• the wall thing
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yahaba stumbles, but a hand on his arm catches him. kyoutani helps tug him to his feet, and the hand lingers, thumb idly rubbing circles across his bicep. Words escape Yahaba in a breath, and they sound like, 'thank you,' but they feel a whole lot like, 'kiss me.'

“be careful,” kyoutani says, voice too soft to be a grumble

yahaba can’t help it; he glances at kyoutani’s lips. “I’ll try,” he mumbles