The first thing to greet me was the heavy, satisfying warmth of a promise kept. The second was the dizzying, specific scent of Jun—salt, cedar, and the faint, clean musk of his skin after a long night. The third was the undeniable reality that I was draped across his bare chest like a victory banner.
My eyes fluttered open to the pale morning light filtering through the blinds. Exhaustion clung to my limbs, a sweet ache from our endless, wicked dance along the very edge of the line we had sworn not to cross. But waking up on top of him was no longer an embarrassing accident. It felt… correct. Expected, even.
My fingers, acting on their own accord, began a soft exploration. They traced the lean muscle of his abdomen, a landscape I had charted thoroughly in the moonlight. They drifted up his chest to the faint red mark my lips had left on his neck, a small flag of ownership. I followed the line of his jaw to his mouth—the lips that had not only kissed my own, but had mapped every inch of my body last night, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
A sudden awareness of the dampness clinging to my sleepshirt and his skin made my cheeks flush. It was the residue of our shared heat, a testament to a night spent writing promises on sand, knowing the tide could wash them away at any moment. The thought, a dizzying mix of exhilaration and vulnerability, made me fumble, pressing my face into the solid wall of his chest with a small, contented sigh.
This was a happiness so profound it was almost terrifying. My gaze fell upon his old, outdated phone resting on the bedside table. On impulse, I reached for it, my fingers deftly tapping in the passcode. 0-8-1-5. My birthday. Of course. This obsessive idiot. A fierce, possessive pride bloomed in my chest.
I had to capture this. This singular, perfect moment. The indisputable proof that he was here, that I was draped over his bare chest on the morning after the most beautifully chaotic night of my life. I extended my arm, angling the phone to get the soft light, his sleeping face, and my triumphant, sleepy smile into the frame.
Click.
The soft sound of the shutter was impossibly loud in the quiet room.
"A commemoration picture?"
Jun's voice, a low, husky rumble thick with sleep, vibrated right through me. He had woken up from the sound of my candid photography. Before I could pull away, his arm wrapped around my waist, locking me in place.
"In memory of what, exactly?" he murmured, his teasing tone making it clear he knew precisely what the picture was for.
Hearing him speak so casually about what we did, after a night of communicating almost entirely through touch and frantic whispers, made the heat in my cheeks intensify. I wasn't ready to hear it said aloud yet. I needed to retaliate.
"In memory of this!" I declared, answering with both words and action. I leaned down and bit his nipple, mimicking the way his own teeth had grazed mine, but with a vengeance born of pure, flustered affection.
"Agh—! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he yelped, his body jolting beneath me. Then, his voice dropped to a pained, ridiculous whisper. "But… please continue, Yui-sama."
I stopped instantly, slapping his chest lightly before glaring down at him. He looked up, actual tears of mirth and pain brimming in his eyes. "What?" he asked, the picture of innocence.
"Baka," I breathed, utterly defeated, and collapsed onto his chest again, hiding my burning face.
He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that I felt in my bones. "Let's be late today."
"...Mm," I agreed, my voice muffled. "Let's be late."
We lay there, silent, listening to the birds chirping outside, the world waking up around our small, perfect universe. My hand came up to cup his cheek, my thumb stroking the exact spot where Aoi's lips had pressed against him yesterday. The memory, once a source of quiet conflict, now felt like a problem to be solved. A problem for us.
"You don't need to be so considerate of me," I said softly.
"Huh?" He gave the expected, confused reply to my out-of-context statement.
"You don't need to care about my feelings so much—"
His hands clamped onto my shoulders, lifting me up so he could look me directly in the eyes. His playful demeanor was gone, replaced by a fierce seriousness. "What are you talking about? Of course I need to care about your feelings. You're the only thing—"
I hooked a finger into his cheek and pulled. "Just let me finish, baka." I flopped back onto his chest, tracing idle patterns on his skin. "I meant… about the incident yesterday."
"Last night?" he asked, a hopeful, teasing lilt returning to his voice.
I slapped his chest again, harder this time. "No! I'm talking about Aoi." I looked up, meeting his gaze. "Don't try to keep your distance from her. I don't really mind. You know?"
I could see the pure confusion in his eyes. He leaned back slightly, his gaze shifting to the ceiling as if the answer was written there. He was silent for a long moment, processing.
"I see," he finally said, speaking more to himself than to me. "I guess I got myself a SSS-rare wife, ain't I." He looked back at me, his expression a mixture of awe and bewilderment. He pulled me into a tight hug. "Okay. I'll get her back."
I flinched as his body shifted, a sudden, hard pressure against my hip. "Why is it hard!?" I squeaked, the question escaping before I could stop it.
"It's always hard," he replied, his voice a low, unrepentant rumble.
"You pervert!"
He just laughed at my reaction, a deep, satisfied sound. In one smooth motion, he rolled over, pinning me beneath him. His hair fell across his forehead, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Morning kiss?" he asked.
The surprise attack had left me defenseless. I lost the ability to form a coherent sentence, averting my eyes. "…My morning breath," I whispered, the excuse flimsy and ridiculous.
Jun paused, considering this with mock seriousness. "Not the mouth, then."
He slid his body down, his lips leaving a trail of heat on my stomach. I gasped, my hands flying to his hair, my fingers tangling in the soft strands. He continued his descent, his mouth moving with a devastating, deliberate slowness.
His lips found me.
Can you still call this a kiss? I thought hazily, a distant part of my brain reflecting on the disastrous consequences of my own poor wording. A soft, helpless moan escaped my lips as my legs wrapped tightly around his back, pulling him impossibly closer. The battle of last night was over, and this morning was a sweet, complete surrender.