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daflangstlairde-art · 2 days ago

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"A Noble Occupation" Chapter 2, 7936 words

Summary:

The shame burned. Dream felt as though everyone knew. Knew that he was a failure, that he needed something additional to work (and he was already worse at his work than he'd like). Knew that he wasn't the beacon of happiness and hope that they believed in, that they needed, that they loved. That he was something flawed, which felt sorrow and exhaustion and shame. — Dream acquires a new coping mechanism. It's not a very good one.

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

It… became a habit, as shameful as that was.

On lighter days, when his emotions weren't exhausted enough and therefore reached him, Dream would… well, first he would busy himself. When there was nothing obvious that needed him (uncommon occurrence), he sought out how to be helpful, how to be of use. When there was little of that (very rare occurrence), he trained with his teammates, or made preparations.

When that ended and he was home, Dream still looked for ways to make his time worthwhile. Even cleaning was better.

But when he was at a loss on how to do that, and he was thinking and feeling things the Guardian of Positivity shouldn't be… he drank.

The experience didn't get more pleasant, but he grew accustomed to it. The same way he'd learned to bear wounds. The same way he'd learned to bear his own bad emotions.

Go to the store. Internally writhe in shame as he got a bottle of alcohol (wine, since he was most familiar with it). Sometimes he lied that it was for a friend or a gift. Go back home.

Drink it all as fast as possible.

Get hit with the effects all too suddenly.

Feel miserable. Throw up. Go to bed. Sleep like a log.

He learned to keep a glass of water at his night stand. He learned to set an alarm so he wouldn't sleep until noon. He learned to take headache meds in the morning so his functionality wasn't impaired.

It wasn't a big deal, really. It rarely happened, once every several weeks at most.

It helped him sleep, when he did it. It helped him, well, drown his sorrow — make it dull and fuzzy, allowing him to wake up the next day and pretend like none of it existed in the first place, because it shouldn't have existed in the first place.

He was a Protector of the entire Multiverse. If this made him better at his job, at giving the people what they needed in a way that didn't affect them negatively at all, what's the harm in it?

—

Dream should get a mat or something. For his bathroom. The floor tiles were cold.

At some point, he figured it was easier to just drink in his bathroom, since he was inevitably going to end up throwing it up.

The floor… wasn't particularly comfortable, but that's fine. Dream just had to sit here for a bit. Knees pulled to his chest, breathing steadily. Waiting for the alcohol to kick in properly, for the nausea to really rear up. Everything was already fuzzy and tilting, so it was on its way.

And then his phone rang.

Dream winced. He felt his metaphorical heartrate pick up, because it was late, and today had been easier, so this had to be an emergency, and he was a useless mess–

"Hey Dream!" Blue's voice came through.

"Blue?" Dream swallowed. Oh, he hadn't yet… experienced talking to anyone in this state. And he knew alcohol changed the way people spoke. Stars, he really hoped Blue wouldn't pick up on it. He really, really hoped that.

Blue was one of his best friends. One of his teammates. He was… so nice. He genuinely… cared about Dream, not just– about what Dream could do for him, not just about Dream's role. Blue was a good person.

What would he think of Dream? Would he be disappointed?

Dream would not be able to handle that.

He couldn't let Blue know.

"–always for some emergency or another, soo I thought I'd just… you know… call to chat! Just as friends," Blue spoke. His voice was… calm and cheerful. No emergency.

His words caught up to Dream. He wanted to… chat. As friends. That was important. Dream… didn't want Blue to feel like they're just co-workers. They were friends. Blue mattered a lot to Dream.

He was right. Dream had to make more time to spend with his friends. As friends. The last thing he wanted was for them to feel like… like he didn't care about them because he spent all his time helping other people instead.

(He had to have learned from his mistakes. He had to.)

Dream exhaled through his nose, trying to string together a coherent reply. Come on, he wasn't that drunk. Liven up!

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding even if Blue couldn't see. "I– I also… I'd enjoy spending time with you too. As friends,"

"Yay mweheheh!" Blue exclaimed, and Dream huffed in mirth at his endearing laughter. "Unless you're tired, that is– oh no, did I wake you up? I should've asked if you were available to talk first, gah, please prioritize your rest–!" he rushed out.

Dream shook his head. "No, no, I'm available," he spoke slower than the other. It's like the words were fuzzy in his mouth. It was weird. But it didn't sound weird, at least not to him.

"Oh! Okay then, great! Anyway. I'm making dinner!"

Dream hummed. "What're you making?"

"Vegetable cream soup!!!" Blue exclaimed.

That simultaneously sounded really tasty and made Dream remember the upcoming nausea.

"Sounds lovely," he focused on.

"Uh-huh! I hope so. You can try it tomorrow! It's a bit pot. I'm making it with the usual ingredients — you know, carrots and onions and potatoes, but I also decided to add cauliflower because I quite enjoy cauliflower–"Blue started rambling. He enjoyed cooking, as was characteristic of many versions of Papyrus. Funnily enough, Dream had caught him and Horror discussing food prep in the middle of a fight once or twice. It was bizarre. Dream wasn't against it though.

He didn't… think hating Nightmare's gang would solve anyone's issues. He wished he could help them instead. They… hngh. People hated them for ruining and destroying, which was understandable. Dream also, well, highly disapproved of their actions. But they were people, too. And, occasionally, he could feel their hurt. And there's no way being with Nightmare helped.

He exhaled. Maybe someday, he'd figure out a way to help them too. If he tried harder. If he was better.

…Ah, he wasn't listening to Blue. What a friend he was. How could he help Nightmare's gang if he couldn't even be enough for one of his best friends?

"–with an egg, and then it's going to be all done. What about you, what are you up to??" Blue asked curiously, because he was a good friend.

Agh. Dream would have to lie again. He felt… ashamed and guilty. What should he answer?

"I was… cleaning earlier," he answered. He did clean just a little.

"Cleaning? Tsk tsk tsk Dream, I told you to go home and rest," Blue said, light-hearted, more teasing than anything. Though there was soft, disguised concern in his words.

Dream winced. He swallowed. He almost reached for the bottle again before he remembered it was already empty. It was really getting to him. As always, it left him feeling odd. Fuzzy at the face. Nauseated.

"Sorry," he said, sort of by reflex.

"N– it's alright," Blue was quick to assure, and then he paused for a moment. "Are… you alright, Dream?"

Oh no.

Good going, Dream, you couldn't even compose yourself enough for one phone call. Blue just wanted to spend time with you, and now you're making it all about yourself and your problems which you shouldn't be having in the first place. Selfish.

Ugh, and the wine wasn't helping him at all. Dream felt… messy, when he should be the pinnacle of put-togetherness. He couldn't cry now. He couldn't.

"I'm okayy," Dream tried to put a sincere inflection to it. He'd mastered that long ago, except now, it fell oddly, drawing out the end of the word just a bit. Dammit.

Blue was quiet for another moment. Dream had to fix this.

"…Dream, you can ta–"

"I'm just a bit distracted, sorry," Dream lied, "Planning. You know how it is. …Sorry for interrupting you," he winced.

"…Right," that didn't sound like Blue believed him. Dream hunched in on himself. He felt sick. "Just–" Blue took a breath, "–don't stay up all night planning, okay? …Take care of yourself. Please. You don't have to– …You… you'll need the strength, so we can, uh, help people the best we can!"

Right. He was right. Dream was so selfish to be doing this.

"…You're right," he agreed softly. "Thanks for the chat, Blue. I really enjoyed it. Can we… I… I really appreciate you as a friend, you know?" he swallowed. "We should… hang out more. I'm sorry we don't hang out more. I'm s– I… I think I'm gonna go to bed now," he finished on a bit of a lame note.

"I'd love to hang out another time," Blue said all warm, and Dream knew he meant it. "But right now, you going to bed will make me even happier! Good night, Dream! See you tomorrow!"

"Good night," Dream returned quietly. After a beat, the call ended.

Dream let his hand down, blinking bleary at the wall. The silence lingered. He was alone.

He shuffled over to the toilet to throw up so he could go to bed.

—

He was growing too accustomed to the alcohol. One bottle wasn't making him as sick. He had to get two.

…He was finding more varied places to get the alcohol from.

—

Several days later,

"Dream!" Ink grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Ink?" Dream was immediately aware, "What is it, why did you call me, are you alright?" did Error go too far again, did Dream need to heal him? Was an AU being destroyed?

"Oh I'm great," Ink waved a hand, and then once again grabbed Dream, "But I really really really need your help!"

"Yes? Of course!" Dream would always help his friends.

"I need you," Ink said gravely, "to have a beach day with me."

Dream stared back at Ink's intense stare.

He resisted the urge to sigh. That'd be rude. And he wasn't really irritated with Ink anyway. Both because he didn't feel irritation, and also because it was Ink, Ink was like this.

"Come on pleeasee! It's really important!" Ink shook him a little. "It's for one of my stories! It has to be realistic. I stayed up all night thinking of plot points to put to the test,"

It still often baffled Dream how Ink could use up his time and energy for fictional stories like this. Then again, he'd… learned Ink perceived real people as fictional too. And besides, he wasn't Dream. Other people needed breaks and hobbies to function and to feel alright, so it was justifiably important. Even if Dream, personally, wouldn't dare.

"…Right," he replied carefully. "How long is this going to take…?"

"Uhhhmmm about a day, less even, so it's basically nothing," Ink shrugged. "We'll leave if there's an emergency, too, I promise,"

Okay, that eased some of Dream's worry. And it's not like this was the first time Ink hauled them away to do stuff relating to his stories. Last time was a few months ago, a camping trip in the mountains. Blue enjoyed that one. Dream did too. He held the memory fondly.

"Okay," he relented with a sigh and a smile. He'd rather be used by his friends.

"YES!" Ink threw his hands up.

And so here they were. Having a beach day.

It wasn't some private beach — there were a bunch of monsters around, but it was very far from crowded. It made Dream feel less like everyone would be looking at him and disapproving of this unearned leisure.

They'd already gone into the water, which wasn't awfully cold. And either way, the sun was high up and hot, seeping warmth into Dream's bones. The air held a gentle breeze that smelled of salt and sand and seaweed.

"Ink, pass it!" Dream hollered, grinning.

"Incomiiing!" Ink laughed, turning so he could pass the ball to Dream. With a running start, Dream jumped to dunk it past the net.

Blue laughed loudly at that, whistling. Error couldn't be assed to rush to catch the ball, even if he was literally a few paces away from it.

Blue had the idea that they play beach volleyball, but they'd needed a fourth person. Ink ended up nagging the Destroyer until he finally agreed, though he wasn't exactly passionate about it. Still, it was really fun. Error made up for his lack of involvement by cheating. This was the third ball Ink had drawn, haha.

And honestly?

Dream was having fun. Even with just the four of them, he was having a great time. All those fighting skills turned out to be useful — agility and precision and team coordination. Both teams were about evenly matched, making the game just engaging enough. Though weirdly, Dream didn't feel drained by all the movement and emotions.

The other monsters around the beach were relaxing, wafting off pleasant contentedness. Blue and Ink were as cheerful as ever. Even Error, as much as he complained about the sand, didn't seem to loathe it too much (likely because he was sort of friends with Blue and was familiar Ink).

It all left Dream collapsing onto his towel with a grin that was so big it ached against his face and a pleasant buzzing in his bones. This was yet another memory he'd hold near and dear.

("Thank you," Dream said to Ink quietly, but from the heart, as they all were sat to eat lunch during a brief break.

Ink chuckled, sharing a brief glance with Blue. "Anytime," he nudged Dream with an elbow.)

…Unfortunately, Dream remained a mess.

He was trying to sleep, he really was. He'd gone to bed over half an hour ago and he'd stayed there. Feeling lighter after a fantastic day. Calmer. More put together. Hopeful, the positivity inside him fresh and sincere, braced to live.

But he just… couldn't sleep. Which, to be fair, was far from new. Actually, he struggled to sleep most of the time. Which wasn't ideal since he got to bed, hm, maybe once every three days, but he was still fully functional so it must be all he needed.

Dream sighed, rolling on his side. Purple teddy bear held to his chest as always.

He wanted to sleep. Bad dreams or not, selfish or not, he was tired and he needed energy to bring his best for the Multiverse. Simply laying around certainly wasn't better.

He didn't understand why he couldn't sleep. He felt so cozy and comforted after the day at the beach. Filled with an unmarred warmth.

…Maybe…

…Hm. Did he need to drink an entire bottle every time? Maybe… drinking only a little would be fine. Just enough to dull his hyperawareness. What's so different to using melatonin pills?

Carefully, still a little ashamed, Dream got out of bed.

His head didn't even hurt in the morning, so it must've been fine.

—

It's really not that bad. Dream remained Dream, the Guardian of Positivity, member of the Star Squad, Protectors of the Multiverse. He was just as reliable, endlessly and gladly inspiring hope in everyone around him. Everyone knew how Dream was. Dream helped and asked for nothing in return. Dream always saw the best in people. Dream determinedly kept his stance in the face of terror and destruction. Dream embodied goodness, in everything he did, everything he was. Always smiling sincerely, reaching out his hands. Dream and all that he was belonged to the people. He served his role dutifully, humble and dedicated, glad and proud.

After years, he'd eventually settled into this balance. Always outputting as much productivity as he could, and always looking to do it more. A worn routine.

This was just… another… tiny part of said routine. He never dared to overdo it — he never drank around people, the same way he never cried around people. He never did it two days in a row, never even did it twice in the same week. He was always very careful that he wasn't needed when he was… uhm, in that state. He didn't… always drink himself to sickness, some nights it was just to help him sleep.

No one was noticing. So it was fine. Dream was ensuring he was highly functional and stable. He could get out all these unwanted emotions and thoughts, flush them down the toilet, and then continue as if it wasn't needed in the first place.

Until he was taken off-guard.

His phone was ringing.

Dream picked up immediately, desperately hoping this was just Blue or Ink wanting to chat. Because here he was once again. Dressed in pajamas, on his bathroom floor. Staring at the swirling and swimming tiles with over one bottle of alcohol in his system. Waiting for the sickness to come and pass, as usual.

"Yeah–?"

"Dream, emergency," Blue's alarm was audible over the line. Dream's rolling stomach sank. "Nightmare and his gang attacked–"

"On m' way, give me– minute," Dream hauled himself to his feet, and promptly regretted it as sharp reflux burned his throat. He pushed it down.

To his credit, his awareness sharpened a bit, as he listened to Blue give him the details of where to go and what state they were in. Ink was already there, and he heard Blue go through one of his portals. At that point Blue had to hang up to engage in combat as well.

In the meanwhile, Dream tried to gather himself into something semi-functional. He knew he looked terrible when drinking, and he was far from dressed for fighting, he had to hurriedly put on more combat-appropriate clothes so he wouldn't earn himself unnecessary wounds or impede his movements. He also took barely a few short seconds to splash his face with cold water.

As always, his mind kicked into habit as soon as he heard 'emergency'. Settling into familiarity. Forcefully jammed into strategy and pragmatism, away from sorrow and pain and all those distractions.

In about a dozen minutes, he arrived at the described location, more specifically in a version of Waterfall. The teleportation made his stomach do uncoordinated flips but Dream barely even noticed it, because he spotted Killer and Dust both engaging Blue in combat and jumped in to deal with at least one of them.

"Dream!" Blue exclaimed in relief.

"Here," Dream called back, parrying the swing of Killer's knife with his staff. Sometimes Killer preferred regular ranged attack bullets, but it seems today (or, tonight, according to the Omega Timeline's cycle) he was more for close-ranged combat. Which was fine because Dream was experienced in both.

"Well look who deigned to join!" Killer spat laughter in Dream's face, gladly engaging him in a fight. He was as vicious as ever, relentless and dirty with his attacks. Dream was used to him and knew to keep his guard up at all times, responding with fast, precise blocks and attacks of his own so as to not allow him openings to abuse.

Or… he was used to Killer.

But as they fought, and Killer kept taunting him as he usually did, Dream was… having a harder time than he should be.

It felt like he was reacting on time, except again and again, Killer managed to steal hits from him that Dream should've been perfectly capable of handling. His reflexes were… fuzzier than he'd like. In a normal fight, they would still hold up, but again, this was Killer. Nightmare had picked out the members of his gang for clear reasons.

Everything was just a little uncoordinated. Just a little unstable, like they were fighting in shallow water even though they were still on dry land, like Dream couldn't manage his footwork. Each hit that landed jarred Dream, even though the pain was muffled as well. Dream was lacking.

…And Killer was catching onto it.

"Heheheee did we catch you off-guard, dreamboy?" he jeered as he slammed his blade against Dream's staff once more, undistracted by his own words. "Are you losing your spark?"

Dream didn't reply, focused on matching him beat for beat as much as he could. Though that wasn't uncommon. He wasn't much for mid-fight banter. That was more Ink's thing. It's why Killer liked fighting Dream specifically. He wanted to crack his composure.

"You're sloppy," Killer hissed, grinning, dodging and slashing in the same movement, "Not usually your style, Mr. Perfect!" he mocked.

And he was right. Dream excused the rushing of his metaphorical heart on the adrenaline.

"This is who our enemies are? Pathetic," Killer successfully managed to slam the hilt of his blade against Dream's wrist, which weakened the grip on his staff, allowing Killer a wide swipe that landed despite Dream's attempt at dodging. Dream registered absentmindedly that, thankfully, it wasn't a lethal wound.

"What is up with you?" Killer crooned. "Am I scaring you, sunshine? Was this a bad time? Or…" he paused, in a dangerously considering way.

Dream's gut wrenched. His eyes widened, just the tiniest bit that people usually would not notice.

But this was Killer. Killer, when he wasn't drunk on violence and pain, could be terrifyingly observant. He was like a shark sensing a single droplet of blood in the water.

Killer barked out a hysterical laugh.

"Are you drunk?!" he loudly marveled.

Dream was too late to catch the wince he made at that. It was just the confirmation Killer needed.

"Oooohohoho oh this is incredible!" Killer laughed, fiercely back to attacking. "Your Guardian, everybody! A drunkard! I knew I could smell something familiar!" he declared it all loudly, even if there was nobody here to hear except the two opposing groups. And the echo flowers.

But even though there were no civilians here to hear, Dream was violently cringing inside. Please, no, he begged, please just let me handle this and go back home.

"What, got sick of living the life anyone else would kill for?!" Killer mocked, abusing his new knowledge to gain the upper hand in their fight. Dream was even sloppier, struggling to keep up with him, backing up as Killer pushed onwards. "I'm embarrassed to even fight you, Dream! Tsk tsk tsk!"

Usually, Dream mentally shielded himself from Killer's and Nightmare's and everyone's negative remarks as much as he could. Usually he knew the point of their words was to get to him, him specifically. To weaken his resolve, to hurt.

So why was it getting to him now?

Horrifyingly, Dream realized he wanted to cry.

All Killer needed was for him to stumble for a moment, and then Dream cried out as a knife was plunged directly into his chest. Killer seized the opportunity, shoving him towards the wall with it so he could push the blade in up to the hilt.

As soon as he accomplished it, he twisted the knife, Dream letting out another highly pained sound, and then ripped his knife out to let him bleed.

Dream, uncoordinated, sloppy, hurting, overwhelmed, slid down to the ground, trying to at least breathe. Everything was spinning, and the back of his throat stung sharply and discontentedly.

Dream didn't even process Killer lifting his knife and summoning four blasters with the same gesture, laughing hysterically above him. He flinched and cowered pathetically as a second shape jumped between them, and it was the final push as he leaned forwards and retched on the ground. Or… he aimed for the ground but didn't quite make it. The humiliation burned as he saw he caught the bottom of his pants and his shoes and it was gross and he wanted to cry. He was shaking.

"–eam are you okay?!" Blue's worried voice floated in from beside him, and Dream squeezed his eyes shut, pulling his knees closer in, hiding his face in them.

He was collapsing in the middle of a fight. His friends needed him. He was letting them down. He was letting everyone see his composure break. He was broadcasting his weaknesses, his wrongness to their enemies. What was wrong with him? Why was he like this? Why couldn't he just work?

Adrenaline and shame and sheer overstimulation wracked him inwardly and he felt sick, he felt so sick, he was going to throw up again.

"Dream, hey, hey, listen to me, it's okay, focus on my voice," Blue spoke. He was– he was kneeling next to Dream, blocking his view of the rest of the fight. If both of them were dealing with Dream's mess, then Ink had to be handling the rest on his own. And Ink was strong and incredibly capable, he was creative and didn't let things get to him, but Dream was letting him down.

They were both going to be disappointed in him. The thought felt like getting stabbed in the chest again.

Dream– Dream couldn't do this. He was a disappointment. He was a useless. A mess. He was a failure.

In barely a flash, he was back in his bathroom, bending forward to throw up into the toilet. Everything was spinning, and he clutched the bowl to stop the shaking of his hands. His face felt hot with shame and the blubbery tears breaking out of their prison.

Dream was struggling to breathe. It felt like his rib cage was made of stone, and he couldn't breathe in right. He was– he was trying to gasp in air but every inhale got cut off sharply, he couldn't breathe, everything was vibrating like pins and needles.

Dream let his forehead thunk down on the toilet seat, the cutting breaths starting to sound more like hiccups, like sobs. He couldn't get himself under control, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't even think. It was all just a barrage of emotions he shouldn't be capable of even having, uselessness and panic and sorrow and self-hatred and guilt and disappointment and shame shame shame. He was a ruin. He felt so damn sorry the Multiverse depended on this thing.

Suck it up. Pull yourself together. Handle this. Be better. Be better!

But he couldn't. He couldn't. Every desperate attempt to pull himself together only made him more overwhelmed, only made him feel more incapable. He wanted to claw out the emotions. He wanted it out.

It hurt as he retched into the toilet again, acidic magic trailing down his chin. It was gross, it was so gross, he hated it. He hated the way his uncontrolled sobs echoed in the bathroom. He hated the way he couldn't even get up, trembling and weak and aching all over. He hated hating, he shouldn't even be capable of it.

How was he going to sleep like this? How was he going to look his friends in the eyes like this tomorrow? How was he going to look at anyone? Maybe they wouldn't know how much of a useless disappointment he was, if Nightmare didn't broadcast it to the whole Multiverse, but Dream would know. It would be in the background of all his actions, following him, never allowing him to forget because he had to remember his mistakes, he had to learn from them, he had to be better.

Who would need– who would want a Guardian of Positivity who wasn't even positive?

He tried to reign in the sobbing, he tried, he swore he tried. He always tried so, so hard but it was never enough. He was never enough. People always needed more, there was always more to do, he always had to be more. He couldn't even stop crying, when he shouldn't be crying in the first place.

Dream raised his hands, slamming them into the sides of his head. Just stop it. Just stop it. You're the one that messed up, you're the one who always messes up! It's your fault! It's always been your fault! Why are you crying? How dare you feel sorry for yourself you useless thing? People suffer constantly, and here you are, sniveling!

"I'm sorry, 'm sorry," Dream blubbered incoherently, not even sure to who. It was just– instinct, deep inside him. Sorry that he was wrong, sorry that he wasn't enough, sorry sorry sorry.

The tears didn't stop coming. It's like every tear he'd ever repressed was coming back for him with vengeance. He just kept crying and crying and crying, like he was trying to hold back the tears with his own hands but they just kept slipping through. How was he supposed to calm anyone else's tears when he couldn't even deal with his own?

He was made to help people, it was the definition of his existence to exist through others and for others. If he couldn't be theirs then he was nothing, he was as good as de–

"–shh, shh, it's okay,"

Dream jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder, no, no, what? There wasn't supposed to be anyone here, he was alone, he–

"Dream, it's okay, it's alright," Blue was kneeling next to him, keeping up a stream of reassurances, and the sudden shame Dream felt, like someone had grabbed his nonexistent intestines and squeezed.

"Blue– you– n– m– I–" he stammered, words slurred in a way he hated.

"It's okay," Blue insisted, "Look, look at me, hey," his hands came to cup Dream's face, and Dream felt borderline scared as he looked at Blue's gaze. It was gentle, but sure. "You're okay. Everything is okay. Stop thinking, just– breathe with me, please?" he said.

More tears bubbled into Dream's eye sockets because he couldn't, he couldn't–

"I need you to remind me how we did it, please? Please? How did we do it? How do we breathe deep?" Blue tried desperately.

He needed Dream. He needed Dream's help, and that's all Dream's shattered thoughts could focus on. His friend needed him.

Dream forced himself to gasp in air even as it burned, his chest and his throat.

"There we go, that's right," Blue encouraged, still holding his face, keeping Dream's eyes on him. "I think I'm remembering, keep showing me, okay?"

Dream gasped for air again, and Blue followed, inhaling deeply. Much more steadily than him. Dream tried to hold the breath but it burned and escaped him, and Blue held and exhaled with him, although slower.

Dream was still shaking with sobs but he pushed through, hands clutching tightly onto nothing, forcing himself to breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold, repeat. Blue following him beat for beat.

They barely spent a few minutes that way before another presence joined them and Dream flinched, his already unsteady rhythm knocked off again.

"It's just Ink, it's okay," Blue reassured quickly. "He's got some medical supplies–"

Dream's eye lights snapped back to Blue in alarm, "Who's hurt?" he asked immediately, still struggling with cohesion.

Blue's face saddened, and that only panicked Dream more. There was someone injured who needed his help and he was sitting here freaking out–

"You are," Ink said next to them and flicked Dream's head with two fingers. Dream startled at it. He saw Blue send Ink a look at that, but he sensed no regret from Ink.

His mind grappled to process the words.

He was? He was what? Hurt?

…Oh wait. Yes. He was hurt. Killer stabbed him in the chest, he was still bleeding from it.

And then– then he'd–

More tears and shame pricked at his face. He shook his head insistently, though he wasn't sure what he was trying to convey.

"Dream, please let Ink help," Blue pleaded, worry lacing every word.

Dream hated to make him worry, especially over him, so in guilt, he relented.

With shaking hands, he removed his capelet and his shirt so it would be easier for Ink. Looking at it now, the wound was bad. It wouldn't kill him, it would take a lot to kill him, but it was bad. His blood dripping down from his severed ribs. It'd soaked into his clothes. It explained the burning of his breathing only partially.

"It's going to be okay," Blue lifted his face up again. "Just let Ink heal it, it's going to be okay Dream,"

He shouldn't be the one reassuring Dream. Ink shouldn't be the one cleaning his wound carefully to heal him. Dream should be the one taking care of them, not the other way around.

"I'm sorry," he whispered through hiccups, not even flinching as Ink gently cleaned his wound out with rubbing alcohol.

However the smell reached up to Dream's nose and nausea rolled in his stomach.

He shoved himself away from Blue to gag, pressing a hand to his mouth because he'd hate himself even more if he threw up on his friend.

"Whoops, sorry about that," Ink said casually, assuming he'd done something wrong.

"Not– not your fault," Dream reassured him, struggling to breathe through the nausea.

"Oh, I thought that's what we're doing? Apologizing for things that aren't our fault?" Ink said with a mischievously innocent smile.

Blue whacked his shoulder. Ink showed no regret, chuckling.

Dream was trying not to throw up again. He didn't usually vomit this much, but he usually stayed in his bathroom with little physical strain too.

He really, really wished they didn't see him like this.

"Oh, you still feel sick?" Ink spoke again, pushing himself to his feet, "I'll be back in a mo, keep an eye on him," he told Blue and then disappeared through a swipe of inky magic.

"Okay–" Blue exhaled through his nose, picking up the cotton and the rubbing alcohol, "I'll treat your wounds for now then, is that okay?"

Dream stared at the plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol. Just the thought of the smell made him feel sick and ashamed and guilty, like he wanted to hide under his blanket.

"Oh–" Blue looked down at the bottle and then put it down.

"No, no, it's fine–" Dream was quick to reassure. His words were slightly clearer even though everything still felt like pins and needles. He was still intermittently hiccuping and sobbing, breathing shakily. And bleeding.

"No, we'll think of something else," Blue insisted, and Dream cringed. He couldn't even give it to them to not be a difficult patient. Way to burden your friends with what shouldn't even be their job, Dream.

He reached for the plastic bottle. He could patch his wound up himself, it was far from the first time.

Blue grabbed his wrist.

"Dream." he said sternly, and Dream couldn't help but hunch in on himself at the tone.

"Sorry,"

Blue breathed in and out in a measured manner.

"It's okay, I'm not mad at you," he said gently, and Dream could feel he wasn't. Mostly, he felt– frustration, worry and care, and sadness.

"Are– are you okay?" Dream asked. He didn't want Blue to feel frustrated and sad and all.

The frustration reared up at that, and then Dream felt it get intentionally shoved down.

"'S okay to be frustrated," he reassured, hand reaching up to Blue's shoulder in sloppy comfort.

"I'm–" Blue exhaled, "I'm not frustrated because you've done something wrong," he explained, "I just– I want to help you but I don't know how, and I'm... frustrated you're not letting us,"

Oh.

"Sorry," Dream mumbled, "I'm– I'm alright,"

"You're not," Ink reappeared, and Dream saw Blue wince at the bluntness. "Maybe this will help though?" Ink crouched down next to them, holding out a blister pack to Dream.

Dream let go of the rubbing alcohol, so Blue let go of his wrist. He accepted the blister pack, reading the name on the back.

'DETOX' and underneath, in smaller letters, 'active charcoal'.

"Charcoal?" he frowned.

"Yup!" Ink exclaimed. "It helps draw out, uh, bad things from your digestive system! Like food poisoning. Or alcohol,"

Dream stiffened, deeply uncomfortable and ashamed. Maybe they'd just heard Killer. Maybe they'd connected the dots. The two bottles still remained in the bathroom, after all, which is where they were sitting right now.

"I, I–" he scrambled.

"You don't have to explain yourself," Ink cut him off with a raised hand. "If you think that'll help, take it. You can even take two, it's not dangerous," he pointed at the active charcoal pack Dream held.

He hesitated.

"...Okay," Dream accepted, popping two out and swallowing them dry. It didn't taste like anything. He was thirsty. He felt completely drained, which didn't help the shaking and the wooziness.

"Wanna know what would help right now?" Blue spoke, and Dream looked at him hopefully.

"What?"

"Telling me how this upsets you so I can think of something else?" Blue pointed at the bottle of rubbing alcohol tentatively.

Dream cringed again. He should just tough it out. He was making things needlessly complicated, when he should be the person that makes things easier.

...But... Blue said it would help.

Dream took a wobbling breath in, then let it out. He was still blinking tears out of his eyes. Even though they weren't wracking through him anymore, he couldn't stop them.

"It's– the smell," he admitted quickly.

"Oh! Psh, well that's not a problem," Ink said easily, for some reason unraveling his (very long and thick) brown scarf that he loved. And then, bizzarely, he started wrapping it around Dream's neck, pulling it up so it rested over the lower half of his face too.

When Dream breathed in through his nose, all he could smell was Ink's natural scent, ink and paint and cloth.

"I– but what if I throw up again?" he looked up at Ink, voice small, eyes wet.

Ink stood with his arms crossed, smiling.

"You realize I throw up when I get overwhelmed, like, half the time, right?"

...Oh.

They were being… so nice. Showing him so much care, even though they shouldn't. But because they… wanted to?

It made him want to cry all over again, expression wobbling. They were so nice, and warm. He could feel their care.

"Thank you," he said softly to both of them.

"Anytime!" Ink beamed. "So is it gonna work?"

"I– yeah, I think so," Dream nodded, raising a hand to press the scarf to his face.

When Blue brought a cotton swab soaked in rubbing alcohol to try cleaning his stab wound again, the smell didn't hit Dream's nasal cavity, it didn't make him want to bend over and retch.

They spent some time in the quiet like that. Blue and Ink cleaning up his wound, healing it, and dressing it in a practiced manner. There were still tears half-heartedly streaming down from Dream's eyes, no matter how much he wiped them away with his hands and tried to hold them back.

He could feel the ache of the wound settling in, sharper now that it wasn't covered up by alcohol and adrenaline, but it wasn't more than what he could handle. His metaphysical stomach felt desolate, and he was so thirsty, but he worried he'd just throw it up again. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs and his eye lids, from the amount of energy he'd wasted in throwing up and freaking out.

And in the middle of a fight, too. And his teammates had rushed after him to help him, oh stars.

"What about Nightmare's gang?" Dream suddenly piped up in alarm.

"Oh don't worry," Ink waved a hand, "I ditched them at Error's," he cackled. Blue snorted.

Oh. Okay then.

"Good job," Dream praised them both. He really couldn't ask for better, more capable, more reliable teammates. Friends. "And… thank you. And– I'm–" his mouth wobbled more, and he tried to breathe the uprising tears away. "I'm sorry, I... I just– this–" how could he explain this? How could he justify himself?

He didn't want to lie to them. He hated lying. Especially to his friends.

"I thought it would help," his voice broke against his will. He stared at the floor, starting on the damned crying again. Get a hold of yourself, Dream. "I was trying to– I thought it would–"

Wordlessly, Blue reached over and dragged him into a hug. A second later Ink flopped into the embrace too, both of them sandwiching him like endearing annoyances.

Dream was… a bit stupefied. Here he was, drunk (post-drunk?), having botched a fight. Vomited magic dried on the bottom of his pants (he'd kicked his shoes off). Sitting with his best friends on his bathroom floor, an undignified mess in all ways.

And they just… hugged him.

Blue's arms around him were solid and strong, an unflinching aura of care. Ink had a steady calm presence, for all his hyperactivity, never overwhelming Dream with emotions due to their artificial nature.

They were… so warm.

Dream pressed his face to Blue's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut painfully. Blue rubbed his back, as much as he could with Ink there at least.

"It's okay," Blue comforted him gently. "You're okay. Everything is alright. You didn't do anything wrong, alright? You can let it out,"

Dream shook his head.

"Heeyy! There's room for only one emotionless Protector!" Ink whined, "Don't infringe on my copyright!"

Dream laughed wetly at that.

"I'm– but it's wrong," he argued, daring to voice his inner turmoil. Uncertain how exactly to describe the way he felt about it to someone else. "I– I wasn't made to cry," he tried.

"I mean, you can cry though, right?" Ink pointed out. "Sounds to me like you were made to do it, then,"

And… and Dream couldn't really argue with that. He was left speechless.

"Come on, what do you always tell other people?" Blue guided. "What do you say when someone's crying?"

Many things. But among those things,

"That it's... normal, and... healthy," Dream replied, quiet, uneasy. "But I'm not– it's not the same,"

"Why not?" Blue exclaimed. "Didn't it feel nice just now? Letting it out? Everything that was built up?"

…Miserably, Dream had to admit it did. Like there had been a dam accumulating inside of him, turbulent and heavy, metric tons of tears built up. And finally, he'd let some of it out. He was exhausted, and ashamed, but he did feel… eased, in a way.

"You're allowed to cry, Dream," Blue insisted softly. "Heck, you of all people should get to cry!"

"Don't worry, we won't tell anyone," Ink said in a jokey tone, "It's going to be a Star Secret,"

"Yeah, Ink will probably forget in a day," Blue teased.

"Heeyy!" Ink complained with no upset behind it, instead amused. "Maybe you should forget it too, did you consider that?"

"Nope! I'm a magnificent keeper of secrets, mweheheh!"

Dream giggled wetly. They were so nice. He sobbed again, muffling it into Ink's scarf. He loved his friends so, so much.

"There we go," Blue encouraged, amused but sincere. Patting his back gently. "Do you still feel sick? Do you think we can move to your room–?"

"Yeah, it's alright," Dream swallowed.

"Dream,"

"No– it is, it really is, I– I want to change my clothes," he insisted, it was the truth.

"Alright, Ink, move a little please,"

Ink complained and there was a bit of shuffling. Dream also got ready to disengage from the hug, but instead he was taken off guard as Blue lifted upwards, still holding him. Easily picking Dream up, making him yelp. Jeez, he sometimes forgot how much sheer physical strength Blue had.

Blue cackled, having definitely done that on purpose.

Dream sighed in feigned annoyance, but considering how tired he was, he honestly appreciated the lift to his bed where Blue deposited him. Ink happily trailed after, and flopped down right beside him.

"Do you need anything else? Where are your clothes?" Blue hovered, still on his feet.

"I can get it," Dream pushed himself up.

"Noooooo," Ink complained, wrapping around him like a squid.

"Guys,"

"Dream,"

"Just–" Dream sighed, "please? I swear I'm better," either from the DETOX or he'd thrown it all up, or both. And from the sheer comfort and positivity of his friends. He was just… tired. So tired.

But… not in a hopeless way. Rather in a really sleepy way.

Blue was visibly unsure, but relented, sitting at the bed. Dream smiled at him. Ink unlatched from him, letting him get up. He got into pajamas, brushed his teeth because yuck, and also went to get himself a glass of cold water from the kitchen. He drank it slowly and crossed his fingers, hoping he wouldn't throw up again.

He lingered in his kitchen for a moment, just… breathing. His body was tired. Heavy and dragging. It was so much more than simple lack of sleep. It felt like he'd bled out. Not just literally. A part of him dreaded how this would all crash down on him tomorrow.

And he was still highly in danger of crying.

…But…

…Maybe, he was made for it. Maybe, it was good and healthy for him. That's what Ink and Blue thought. And Dream both trusted them and trusted their view. They were some of the most truly kind, capable, honest, caring, dedicated– ah, he could go on. Point was: he appreciated them. Maybe... maybe he should take them as a guide instead.

It was a bit terrifying? Because what if he was wrong? What if Dream was daring to go against everything that'd kept the multiversal balance intact this far?

…But he hadn't been enough, this far. So... clearly something wasn't working. It was time he tried to change things up Just a little. For the sake of goodness.

(And maybe, just a little, for his own sake.)

Dream refilled the glass, taking it with him. Pattering back to his bedroom.

Ink and Blue were still laying there, their collective aura easy and light and warm, though with mix-ins. They were chatting about something. Ink was holding up the purple teddy bear, making it move as though it was acting out their conversation.

Dream passed by and primly snatched it out of his hands.

"Heeyy!" Ink protested, and then his mental track switched as he grinned, "Oh I'm so happy you kept him!"

"Of course I kept him," Dream rolled his eye lights. "He's a gift from you doofuses,"

"Mweheheh!"

"I like his ribbon," Ink pointed out. "Purple and yellow, complementary colors,"

…Yeah.

"Dream. Bed. Sleep. Don't make me make you," Blue threatened.

"I dare you to try," Dream grinned.

"Oh Dreamy Mr. Guardian," Ink clasped his hands together theatrically, making his eyes big and sparkling, "I need aid remembering how to get into bed, can you please show me–!"

Blue mercilessly whacked him over the head, making Ink kick his feet and laugh loudly.

Blue sent Dream a glance, but Dream was laughing too. He wasn't particularly offended. Partially because it was Ink, but mostly because Ink was... pretty accurate with it, haha. Oh stars.

Oh so benevolently, he flopped into bed, laughing quietly as he got dragged in for cuddles. Holding the plushie close.

Tomorrow, the shame and guilt would crawl up his spine. Tomorrow, he was probably in for… difficult conversations.

Tonight, instead of alone, Dream was held by his teammates, his friends, listening to them chat and breathe, and he felt... alright. Tonight, instead of lying, Dream had cried and it was alright. Tonight, Dream slept alright.

25 notes · View notes

strwberryblast · 2 days ago

Text

Second Chance (Suna x Fem!Reader)

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••

As the gym emptied around him, Suna stood by the side of the court, fingers curling and uncurling around the volleyball he hadn’t let go of. The last echoes of the game still lingered in the air, the shrill of whistles, the soft thud of sneakers on the floor, the quiet murmurs of teammates packing away their bags. But Suna wasn’t listening to any of it. His gaze was fixed on the bleachers, where you sat, your laugh echoing across the gym.

You.

Your presence was like an ache he couldn’t shake, a pain that had taken root in him long before it all fell apart. It wasn’t that he wanted you to see him—not exactly. But just knowing you were there, that you were close enough to feel your warmth even without speaking, made his chest tighten in a way that was almost unbearable.

It had been months since you two broke up. Months since he had pushed you away, afraid of how deep his feelings ran. He thought he could handle it—that he could walk away without looking back, without feeling that gnawing regret. But here he was, still stuck in the same cycle, pretending to be indifferent when all he really wanted was to fix everything, to make it right again.

His fingers twitched around the ball. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. In fact, that’s what scared him the most—that the care was still there, that he missed you more than he was willing to admit.

A part of him told him to walk over to you. To close the distance that had grown between you two over the past few months, to apologize for everything he’d failed to say. But another part—one far stronger—told him to stay where he was. Don’t make a scene. Don’t show weakness. You don’t need to know.

He thought, You’re not ready, not yet.

His breath caught as he glanced at you again, watching you laugh with your friends. You weren’t looking at him, not even once.

His eyes flickered to his teammates, gathering their things, as if they could distract him from the sight of you. But it was useless. He’d seen the way you used to smile at him, the way your eyes lit up when you teased him after practice. The way you used to talk about everything that made you happy, and how he’d just listen, trying to hold on to those moments like they were the only real things in his life.

But now… now everything was different.

He knew he’d messed it all up. But what could he do? What could he possibly say to fix the mess he’d made?

His hand gripped the volleyball harder, the pressure building, until it was almost painful. Why couldn’t he just walk up to you? Why did it feel like every step would be impossible?

The gym was quiet now, save for the rustling of bags being zipped, shoes slapping against the floor as everyone filed out.

And then, for just a second, your eyes met his.

It was brief, like a fleeting moment in time that could easily be ignored, but Suna’s heart skipped a beat. Your gaze held his, just long enough to make the silence between you two feel unbearable.

You didn’t smile. You didn’t say anything. But your eyes… they said enough.

The realization hit him with the force of a wave. He missed you. He missed everything about you—your laugh, your teasing, the way you always made him feel like he mattered, even when he didn’t deserve it.

But what could he do? What could he say after everything he’d put you through?

His fingers still clutched the ball as he turned, walking away from the court, leaving the gym behind. His chest was tight, his head swirling with thoughts he couldn’t make sense of.

Maybe it wasn’t too late, he thought. Maybe you’d hear him out if he tried. But then again, maybe it was.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to face you yet.

—----

Suna lied in his bed, his phone hovered over his face, the light illuminating his dark room. He was looking at your guys messages from the day you broke up.

He taps the screen, staring at the conversation that’s been a constant presence on his phone. He’s gone through it so many times that he knows the words by heart, but it doesn’t stop him from scrolling through again. The little bubble with your name in it seems to glow on his screen, like a beacon of something he can’t quite touch. Something he misses.

He bites his lip, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of him wonders if he’s crazy for even thinking of sending another message. The messages have stopped coming from your end, and the silence is deafening.

[Name] <3 Did you do the homework boo? I completely forgot!!

He laughed, you always forgot to do your homework, no matter how much you’d say you’d remember. He missed that nickname, he missed being your boo.

Suna You forgot again LMFAO? Alsooo no I never do, you know that silly.

[Name] <3 I’m serious though, I can’t even remember what subject it’s for. I’m doomed!!

He runs a hand through his hair. He can almost hear the playful, exaggerated desperation in your voice as you’d say that. He knows you, knows how you’d freak out over the smallest things, even though you always managed to figure it out in the end.

Suna You always forget, it’s honestly impressive. Just wing it like I do.

[Name] <3

If I wing it like you, I’ll be failing every class by the end of the semester!

Suna It’s a strategy. Also, boo, don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll pull it off—just like you always do.

That one always got a smile from you, didn’t it? The way you’d joke back, saying, "Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Suna lingers on this message for a moment. He knows that’s how it used to go. You’d always reply, always play along. The back-and-forth never stopped.

But now… now it’s just silence. The message sits on the screen, and he knows there won’t be a response this time.

Suna types out another message, staring at the words before he deletes them. His heart races a little as he hesitates.

Suna I miss you, you know.

He stops himself right before pressing send. What if it’s too much? What if you don’t want to hear from him anymore? The silence on your end is loud, like a reminder that things aren’t the same anymore. That there’s too much distance between them now, no matter how much he wants to close that gap.

He takes a deep breath and presses delete.

The message stays unsent. He wonders if you still think about him. If, by some chance, you miss him too.

A long pause. The silence stretches across the screen like an echo.

Suna Take care of yourself, [Name].

He’s about to turn off his phone when he notices something odd. A red exclamation point next to the message he just sent. His heart drops into his stomach. He blinks, unsure for a moment, but his fingers tap on the screen again, looking closer. He’s blocked. His stomach twists.

He tries again.

Suna Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t know if you still want to talk to me, but I just… I miss you. I miss us. Please, just talk to me.

The same red exclamation point appears. Blocked.

His thumb hovers again, his heart pounding, but it’s no use. Every message he types gets blocked. He stares at the screen, his chest tight, staring at the notification that won’t go away.

He exhales shakily and leans back, feeling the weight of the moment. He should’ve known, shouldn’t he? He should’ve figured it out before now. But part of him still thought there might be a chance, that maybe he’d get through to you, even just once.

But this is it.

Suna stares at the screen. The last message he can’t send. His last chance to say something that matters.

He turns off his phone, slumping back against his bed. He’d been staring at his phone for longer than he cared to admit, and now, all that’s left is the empty, painful feeling of knowing that he’s been blocked.

The silence stretches around him, and he finally lets his shoulders drop.

It’s over, he thinks. Just like that.

—--- You sat on your bed, your legs pulled up to your chest as you stared at the empty screen of your phone. It had been a few months since the breakup, but the ache still lingered, just as raw as the first night he walked away.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tracing the edge of your blanket. Your mind kept circling back to him, and it was like a broken record that you couldn’t turn off. You missed him. You missed him in a way that made your chest ache, made you feel a kind of hollow emptiness you didn’t know how to fill. The worst part was, you knew it was your fault for letting things go on this way. For letting him hurt you. But you also knew you couldn't just ignore it.

But… he broke up with me.

The thought hit you like a wave of cold water. He was the one who ended things. He was the one who walked away. And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about how it had all used to be. About how much you’d taken for granted, the simple joy of being with him. The silly jokes. The late-night talks. The feeling that, even when life sucked, at least you had each other.

But it wasn’t enough, was it? He’d left, and that was final. That was how it went, how it always went. You break up, you heal, and eventually, you move on. At least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself.

Your fingers twitched as they hovered over the phone. You had blocked him the night it happened, right after the breakup. The very first night. You told yourself it was necessary. It was the only way to protect yourself from the flood of emotions you didn’t want to deal with. Blocking him felt like the only control you had left over the situation. It was a way to cut him out of your life, to give yourself space to breathe without the constant reminders of him popping up in your messages.

But even now, with the distance between you, you felt like you were suffocating.

I miss him, you thought again, clutching your phone tighter. I miss him so much. But… I’m the one who blocked him. I chose to do that. I need to stick with it. I need to move on.

The thought of unblocking him flickered in your mind. Just one peek. One simple look at his name. You knew you could do it, could undo the decision you made in the heat of the moment. The temptation was almost overwhelming.

But would it even change anything? Would it fix things? Would it make everything feel right again?

No, you told yourself, a small frown tugging at your lips. It wouldn’t fix anything. It’d just open everything back up. And I don’t think I can handle that again.

You buried your face in your hands for a moment, feeling the weight of the emotions you were trying so hard to suppress. The sadness, the guilt, the confusion, the lingering sense of love you didn’t know what to do with.

You wanted to scream, but the tears wouldn’t come. Instead, you let out a quiet breath, letting your hands fall to your sides as you looked at the ceiling, the faint sound of traffic outside barely reaching your ears.

The silence felt deafening.

You ran a hand through your hair, chewing on your lip as the familiar ache crept in again. He was the one who ended it. I need to remember that. He’s the one who left. I don’t need to miss him. I can’t.

Your heart clenched painfully at the thought of him, at the little things you used to take for granted—his laugh, the way his eyes would light up when he smiled, the way he always knew how to calm you even when you didn’t want to be calmed.

And it hurts.

It really hurts.

You looked back at your phone, your thumb hovering just above the screen. You thought about all the times you would’ve called him to tell him about your day, to laugh about something silly. Those moments felt like they were in another lifetime now, like something that never really belonged to you in the first place.

But now, it was just this ache. Just this gaping hole in your chest where something used to be.

I want to move on. I have to. It’s over. It was over the moment he said goodbye.

But even as you thought that, even as you tried to convince yourself to let go, a part of you whispered something different. Something that wanted to fix it. Something that wanted to reach out.

You took a deep breath, slowly sliding the phone into your pocket as though that might shield you from the emotions swirling inside. You have made your decision. Blocking him was the right choice.

Even though it didn’t feel like it.

—----

Suna walked into school that day, feeling the weight of the same old routine. The buzz of students in the hallway, the scrape of sneakers on the floor, the noise all around him… it didn’t faze him. He’d gotten used to it by now. But there was something about today that felt off, like there was a subtle shift in the air.

He stepped into the classroom and automatically glanced toward the back, his eyes scanning the seats, almost like it was a habit. His eyes landed on the one person he couldn’t seem to shake. You.

He always noticed you, even when he didn’t want to. It was easier when you were out of sight, when he didn’t have to deal with the tightness in his chest that seemed to come every time he saw you.

You were in the back of the room, doing your best to ignore him, just as you always did. He didn’t blame you for it. After all, he was the one who ended things. He’d messed up, and now he had to live with it.

He couldn’t stop looking at you, even though he told himself not to. The way you were sitting, looking so distant and small, it twisted something inside him. Why’d I have to be so stupid? The thought hit him hard, and he quickly forced his gaze away, pretending he hadn’t just felt that.

At least the seating arrangements helped. You weren’t sitting next to him anymore. It made things a little easier, or at least that’s what he tried to convince himself. There was a distance now, a space that felt almost too big, and yet it wasn’t big enough to get you out of his head. He hadn’t realized how often he’d been distracted by your presence, even just sitting there in the same room. Now that you were out of his immediate sight, it just made everything harder to deal with.

Suna tried to focus on the lesson, tried to keep his eyes forward and not let his mind wander. But he couldn’t ignore the pull to you, like some invisible string that kept drawing him in. Every now and then, he’d glance in your direction, but when your eyes weren’t meeting his, it felt like you were both in different worlds.

He couldn’t help the frustration that bubbled up when he saw you, so far away, so… unreachable. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He had walked away, and now it felt like you were too far to even try to fix things. It’s my fault. I should’ve said something. I should’ve tried harder.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and the noise of the classroom faded in and out of focus. His thoughts kept drifting back to you. What would you say if I just… talked to you? He wanted to ask that, but then what? The question lingered in his mind like a ghost, never finding its way out.

It didn’t help that the room was so quiet, save for the occasional rustling of papers and the soft scratch of pens on paper. But every now and then, he’d hear the sound of your breathing or the faintest sound of your pencil tapping against the desk. It made everything feel so… normal, like you hadn’t gone anywhere. Like you hadn’t been torn from his life so suddenly.

But you had.

And he was the one who made that happen.

The bell rang before he even realized it, and he blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. It was time to go. He stood up, reaching for his bag, and for a moment, he caught your eyes, just for the briefest second. It felt like everything around them froze, even if it was just for a heartbeat. But the moment passed as quickly as it came, and you quickly turned away.

Suna swallowed, trying to ignore the tightening feeling in his chest.

You hadn’t said anything to him, and he hadn’t expected you to. He wasn’t even sure if you ever would again. But seeing you like this, so far away from him… it was harder than he ever imagined it would be. He had blocked you out of his life because he thought it was for the best. But now, with the silence hanging between them, he wasn’t so sure.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and started to walk out of the classroom, his eyes lingering on you one last time. You weren’t looking anymore, but he couldn’t help but wonder if you still cared. If you missed him, too.

You probably hate me, he thought as he stepped into the hallway, the sound of students talking around him, but none of it registering. He just wanted to forget all the words he hadn’t said. The apologies, the things left unsaid.

But there was nothing he could do now, was there? He had let you go, and now he was left with nothing but the empty space between them.

Suna walked down the hallway, his thoughts a tangled mess of regret and frustration. Every step felt like it carried the weight of the decisions he’d made, and he couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind. Even now, after everything, he still couldn’t fully understand what had happened between you both.

He passed by groups of students chatting and laughing, their voices a blur in his ears. It was like everything was happening around him, but he was stuck in this bubble of self-inflicted pain. The emptiness he felt was palpable, and it gnawed at him. I should’ve just tried harder.

I should’ve talked to you.

He wanted to scream, to punch the nearest wall. Anything to release the tension building up inside of him. He knew he’d messed up, but how could he fix it? How could he even begin to make it right when everything between you two felt broken?

Suna paused for a second, leaning against a locker as he let out a deep breath. His hand ran through his messy hair, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. It had been months since the breakup, but the ache hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had only gotten worse.

The memory of the last time he saw you—the way your eyes had avoided his, the way you’d turned away like he wasn’t even there—it was burned into his mind. He’d walked away, yes, but you had too. The block on his phone felt like a wall, an undeniable signal that you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

But then there were moments like today, when he’d caught your eyes for just that split second in class, and it had felt like nothing had changed. Like maybe… maybe there was still something there. But I can’t just show up and fix things, can I?

Suna leaned his head against the locker, staring at the ground. He hated that it was his fault. He hated how easily he pushed you away. And now, all he wanted was to reach out, to say something—anything—that would let you know he regretted it all. But you’d blocked him. He had no way of even reaching you, and that hurt in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

But you won’t unblock me, he thought bitterly. And I deserve that.

The bell rang again, signaling the end of the passing period. He straightened up, forcing himself to move. As he walked toward his next class, his mind kept circling back to you.

The hallway cleared out, and he found himself outside the classroom door. His eyes wandered over to the door next to his, where you had just entered. You were in there, and he was just a room away, separated by nothing but walls and time.

If only it were that simple…

He walked into his classroom, feeling the same distance between you two, but this time it felt heavier. The silence was suffocating.

As he took his seat, he glanced toward the back, but you weren’t there. You’d gone into your own world, and he couldn’t blame you. He had given you no reason to stay. You’d been nothing but patient, caring, and understanding… while he had been selfish. He had been stupid.

The teacher began talking, but Suna wasn’t really paying attention. His eyes wandered again, his gaze falling on the spot where you usually sat. It was empty.

He was a fool.

And no matter how much he wished things were different, he couldn’t change what had happened. He couldn’t take back the harsh words, the cold distance, or the way he’d pushed you away.

But still, even now, even when he knew he had no right to hope, he couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, just maybe, you were thinking about him too.

Would you ever forgive him? Would you ever open the door just a crack and let him back in? Would things ever be the same?

Probably not, he thought, clenching his fists. But I can’t let go. I can’t.

—---

Suna sat slumped in his seat, drumming his fingers absentmindedly against the desk. His eyes were unfocused, staring at the wood grain, but his mind was anywhere but here. This was so stupid. The way everything had spiraled out of control. The way he’d convinced himself he was fine, that it was the right decision. But now, months after the breakup, it felt like the weight of it was finally crashing down on him.

Why hadn’t he just talked to you? Why hadn’t he said anything instead of walking away with nothing but silence in the air? It didn’t make any sense. It was like a brick wall had been built between you both, one that he had put up, and now he was stuck on his side of it, unable to break through.

His fingers drummed faster, almost as if it could distract him from the gnawing feeling of regret eating at him. Why now? he thought, rubbing his temples. Why after all this time?

Was he really that in denial? Had he pushed it all away, pretending it didn’t matter? He’d kept telling himself that the distance was for the best, that moving on was the only way to stop thinking about you. But that didn’t make the ache in his chest go away. It didn’t make the little voice in his head stop wondering if you were thinking about him too, if you missed him the way he missed you.

Suna couldn’t help it—he was tired of this. Tired of pretending it didn’t hurt. But even now, after everything, he didn’t know how to fix it. Didn’t know how to reach out without feeling like an idiot.

The sound of the lunch bell ringing broke through his spiraling thoughts, and for a second, he blinked, coming back to reality. The chatter of students filled the room, their excitement cutting through the heavy silence that had settled in his chest. He sighed, pushing his chair back as the crowd started to move toward the door.

He stood up slowly, letting the noise of everyone else filter in, but his mind stayed on you. He wondered if you’d be in the cafeteria, if you’d see him at all. Would you even look his way? Or had you already moved on?

He couldn’t keep avoiding this. He couldn’t keep pretending he wasn’t thinking about you every damn second. His stomach twisted at the thought of you being out of his reach. And maybe, just maybe, this whole stupid act of trying to act unaffected was just a way to protect himself from the truth—that he still wanted you back. He still missed you.

But how could he fix what was already broken? How could he take back all the time they’d lost, the words that hadn’t been said?

Suna let out a breath, trying to shake off the thoughts as he joined the stream of students heading for the cafeteria. The door to the hallway swung open, and for a brief moment, his gaze flickered toward your direction—just a quick glance, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d be there.

But you weren’t.

The pang of disappointment hit him harder than expected, and his shoulders slumped. He had to remind himself—this wasn’t about you seeing him. This wasn’t about getting your attention anymore. It was about fixing what he had broken. Fixing himself first, before trying to fix anything between you.

But damn, it was hard.

The lunchroom was loud, crowded with voices and laughter, but he barely noticed any of it. His thoughts were still with you, stuck in the past, wondering if you were still somewhere thinking about him too. But I can't reach out. I'm blocked.

And with that, the walls he built up between you both came rushing back into his mind.

Suna sat down at the table with his usual group, a slumped posture, one elbow resting on the table while his fingers drummed absently. He was trying to pay attention, trying to pretend that the world wasn't spinning out of control around him. His friends—Osamu, Atsumu, and Aren—were all talking, but none of it registered. His thoughts kept circling back to you.

It had been months since the breakup, but that didn’t stop him from wondering why, how, he’d let it go so far. Why he hadn't just talked to you when things had started falling apart. But no. He had pushed you away. The distance had come and now… well, now he was left with a heavy silence and a heart that ached in all the wrong places.

Across the cafeteria, he spotted you. His stomach tightened. You were walking toward their table, and everything in his chest screamed to do something—anything—but he sat there, paralyzed.

You weren’t looking at him. No. You were heading straight for Atsumu, and the way you looked at him made Suna feel like he was invisible.

He tried not to notice the way your eyes sparkled when you saw Atsumu. How you made your way over to him with that casual grace, your presence drawing everyone’s attention as you slid into the seat across from him.

"Hey, Atsumu," you greeted, with a soft smile, as you dropped your tray on the table and sat down.

Atsumu, always the one to react to everything a little more than necessary, smirked as he leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence today.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “What, you don’t miss me? I thought I was your favorite person to talk to during lunch.”

Atsumu threw a dramatic hand to his chest. “Of course you are. You’re the only one who can keep up with my level of awesomeness.” He leaned in further, clearly enjoying the attention. “But seriously, how’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Suna could feel the tension building in his chest as he stared down at the table, his fingers still tapping, too fast now, like he couldn’t keep still. You were talking to Atsumu like everything was fine, like things were normal, but nothing was normal. And even though he hadn’t said anything to Atsumu about it—he didn’t need to—he could tell Atsumu noticed, too.

Suna could see his best friend’s gaze flicker over to him for a moment before quickly looking back at you. Atsumu wasn’t oblivious. He’d known about the breakup, and he was well aware that there was still tension in the air between Suna and you. It wasn’t something either of them had openly discussed yet. Atsumu, being the kind of guy who liked to keep things breezy, probably didn't want to bring it up outright. But Suna could feel the weight of it.

“Not much, just, you know, surviving.” You shrugged lightly, pushing your food around with your fork. “Been a bit busy with school and all.”

Suna’s chest tightened again. Surviving. That’s what you called it now. You weren’t living, you were surviving. And somehow, that hit harder than anything.

“I get that,” Atsumu replied with a grin, but there was something in his voice that wasn’t quite his usual teasing. He was softer now, like he was trying to read you. Suna, however, could see that it wasn’t just concern—it was something more. There was something in Atsumu’s eyes when he looked at you, something that Suna couldn’t quite pinpoint but definitely recognized.

Atsumu cleared his throat, trying to shift the focus away from the silence that hung between the three of them. “Yo, how’s that physics homework treating you? Got all those problems figured out or what?”

You smiled at the change in topic, clearly relieved by the distraction, but your eyes never left Atsumu’s as you replied. “Barely. But I think I’m getting there. You know how I like to figure it out on my own.”

Suna could see Atsumu’s eyes linger just a little too long on you before he smirked. “Well, if you want, I can give you a hand. I’m a genius when it comes to math.”

You chuckled, clearly amused. “Yeah, right. You always say that, and then you end up just confusing me more.”

Atsumu grinned back, but there was a softness there now, something Suna hadn’t seen from his friend before. Atsumu had always been outgoing, always eager to tease and flirt, but right now, he was giving you a look that was almost… sincere.

Suna’s stomach twisted, and he tried to ignore it. He didn’t know why he was feeling like this—why his chest felt so tight every time you smiled at Atsumu. He shouldn’t be jealous, shouldn’t be annoyed by it. He was the one who’d pushed you away.

But then you casually leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand as you smiled at Atsumu. “I’ll take my chances without your genius, thanks. I don’t need you giving me a headache on top of everything else.”

Atsumu threw his head back and laughed loudly. “Ouch, that hurt.” He put a hand to his chest like he was wounded, but the smile never left his face. It was the kind of look that Suna used to get—before he’d screwed everything up.

Suna glanced at his friends, but no one seemed to notice the way his gaze flickered back and forth between you and Atsumu. Osamu was lazily eating his lunch, Aren was on his phone, scrolling through something, but no one was noticing how the air around him had thickened with something unspoken.

And then, like a punch to the gut, Atsumu turned to him, giving him that slight knowing look. “Yo, Suna, you in this conversation or you just planning to stare at the wall today?”

Suna blinked, breaking his gaze from you and finally meeting Atsumu’s eyes. It was then he realized that Atsumu had noticed. He wasn’t blind, and neither was Suna. It was no secret that Atsumu had a thing for you, not that you noticed.

“Yeah,” Suna muttered, trying to sound casual, though his voice was thick with something he couldn’t place. “Just thinking.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow but didn’t push the subject any further. He knew better than to prod when Suna was like this.

Instead, you spoke up again, your voice light and teasing, as if everything was fine. “You’re still gonna help me study next week, right?”

Atsumu grinned. “Of course. I’m always here for you.”

But Suna couldn’t help the bitter feeling that crawled up his throat as he heard those words. They were his. They were supposed to be his promises, his assurances. But now, they were nothing more than an echo in a room full of empty spaces.

He watched as you walked away, your back turned to him, a slight sway to your steps as if you were trying to avoid anyone noticing how much you didn’t want to be here. Maybe it was just out of boredom or the awkwardness that hung in the air, but either way, it was painfully clear you didn’t want to stick around. You had already decided you weren’t going to stay where you didn’t feel comfortable, and that place wasn’t with him anymore.

His gaze lingered on you, his chest tightening, unable to pull his eyes away. He missed you—so much. And even though he knew it was his fault, even though he knew this wasn’t something he could easily fix, it still hurt to watch you walk away like it was nothing. You didn’t even glance back, didn’t pause to acknowledge him, like you’d already let him go long before he ever had the courage to let you go.

Osamu smacked Atsumu on the back of the head, the sharp sound breaking Suna from his thoughts. Atsumu flinched and let out an exaggerated “Ow!” rubbing the spot where Osamu had hit him.

"Focus, Atsumu," Osamu scolded, not even looking up from his food. “Quit acting like a dog in heat around [Name].”

Suna didn’t react. He didn’t even look at them. His eyes remained fixed on the spot where you’d been standing, the seat now empty. The space around him felt cold, void of the usual banter, the easy comfort he once felt whenever you were near. Now it just felt… hollow.

He should’ve been better. Should’ve tried harder. He should've known that ignoring his own feelings, that pushing you away in the name of pride, was never going to work. And now it was too late.

Atsumu, still rubbing the back of his head, glanced over at Suna, probably noticing that he wasn’t paying attention. He let out a small sigh, and though his voice was casual, there was an edge of something in it. “Yo, you good, Suna?”

Suna barely blinked. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice almost flat, lacking any of the usual bite. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Atsumu, not with the knot in his stomach, the jealousy gnawing at him in a way he didn’t want to admit.

Atsumu, oblivious to the internal turmoil Suna was trying to hide, just chuckled and nudged Osamu. “Suna’s fine. He’s just being moody.”

Osamu gave him a sideways look, but his gaze shifted back to Suna, who was still lost in his thoughts. "Maybe. Or maybe he’s still thinking about what happened. You know, with… you know, her."

Suna's chest tightened. Osamu’s words were like a physical blow. He knew it was inevitable that they’d have to talk about it at some point. Everyone knew what had happened, but the last thing he wanted right now was to talk about it—especially with Atsumu.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Suna muttered, pushing his chair back and standing up, feeling the need to get away from all of this.

Suna stared down at the table, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. His thoughts were still tangled up in you, in everything that had happened, in the silence that had settled between the two of you since the breakup. He wasn’t sure why it was hitting him so hard now—months after the fact—but the absence of your presence had carved a hole that felt impossible to fill.

As if on cue, Osamu and Atsumu noticed the tension hanging in the air and decided to steer the conversation in a new direction.

“Hey, so, I’m having a party this weekend,” Osamu said casually, leaning back in his chair and flashing a knowing look at Atsumu. “You wanna come?”

Suna blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the shift in the conversation. A party. The distraction of a big, loud event. It was exactly what he needed. Maybe it would help him forget, even for just a few hours. He glanced up at his friends, still feeling that tightness in his chest.

He hadn’t realized just how suffocating the last few months had been until now. He’d buried himself in volleyball, in school, in all the little distractions life offered, but now, the weight of everything—especially you—was starting to break through. Maybe a big party would help him forget.

Suna let out a small sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before he nodded. “Yeah. I could use a break. Sounds like a good distraction.”

Atsumu, who had been waiting for this moment, grinned wide. “Hell yeah, man. It’s gonna be a big one. Lots of people. Don’t even think about bailing last minute. You need to get out of your head, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Suna said quietly, feeling the exhaustion in his bones. “I think I do.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow, giving him a quick once-over. “You sure about this? I’m not throwing some small get-together. It’s gonna be loud. A lot of people from school are coming. Some you might not wanna see.”

Suna’s eyes flicked to Osamu, his thoughts still swirling. He knew what he meant—people who might remind him of her, of you. You’d been his first love, his first girlfriend. The one who made him believe that maybe love wasn’t just some complicated thing he’d read about in books. You were his first everything, and losing you—walking away from each other, all of it—had been harder than he was willing to admit. The breakup had shaken him more than he ever thought it would, and now it felt like he was struggling to put the pieces back together.

He couldn’t keep hiding from it.

But the idea of being surrounded by people, of not having to face the silent gap between the two of you, was too tempting. A distraction, an escape—just for a while.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said with a little more conviction than he felt. “I can handle it.”

Atsumu’s grin stretched even wider, clearly satisfied with the answer. “That’s the spirit! You’re gonna have a blast, man. You need it.”

Suna thought back to the last party he went to, which had been months ago before everything had unraveled between you two. The laughter, the music, the chaos—it all felt so distant now. And yet, here he was, agreeing to go to another one, hoping maybe the night would help him forget. Maybe just for a little bit.

“You’re bringing anyone?” Osamu asked, eyeing him closely.

Suna hesitated. The thought of showing up alone felt heavy, but he didn’t know who else to invite. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t there to make new memories with anyone. He just needed a change of scenery.

“Probably not,” Suna muttered, his voice betraying him with its uncertainty. “I don’t think I’ll bring anyone.”

“Alright,” Atsumu said, his voice teasing but understanding. “As long as you don’t stand in a corner and brood all night, we’re good.”

Suna gave a half-hearted chuckle, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze wandered again, his mind drifting back to you.

You—his first love. His first everything.

The thought of seeing you there, mingling with people, laughing with others… it wasn’t something he was ready for, not after everything. The idea of you moving on, of someone else getting to have the things that were once his—it made his chest tighten.

“Okay, well,” Osamu said, cutting through the silence that had fallen between them, “we’ll see you there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Suna said softly, his mind far away. “I’ll be there.”

And as the conversation shifted back to other topics, Suna remained lost in his thoughts. The party, the music, the noise—none of it would drown out the questions that kept swirling in his mind. But maybe for a night, he could pretend. Pretend that he wasn’t still haunted by the ghost of his first love. Pretend that everything hadn’t come crashing down around him.

Maybe he could find some peace in the chaos.

He wasn’t sure yet. But he was going to try.

—-----

It was Saturday at 10 p.m., and Suna had just arrived at the party. The music thumped from the house as he walked up the driveway, the noise growing louder with each step. He could already feel the weight of the night pressing down on him, his thoughts still tangled in a mess of things he wasn’t ready to face.

Osamu had made sure Atsumu wouldn’t invite you. Out of respect, he’d said, or maybe it was just easier this way. Suna wasn’t sure which, but the fact that you weren’t here felt like a relief—and a burden all at once.

The house was already crowded. People were milling about, laughing, talking, a few clinking glasses together. A couple of familiar faces waved in his direction as he stepped inside, but Suna didn’t feel the usual ease he normally would in this kind of crowd. Tonight, it felt different. Tonight, the noise, the chatter, the flashing lights—all of it felt suffocating. It was almost too much.

He pushed through the crowd, trying to find his friends, trying to shake off the feeling that he didn’t belong here. The weight of everything was still there—heavy and unrelenting. The thought of you not being here, of you not being part of his life in the way you used to be, it hit him harder than he thought it would.

When he found Osamu and Atsumu, they were leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to a few other people, laughing about something Suna couldn’t quite hear over the noise. Atsumu caught sight of him first, grinning wide as he waved him over.

“Yo, Suna! You finally made it!” Atsumu called over the music, his voice excited.

Suna gave a small wave in return, trying to mask the weight in his chest. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“You good, man?” Osamu asked, raising an eyebrow, noticing the lack of enthusiasm in Suna’s expression.

Suna nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just… tired, I guess.”

Atsumu gave him a knowing look. “It’s all good, bro. It’ll loosen up once you’ve had a drink or two. Come on, let’s get you something.”

He grabbed Suna’s arm and led him toward the drink table, shoving a cup into his hand without asking if he wanted it. The familiar sting of alcohol as it slid down his throat made Suna grimace, but he didn’t care. He needed something to numb the ache that was sitting heavy in his chest, something to wash away the thoughts of you.

He glanced around the room again, half expecting to catch a glimpse of you. To see you laughing with friends, or just standing in the corner like you used to, smiling at him in that way that made his chest feel lighter.

But you weren’t here. You weren’t anywhere.

And that felt both like a relief and a stab to the heart.

Atsumu leaned closer, breaking Suna out of his spiral. “You’re looking at everyone like you’re waiting for someone, man.”

Suna shook his head quickly, not wanting to be caught. “No,” he muttered. “Just… thinking.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp. “About what?”

Suna shrugged, trying to play it off. “Nothing. It’s just… weird being here without her, you know?”

Atsumu’s expression softened for a second, before he grinned again. “Man, I know. But you gotta stop thinking about it. You’re here now. Just… enjoy yourself. Have a little fun.”

Suna let out a small laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah. Fun."

He took another sip from the cup, the bitter taste doing little to dull the gnawing feeling that lingered in his chest. It was so hard, being here—surrounded by people, but feeling so alone. He couldn’t help but think about what could’ve been, what it used to be like when you were around.

Before everything fell apart.

Before he let his pride and fear destroy the one thing he truly cared about.

The music blared on, and Suna tried his best to push those thoughts down, to let the night wash over him like the drink in his hand. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Nothing ever was.

Suna walked into the party, his mind a whirlwind of frustration. The last few months had been a mess, and he had no one to blame but himself. Sure, it was supposed to be a night to forget about everything, but his thoughts kept circling back to you.

The music was loud and filled the room, and people were laughing and shouting, but Suna couldn’t feel any of it. He was too stuck in his own head. He had messed up. He had been stupid. And the worst part was, he was still stupid. He still missed you. Every day, every hour, every minute.

And now, you weren’t even here. Osamu had made sure you weren’t invited to this party—out of respect, he’d said, because things were still too tense.

Suna found his way to the drink table, needing something to calm the chaos in his mind. He grabbed a beer, but it didn’t do anything to stop the ache in his chest.

“Yo, Suna!” Atsumu’s voice called from across the room. Suna blinked and turned, seeing Atsumu waving him over with a grin plastered on his face. Suna didn’t even feel like putting on a fake smile. He just walked over, glass in hand.

“You finally show up? Thought you were gonna sit this one out,” Atsumu teased, already clearly a little drunk. His eyes had that gleam to them, like he was expecting Suna to join in on the fun.

Suna grunted in acknowledgment, taking a long drink from his cup before speaking. “Needed a distraction.”

Atsumu gave him a curious glance, but shrugged. “Well, you’re in luck. Everyone’s out here living it up. No one’s got time for feelings tonight.” He gave a loud, exaggerated laugh.

Suna didn’t join in. The weight of you—of everything that had happened—sat on his chest. But he wasn’t about to spill that to Atsumu. Not here, not now.

Atsumu glanced around the room, then turned back to Suna. “I gotta admit, though, man,” he started, a grin spreading on his face. “You’re a hell of a lot quieter than usual tonight. Maybe because of her?”

Suna stiffened at the mention of you, but didn’t respond immediately. He took another sip of his drink, hoping to drown the knot in his throat.

Atsumu, noticing the silence, laughed again, but it was a little more knowing this time. “Yeah, I know, man. You and [Name]. That was… something, huh?”

Suna clenched his jaw, not wanting to open that door, but Atsumu didn’t seem to care. He was too drunk, too comfortable, and too eager to make his point.

“I get it, you know,” Atsumu continued, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You pushed her away. I was there. I saw it. You said you didn’t need her anymore. And now you’re all mopey about it.”

Suna’s stomach twisted at the words. He didn’t need to hear this. He already knew he messed up. He was already paying for it.

But Atsumu was still going, oblivious to the way Suna’s frustration was building. “Man, I don’t get why you’re acting like this now. You had your chance. And now, I’ve got my chance.”

Suna’s eyes snapped to Atsumu. “What are you talking about?”

Atsumu didn’t miss a beat. He leaned in closer, his grin widening. “You heard me. I always liked [Name], you know. Even when you were with her. I didn’t say anything because I respected you, man. But now? Well, I guess it’s my turn.”

Suna’s grip on his drink tightened, his knuckles going white. His heart raced, and anger began to rise in his chest. He wanted to say something, do something—anything—but the words were stuck in his throat.

“Stop it,” Suna finally spat, his voice low. “Don’t act like you have any right to do that. You were always in the background, Atsumu. You never cared about her the way I did.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “I think I care a hell of a lot more than you ever did. At least I don’t pretend to push her away when I don’t mean it. You ended it, man. You made your choice.”

Suna’s blood ran hot. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know more than you think,” Atsumu shot back, eyes narrowing. “You let her go. You made that choice. And I’m the one here that’s gonna make things right with her.”

Suna’s heart pounded, his hands shaking from the mixture of alcohol and anger. “Don’t you dare,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

But Atsumu didn’t seem to care about the warning. He crossed his arms and shrugged. “Too late. She’s already been talking to me. And honestly? You had your chance.”

Suna’s chest tightened, like someone had just pressed a hand over his heart. He wanted to yell, to scream, to get his point across, but everything felt like it was slipping away from him.

“You’re not going anywhere near her, Atsumu,” Suna said, his voice quiet now. His fingers dug into the edges of the cup, the plastic crumbling under the pressure. “She’s not some prize for you to win.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Relax, man. I’m not gonna screw this up. You already did.”

Suna couldn’t take it anymore. The anger that had been bubbling under the surface exploded, and before he knew it, his fist was in the air, swinging toward Atsumu’s chest. It was a sloppy punch, the alcohol in his system making everything feel off, but it landed hard enough to make Atsumu stumble back, surprised.

“Hey!” Atsumu shouted, pushing Suna back with a shove. “What the hell, man?!”

Suna stood his ground, chest heaving with frustration, his pulse racing. “I don’t care if you think you’re in the right, Atsumu. You don’t get to just—”

“Don’t make this about me,” Atsumu cut him off, throwing a right hook at Suna harshly. “You broke up with her. You let her go. You can’t get mad at me for moving on.”

Suna steadied himself, still feeling the sting of the punch. His breath came out in uneven gasps, his body buzzing with adrenaline and alcohol. But he wasn’t done. Atsumu stood there too, just as messed up from the fight, but neither of them was ready to back down. The alcohol had blurred their thoughts, making it harder to tell where the line between play and anger was drawn.

“Get up,” Atsumu said, pushing Suna lightly, as if daring him to start another round.

Suna glared, wiping the blood off his lip with the back of his hand. He could barely focus, but the anger inside him was still burning. “You think you're tough? Let’s go again.”

Before Atsumu could say anything, Suna lunged, swinging at him again. Atsumu barely had time to react as Suna’s fist grazed the side of his cheek.

“I’m still standing, don’t think you’ve won yet!” Atsumu growled, throwing his own punch that landed squarely in Suna’s chest. The impact was enough to make Suna stumble back but not fall.

The two of them were laughing, though it wasn’t out of humor—it was frustration, raw and real. The sounds of their breathing, their slurred words, and their uncoordinated movements were a strange mix of intensity and play. They were both drunk, both angry, and both missing something—someone.

Suna gritted his teeth, still reeling from the punch, but he wouldn’t back down. “You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he slurred, smirking through his pain.

“Oh, trust me, I will,” Atsumu sneered, stepping forward. He was still a little unsteady on his feet, but the alcohol only made his confidence grow.

Suna darted forward again, this time more recklessly, throwing another punch at Atsumu’s side. Atsumu caught his wrist mid-swing, twisting it and forcing Suna to step back, but Suna gritted his teeth and shoved him off with a sharp push.

“Damn it, Suna, stop being so stubborn!” Atsumu growled, swinging again, landing a punch to Suna’s side. The blow made Suna cough, but he barely flinched.

“Look who's talking,” Suna retorted, wiping his mouth. “You don’t get to lecture me. You think I don't know what you want? You think I didn’t see the way you looked at her? How you act around her?”

Atsumu’s eyes darkened, the anger now mixing with something else—something deeper. “And what, huh?” He shoved Suna again, this time with more force. “You want to blame me for everything? You’re the one who fucked up with her. Not me. I didn’t do shit!”

Suna felt his chest tighten. He knew Atsumu had a point, but it still hurt to hear. "I didn’t do shit either," he muttered under his breath, fists clenching at his sides. “I should’ve… I should’ve fought for her. Instead, I pushed her away. Now look what I’ve got. Nothing.”

The room felt heavy for a moment, the noise of the party fading into the background as the two stood there, glaring at each other, breathing hard.

Then Atsumu shook his head, letting out a drunken laugh. “Damn, you’re such a loser, Suna.”

Suna's expression shifted, not from offense but from exhaustion. He wasn’t tired of the fight, he was tired of carrying this weight. The one he had pushed away. The one he had taken for granted. He didn’t care about the stupid brawl anymore.

You rushed into the room, heart pounding, only to freeze in the doorway at the sight before you. Suna was on the floor, a bit dazed, his lip split and bruised, his hair falling messily around his face. Atsumu was standing over him, hands raised like he was still ready to throw another punch.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?!” you exclaimed, voice laced with panic and disbelief.

Suna was barely registering your presence, his eyes unfocused, swaying slightly. Atsumu looked startled, realizing you had caught the scene, but there was still tension between him and Suna, like the argument was far from over.

Atsumu stepped back, glancing over at you with an awkward, defensive grin. “It’s not what it looks like, [Name],” he muttered, hands raised in mock surrender.

You shot him a glare, eyes flicking from him to Suna, who was still on the ground, now rubbing his sore jaw. His face looked tired, but there was a sadness behind his eyes that wasn’t just from the fight. Your chest tightened. It wasn’t just the alcohol or the fight—it was something deeper.

“Suna…” you whispered, dropping to your knees in front of him, your hands hovering around his shoulders, unsure of how to help. “What the hell, you’re bleeding…”

Suna’s gaze slowly met yours, and for a split second, it felt like everything else faded away. He blinked a couple of times, his expression shifting from confused to something almost vulnerable.

“Guess I’m a mess,” he mumbled, trying to joke, but his voice was rough, and he couldn’t hide the regret that crept into his eyes.

You didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t the Suna you remembered—the confident, distant guy who always acted like nothing phased him. This was someone who had been knocked down, physically and emotionally. Someone who wasn’t sure how to deal with what he’d done.

You sighed softly as you helped him up, his body leaning heavily against yours. He was drunk, disoriented, and still a little dazed from the fight. With careful steps, you guided him through the hallway, away from the noise of the party, until you reached the bathroom. You nudged the door open with your shoulder, and gently helped him sit down on the toilet, his body sagging with exhaustion.

"Stay here for a second," you muttered, your voice softer than you intended, but you didn't have the energy to sound stern. You didn't know what to say to him right now, but you didn't want to leave him alone, either.

Suna leaned back, his head resting against the wall, his eyes half-lidded as he stared at nothing in particular. He let out a slow exhale, looking like he was still trying to process everything that had just happened.

You turned away, grabbing a damp washcloth from the sink and walking back over to him. The moment you were close, you could smell the alcohol on his breath and see the pained look in his eyes, as though he didn’t quite know what had gotten him to this point.

"You're a mess, you know that?" You said softly, dabbing the cloth against his split lip, trying to stop the bleeding. He winced slightly, but didn't pull away.

"I know," Suna mumbled, voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, [Name]."

You paused for a second, your hands still on his face, and glanced up to meet his eyes. There was something there—a vulnerability he usually hid so well. "Don't apologize," you muttered, even though you felt like you should say more. You couldn’t find the right words, so you simply focused on wiping away the blood from his lip.

There was a heavy silence between you two, and you could hear the muffled sounds of the party outside, but inside this little bathroom, it was just the two of you.

You gently wiped the corners of his mouth before dropping the cloth in the sink and turning back to him. “Just… stay here for a while, okay?” You added, looking down at him, his messy hair sticking to his forehead as he slumped forward slightly.

Suna didn’t respond immediately. He just nodded, eyes closed again, as though the moment was enough to drain him further. You sighed, running a hand through your own hair. Part of you still wasn’t sure why you were doing this, why you were helping him so easily after everything, but another part of you—some part you couldn’t quite shake—just couldn’t stand to see him like this.

After a while, you stepped away, leaning against the counter. “You’ll be okay,” you added quietly, more to yourself than to him.

Suna’s quiet reply made your heart ache more than it should’ve. "I hope so."

You looked down to notice his shaking hands, his knuckles cracked and raw from the fight. A small frown tugged at your lips, your heart sinking at the sight. Without a word, you walked over to the mirror cabinet above the sink, opened it, and grabbed a few band-aids.

“Here…” you said softly as you returned to his side, kneeling down in front of him. You gently took his hand, his fingers cold and unsteady, and carefully placed the band-aids over the cracked skin of his knuckles. The soft motion felt strangely intimate, your hands working to tend to him, even if he didn’t fully deserve it.

Suna’s eyes were half-lidded, lost in thought, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t speak either, just let you work, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of everything was pressing down on him.

When you finished, you looked up at him, your voice barely a whisper. "You should take care of yourself, Suna. I know you’re not… okay."

He didn’t respond immediately, just looked at you with that tired expression, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you couldn’t help but feel the distance between you two in that look. It had been a long time since he’d let anyone see him like this—vulnerable and cracked, the mask he usually wore slipping.

He finally let out a small, resigned sigh, his voice quiet. "I know."

You stood there for a second, unsure of what to do next. You hadn’t planned on this—on him being like this—but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him, not when he was like this.

You start to head out of the bathroom, trying to give him some space to breathe.

You paused in the doorway, your hand resting on the handle as you heard his voice—so quiet, almost swallowed by the silence of the room. His words hung in the air, like a secret he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit, but couldn’t stop from escaping anyway.

"[Name]… I really do miss you."

Your heart twisted in your chest, but you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. Not now. Not when everything was still so messy and unresolved between the two of you. The memories of the past—of everything that led to this moment—flooded your mind, and for a second, you almost forgot to breathe.

But then his voice broke the silence again, this time quieter, almost self-mocking.

"That’s just the alcohol talking."

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, feeling a pang of sadness and frustration. You wanted to say something, anything, to ease the tension, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you just stood there, your back to him, and let the silence settle between you.

Suna’s confession hung in the air, lingering like an unspoken truth neither of you were brave enough to face fully. The alcohol was speaking, yes, but maybe there was truth in it too. Maybe the weight of everything he’d been avoiding had finally caught up to him, and now, in the quiet of the moment, he couldn’t deny it.

You took a slow, shaky breath, finally turning to face him. You didn’t want to show him how much his words had affected you. Not yet. "I’ll get you water," you said, your voice steady, even though inside, you felt like a storm was brewing.

You turned back just as Suna’s hand reached out towards you. His fingers trembled slightly, his bruised knuckles a painful reminder of the chaos from earlier. He winced as his hand straightened, as if the simple motion hurt more than it should. His eyes were locked on yours, though there was a quiet vulnerability in his gaze that you hadn’t seen in a long time.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you seemed like a chasm, but Suna’s outstretched hand remained, as if he was waiting for you to bridge that gap.

You hesitated, but the longing in his eyes made you pause. The familiar ache in your chest only deepened, and you found yourself stepping closer without realizing it. You reached down, your fingers brushing his lightly at first, then holding his hand gently, avoiding the tender spots on his knuckles. His hand was warm against yours, despite the tremor running through it, and you couldn’t bring yourself to let go.

"Don’t do this," you whispered, voice barely above a breath. It was more of a plea to yourself than to him, but the words still felt heavy. You had been trying so hard to move forward, to leave everything behind, but somehow, in this moment, it felt impossible.

Suna’s expression softened, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t. Instead, he gave a quiet, almost broken sigh, squeezing your hand ever so slightly. His gaze dropped to where your fingers were intertwined, a faint sadness clouding his features.

"I messed up," he muttered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. "I… I didn’t know how to fix it, and I still don’t."

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle over you, making your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected. You wanted to respond, wanted to tell him it was okay, or that he didn’t have to explain himself. But the truth was, you didn’t know what you wanted to say. You didn’t know how to navigate this fragile space between the two of you, or if you even could.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like a moment suspended in time, a brief interlude where everything—past and present—seemed to converge. You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, his hand in yours, unsure of what the future might hold but reluctant to pull away.

Eventually, you pulled your hand back slightly, but you didn’t let go completely. You could still feel the warmth of his hand, even with the small space that had formed between you.

You walked out of the room, the soft click of the door behind you almost reassuring in its quiet finality. It didn’t take long to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, but by the time you returned, you could feel the weight of the night pressing on your shoulders. Everything felt suspended, like you were standing at the edge of something, unsure whether to step forward or retreat.

When you walked back into the bathroom, Suna was sitting on the edge of the sink, staring down at his hands, lost in thought. His posture was slouched, his shoulders heavy with the weight of everything unsaid between the two of you. You placed the glass of water on the counter with a soft clink, and he lifted his gaze slowly, eyes tired but still holding that quiet, unreadable look.

"I need to go home, it’s late," you said quietly, your voice almost drowned out by the pounding of your own heartbeat. "You should too."

Suna didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flickered to the water and then back to you, the silence stretching between you two like an unspoken question. You could see that he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Finally, Suna exhaled sharply, standing up slowly from the sink. He took the glass of water you’d set down and drank from it, eyes fixed on the counter as he swallowed. After a moment, he lowered the glass, the tension in his shoulders still obvious, but now there was a quiet acceptance in his expression.

"Yeah," he said, his voice low. "I should probably head out too."

He didn’t look at you as he turned towards the door, but you could hear the weight in his footsteps as he moved, and it struck you that he wasn’t just talking about leaving the party, or even the house. He was talking about something deeper—about the way he’d been avoiding everything that had caught up to him tonight.

Before he reached the door, you stopped him, your voice catching in your throat.

"Do you want me to… walk you home?" The question felt strange leaving your mouth, and you regretted it almost immediately. You weren’t sure what the right thing was to do anymore.

But Suna turned back toward you, his face softening. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just stood there, the space between you feeling smaller than it had in hours.

"I should be the one saying that," he said after a moment, lightly laughing, but there was a quiet sincerity to his tone. "Thanks though."

You nodded, unsure of what to say next. You didn’t push it, letting him leave quietly, as though this was the way things had to end for now. There were still so many unsaid things between you, but for tonight, you’d let the silence do the talking.

As you watched him walk out, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t finished—not yet. But for now, you would let him go.

��-----

Suna slowly sat up, the light pouring in through the cracks in the curtains stabbing into his tired eyes. Groaning, he buried his face into the pillow, desperate to block out the world. His head was pounding, every throb a reminder of the wild night before. His body felt like it had been run over, and the dull ache in his chest only added to the chaos of his mind.

Everything about last night was a blur. Bits and pieces came to him in flashes—yelling, fighting, alcohol, Atsumu’s face, his own words slipping out before he could stop them… and then you. He remembered you.

But, what happened after? That part was foggy. He winced as he rubbed his chest, the lingering soreness of the punches he'd thrown still there. His lip felt swollen, his hands ached like they had been in a vice. He opened his eyes, glancing down at his knuckles. They were bruised, cracked.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He looked around the room, trying to make sense of where he was. It took him a moment to realize he was back at his place, on his bed, still wearing the clothes from last night. The faint scent of alcohol hung in the air, and his throat felt dry, like he hadn’t had a drink in hours.

He ran his hand over his face, the hangover still tight around his skull. Last night… it wasn’t just about the alcohol. Something in him had snapped—something he hadn’t been able to keep buried any longer. He could barely remember the details, but he knew what had been at the heart of it all. You.

Last night had been a mess—a blur of words he shouldn’t have said, a fight he never should’ve started, all of it centered around you. You, who he couldn’t get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried.

He clenched his jaw, feeling the ache in his body from where he’d thrown punches, his hands still tender from the fight. Atsumu’s voice echoed in his mind: “You broke up with her. You let her go. You can’t get mad at me for moving on.”

But it wasn’t that simple, was it? He hadn’t wanted to break up with you. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you. He’d just—he didn’t know how to deal with it all, with the way you made him feel, how much he needed you but was too stubborn to admit it.

Stupid. So stupid.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much of an idiot he’d been. He’d shoved his feelings down for so long, convinced himself that he didn’t care, that it was better this way. But last night had proven how much of a lie that was. When he saw Atsumu looking at you, talking to you like it was nothing, jealousy had torn through him like wildfire.

He wanted to punch himself for not realizing sooner. He had pushed you away, made all the wrong choices, all because of his stupid pride. But now? Now, he couldn’t ignore the fact that every moment without you felt like he was losing a part of himself.

He groaned, his head throbbing harder as the memories of last night played in his mind like a broken record. Atsumu’s angry face, his words cutting deep, and then you, walking away.

Suna let out a frustrated sigh, standing up from the bed. He stumbled slightly, his body still not fully cooperating with his brain. His hands ached, and his chest felt tight with the guilt of it all. You’d been the one person who actually mattered to him. The one person he cared about more than anything, and he’d messed it up.

“Dammit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what to do now. He couldn’t just go back to ignoring it, pretending everything was fine. He had to fix this, but how?

He thought about last night again, the way you had looked at him when he spoke, the brief exchange before you walked away. Maybe you were done with him, maybe you had already made up your mind to move on, but he couldn’t—he didn’t know how to. He wasn’t ready to give up on you yet.

Suna paced in front of the door, his heart pounding as his hands fumbled with the doorknob. He had no idea what to expect once he showed up at your house, but he couldn’t let the fear of rejection hold him back anymore. If Atsumu really was making a move on you, then he’d lose his chance forever. He couldn't let that happen—not again.

His stomach twisted as he shoved his shoes on, grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his shoulders. The hangover still clung to him, but the anxiety gnawing at him was stronger. He was scared—no, terrified. What if you didn’t even want to see him? What if everything he’d done was beyond fixing? But there was no turning back now.

With a deep breath, Suna splashed his face with cold water, the chill of it cutting through the haze of alcohol still lingering in his system. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he had to do this. He had to face the mess he’d made, and he had to face you.

He paused in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. His hands still hurt from last night, bruised and cut, a reminder of his stupidity. His lip was sore too—an angry red mark where he had taken one of Atsumu’s punches. Suna clenched his jaw, feeling a surge of regret. But that was all in the past now. What mattered was what he was about to do.

His chest tightened again, his heart thumping in his ears as he stepped out the door.

Suna stood there, his hands jammed deep into his hoodie pockets, his posture slumped as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His heart was pounding in his chest, and for a brief moment, he considered just turning around and walking away. He was afraid—afraid of what you might say, afraid of how you'd look at him after everything he’d done.

But then you opened the door, your eyes meeting his. For a split second, he saw the concern flicker in your gaze, and it made his stomach twist. He hated that he had put that look there. He hated that he had been the one to make you worry.

"Are you okay?" Your voice was soft, tentative, as if you weren't sure how to approach him anymore. You looked at him like you weren’t sure whether to welcome him in or slam the door shut.

Suna exhaled slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. He wasn’t sure if he was okay at all. But he had to start somewhere, right?

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t think I am.”

His eyes dropped to the ground, feeling the weight of his own words. There was so much more he wanted to say, so much he needed to say, but the lump in his throat made it hard to even speak. He was scared. Scared of how you might react, scared that this was it—this was the end.

“I just—” He started again, shaking his head as if trying to get his thoughts to line up, to make sense of them. “I was stupid, okay? I was so fucking stupid and selfish, and I don’t even know why I—”

His words faltered, his chest tightening as the regret and guilt from the past few months all came rushing to the surface. “I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”

He finally looked up at you, seeing the confusion in your eyes, the hurt he had caused written all over your face. That look made his heart ache, but it also gave him the strength he needed to finally speak the truth.

“I miss you,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. “I miss everything about you. And I was too proud and too dumb to admit it. I shouldn’t have let you go. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

He paused, watching as you processed his words. His hands still shoved deep into his pockets, but now his shoulders were a little less slumped. He wasn’t sure if this was going to fix anything—he wasn’t sure if it could—but at least he was being honest with you. At least he was finally admitting how much he messed up.

“I don’t know what else to say,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “But I just—please don’t hate me.”

The silence stretched between you, and Suna held his breath, waiting for you to say something, anything.

You took a deep breath, your gaze softening as you spoke. "I could never hate you, Suna. But you pushed me away, and it really hurt." Suna's chest tightened at your words. You could never hate him? He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or guilty. Of course, you couldn’t hate him. You were kind, thoughtful, always willing to forgive. But that didn’t change the fact that he had pushed you away, and now here he was, begging for a chance to make it right. He looked down at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. The weight of your words hit him harder than any punch. It hurt. He had known it, of course, but hearing it from you, feeling the quiet sting of that simple truth—he realized just how deep the damage went. "I know," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have acted like that. I was… scared. Scared of how much you meant to me, scared of being vulnerable, scared of losing you, and I thought that if I pushed you away first, it wouldn’t hurt so much when you left." He paused, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips, but it wasn’t a happy one. “How stupid is that?” Suna finally dared to look up, his eyes softening as they met yours. The guilt in his chest was suffocating, but now he felt something else—something almost like hope. The hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a way to fix this. Maybe it wasn’t too late. “I’ve spent so much time lying to myself, convincing myself I didn’t need you when deep down, I was just terrified of being left. I don’t know what happened to me, [Name]. I thought I was in control, but… I wasn’t.” He stepped forward, just a little, wanting to close the distance between you. “I don’t want to lose you. Not like this. I’ve already ruined everything, and I know it’s not going to be easy for you to just… forgive me. But I want to try. I want to fix this.” Suna's voice cracked, and for the first time, he felt a vulnerability he had buried for so long. “I want you back, [Name]. Not because I’m scared, but because I love you, and I should’ve said that when I had the chance.”

There, he said it. And now it was out there in the open. The truth. He had said it before, in fragments, but never like this. Never with this much weight behind it.

For a moment, there was only silence. The kind that made everything feel too big and too small at the same time. Suna watched you carefully, his chest tight with uncertainty, as you seemed to process his words. The air was thick with everything unsaid, and his heart raced. What if you didn’t feel the same?

Then, without warning, you stepped forward. Your hand reached for his, trembling slightly, and his breath caught in his throat. You looked up at him with eyes that were glistening, filled with a mixture of pain and something else—something he could barely comprehend, something that made his own heart ache.

“I… I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me again,” you whispered, the words soft but heavy. Then, before he could respond, you suddenly threw your arms around him, burying your face against his chest.

The sudden contact made Suna freeze for a moment, the heat of your body against his, your tears dampening his shirt. He wasn’t sure what to do, but then he heard you speak again, this time your voice muffled by his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve never blocked you. I… I was so hurt, but I love you, Suna. I love you too.”

Suna’s heart stopped for a moment. He hadn’t expected this, not this quickly, not after everything. He hesitated, his arms hovering by his sides, unsure whether he deserved this closeness, unsure if you meant it. But then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, feeling the weight of everything he’d been carrying—the guilt, the confusion, the regret—finally start to lift.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m the one who messed up. I hurt you, and I don’t deserve you, but I’m not going to let you go. Not again.”

You clung to him, shaking slightly, the sobs coming in quiet waves. Suna tightened his grip on you, his own chest tight, his breath shallow. It felt like everything he had been longing for, everything he had been afraid to admit, was finally here in this moment.

“I was so stupid,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I thought I could be okay without you, but I can’t. I don’t want to be without you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your tears soaking into his skin. “I just didn’t know if you still felt the same. I thought you… didn’t want me anymore.”

Suna gently pulled back slightly, just enough to look at your face, his hand reaching up to brush the tears away from your cheeks. “I’ve never stopped wanting you,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I just… I thought if I pushed you away first, it wouldn’t hurt so much when I lost you. But I was wrong. I lost you anyway.”

You shook your head, your hand gently cupping his face. “You didn’t lose me, Suna. Not if you’re willing to fight for us.”

He smiled softly, a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying lifting off his chest. He could feel the pieces of his broken heart slowly falling back into place. “I’ll fight for us,” he promised, his voice strong, his hands shaking just slightly as he held you close. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

And as you held each other in that quiet moment, Suna felt a warmth spread through him—something that had been missing for so long. A feeling that maybe, just maybe, things could be okay again.

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••

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