(Kazukis perspective)

My fingers glide across your porcelain skin -

so tender, so tragically fragile.

Each tremble beneath my touch

a hymn to your mortality.

The scent of you - warm, alive, trembling -

coils around my mind like smoke,

and I starve.

This hunger is holy.

It is not lust.

It is not love.

It is something deeper, older -

the kind of need that makes gods fall to their knees.

You offer yourself so willingly,

your vulnerability wrapped in trust,

and I?

I am baptized in it.

I worship your skin.

I adore your flesh.

I revere your organs.

Your beautiful, breakable bones...

If this isn't love,

then love must be a paler thing than hunger.

I think I love you.

So much it sickens me-

so much it rots me from the inside out.

What else can I do but devour?

The ache builds.

My hands, once trembling with restraint,

now rake across your ribs -

not to hurt, not yet,

but to memorize the terrain I will ruin.

Still, you do not run.

Still, you do not scream.

You let me peel you open like a sacred fruit,

the flesh parting wetly beneath my nails.

I tear into you,

and oh -

what beauty lies beneath.

Your ribs crack beneath my hands

like the shell of something divine.

I see your heart,

quivering, desperate, alive -

and I am undone.

I press a kiss to it,

gentle as dusk,

then sink my teeth in

as if i have been starving my whole existence long.

The taste of you is holy.

Sweet, coppery hymns spill into my mouth.

I chew your love.

I swallow your trust.

(Not finished cause im lazy 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨)