Rintaro Suna x Reader , fluff / comfort
They call it company, but it only ever happens after midnight—and neither of them ever really stops coming back.
wc: 769
They called it company because it sounded casual that way, simple. Like it was just two people who hated being alone at night.
It always started with a text. Usually sometime after midnight, when everything felt too quiet and sleep felt impossible.
don’t text 🚫
2:07 am
don’t text 🚫
| you up?
No greeting. No follow up. There never needed to be one. And every time, the answer came faster than it should’ve.
A few minutes later, you’d be outside pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, spotting Suna leaning somewhere nearby like he’d been there forever. Hands in his pockets. Hood up half the time. Looking at you with that same lazy expression that somehow still made your stomach twist a little.
“You took forever,” he’d say.
“You texted me ten minutes ago.”
You’d roll your eyes at that, but you were already falling into step beside him anyway. That was the routine now. One text, one reply, and suddenly both of you were outside wandering empty streets like there was something out there waiting for you.
Most nights, the city felt half asleep. Convenience stores glowing under fluorescent lights, crosswalk signals changing for nobody, cold air biting at your cheeks while Suna walked beside you with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
At first, you really believed it was harmless.
Just someone to fill the silence when sleeping felt impossible and your thoughts got too loud.
But things with Suna never stayed simple for long.
Somewhere between the late-night walks and the conversations that dragged until three in the morning, the space between you started disappearing. Your shoulders brushed more often. His hand would settle briefly on your back when guiding you across the street. You started noticing the way he looked at you when you laughed, quiet and unreadable, like he was thinking too much about something he didn’t want to admit.
And the worst part was how normal it all felt.
Like you’d slipped into this version of each other without realizing it.
“You’re staring,” you muttered one night while sitting on top of the jungle gym at a deserted playground.
Suna blinked slowly. “Am not.”
“You literally are right now.”
You nudged his leg with your shoe, and he looked away finally, though there was the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
The nights got longer after that.
Or maybe they just felt longer because neither of you wanted them to end anymore.
Sometimes you’d end up sitting in his room with the lights off, your conversations fading in and out between comfortable silence. Other times you’d lie side by side on the floor, phones forgotten somewhere nearby while rain tapped softly against the windows.
Those moments always felt dangerous.
Not because anything dramatic happened, but because of how easy it was to stay.
That was what scared you most about Suna. Nothing with him felt rushed. He’d never pull you closer too quickly or force words out of you before you were ready. He just existed beside you so naturally that leaving started to feel harder than staying.
“You know this is probably a bad idea, right?” you asked quietly once.
The room was dark except for the orange glow from the streetlight outside his window. Suna was lying beside you, one arm tucked behind his head while he stared at the ceiling.
“That doesn’t bother you?”
He turned his head slightly toward you then. “Does it bother you?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, because the answer should’ve been yes.
Everything about this should’ve bothered you. The late nights. The constant texting. The way one message from him could ruin every promise you made to yourself about staying away.
But instead, you found yourself showing up every single time.
If Suna wanted distance, he could’ve created it easily. He could’ve stopped texting first. Could’ve stopped asking you to come over. Could’ve acted like none of this mattered.
“You should stop answering me,” he murmured after a while.
You laughed softly. “You should stop texting me.”
Neither of you moved after that.
Outside, the rain kept falling softly against the glass, and somewhere between the silence and the dark and the warmth of him beside you, you realized neither of you actually wanted this to end.
No matter how many times you pretended it was just company.
©swtsaki 2026 — do not copy, repost, translate or feed any of my work into ai.
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