If Yukimura finds him unreadable right now, it would be because Akaya doesn’t even know, himself. He would find a murky mess of thoughts if Akaya were forced to pry open and examine what’s inside his mind. There’s no concern of what will come later. He doesn’t want to touch upon that complicated reckoning yet. He wasn’t prepared for it. Maybe he never would’ve been.

The past, strangely enough, doesn’t linger in his mind either. At least, not in a conscious way. There’s no how it was or what could’ve been, no why or why not. If there is a piece of their past he fixates on, it is this familiarity - every touch and gesture that his body remembers. It is visceral, and the stroke of that hand and the mouth that closes over him right after can coax out a noise from the back of his throat that sounds almost like a cry. His fingers tighten in Yukimura’s hair. The warmth spreads down across every inch of his body down to his toes, a natural high that Yukimura can take him to. Is that because this is the one obsession he can never seem to shake? Or because of something else that he wanted, now within his grasp again? Yukimura is entangled in that mess of emotions, desire, pain, pleasure. It’s hard to say what part of it he feels when he touches him like this.