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When Kojiro kisses Kaoru, he tastes like white wine. The flavor is an acquired taste, Kojiro's always thought. Dry and crisp, far too dry for someone like him, who preferred the rich bitterness of red wine. He used to hate it, but days and nights of kissing Kaoru over and over again allowed him to acquire this taste.
He runs his hand across Kaoru's face, slipping his fingers into his hair, the ridiculously soft strands cascading between his fingertips, and draws Kaoru closer. Their noses bump together, and he smiles, slipping his other hand down Kaoru's back, letting it rest in the small of his back. With a teasing scoff, Kaoru's arms loop around the back of his neck, and he tilts his head, awaiting Kojiro's kiss.
But Kojiro. Kojiro wants to stare, for just a minute. Because Kaoru looks so pretty like this. He never wants to forget this image. The pink of his cheeks, like that of his hair, and the shine in his eyes as he waits for Kojiro to meet him halfway. The wet plumpness of his lips, stained with wine and spit from Kaoru's bad habit of licking his lips. The way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, and the small scar on the crown of his head from a story he refuses to tell Kojiro.
It's everything. Seeing Kaoru like this, being the only one who gets to be with Kaoru like this. It's heaven. As close to heaven as he can get while he's alive. And, silently, in the depths of his heart, he hopes that this heaven continues long after their lives. When they are beyond this world and onto the next, he hopes Kaoru is wrapped up with him, just as enamored by him, just as in love with him, as he is in this moment.
Kojiro knows, without a doubt, that he will be.
Finally, finally, the need to kiss Kaoru outweighs his need to observe him. He presses their lips together. It's not just the white wine from earlier that he tastes. It's a combination of everything. The love, the hate, the banter, the journey. His sunshine and warmth melting Kaoru's cold. A soft spring wind, days of studying together, nights of skating. It's a fight as Kojiro presses closer, trying to get more of Kaoru, and it's a dance, when Kaoru lets him in.
It's one kiss in a sea of a thousand kisses, but every kiss is everything. Every kiss contains multitudes so deep and so vast Kojiro can't even begin to explain them. All he knows is this: Kaoru is everything to him.
And kissing Kaoru? Every reassuring one, every sad one and angry one and intimate one and wine-soaked one?
Hands down the best idea Kojiro has ever had.