It takes a while, the fireworks may even be winding down by the time Koumyou can pull away and straighten back up, scooting in close again but without being burrowed into Devero's chest. His eyes are still dry.

He rests the side of his head on the other man's shoulder again, and sighs.

"I want it to be perfect for you," he says, and then, greatly, greatly daring, voice small, "and... f-for me, I guess."

Not because he thinks Devero will be offended by that or anything, it's just hard for him to even contemplate such a thing.

"I don't even know what that means, but I... I want to hope. I guess. That it's possible?"