That night with you was a fleeting yet well-cherished memory of Kenma's. It was to the point where he'll remember the way he melts against your warmth, how your touch tingles on his skin, and how your kisses felt like a blessing from angels.

How can we go back to being friends. When we just shared a bed?

Kenma believed that you were both his damnation and salvation.

He couldn't understand how he could talk to you with a desperate attempt to keep up at normalcy. How those words left your mouth — like how you'd always ramble — when he knew how it tasted.

How can you look at me and pretend. I'm someone you've never met?

Strawberries and cream. He recalled as he caught himself staring. Kenma glanced away for a moment, there was a subtle waver of his breath.

He wanted to ask about a lot of things. If he wasn't the only one who thought about what had happened. If he wasn't the only who'd want for it to happen again.

If he wasn't the only one to want this.