#but wtv im too much of a wreck rn to write this nicer my bad

[kouyurii]

i -

“Thanks,” says Suna. Oops. Your mouth clamps shut involuntarily, so you stare mutely at him

this made me wheeze HELP HAHAHAHAHAH

the way his blazer drapes over his frame and he smiles at you like he’s letting you know a secret makes you feel like a dandelion being blown into the blue sky on a sunny summer day.

omhg?????? im so sljhdgsdlhfgsl bc i can feel exactly what youre talking about here??? there was no way i would have been able to put it into words but you got it so perfectly 😭

the picture this line paints in my head is so pretty too T_T

omg ETHICAL dating on a bet NOW I GET IT and i love the concept holey shit lia you always have the most unique ideas (coupled with your brilliant execution too)

Suna laughs. His nose scrunches up when he does it, and his eyes nearly close, and the flush on his face is the same shade of pink all the French lovers wrote about, probably.

would throw myself off a cliff to see him laugh like this bye

“Excuse me a moment,” you say, and turn your back to him to message FUCK in the groupchat with unsteady fingers.

READER PLEASE IM WHEEZINGG

WHEN SHE MISSPELLED IT 3 TIMES TOO ADKFJBSDJFH IM DECEASED

He changes his grip so your fingertips are barely touching, drawing your hand up to brush a kiss over the knuckles

IM SWOONING BUT I WOULD NEVER TELL HIM THAT

You want to punch him in the mouth a little bit. It’s not right for someone to be so romantic in an entirely unromantic situation. It’s confusing and upsetting.

I SNORTED PLS READER IS SO FUNNY I CANT HAHAHAHA

he’d finally put an end to your wriggling by spinning you face to face with him, brushing his nose against yours and telling you to be good.

im imploding goodBYE

“You are a demon and I never should have agreed to this,” he points at you once you’ve walked out of the theater.

“Aw, no, baby,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly at him. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Not a chance,” he laughs. “No fucking way.”

THEIR BANTER IS???? I LOVE IT??? LOOK AT THEIR CHEMISTRY IM SCREECHING SKDFHSKDJFSKDF

“Yes,” you say confidently, at the same time Rintarō says her name pleadingly. You sense suddenly that there is history here you don’t want to make light of.

damn reader is so insanely cool 😭 but she's also perceptive and doesnt ever want to make suna uncomfortable

her dragging suna away from the shitty ex 🥺

“She cheated on you?” You launch yourself to your feet, suddenly filled with the power of a thousand burning suns to strike her down.

jdfhgldsgfhs have i mentioned how much i love the way you write the reader T_T

“No, no, no,” he says. “Sit down. Sit down. It was my fault, anyway.”

Rintarō’s not a particularly loud guy, but he sounds so quiet now that you nearly ask him to speak up.

suna bby :((((

him thinking it was his fault he got cheated im gonna fking sob i want to give him a hug :(

“No, you’re good,” he responds. “It was nice. Really, really nice.”

Impulsively, you hug him. It takes a second for him to unfreeze, but you eventually feel hands patting your back.

“Night,” you say once you’ve pulled back. “Sleep tight.”

“Hope the vampires bite,” he says, smiling toothily at you.

That’s when you become best friends with your boyfriend.

I LOVE THIS WHOLE EXCHANGE SOSO MUCH????

best friends to lovers is my jam (ik they dont exactly end up as lovers at the end of this BUT STILL)

suna letting himself be vulnerable with reader and telling her that it was nice 🥺 idk WHY thismakes me so emotional wtf

maybe something to do with the fact that suna probably has never really had the chance to tell anyone about that ex? but now he told reader and she didnt make it awkward or treat him like glass

she just sat with him in comfortable silence after trying her best to convince him it wasnt his fault :(

and now him saying it was nice even though she didnt even seem to do anything much :(((

(i feel like i went round in circles with my shitty explanation BUT ESSENTIALLY this part makes me rly soft i unfortunately do not have the vocabulary to explain it T_T

WHEN READER HUGGED HIM and he froze but then patted her back 🥺 im WEEPING HE NEEDS TO BE GIVEN MORE HUGS

this being the moment they become best friends im akdfjhsladfhlkfjf + them starting to naturally spend time together and seek each other out T____T

He does the dishes for you when your parents ask you to, and you wash his laundry when you visit his house. This must be what it means to be in a partnership. The two of you encounter new problems and adapt, improvise, overcome.

HELLO???? THE DOMESTICITY???? THE INTIMACY?????? ONLY IN FAKE DATING (FOR A BET) BEST FRIENDS LSDFHLKFHFGSFJHFJ

"Of course I have. Just because it doesn't turn into schoolwide gossip doesn't mean it's not happening."

this made me laugh out loud pls READER IS SO SAVAGE I LOVE IT HAHAHAHAH

He sucks hard on your lower lip, drawing a noise you're embarrassed to hear out of your mouth, which prompts him to shift around and put a large hand on your back, kneeling so he has a few inches on you and can pull you closer.

IM GONNA COMBUST ZLJDFHLDGJFHDSLFHJH

this lowkey reminds me of platonic kisses with inarizaki skdjgsdjfhsdjhgs

When you come to, your hands have migrated into his black hair and he's pulling away from your neck, which you suspect is freshly marked.

SCREECHING DKJFHSLDFHSDLFJHGLS NOT HIM GIVING YOU A HICKEY IM GONNA EXPLODE

Then he's kissing you, barely brushing his lips against yours, smirking when you pinch his ribs. You chase him, kissing him fully and turning the both of you so that he's up against the wall, his hands loosely gripping your waist while your hands wander to his hair. He tastes sweet-and-sour, like home and like trouble, a contradiction wrapped in black hoodies and burning yellow eyes.

MYGODLSJFHGSLDJGHSLFKHG THIS SCENE IM

HIM PULLING HER INTO THE CLASSROOM DSGJLFLAHDLSGHSLKFJSLKGJSKDLFJSLDKF

THEM MAKING OUT IN AN EMPTY CLASSROOM LIKE THEYRE ACTUALLY DATING MY HEART CANT TAKE THIS

IM BANGING MY FISTS ON THE TABLE

ive run out of synonyms for combust but im combusting again

(and which Rintarō pulls down constantly and secretly, for reasons unknown to you), and you hold hands without even thinking about it. You kiss him hello on the cheek and he hugs you goodbye, and you're starting to become hyperaware of the upcoming deadline.

ksjdfhskjghskdgh i think this is the first indication that rin has fallen for reader?? 🥺

both of them falling into the routine so easily im sobbing sdjkfgshkgfjhsgjshdf look at the intimacy 😭

ty lia for reminding me why fake dating is an elite trope

You're not quite sure you can make it to the three month mark without wanting everything that's been smoke and mirrors and espionage to be real.

YEAH READERS IN LOVE WITH HIM TOO DUH

This is the stupidest situation he's ever been in, Rintarō thinks to himself.

It's been two weeks since what should have been the easiest breakup of his life, and things don't feel easy.

MY HEART FEELS LIKE ITS BEING SQUEEZED SKJGFHSLDHGFDSL

HIM PINING AFTER READER AFTER THEIR 'FAKE' BREAKUP IM SGKSDFLJDHGLJSHGSLD

"Are you joking? No," Rintarō says. "What kind of question is that?"

posessive suna brain goes brr

needed you back the way he'd had you and hadn't even known it— and by some miracle, you accepted, would he take it for granted? Would he ever be good enough for you?

Would he lose even the half of you he held in his palms now?

PINING SUNA IM WEEPING SKDFGHSJDLHGFSDL OMG???

HIM GETTING SO INSECURE IM SO !#$%^&*@!

It's a Saturday night, and he misses you.

short and concise but felt like a punch to my fking gut

He slams his phone facedown on his comforter and lies on his back, his hands shaking. It's not until he rolls over and feels wet fabric against his cheek that he realizes he's been crying.

IM CRYIGNG MY EYES OUT SUNA BBY SKDJHDSLFH

HIM CRYING IN HIS BED WHEN YOU TURN DOWN HIS MOVIE INVITATION????

no bc this makes me so emotional bc suna acts cool and tough but he cares soso much and now im crying even harder wtf

but he recalls you looking at him with sparkling eyes and telling him people liked his weird. He hopes you were talking about yourself.

suna im so dkjfalsfhsdlf :(((( he is so precious i want to cradle him in my hands and never let go

"It's really stupid," he says. "Well, not really, I just think it's kind of weird, maybe, and you might not like it. Or me. I guess that's the gist of it. I like you. I think I love you. And it hurts like we broke up for real when we weren't even dating for real. You're a really good friend, and I don't want to lose that, but," he flounders. "If you wanted to try dating, again, for real, I would love to try dating, again, for real, because I think I could... I don't think I did badly, but I want to show you that I can do better." He laughs, quietly, self-deprecatingly, and slows to a stop, turning to face you.

SUNA RAMBLING AT YOU IM SO SOFT?????

suna rintaro who barely says more than a sentence at a time except to roast atsumu

him losing his mind not even being able to get his thoughts together to confess to you im kadjsfbsjfhdfsf

him being so genuine about his feelings telling her that he felt hurt when they broke up :(

him trying to convince her to give him a chance but it feels like he barely believes he deserves that chance im crying my fking eyes out ;-;

In the eternity stretching between the two of you, he feels something inside him crack. It's not a clean break, either. He can feel shards of himself falling to the sidewalk while you look on, his usually icy demeanor revealing the lovesick boy beneath.

my heart is in a million pieces on the floor bye

suna my baby the light of my life apple of my eye I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

it physically pains me to see him yearning and falling apart like this im sobbing T_T

heaven can't help me now

summary: Suna x Reader. dating on a bet but it's ethical

word count: 4.4k

cw: a lot of kissing, cheating (not done to reader or by suna), humor to ??? to angst to ???, no joke this is all over the place, friends to dating the school player on a bet to fake dating to friends to

a/n: this is @akimind's fault

“This is the stupidest situation I’ve ever been in,” you say, surveying the mostly-empty early morning grounds of Inarizaki High. The only noises are the breeze rustling through the trees, birds chirping musically, and the grunts of every student athlete running through their morning workout.

“No it’s not,” says your best friend, the demonic entity who put you in this mess.

“No, it’s not,” you agree sadly. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Getting this over with actually entails waiting until the end of the school day, because you don’t want to face the consequences of your actions and would rather hide at home than suffer publicly in school.

One in thirteen people die via vending machine every year, you remind yourself as you approach the contraption warily. You should be so lucky.

Tragically, the vending machine doesn’t kill you; worse, everything goes according to plan. At 3:23 p.m., Suna Rintarō approaches for his pre-practice snack.

I’m gonna throw up, you text your friend. She leaves you on delivered. You hate her.

“Hey,” Suna says your name, effectively cutting off all trains of thought.

“Hi,” you say. You nearly chicken out, but your pride is on the line. You have to do this. You can do this. You are a badass.

“Thanks,” says Suna. Oops. Your mouth clamps shut involuntarily, so you stare mutely at him while he chuckles to himself, focused primarily on scanning the plethora of processed food the machine offers.

About three things you are absolutely positive. First, Suna is a heartbreaker of the highest degree. Second, you are trapped in a dare to prove otherwise. And third, the way his blazer drapes over his frame and he smiles at you like he’s letting you know a secret makes you feel like a dandelion being blown into the blue sky on a sunny summer day.

Like having butterflies, but instead of merely letting them flutter around your innards, you ascend into the weightlessness of fluttering flight.

Fucking insects.

“Funny story,” you say abruptly, making eye contact with Suna. “I was dared to date you. For over three months. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you but it didn’t seem ethical not to on the off chance that you would, y’know, say yes, against all known laws of physics and aviation—”

Suna laughs. His nose scrunches up when he does it, and his eyes nearly close, and the flush on his face is the same shade of pink all the French lovers wrote about, probably. You bounce on your toes in agitation.

“I know it sounds like a joke but I just really need you to give an answer so I can report back because if I don’t ask you they threatened to dye my cat purple.”

“Isn’t your cat black?”

“I have two cats,” you say. “I knew I shouldn’t have defended you. Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he waves it off. “Let’s do it. Could be fun.”

“Are you joking?” It’s your turn to laugh.

“No,” he says simply, stepping just into your personal space so he can reach out and brush a piece of your hair back. “Not even a little.”

“Excuse me a moment,” you say, and turn your back to him to message FUCK in the groupchat with unsteady fingers. You are all too aware of his sharp eyes watching over your shoulder while you type the four-letter word three times until it’s spelled correctly. You tuck your phone back into your pocket and face him again with squared shoulders. “Cool. Sweet. Should we shake on it?”

He stretches out his hand. You take it, gripping it firmly to indicate that you will be a reliable and firm business partner.

“Is there money on this?”

“5000 yen from six people each if we last through the three month mark,” you say seriously. “I can give you fifteen percent of the winnings.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty,” he says, and you shrug. “But I’m still gonna call it off if I get bored, just so you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you say. You’re still holding his hand.

He changes his grip so your fingertips are barely touching, drawing your hand up to brush a kiss over the knuckles. You want to punch him in the mouth a little bit. It’s not right for someone to be so romantic in an entirely unromantic situation. It’s confusing and upsetting.

“Signed and sealed,” he says. “Walk home with me on Friday, okay?”

Friday goes well. At first, you feel clumsy and stupid, your mind entirely consumed by the fact that you’re fake-dating him. Your friends hadn’t bought that he’d said yes (they didn’t know you’d told him about the bet) until he’d interrupted your morning briefing with them the next day, hair endearingly limp from volleyball-induced sweat and grin sharp and wide. He’d slung an arm around you while you shrieked and tried to get out from beneath him, aggravated by his moistness, and he’d finally put an end to your wriggling by spinning you face to face with him, brushing his nose against yours and telling you to be good.

That had shut you up for, like, ten minutes.

It’s easy to fake it around your friends, playing off an inside joke with him that reads as chemistry to outsiders. One on one, though, you panic.

“So...” Suna says, hands in his pockets and posture slouched while you stew in anticipatory embarrassment. “What do you think of Englebert Humperdink?”

“What?”

“What?”

“You’re weird, Suna,” you bump into him purposely, bouncing off with the efficacy of a tennis ball hitting a brick wall.

“I told you to call me Rintarō,” he bumps you back. “And you’re the one being weird.”

“It’s just weird,” you say indignantly. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“Well, I’m weird too,” he shrugs. “No big.”

Weirder, it’s like a ton lifts off your shoulders when he says that.

“At least you’re weird cool,” you offer. “People like your weird.”

“I don’t really care, though,” he says. “People like you, they don’t like you, it doesn’t matter. You’re still weird.”

“Are you talking about you or me? Or the ambiguous you?”

He only offers a mysterious smile in response.

Your first date with Suna — Rintarō — is five days of walking home with him plus the weekend later. He picks you up fifteen minutes late, has a toxic green energy drink in hand, and refuses to tell you where he’s taking you no matter how you beg, threaten, or bribe.

It’s a classic: the movie theater. By the time you’ve finished reading all the possible movie titles on show tonight, he’s brandishing two tickets to the latest in a series of corny action flicks, smirking lazily at you.

“I wanted to see the one with the assassin romance,” you say while he pays for movie snacks, mocking you relentlessly for your choice of filler food.

“The one who pays picks the movie,” he sing-songs.

“That’s not a rule. And I could’ve paid.”

“It is for me, and I wouldn’t let you do that, because I’m a gentleman and a great time.”

“You chose a movie with four prequels I haven’t seen. I don’t think you qualify for either of those.” He shrugs.

“The tickets are bought. No choice now.”

You get back at him by making snide comments throughout the movie, pointing out every plot hole and snickering at the saddest scenes.

“You are a demon and I never should have agreed to this,” he points at you once you’ve walked out of the theater.

“Aw, no, baby,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly at him. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Not a chance,” he laughs. “No fucking way.”

It turns out that being in a couple can be really good for your social life. You get specials at restaurants, so you go out to eat more. You like pissing off your friends with your success, so you invite them to hang out and bring your boyfriend along. You get to know the infamous volleyball team, who are a lot less intimidating when they run around hitting each other with towels than they are on the court.

Sure, the Miyas seem like they’re constantly laughing behind your back, but you can tell they’re bouncing between making fun of Rintarō and of you equally.

“He’s gonna break up with you, ya know?” Says the gray-haired one to you one day, completely unprompted. You blink up at him, caught mid-soup sip.

“Don’t make fun, Samu,” says the blond. “He’s too in loveeeeee to do that.” He tilts his head coquettishly and flutters his fingers around his face. “He told us you’re not like his exes. He actually said that.”

“I think he says that to all his dates,” Osamu muses. “Male manipulator.”

“Male manipulator my ass,” snorts Atsumu. “Yesterday he saw one of his ex-girlfriends and hid behind me until she went away. The man is a simp.”

“Maybe he still has feelings for her,” muses Osamu, staring at you with laser focus. “Does that worry you?”

“No?” You say, then take a loud slurp of soup.

“You’re borin’,” says Atsumu. “Maybe s’why he likes you so much. Bye.”

“Bye,” says Osamu.

“Bye.”

You’re on your fifth date, getting a special two for the price of one taiyaki deal when you actually bump into his ex, standing behind you in line.

“Hi,” she grins at you. “You know he’s a piece of shit, right?”

“Yes,” you say confidently, at the same time Rintarō says her name pleadingly. You sense suddenly that there is history here you don’t want to make light of.

“As long as you’re clear,” she says, taking your hand and squeezing it. Her fingertips bite into your skin. You look at Rintarō, surprised he’s not making any smart quips, but the gray shade of his skin tells you everything you need to know about the situation.

“The vibes,” you say, suddenly. “They’re arsenic.”

“What?”

“Rintarō,” you grab his hand and tug on it. “We have to go.”

You pull him out of the line, stumbling as he goes and giving her a small, pathetic wave as you storm away.

He doesn’t regain his color until you’re in your room, sitting on your bed while he drapes himself over your desk chair.

“So is there a reason why your ex makes you catatonic or should I make one up?”

“She’s fine,” Rintarō says hoarsely.

“Yep,” you say. “She killed your childhood horse.”

“What? No, you’re insane. She cheated on me.”

“She cheated on you?” You launch yourself to your feet, suddenly filled with the power of a thousand burning suns to strike her down.

“No, no, no,” he says. “Sit down. Sit down. It was my fault, anyway.”

Rintarō’s not a particularly loud guy, but he sounds so quiet now that you nearly ask him to speak up.

“How can her cheating possibly be your fault?” You arch a brow.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend,” he says. “I was really, uh, neglectful.” He holds a hand up when you open your mouth. “It was worse than you think. She tried to reason with me a bunch of times and I wouldn’t listen. We had a pretty big fight and didn’t talk for a couple days, and when we were talking again, she had... Well. And then it was over.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. So, I dunno, I don’t blame her or anything. Plus, I went on a streak of fucking, uh, flings afterwards so I’m not faultless, either.”

“Bullshit, but okay,” you snort. “None of that is grounds for sleeping with someone else as revenge for upsetting her.”

“It wasn’t revenge—”

“It kinda was,” you point out. “And I don’t think you hooking up with a bunch of people after she hit you in the heart with a golf club is really the same thing. If anything, it sounds like you were just... trying to get over her, which isn’t a crime in anyone’s book, really.”

“It wasn’t hooking up,” he protests weakly.

“You’re running out of arguments, Rintarō,” you say. “Anyway. Um. Sorry for being all in your business. Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t know,” he says vaguely, staring into space.

“Okay,” you say, shoulders dropping. “Sounds good to me.”

You spend the next hour with him in near silence. Halfway through, you ask if he wants to sit on the bed with you, which he gladly accepts. The only noise in the room is the sound of the both of you tapping at your phones and occasionally clicking on a video and playing it out loud. You wonder if your parents would be angry that you had a boy in your room if they walked in and saw the two of you doing absolutely nothing.

“Sorry,” you say, just before he leaves. “Again.”

“No, you’re good,” he responds. “It was nice. Really, really nice.”

Impulsively, you hug him. It takes a second for him to unfreeze, but you eventually feel hands patting your back.

“Night,” you say once you’ve pulled back. “Sleep tight.”

“Hope the vampires bite,” he says, smiling toothily at you.

That’s when you become best friends with your boyfriend.

You can recall the nearly physical feeling of the click of things into place, of the way the universe shifted just slightly so you could see so much more clearly. Dates blur into one long Suna session. Suddenly, you find your afternoons consumed with sitting on the bleachers, even if you're not actually watching practice. You no longer need to invite Rintarō to gatherings; he's there when the plans are made. You text incessantly during class and he sits in your desk chair, playing games on his phone, while you ponder your homework, waiting for you to finish so the two of you can binge dramas together.

"This means we probably would've had more fun if we'd watched the assassin romance instead of General Godzilla 5: Part 2," you say snidely.

"Fuck you," he responds eloquently.

He does the dishes for you when your parents ask you to, and you wash his laundry when you visit his house. This must be what it means to be in a partnership. The two of you encounter new problems and adapt, improvise, overcome.

"Have you and Suna... you know? Yet?" Asks one of your friends.

"No," laughs your best friend (the one you're not dating). "Have you two even kissed yet?"

"Yes, of course we have," you answer extremely truthfully. "Excuse me."

Rintarō opens his front door half an hour later. You promptly scream for fifteen straight seconds. He understands.

"We just need to orchestrate a kiss and get more comfortable with PDA," you reason later, sitting cross-legged across from him on your bed. He nods seriously, fingers steepled and expression wise.

"We can do that. Have you ever kissed someone before?" You throw a pillow at him.

"Of course I have. Just because it doesn't turn into schoolwide gossip doesn't mean it's not happening."

"Low blow, but okay."

"Wait," you pause. "Maybe you're right. Not factually, but spiritually. Do you think we should practice?"

"Maybe," you watch him swallow. "Yeah."

You both scoot slowly toward each other, laughing nervously every time the bed creaks.

"So are you..." You start, throat dry. "Um. Am I or are you gonna—"

Ungracefully, his lips land on yours. Your eyes slam shut and you reciprocate enthusiastically, cupping the back of his neck with one hand to brace yourself. Despite the jerky start, you can tell that he's a good kisser, a really good kisser. He sucks hard on your lower lip, drawing a noise you're embarrassed to hear out of your mouth, which prompts him to shift around and put a large hand on your back, kneeling so he has a few inches on you and can pull you closer. You kiss him harder, desperate to drown out the intensity of your own reaction.

Too hard. You think you black out.

When you come to, your hands have migrated into his black hair and he's pulling away from your neck, which you suspect is freshly marked. He stares down at you with wide eyes, and you suspect the expression is mirrored on your face.

"Do you think that was enough practice?" You ask carefully, unsure of what the correct answer is.

"Probably," he says, leaning back. "It'll be fine. Unless you get performance anxiety and drool on my face or something."

"You're so gross."

"You love me."

"Do I?"

You're half-asleep, walking out of your final period of the day when someone pulls you headlong into a dark classroom.

"Don't scream," Rintarō says. You scream. "Exactly. Thank you."

Then he's kissing you, barely brushing his lips against yours, smirking when you pinch his ribs. You chase him, kissing him fully and turning the both of you so that he's up against the wall, his hands loosely gripping your waist while your hands wander to his hair. He tastes sweet-and-sour, like home and like trouble, a contradiction wrapped in black hoodies and burning yellow eyes.

Someone's calling your name. Someone's calling your name, and the lights are on. You blink blearily at your best friend, who's laughing her ass off, and separate slowly from Rintarō. Your lips are wet and you can't seem to catch your breath.

"It's not what it looks like."

"God, imagine if I'd been a teacher," your friend howls and backs out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow. "Oh, the looks you guys gave me..."

"Remy," Rintarō whispers in your ear as he jogs to catch up with you, slinging his bag on. "You're like the rat in Ratatouille. Pulling me around by my hair."

"You are so, so bad at romance," you hiss. "See if I ever do it again."

"I mean, we weren't going to," he says. "But I'd like to."

You punch him lightly in the arm, but your heart's not in it.

Comparatively, PDA isn't hard after that. Your friends make fun of your hickey, which you shift up your collar to hide self-consciously (and which Rintarō pulls down constantly and secretly, for reasons unknown to you), and you hold hands without even thinking about it. You kiss him hello on the cheek and he hugs you goodbye, and you're starting to become hyperaware of the upcoming deadline.

Will everything change the way it did when you asked him to do this crazy, stupid thing with you? Will it all slip away, like a dream you can't quite remember by the time you wake up?

All these worries add up to something worse, you realize, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. You're not quite sure you can make it to the three month mark without wanting everything that's been smoke and mirrors and espionage to be real.

Only two weeks, you tell yourself, checking over your calendar again and again like it'll make the days pass faster. Fourteen days, three hundred thirty six hours, twenty thousand and one hundred sixty minutes. Everything is fine.

He takes you to the movies again.

He buys tickets for a movie from the fifties, buys you your favorite snacks without having to be asked, wraps his arm around you when you shiver from the air-conditioned interior. He likes the seats in the middle, but you nod toward the back.

"Really?" He asks, voice strangely high-pitched. "Oh. Sick."

You don't remember much of the movie.

Your last date with Suna Rintarō ends on the train. The world is a smear of blue and gray in front of you; behind you, arms embracing you almost too loosely is him. You turn your head to speak into his ear.

"It's been good," you tell him. "Happy three months."

"Happy three months," he repeats, the words nearly foreign in his mouth. "And one day. We're gonna be rich."

"And one day," you smile, and reach for his hand, his bony fingers cold to the touch. "Should we stage a big breakup?"

"I've had enough of big breakups for a lifetime," he laughs. "But if you want to, let's do it. Could be fun."

"No, it's okay," you shrug. "They're gonna know we gamed them, anyway. No need to lay it on anymore."

"Yeah," he replies. "Does that mean this is it?"

The conductor announces your stop, one neighborhood before his.

"I guess so," you feel strangely light, a little out of body. "See you tomorrow, Rintarō."

You should kiss him, maybe. Something dramatic should be happening right now; at least an emotional embrace. That's not how the two of you operate, though, and it wasn't anything real, anyway, you try to remind yourself. He won't be losing any sleep over this, so neither should you.

You lick your lips and smile at him, giving a little wave. He lifts a hand, head down while he looks at his phone. You can close the book on your relationship, and it feels just right. The train starts to move, and you turn around and walk home.

This is the stupidest situation he's ever been in, Rintarō thinks to himself.

It's been two weeks since what should have been the easiest breakup of his life, and things don't feel easy.

At first they were: your friends were annoyed but good natured, handing out the money reluctantly but with knowing expressions on their faces. He'd become too much a part of your life to simply pull out, and vice versa, so things had stayed similar.

But he felt so different, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Good one," Atsumu crows when he hears the truth of your relationship. "Really had me fooled. 'Samu, too."

"Was not!"

"Yes, you were. You thought he was playin' a fling again, not us."

"They were playin' their friends!"

"Are we not their friends, too?" Atsumu asks, wounded. "Hey, since Y/N is single now— or always was, whatever, could I—"

"Are you joking? No," Rintarō says. "What kind of question is that?"

"A perfectly valid one," sulks Atsumu. "Hey, mine!" He dives after a stray volleyball, and Rintarō stares after him distractedly.

It's almost metaphorical, the way Atsumu's easily pulled away from the topic of you by the game. Would that happen to Rintarō again? If he put in effort, and he could tell you how he felt— that he was miserable like this, that he'd gotten addicted to the way you tripped over your words because they came out too fast and the way your room smelled entirely like you and to your all-encompassing presence and touch, and he needed it, needed you back the way he'd had you and hadn't even known it— and by some miracle, you accepted, would he take it for granted? Would he ever be good enough for you?

Would he lose even the half of you he held in his palms now?

He's losing his mind, he realizes. Metaphor? In his volleyball? Unlikely.

He casts a longing look at the bleachers, then shakes his head. He needs to get his head in the game.

It's a Saturday night, and he misses you.

hey, he texts you, after forty-five minutes of agonizing deliberation. do u want to watch something? i think there's a ghibli showing at the theater but we can just stream if u want

sorry :( You respond three minutes later. can't.

rip, he sends. You don't answer. He slams his phone facedown on his comforter and lies on his back, his hands shaking. It's not until he rolls over and feels wet fabric against his cheek that he realizes he's been crying.

You feel so distant and only now he knows what he's doing wrong.

Rintarō's fallen in love with you.

"I don't know," you're saying. "I think I prefer the little jelly strawberries."

He can't focus. Every time he's around you, he nearly works up the courage to confess, to spill out every bloody, messy feeling he's had since you broke up and pray that you'll bear with him for it, but he always talks himself out of it. He can love you like this, he tells himself. His emotions aren't any less real for not being validated.

"What do you think? Rintarō?" You're snapping your fingers in front of his face. He hunches his shoulders and leans away.

"I think about your mom," he musters. You peer at him, your face far too close to his. He imagines bonking himself in the head with a thick textbook several times to remain stoic.

"You're being weird."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Walk home with me today."

"Are t— what?" He shrugs. "Okay."

He sits a little straighter. He can make it another few hours. You got this, man, be normal.

He's pretty sure he fails miserably in that regard, but he recalls you looking at him with sparkling eyes and telling him people liked his weird. He hopes you were talking about yourself.

The sky is clear and he's nearly too hot beneath his school blazer. Beside him, your steps are light, taken to the beat of a song he can't hear. Cars honk in the street and dogs bark in their backyards. He bites his lip.

"Is everything okay?" Is somehow the way he chooses to open the topic.

"Yes," you say. "But I don't think it is with you. Tell me." He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. What is he doing? He's not sure.

"It's really stupid," he says. "Well, not really, I just think it's kind of weird, maybe, and you might not like it. Or me. I guess that's the gist of it. I like you. I think I love you. And it hurts like we broke up for real when we weren't even dating for real. You're a really good friend, and I don't want to lose that, but," he flounders. "If you wanted to try dating, again, for real, I would love to try dating, again, for real, because I think I could... I don't think I did badly, but I want to show you that I can do better." He laughs, quietly, self-deprecatingly, and slows to a stop, turning to face you.

You stare at him, lips parted and brows raised.

In the eternity stretching between the two of you, he feels something inside him crack. It's not a clean break, either. He can feel shards of himself falling to the sidewalk while you look on, his usually icy demeanor revealing the lovesick boy beneath.

You take a deep breath, and he swears he can feel it inflating his own lungs.

"Oh."