He remembers. ||oisaku||

2

It was cold.

A bitter cold, one that Sakusa usually would share with him over cups of tea or cocoa- depending on his lover's mood. A cold that meant the kotatsu would be put to use, a cold that meant ordering in over cooking, a cold that meant watching the same three movies over and over again.

A cold that brought no snow, which was his favourite. A cold that meant chapped lips and dry skin, a cold that felt lonely.

A cold that made Sakusa remember.

When Sakusa had gone to make his typical black coffee, his fingers brushed the tin of peppermint tea that he still refused to pitch. His mug was still dirty, so he had to use one that said Aoba Johsai VBC on it. Cyan had always been Sakusa's favourite colour, if only because of how good it looked on his lover.

He couldn't find his own sweatshirt, and he remembers. He remembers that he gave it to his lover before he got in that damned plane, a sweatshirt that smelled like Sakusa's cologne. A sweatshirt that was lost when the plane came crashing down into the vast expanse of ocean between Argentina and Japan.

The plane that stole his Tooru.

His Tooru, the same man who cared for nothing more than those he loved.

His Tooru, who double- and triple-checked with him before leaving for Argentina, making sure that he would remember him.

And of course, Sakusa Kiyoomi remembers.

He remembers the taste of Tooru's lips, a mixture of sweet from his strawberry chapstick and jarring from the mint tea he adored.

He remembers the late nights spent watching Tooru's favourite movies, all the ones that Sakusa didn't necessarily like- but he would do anything for Tooru.

He remembers the chestnut brown hair that could only be compared to clouds or fairy floss because it was so soft.

He remembers Tooru's molten caramel eyes, the ones that held the galaxies every night they spent staring at the sky together.

Sakusa remembers everything.