Someone who doesn't want to be saved is like the setting sun sinking into the mountains. No matter how you hold out your hand, there's no way to reach them. There was no way to reach him.
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Satoru ambled through the hallway, eyes trailing over every picture framed and mounted along the walls: him and Suguru when they were teenagers with their arms slung around each other, Suguru with Mimiko and Nanako sitting in his lap, Satoru with Megumi and Tsumiki bundled under his long arms, all six of them at the beach in Okinawa covered in sand and awash in bright sunlight, the kids dressed in kimonos during Obon taken at golden hour, Satoru dressed in white and Suguru in black sliding rings on each other's fingers...
Satoru raised his hand, admiring the platinum ring studded with tiny, twinkling diamonds that sat prettily on his finger. His heart was full, thrumming solidly in his ribcage, chest light and free of burdens, brimming instead with the honeyed warmth of pure affection.
Satoru kept going, feet leading him to the bedroom on autopilot. The door was left open for him, the scent of rose and patchouli beckoning him inside. The main lights were off, room aglow with candlelight instead. Like a magnet, his gaze snapped to the bed where Suguru was reclining against some pillows, reading despite the dim light.
Satoru just stood there, hand coming to rest against the doorframe as he took in the sight of his husband with an admiring gaze. Midnight silk spilled down Suguru's shoulders, a section tucked behind his ear, the navy hues of his marble earring reflecting the warm light of the candles. Suguru's lashes looked longer like this, casting spidery shadows against his cheeks, dark eyes shining amber as they read over the page of his book. Suguru was wearing a loose black pullover, the one he and Satoru had shared for so long that neither could remember who had originally owned it. His ring-solid black tungsten with a line of marbling gold running through the middle-gleamed and made the one on Satoru's own finger feel heavier, the faraway echoes of their vows whispering in the recesses of his mind.
Suguru was so beautiful it never failed to steal the very breath from Satoru's lungs.
"Not that I'm complaining about you worshiping me with your eyes, Satoru, but were you going to actually join me or just stand there for the rest of the night?" Suguru's amused tone caressed Satoru's sense of hearing, tickling at his ears before slipping inside and settling into his head with gentle calmness.
"I can't help it if my husband is gorgeous enough to paralyze me on the spot." Satoru replied with a teasing lilt of his own, lips pulling into a smile that spoke all the words he didn't dare say aloud.
Suguru's returning smile responded in kind, eyes crinkling as he hummed indulgently. He marked his page, setting his book down on the bedside table and then patting his lap to draw Satoru over.
Like a dog trotting faithfully to his owner, Satoru was at the bed within a few long strides, straddling Suguru's lap as he settled over him. His arms curled atop Suguru's shoulders and stroked along his scalp, onyx strands slithering through Satoru's long fingers, slippery as silk and softer than feathers.
