tags: fluff. pining. suna isn't fair, he treats you exactly how he knows you'll fall for him with little to no effort. atsumu and osamu are mentioned. wc: like, 600+
rintarou doesn't flirt.
not in the conventional ways, at least.
rintarou doesn't have to try hard—and it's infuriating even for the famed miya twins; because while they had fangirls, rintarou had admirers falling at his feet.
no, it wasn't the same, atsumu had insisted.
atsumu continued, because suna had girls confessing to him left and right not just because he was popular in the same sense that they—the miya's—were.
rintarou cuts him off with a cock of an eyebrow. as if to challenge atsumu's implication of that statement.
atsumu, on the other hand, is quick to defend himself, saying he wasn't done speaking and that he didn't mean it like that. so he continues his interrupted monologue, but because suna's admirers thought suna charming beyond his skills and beyond his popularity for it. atsumu grumbled further, that out of the many fangirls they had, there was a one in a hundred chance that one of them truly liked them for them—not at the idea of them.
while atsumu complained, on and on that rintarou had stopped even pretending to listen, he ponders if it was worth thinking about.
it wasn't, rintarou nods slightly at himself, then proceeds to eat his lunch.
"—like Y/N!" atsumu exclaims so loudly, even osamu felt embarrassed.
"what about her?" rintarou asks, attention finally caught.
the grin that spreads over atsumu's face doesn't miss a beat. "she's so weak at the knees for ya," he claims, brown eyes gleaming just enough for rintarou to narrow at them.
"yeah? what about it?"
atsumu doesn't hold back the scoff he lets out. typical rintarou, always so casual—so nonchalant—that it's hard to tease him. "yer pretty close with her already, no? are you official yet?"
rintarou only hums. it's non-committal, neither a denial nor confirmation of the question.
atsumu continues to grumble.
+
the answer, in reality, was just as non-committal.
rintarou likes you flustered, likes you squirming under his stare. so that's exactly what he makes you do, exactly how he makes you feel every chance he gets.
you're an open book—so easy to read, it's endearing. when you look at him, you look at him with unmatched sincerity in your eyes that he's almost baffled.
you have him hooked, but he isn't too keen on letting you know that.
that's why when rintarou flirts, he doesn't do it in the most conventional, most obvious of ways.
he'll tease you almost like he's a bully—smug smirk always resting on his pretty pink lips; when he speaks, he never does dare look at anywhere but right back at you.
he talks to you in a way that leaves you breathless, because he likes you like this.
when he walks you in front of the school to bid you goodbye just before their practice, he leans in close to you—just enough for your breath to hitch—then he tells you, "you'll take care of yourself for me, yeah?"
and you do. of course you do.
when rintarou catches you awake past midnight, he's quick on his hands.
Go to sleep. the message would read from him, with a period, leaving no room for arguments.
bold enough, though clichéd, you type out your answer to him: make me.
and like he has you mapped out, the response is immediate, Behave for me, hm? the message would read, and that's all it takes for you to listen.
goodnight, rintarou, you'd reply—but because you're jittery and flushed at the cheeks, heart thumping against your chest, you continue, i'll see you tomorrow?
it's pathetic. only because you're sure he can tell just how eager you are—how hopeful, how you're so obviously pining after him.
and with a few seconds to pass, comes his response. Mhm. Goodnight.
it's so little, so simple. somehow, still, he has your mind racing over a few words.
he leaves you with a sigh, even when he's not physically there. you let yourself fall asleep wondering how it would feel like to have his arms wrapped around your waist; if it's even a luxury the world could grant you.
and while it sounds like a loud, resounding no. you let yourself pretend it's possible, even just to lull you asleep.
