His hands rubbing his arms in a pitiful attempt to comfort himself. Every fiber of his body screaming at him. He didn't want this pain. It wasn't his anymore. It didn't belong in this body and he wanted it out. But logically he knew it would fade as he woke up more. It was phantom pain. It wasn't real.
He was just tired at this point, the adrenalin already starting to fade off as he grips onto the mattress. He shut his eyes tightly as his breath hitched.
Lilac eyes shot open when he felt two arms wrap around him, one settling around his waist as the other cups his cheek. He feels a mop of hair nuzzle against his neck as he leaned into that gentle hand. "Good morning Shuichi..." He tries to keep his voice from wavering or cracking, yet to remain audible to tired ears. He neglected to remember he was here next to him. A thumb brushes over his tear tracks and he can't help but to melt into the feeling. Only Saihara can do this, Ouma decides.
"You're crying..." Muffled by Ouma's shirt, Saihara's tired voice rings out. No use hiding from Saihara, was there?
"It's nothing... Go back to sleep..."
"You aren't the type to cry over nothing."
"I'll be fine."
"It's the nightmares again, isn't it?"
The more Saihara talks, the more awake he sounds. Ouma can only let out a small hum, leaning back into those loving arms and nuzzling into that soft hand against his face.
"Thought so..." The arm around his waist gives him a small squeeze. Shifting in his arms, he turns to tuck himself into Saihara. His own arms pulled in and pressed against his chest. During this he can feel his arms hovering over him if barely. His arms adjust and he folds into Ouma, fingers brushing through purple curls.
Saihara smells of his coffee, cinnamon and a dash of vanilla. He never really liked sweets much. Ouma only drinks in that scent feeling tension he didn't know he had falling out of him.
"Want to talk about it...?"
He shook his head then. "Not now... Later maybe... But not now..." Ouma was fully aware he was just dead weight in Saihara's half awake body. Ouma felt... not exactly safe, but that was the best way to describe a feeling like this. Only Saihara can have this side of him, Ouma decides.
He listened to the gentle 'thud thud' of Saihara's heart unintentionally yet he finds comfort in it. Saihara is alive, and here holding him. The last Saihara felt real, but didn't have this. His Saihara did. His Saihara had a heart beating in his chest, and a hand knitted into his hair. They sat in silence for what felt like hours, days even.
"Still awake?"
"Yeah..."
"Can I kiss you?"
Ouma lifts his head slowly, looking up to see milky gold eyes looking into his own. His hands make their way up to cup Saihara's cheeks and he pulls him in to kiss him.
Saihara's lips are soft, warm against his own puffy lips. He tastes faintly of his toothpaste, Ouma can't help but to note. But yet somehow he tastes sweet. He can't help wanting to pull him closer, his body moving before he can stop it. Adoration bleeds in from Saihara's end and Ouma can't help but to match it. His brain drunk off of Saihara from just a kiss.
He was in deep, wasn't he?
Pulling back, his eyes flutter open to see Saihara's half lidded ones staring back before dipping in for another stolen kiss. But was it really stolen if it was given willingly? It was stupid to think, but Ouma couldn't help but feel like their lips were made for each other. They fit together so well, it had to be pondered. Maybe they were lovers in a past life. He pulls back once again, looking into those eyes one more time. Saihara called them murky once. Ouma disagreed. To him they were shimmering.
"One more?" Ouma can hear the breathlessness in Saihara's voice, feeling his hot breath against his lips. He dips in again, closing the barely there gap between them. Kissing Saihara is something he could die doing, drowning in all the love put into each one. Saihara was like a drug and Ouma was addicted.
A third time they part. And a fourth. And a fifth. And an eighth. And he loses track after twelve. Always one more.
He doesn't remember laying down, but their legs are tangled in each other as they both hold each other so tenderly. At some point Saihara had drifted off, and Ouma couldn't help staring at his eyelashes, brushing some hair behind his ear.
Only Saihara can have him, Ouma decides.