The sun was made for Chuuya. If God existed, he didn’t create the sun for light or warmth. He created it to illuminate Chuuya’s skin in an ethereal glow; to highlight the firm muscles of Chuuya’s freckled back and sharpen the shadows of Chuuya’s curves and edges.

Osamu could stare for hours and hours. Days and days. He never got tired of looking at Chuuya first thing in the morning.

Chuuya lay on his stomach facing him, his freckled cheek smooshed against the pillow. His pretty red hair was messy, strands pointing in almost all directions. Chuuya’s lips were slightly parted and Osamu could hear the barely audible sighs of exhalation leaving Chuuya in a steady manner. If Osamu allows his gaze to slide down (which he did), he would see the elegant, defined arches and slopes of Chuuya’s neck and shoulders.

Unable to help himself, Osamu reaches out and touches the angel in front of him.

Chuuya’s tanned skin is soft, moisturized by last night’s bath, and warmed by the sun. Osamu drifts his fingertips down the nape of Chuuya’s neck, descending the area between his shoulder blades and following the dips of his spine.

Chuuya’s thin eyebrows scrunch (fucking adorable) at his touch and Osamu holds his breath, watching with awe as Chuuya grunts and nuzzles the pillow, shifting slightly beneath his hand before stilling. Osamu lets out a stuttering exhale before smoothing his palm over the small of Chuuya’s back, his fingers grazing the side of Chuuya’s hip.