She was beginning to think there were few things as exhilarating as being with him. It was never a feeling that faltered no matter how much she was around him, nor did it seem to be a matter of circumstance. Instead, even when her heart beat slowly in her chest, the feeling grew and pushed her into a trancelike state that she could never make sense of. Even now, as gray light seeped through the window and the smell of coffee filled the room, it held her hostage. Her skin trembled underneath his calloused fingertips as he traced her spine, making her wonder if the fabric of her shirt was really as sheer as it suddenly felt.
His voice broke the silence, and it took her a moment to process his words in her lethargy. "You're cold." She didn't protest as his heavy arm folded around her and pulled her against him, memories of the night before flooding back into her mind.
He'd never been just one type of lover: as gentle as he was rough, always in tune with her and rarely straying from that balance. There were times when she'd wondered how much of the gentle side was for her sake, but had a feeling that even if she'd had the desire to ask, she'd never learn the answer. Instead, she slid her arms between his skin and the fabric of the shirt he hadn't bothered to button, parting the latter enough to reveal a few of the many scars that marked him. Three from bullets, several from knives. Yet despite them all, he was still here with her. Her arms circled him gently as she rested her head against one of the faded cicatrices, breathing in his familiar scent of smoke and cologne and taking in his warmth.
Don't leave, she thought as his lips brushed against her forehead. She wished they had lingered there longer. Her fingers grasped the loose fabric of his shirt as he shifted and leaned back against the kitchen counter.
"Akane." She felt her breath catch at the sound of her name. Feeling her heart sinking, she let her hands find their way to his chest. Her thumb traced one of the scars and she dared to look up, meeting his clear, gray eyes. It always amazed her how they remained so clear, no matter how dark the circles got underneath. His brow furrowed and his mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say more. She'd grown too used to what had always come next, and after every short reunion, it'd never been any less difficult. Folding a hand over one of hers, he exhaled slowly and rested his forehead against hers. Her heavy eyelids closed in response, daring her to blink. "Akane," he said again, more quietly this time, his voice low and tranquil. "I'm not going anywhere."