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There was something special about kissing Nanami. Whether it was the way his lips softly pressed against yours in an unspoken promise or the way his calloused hand raised to rest on your cheek, gently caressing your jaw on its way, you couldn’t exactly tell. It also could’ve been because of how his other hand instinctively went to intertwine with yours, squeezing it once before letting go again to settle on either your waist or the small of your back in a protective grip.
Kissing him was unmatched, distinctive, and addicting . As though his lips were a substance you could never get enough of, no matter how often you dared to press yours against his in a silent pleading, you found yourself unable to untangle your body from his own, craving more and more after each dose. An enigma to which you could devote your existence, for your hands to pull at the tie he so neatly wore day by day, pulling the man closer until there was no space between the two of you left.
It was chronic and habitual, a ritual the two of you indulged in the morning. Your significant other pressed against yours, a whisper of his name against his lips, your breath fanning over his skin as wordless affection. Letting him go, and watching him walk out of the door to return in what felt like an eternity was excruciating , unimaginable on some days. Softly spoken goodbyes accompanied his lingering scent, mere hints of a presence that was once there.
There was nothing, however, that could beat kissing your husband . Your hand in his, the matching wedding bands pressing together as they were meant to, strengthening the bond between the two of you, reiterating the vows you uttered. Whispers of affection and declarations of love flooded your mind as they did his, memories of your body pressed against his, subdued noises filling the room as the warm sunlight peeked in through the curtains. It highlighted the light sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies, giving them a new glow that appeared as though neither of you had seen it before.
A shiver ran down your spine as his wedding band pressed against your hand, the metal feeling cool against your skin. Tears ran down your cheeks on which once his large hand rested, usually to brush away the incoming storm of tears before he pressed a kiss to your lips, unfulfilled promises falling from his lips. The sight before your eyes would forever be engraved into your memory, tainting the memories of him already omnipresent in your mind. His skin felt frigid instead of unusually warm, his hand stiff and his eyes were unmoving, staring upward, staring upward right at you , the sight of you forever written into them.
With a sob racking through your body, shaking it each time you hiccuped, you leaned down to press your lips to the cold ones of your husband’s. Different from all the other kisses you had shared with him, this one was filled with sorrow and regret, wishes and calls of desperation, broken promises and vows. Your lips parted as did the roads the both of you took, no longer spouses as you were now a widow, your heart broke into unmendable pieces.
The last kiss shared between lovers was the one that hurt the most, after all.