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Satori lets out a huff of noise. Nothing so dramatic as a sigh but it’s close. There’s a buzzing under his skin that he can’t quite shake. A tremble of electricity that makes him itch, makes him twitch, makes him restless in a way he hasn’t been in years. His fingers tap an endless, mindless rhythm against the counter he’s leaning against, eyes half shut and gaze distant. Birds are chirping somewhere outside the cracked window but they might as well be on a different planet as far as he’s concerned.
A large hand fills his vision and he blinks twice. It doesn’t make the hand look any clearer.
“Your hand is in my personal space,” he mumbles. “Not that I mind. But it is.”
The hand doesn’t move.
He does, however. He tips his head back just enough to see the side of Wakatoshi’s face. His fingers are still tapping an impatient rhythm against the counter and they only still when Wakatoshi reaches around with his right hand and wraps his own long fingers around Satori’s wrist.
“Wakatoshi?”
“You look like you need a hug.”
He feels like he needs a hug, needs something solid to wrap him up so he doesn’t jitter out of his own skin. But that’s not the kind of observation that Wakatoshi would normally make. He would normally just say Satori looks strange or wrong or something along those lines. This feels very much like a trap. Or like an alien invaders episode of one of those sci-fi shows Semi used to watch all the time.
“Nah.” He gives Wakatoshi a grin. “I just kinda wanna be alone right now.”
Wakatoshi hums. “You don’t look like you want to be alone.”
“I don’t look like a lot of things that I am. That’s just one of my many charms.”
Wakatoshi’s hand sinks slowly out of Satori’s vision and rests against his chest. He kind of hates the way his heart stumbles over it. The way his pulse trips and then scrambles to get back to normal. All from a simple touch.
Wakatoshi presses gently against his chest. “You look like you need a hug,” he repeats. Satori considers resisting. Considers pulling away, shrugging off Wakatoshi’s hands, and making some joke about alien body snatchers. But he’s never really been good at resisting temptations (unless you count the years he’s spent ignoring the way he feels about Wakatoshi as resisting temptation because then he’s a goddamn champion) so he lets Wakatoshi’s gentle pressure guide him until his back presses against Wakatoshi’s chest. Wakatoshi settles his chin on Satori’s shoulder and lets go of his wrist only to wrap his arm around Satori’s waist.
“You’re exhausted,” Wakatoshi says softly. “You’ve been working too hard. There’s bags under your eyes.”
Satori chuckles. “There’s always bags under my eyes. It’s part of my look.”
“You need rest.”
“I need a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I get to have them.”
Wakatoshi sighs and digs his chin into Satori’s shoulder a little bit and Satori sinks back into Wakatoshi’s chest even further; if there’s anyone in the world who can take his weight — physical, metaphorical, emotional — it’s Wakatoshi.
“You get me,” Wakatoshi says. So softly that Satori could pretend he imagined the words if not for the warmth of Wakatoshi’s breath when he speaks.
Satori snorts at that. Somehow, even leaning against Wakatoshi like this, Satori can’t quite let himself believe it.
“Sure, maybe,” he mutters. “But that doesn’t mean I get to keep you.”
“It does if you ask.”
His throat dries up at those words. His stomach clenches. His heart does a weird little dance in his chest.
“Ask what?”
“If you can keep me.”
Satori has never really been lacking in courage but he has to take a couple shallow breaths before he can convince himself to turn around in Wakatoshi’s grip. Wakatoshi doesn’t move much except to let his hands shift and settle against Satori’s waist, a comforting grip tethering him to the moment.
“Hey, Wakatoshi?”
“Yes, Satori?”
“Can I keep you forever and ever and ever?”
“Only if I get to keep you in return.”
Satori grins. “Well. You haven’t been able to get rid of me yet.”
Wakatoshi tips his head down until their foreheads bump together gently.
“I don’t want to,” Wakatoshi whispers.
“Hey, Wakatoshi?”
“Yes, Satori?”
“Does this mean you’re, like, my boyfriend now?”
That buzzing is still there, under his skin humming like power lines in the humid summer air, but it feels manageable here with Wakatoshi’s hands against his waist and Wakatoshi’s breath warm against his skin. The birds chirping outside still feel a planet away but here, now, in this moment he’s grounded. He’s here.
“It does if you ask.”