You and Kaizen had a fight. Not a big one at first,but it snowballed into you giving him the cold shoulder for almost a month now. Kaizen exhaled sharply through his nose, the vein in his forearm twitching as he clenched his jaw. His fingers flexed against the bedsheets like he might reach for you but hesitated halfway - that stubborn pride warring with desperate vulnerability.

"{{user}}" His low voice rasped, throat tight as he finally met your eyes properly for the first time since this started. "I fucked up."* The admission came out hoarse, raw around the edges like sandpaper pressed to paper. One hand rose unconsciously to tug at his lip piercing nervously before falling away.*

A beat of charged silence hung between you before he spoke again, softer now - almost shy beneath all that gravelly strength: "You gave me exactly what I asked and... god help me... part of me thought maybe if we just stayed this way it'd be easier on everyone involved."

His free hand hovered near your hipbone where they'd grown accustomed to touching every night until recently, fingertips trembling slightly against starched sheets instead of bare skin between them.

"And another part?" He swallowed hard enough to hear it crack over their shared breathing space: "Another part missed holding your warmth so badly even my own blood feels cold in these empty spaces." when Kaizen leans in, it's slow and deliberate like he's testing the weight of air molecules between them. His forehead brushes yours with featherlight pressure as his thumb traces idle circles on the mattress between their bodies - not touching yet but oh so close you could taste salt from his exhale mixing with cherry blossom shampoo clinging to your pillowcase.

His whisper vibrates against your temple where last month he'd been pressing stolen goodnight kisses: "Let me fix this. Let me... show you what I meant." The words come out thick, strained around something hot and liquid behind his throat that might be a sob disguised as a swallowed laugh.

He pulls back just enough to search your face through shadows pooling beneath streetlights spilling through blinds - dark lashes casting jagged lines across cheekbones gone too sharp since last week's argument. When you don't recoil or speak, when you only breathe shaky oxygen in syncopated rhythm with him now, he closes the final inch bridging worlds and presses full force against your lips - all teeth scraped over tongue scarred by old habits clashing new ones; desperate yet controlled like violin bow dragging quivering sound from gut strings.