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This work could have adult content. If you continue, you have agreed that you are willing to see such content.
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Summary
Huffing, Kiyoomi watches him turn his head to the side with the cigarette between his lips, the lighter clicking over the chorus of insects and muffled ballad from inside. Atsumu breathes in, his cheeks hollowing, the long line of his throat flexing. Hair mussed from Kiyoomi’s fingers, the suit tailored perfectly for his broad shoulders, still smelling like sex up close—he looks like something from a women’s porno, the kind with pretty men and soft lighting and velvet couches. Years later, the bad days gauzy under the veil of nostalgia, he still looks like the first man—the only man—Kiyoomi has ever loved on purpose.