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“Does it still hurt?”
The touch lingering on Yamaguchi’s bruise on his chest was ever so gentle, ever so tender, as though fearing that a mere brush would immediately break him. Of course, it didn’t hurt as bad as it looked – yes, it stung, but nothing dramatically life endangering.
What was, though, was the fact that Tsukishima’s lying next to him, facing him, so close that their noses were lightly brushing against each other.
Yamaguchi’s breath caught in his throat.
Rather than the dull aching of his bruise, it was the throbbing of his own thrashing heart against his chest that was tormenting him, and the slow agonizing burn of his insides.
“It does hurt, doesn’t it,” The tall blond muttered, the words coming out more of a statement rather than a question. His tone was characteristically uninspired, but there was a tremor of emotion there that betrayed the coolness he was exhibiting.
Yamaguchi wanted to nod, but instead he shook his head. The closeness of his best friend was dizzying him, and as he inhaled Tsukishima’s scent, he could feel his lungs being set aflame, the inside of his stomach melting as the heat from their contact began to engulf him.
He loved him so much that it hurt.
“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi whispered, chuckling lightly due to nervousness, “you sound like my mum.”
“Shut up,” the other snapped back at him. But it wasn’t hostile – no, not at all – it was endearing, like a playful shove that made Yamaguchi’s heart die a little.
Carefully, as if the slightest stirring might injure the freckled boy, Tsukishima brought his lips to the bruise right below Yamaguchi’s collarbone and left a gentle kiss. And another.
And another.
Until Yamaguchi’s head was swooning so hard that he could barely contain himself and the soft moan that escaped in a flurry from his mouth. Out of shame, he immediately clasped his hands over it.
Next to him, Tsukishima froze for second, before bringing his face back in front of Yamaguchi’s.
“Let me hear you,” Tsukishima murmured, removing the freckled boy’s hands from his face.
Yamaguchi trembled from his touch, and even more from the intensity of his gaze.
“T-Tsukki,” he stuttered, trying to find words from his increasingly blank mind, “I –”
Tsukishima didn’t let him finish, silencing him with a slow, deliberate kiss, a sweet agony that Yamaguchi would die one hundred times over just to experience it again.
They kiss and kiss, ever so slowly, ever so deeply, until they ran out of breath and were forced to break apart momentarily. Breathing heavily, they stared into each other’s eyes.
Yamaguchi’s heart clenched – there was so much love and adoration in his best friend’s eyes that it overwhelmed him with an inexpressible happiness.
“Tsukki. I –”
Tsukishima claimed his lips once again, cutting him off.
When they break the kiss for breath, Tsukishima whispered, his voice hoarse with thick emotion, “I know.”
Yamaguchi chuckled.
Of course he does, he thought to himself.
I love you.