[How, he asks. Eichi loosens his hold on Wataru just slightly, enough to pull back just so he can grab his face, instead of wrap his arms around him, and touch their foreheads together.]
Lower your head to no one, Wataru. Not even me.
[Especially not him, maybe. That's what he wants. That's what would make him feel relief. That Wataru isn't just kneeling before him, that this imbalance isn't so heavy, so unfair. That Wataru is standing by his side, if anything.
And so, without waiting to see what he says, or checking to see if it's okay, he closes the distance once more, this time claiming Wataru's lips with his own. He doesn't know what he's doing, he's clumsy, this is new— but feeling guides him plenty fine, and there's no fumbling. Only warmth.]
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Lower your head to no one, Wataru. Not even me.
[Especially not him, maybe. That's what he wants. That's what would make him feel relief. That Wataru isn't just kneeling before him, that this imbalance isn't so heavy, so unfair. That Wataru is standing by his side, if anything.
And so, without waiting to see what he says, or checking to see if it's okay, he closes the distance once more, this time claiming Wataru's lips with his own. He doesn't know what he's doing, he's clumsy, this is new— but feeling guides him plenty fine, and there's no fumbling. Only warmth.]