Work Header


Work Text:

souma sighed, the night sky glowing- everlasting and shining onto the planes of his face, a breath escaping his mouth like a quiet prayer on quiet lips and eyes a chilling blue, reflecting the stars that decorated the sky in a never ending sequence.

satou’s brows quirked as he exhaled- smoke trailing into the starry sky as his mind rushed- filled with thoughts that made no sense, loud and quiet and loving and hating, he spoke- faint trails of smoke dancing in the air like ribbons,

“what’s wrong?”

a quiet inhale, so quiet that if he wasn't straining to listen- desperate for any word, for any breath, he wouldn't have heard it. it was sharp- stinging, loud and quiet and clear all at the same time- souma smiled, laughed- quiet and breathy as the condensation of the beer in his hand ran down his veins,

“nothing,” he said, like he always did. scared of something he didn't understand- he kept his cards close to his chest and his mouth closed, words spilling from his mouth like molten gold, “why do you ask?”

“no reason.” he answered, calm and cool and devoid of emotion for he didn't know how to express them at all. just like souma, his mouth stayed closed- words locked in by bars and chains and the nicotine of cigarettes.

and souma laughed, fake and forced- clear to his ears like wind chimes in the gentle morning breeze of autumn, nothing like the laughter he echoed as he watched them mutter and stumble- laughing in the kitchen- hands hitting the counter and the smell of food intertwining like it was made to be, like they were meant to meet.

“are you worried about me?” souma asked, taking a sip of the cold beer- a dribble trailing down his neck and into his collar, he smiled- words teasing and dragging, “how sweet of you.”

brown eyes trailing away from the planes of his neck and into the soft glow of the moon, he inhaled once again- nicotine traveling down his throat and wrapping itself around his throat, burning and rough and yet comforting despite it all.

he closed his eyes, felt the rush of smoke leave his lungs and flutter in the wind, and he grumbled, low and deep, years of lies and repression building up higher and higher- threatening to overflow, to spill through his lips like sand in a hourglass and escape into the sweet coldness of the air- of truth and refresh.

but he swallowed it down once more, one last time- like he has repeated to himself all these years and spoke-words dripping off his tongue like honey, too sweet and too much like candy and into the bitter wind of the cold evening,

“not at all.”