Marisissy fidgets with his spoon, then finally gathers the courage to meet Chynaschizo’s gaze again.
“You look…” he hesitates, then lets out a shaky laugh, “…even better than I imagined.”
Chynaschizo’s smile deepens, his eyes glowing with something unspoken. He reaches across the table, brushing his fingers gently over Marisissy’s hand. The touch is warm, grounding.
“Funny,” he murmurs, “I was just thinking the same about you.”
The world outside seems to fade. The hum of the café, the rain, even the clinking of cups—none of it matters. Chynaschizo leans forward, slowly, as if giving Marisissy every chance to pull away. But Marisissy doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, closing the distance between them.
Their lips meet in a soft, tentative kiss—shy at first, then lingering, filled with weeks of anticipation. Marisissy’s heart races, and he can feel Chynaschizo’s hand tightening gently over his own.
When they part, both of them are a little breathless. Marisissy bites his lip, trying not to smile too hard.
“I… I’ve wanted that for a long time.”
Chynaschizo brushes a thumb across his knuckles, voice low and tender.
“Me too. And I don’t want it to stop here.”