[ slow motion ] 一 suguru to satoru even more teehee
[ slow motion ] a kiss in slow motion, accentuating every moment and sensation
satoru doesn’t expect it, the sudden tug that halts his retreat, suguru’s fingers curling around his wrist with a firm, unyielding grip. the touch sends a shock through him, an electric thrill that courses down his spine. suguru’s hand is warm against his skin, too real and close for comfort, and it takes satoru a heartbeat to realize that his infinity is off—he had let it down without thinking, let suguru reach him.
before he can question himself, before he can understand why he left himself exposed like that, suguru pulls him back, and in an instant, he’s there—closer than he’s ever been. satoru’s breath hitches as suguru’s lips find his, and the world around them fades, the moment stretching into eternity as though time itself has slowed to a crawl.
the kiss is a collision, a meeting of fire and ice. satoru’s mind blanks as he feels the press of suguru’s mouth, the way it moves over his with a purpose that’s both gentle and insistent. there’s an ache that starts in his chest, spreading outwards with every slow, deliberate brush of suguru’s lips, as though he’s trying to memorize every contour, every taste, every stolen second. it’s filled with all the tension that’s always crackled between them—years of unspoken words, of anger and longing, of being enemies when once they were everything to each other.
satoru leans in despite himself, his hands finding their way to suguru’s shoulders, grasping at his coat as if to pull him closer, to feel more of him. his heart is pounding in his ears, and the slow motion of the kiss only heightens every sensation: the heat of suguru’s breath, the subtle tilt of his head, the way his fingers tighten just slightly around satoru’s wrist, like he doesn’t want to let him go. there’s a quiet desperation in the way satoru kisses him back, a need that burns in his veins, a hunger that’s impossible to satisfy.
he hates himself for wanting this, for wanting suguru when he’s sworn to stop him. but in this moment, nothing else matters—neither the war they’re fighting nor the fate of the world that hangs in the balance. all that exists is suguru’s mouth against his, the slide of their lips, the heat that builds slowly, inevitably, as satoru’s tongue tentatively brushes against suguru’s lower lip, seeking entrance.
suguru grants it, and the kiss deepens, becoming something darker, something raw and untamed. satoru can taste the bitterness on suguru’s tongue, the taste of a man who’s chosen destruction, but he drinks it in anyway, craves it like a dying man craves air. he pours everything into that kiss—his frustration, his longing, the unspoken plea that maybe, just maybe, there’s still something worth saving in suguru.
it feels like it lasts forever and not nearly long enough when suguru finally pulls back, his breathing ragged, his grip on satoru’s wrist loosening. satoru’s lips part slightly as though to chase after him, as though to ask for more, but the words die in his throat. his chest is heaving, his whole body thrumming with the aftershocks of what just happened, and all he can do is stare into suguru’s eyes, dark and unreadable, as though searching for some kind of answer.
"why now?" satoru’s voice is barely a whisper, a crack in the silence that surrounds them. he doesn’t know what he’s asking—why suguru kissed him, why he let it happen, why the two of them are standing here as though the world isn’t breaking apart at the seams because of them.
suguru doesn’t respond, just lets his hand slip from satoru’s wrist and turns to walk away, leaving satoru standing there, his lips still tingling from the kiss, his heart still aching with the burn of wanting someone he can never truly have.
someone he'll never reach.
