In The Silence Of My Yearning
mafia! sukuna x nurse!reader
Series:
Chapter 1 -> HERE
Summary:
He’s a secret. A threat. A storm waiting to break.
And now, he’s in her bed.
In a city that never sleeps, she’s about to discover that saving him might be the most dangerous decision she’s ever made.
==================================================
Chapter 2
I called Cara over, hoping she could help me assess him properly.
She sat beside his bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. The room was dim except for the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp, casting shadows across his face. She pressed the diaphragm of the stethoscope gently against his chest, her expression focused, brows slightly drawn together as she listened.
“I know you love helping people,” she said quietly, her eyes still fixed ahead as she listened to the steady rise and fall of his breathing, “but I did not expect you to help him.”
Her tone wasn’t judgmental — just… surprised.
She shifted the stethoscope lower, listening carefully. The faint sound of his breaths filled the silence between us. Then, after a few seconds, she glanced up at me, one corner of her mouth lifting.
“Although,” she added under her breath, a teasing glint in her eyes, “he is rather handsome, my girl.”
I shot her a look, but she only suppressed a small laugh.
She removed the stethoscope and gently checked the stitching along his side, peeling back the edge of the dressing just enough to inspect it.
“The sutures are holding well,” she murmured. “No active bleeding. Just observe for any signs of infection — redness spreading, swelling, fever. Watch for sepsis symptoms too. Confusion, rapid heart rate, low blood pressure. You know the drill.”
I nodded automatically.
“The medications I’ve written down,” she continued, scribbling on a small notepad, “you can order them first thing in the morning. He’ll need proper antibiotics and pain management.”
She stood, smoothing out her shirt, and gave him one last glance before heading toward the door. I followed her out of the room and gently pulled the door closed behind us, the latch clicking softly in the quiet house.
The kitchen light felt harsh after the dim bedroom. I leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly.
Suddenly, Cara spun around and flicked my forehead.
“Ow!” I hissed.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped, running a frustrated hand through her hair. “Why would you bring a complete stranger into your home?”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried urgency — sharp and protective.
“Have you gone insane?” she continued, pacing slightly now. “This guy could be from a syndicate or something. I literally read about crime groups operating around here — it’s a big problem at the moment. You don’t know who he is.”
She gestured vaguely toward the hallway.
“And with those tattoos? He looks like he could be involved in something.”
I just stood there, arms loosely at my sides, staring at her. No expression. No defence.
“I didn’t want to leave him there,” I said quietly after a moment. “He looked awful.”
There was a beat of silence.
Her shoulders dropped slightly, the anger softening into concern.
She shook her head. “You are unbelievable,” she muttered, but her tone had lost its edge. She grabbed her bag from the chair near the door. “It’s midnight. I need sleep. But listen to me.”
She stepped closer, her expression serious now.
“Call me if anything happens. I don’t care what time it is. Don’t hesitate. I’m your best friend — it’s my job to look out for you.” She sighed. “You are way too innocent for this world.”
I smiled faintly.
“Bye, Cara. I love you.”
I wrapped my arms around her tightly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. She hugged me back just as firmly.
“Love you too,” she replied softly.
She stepped out into the cool night air. I closed the door behind her and locked it, the click echoing louder than it should have.
Drawn by instinct, I walked to the living room window and gently pulled the curtain aside.
The street outside was quiet — eerily still. The orange glow of the streetlights bathed the pavement in a dull haze. I watched as Cara hurried to her car, glancing back once before unlocking it. She hesitated for a second, as if debating whether to come back inside.
Then she got in.
Her headlights flicked on, briefly illuminating the front of my house. The engine started, breaking the silence, and she slowly drove off down the empty street. I stood there until her car disappeared around the corner, until the sound of it faded completely.
The house felt different now.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Behind me, down the hallway, the faint sound of his breathing reminded me that I wasn’t alone.
And suddenly, for the first time that night, the weight of what I had done settled into my chest.
The silence stretched after Cara left.
I let the curtain fall back into place and stood there for a long moment, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric. Outside, the street lay empty, quiet except for the distant hum of a passing car. The orange glow of the streetlights painted everything in a muted haze, softening the edges of the world but also making it feel unreal, like I was watching a scene I didn’t belong in.
When Cara’s car disappeared around the corner, the quiet deepened, settling over the house like a weight.
I had brought him here.
Into my house.
And into my bedroom.
I turned slowly and walked down the hallway, each step careful, almost hesitant. The soft carpet muffled my movements, yet the silence made every shift of my weight feel loud. My bedroom door was slightly ajar. Warm light spilled out, brushing the dark hallway with a thin slice of familiarity.
But as I approached, it didn’t feel like my room anymore.
It felt like someone else’s territory.
Someone dangerous was resting in the space I had always claimed as mine.
I pushed the door open gently, trying not to disturb the quiet.
He was lying in my bed.
His frame was large, stretching across the mattress, the blankets pulled low around his waist so they wouldn’t press against the stitching on his side. My pillows were tucked carefully behind his head, propping him up just enough. The faint scent of my shampoo and clean laundry mingled oddly with antiseptic and the metallic tang of dried blood lingering in the air.
It smelled like him, and my room, and danger all at once.
It felt… personal.
I hesitated at the threshold, my eyes sweeping over him. Without the immediate panic of the alley, without the adrenaline of a gun pressed to my forehead, he looked almost peaceful.
His chest rose and fell steadily. His dark hair fell messily across his forehead. The hard lines of his jaw softened in sleep, though his tattoos — dark, intricate, deliberate — stood out starkly under the bedside light.
I checked for any signs of change again — subtle shifts in his breathing, twitching fingers, any hint that he might wake — before I finally stepped back.
Tonight, I couldn’t sleep in my own bed.
I would sleep on the couch instead. Quietly. Carefully. Hopefully, without stirring him.
Tomorrow, I would sort out his medications. Arrange everything properly. Figure out what to do next.
Before I left the room, I took one last look over my shoulder. His chest rose and fell in the dim light, steady and unbroken. The blankets barely moved over the stitching beneath them.
I silently hoped that my presence wouldn’t provoke him.
That I wouldn’t wake to any sudden movement.
Or any threat.
My heart beat faster at the thought.
But nothing stirred.
Not yet.
I exhaled slowly and whispered to myself, almost like a prayer.
“Please… let him stay asleep.”
A nervous laugh nearly escaped me, but it caught in my throat.
“I really hope I don’t die tonight.”
And with that, I tiptoed out, closing the door softly behind me and leaving him in the shadows of my room.
