A/N: i haven't read this in like 3 months godspeed.
cross posted from my tumblr.
"…What are you doing?"
Sans speech, thought, action, the prior moments had clasped around them a symphony of quiet, of nothing. So, when vocals slice through the nothing, Yuugi has to remind himself to blink, and he aims his gaze upward to meet another. Yet- the brush strokes of cobalt stab downward in strict fashion. Trail is followed; Yuugi finds his own sight over taken by what lay before them, between them.
"Sorry," he says all too hurriedly, and all too hurriedly he drops Kaiba's hand and leaves his own swinging at his hip. "I'm not used to this, ah, personal space thing."
What follows is a breathy chime of should-be humor. Though, while his words read farce, they're true- disturbingly so. Dividing one's own body between two minds teaches zero boundaries for what's considered appropriate; he'd just recently been forced to accustom to having free rein over himself. The occasional lingering touch, or knowing not where his side of the bed truly is meant to end, or absently claiming treats from meals that are not his own- none come without mitigation. It isn't his fault, exactly, that he doesn't think before reaching to grasp his boyfriend's hand as they walk through the lethargic city evening. He doesn't think about the fact that he's yet to ever do so, either. Certainly, it flirts through the head of another.
Kaiba cannot help that he's rattled by such a movement. It's neither brash nor bold nor over the line. It's, just- his disinclination screams when the little fingers wrap around his. Perhaps it's an aversion developed from having experienced a touch not tender, over and over, so much so that he feels inclined to jerk his hand away and burrow it into a pocket at the slightest connection. He can feel the burn beneath his defiant eyes already surfacing. He's…embarrassed? Ashamed, perhaps? Confidently, he does not know. He does know, however, that he hasn't the need any longer to shield himself away. This touch is clement, compassionate. This touch belongs to someone raised upon such gentle morals, impossibly gentle, gentle, gentle- Kaiba must remind himself that he's safe with this person, with their hands, and their eyes, their lips, their tongue. He permits himself a glance left, and Yuugi's the same as he's ever been, lighthearted and smiling to himself- and to everyone, truly.
He's still watching- staring, staring, staring, when a movement out of tune causes him to start. Palms move from swaying at sides to igniting friction upon themselves, and Yuugi shivers once, and he's still radiating a light and a warmth despite his gelid bones. When again he lets his arms fall lax, Kaiba's fingers twitch within his jacket pocket. They're cold, he knows. He's always cold. Even still, he can't envisage a rationale more fitting. There's hesitance at first, some mess of gauche muscle and maladroit mind, until he reaches intrepidly outward, and within his own hand rests another.
Yuugi's shoulders clench; he's not expecting it, really. It's surprising to see Seto Kaiba turning his face directly opposite to conceal whatever calamity of feelings reside upon it, and it's surprising to find that his fingers are much softer than one would think.
A twitching of lips leads to the outbreak of mirth- and Yuugi squeezes the fingers that surround his own. Gentle, though far from timid. Kaiba draws his collar higher.
Between them, between their melded touches, is a security either have yet to acquaint themselves with. Equally so, they both anticipate further introduction, whenever it is to arrive.
Their hands do not part for the remainder of the walk.