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Suguru struck.
Each motion flowed from his legs, his torso, down from his shoulder, his arm, and burst forward from his hand. Recoil, then snap forward again, from his hands, his legs. Sometimes it was a dance, a gentle swaying, backwards or sideways out of reach, fluid as a stream, a leaf in the wind. Otherwise it was knife edges and blunt hammers, the snap of a punch, knuckles and knees colliding and blood in the mouth. Rivulets of sweat ran down his bare back, his skin a cloud of heat, the occasional wind a shock of coolness.
There was grass beneath his feet, and his toes dug into the soil with every move he spun through. The world was a blur, no sound beyond the swish of grass, a rush of air, a rustle in the trees and his own heavy breathing. Each strike hit air, and yet he tasted blood all the same.
The world was a blur, and it spun and spun — kick, punch, roll, dodge. It was spinning, spinning, heavy heartbeat and heavy breaths, a coiled tension that released all at once, over and over. The world was getting blurrier, watery, clouded dismay seeping into his skull.
And then his skull was on the ground, and he was opening his eyes.
Suguru’s entire body burned. He didn’t know how long he’d been out there, practicing by himself at the training grounds in the forest. He’d left in the early morning, and now the sun stared through the loose canopy, blinding. The world was hazy still, aches in his joints, a faint nausea from not having eaten all day. He’d discarded his shirt long ago, and while spring was here the breeze was still crisp.
He lay there for a while, watched the sun crawl over the ceiling of the sky. He breathed, felt each rush of air in his lungs, filling and releasing. He was lightheaded, he might fall asleep. The grass and foliage prickled his back.
Another presence made its way to him, and he closed his eyes. Willed himself to move, sit up, knowing that he’d fall again if he tried to stand. He failed, and stayed on the ground, listening to the faint footsteps crunching over undergrowth to get to him, knowing their exact timbre and weight like they were his own fingers.
“Suguru,” the voice called out, “What are doing laying on the ground?”
His voice was light, fresh as a cool drink to Suguru’s ears, enough to tug him up into a sitting position.
“Training,” he grunted, “You know you could join sometime. Since you’re so shit at combat.”
“Excuse you, I’m not shit at anything,” Satoru looked around, “Why you shirtless in the woods alone? Weirdo. Also, are you not cold.”
Suguru sighed, “No.”
“How long were you out here?”
“A few hours. I dunno.”
“A few hours!” Satoru sauntered over and plopped on the ground next to him, “No wonder you look like an elephant stepped on you.”
“Uh, no I don’t.”
“Uh huh.”
“Oh please, you love seeing me shirtless,” Suguru dropped back down. The sun flashed into his eyes, speckled light filtered between swaying branches. “Why are you here, anyways?”
Satoru shrugged, “I wanted to see you.”
“Oh.”
“Come on,” Satoru’s hand slipped under his head, lifting it enough to slide his own leg beneath as a pillow, slipping his already loose hair tie off in the process. “Let me indulge a bit.”
The silhouette of Satoru’s fluffy hair leaned over his vision, blocking the sun from his eyes. A hand was in his hair still, playing with the strands tenderly. Suguru closed his eyes.
“If you insist,” his mouth quirked into a smile, “You just wanna see me shirtless though.”
Satoru faked gagged, and Suguru slapped his hand away, a smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t stay away, and the hand was back in his hair a second later. Long fingers dragged over his scalp, traced his jawline up to knead the skin on the side of his neck. He closed his eyes, watching the duality between the bright red light on his eyelids and the shadows that followed when the trees briefly blocked the sun. He was warm under Satoru’s hand and the sunlight, but his skin still prickled in the wind’s crisp touches.
“Put your shirt back on,” Satoru murmured, hand going down to touch his arm, “You’re getting goosebumps.”
“Mm, don’t wanna get up,” Suguru said.
Satoru heaved a loud sigh and shifted to stretch his arm out, somehow snagging Suguru’s shirt from wherever he threw it. He dropped it on Suguru’s face, and Suguru grumbled and moved around to slip it on while trying not to get up.
Satoru rested his chin on his hand, elbow propped up on his other knee while he played with Suguru’s hair. “What are you doing training by yourself anyways?”
Suguru glimpsed an aquamarine eye, and reached up to get Satoru’s glasses out of the way, folding them up and placing them gently on the the grass.
“Couldn’t find a training partner today.”
“What about me?”
“You were sleeping.”
“Well duh, of course you couldn’t find a training partner, why would anyone be awake at fucking — what time did you get out here? 4 a.m.?”
“Five, and normally you’re the freak who gets up stupidly early anyways, what’s wrong when I do it?”
Satoru rolled his eyes. “First off it’s weird, and second the one time I chose to sleep in a little is the day you wanted to punch ghosts shirtless in the woods.”
“Punch ghosts?” Suguru squinted up at him, “I wasn’t punching ghosts.”
“You were like ‘Rah! Take that, ghost!’ and all that, do you not remember?”
“You’re most unfunny person I’ve ever met.”
Satoru grinned, “But you’re laughing.”
Suguru couldn’t really deny that. Everything Satoru said made him laugh. He chose to close his eyes again instead of admitting defeat.
Satoru grew quiet, his fingers gentle and affectionate. But they stalled after a few minutes, slowing to a near stop, and Suguru cracked an eye open. Satoru was staring down at him, lips parted slightly. There were galaxies in those eyes — universes, flowing in every countless shade within the bounds of his irises.
“Suguru,” he said quietly, “I want to kiss you.”
Ocean currents, endless whorling crystal refractions, and Suguru would lose himself in them if he wasn’t careful, get tugged away into the depths by the cold, lovely water.
He stared up at him, lips shaping the words before he could stop them, feet taking him past the water’s edge despite the pull of the waves.
“Ok.”
Satoru leaned down immediately, and the touch was chaste, brief. It wasn’t enough — the oceans were never content. He reached up to grab the back of Satoru’s head before he could lift it, locked their lips together once more. Golden warmth was spilling from his ribcage, pooling around him, sinking them both. Satoru was warm and dangerous and lovely, and Suguru wanted nothing else.
When he pulled away, Satoru’s gaze was melted, half-lidded and blissful.
“Suguru,” he said simply. No one else looked at Suguru like that, no one else said his name like that. No one else got to see this side of Satoru — that was Suguru’s and Suguru’s alone.
Suguru smiled. I love you, he wanted to say, so badly that it ached.
“I love you,” Satoru said.
Suguru huffed, “You’re so cheesy.”
“Shut up, you love me too.”
He shut his eyes again, watched the dappled sunlight through his closed eyelids.
“Yeah,” he said, and opened them, “I do.”
The breeze ruffled Satoru’s hair, and all was right with the world.