Chapter Text
Yokozawa had experienced many types of kisses before. A brisk kiss on the cheek from an old aunt, one tepid peck with a past girlfriend, drunken kisses with a treasured friend brimming with one-sided hope. Yet the searing feeling of Kirishima Zen’s thin lips, deeply claiming his mouth for his own, was unlike anything else that came before it.
He could still hear the whistles from onlookers and picture Kirishima’s smug smile. His furious rage was smoldering now, but the residual heat felt like something… Something he refused to consider any further.
Yokozawa did what he could to put the incident far back in his mind. He had work to do, books to sell, meetings to commandeer. And so, he continued through his busy days visiting bookstores and trying, and failing, to avoid Kirishima once more. It was in his weak hours that a single question lingered in his mind.
How is anyone supposed to carry on after a kiss like that?
—
Days passed into another night of coming home well after dusk, Yokozawa’s belly filled with dinner from a restaurant he could barely afford. As he walked through the genkan, a black blur of fur leapt towards him in greeting. “Good evening, Sorata,” he said to the cat. After making his presence known, Sorata retreated back into the apartment with no more acknowledgement towards his owner.
Yokozawa wasn’t sure what Kirishima’s intentions were, dragging him around town this way. There had not been any more kisses since that one night. His eyes felt heavy. In a daze, he opened the wet canned food for Sorata.
“I’m going to call it a night,” he told Sorata, who was now merrily eating at his dinner. Yokozawa undressed in the dark, putting on his pajamas with muscle-memory. Scrambling into bed, he felt the exhaustion of the day fall over him. His last waking thought was that now familiar question:
How is anyone supposed to carry on after a kiss like that?