#shiramiya

“I love you.”

The words were unusually rough-sounding and not at all like Shirahama's usual calm and composed voice. Miyano was sure that from the flush on his face and his tired eyes that illness was the root cause of his vocal chords sounding like they'd gone through a cheese grater, but there was something more to it.

At least, he could have sworn there was.

The agony on Shirahama's face couldn't possibly be the work of a minor cold or passing fever. This was a man, broken.

It took a bit for this perception to link up with the words hanging between them, thanks to the way Miyano's brain spun like he'd just stepped off a carnival ride.

Taking his silence as hesitation (or God forbid, rejection), Shirahama's lips pursed. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep what little control he had left over his emotions.

“I love you, Miyano," he said again. Quieter this time, his words were laced with shame and misery. Silvery hair obscured his eyes, and the light feverish flush on his face spread all the way to his neck, deepening to a vivid scarlet.

“Uh, I- err, for how long?” Miyano stuttered and immediately wished he could kick himself. How long? That's certainly one way to respond, but he could have been more helpful at the very least.

“I don't remember. It's been too long.” Shirahama searched Miyano's face for any kind of reaction, but between his flitting gaze and his speechlessness, he found nothing. “I'm sorry. I don't know what to do about it.”

“You don't need to apol-”

“I tried to get over it, I swear.” The cotton fabric of his shirt wadded up between his fingers as he clutched at the area over his heart, “But it hurts.”

Shirahama’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, but the air in his lungs felt too much like water. As a man who'd been carefully treading water for years, he was too tired to keep on. His drowning was inevitable, anyway, so he let himself be caught by the undertow.

Shirahama wobbled on his feet wearily, and stumbled towards him. Miyano's heart leapt into his throat as he braced himself for impact, but thankfully he didn't need to. His reflexes were still good enough to catch himself against the solid surface behind Miyano, but in doing so, he'd effectively sandwiched him between his body and the door of his apartment. Though he'd avoided the initial collision, he still rested his forehead against Miyano's own.

“It hurts,” he reiterated, voice cracking.

‘Surely that isn't the only thing that hurts?’ Miyano thought from the instant that he felt the scorching heat of Shirahama's forehead.

Shirahama's ragged breaths tickled Miyano's nose; his hand twitched with the urge to scratch it, but he didn't dare interrupt the moment with any sudden movements, lest his actions be misinterpreted. Miyano's every nerve was on high alert. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears loud enough to rival a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier.

Time stood still for the both of them, and yet Miyano was still too slow to react when soft, pink lips pressed into his in a slow, gentle kiss.

What only lasted a few seconds in reality felt like an eternity. Shirahama's kiss tasted salty, to Miyano's brief confusion, until he felt something hot and wet spill onto his cheeks.

Tears.