i’m really struggling with the concept of yumeshipping and not bc i don’t understand it, but because i know i’m not any of my characters’ types so i really struggle to visualize myself being liked by any of them . like how can i be ugly but also desired idk?
okay you sent this during my gym phase, i was literally on the way to the gym and in my gym class i kept getting distracted thinking about this…..
i’m gonna give a bunch on random thoughts. IM THINKING gym instructor bakugou who has expensive ass rates because EVERYONE sees results with him. also he’s FINE AS HELL so people want to work with him, just his face and thighs are extra motivation. he’s got his business card and his go to phrase is something like “if you want someone who says it how it is.” “short term pain for long term results.”
and his emails are full with people who wanna work with him. saying how they wanna get an ass, wanna get their dream body, wanna get stronger. a few hookup messages… he gets so many offers he picks and chooses who he wants to work with and defo says no to a few people after the first session. women that are clearly there to flirt and not work out. men who don’t have their heart in it.
i like to imagine you only started going to the gym because it’s a company perk. free membership with your work so you end up going and SINCE it’s free, you could maybe pay for a gym instructor. scanning the wall with the faces of all instructors and bakugou’s got his gorgeous little profile picture of him frowning with his arms crossed, it’s his tag line that get you. “tough love.” you need that. sure you like a little bit of yoga maybe some walking or jogging. but you’re not about to push yourself on your own.
so your email to bakugou is short and sweet. something about needing real life motivation and help on technique. also you want to get stronger. then lastly you wouldn’t mind building your ass.
bakugou likes the honesty, reads the email with an upside down lipped impressed look.
(also it’s a big thing where i live anyway that men don’t trust women with personal trainers because they’re known to have affairs with them??) anyway bakugou is sooo professional, hence the cutting it off when there’s a hint of flirtation.
but meeting you in your big tshirt, trainers and leggings. hand out to shake his hand. ooooweeeee. he’s already thinking about what he’s going to say in the email that he won’t be continuing with you any longer because this time he’s attracted to you. he’s not working with a hard on while you do some basic squats or listening to you groan when he forces you to lift a heavy weight.
you find him attractive too. the picture is nothing on him irl. the frown imprinted on his features. his arms crossed with these bulging biceps and thick veins on his forearms. he’s tall, over six foot and in a tight black tee and black shorts. black socks and black trainers. even his hair is pretty, blonde and fluffy, thick dark eyelashes. you think about how he’d hug you… not that he would. maybe how he’d touch your back when putting you in place… in the gym!
anyway you basically recite your email to him. you mention how you wanna get stronger, feel better physically in your body, he nods, tells you in a deep growl that he can do that. then you mention how you don’t mind having a fatter ass, a thing he’s heard before, bare in mind, but he bites down on his bottom lip. your pretty little face, chatting, swinging your water bottle by your side. he wants to flick his eyes down to your ass. see what he’s working with here. luckily your tshirt is big enough that he can’t see it.
but he does say, “it’s better if you wear tighter clothes. then we can see what muscles you’re workin and any gains….,” then he frowns to himself, he’d say this to a guy right… he would!! “if you’re comfortable.”
and you’re smiling up at him, excited, funny that you’re not going to be so excited a few weeks in bakugou’s little boot camp.
“yes sure!”
“then i can make anythin’ happen.”
you mention how you don’t want to get shouted at. he adapts to make his language FIRM!!! still swears though. “you have somewhere to be after? go slower! feel the burn in your calves.”
“three more!” “you said ten!” “and i know you can do three more reps. now.”
- quick fire. bakugou shares no personal information about himself. you defo ask him a few questions. if he grew up around here, if he lives far, what got him into training people. and you either get one word or “stop fuckin’ around. you’re not gonna get a fat ass askin’ about my childhood.”
that makes you pout.
he’s lowkey a little nicer to you than his other clients but still harsh LOL making you do pull ups on one of the machines and you can’t move because the weight is too heavy.
“cmon. pull.”
and the thing about working with an attractive man (especially in the early days) is you don’t want to look ugly in front of him. something you have to get over quickly. causes him to slip up sometimes too.
“i can’t! it’s too heavy!”
“you lifted less than this yesterday. you can pull it up. go on.”
you know your face is gonna scrunch up, evil frown, sweaty forehead, scrunch of your nose, maybe a squeak.
“fuck.” from you, makes bakugou have to blink twice. standing next to the machine and you on it with his arms folded.
“the quicker you do it, the quicker we both can go the fuck home.” he learns very quickly with you that he can’t say anything about himself because now you’re distracted. looking over him.
“what’s your plans after?”
he rolls his eyes, “grab the fuckin bar and pull. wastin both of our time.”
then you start trying.
- few weeks in, you guys get to texting. mostly just you saying whether you’re running late due to traffic. once you sent him a video of you working out at home, asking him to correct you on your form. another time you sent him a before and after photos. has bakugou staring at this whatsapp message for a while. fuck…. not professional. he’s got friends that’s got with clients, he never has though. he knows you would with him, he’s seen the way you’re curious and how you look at him through the mirror when you think he’s not looking.
short grammatically correct texts is all he does.
- he gives you a meal plan and he HATES how his body gets softer when you start whining that he’s cut out all your favourite foods.
loves when you’re a little stubborn and standing your ground. “i’m sorry but i need some joy in my life. i’d be happier eating what i want and seeing no physical changes.”
bakugou raises his eyebrows at you. usually he’d cuss a little, say what’s the point of hiring him if you’re not willing to change. you’re not gonna be better than your yesterday if your future is the same. he’s got all his quotes stored.
instead he kisses his teeth. tuts under his breath. he could put more fruit in, add in protein powder. less kale. okay a chicken nugget caesar salad isn’t too bad.
“you’re too fuckin’ picky. i’ll see what i can do.”
also cute that when he does start crushing on you properly, he brings you these colourful electrolyte drinks to try. says he got a load at this convention he went to, which is true but he’s not giving any of his other clients a bottle. continues to buy you your favourite flavour even afterwards before every session.
- him putting you in position but hovers his hand over your body. never touches you. has you mention one time “you can touch me. just put me into place.” has you going home thinking about his hands on your body. how big his palm was on the back of your thigh. the heat of his chest against yours. wants you to practice your balance and he’s got a hand on your thigh and your arm. wants you to stretch your pelvic muscles because you’re complaining you feel too much tension in your legs.
has you on your knees, face down, arms out, legs spread and ass up.
regrets it as soon as he puts you in the position. “ohhhh,” a satsified burn, “this feels good.”
since your eyes are closed he does gaze at your ass. to this day he doesn’t understand how you were saying you want it bigger when it’s already a lovely size. it’s not about him though. he can also see your pussy lips from this angle and he’s grateful he’s got his tight compression shorts on under his shorts.
“yeah, yeah. we get it.”
he knows you’d sound like this during sex. fuck, even louder if he was in bed with you.
- you bother him asking if he uses steroids. ragebaiting. he gives in every time.
“shut the hell up. you think i look like this from ‘roids?” jabs his thumb in the centre of his chest.
then you stay giggling.
- you knowing he talks his partners through it in bed. has you on the bench lifting weights, something you were intimidated by because that area is concentrated with MEN. feels better walking into that area behind him.
“gonna start light and go up from there. 12 reps. 30 second break. 3 sets.”
“that sounds like a lot katsuki.”
“don’t be a baby.”
and he’s behind you the entire time, hands under the bar even though you don’t need it.
“two more. push through it. imagine how you’ll feel after.”
“slower… another. fuckin’ lift it. cmon now.”
and it’s always you sweaty and tired smiling up at him. “wow that’s my pb!!!!
gets bakugou like JELLY.
- ends up saying all iterations of “good girl.” “you’re a star.” “attagirl.” when you do a clean set of reps he says “gorgeous.” and you feel your panties soak.
- also you start ditching the baggy t-shirts and start getting matching co ord gym sets. pink ones, cream ones, black ones, blue ones, any colour under the sun. all your favourites. bakugou’s favourite colour is changing daily. you see him checking you out for the first minute of every session. you appear out of the fitting room or you rush into the building with your laptop still in your bag and he’s looking at you up and down. he loves them. they’re tight and lift everything. has him pointing at your tight arm cardigan things like “what’s the point of that?” you shrug, “it’s cute.” and you do… you look so cute.
- defo you asking for an example and he’s laying back on the bench to show you how to lift a weight. he shows you using the bar, “it’s gotta go down to the top of your chest, then you bounce it off. easy shit.” the weight isn’t heavy for him but you’re still staring at his biceps in his tight vest. he only wears black white and navy. “how much can you lift?” and he sits up. “it’s not about me. how much can you lift?” and you frown, “you can tell me that! gives me something to aim for!” and you nudge his shoulder playfully. he likes you a lot. he’s also so stupidly pretty laying back on the bench and he’s blushing now because he’s looking up at you hovering over him. “like 200kg?” he knows exactly how much he can weigh. you’re gasping, nobody around you is lifting that much. “can i see? please?”
and he does show you, even though it’s cutting into your workout time. at the end of the day, he’s not against showing off around you.“you just wanna get out of liftin’. i’m doing one rep and it’s your turn.” “yeah whatever.”
you watch as he piles weight after weight on the bar. the he lays back and lifts. it’s arouses you to the point you’re lightheaded. his groans, his frown. the muscles that bulge in his arms and thighs. the vein in his neck and forehead. he lifts the bar with slight ease, once it’s up, he’s got it moving up and down with quick precise movements.
“oh wow… you’re so strong, katsuki.”
he cannot pay attention for shit. especially because you’re all he sees when he looks up. he does one less rep than he said.
“hey you didn’t do you last one! better than yesterday you or something!”
he drops it in the placeholder, sits up on the bench slouched. “it’s not my gym session, it’s yours. get your ass on the bench.”
just big and fine.
- you text him complaining that your body aches and if he’s got any recommendations to help. he says his friend has a membership at a gym that’s got a sauna so he takes you there. lowkey feels like a date.
he gets to see you all relaxed and sweaty with just a towel on and you see him shiny and golden and bare chested. this idea could be a whole fic so i’m holding off for now.
- he’s got you doing a whole session with the purpose to grow your glutes and ass and the whole time you’re grumbling. “i could just get a bbl. this is hard.” it’s a joke! but he sighs, “one more rep ‘cause of that stupid comment.”
- when his crush is too big to contain, one time you’re saying how you’re starving hungry and he says there’s a good ramen place nearby. says you should go. you take that to assume you solo. so when you come out of the changing room either your bag and jacket, he’s still standing there, phone in hand.
“did you forget something?”
“we’re gettin’ food? aren’t we?”
your smile fills your whole face, “oh! yes! yes we are.”
bestfriend!yuji who starts sitting a little too close during your weekly movie nights. like, shoulders touching close, knees brushing every time one of you shifts. he swears it’s just because the couch is small.
bestfriend!yuji who notices you smell different tonight. good. really good. he keeps getting distracted, leaning a little closer without realizing, until you glance at him and he jerks back like he got caught doing something illegal.
bestfriend!yuji who laughs it off, scratching the back of his neck. “did you — uh — change your shampoo or something?” and when you tell him it’s your new perfume he just nods way too fast. “y—yeah. it’s nice.”
bestfriend!yuji who cannot focus on the movie anymore. like, at all. he’s hyperaware of everything. your leg pressed against his, your hand resting near his. the way you laugh softly at something on the screen. the way you glance at his lips when he talks.
yeah. bestfriend!yuji definitely notices that, and absolutely doesn’t know what to do about it.
bestfriend!yuji who keeps telling himself to just focus on the movie. eyes locked on the screen, nodding at the right moments, except he has no idea what’s going on anymore. something about a car chase? maybe?
bestfriend!yuji who keeps glancing at you anyway. quick, stolen looks. your profile lit by the tv glow, the way your lips part slightly when you’re focused, the way your lashes flutter when you blink.
yeah, he’s gone.
bestfriend!yuji who notices when your fingers shift a little closer to his on the couch cushion. he freezes. debates for a solid thirty seconds whether he should move his hand closer or not. because what if it’s weird? what if you didn’t mean to? what if you did?
bestfriend!yuji who feels you shift, your shoulder pressing more firmly into his, your knee hooking just slightly against his leg. now he’s really not watching the movie anymore.
bestfriend!yuji who finally risks a glance at you, and catches you already looking at him. oh. oh, shit.
bestfriend!yuji who goes completely red in two seconds flat, blinking at you like he forgot how to function.
bestfriend!yuji who forgets how to breathe when, minutes later, you’re straddling his lap, hands cupping his jaw, lips slotting against his in a way that’s definitely not a “just friends” kiss.
bestfriend!yuji who’s kissing you back before either of you really process how it started.
bestfriend!yuji who keeps pulling back just enough to mumble, “just—just as friends, okay?” like saying it will make it true. he immediately leans back in anyway, because your hands are gripping at his hoodie now, tugging him closer like you need him there.
bestfriend!yuji who’s blushing so hard it reaches his ears, hands tightening at your waist without him realizing. he makes a soft, needy sound into your lips, forgetting how to act normal when your hands slide up to the back of his neck, fingers lacing in his hair. he shivers — actually shivers — and that’s when he knows he’s in deep.
bestfriend!yuji who nods when you repeat “just friends” against his lips like a mantra. he keeps mumbling “just friends” like it’s a spell that’ll fix this.
summary: late night work sessions lead to almosts.
series: one | two | three
At least twice a month, Sylus stays late in the office to comb through important data. His desk is flooded with charts and graphs and statistics that can be hard to understand. It spells a hard night ahead and despite offerings, Sylus always declines employees who ask if he needs assistance.
Especially Emcee who never moves until Sylus has to coax her with forced, sweet words.
"We can have lunch tomorrow?" Her eyes light up like stars. "Okay, SySy! You're right, I do need my beauty sleep for that." She giggles happily while walking out his open office door. "So it's a date then. Don't worry, I'll look extra cute for you, okay?" She blows him a kiss before trotting towards the elevators, aiming a nasty look your way as she passes your desk.
"Goodnight," you say cheerily, inwardly snickering at her rolling eyes. You wait until she's fully down the hall before looking towards Sylus' office. Just as you expect, he's leaning against the doorframe with loosely crossed arms, a few buttons on his shirt undone and a tired smile. "Sleepy already?"
"Exhausted," he corrects. "But work must continue."
You stand up from your desk, smoothing out the wrinkles in your pants. "If it helps, I ordered from that Greek restaurant you like." You pat his shoulder as you step into his office. "And yes, I did use your card."
Sylus' deep laughter trails behind you, curling around your shoulders like a warm embrace.
"Wouldn't have expected anything less."
—☆—
The night progresses fairly slowly, finding you on the plush carpet of Sylus' floor. You're poring over data that doesn't seem correct with your pen trapped between your teeth.
Sylus sits opposite you, long legs spread out as he leans on the firm wood of one of his desk legs. He's deeply focused, hasn't said a word in ten minutes and it'd be odd if it weren't so typically him. And if you didn't know him the way that you do.
You're marking a line with a question mark when Sylus' voice startles your flow.
"The twins told me what happened the other day," he says and that puzzles you.
"What happened the other day?" You repeat, looking at him with furrowed brows. "What do you—?"
Then it clicks.
Oh.
The fiasco with Emcee and the twins, one that devolved into the a fight between three angry children and yes, Emcee is counted as a child for her behaviour. But then again, that wouldn't be fair to the twins who, despite shouting, acted with far more maturity compared to Emcee, an adult.
You had tried to forget about that day and had told the twins to forget it too. It's an unpleasant memory that none of them needed to think about. Emotions were high, feelings fragile and realisations recognised. Nothing needed to be recalled in the slightest.
But apparently, the twins disagreed since Sylus is here bringing it up. And you refuse to fault them because they're kids and deserve to talk to their father about an unsettling matter.
You don't need or want to talk about it, though.
"Yeah, it was just Emcee being Emcee," you tell him. "You know what she's like. Always throwing a tantrum."
"Towards my kids, it seems," Sylus replies, a steely note to his tone. "I'm not horribly mad at that. I know my boys; they definitely give her the tongue lashing she needed."
You snort, vividly remembering how they made Emcee flushed pink and livid. "Oh absolutely, it was a beautiful sight. You should have been there."
"I wish I had been," Sylus agrees. "So I could have put her in her place and warn her to never claim motherhood over my children again."
His voice slices through the air, dangerously sharp with tempered fury. Your heart beat spikes, anxiety pulsing in your veins even though you know his anger isn't directed at you. But Sylus has a way to making you feel fear, despite it not being yours to carry.
"And what's worse is that she belittles you." Sylus' voice is a near growl, handsome face twisted in disdain. "Mocks you and tries to make you believe that you're not—" He restrains himself, words sitting locked behind his teeth and you're hit with sudden desperation.
That you're not...what?
What did he want to say?
You look at him—take him in for what he is at this moment in time.
He's just a man, yes, but he's so much more than that. In this moment, he's living, breathing fire that threatens to burn this building to the ground. An unstoppable force that can bring even the strongest man to his knees with only a single look.
Right now, he's Sylus Qin but not Sylus Qin, the indomitable reckoning but Sylus Qin, a man who's incensed on your behalf. Because someone made you feel lesser than and that doesn't sit well in his books.
Another realisation creeps up from hope lined with cobwebs.
You want to squash it down.
"Hey." You sound too loud to your own ears "Sylus."
He looks at you instantly, attentive. and it's actions like these that make that hope burn a bit too brightly.
"You don't have to get mad on my behalf," you assure him. "I'm used to Emcee and her mean girl act. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."
"But you shouldn't have to deal with it," Sylus shoots back. "Not with how amazing and wonderful you are."
Those words grind your mind to a halt.
Your eyes widen.
"...You think I'm...amazing and wonderful?" You ask softly, barely loud enough to be heard. But Sylus hears you, he always does, and he gives the slightest smile.
"I'd be a fool not to think that."
Your heartbeat spikes again.
Your skin feels too hot.
You both hold each other's gaze as if for an eternity and it's Sylus who goes to break it, licking his lips in a way that makes you think he's nervous.
"...I've been wanting to—" he starts but your phone rings, interrupting something surely special.
You look at your phone and see that it's the delivery driver.
Food is here.
"I gotta..." You gesture at the door.
Sylus nods. "Of course."
Fetching your order takes thirty minutes in total.
Five minutes goes towards you heading down the elevator, past security and outside to meet your delivery driver.
The rest is dedicated to you sitting on the building's steps, head in your hands while the food goes cold.
things to know: one-shot, fem!reader, they're exes, lowercase intended, suggestive language, substance (ab)use (alcohol), addiction, depression, self sabotage, not proofread, angst, listened to habits stay high , iloveit , and i'll change for you on repeat when writing this, hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff and crack.
you practically wiped off the face of the earth after you and suguru broke up ten months ago.
well, to him you did.
suguru texted you a few times after the breakup just to see how you were holding up but you never replied. he came to realize a few weeks after that you blocked him and his obnoxious white-haired best friend on all socials, deleted his number, and were actively avoiding every spot he could potentially be at like the plague.
he figured it all out on his own. you weren't replying to his messages so he went to check your social media. he was greeted with a user not found page. when satoru noticed his best friend was more quiet and zoned out than usual, he snatched his phone from him to see what he had been staring at for the past ten minutes.
"oh, yikes." he started, giving the phone back to him. "no biggie. just check from my account— you're kidding. what the fuck did i do?!"
he saw you three times over the past ten months. the the first occurance was at the dispensary. he was on his way out and you were on your way in. he opened the door for you and you quite literally turned and walked away.
the second was at a friend's funeral. he passed way unexpectedly in a tragic accident. you paid your respects and the moment you saw he was also there, you left.
you found yourself another coffee shop, gym, grocery store, literally everything. you stopped going to places you had no business going to as well.
gas stations? you didn't drive, so you stopped.
the pet supply store? you didn't have a pet but he did. why bother?
shoko's house? he lives in the apartment complex right across from her's. they're closer and have always been closer. you didn't have to see her at her place anymore.
you also distanced yourself from any mutual friends you had just to lessen the risk of seeing him too. he was having breakfast with shoko when he learned that.
"how's she been? i just wanna know if she's okay."
"i wouldn't know," shoko shrugged, taking a bite of her breakfast sandwich. "she doesn't talk to me much anymore."
"can you figure out? she has me blocked on everything."
"ha," she chuckled while pulling her phone out. "serves you right. i'd do the same."
he really did want to stay in contact with you after the breakup, but he knew better. he knew you wouldn't be able to do that, and it was selfish of him to even expect that. he honestly didn't even know if he himself could hold that promise either, so he understood why you went mia on him.
you could imagine his surprise when he looked down at his phone and saw a call coming from you.
he was at the gym with satoru. suguru was like a night owl. he'd always prefer doing things at night. he'd tell you that's when he felt the most productive—and he was.
he worked an overnight job, did all of his school work at night, and in this instance, he was getting a gym sesh in past midnight with his best friend.
he had just gotten out of the shower after hitting back and biceps, ending the night with cardio. his towel wrapped low around his waist, water droplets dripping onto his body from his hair.
as he finished drying his hair, lotioning, and putting some clothes on, listening to his best friend yap about whatever the fuck, his phone lit up on the counter.
he thought it was strange that someone would be calling him at around 2am.
what was more strange was that your contact was showing up at this ungodly hour.
he almost didn't believe his eyes when he saw your contact name, still saved as 'baby' with a heart, and old contact picture of a candid smile he refused to delete, just like the rest of your pictures.
suguru picked up immediately, already assuming the worst. were you okay? safe? alive? his heart was racing and he began to panic.
"sugu?" you hiccuped.
his heart dropped to his ass.
"please, please. are you there?"
suguru pinched the bridge of his nose. "yeah. yeah, sorry. hey, bab–" he cut himself off after seeing satoru raise an eyebrow. "what's going on?"
"i don't know," you slurred, voice breaking because you felt embarrassed and really just wanted to crawl into a corner and cry. "i'm drunk. i feel sick. i was here with these new people and— and– they left without me." you hiccuped.
"and then there was this guy doing these dumb street interviews and i had to get away because he was annoying. i don't know what to do. i'm lost and alone and i feel like i'm going to pass out and i didn't know who else to call–"
"hey, calm down," suguru replied, trying not to make it seem obvious that he too, was freaking out. "where are you?"
"i was at the club. 44. and then i walked down some street. i don't know which way but i smell curry. not the good kind though. like really bad curry. i feel like i'm going to–" you gagged. "throw up."
"no, don't throw up." he covered the mic of his phone and looked over at satoru, who was frozen in one spot. "hurry up. put some fucking clothes on. we have to leave," suguru scolded.
he uncovered his mic, running off to grab his gym bag. "baby, can you do me a favour? put me on speaker and share your location with me," he asked you with a much gentler tone than he just did with satoru.
"no, i don't think i can," you answered, starting to get overwhelmed. "i just remembered your number but i have you blocked and my phone's about to die–"
"baby?" satoru questioned.
"hurry the fuck up or i'm going to leave you here."
you started crying on the other end abruptly, "why the fuck are you yelling at me?!"
"no, no," suguru took a deep breath in and out, "i'm sorry. i'm not yelling at you. i'm talking to satoru."
satoru quickly grabbed his things and they made their way to suguru's car. he pleaded you stay on the phone with him, to which you rambled on and on about how your phone was about to die and you'd try your best.
suguru pulled out of the parking lot. his phone connected to his car, and that's when satoru began connecting the dots.
"give me five. i'll be there in five. don't move, okay?"
"i can't move, sugu. my entire body feels so heavy."
"good enough. just give me five minutes."
you giggled a bit. "i'd be lucky if someone didn't kidnap me right now."
"don't say that," he scolded. "five minutes, okay?"
he had a pretty good idea where you were, considering 44 was the one club where you and suguru would actually enjoy.
oh right. the third occurance was the club. it was still a month fresh. you were with your friends when you saw him. you were pretty drunk so you didn't run away from him instantly. matter of fact, you looked happy to see him, and even danced with him for a while until the alcohol wore off.
you were at the bar, ordering some more cheap shots for yourself when suguru approached you.
"hey–"
"oh, hiii!" you sang. "you want one, sugu? here, let's have a shot together. it's on me."
he took the shot despite not wanting to drink tonight. he was dragged out of his shared home with satoru and toji because he was "sulking all day n night," according to toji, and how neither of them could stand it anymore. suguru could not say no to you. especially not after seeing you the happiest he had ever since the night you two broke up.
the dj had been playing a mix of your favourite songs.
the kind you used to scream in the car together with the windows down and the bass turned up too loud. music you'd dance to in the kitchen while waiting for your food to heat up. the tunes you'd hum under your breath absentmindedly and then deny doing when he pointed it out. suguru recognized it almost immediately. it made something twist in his chest before he could stop it.
you grabbed his wrist without warning. "come on," you insisted, already tugging him toward the floor. "this one's mine."
he should have refused.
he knew he should have.
he knew that. somewhere, deep down, he knew that.
but a month of not having you near him had done something ugly to his self-control. the second you touched him first, smiling at him like that, whatever sense he had left just folded. the word 'no' died in his throat before it could form, so he let you pull him.
the dance floor was packed. lights flashing overhead in soft, dizzying colours, bass crawling up through the soles of his shoes. people were too close, too loud, too sweaty, but then there was you in front of him laughing and swaying to the music and somehow none of it felt irritating anymore.
"how have you been?" you asked suddenly, like this was normal. like this was just another night. like you hadn't blocked him on everything and vanished out of his life so suddenly.
he stared at you for half a second.
"good."
you squinted at him immediately. "liar."
he almost smiled. "why ask if you're just gonna call me a liar?"
"i wanted to see if you'd lie."
"and?"
"and you did."
he shook his head. "i've been alright."
"you still staying up all night like a psycho?"
"i work overnight."
"that wasn’t the question," you teased.
"... yeah."
you frowned. "that sounds concerning. you should really get that checked out. i'm concerned for you."
"it's not concerning."
"suguru," you deadpanned, swaying a little closer with the music. "everything about you is a little concerning. i worry for you everyday."
that made him laugh for real. not a lot. just enough for his mouth to twitch and the sound to leave his nose.
your eyes widened immediately. "there he is. there's my sweet boy."
you looked so stupidly happy over something so small that it made him feel sick in the worst way.
he missed this.
he missed you giving him shit. he missed the way you'd look at him like pulling one reaction out of him was some great personal victory.
"fine. i'll get it checked out." he gave in. "what about you? how have you been?" he asked after a moment, quieter this time.
you shrugged like it was nothing. "same old."
same old.
like you hadn't cut everyone off. like you hadn't become a ghost. like there wasn't something tired hiding underneath your smile.
his hands stayed on your waist. your arms had moved up loosely around his shoulders by then, more for balance than anything else. at some point the space between you disappeared completely, and neither of you were the ones to fix it.
you tipped your head back to look at him properly, cheeks warm, eyes glassy. "i know you missed me, baby. i did too."
there was no accusation in it. no teasing, either.
he could have lied—probably should have. instead, he just looked at you.
and that was answer enough because your expression softened in that way he remembered too well. the way it only ever did with him. like something in you unclenched. his hand slid slightly higher against your back without him thinking about it, keeping you close. keeping you steady.
and that was when it hit him in one clean, miserable wave.
this was the happiest he had felt in a while.
not at the gym. not at work. not with satoru and toji dragging him around trying to fix him with noise, and routine, and sarcasm. it was here, with you halfway drunk and smiling against him in the middle of a packed dance floor.
the happiest he'd felt was standing in the middle of a crowded club, holding the girl he wasn't supposed to touch anymore.
that was until you suddenly snapped out of it.
you were still swaying together when something changed. your movements slowed. your hands loosened slightly where they rested on his shoulders.
suguru noticed immediately. "you good?" he asked, leaning closer so you could hear him over the music.
you didn't answer. instead, you were staring at him. really staring. like you were seeing him properly for the first time all night.
"… wait." your brows slowly pulled together. your gaze flicked down to where his hands were resting on your waist. then back up to his face. the haze in your eyes cleared just enough. "suguru?"
the way you said his name was different this time hit his gut. "what's up, baby? are you okay?"
panic flickered across your face. you stepped back abruptly, your hands dropping away from his shoulders.
"i—" your eyes darted around the crowded dance floor like you were suddenly trying to remember how you got there. "i have to go."
"hey, wait—"
but you were already shaking your head. "sorry."
the crowd swallowed you almost immediately as you pushed your way toward the edge of the dance floor, disappearing between bodies and flashing lights before he could follow.
it was the last time suguru felt your touch.
"y/n?" satoru asked in a whisper, snapping him out of the memory.
suguru nodded his head and muted for a brief moment. "she's drunk–"
"i'm really trying to wrap my head around why you guys broke up." suguru shot a look at satoru. "what? don't look at me like that. you still love her. she still loves you. i don't get it."
suguru clenched his jaw and unmuted so he could avoid having this conversation.
he knew. in his brain it made sense at the time. he just didn't want to get into it with satoru. it was something he had already gotten into with his psychotherapist and psychiatrist and it was a painful awakening.
his gps was showing his eta to be thirteen minutes away. suguru kept his word and made it in five.
he found you sitting on the curb in a mini skirt and little top, heels taken off and discarded far behind you. your phone was still on, not having the chance to die before suguru had gotten there and you can hear the audio starting to screech in close proximity.
the moment you groaned with irritation, he ended the call. you looked up at him with mascara running down your face because of your little breakdown earlier.
when you saw him, it felt like time stopped.
the world stopped spinning, everyone and everything slowed down.
he was the light of your life.
after you and suguru broke up, not only had you become extremely avoidant, but you numbed the feeling and filled the void with the help of an expensive and impractical form of "therapy": alcohol.
you wouldn't drink all the time. it started off occasional, once every two-ish weeks when you would party with your friends on the weekend. you also had knew your limits that you didn't mean to exceed. you'd tell yourself it happens.
but the context made it concerning.
you'd brush off your friends' concerns, knowing deep down, they were right.
you should have listened.
every two weeks turned into every week, then every few days, then everyday, multiple times everyday where you were always blacked out.
seeing suguru made you want to bawl.
it hit it all at once. you hated that you let it get so bad. you needed help. you wanted to get better. seeing him made you realize that.
you still loved him.
and after all, loving someone means wanting to be better for them.
as he crouched down to reach eye level and placed his retro nike windbreaker over your shoulders, you felt immense shame. you didn't have it in you to look him in the eyes. you didn't want to know if he looked disappointed or disgusted at you.
he didn't.
he was just glad you were safe—and that you trusted him enough to still be there for you.
he took his time putting your arms through the sleeves and zipped it up for you. as he was doing that, you noticed satoru outside of the passager door, using his arms as support to lean on top of suguru's car.
"are you okay?" satoru yelled out.
you couldn't answer in time. you were bridal swept off your feet by suguru swiftly. his hands had come up automatically like second nature. one arm slid behind your back, the other under your knees.
you made a weak sound of protest as your feet leave the ground. "hey," you mumbled. "i could've walked."
"i don't think so," he replied quietly.
you could feel him—solid, warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. he smelt like soap. for a moment your body relaxed before your brain could catch up. he adjusted his grip when you shifted, tightening just enough to keep you steady.
he walked around the car to where satoru's standing. suguru didn't look at him, "get in the back."
"the back?"
"yeah," suguru repeated. "the back."
"this is fucked up," he disapproved.
"you'll survive."
suguru opened the passenger door and lowered you into the seat carefully. he adjusted you when you slumped sideways, made sure your legs are tucked in properly, then reached across to buckle your seatbelt himself. he gave it a small tug to make sure it was secure.
"you good?" he asked for personal reassurance.
you nodded, already melting into the seat.
he pulled his jacket closer around you, tucking it up under your chin like you might get cold, then closed the door ever so gently.
satoru just stared at what was unfolding before his eyes.
"… wooooow," he dragged, closing the door. "i get booted and she gets princess treatment." he leaned forward between the seats. "you know, technically, you could've just let me sit there."
you giggled a bit. typical satoru and his old, rage-baiting antics. god, he was so dramatic.
"you complain too much," suguru shook his head while putting his own seatbelt on.
a little time passed. you were watching the streetlights slide by under the night sky when suguru stopped at a red light.
satoru slouched in the backseat, stretching his legs. "yo, i'm exhausted. there's literally no one out right now. just run the red."
suguru looked at him through his rear view mirror with a raised brow, "no. i'm abiding traffic laws."
you pointed forward immediately, poking his cheek. "aw, laws. i missed that about you."
satoru sighed dramatically. "oh my god. you've been gone ten months and you'ree already ganging up on me again."
"that's because you're annoying, toru," you reply like it's an instinct (it was).
"annoying is crazy."
"you quite literally thrive off getting on everyone's nerves. exhibit one, me. exhibit two, sugu. exhibit three, hime. should i continue?"
suguru let out a quiet huff of laughter before he can stop himself.
you squint at him. "did you just laugh?"
"no."
"oh my god. you so did."
satoru leaned forward between the seats, grinning, "don't lie. you've been miserable for months. that's the first time i've heard you laugh in a while."
"the fuck are you talking about? i didn't laugh," suguru lied. "now sit back. you're distracting me."
he scoffed. still leaning forward, "didn't you run like three reds getting here? now you're talking about laws and safety."
"that was different,” suguru retorted.
"how?" there's a brief silence. "yeaaaahhh, that's what i thought."
you hummed, pleased, "i like when he drives safe."
satoru chuckled, "careful. if you keep that up he's never gonna break a rule again."
"can you not?" suguru rubbed his temple.
the moment the car stopped, he was out of his seat, around the hood, opening your door before you can even unbuckle yourself.
suguru doesn't even let you try to walk.
"okay, okay," you mumbled as he reached for you. "i can–"
he doesn’t argue. he just lifts you.
again.
he pulled you in until your cheek pressed against his shoulder. you barely had time to protest before your body settled, heavy and warm and embarrassingly comfortable. you sighed without meaning to.
the lobby was quiet. almost too quiet. your voice echoed when you whispered. "you're gonna drop me."
"i would never, baby," he said, immediately, adjusting his grip instinctively, thumb caressing into your side. "you know that."
you do.
but that's what made everything about you two hurt more.
the elevator ride was slow. you sway slightly with the movement, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie without asking permission.
"all good?" he asked again, softer this time.
you nodded, "you're really strong, sugu."
"of course i am," he replied, softly yet snarkily, still holding you like you weighed nothing.
the elevator doors opened. he continued to carry you down the hallway like it’s nothing. you hadn't walked through these halls in months despite almost always being here throughout the five years you knew suguru, and the three you dated.
suguru exhaled and gestured toward the door. "you got it?"
"yeah, just one sec,” satoru replied, already fishing his keys out as they reach the door, glancing over his shoulder when he realizes suguru never put you down. "huh?"
"what?" suguru asked shifting his grip, steady yet antsy, thinking something happened to you while he couldn't see. "is she okay?"
satoru nodded, unlocking the door. "yeah. just looks like she's damn near boutta pass out."
"don't drop me," you mumbled as suguru walked into their apartment.
satoru huffed, keeping the door open, "surprised he didn't."
the apartment looked the same. it was dim and quiet at night compared to the chaos that comes throughout the day.
you always loved it here. the kitchen was on the left as soon as you'd enter, leading into the living room, and then three rooms—one for toji, one for satoru, and one for suguru. only toji's room was shut right now. he was probably fast asleep.
suguru placed you on the couch. you immediately sank into the cushions, pillows, and blankets that were laid out. he turned on the lamp near the couch on for a little more light.
"there," he starts, "stay."
you nod at his command, "i think i'm pretty good at that."
satoru snorts from behind you, toeing off his shoes, "liar. you ran off and got lost less than an hour ago."
suguru disappeared into the kitchen while you and satoru continued to bicker. he soon came back with a glass of water, crouching slightly to hold it out to you.
you handed the glass back when you're done, leaning sideways into the couch cushions. suguru pulls a blanket from underneath you and drapes it over you without comment, tucking it around your legs. his fingers linger for a second longer than necessary.
a comfortable silence settled in.
a little too familiar, like how it used to be.
"okay!" satoru slapped the couch, disrupting the silence, "i'm tapping out now. i'm sensing something coming and i don't wanna be in between that. don't have the brain power for that right now."
you frowned, "you're abandoning me?"
"yes. i am," he repeated. "love you, but i'm tired," he stretched. "let me know if you need anything."
"i won't."
"yeaaahh, we'll see about that. you absolutely will," he ruffled your hair before walking towards his room. "you know where i'll be."
suguru sighed, "go to bed."
satoru grinned at you, softer now. "night." you waved back.
the silence stretched once again. you could not look at him. you hadn't been able to look him in the eyes the entire night. you sat on the couch, everything coming back to you again. his words, his promises, his warmth, his touch, memories with him.
it was right about now where you wished satoru didn't leave. the alcohol was leaving your system rudely.
your throat began to close up again. it felt like wires were tightening up around your neck, making it hard to breathe, hard to regulate yourself.
unbeknownst of your state again, suguru excused himself momentarily, "i'll be back. i'm just going to grab something."
he went into his bathroom, scurrying through his cabinets and drawers knowing he didn't throw out the makeup wipes you left at his place in bulk. it took him a little to find them because they were hidden away at the back, but he got them. he read the packaging carefully, making sure they were still good to use. he grabbed an unopened pack, knowing they'd still be okay.
then, he went into his closet and looked through some hoodies. his fingers immediately recognized your favourite one he owned, also hidden at the back. it was just the sage essentials hoodie, but for some reason you loved it.
he remembered how the conversation went and could not help but smile sadly at the bittersweet memory.
"you need to stop stealing my clothes, baby. i'm running out."
"i mean, i could give everything back," you responded, sitting at your desk finishing a paper whilst in his hoodie. "not this one though."
"i don't even think i got to wear it yet," he stated politely, pointing out a fact. not offended, nor argument-driven, just calm and patient, like he always has been with you.
"girlfriend tax, sugu. sorry not sorry," you smiled. "in my defence, this is the only one that actually fits me well. the rest are like dresses on me."
"okay," he kissed your forehead. "it's yours. only because you look good in it."
he found your shorts he did not get to give back to you. they were thin, black shorts but he figured you'd be a lot more comfortable in these than the skirt you were wearing.
he had just stepped back into the living room when he saw you curled in on yourself, shoulders shaking, mascara streaked even worse than before. your top was gone, discarded somewhere on the floor without really thinking about it, overheated and uncomfortable. you were sitting there in nothing but your bra under the heap of blankets.
he froze for half a second, then hurried to you. he placed the wipes and clothes on the table across from you without looking.
"hey, hey, hey. what's wrong?" he asked quietly. "why are you crying?"
you tried to wipe your face quickly when you saw him standing there.
it didn't help.
you looked like a mess. you were a mess.
your eyes were red, lashes clumped, eyeliner smeared halfway down your cheeks, lips trembling like you were barely holding it together.
he knelt in front of you on the ground. he placed his hands on your covered legs and drew little circles into the blanket with his thumb. he was close enough for you you could feel his warmth again and it made something in your chest cave in.
"slow down," his voice remained quiet. "look at me. i only left for a minute. what's going on?"
you shook your head. "i can't," you whispered, voice cracking. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to start again, i just— it won't stop. i don't know why it won't stop."
the rest dissolved into sobs.
he sat beside you, approaching you slowly. his arm slid around your shoulders slowly, cautiously, like he was testing whether you'd let him. his hand rested flat behind your head first, thumb brushing your hair lightly. when you didn't pull away, when you didn't tense up or tell him to stop, he tightened his hold just a little and guided you closer.
your body went with him without resistance.
your forehead pressed into his chest, right over his heart, and you hated how natural it felt. how your muscles relaxed on instinct, how your breathing shifted automatically to match his.
it was like your body remembered him better than your mind did.
his other arm came up around your back, folding you in completely now, holding you close in a way that felt both protective and familiar. his hand settled between your shoulder blades, firm and steady, fingers spreading slightly like he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding you.
you could feel him everywhere.
the warmth of his body through his shirt. the slow rise and fall of his chest under your cheek. the quiet, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. the faint scent of his shampoo and cologne that clung to him, something you'd always associated with comfort.
you clutched at his shirt without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric like you were afraid he might let go if you didn't hold on. your grip was uneven and weak at first, hesitant, like you weren’t sure you were allowed to touch him like this anymore.
he noticed this, like how he noticed everything. his hand moved. it slid up your back slightly, pressing you closer, a silent reassurance.
it was okay.
you could.
your face buried deeper into his chest, and that was when the sob you'd been holding back finally broke free. it wasn't loud. it wasn't dramatic. it was quiet and ugly and shaky.
"shhh, calm down," he murmured softly, lips brushing against your hair as he spoke. "i got you."
one of his hands began moving in slow, steady strokes up and down your back, from your shoulders to the middle of your spine and back again. the motion was repetitive, grounding, something he'd done for you countless times before when you were overwhelmed or anxious or couldn't sleep.
and that was when it really hit him.
you never cried like this.
in all the years he'd known you, he could count the times he'd seen you properly break down on both hands, nothing more.
the night you'd spotted that trembling stray on the sidewalk and knelt down in the rain because you couldn't stand the thought of it being alone. he caught you tearing up a bit, but wiping your tears away before he'd noticed. he promised you he'd take it home, and he had.
the week your grandparents passed within days of each other, when you'd sat on his bed in silence for hours before finally curling into him and letting yourself cry, apologizing between breaths like you were doing something wrong.
the nights you'd gotten overwhelmed about school, work, and your future, staring at the ceiling and insisting you were fine until the pressure built up too much and cracked through.
that was it.
that was all.
every other time, you swallowed it. joked it off. distracted yourself. took care of everyone else first. you were strong to a fault.
you felt it in the way your body responded immediately, tension slowly bleeding out of you with every pass of his hand. your sobs softened into broken breaths, then into quiet sniffles pressed against his chest.
he didn't check his phone, didn't shift away, didn't rush you. he stayed like that the entire time.
"breathe," he whispered into your hair. "just breathe with me, okay? slow down."
he inhaled slowly, exaggerated it a little, held it for a second, then let it out. you tried to follow, even though it felt impossible at first. your breaths were uneven and shaky, but eventually, slowly, they started to match his. after a while, your sobs softened into quiet sniffles and broken little breaths.
your throat hurt. your head felt heavy. you felt empty and too full at the same time.
he never let go.
when you finally lifted your head, your eyes landed on his chest and you frowned faintly. "i got makeup on your shirt." there was a dark smudge of mascara, liner, and foundation smeared across his t-shirt from where you'd been crying into it.
he glanced down, clicked his tongue softly. "doesn't matter." he brushed his thumb gently under your eye, wiping away another tear. "what's going on with you, baby?" his voice laced with pure concern and ache, "please talk to me."
"nothing," you lied. "i've just been drinking. i'm tired. it happens. i'm sorry."
he tilted his head and raised a brow. "try again."
he saw right through you.
"i don't know," you finally admitted. "i thought i did. i always think i do. but i don't."
he waited.
"i didn't mean for tonight to happen like this," you went on. "i didn't mean to get that drunk. i didn't mean to lose my friends. i didn't mean to call you. it just keeps happening."
your voice wavered.
"i'm tired of pretending i'm okay," you whispered. "i'm not. i've been pretending for so long i don't even know what 'okay' is supposed to feel like anymore."
suguru knew that feeling all too well.
if anyone knew, it was him.
after all, that is why he had decided to leave.
he remembered the night clearly.
the way the words had tasted wrong the moment they left his mouth. even though it made him sick to his stomach, he knew he had to be mean, or else you wouldn't let go.
the way you had looked at him across the room like the air had been knocked out of you. he had told himself he was doing the right thing—that he was protecting you from the worst parts of him.
back then, his head had this constant, heavy fog. it was suffocating. every thought circling the same conclusion that he was dragging you down with him. every bad day he had, he started noticing the way you watched him more carefully. the way you tried to lighten the room when he went quiet, the way you carried both of your moods on your shoulders without ever complaining.
it had terrified him.
not because you were doing anything wrong, but rather because you were doing everything right.
you loved him enough to stay, and he had convinced himself that was exactly the problem.
so he left first.
he had told himself you would heal faster that way—if he stepped out of your life completely, you would eventually move on and find someone easier to love. someone who didn't come with the weight he carried around inside his chest every day.
he thought he had been doing you a favour.
sitting here now, holding you while you cried into his shirt, the idea felt almost cruel.
his hand slowed slightly on your back. "have you been drinking like this a lot?" he asked quietly.
you didn't answer right away. your fingers tightened slightly in his shirt. "… yeah." the word came out small.
"how long?"
you sniffed, wiping under your nose with the back of your hand before answering. "i don't know," you admitted. "a while."
he didn't need more explanation than that. the exhaustion in your voice said enough.
"every day?" he asked carefully.
you hesitated again. "most days."
suguru exhaled slowly in worry. "okay," he murmured. "that's okay. we'll figure that out."
you frowned faintly against his chest. "figure what out?"
"how to help you."
you pulled back just enough to look at him properly for the first time since the crying had started. your lashes were still wet, eyes swollen and red, but there was something searching in your expression now.
"why would you do that?" you asked quietly.
the question caught him off guard. his brows pulled together slightly. "what do you mean?"
"why would you help me?" you repeated. "you left me."
"because it's you," he said.
he stared at you for a moment like the answer was obvious.
because it was.
"i'm going to help you no matter what. any time, irregardless of what we are. you mean too much to me for me to not help you when you reach out."
"that's not fair," you whispered. "you can just say things like that."
suguru stilled, "i'm sorr–"
"do you know how hard it's been to stay away from you? i thought if i kept seeing you i'd just… keep coming back," you admitted. "and that felt worse."
his mind flashed briefly to the three times he had seen you over the past months. the dispensary. the funeral. the club.
every single time you had turned and walked away from him like he was something dangerous. he had thought you were finally moving on. he had thought you hated him.
"i missed you too much."
suguru felt something in his chest shift uncomfortably. it was the realization settling slowly into place.
you sniffed again, voice barely above a whisper now.
"i still love you. and i hate that i do."
"i know," he said softly.
your brows furrowed. "do you?"
"yeah," his voice was quiet, but steady.
you stared at him, searching his face like you were trying to figure out if he meant it.
"then why did you leave?" you asked. there wasn't anger laced in your voice, just exhaustion.
"because i thought loving me was hurting you." the words came out louder now. "i thought if i stayed you'd eventually start resenting me for it."
you shook your head faintly. "that wasn't your decision to make."
"i know. i know that now."
his hand slid gently to the side of your neck, thumb resting just under your ear where he could feel the faint rhythm of your pulse. he hesitated for only a moment before continuing.
"… i love you. i never stopped. not once."
your eyes glistened again, but this time you weren't crying. if anything, you looked stunned. like the idea that he might still love you had never crossed your mind.
your hand lifted slowly, brushing along the side of his jaw. you let out a shaky breath and leaned forward. "you're an idiot."
"yeah," he admitted easily. "i know that too."
he moved first, but it was slow. so slow you had time to pull away, to push him, to run like you had been for months. you didn't. you met him him halfway.
the first touch of your lips was impossibly soft. it was a gentle, questioning press that was more breath than kiss. it was hesitant, testing the waters after a ten month drought.
his lips were warm, softer than you remembered. they parted immediately under yours, a quiet, welcoming surrender. your hand slid from his jaw to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape, holding on for dear life.
his hands, which had been resting on your legs, flew to your waist, gripping you tight enough to bruise, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left. he gripped onto you like he was afraid you might disappear. one slid up your back, tracing the line of your spine through the blanket before coming to rest between your shoulder blades, pressing you closer.
he was holding you close, but it wasn't demanding. it was grounding, like he was making sure you were real, that you were really here.
the kiss deepened, but it never grew frantic. it remained soft, almost reverent. his tongue traced your bottom lip, a slow, deliberate sweep that made you shiver.
you opened for him without a second thought, a soft sigh escaping your throat as his tongue met yours. it wasn't a hungry exploration, but a familiar, comforting dance.
it was like coming home.
"i missed this," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "i missed you."
you could taste the faint mint of his toothpaste, coconut chapstick, the unique flavour that was just him, and it was intoxicating.
he shifted, turning you both slightly so you were leaning back against the couch cushions, his body hovering over yours without crushing you. the angle changed, and the kiss became deeper, more intimate. his hand moved from your back to cup the side of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your ear. you could feel the frantic, unsteady beat of his heart against your ribs, a rhythm that matched your own.
this was the suguru you knew.
the suguru who kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world, who could pour all the words he couldn't say into a single touch. you were melting into it, your body relaxing under his, your hands roaming his shoulders, his back, reacquainting yourself with the solid, familiar planes of his body. a part of you, the part that had been lonely and hurting for ten months, wanted more. it wanted to feel his skin against yours, to lose yourself in him until the pain went away.
"i love you," the kiss broke apart slowly, your foreheads resting together. his eyes were closed, his breathing unsteady. "fuck, i love you so much."
you didn't trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded, pulling him back in. this time it was less hesitant, more sure. it wasn't hungry or desperate, but thorough. it was like he was trying to memorize you all over again, mapping every curve and dip of your mouth. his tongue slid against yours, a slow, deliberate dance that sent a shiver down your spine.
"sugu," you breathed out, your head falling back to give him better access, your eyes fluttering shut.
"yes, baby?" his voice was muffled against your skin, the words a broken, worshipful thing. it was the name he was finally allowed to call you after ten months, and it shattered what was left of your composure.
"please, touch me."
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and serious. just as suddenly as it started, he stopped.
he pulled back, his breathing heavy and ragged, his hands still gripping you like he was afraid you'd vanish. his lips were swollen and red, his eyes dark and clouded with a mixture of lust and something else. something pained.
he didn't see the mess—he just saw you. he saw the girl he'd loved for years, the girl he'd broken, the girl he was desperate to put back together.
"i'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "we can't."
your heart plummeted. shame, hot and sharp, flooded your veins.
of course.
this was a mistake.
you were a mess. a drunk, pathetic mess.
and he'd finally come to his senses. you tried to pull away, to retreat back into yourself, but his grip on you tightened, holding you in place.
"hey, look at me," he said, his voice gentle now. you couldn't. you kept your eyes down, staring at the dark smear of mascara on his t-shirt. "please, look at me."
you finally met his gaze, and what you saw there wasn't rejection. it was concern. it was that same soft, achingly familiar look he'd always given you when you were hurting.
"not like this," he said softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. "not when you're drunk. not when you're hurting. you deserve more than that, baby."
you just stared at him, your mind too fuzzy to process his words. he sighed, a quiet, resigned sound, and carefully untangled himself from you.
he knelt in front of you again, his expression unreadable. "come here," he murmured, gently taking your chin in his hand.
he pulled one of the wipes from the pack, the scent of cucumber and green tea filling the air. he was so careful as he started to clean your face, his touch impossibly light. he wiped away the tracks of your tears, the smudged mascara, the foundation that was caked around your eyes. he didn't say a word, just worked gently, his brow furrowed in concentration.
it was the most intimate thing he'd done all night.
more intimate than the kiss, more intimate than the desperate way he'd held you. this was suguru taking care of you, the way he always had. this was him seeing you at your absolute worst and choosing to tend to you instead of taking advantage.
once your face was clean, he set the wipes aside and picked up the hoodie. it was your favourite one, the soft sage green one that was perfectly worn in. "arms up," he instructed softly.
you obeyed, lifting your arms over your head. he pulled the hoodie over you, his knuckles brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. it swallowed you whole, the fabric soft and warm, and it smelled overwhelmingly of him. of laundry detergent and his cologne and something that was just uniquely suguru.
he then picked up the shorts. "can you stand up for me?" you shook your head, your body feeling too heavy. he just nodded, like he expected that. "okay, just lift your hips."
he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your skirt, his gaze fixed on your face, not your body, as he slid it down your legs and tossed it aside. he helped you into the shorts, his hands lingering on your hips for just a second longer than necessary before he pulled away.
he stood up, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he was going to leave you there, cold and alone on the couch.
he stood up and held out his hand. "come on."
"where?" you whispered, your eyes wide.
"just to sleep," he promised, his voice soft. "i'll take the couch. you need to sleep in a real bed."
you shook your head. the thought of being in his bed without him somehow worse than being on the couch alone. "can you stay here with me? please? just for tonight," your voice had that small, vulnerable edge again. "i don't want to be alone."
he looked at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours. he looked at the tear tracks on your clean cheeks, the way you were clutching his hoodie, the raw fear in your eyes.
you were his weakness. his kryptonite, even. you always made him give in.
"of course. i'm not going anywhere," he murmured.
you shifted further onto the couch, making room for him. he adjusted automatically, lying down on the outer edge, his back near the open room, his body angled slightly around yours.
it was a subconscious, protective gesture, one he'd made a thousand times before. putting himself between you and the rest of the world.
you tucked yourself in against him, instinctively, your body remembering the shape of his even when your mind was a mess. your forehead pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, right over his heart, your hand resting lightly against his stomach.
you could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart under your ear, a slow, comforting thrum that was already starting to lull you into a state of calm.
his arm wrapped around you without discussion, settling securely across your back. his other hand came up to rest on your head, his fingers stroking through your hair in a slow, repetitive motion.
your breathing evened out quicker this time. the exhaustion, both emotional and physical, caught up to you fast. the weight of the last ten months, the alcohol, the crying, the emotional whiplash of seeing him again—it all crashed down on you at once.
your body went heavy, your muscles relaxing one by one. within minutes, your grip on his hoodie slackened, your hand going limp against his stomach.
he stayed awake a little longer.
listening to the sound of your breathing, deep and even now. making sure you were really okay, that this wasn't another dream he'd wake up from alone. he could feel the gentle puffs of your breath against his neck, the soft weight of your head on his chest.
it was familiar and agonizing all at once. he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair. he'd forgotten what this felt like. he'd forgotten how right it felt to hold you like this.
eventually, his eyes closed too.
——
morning came in slowly.
satoru shuffled into the kitchen first, hair a mess, still half asleep. he stopped mid-step when he saw the couch. "... oh?"
toji followed. "what now."
they both looked down to see you and suguru tangled together on the couch, completely out, faces relaxed, breathing slow and synced.
"... oh." toji stared. "man, it's been months."
satoru grinned. "nah. i knew it."
toji groaned, opening his wallet. "you said by christmas."
"i said before the year ended. it's only the first week of december. technically, i'm still right. pay up."
"okay, but this isn't 'back together' either. they're just sleeping."
"look at them," satoru scoffed quietly. "that's not casual. you're telling me you and your missus don't sleep together like that?"
toji handed over the fifty with a sigh. "fuck you."
suguru woke up the way he always did. too early, half-aware, and still tired. and the first thing he saw was two faces hovering directly above him.
he jolted. "holy fuck—"
the sudden movement sent a shock of adrenaline through his system. before his brain had even caught up with the sight of satoru and toji's smirking faces, his body reacted on pure instinct.
his arm, which had been resting loosely across your back, snapped around you. he pulled you flush against him, your body shifting easily in his arms. he rolled slightly, curling his body over yours in a move that was both protective and possessive, shielding you from the unexpected intrusion.
your face, which had been resting on his chest, was now buried in the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin. he held you there, a solid, unmoving wall between you and his idiot friends, his heart slamming against his ribs as he stared up at them.
"suguru's awake," satoru whispered loudly.
"no shit," toji replied, his eyes fixed on the way suguru was practically covering your body with his own. "yeah, you win."
"see, that wasn't casual."
"not at all."
"what the fuck are you guys doing?" suguru scolded quietly, making sure you wouldn't wake up to their stupidity.
toji moved his head slowly, "could ask you the same thing. you back together?"
suguru rolled his eyes, "no."
"give me my fifty back," toji tried snatching the fifty back from satoru but he wouldn't budge. he ignored him, for now, and immediately focused on suguru again. "you fucking?"
"what time is it, holy," suguru sighed, tiredly. he glanced at his phone to see it was still just 7:25am. "it's too early for you to be running your mouth like that. watch it."
"okay, then elaborate," toji snarked. "what am i looking at?"
suguru's gaze softened for a fraction of a second as he looked down at you.
you were still fast asleep, completely oblivious.
your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, one hand fisted in the fabric of his t-shirt right over his heart. your legs were tangled with his under the blanket, your knee bent and resting against his thigh. even in sleep, you were seeking his warmth, his comfort.
he tightened his arm around you again, his hand splaying across your back, holding you even closer. it was an unconscious gesture, one that spoke volumes. he looked back up at toji, his expression hardening again.
"i don't know yet," he admitted, agitated. "now please, both of you, fuck off."
"aight, whatever," toji shrugged his shoulders. "i've got work in another hour and a half. hold whatever drama you guys are going to get into until then."
"suguru," satoru called out from the kitchen with his overly sweet morning coffee. "i've got class at 10:30. i'm practically begging you to wait until then."
"if your loud mouths shut up, you wouldn't have to worry about it," suguru scoffed. "if you guys wake her up, you'll have to deal with it. hide in your rooms until then or something."
you suddenly shifted. your body heavy and warm, a feeling of unfamiliar comfort surrounding you.
that was wrong.
your bed wasn't this warm. your pillow didn't smell like him.
the memories hit you then, not as a coherent narrative, but as a series of disjointed, sensory flashes. the thumping bass of the club, the burn of cheap vodka, the cold night air on your face. his car.
his hands on you. his mouth on yours, soft and questioning at first, then deeper, more certain. the desperate, aching want that had flooded your system, the way you'd clung to him, silently begging for more. the feeling of his body over yours, the solid weight of him, the worshipful way he'd touched you.
you pulled back quickly, sitting upright so fast the blanket pooled in your lap and the world tilted violently. your heart was suddenly racing, beating against your ribs.
the room felt wrong. too bright. too close. the air was thick with the scent of him—laundry detergent, his cologne, and something uniquely, painfully suguru.
your eyes landed on him.
he was sitting up beside you, watching you with a guarded expression. he was in a simple t-shirt with your makeup on it and sweats, his hair still slightly messy from sleep.
your gaze dropped on the hoodie you were wearing. your favourite one. the one you dropped off when he wasn't home months ago. then onto your discarded skirt and top, scattered in a neat pile near the coffee table.
your stomach dropped.
"no," you muttered under your breath, the word a choked, horrified whisper.
he stood up slowly, his movements careful, deliberate, like he was approaching a spooked animal. "hey. it's okay."
"don't," you said quickly, scrambling to your feet.
satoru and toji looked at each other frightened. they truly did not want to get caught up in this. they both snuck into the nearest room, satoru's, without being seen. however, they were still very much going to listen.
your head swam, a wave of dizziness washing over you, but you ignored it, stumbling back a step. "i don't remember getting here. i don't remember falling asleep."
your brain was racing ahead of you, filling in the blanks with the worst-case scenarios.
what had you done?
what had you said?
you remembered wanting him, remembered kissing him with a desperation that bordered on pathetic, but after that?
nothing. it was a blur.
"did i— did we?" you stopped yourself, the question catching in your throat. you couldn't ask it. you couldn't bear to hear the answer.
"no." he said gently, his voice soft but steady. "you called me. i picked you up—"
"i know that," you snapped, more panicked than angry. "i remember the club. after that it's just… bits and pieces. that's not good."
you bent down, your fingers clumsy and shaking as you grabbed your skirt from the floor. shame was flooding in fast, hot and suffocating. "i should go."
he didn't move, just watched you with an unnerving calm. "you just woke up."
"exactly," you replied, your voice tight, strained. "i shouldn't have stayed."
you turned and moved toward the door, your clothes clutched in your hand like a shield. you had to get out. you had to breathe.
his hand caught your wrist. "no."
"let go."
"we need to talk."
you finally turned to face him, your eyes wide and pleading. "i don't know what i did. i don't know what i said. let me leave, suguru. please."
"you told me you still love me last night."
the words landed between you like something physical. you stopped fighting him immediately.
your body went completely still, energy draining out of you all at once. you just stood there, your wrist still held in his gentle grip, your mind utterly blank.
"… what?"
he didn't soften it. didn't wrap it in anything. he just looked at you, his gaze steady and unwavering.
"you told me you still love me. we're going to talk about it."
the panic drained from your face in slow degrees, replaced with something quieter. heavier. more devastating. the shame was still there, but now it was mixed with a raw, terrifying vulnerability.
you had said that. you had laid your heart bare, and you couldn't even remember doing it.
your grip on your clothes loosened, your fingers going numb. the fabric slipped slightly, but you didn't notice.
the air in the room felt thick, heavy with the weight of your confession. your breathing steadied, but your chest felt hollow, achingly empty. you could feel the start of a headache brewing behind your eyes.
he finally let go of your wrist, but he didn't step away. he gestured towards the couch. "sit down. please."
you didn't have the energy to argue. you sank onto the couch, your clothes falling into a forgotten heap beside you. you wrapped your arms around yourself, a flimsy barrier against the cold reality of the morning.
he knelt down in front of you. he left a careful foot of space between you, a space that felt both a courtesy and a chasm.
he put the blanket back onto your bare legs. he leaned forward, really looking into your eyes.
"you called me around two," he started, his voice low. "you were at that club downtown. i told you to stay put, that i was coming to get you."
you just stared at your hands, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. you remembered that part. the desperate, lonely urge to call the one person you knew shouldn't answer.
"you were upset and drunk. i brought you back here. you didn't want to be alone."
he paused, running a hand through his hair. you could feel his gaze on you, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet it.
"we talked," he said. "we talked about the last ten months. about how miserable we've both been. and then… you told me you still love me."
your breath hitched. it was one thing to hear the words, another to hear the context. to know it wasn't just a drunken slur, but a confession born from months of pain.
"i told you i never stopped loving you either," he admitted.
the words hit you like a physical blow. you finally looked up at him, your eyes wide. he looked just as wrecked as you felt.
"we kissed. it wasn't just a drunken mistake. not for me, at least. hopefully not for you either."
"i remember that," you shook your head, confusion and warring emotions swirling inside you. "but i don't remember saying it.”
"i can tell," he smiled gently yet painfully. "but you did. and i need to know. was it just the alcohol talking or did you mean it?"
the question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. it was the moment of truth. the moment you had to decide whether to run back to the safety of your lonely apartment or to take a terrifying leap of faith.
you looked at him, really looked at him. at the dark circles under his eyes, at the way his shoulders were slumped with a weight you knew all too well. at the hope and fear warring in his gaze.
you thought about the last ten months. the sleepless nights, the forced smiles, the constant, dull ache of missing him. you thought about the flashes of memory from last night—the comfort of his arms, the rightness of his kiss.
you took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat.
"i meant it," you whispered, the admission feeling both terrifying and like a release.
for a long moment, he didn't move, nor say anything. you were sure you'd made a mistake, that you'd just handed him a loaded gun and he was deciding whether to pull the trigger. the silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
then, you felt the couch shift as he moved. he closed the careful foot of space he'd left between you. his arm slid around your shoulders, tentative at first, and then he was pulling you into him.
you went stiff for a second, your body's instinct to protect itself warring with your desperate need for his comfort.
his other arm came around you, his hand sreading across your back, and he just held you. one of his hands came up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling gently in your hair, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.
that was your undoing.
the careful composure you'd been clinging to shattered. you didn't realize when, but you began to tear up again. it wasn't sad, but relieving—a release of months of pain you hadn't allowed yourself to feel. you clung to him, your fists gripping the soft fabric of his t-shirt, your body trembling against his.
he just held you tighter. he didn't shush you or tell you it was okay. he just let you have a moment, his own breathing ragged in your ear, his hand stroking your back in a slow, soothing rhythm.
when your tears finally subsided, leaving you feeling weak and hollowed out, you didn't pull away. you just stayed there, tucked against him, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. it was the most peaceful you'd felt in half a year.
"i'm sorry," you mumbled into his neck, your voice hoarse.
"you have nothing to be sorry for." he said, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "i'm sorry."
"it's okay, suguru."
you finally pulled back just enough to look at him, your face blotchy and your eyes swollen. he gently cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek.
"so… what now?" you whispered, the question feeling impossibly big.
he took a slow breath, his gaze serious. "first, you're going to let me make you some coffee and something to eat."
you wanted to argue, but the thought of food and coffee was suddenly overwhelmingly appealing. you just nodded, unable to find the words.
he stood up, pulling you with him. he kept a hand on your waist, steadying you as you swayed slightly. "go brush and wash your face. you know where my bathroom is," he gestured towards his bedroom. "i'll be in the kitchen."
you gave him a small, hesitant nod before disappearing into his room. the bathroom was just as you remembered it, tidy and clean. you grabbed a spare brush from his drawer and used his toothpaste.
you splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the evidence of your breakdown. you looked at your reflection in the mirror—at your puffy eyes and pale skin—and barely recognized the person staring back at you.
when you emerged a few minutes later. the smell of coffee filled the small apartment. you found him in the kitchen, standing by the counter, two mugs in hand. he was wearing that same soft, guarded expression, but there was something new there too. a flicker of hope.
"we're not just jumping right back into things," he said, his voice quiet, like he was reading your mind. "i know we can't. there's too much happened between us."
you looked up at him, relieved.
"we talk. for real this time. about everything. about why i left, about what you felt."
"okay," you agreed, your voice barely a whisper. "tonight?"
"it's up to you. whenever you want to, i'm here for you. i'm ready. you stay here tonight," he added, his tone leaving no room for argument. "you can stay in my room, and i'll stay out here."
"seriously?" you sulked. "i've spent months away from you and we can't sleep together?"
a hint of a smile played on his lips.
"it's not funny."
"i know, baby. we'll take it slow," he continued, his gaze fixed on yours. "one day at a time. we start over. we go on dates. i pick you up, i bring you flowers— everything we used to do."
"flowers, huh?" a small, watery smile touched your lips.
"roses, lilies, and tulips. he leaned forward and booped your nose. you scrunched it immediately after. "yeah, i still remember,"
"but for tonight, we can watch a movie, order some food, and talk about whatever you want to talk about."
you looked at him, at the hopeful, earnest look in his eyes, and felt something inside you finally start to heal. you nodded. "i'd like that."
his hand coverered yours. "we're going to fix this," he said, his voice full of quiet conviction. "i promise."
you squeezed his hand, a silent agreement. "i believe you."
"fucking finally, holy fuck."
you turned around to see none other than toji walking out of satoru's room. no one else has a more suggestive way of speaking. satoru followed him out, waving slightly at the both of you. and no one's more nosey than the two.
"i'm going to be late to work now because of you," he directed towards more suguru than you. he then ruffled the hair on your head. "missed you, kid. i'll see you later."
"still only a year younger than you," you remarked.
it was his nickname for you ever since you two met, which was eight years ago. he waved without looking and shut the door behind him. now your attention diverted to satoru.
"how are you?" you asked, discreetly wiping your eyes. "still annoying as ever, i assume."
"ha, ha, ha," he raised his brows and smirked. "i can hold what just happened, and last night over you, by the way."
suguru scoffed, "no you won't." he took a sip out his mug and gave him a stare.
"you're no fun," satoru sighed. "i'm doing wonderful. ask why."
