Work Text:
It started with small conversations
Riku was a few months into his job as Sion’s traveling makeup artist, hopping from one photoshoot to the next, brushes and palettes in tow, always chasing the next perfect shot.
He’d been good at his other job, precise, careful, and proud of the way he could turn a face into a canvas. Every day felt like a blur of lights, makeup mirrors, and camera clicks. Something that grew too dizzying to keep up with.
Where he first met Sion.
It was at a photoshoot in a studio that smelled of coffee and hairspray. Sion had been the focus of the shoot, calm and natural under the lights, moving through poses as though he were made for them.
Riku had been assigned to his makeup, and from the first glance, something about him stood out. He was impossibly kind, friendly, and pliant with everyone.
By the end of the day, Riku realized he hadn’t wanted the session to end. And when he did, the thought gnawed at him: he wanted to work with Sion again, but not as just another idol and artist.
So he quit.
It had been a scary choice, leaving behind the steady flow of clients and paychecks. But the thought of working with someone who’s patient enough to sit and deal with the hours of product placement painted on his skin, choosing shades that complemented him, watching his smile when he sees the final product.
Sion had a way of noticing everything, making Riku feel seen in a way nobody else had. And for the first time in months, Riku felt like he belonged somewhere, like he had a reason to go the extra mile for someone.
When he offered to work for Sion personally, the singer had only smiled, warm and easy. “I’d like that,” He said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Late nights in the studio, quiet music filling the space, small gestures and smiles traded between them, and a brush in Riku’s hand that somehow felt heavier with meaning when they were together.
And it started with small conversations
“Relax your jaw,” Riku mumbled, fingers tracing the line of Sion’s cheek as he applied moisturizer. “You tense up every time I touch your face." Sion let out a quiet and soft laugh. “I just get used to people noticing everything,” he said, tilting his head slightly so Riku could reach. “You don’t have to be so precise all the time you know.”
Riku blinked at him in the mirror. “Precise is my job. And your face… well, I’d like to do it right.”
He watched Riku’s fingers work across the brush, smoothing foundation with a precision that made Sion want to tell him he didn’t need to try so hard, to tell him he was already enough. But he stayed quiet, just leaning a fraction closer to hand him the next brush.
“Fair enough,” Sion said, his voice calm, before taking a sip of water from his straw “I just meant… how’ve you been, Riku? Really.” Making the boy pause, fingers brushing along Sion’s jawline. “I’ve… been okay. Figuring things out. You know.”
Sion nodded slowly, eyes gentle. “I do. I just wanted to make sure you’re not working yourself too hard. Or forgetting to eat.” Riku swallowed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I appreciate that. Really.”
There was a pause, easy, unforced, the kind that didn’t need words. Then Sion asked, quietly curious, “And the new song? Are you liking it? The one I’m performing tonight?”
Riku tilted Sion’s face slightly, brushing the moisturizer evenly. “It’s sweet. Almost gives a classical feel. You sound really good. It’ll be great for the stage.” Sion’s lips curved into a small, soft smile. “I’m glad. It means a lot, hearing it from you.”
Riku’s hand lingered for a second longer than necessary. The studio hummed around them, soft jazz in the background, lights low, and for a moment it felt like just the two of them existed in that quiet bubble.
Sion leaned back slightly, relaxed, watching him. “Thanks for doing this, Riku. You always make things…easier.”
Riku’s chest warmed, and he blinked quickly, forcing himself to focus on blending the moisturizer. “It’s nothing. You’re easy to work with.”
“Maybe,” Sion said softly, “but I’m glad it’s you doing it.”
And now here Sion was. Thinking about Riku at the oddest times. Standing in line at the cafe, does he prefer oat milk or whole milk? Does he like cream on his coffee? What size is his favorite?
So, on his way to the studio, he always picked up a different cup, carrying it like a quiet peace offering.
When he arrived, Riku’s eyes lit up at the coffee, and Sion felt that small, familiar tug in his chest, the one that reminded him just how much he liked being the one who noticed.
Riku muttered a soft thanks, voice low and easy, and for a second Sion let himself linger, just watching him take that first sip. The curve of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, the way his face tints a shade lighter when he remembers that someone knows what he likes.
Later, when Riku had stayed late to finish prepping for a concert, Sion made sure to bring something small. Sandwiches, a pastry, whatever he felt Riku liked.
Handing it to the boy casually, pretending it was nothing, but inside his mind was spinning with the way Riku’s eyes widened just a little in surprise, the way his fingers brushed against Sion’s hand for a minute too long.
It’s nothing, he reminded himself, though he knew it wasn’t. Not really. Every small glance, every laugh, every careful touch was a note in a song he’d been playing silently for weeks. And every day, the melody grew louder, tugging at him with a gravity that grew impossible to ignore.
Even when he wasn’t around, Riku colored his thoughts. He caught himself imagining Riku humming along to soft jazz in the studio, brushing at stray hairs, concentrating on his work.
Simple, everyday things, but they stuck with him, vivid and unshakable. He could trace the curve of Riku’s smile in his mind, recall the way his brows furrowed when focused, the way he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear without thinking. The way his lips puckered when he’d get flustered.
♡‧₊ ୨ৎ
Most songs on Sions record player reminded him of Riku, he’d put his hands out and sway as if the boy was one-step behind him. Music echoing against the empty walls of the recording studio.
Would Riku like this song? Is this what he’s into? What music does he like now? Should i sing for him? Dance?
And so here Riku was, sat on the couch against the wall, admiring Sion while he waltzed around the room with a mic in one hand and spirit in the other. This might be the most romantic one-man show he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing.
Once the show ended, Sion leaned against the wall, hand moving to run through Riku’s hair. “The song is based off of this guy you know? I think his name is Jeff Buckley but i think you’d love him.”
“He reminds me of you.”
Sion would never forget the way Riku’s eyes flicked up, the way his lips slightly tightened like he was holding back words before closing his eyes.
And Sion noticed. He always noticed. “You’re quiet,” he said softly.
Riku exhaled, eyes lowering. “Just… thinking.”
Sion waited, giving him space. “My ex,” Riku said finally. “She… wasn’t kind. Expected a lot. And when I couldn’t give everything she wanted, she made sure I felt it.”
He gave a short, quiet laugh. “I kept trying, though. I always do.”
Sion’s chest ached. “That doesn’t sound like you were the problem.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Riku picked at his fingertips. “I just… wish I could find someone who didn’t treat me like shit. Someone who saw me. Just me. That would be nice.”
Sion’s throat tightened. The words rose before he could stop them.
“I see you, Riku, i promise i do”
Riku blinked, startled. Sion froze, the weight of what he’d said sinking in. He scrambled, forcing a crooked smile. “I mean…of course I do. I’m always staring at your face, remember?”
Riku huffed out a laugh, though something lingered in his eyes, something quiet and searching.
Looking past the way Sion’s breath hitched, and the way Riku’s cheeks flushed, the vinyl eased its way back into their ears. Nobody moved to push his hand out of his hair.
♡‧₊ ୨ৎ
One night in the recording studio turned into two, and three, and too many to count. It wasn’t something that needed to be said. No, “Can we meet in the studio?” or “What are your plans?” They were each others after-hour.
Sion learned that Riku was allergic to cats, while still owning one. He claims, “they are too cute to not care for.” He likes his coffee with almond milk and cream, occasionally singing a few lines of his favorite artists, one of his favorite foods is hamburg steak, loves the sunset and loves makeup.
He says there’s no better feeling than seeing art come true on someone’s skin.
Riku learned that Sion perfers warm toned makeup because it makes him look more "friendly". His favorite food is kimchi bokkeumbap and perfers night over sunset because looking at the stars feels "nostolgic".
Tonight was no different. And that makes the boy smile.
Sion leaned back against the counter, coffee warming his palms. He was only half-listening to the record player’s faint static in the corner, the other half fixed on the soft sound of Riku’s laugh.
It wasn’t loud, not like the ones Sion had memorized from old backstage jokes, but something quieter, breathier. Almost as if Riku didn’t mean to let it slip. Still, it tugged at something inside Sion, made him smile without even realizing. His lips curved, unbidden, and the room seemed to tilt toward him like the air itself wanted to share in the moment.
And Riku caught it.
His hand slowly softened back into placela. His eyes flickered up just in time to see the curve of Sion’s grin, the way his gaze softened like it was meant for no one else in the world. For a heartbeat, Riku felt the same.
The faint taste of his amber and woodsy scent clung to the space between them, a trace that lingered not just in the air but on the tips of Riku skin whenever he came close. His hands knew the shape of Sion’s jawline as if it was his own, the warmth beneath his cheekbones when his fingers brushed his neck, the curve of his mouth when he tried not to fidget. Riku had touched a hundred faces before, but with Sion, this was never routine.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Riku asked, His voice betrayed him with the faintest hitch.
Sion tilted his head, unbothered. “Like what?”
“Like…” Riku faltered, looking back down at the leather couch below him. “…Never mind.”
Sion only smiled again, smaller this time. I’ll let you figure it out, he seemed to say without words.
To break the silence, he pushed off the counter and walked to the record player tucked against the wall. The quiet hiss filled the space as he brushed a finger over the vinyl stack.
“Pick one for me?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Riku. “You’ve got good taste.”
Riku blinked, thrown off. “Me?”
“Yeah. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Sion said lightly, sorting through the sleeves. “Every time I’ve put something on, you hum along. Even if you’re pretending not to, but its cute so..please dont hide it.”
Caught, Riku hesitated, then walked over. His fingers trailed the spines until they landed on one he’d always gravitated toward. Michael Jackson, Invincible. He slid it out, heart tugging him straight toward the track he couldn’t stop playing in his apartment these days.
“Whatever Happens,” Riku said quietly, handing it over.
Sion’s mouth quirked into the faintest grin. “Good choice.”
The needle dropped, and the soft strum of guitar filled the room, smooth and steady, wrapping around them both like smoke. They sat side by side on the worn studio couch, the kind that was old enough to be thrown away but comfortable enough to feel like home.
For a while, neither spoke. The song filled in the blanks. Riku’s hand rested on the cushion, and when Sion leaned back, their fingers brushed. Just barely.
Riku stilled, breath catching. He should’ve moved, should’ve pulled away, but the warmth of it burned into his skin. The thought of what is this lingering in his head. Sion shifted slightly, not pulling away, not pushing either, just close enough to let Riku decide. And that was somehow worse.
The curve of Sion’s eyes when he laughed, the subtle flush in his cheeks when he got flustered, the way he always seemed to prioritize him, make space for him, as if the world outside the studio didn’t matter, all of it came crashing in.
Riku stood abruptly, his body moving before his thoughts caught up. “I—I should go,” he muttered, fumbling for his bag by the couch. “Early morning tomorrow. Photoshoot prep.”
Sion looked up, calm as ever, though there was something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Right. Don’t let me keep you.” Riku’s hand paused on the strap of his bag. He forced himself to look back, just once. “Thanks… for today.” His throat felt dry, but he pushed the words out anyway. “For today, and… every day.”
The corners of Sion’s mouth lifted in that same quiet smile. The one Riku was beginning to realize had been meant for him all along.
As he slipped out the door, the music carried on behind him, smooth like a heartbeat he couldn’t quite ignore.
And in the hallway, Riku exhaled a laugh at himself, low and shaky. This isn’t supposed to feel like this. But it does. It really does.
♡‧₊ ୨ৎ
Sion had been thinking about it for weeks.
Every time Riku leaned close, brush bristles feathering over his cheekbones, Sion had to fight the urge to close his eyes and just stay there. Every laugh Riku let slip, soft, startled, as though he didn’t laugh often. Lodged itself somewhere inside Sion’s ribs, like an echo that refused to die down.
So when he passed a florist’s shop on his way back from rehearsal, he stopped. He didn’t even think about it—just saw the araged of flowers lined up in buckets of water, heads bowed in the afternoon sun, and thought: Riku would look at these and smile.
The bouquet wasn’t grand. Just a handful of hydrangea and soft white roses, wrapped in simple pink-laced paper. But carrying them into the studio later that night felt like sneaking contraband through the door.
Riku was already there, fussing with his makeup kit, back turned. The smell of pressed powder and faint cologne filled the room. Sion leaned against the doorframe, the bouquet cradled in one arm.
Riku glanced up, froze mid-motion. His eyes flicked to the flowers, then back to Sion. “What’s that?”
Sion lifted them lazily, as though he’d been caught holding nothing more incriminating than a water bottle. “A thank-you gift. For my favorite makeup artist.”
Color climbed into Riku’s cheeks immediately. He tried to scoff, but it came out uneven. “You can’t just—people don’t—”
“Don’t what?” Sion crossed the room, set the bouquet carefully on the counter beside the scattered brushes and palettes. “Don’t thank the person who makes them look flawless before every stage?”
Riku opened his mouth, closed it again. His fingers twitched, as though he didn’t know whether to adjust his kit or reach for the flowers. In the end, he did neither. He just stared.
Sion smiled faintly, not pushing. The truth was, he liked watching Riku struggle. Riku was all sharp professionalism on the outside, crisp lines and tidy palettes, but beneath it… there was something raw, something soft. And it made Sion happy to see him open up, to show him the size nobody else gets to see
“You’re ridiculous,” Riku muttered finally, turning back to his kit. “And yet, you’re keeping them,” Sion said.
Riku’s silence was an answer in itself.
The flowers stayed on the counter all through the session, petals catching the glow of the mirror lights. Whenever Riku leaned in close to blend foundation along Sion’s jaw, Sion caught the faintest hint of hydrangeas mixed with the amber musk of his own scent, knowing that it was a scent Riku would never forget.
“You always look so serious when you’re this close,” Sion said suddenly, when Riku was steadying his chin with careful fingers.
Riku blinked, brush pausing mid-stroke.
“What?”
“Like you’re concentrating for your life.” Sion tilted his head, forcing Riku’s hand to follow. Their eyes met—close, too close. “Or maybe you’re nervous.”
The brush nearly slipped. Riku jerked back a fraction, scowling. “Shut up.”
Sion laughed, warm and harmless, and didn’t move away. He could feel the tension hum between them, and Riku’s ears went pink.
It wasn’t lost on Sion. Nothing about Riku ever was.
Later, when Riku left—flowers carefully cradled in one arm, mumbled excuse about needing an early night. Sion lingered in the studio alone. He dropped onto the couch, head tipped back, and let the silence curl around him.
He didn’t usually notice silence. But lately, every quiet moment seemed to echo with Riku’s laugh.
Riku noticed too.
He didn’t mean to. He told himself he was too busy, too professional to let his head wander. But on the walk home, music in his ears, every song warped around Sion whether he wanted it to or not.
Upbeat ones reminded him of that teasing grin. Slower ones carried the weight of amber musk and hydrangeas clinging faintly to his sleeves. Every lyric twisted itself into something that sounded like him.
Sion had to tell him.
Halfway down the block, Riku stopped, staring blankly at a traffic light changing colors. His chest ached strangely, like he’d just run too far. It’s just Sion, he told himself, shaking his head, but the lie was thin.
Because behind the chords and beats, he heard his laugh. Low and unguarded, threaded through like it belonged there.
At the next photoshoot, Sion caught him staring. Riku tried to play it off, fussing with powder shades, pretending he was studying undertones. But the truth was, he had started noticing too much.
The way Sion shifted his weight between takes, the absent-minded way he turned his rings around his fingers when restless, the curve of his eyes when the photographer cracked a joke that wasn’t even funny.
It felt a little stupid. He wasn’t supposed to pay this much attention. But he found himself tailoring the makeup. Highlight here, warmth there. Not for the camera, not for the lights, but for him.
For the boy who teased him with flowers and asked if he was nervous when their faces were inches apart. It wasn’t about making him look good anymore. It was about seeing him. And that terrified Riku more than anything.
Sion, of course, seemed to sense it.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” he murmured as Riku dusted blush along his cheekbones.
“I’m working,” Riku said quickly.
Sion tilted his head, amber eyes looking at him through the mirror. “Working very hard. Almost like you’re trying not to think about something.”
Riku’s brush froze for half a second before continuing, movements sharper than before. “You talk too much.”
“And you listen too much,” Sion replied. A smile tugged at his mouth. Riku didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not with his pulse tripping over itself, not with the weight of the hydrangeas and his smile still sitting heavy in his memory.
By the time the session ended, the room smelled faintly of powder and colonge. Sion reached for the record player, almost idly. “Pick one, again please.” He said, holding up a worn stack of Michael Jackson vinyls.
Riku hesitated, then tapped one. Heaven can wait.
The needle dropped, static crackled, and the opening notes drifted through the room. Slow, sultry, aching. Sion dropped into the newer couch in the corner, patting the space beside him.
Riku sat—hesitant, careful, as though proximity itself was dangerous. Their shoulders brushed. Their hands brushed, too, knuckles grazing. Neither moved away.
For a moment, it was just music. Just quiet. Just the smell of the flowers lingering faintly on the counter and the weight of something unspoken between them.
"Can i play a song for you?" Sion mumbled, the vinyl slowly desending to its closing.
"Any song in specific? Since now its your turn to choose." Riku smiled, not moving his hand away from Sion.
"The song...well, its for you." For the first time, Riku could see the way his skin flushed the same shade of pink as his blush, the way his eyes cant find a place to settle, with the occsional glance to his lips. His free hand figiting agaisnt his collar. His tone looking for permission
"Yes, yes you can"
Riku did not expect this, Sion standing up in front of him, only to sit down with a bass guitar after pulling out a pre recorded piano session on a speaker. The way he could see him take deep breathes, in and out, Riku considered if this was an unreleased?
And then it started
He hadn’t expected this. Sion rising, the way he calmly walks across the room. He hadn’t expected him to return, bass guitar in hand, a speaker clicking on with a faint hum.
A pre-recorded piano track filled his ears, soft chords filling the quiet like breath.
And then Riku understood. This wasn’t rehearsed for the stage. This was raw. Private. Unreleased. Unfiltered.
Sion exhaled, his fingers hovering over the strings before gliding down, coaxing sound. His knuckles gleamed under the low light, catching against the light stream of nervous sweat.
Riku’s heart clenched at the sight—at how careful, how vulnerable this boy looked in front of him.
And then he began.
“This may come, this may come as a surprise,”
his voice cracked on the edge of softness, but it was rich, real, trembling with emotion.
“But I miss you.”
The bass thrummed beneath the words, a heartbeat.
“Is it a crime?” Locking eyes with Riku. “That I still want you?”
Riku’s chest tightened. The first thing he thought, his voice. It was unlike anything he had ever heard in public. Not edited online, not tailored into perfection by producers, not fixed for the cameras.
This was Sion’s voice as it was, and it was beautiful. Painfully beautiful.
And Riku… smiled, helpless, as his eyes prickled. The tears came without permission. He tried to blink them away, but his gaze never left Sion.
“My love is wider than Victoria Lake. Taller than the Empire State.”
Riku’s throat closed around a laugh that cracked into something sweeter. He had painted this face countless times, seen it under a thousand shades of stage lights, but never like this.
Raw and pure. Sion wasn’t glowing under spotlight filters, he was glowing here, under the dim room light, golden and fragile.
“It dives, it jumps.”
And then it hit him. This wasn’t just a private performance, but something sweeter and more personal.
“I can’t give you more than that. Surely, you want me back?”
Sion glanced up, finally, like he couldn’t help it. His eyes found Riku’s—and froze. Riku hadn’t realized until that moment that tears had broken free, soft tracks on his cheeks.
He didn’t wipe them away. He just looked at him, sitting motionless, caught wide open. Sion’s fingers trembled, but they didn’t stop.
He played through it, voice carrying the weight he couldn’t put into words otherwise. He looked like an angel on the verge of breaking, all at once.
And again. “Tell me… is it a crime?”
Riku could only sit there, undone, listening as the boy he thought he knew carved his heart open with every note.
"This may come, this may come as a suprise. But i miss you"
"Is it a crime? That i still want you?"
Oh
The first thing Riku thought of was his voice, his voice was beautiful. Nothing like the pre-recorded videos posted online, nor like the editied videos he sang on varitiy shows. This was real.
And he sung, Riku smiled with tears in his eyes when he let the instruments consume him. His eyes never leaving the boy below him.
"My love is wider than Victoria Lake. Taller than the Empire state"
"It dives, it jumps"
And then it hit, a confession. Sion is singing his confession.
"I can't give you more than that, surely, you want me back?"
He looked angelic, and it sounded like a promise. The way the piano slowed and his fingered stilled on the bass felt like a confirmation on his part.
"Tell me, is it a crime?”
And now he’s next to him, hand holding his tear stained fingers, messing with his nails as he spoke.
“Thank you, for listening…I know that it might be hard to accept so I don’t expect an answer now but please keep listening.”
Riku’s chest was tight, every breath shallow as he let Sion’s words open him up. They came natural in a way that shows they had always been there, waiting to be noticed.
“I’ve always seen you, Riku,” Sion said again, softer now, almost like a promise. “You’re so careful when it comes to the right shade of lipstick, the way you bicker with the palettes when you can’t find what you want, the way you trail your hand in my hair to hold me in place for eyeliner.”
Riku swallowed, voice lodged somewhere between his chest and throat. He’d known Sion had noticed things, had always been attentive. but hearing it, hearing it all like this made something tremble inside him.
The brush strokes he’d made on Sion’s face countless times, the eternity of tiny touches, the shared silences when it was just them. Sion remembered them all. Making Riku’s eyes prick with tears
“Sion…” The name left his lips as a whisper and uncertain
Sion’s fingers fidgeted against his collar, a subtle tremble betraying the teasing face he usually wore. His lips parted slightly, and his gaze flickered to Riku’s, desperate for a sign, for permission, for something, for anything.
“Let me take you on just one date,” he said, voice quivering. “One date to prove that I can treat you better than she did. I promise I’ll show you what you deserve.”
“I’ll show you what you’re worth, you’ll never feel alone again.”
Riku’s heart hammered. He had known, in a distant, half-conscious way, that he’d always been important to Sion, that the way Sion looked at him was different from the way he looked at the rest of the world.
But this, this confession, it hit him in a way he couldn’t describe. Every detail he’d ever brushed off as casual attention, every quiet smile aimed only at him, every glance that lingered too long. It all suddenly made sense.
“Yes,” Riku whispered, and it tumbled out shaky, unsure, trembling with everything he’d held back.
“Yes, I’ll go. I’ll go with you.”
Sion froze mid-breath, eyes widening in disbelief, and for a moment the world held its breath with them. His lips parted, then curved into a small, soft smile, almost shy.
Riku reached forward instinctively, his hand brushing along Sion’s jawline, feeling the warmth under his fingertips.
Sion’s breath hitched, shallow and uneven, and his fingers fumbled with the edge of his collar, uncertain whether to hold still or move, whether to retreat or lean in. He leaned in. Just slightly. Just enough to invite Riku closer.
“Riku”
He closed the space, pressing his forehead lightly against Sion’s, letting the warmth of him sink in. The faint scent of amber and musk clung to the air around Sion, filling Riku’s senses, leaving a trace that would linger long after tonight.
He could see the shine on Sion’s skin, the soft tremor running through him, the way his free hand curled nervously against the bass.
Riku’s lips brushed Sion’s softly at first, testing, gentle, like he was asking for permission, asking if it was wanted.
Sion froze for the briefest moment, then let out a tiny, breathless sigh and leaned into the kiss, giving into him.
His hands rose, shakily finding the nape of Riku’s neck. Riku felt the tremor in Sion’s body, the worry slowly leaving his body each passing second.
The kiss deepened slowly, an echo of everything unsaid between them—the long days, the quiet lunches, the coffees and pastries, the tiny touches that had always meant more than either had wanted to admit.
Riku’s hand found Sion’s wrist, letting him guide the gentle pressure of the kiss, while Sion’s fingers threaded into his hair. Their breaths mingled, uneven and warm, carrying the weight of every unspoken word.
Riku’s mind whirled, but he noticed it all. The way Sion’s eyes fluttered closed at the kiss, the faint pink flush rising over his cheeks, the soft tremor in his lips, the slight quiver in his shoulders.
This was where he was supposed to be.
Foreheads still pressed together, Sion whispered, “I never stopped looking at you, Riku.”
Riku’s chest loosened, a laugh, quiet and shaky, escaping him. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind Sion’s ear, lips brushing the temple, and whispered back, “I’ve been looking too.”
Sion’s fingers lingered along Riku’s jaw, reluctant to pull away.
The bass sat quietly behind them, forgotten, as the low hum settled over the studio. Riku’s hands rested against Sion’s hand lightly, memorizing the warmth and the tremor beneath his fingertips, the soft glow of his skin in the low light.
Every small detail—the curve of his lips when he smiled, the tiny dip of his collarbone, the way his fingers fidgeted and his eyes darted when nervous.
The soft scent that clung to him, this was etched into Riku’s memory, and every time they brushed together, it would remind him of this moment.
“Stay with me,” Sion whispered, voice low, almost trembling again. “Tonight… just stay?”
“I’ll stay”