Touch My Hand
The two men walked side by side, alone in the alleyway. So it should have been expected; the likelihood that it would happen weighed out the, err, unlikelihood. A feather light touch, a tap of knuckle to knuckle, a brush of skin. Nothing, really! An accident... probably.
And yet, Nowaki smiled like he was feeling the sun for the first time in years.
"Hiro-san, do you want to hold ha-?"
"Stop!" Hiroki, eyes narrowed, pointed accusingly at Nowaki's face. "Stop right there!"
Nowaki blinked, taken aback."Hiro-san?"
"You already know the answer to that question, dammit. We've been together for a good decade, more. Why are you even asking?" He glared at Nowaki, his slight pout defiant.
Nowaki was silent, but his expression couldn't be described as unreadable. In fact, it was the opposite - a flurry of guileless too-elated, too-loved, too-everything emotions crossed his face as he gazed at the blushing man before him. He moved forward, a small stumble in his step, and threw an arm around Hiroki's neck. He breathed in the scent of his lover.
"Nowaki, what-?" Hiroki dropped his briefcase with a clatter. His fingers gripped at Nowaki's arm. He wanted to see Nowaki's face, but he thought better of it. He thought there would be too much to see, and he returned the embrace.
"Love you," he mumbled, and Nowaki squeezed him tighter.
When they broke apart, Hiroki picked up his bag then slid their palms together as Nowaki kissed his temple, pushing aside bangs. The two men wordlessly continued on their way home.