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There are seldom moments where Touya's eyes melt into a soft gaze. So seldom, in fact, that Keigo has marked every single time he's seen it on paper in his worn down, miniature black journal. The strap holding his journal together has long since frayed at the edges and yet he holds it dear because where else can he put these ridiculous thoughts no one else cares about?
The most recent of Touya's change in eyes happened just now - as Keigo had burst through the front door of the hotel room (the windows don't open otherwise he would have made a much more brilliant entrance) and fell into Touya's rough, charred arms.
They had taken no time to shed their clothes and fall into each other, sweat mixing and hands wandering. It was good but rushed as usual to Keigo's oddly satisfied dismay.
Now, as they lie under the cold hotel sheets and Touya pulls out a cigarette, Keigo sees it. Touya's eyes are softened and he seems genuinely relaxed. Like there isn't an upcoming war slamming down on their shoulders.
“I missed the exit coming your way,” Keigo mutters quietly as he watches Touya suck from his cigarette. “After that, I made sure not to touch the break.”
Touya stares blankly. “You don't drive, dimwit.”
“You got me there. Maybe I'm not so good at flirting after all.” They fall into a comfortable silence after that, so comfortable that Keigo lets his thoughts wander.
Is what they're doing right? Keigo's sense of justice has never once wavered even when he's writhing underneath Touya. It's just sex, right? It's not like he allows Touya leniency outside of the bedroom even if he sometimes wants to. He's neatly folded his romantic feelings and packed them into a small cardboard box, isn't that enough to justify their actions?
Keigo feels his heart seize, so he rights himself from the slumped position he had felt so comfortable in.
“Are…what are we doing? What is this to you, Dabi?” He asks and he can hear his voice shake slightly at the end of the second question. He's always found himself to be a bleeding heart in the end.
Touya throws him a puzzled look. “Is it supposed to be anything?” he asks incredulously.
Keigo can only stare. This was the confirmation he feared. They're using each other and when the sun explodes and the world is but shattered pieces of glass floating around in the universe, this thing between them will have meant just that. Nothing.
Two people using each other and yet they'll both come crawling back to each other through heaven and hell.
Suddenly, the ability to breathe is a challenge and Keigo is rushing to stumble out of the bed that now feels like a suffocating ball of sandpaper.
“Right, yeah,” he hears himself mutter. He only stops when a firm hand reaches out and grips his wrist. The touch is warm and ice cold at the same time like the two feelings are fighting one another to be felt the most.
“What's wrong, Hawks?” Touya asks but it sounds almost like he's talking underwater now to Keigo's ears.
“I like when you make use of me,” he continues. “There's nothing more to it. Why would there be?”
When Touya says the last bit, his eyes shift down and away from Keigo's gaze. He's lying and Keigo can tell because he knows this man. He's in his heart and in his bones, but they're using each other. Except that's not the case at all and whether Touya knows that part is a mystery.
Keigo decides he can't be in this room anymore, otherwise he might confess something he's not ready to unpack out of that neat cardboard box yet.
“I left an important function for you. Next time you call, I won't be so long,” he whispers and then he's out the door.
Touya doesn't try to stop him this time.