Sometimes you imagine them almost kissing— stopping just before their lips meet. Just to see how long you last. Yua and Ameri lean in, mouths open, tongues wet. They smile because they know what it does to you. They tease, hovering close, breath mixing. Saliva shines between them, stretching, breaking. They kiss, slow and messy, never looking away. They press their mouths to the glass like it’s your skin. Spit smears. Strings drip. Their tongues slide, separate, return. Always just enough. Never enough. You’re watching. You’re melting. They know it. They keep going until you can’t tell if you’re embarrassed or desperate. Probably both. And that’s the point. (181218_02)