The room smells of cigarettes and humidity, of thickness clinging to nose and skin. The two named Loveless move almost drunkenly, in and out of an uncontrolled dream-state led by their bodies.
The fighter scouts the younger's frame, trapping him although neither bear resistance. Kiss and touch fall into place as if fate had once mapped out such movement. The older leads, for he has more experience, for Ritsuka is too childishly eager and modest.
The world is a patchy collage that doesn't concern either of them. Now is lightheaded, comfortable and so good. Detached colors and fragrances scatter to sight, little dots and sighs- no, moans, no, yes…
Never before had they truly shared a name, nor fathomed that one could feel such ignition of soul and sensation. Reality is a catnap away.
And Ritsuka doesn't need to tell Soubi that he believes. The feeling is mutual.