#move there

The gun was cold, like the detective didn’t fire it often. 

Momo leaned further towards it, running his finger along the ribbing on the slide. Yuki stood, stock-still. 

“Aren’t you going to hit me?” Momo asked. “Knock me down?” 

When they fought, Yuki’s eyes were always on him. The heat of his touch— a grasp, a shove, a punch— radiated through Momo and made him feel alive. 

“Why? I’m going to shoot you.” Grief and anger were knotted up in his voice. His hand trembled on the trigger— 

Bang.