Kyoya awoke to Tamaki's voice. Despite himself, he immediately honed in on it, noted Tamaki's soft tone, the way he still said his thanks formally when shy.
Suddenly his nose itched, and Kyoya groggily moved to scratch it. Tamaki set something down and scrambled towards him, but Kyoya still felt his body rebuking the movement and flinched from pain.
"Don't move," Kyoya gritted out. "Got it."
Tamaki let out a laugh, but nothing was funny. It was an exclamation of disbelief, an exhale of stress. A purging, a cleansing; he was getting it out because it had to be out.
"Hello Kyoya."
Kyoya smiled, despite it all. Then his eyes got hot, and he was overcome with sentiment and had to compose himself.
"Hello, Tamaki."
The two gripped each other's hands, before Tamaki forced himself to let go and get up to fetch their breakfast. Two plates with pieces of bacon and scrambled eggs, along with bottles of electrolyte solution.
They ate quietly, with forced unhurriedness to not make themselves sick. Silverware scraped plates, and manners were generally discarded in their desperate hunger. At one point one of them discarded their silverware and began eating with their fingers, and the other followed shortly after.
And after the two had finally finished their small meals, neither of them spoke. Kyoya laid back in his exhaustion, and Tamaki looked to be sleepy once more. Their hands found each other's again, always seeking, always reaching to check for the other.
It was odd, though. Because where there hadn't been prior to meeting Kagome was the pervasive feeling of something missing.