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Yuta smells so clean, like freshly laundered linen. It's one of countless small details about him that you simply can't get enough of. Picking your head off of where it was resting on his thin shoulder, you lean over and bury your nose in the collar of his jacket to inhale deeply. Yuta huffs softly before twisting to face you and wrapping his arms more securely around your waist. His lips are at your ear, and his eyes are still squeezed shut. Shafts of moonlight slipping through the blinds of your dorm room window exaggerate the shadows hanging under his eyes. So, so pretty.
“You know, I could loan you one of my t-shirts, if you want,” Yuta murmurs, his voice husky, drowsy. He yawns. “You would look so cute wearing my clothes…” If only he knew the things going through your head.
You shift out of his embrace and he looks down at you in surprise, but you say nothing, reaching for the buttons of his cream colored jacket. Yuta blinks blearily, simply watching your fingers bemusedly. The jacket slides off his shoulders and pools around his hips. The last vestiges of sleepiness seem to dissipate from Yuta’s body when you move for the hem of his shirt next- he curls over you, his lank bangs falling into his eyes, never taking his eyes off your face even as he lifts his arms obediently to allow you to tug his shirt gently over his head. You set it gingerly in your lap, then slowly, slowly peel off your own camisole. Yuta watches, hands clasped at his sides. You're both topless now- until you grab his t-shirt and pull it on. It's hilariously loose, hanging from your narrower shoulders, and the neckline falls tantalizingly low. Bunching it up in your fingers, you pull it over your nose and breathe in the smell of Yuta’s laundry detergent, and the faint scent of vanilla. Satisfied, you lean forward to press your cheek against his bare chest. He lets out a breath.
He lets the two of you fall back until he's lying on his back on your bed, and you're draped over top of him. You listen to Yuta’s heartbeat for a few minutes while he absently twists a piece of your hair around his finger. Despite the fact that Yuta is beneath you, that you can feel his body pressed all along your own, that your chests rise in fall in tandem, you want more . Always more.
“I wish I could become a part of you,” you say suddenly, without thinking, into the dip of his collarbone. Once the words leave your lips you think rather hazily that it's embarrassing to say things like that, but being around Yuta seems to have such an effect on your mind. After a while your brain gets all fogged up until you can't tell where or who you are. Your senses are replaced by Yuta, the sound of him, the feel of him, the taste of him. But it doesn't matter. It's never enough.
Yuta hasn't responded to your small declaration, as if he's waiting for you to say more. In fact, the only clue you are given that he is even alive underneath you are the tiny sounds of his breathing. You notice that Yuta does this often. He has always been more of a listener.
“I feel like I’m going crazy,” you continue, your breath tickling his skin. “It's normal for people to miss their- the people they care about, when they're apart… But I feel that way even when we're together.” You snake your hand up to his left shoulder and down the lean muscles of his bicep, over his forearm, until you find what you're looking for.
“Like, I really love your hands.” Your fingertips brush feather-like over his knuckles and the thin bones along the back of his left hand. It's cold to the touch, but not unpleasantly so. “The way your knuckles stick out, and how smooth the skin is. Is it weird to say that I wish we could trade hands, just so I could feel you all the time?” Yuta's palm flexes slightly. He feels tense under your body.
“Relax, Yuta.” You murmur. He huffs.
“I want to touch you, too.”