sleep-coffee

But Suna knew that if he dwelled on it, it would ruin his night. So, he decided to trudge on, chalking it up to the new shirt he was wearing or something obsolete. But Motoya, ever sensible, ever observant Motoya, patted Suna’s shoulder like he knew that was exactly what he needed in that moment. 

It didn’t get rid of his worry. It only did a little to calm his nerves. But at least he was reminded that if something strange or out of the ordinary did happen tonight, at least he had his two friends there to help him through it. 

They sat down at their usual place at the bar. Ordered their usual drinks, their usual food. They ate and talked their shit, like usual. But Suna could not shake this sinking, undying feeling that something was actually unusual tonight. Maybe the ceiling would cave in and they would all be crushed. Maybe the tap would explode and everyone would get free beer tonight. Maybe they’d find out that a teammate got traded to another team. Anything, really, good or bad. Suna couldn’t shake the feeling. 

Motoya got up to go the bathroom, leaving the empty seat between Suna and Washio. 

“You okay, man?” he asked Suna, deep voice carrying through the sound of the music. “You’re being awfully quiet tonight.” 

Suna took a sip of his drink, not turning his head to Washio before he set it down. “I don’t know. I feel weird.” 

“Weird? Weird how?” 

He examined the label on his beer bottle, running his thumb over the name on the label. “I can’t really explain it. Something just feels... off.” 

Motoya sat down between them again, breaking up the conversation. He was noticeably more tense than before he left for the bathroom. God, did he see or ghost or something? Suna thinks. He looks worried, and it’s not doing anything to nurse away Suna’s strange feeling. 

Suna turned on his stool so his body faced his friends. The whole sulking-elbow-lean on the bar was getting too old. But once he turned, bottle halfway to his lips, he saw the reason he had been feeling off all night. 

His eyes shot wide open. He saw that familiar smile. That gorgeous, show-stopping, heart-throbbing smile. He saw that sparkle in your eye. He saw that familiar flow of your hair, even though it was longer now. And, he thinks, he sees the top of that dress.

“What’s wrong with him?” Washio leans to Motoya. 

Motoya knows, because ever sensible, ever observant Motoya, saw it before Suna even did. “(Y/n)’s here.” He looks down at his lap. 

“Oh.” That’s all he says, because Suna isn’t paying attention to them. Suna is caught in a trance, an exhausting back and forth of options that could make or break how his night is going to go. 

You had finished your chat with the bartender, and as soon as he walks away, your eyes start to wander. From the top shelf of the liquor across the bar to the messy floor mats behind the counter. Your smile had already fallen into an attempt at looking nonchalant, but you were never too good at that. 

And then your eyes find him, and Suna is terrified. You look surprised at first, understandably so. To say Suna was surprised would be an understatement. You’re conflicted, you don’t know what expression to give him next. What face are you even supposed to make at an ex-boyfriend? 

But instinctually, like your heart knows what to do better than your head, you smile at him. It’s not a toothy smile, it’s not a wide smile, but a smile nonetheless. It’s almost comforting, actually. It doesn’t feel like you’re forcing it. 

Suna’s heart has skipped an uncountable amount of beats. He can feel the reverb of his heartbeat at the top of his head. His bottle has retreated from his lips and is instead barely dangling in his fingers by his knee. But once he gets over his disbelief, his shock, he smiles at you. 

It’s soft, the kind that reaches the eyes far before it reaches the lips. Suna feels, at least he thinks that’s what it is, honest to god contentment. 

“I think he’s falling in love all over again,” Washio says quietly to Motoya. Suna doesn’t hear it, he doesn’t think he can hear anything at the moment. He’s too busy looking at you for the first time in years. 

But his contentment is soon broken when the bartender slides you your drink, and you look away from him. You grab the glass, and look at Suna for a split second before you walk away, back to wherever you came from. He stays staring at the empty space where you were standing. The other side of the bar is more visible, he can see the tap dispenser and the couple sitting near the door. 

Again, ‘surprised’ would be an understatement. 

“Are you gonna go talk to her?” Motoya asks Suna, his voice pulling him out of trance of muffled sounds and deafening heartbeats. 

Suna looks to his friend, chugging the half-bottle of beer that he had left and slamming the empty glass on the bar. “Should I?” 

He didn’t notice Washio’s head was turned until he snaps it back to look at the other two. “I wouldn’t. It looks like she’s with her friends.” 

It’s Suna’s turn to look over his shoulder, eyes scanning the room until they fall on you again. Damn it, he thinks. You are. You’re with your friends and you’re laughing and you’re clearly having the time of your life. And, god, you’re still so beautiful. 

“You should let her come to you,” Washio adds. 

“But there’s no guarantee she would do that,” Motoya adds, articulating the internal battle that Suna is definitely losing right now. “How long has it been now?” 

“Since what?” Suna looks at him. He looks nervous, terrified. Motoya wonders if Suna had ever made that face before in his life. 

“Since you two broke up?” 

Suna hesitates. He knows the answer, but he’s ashamed for some reason. “A little over two years now.” He drops his head, just hanging between his shoulders, returning the tracing of the label on his beer. 

Washio asks the question that most people hate hearing, that most people hope they forget the answer to after a certain amount of time. “Why did you guys break up again?” 

He sighs. The answer had been rehearsed to perfection years ago, but it had been so long since he’s had to say it. “I moved here for the team. She had a life back home in Hyogo and couldn’t leave. We tried long distance but it just...didn’t work.” 

It was one of those breakups where you’re both crying, sobbing to each other to hold on. But you know it’s just too hard. Too hard to be away. Especially too hard to be away from each other when you were both starting new steps in your life. That young naïveté that tells you that you can make it work even when you’re hours away, that you can fight against the odds and do what other people couldn’t, that your love is strong enough to keep you together.  

Then you figure out, perhaps after clinging on a little too long, that love is not enough to patch the distance. It’s not enough when neither of you have no idea when the distance is going to end. It’s not enough when you had both decided to go separate paths with your lives, sacrificing nothing for the other. It’s really not enough. 

If you two had been in each other’s presence when the breakup happened, you probably would’ve hugged for hours. You probably would’ve hugged until you fell asleep in each others arms, and woke up knowing that was the last time. But life isn’t kind enough for that sometimes. 

As broken as Suna saw you, he was sure he was ten times more broken. Maybe even a hundred times. He swore he never felt pain like that in his life, and he’s had a lot of injuries. But two years is a long time. It’s long enough that there’s no more sadness, no more regret, no more resentment. Two years is enough time to gain perspective on everything, almost as long as the relationship itself, and learn that maybe it was for the best. He’ll always have a place in his heart for you, but he had accepted that it was really the end. 

So why are you here in Nagano?

“Uh-oh,” Motoya says quietly, but Suna is unflinching. He’s stuck in his head. “Looks like you and I are gonna be on our own for a bit.”

“That’s fine,” Washio takes a swig. “Let lover-boy have his reunion.” 

That catches Suna’s attention. “Huh?” he looks over his shoulder in time to see you walking over. His heart rate doubles and he thinks he might die. Like actually fall over and die. 

You’re hoping you look calm and collected on the outside because on the inside your stomach is doing gymnastics far beyond the capabilities of the human body. You’re trying to decide what to say. Do you crack a joke? Touch his shoulder? Just say ‘hi’? Oh god, you’re only a few strides away from him. Oh god, oh god, oh god. 

“Hey,” you slink to his left side, the empty side of him, placing your hand gently on the edge of the bar.

He turns his head ever so slightly toward you. “Hey.” You can see the smile that’s barely there, the smile that he’s restraining. 

“You look like you’re sulking. Not happy to see me or something?” You’re hoping the humor gets across. 

And it does. He chuckles, flashes the smile at his knees one last time before he turns in his seat to face his body towards you. “Not at all. It’s actually quite a pleasant surprise.” 

He meets your eyes, and there’s that smile again. That smile he didn’t realize he missed so much. You’re grateful for the height of the barstool, because now his face is level with you and he’s not standing above you. You don’t think you could handle that intimidation right now. 

He finally gets a look at your dress, and it’s exactly the one he thought it was. Suna knows that dress. He loves that dress. His name is written all over that dress. It was his favorite of all the ones you owned. It was the dress you were wearing the first time he told you he loved you. He was surprised you kept it. And if it was even possible, you looked infinitely better in it now. 

“How are you?” he asks. He needs to gain some composure. 

“I’m good, I’m good. I finally finished college, so now I’m a real life adult.” 

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” he jokes, hoping to stop the fiddling of his thumbs on the bottle. 

“Totally. I was prepared for taxes and being broke and everything, but why did no one tell me that I would be tired all the time?” 

He laughs, a full laugh for the first time tonight. “I believe I did, actually.”

“Yeah, like I was gonna listen to you. You’re the same age as me. Still acting like you know what it’s like to be old a decrepit?”

It’s almost embarrassing how he can’t get rid of his smile now. “With how much I put my body through, I’m pretty sure I have an accurate understanding some days.” 

You laugh now. “Mister big time athlete isn’t indestructible?” 

“Unfortunately not.” It’s easy. Why is it so easy, talking to you? He was a nervous wreck not even five minutes ago, and yet he’s completely forgotten about that. 

It’s your turn to ask. “How are you?” 

“Well, you know, volleyball is still my life. These guys like to follow me around everywhere,” he points to the two behind him, and he thanks whatever god there is that they’re too involved in their own conversation to notice that he mentioned them.

“Are they as bad as the twins, though?” 

“Give the Miyas some credit. No one is as insufferable as them.” 

You had met them a handful of times, but you remember the thousands of pictures and the stories. As much as Suna complained, he loved them more than anything in the world, and you know that will always be true. 

He has to ask. “How long are you in Nagano?”

You pause. “A while, actually.” 

“Really?” You can see the slight perk in his eyebrows. You nod. Suna is terrorizing himself inside. Ask her, ask her, ask her, ask her. “Do you wanna catch up, then?” 

If he wasn’t as nonchalant as he was, he’d probably be scratching his neck or doing something to distract him from how embarrassing this might all be depending on your response. 

You smile, again, like you’re trying to lodge the arrow further in his heart. “I’d love to.”

The fist that was closing around his lungs lets go, and he lets out a sigh of relief that he’s hoping you don’t notice. “Do you need my phone number?” you ask him. 

“Is it still the same?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.” There’s weight to that response, weight that you weren’t expecting. He’s kept it? You ask yourself, but it’s a fair thing to wonder. You’ve kept his too, after all.

“Well, I have to get back to my friends now,” you gesture to them, but he doesn’t turn around to see them waving at you in the corner to come back. “But please,” you brush your hand against the top of his thigh as you stand up straight again. “Do reach out.” 

Your touch, however fleeting and barely-there it was, lingers on his leg. Your smile is genuinely heartfelt, if not a little sly, and Suna is so grateful. Grateful for every little decisions he’s ever made that has led up to this very moment. He watches you over his shoulder as you walk away, and wow, the dress still looks incredible on you. If he was drunk enough he might’ve told you he loved you again. 

But he wasn’t. He was wearing a smile on his face, like everything unfolded a little too well. He walked into tonight thinking something bad was going to happen, something life-changing. Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that part. But now he can’t stop smiling, he can’t stop his heartbeat. 

Suna turns to face the bar and lean on his elbows. He’s so in his head that he almost doesn’t notice the other two staring at him. 

Motoya’s the first to speak. “You gonna tell us what just happened?” 

“You mean you guys weren’t listening?” 

The two lose their composure. They’ve been caught. They might not have been listening at first, but they definitely were by the whole “we should catch up” part of the conversation. 

“You’re really gonna text her?” Washio asks.

Suna shoots him a look, one that tells him whatever you have to say, I don’t care. “Are you crazy? I get to see the girl of my dreams for one more night.”

~~~~~

It’s Friday afternoon, almost 4:00, and Suna is standing alone at the subway station. He can feel the fading humidity of the early September air, the soft breezes that reach underground at the station. He’s carrying his denim jacket in one arm, because he knows he’ll need it later, even if it’s too warm right now. He’s incredibly conscious of the way he’s standing, because he wants to look relaxed, but he’s not feeling relaxed at all. 

Suna doesn’t think it’s ever taken him so long to get ready for... what even was this? A date? A hangout? He wasn’t sure, and that’s what made it so difficult. Sweatpants would be entirely too casual, but it’s definitely not an occasion for dress pants. Jeans felt too casual, but he had no other option. The shirt dilemma was even worse. T-shirt? Button-down? A tireless back and forth before he finally just decided on a t-shirt and his black denim jacket and he was sure that you were going to look better than him. You always did. 

And that thought doubles down when he sees your name flash across the top of his screen.

y/n hey! i’m running a bit late, i’m sorry :( should be there in 10

Suna smiles down at his phone because you really haven’t changed. You probably changed your outfit five different times before deciding on one that wasn’t even your favorite, even though you look good in all of them. And you’re going to show up and you’re going to flash him that smile that makes him melt. 

Suna all good, i’ll be here

He doesn’t even know what today really is. How many exes go out just to catch up? Not many, if any at all. How many exes left the relationship on good terms? Can this even be considered a date? 

Those ten minutes go by way too fast. Suna’s not sure if it’s because he’s thinking too much or if the noise at the station makes him get a little lost, but those ten minutes feel like ten seconds. But in those ten minutes-turned-ten seconds, he decided that it doesn’t matter what today really is, because he gets to see you again. 

It’s like a sixth sense he thought he lost, sensing your presence. At the sound of new footsteps, amongst the hundreds he had heard waiting, he turns his head, and it’s you. You fluff out your hair and stuff your phone in your pocket before looking up, and Suna is so happy he caught that glimpse of you. That flustered, hurried snapshot of you that he thought he’d never see again. That feeling you always had when you were running late like you didn’t know how long you took to get ready.

“Hey,” you smile at him, and every worry leaves his head for good. 

He lets the bliss wash over him, encapsulate him in the beauty of being present with you. “Hey.”

He catches your pause, your glimpse in his eyes. He can tell that you’re also confused about the meaning of today. He never clarified, because he was hoping you would, hoping you would set the boundary of whatever you wanted this to be. But that never happened. You left it open ended, afraid to come on too strong. 

In that second that Suna catches your hesitation, he knows he exactly what he has to do, but let’s you speak. “So, where to first?”

“The train,” he says bluntly, stepping forward to walk on and hoping you’ll follow. You don’t. You keep right in step with him like you were anticipating that awful joke. 

“Ever the comedian,” you breathe out with sarcasm. 

He looks down at you. “Of course. I’m the funniest person alive.” 

The two of you had stepped onto the train, but that didn’t stop your quip. “Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, I was the funniest person alive.” 

Suna laughs, because of course you’d say that. You wouldn’t be you without another remark to match his without a second of hesitation. It’s why you worked before, and it’s exactly why your conversations have gone smoothly after meeting again merely a weak ago. It’s your mutual ability to completely understand the atmosphere of a situation and pretend to completely disregard it with humor, to make the other feel comfortable despite yourself.

“Seriously,” you start. “Where are we going?” The train doors close behind you and it starts moving, the loud vibrations now adding a layer of noise to everything around you. 

“Well, I wanted to show you a few places downtown, and then this little restaurant for dinner, and...” he breathes in, pressure building in his chest. “...then I didn’t plan much after that.” He lets it out. He’s not proud.. He wanted to do more for you, but he’s never been much of a planner and you’ve never been one to follow them. 

You chuckle, and flash him a smile that is now emptied of stress. “Sounds great.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” you reach up to pat his shoulder. “You wouldn’t be you if you had planned too much.”

He wants to grab your hand so bad, wants to lace his fingers in yours and hold it and never let go. 

But he doesn’t. He let’s your hand glide down the sleeve of his jacket and fall back to your side. God, why didn’t he grab it?

The question is burning in his chest. “So, how much longer are you gonna be here?” There it is again, his heartbeat pounding in his hears. It’s suffocating, and if he wasn’t listening hard enough, it probably would’ve drowned out your response.

“I told you, a while.” 

“How long is a while?” Suna is looking down at you and has been since you stepped foot on the train because he wants any hint of any response that you’re hiding. 

You finally look up at him, taking a deep breath and realizing you might as well just tell him. “Permanently?” It comes out as a question. You don’t mean it to, but it does.

“Permanently? What?”

You let out a nervous laugh, fluffing your hair because you need something to do with your hands right now. “Yeah. I kinda found my dream job here.”

“That’s incredible.” He means it for a multitude of reasons. He’s genuinely, undeniably, incredibly happy for you. And he’s also a little selfish. Because now you’re closer, within a 20 minute train ride from him, and he hopes that you won’t continue to be a stranger. “How long have you been here?”

“A few months, actually.” It sits with him, the fact that you’ve been here and he’s just now seeing you. But, like you always do, you manage to say exactly what he wants to hear. “I wanted to reach out to you sooner, to catch up, but I was so overwhelmed moving here that I wanted to settle down first.” 

“You wanted to reach out?”

As if on cue, the train comes to sudden halt, knocking you to one side. But Suna, always secretly caring and quietly observant, catches you with one arm while he holds himself on the rail with the other. He realizes, and is overly aware, of how close you are to him right now. He’s touching you, the real, authentic you, and you are looking at him with the biggest eyes in the world. 

You’re still leaning backwards, chest becoming ever more pressed to his, and you’re stuck like that for a second as he looks in your eyes knowingly and completely dazed all at once. You find it in yourself to let out a huff, a small chuckle, that snaps you both out of it. 

Suna blinks. “What were we talking about?” He remembers. 

You blink. “I uh...I don’t remember.” Yes you do. 

He finally stands you up straight, and you feel cold and empty without his body pressed against yours. Two years without it had made you forget that kind of comfort. Yet, here you are again, addicted after just a taste of it. You don’t want this day to end.

“This is our first stop,” Suna says. He presses his hand on your lower back, guiding you forward. You almost jump at the touch, but instead you melt into it. You step off the train, letting him guide you in the right direction, but as soon as you’re a couple steps off, he removes his hand from you, and that emptiness is there again. 

The two of you walk in step, quietly, avoiding touch by keeping hands in the pockets of your respective jackets. But you keep his pace until you land outside the station in downtown Nagano, and you think to yourself, of course this is his favorite place to go. You breathe, taking in the sight of the beautiful city that you have neglected to visit in your few months here. 

It’s beautiful, really. You get why he wanted to take you here. Most of your dates previously had consisted of city walks and stopping at pop-up shops and whatever café you would drag him to. This place is exactly that, and still feels entirely new.

But maybe that’s just because it is. 

“This way,” he nods his head to the left, pulling your eyes off the sights of the beautiful city. He turns and you follow. 

“You know, I haven’t actually been here yet,” you ease into the conversation. 

“Really? I thought you would’ve been itching to get to the city.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, I have, but I’ve just been busy trying to get settled.”

“Of course.” He gives you a small smile. 

You return it.

“Well, it’s a good thing you came here with me. I love this city.” 

“Now that doesn’t surprise me at all,” you joke. 

Suna pretends to be offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?” It doesn’t work.

“Come on, Rintarou, you were practically itching to get out of Hyogo. You’ve always been a city boy.”

He pauses at the name, because he realizes that’s the first time he’s heard you say it in over two years. He thinks that everything has left is brain in that moment. He forgets where he’s walking, where he’s supposed to turn. You have completely caused his brain to malfunction at the mere utter of his name. 

God, he’s pathetic.

Once he pauses for a little too long, you realize that you let it slip. “Sorry. Was that too informal?” You fluff your hair again, letting your hand fall to your side.

He blinks, coming back to reality, and he does the only thing he can think to do in that moment. The set up is perfect, so he goes for it. He grabs your hand, lacing his fingers in yours like they have always belonged there, like your hand is still molded to fit his. “Is this alright, (Y/n)?” 

You’re taken aback. It’s your turn for your brain to malfunction. His hand, your name, the familiarity of it all. You feel like it’s two years ago and the two of you have been frozen in time while the world has moved around you. It’s like you and Suna are the versions of yourselves from two years ago, like nothing has changed at all.

But has anything really changed at all?

You give him the biggest smile in the world, and he feels like he’s doing the right thing for the first time since he texted you to meet him today. The hand holding makes you feel like you’re teenagers again, the innocence of it all. Isn’t that what’s beautiful about it though? The simplicity of hand-holding?

He keeps walking, the two of you now fully in step with an entirely new understanding of what tonight is and what it really could be. 

~~

You’re surprised when the first place he takes you is a café. It was never his style, but he knows it’s yours. He refrains from ordering anything and still insists on paying for your tea. When he drops his hand to get out his wallet, your hand feels emptier than it has ever felt, but as soon as the card accepts, he slips is fingers right back where they belong. 

The worker hands you your tea and you leave the café, keeping note of the name for future reference because you’re sure you’ll be coming back here. The first sip is surprising, the second is addicting, and all the others after are for pure indulgence. It’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted, and you’ve been to a lot of cafés. 

“How’d you know that place was so good?” you ask. 

“Osamu raved about it the last time he came to visit, so I knew it had to be the best.” 

“Aw, you want the best for me?” It comes out as sarcastic, which was the intention, but you know it’s actually not. Sure, he said it the night you guys broke up, but that’s always what you say to end on good terms. That doesn’t mean he actually meant it. 

“Always.” 

He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t trying to match your sarcasm. Suna knew, always knew, when you were using sarcasm to hide your real feelings. Apparently that talent hasn’t faded with two years of not knowing you. He scares himself with how honest it is, how vulnerable, but he knows that around you, Suna has no other choice.

You’re looking at him. He’s looking at you. You choose to laugh off that last statement, because you’re sure that if you dwell on it, you will fall in love all over again. 

But maybe that’s okay, just for tonight. 

“You know, sometimes your bluntness is really charming.” 

Suna smirks. “You think so?” 

~~

The next place he takes you is a little shop, filled with an accumulation of an overwhelming variety of things. There’s novelty ramen bowls and bargain bins of old movies and hand-made throw blankets and too many knick-knacks to take in all at once. 

It’s not until you’re following him into one of the many, many isles that you finally find the composure to ask. “You like this place?”

“Yeah. They have the best variety of these.” He pulls a box off the shelf, and you see it’s a box of chūpets. You roll your eyes, because he’s still a teen at heart sometimes. 

You laugh and shake your head, and he laughs too because he knows how ridiculous he looks. You take it upon yourself to look around the rest of the isles, seeing if anything catches your eye. You decide on a keychain, because your keys have been looking a little boring, and a DVD of a terrible movie from your childhood. 

“You should have let me pay,” Suna persists as you walk out of the store. 

“You already paid for my tea when you didn’t even get anything. I wasn’t letting you pay for this.” 

“Don’t think I’m not paying for dinner.” 

“You are absolutely not.”

The back and forth is pointless, because his hand is already linked in yours again, and you know that you can’t resist the temptation of this romance that has been slowly creeping between you two this evening. 

It’s a little past 6:00, and the sun is starting to set below the buildings, and you can’t remember the last time you felt like this. It’s like a first date feeling all over again, except it’s not a first date, it’s probably the 200th, but it’s the first in a while. You know Suna, and Suna knows you, or at least you used to know each other. It’s hard to know what parts of you are still the same, and if those parts were essential to the relationship before. 

But Suna knows, and he hopes you do to, that it doesn’t matter if those parts are still the same. Because if they’re not, at least you can pretend for the night that they are. You can pretend for the night that you’re still right for each other. 

So once dinner passes and the two of you have laughed endlessly at your stories, have reminisced about the other’s old eating habits, have relearned the small little details that make up one another, and you’ve learned all about the EJP drama, you’re sure that absolutely nothing has changed. 

Suna still hovers his hand over his mouth when he’s eating in public. He still does the little flick with his hair even though it’s shorter. He still pulls his jacket off behind his body, left arm before his right. He still orders the same kind of ramen and still devours the entire appetizer before you’ve barely had a bite. He still laughs at your sarcasm and can push it right back at you. He still makes you laugh with the simplest of jokes or pointing out random things about people. He’s still quiet and mysterious but entirely vulnerable and considerate to the people he loves. Suna still talks about the Miyas like they’re his favorite thing in the world, though he would rather die than admit it. He has never-ending admiration for Motoya and a twisted respect for Washio, and you can tell just by the way he talks about them. He’s still barely expressive, but he makes up for it with overwhelming bluntness. 

But you, you still get the teeniest bit of splatter on your face when you eat ramen. You still turn your head to the side and cover your mouth when Suna’s said something funny but you know you shouldn’t laugh. You still look directly at him when he’s telling you a story even if you’re uninterested (you’re always interested). You still talk about your work like it’s the most rewarding thing in the world for you. You’re still sarcastic and charismatic even when you’re feeling your most vulnerable. You’re still understanding and entirely comprehensive of all of Suna’s habits, no matter how small. Your smile still lights up the world, and actually might be even brighter now. Your heart and mind shine so brightly, and Suna wishes he could have seen them grow. 

Two years don’t go by without some sort of change, though.

You learn that he’s now on his second apartment since moving to Nagano because his old landlord tried to scam him. You learn that he accidentally got his hair cut too short one time and Motoya made fun of him until it finally grew out. You learn that Osamu’s onigiri shop is wildly successful and Suna travels there sometimes to go support him. You learn that he is wildly more rational than he was two years ago, but still listens to his gut over anything else. You learn that he’s more accepting of his caring side and is okay with showcasing it every now and then. The best parts of him have only grown stronger. 

Suna learns how hard your college years actually were, how exhausting and draining yet rewarding it all was. He learns how relieved you were to start finding new jobs and internships so you could start doing what you love. He learns how conflicted you were when you found you’d be moving to Nagano, his city, and one of the reasons you split up. He learns that you have the nicest coworkers in the world and your boss loves you, because who wouldn’t? Suna learns that you’ve embraced your empathy and have learned to care more for other people. He learns that your drive and dedication are even more persistent than before, but you’ve allowed yourself to be surrounded by love and care. You’ve embraced all the parts of you that you were scared of. 

He pays for dinner, just like he insisted he would, and you let him, because you know it’s okay to let other people do things for you. The sun is completely gone by the time you two leave the restaurant, but the stars are still in the process of making themselves known in the night sky. It’s nearly 9:00 pm, but you still feel energized like it’s the middle of the afternoon. 

The walk to the subway station is slow and leisurely, and Suna is so grateful that it’s a few blocks away. He doesn’t ever want to let go of your hand. He doesn’t want to leave your side ever again because tonight has assured him that it’s the biggest mistake he ever made. 

You pause for a second, stopping right in your tracks like you ran into a wall. He’s pulled back by his grasp on your hand, and you’re not looking anywhere in particular, but you are incredibly focused on something. 

“What’s up?” he asks you, concern hiding itself in his face. 

“I hear music.”

“Oh. There’s a park nearby. They normally have live music on the weekends.” 

Your face brightens, and you finally meet his eyes, beaming brighter than all the lights covering the street. “Can we go?” 

Suna can not believe the power you have over him. “Sure,” he smiles. He leads the way down a few blocks and around a couple corners until you reach the green grass with a pavilion surrounded by string lights. The music is loud, yet calming, and the band is playing covers of your favorite artist. 

You’re not sure if this night could get any more perfect. 

Your timing is perfect, because they start playing your favorite slow song. Suna smirks, taking advantage of the perfection of the moment. He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his other arm around your waist and starts swaying. There’s a crowd, he doesn’t care. 

“Didn’t think you were this romantic, Rin,” you quip. 

“Only for you, (Y/n).” 

You don’t have any sarcastic comment for him because you know he’s telling the truth. He wants to kiss you so bad, but he knows he shouldn’t. So instead, he admires the smile you give him. The welcoming, warm, blinding smile that suppresses the last bit of nerves he was feeling. 

He leads you like the perfect dance partner, spinning you when necessary and pulling you closer until he’s practically suffocating you. You taught him all of this. He was a hopeless cause of a dancer when you met him, but you taught him how. You expertly molded him into the perfect partner for you and you alone, and he’s gonna make sure you know it. 

Suna can tell by your unwavering smile and the light in your eye that you’re happy right now. But when the song ends, and that light in your eyes is still there, he wonders how he’s been holding himself back all night. Wonders how hasn’t kissed you a million times already. Wonders how he hasn’t asked you to fall in love with him again. 

He doesn’t realize that he still has his arm around your waist, pressing you to him. You decide to let him realize it on his own. It takes him a minute, but he eventually gives a telling gaze and his hand slowly glides away from your waist.

“Should I take you home?” Suna asks. 

“Only if you want to.” 

There’s a lot of things Suna wants to do, but his night has gone perfectly, and he feels like if he drags it out for too long that he’ll somehow make it un-perfect. He wants to kiss you. He wants to hold you. He wants to relearn every part of you. Yes, he wants to take you home, but he’s sure that if he does, he’ll want to do so much more. 

He also trusts you enough to stop him. 

“Let’s go,” he tells you, finally dropping his fingertips from your waistline and leading you with his hand still intertwined with yours. A comfortable silence befalls the two of you when you step onto the pavement again. 

What’s crazy to Suna is that he doesn’t feel nervous at all. There’s no “what if” behind his actions or yours. There’s no doubt. Happiness is practically radiating from your body. It’s radiating from the way you occasionally give his hand a firm squeeze or in the way you’re walking with your back a little straighter. It’s radiating in the way that you still have a smile plastered on your face even though he hasn’t sad anything in five minutes. He notices all of it, and he wonders how the person clinging onto him was the reason behind that bad feeling he had at the bar a week ago. 

You make it to the station and he takes you all the way to your stop, even though his is before yours. It’s not like you were going to stop him. You’ll savor every second you can get with him tonight. 

Suna points out the guy who has decided the train is a better place to sleep than his own bed. He doesn’t make a scene about it, just taps you on the shoulder from where his arm is draped over you, and points. You giggle, just under your breath, so as to not disturb the man’s sleep. You point out lines from the conversation a woman is having on the phone several seats away. She’s speaking quietly, but you’re still picking up some things and piecing together the story for Suna. 

You start to exaggerate the story of this woman’s phone call, keeping you and Suna entertained the entire train ride back to your apartment. Once your stop comes, you’re the first to stand up. Suna watches you, admires you from below, and if there was any conscious person on this train right now, they would see how enamored he is with you. 

You reach behind yourself for his hand. He admires the gesture, smirking to himself before taking it and following your lead onto the platform. The fluorescent lights become a bit dimmer, the darkness of night time starting to encapsulate the station. The light is even more scattered when you take him onto the sidewalk. 

Suna’s been around here before, maybe once or twice because of a store he needed to go to that wasn’t any closer. It’s quieter, a lot quieter, actually, than downtown. There’s almost no street noise, which was abnormal for a Friday night. There’s so few cars driving by and so few commercial stores. The quiet is almost drowned out by the bite the cold air is starting to leave all over his body. The first time he gets out of his head since being on the street is when he hears your voice. 

“This way,” you give a slight tug on his hand, turning him around a corner. It’s almost like you’re the one taking him home. Although, to be fair, he doesn’t know where you live.

After a corner and a couple of buildings later, you arrive at your building. Suna expects this to be the last he’ll see of you, for a while, if not ever. He had one last hurrah with you, knowing it would be the last. But that doesn’t stop the aching feeling in his chest now that the ending moment is coming to a close. 

But like you’ve always managed to do, you make that worry go away. “Walk me up?” 

“Of course,” he softens, stopping himself from letting out a sigh of relief. He doesn’t hesitate to hold the door open for you. You smirk and accept the gesture and Suna follows you through the lobby, up the elevator, down the hallway, and to your door. If he didn’t know you any better, he’d think you were dragging him along. But he knows that’s not your intention. 

Suna knows that you want a proper, pleasant, private goodbye. One where you can really pour your heart out to him, be genuine, without worrying about a stranger passing by or overhearing. 

You start fishing for you keys in your bag, already adorned with your new keychain, finding them right in time to arrive at your door. “This is me,” you say, turning to face him with your back to the door. 

“I guess this is goodnight, then,” he says with his hands in his pockets. 

“I had a really great time tonight, Rin,” you admit. You’re fiddling with your keys, and Suna takes that as a sign that you’re nervous. But nervous for what?

He smiles at you. “Me too...I missed you a lot, (Y/n).” 

“I missed you too. You know...it almost felt like...” 

He waits for you to finish, but you don’t. “Like...what?”

You shake your head, looking at the ground instead of him. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Come on, just tell me.” 

You look up again and he’s staring directly at you, like he knew exactly where your eyes would land. If there’s one thing that’s the most telling about Suna, it’s his eyes. And in his eyes he’s carrying every worry, expectation, and excitement about tonight and the words you’re about to say. You see it all. 

“It almost felt like we were dating again.”

Suna pauses. Takes in your face, your eyes, your lips. Any part of you that might indicate dishonesty or regret in what you just said. He finds none. He places his hand on your cheek, thumb gently grazing just below your eye. “Is that such a bad thing?”

He’s never been one to hold back on his thoughts. He’ll always tell you the truth, exactly what’s on his mind. That’s one of the reasons you loved him in the first place. Suna’s bluntness and sarcasm are his star qualities, but you can tell he’s holding back. He’s afraid, so you choose to ease both of your nerves. “I don’t think so.” 

He’s leaning down, leaning his face closer, but slowly. Once he realizes you’re not going to stop him, he connects your lips. They’re softer than ever before, gentler, but it’s taking his breath away regardless. He feels the breath you let out, so he eases into it more, twisting his head and inching his hand further down your neck. 

Every second you fiddle with the key behind you is another second closer Suna gets to kicking down the door himself. All it took was a split second of your lips on his for him to remember exactly how to kiss you, to remember the exact shape and feel of your lips. He’s sure, completely certain, that he’ll remember how to treat the rest of you as soon as he gets the chance. 

You’ve already given him this much tonight, but he can’t wait another second for the opportunity. 

The click lock and twist of the handle are music to Suna’s ears. It feels choreographed when you grab his shirt and drag him inside, and you’re walking surprisingly fast for someone going backwards. Your lips don’t part, not even for a second, even when the bags hit the floor. His hand never leaves your neck. If he lets go, you might get away, and he doesn’t think he can keep up. 

As soon as you shut the door, he’s pulling you closer, his other hand pressing at the small of your back. You’re impatient and growing hotter by the second, so you start to pull your jacket off your arms behind you, rapidly, impatiently. As soon as it’s discarded, you reach for his shoulders to start getting his off. Suna thinks it’s a great idea, removing his hands from you to pull off his sleeves, left sleeve before the right.  

The loss of contact leaves you both desperate, but his hands are back on you in an instant. There’s less clothes. One barrier gone. You’re both clear with your intentions for the rest of the night. Another barrier gone. 

It happens too quickly, Suna thinks, how fast you both end up in your bedroom, on your bed, with no clothes, and so entangled with one another that even an earthquake couldn’t tear you apart. Suna takes his time to glide is hands over every inch of your body, and confirms that his hypothesis was right. It only took a split second for him to remember every curve, every sensitive spot, every crease and bend and softness to your body. It’s better than he remembers, and he’s grateful that you’re letting him learn you all over again. 

His touches are gentle and savory, and have you falling apart at any unexpected squeeze. The way he holds you, you think, is tighter yet more tender than it used to be. He’s savoring this too, and you’re grateful. You’re grateful for every “I missed you, I missed you so much” and every “you’re beautiful” and every other sound he admires you with. The care with which he’s handling you would’ve been off-putting if it was anyone but Suna. But it is him. It’s really him, and he’s really the one pulling this out of you once again. 

None of it is a blur, absolutely none of it. Every expression, sound, tweak, touch that you made, Suna has it engraved in his mind forever. Every little detail, every little “please” and “Rin” and any other word that came from your mouth. They’re playing on repeat in Suna’s head like a broken record. 

But then you’re still there, lying next to him, on him, as he lays on his back. The breaths are heavy, the skin is hot and sweaty and sticky. He keeps one arm behind his head while the other is gently stroking up and down your spine. As soon as the breathing settles, Suna places a gentle kiss against your temple. You turn your head to look at him, in all his post-sex glory, and you give him a real kiss. He deserves it. 

“Did you mean it?” you ask him, unaware that the words are even leaving your mouth. 

“What? That it wouldn’t be a bad thing if we dated again?” 

You nod, chin resting against his sternum. 

“Of course I meant it.” He’s looking at you sincerely. Everything leading up to this second tonight, every nervous hand hold, every fleeting touch and lingering gaze, every meal, every drink, every dance. Suna has given you absolutely no reason to doubt him. He lets out a confession. “I would’ve done anything for you, you know.”

“Hm?” It’s so out of the blue, whatever he’s implying.

“Two years ago. I would’ve done anything for you. I would have moved across the world if you asked, but you were never going to.” 

“You just started for EJP. I would never take your career away from you.” 

“And I would never take yours away from you.” 

You turn your head to the side because you don’t think you can bear to his face on his next answer. “Where was this two years ago?” 

He sees what you’re doing, how you’re trying to hide. He grabs your chin, gently lifting your head to look at him again. “I think I was too stupid to realize how stupid I was.” 

You can’t hide the growing smirk, the growing smile. How is he always able to bring a smile out of you when you’re feeling the most vulnerable? “Well, you don’t have to move across the world. I am here now.” 

Suna smiles. “I know.” 

You push yourself farther up his body, getting closer to his face so the kiss isn’t as far of a reach. It’s not just a peck this time. You really, truly, kiss him, turning your head to get even closer. 

You pull away, both of you hazy and lovesick, the crinkly-eyed smiles being evidence enough. You smile down at him, that show-stopping, beaming smile, and Suna swears he’s never been happier. “You’re worth all the effort for me to try again,” he assures you.