[ the next breath shudders out of him in something that still feels strangely like relief. his head's still swimming from old dreams and a disorienting old-new loneliness, straddling the threshold between pragmatism and romanticism, wondering if there's any worth in telling keith about something his imagination might've conjured up. at the very least, he thinks, keith might understand where all of this is coming from. maybe it might rationalize the way his fingers tighten, how he's palming keith's face and kissing him like he's about to drown.
but he doesn't tell him anything, doesn't feel like he has to when keith kisses him back, when his mouth opens up and they're both leaning into it, over the compartment, the gears, and the warmth's unfurling in his rib cage, as silly and uncanny as the way it feels when he's fumbling over to take keith's hand.
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but he doesn't tell him anything, doesn't feel like he has to when keith kisses him back, when his mouth opens up and they're both leaning into it, over the compartment, the gears, and the warmth's unfurling in his rib cage, as silly and uncanny as the way it feels when he's fumbling over to take keith's hand.
i've got you, he thinks, and means it. ]