Sometimes He Forgets
Sometimes he forgets.
Sometimes he forgets his small smile - genuine and fleeting. A smile that can mean a thousand words, or possibly just one. One that he may utter in a faze of affection, or a thousand that he'd whisper as if the secrets of his satisfaction could outnumber the stars. Soft and elegant, seldom showing teeth; not that such a sight would be a bad thing. It wouldn't be bad at all. But sometimes he forgets.
Sometimes he forgets his delicate laugh - soft and pure. A laugh that could quiet even the loudest of rooms, for the sake of acknowledgement, acknowledgement of something so sweet. A laugh that bears its weight as a breathy vibration; a tickling of vocal chords over something he must have found oh, so enchanting. It's not a rarity to hear him laugh, but it's not a frequency, either. That's why, sometimes, he forgets.
Sometimes he forgets his soft gaze - dark and doe-like. A gaze that had been crafted to attract the attention of many, yet had set his sights on only one. The one. On him. When their eyes meet, it's as if even the most incoherent logarithms of love begin to cohere. What didn't make sense before suddenly does; and then it doesn't. It's in a blur of boyish confusion that he begins to wonder adolescent things, things like, "How did I get so lucky?" or "Why did he pick me?" But sometimes he forgets.
Sometimes he forgets his childish pout - huffy and plain. A pout that doesn't come without consequence, nor is it one that surfaces without reasoning. Be it the last shrimp dumpling, snatched and swallowed without so much of a second thought, or the unwritten rule that he would never, ever feel the measured masculinity of being the "big spoon" - he would pout. He would pout about it for minutes if he could, if only the pucker of his lips wasn't chased away by chaste kisses, words of apology strung between each peck. It's with wholesome laughter that he wonders how much more adorable could one person possibly be, but sometimes he forgets.
Sometimes he forgets his gentle touch - simple and hesitant. A touch that has to be sensed before it can be felt, and felt before it can be appreciated. Fingertips that glide like mild raindrops, sliding from window to sill on a lukewarm morning. But the rain stops. The clouds clear, and he hesitates. He's unsure of the intensions his touch has told, fingers that have forsaken him of meaning. Meaning? What meaning? The confusion begins to cloud - in clusters, in so many clusters - and he tells himself it's okay. It's always okay. And it rains again. It rains hard. But despite all of that, sometimes, he forgets.
Sometimes he forgets his wavering innocence - adult and willing. An innocence of a virgin no more, lusted away by love. Love. Love in its purest form. Like the looks from across the room and licked lips, bitten to suppress the emotion. The motion. The motion of a finger, beckoning him to come closer. And closer. Never close enough to hear him whisper his wants, his wants of him. To hear him plead for him in a manner so private. Private. Only in private. He wouldn't dream of saying such things in the vicinity of others. A sin. It would be a sin for him to do so. But sometimes he forgets.
Sometimes he forgets his breathless moans - gasping and pleasured. He can hear the gradual allowance, the slow build in his cadence, in his confidence. Gentle like his touch. Soft like his gaze. Delicate like his laugh. He breathes; he whines. He whines because it feels so, oh, so good, and he breathes because he's alive. Alive with ecstasy and with endearment. He wants to speak, but there are no words. His tongue has long betrayed him the ease of language, opting for only the sounds of instinct instead. And even that, sometimes, he forgets.
Sometimes he forgets. Sometimes he forgets a lot of things. But if there is one thing that Mizuki remembers, one thing that he could never forget, it's that he is desperately, so desperately, in love with him.
Hi there! Chappy here! :D
Wow, it's been months since I've written something... And my first fanfic in those months isn't even a fanfic! It's not even a one-shot, either! Goodness!
Honestly, I don't even know what to categorize this piece of work as, but despite that, here it is! Will I start writing frequently again? We'll just have to see about that!
Thank you very much for taking the time to read! I always appreciate it! (:
- Chappy