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His palm was long, but not quite slender. Definitely not delicate. Ordinary. Indented by those uneven valleys created by his fingers, the tops of which were blunt and squared. Yuki followed the convexes of his knuckles, down to the depressions between each digit and up again, until he trailed the anomaly of his index finger, sloped inward from some half-remembered, or perhaps just half-spoken of, childhood injury. As he adjusted his light grip, Yuki brushed over the small bump sitting at the base of his friend’s thumb. That tiny birthmark, something he had become simultaneously always aware of and blind to.
A realization came to him, then, accompanied by a strange spark in the back of his mind, that at some point he had burned this hand into his memory. He was already quite familiar with it.
“Results are in,” he said, feeling a short buzz trail down the nape of his neck and over his shoulders before waning. “You’re still… a moron.”
Kakeru groaned as he tugged his hand out of Yuki’s grasp.
“You suck.”
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Yuki and Kakeru have a long night. Yuki relearns what it means to want.
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yuki and kakeru get high and eventually they kiss
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