The train ride had been quiet.
Kenji hadn't said a word, and Yuu didn't ask him to.
He just held Kenji's hand, gentle but sure, their fingers laced together like something practiced. Something returned.
The city lights blurred by as they walked the last stretch to Yuu's apartment. The soft hush of passing cars. A night breeze that stirred Kenji's hair.
And still—nothing.
Not a word.
But Kenji's grip never let go.
When Yuu unlocked the door and stepped inside, he turned briefly to ask if Kenji wanted tea, or water, or—something.
But before the words could even form, Kenji reached for him.
Hands curled into Yuu's collar, dragging him in, and then—
He kissed him.
Hard.
Hungry.
Not careful or measured or polite. Not like the brief stolen moments they'd shared before. This was full of months—years—of aching, of silence, of things unsaid. All of it crashed through him in one breathless surge.
Yuu staggered back a step but caught him, hands gripping Kenji's waist as the kiss deepened. He felt it—how Kenji trembled against him, how his breath hitched, how desperation poured out through every press of his lips.
When they finally parted, just barely, Yuu looked into his eyes.
Kenji's voice was raw. "I—I couldn't hold it anymore."
"You don't have to," Yuu whispered.
Kenji leaned his forehead against Yuu's. His breath was uneven, warm. "You still want me? Even like this? After everything?"
Yuu's hand came up to cup Kenji's cheek. "Especially like this."
Kenji let out a shaky sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
And when Yuu kissed him again, slower this time, steadier—it wasn't out of pity.
It wasn't out of guilt.
It was a promise.
They didn't rush the rest.
They had all night.
And this time, they had each other.