what we don’t say
pairing: sanemi shinazugawa x reader
genre: angst · hurt/comfort · fractured romance / rebuilding intimacy
warnings: emotional tension, implied infidelity (suspected but not actual), marital/relationship strain, swearing, crying
synopsis: feels like two strangers living together
you don’t talk much anymore.
not like before.
you remember when it was late-night teasing, his voice low and rough as he pulled you into him and tucked his face into your neck like you were the only calm left in his war-torn world.
now, when he comes home—if he even does—his jaw is tight, his hands are cold, and the space between you is so wide you’re afraid you won’t be able to cross it again.
he still eats the lunch you pack for him.
he just doesn’t say thank you anymore.
sanemi doesn’t know when things started slipping. maybe it was after the last mission. maybe it was after the third one where he came home late and your eyes were red and you didn’t say why.
he told himself it was fine.
he told himself it wasn’t that deep.
but you don’t leave notes in his bento box anymore. not even a silly scribble. not even your name. just food. always neatly packed. always done with care. but never with warmth.
you lie in bed alone again.
except you’re not alone.
he’s there. technically.
his body is turned away from you, the curve of his back rising and falling with his breath. there’s a pillow between you. you didn’t put it there.
you stare at the ceiling.
why don’t you ask him?
the voice in your head is crueler than usual. it always is when you're tired and anxious and begging your heart to shut up.
maybe he is seeing someone else.
maybe that’s why he doesn’t touch you anymore.
“you used to look at me,” you say one morning, voice cracking through the stillness.
he freezes. his hands are mid-tie, fastening the last of his uniform. he doesn’t turn around.
“what?”
“you don’t anymore.” you swallow. “you used to look at me like i was… i don’t know. something you actually loved me.”
his jaw tightens. you can see it even from where you sit on the edge of the bed.
he sighs through his nose. “i have to go.”
“you always have to go.”
“i’m not doing this right now.”
“you never want to do it any time.”
his voice rises—sharp, jagged like his temper.
“maybe i don’t want to come home just to feel like shit.”
you go quiet. completely still. your fingers tremble as they press into your thighs.
his shoulders tense. like he didn’t mean to say it. or maybe he did.
but the damage is done.
sanemi doesn’t look at you as he leaves.
the lunch is sitting on the table. packed and waiting like always.
he still takes it.
he just doesn’t say goodbye.
later that night, you sit at the table alone, tracing the edge of your cup. tea long gone cold.
you think about her. whoever she is.
the woman he’s smiling at, maybe. the one who makes him laugh. or listen. or look.
is she gentle? is she strong? does she touch the scar on his chest like it doesn’t terrify her?
or is this just your mind eating you alive?
he comes home late. again.
you’re pretending to be asleep. again.
his steps are quieter than usual, like he’s trying not to wake you.
but then—he stops.
you feel the bed dip slightly. he doesn’t lie down.
just sits.
then…
“you think i’m fucking someone else?”
your heart thuds in your chest.
your voice is weak. “what?”
“you think i’m cheating.”
he sounds tired. more exhausted than angry.
you slowly roll onto your back, staring at him in the dark. you can barely make out his face.
“i don’t know what to think anymore.”
he’s quiet for a long time.
then he says, “i haven’t touched anyone but you. not since the day you gave a damn about me.”
you hate the tears that prick your eyes.
“then why does it feel like you’re not mine anymore?”
he swallows. you hear it. feel it.
“because i don’t know how to keep you without breaking something.”
he lies down beside you, this time closer.
his hand hovers between you both. not touching. not yet.
“i don’t laugh ‘cause i’m scared if i do, i won’t stop. and you’ll forget how i used to sound when everything wasn’t falling apart.”
you blink up at the ceiling.
“and i don’t touch you,” he adds, “’cause i’m afraid you’ll pull away.”
you turn to him. meet his eyes.
“i never pulled away, sanemi. i was just waiting for you to hold me.”
his hand finally touches your arm.
and then your waist.
and then he pulls you in, like the distance has been burning him alive this whole time.
you bury your face in his chest and wonder why it had to get this far.
you don’t say i love you.
neither does he.
but maybe tomorrow, you’ll pack the lunch with a note again.
maybe you’ll both start trying.
maybe.
