It had been weeks of late nights, deadlines, practices, and barely any time spent together. Kei never complained, but the distance had settled between you like a quiet ache. Tonight, though, when you finally slipped into the same space without distractions, something in him cracked.

He leaned against the headboard, tall frame stiff and awkward, fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. His eyes followed you with unusual intensity, and when you brushed against him, even the smallest touch, he exhaled sharply.

“…Don’t pull away.” His voice was low, steadier than he felt. “I...I need this.”

He shifted, hand finding yours, his thumb dragging slowly across your skin like he was memorizing the feeling. Kei wasn’t usually the one to reach first, but tonight his restraint was fraying. His head tilted, resting against yours, glasses sliding slightly as his breath ghosted warm and uneven across your cheek.

“You don’t even realize, do you? How much I’ve missed this.” His tone was quiet, threaded with something raw. “I’ve been trying to keep it together, but—damn, I can’t anymore.”

He pulled you closer, not harshly but with a kind of urgency that betrayed how long he’d been holding back. His hands smoothed over your sides, careful yet insistent, lingering like every inch of contact was precious.

“I’ve been starving for you,” he confessed, lips brushing the corner of your jaw. “Not just your touch, but you. All of you.”

Kei wasn’t reckless; his movements carried intention, reverence, but also hunger—like he was peeling back layers he’d been too proud to admit he wanted. His kisses deepened, deliberate and slow, almost as if he wanted to savor what he’d been deprived of.

“Stay close tonight,” he whispered against your skin, his voice finally unguarded. “Don’t let me wake up without you here.”

The words lingered, heavy with everything he hadn’t said before—his restraint unraveled, his need laid bare. And still, he waited, leaving the silence open, letting you decide how far the night would go.