wide shut

“Sometimes I wish you were here.”

And Uruha swallows, his throat pulsing in skipping heartbeats as he whispers into the smoke of the bar, “I’m right here.”

And Aoi’s shaking his head no-no-no – his hand reaching down to bring Uruha’s cold fingers up to cup his face. He leans in. Eyes glazed. Spine cracking apart.

“No. Here.”