[ Stephen's hold on the back of Takeshi's neck tightens, a squeeze. His gaze is briefly searching, watchful— and then something shifts, some displeased downward tug around the mouth, and he folds around Takeshi. Palm spreading upwards to cradle his head, other arm curling around his waist. Head turning, lips a lingering press to the skin of his cheek.
He knows how that goes. Different worlds, different contexts, but that same too-great number. That same thankless cycle.
no subject
He knows how that goes. Different worlds, different contexts, but that same too-great number. That same thankless cycle.
It's lonely. It's really fucking lonely.
He's not going anywhere. ]