you knock on his door again, but silence faces you instead of your roommate.
perhaps he’s asleep, or doing god-knows-what in there. with a slight turn of the door handle, you take a peek to see what he’s up to. a sigh of relief leaves your lips when you see suna with his headphones on, typing rapidly on his phone.
“can i help you?” he asks you with an uninterested expression, as if you hadn’t just knocked on his door repeatedly.
“are you texting your crush right now? i know i saw a smile somewhere there,” you tease. he huffs, rolling his eyes at your comment. he’s looking at you with those beautiful pear-colored eyes. the ones that lock with yours when he asks you where you put the tv remote, the ones that widen when he catches a glimpse of how you look before going out, the ones that are drawn to you every so often (more than he’d like).
“i’m not,” he mumbles. “why are you here?”
it doesn’t come off as rude, though. his words never do. they’re always laced with a sliver of affection. and perhaps he know’s he’s fallen for you, your habit of blasting music when you’re in the shower, your detailed coffee order (which is committed to his memory), your soft laughter when he tells you about his friends from high school.
“i’m hungry,” you state. “and i need food or you’ll be dealing with the crankier version of me.”
“oh, was this not the crankier version?” his lips curve up into a smile.
“shut up. i’m hungry.”
“you already said that,” he sighs. and he won’t tell you now, but bickering with you is one of his favorite things to do with you. “there’s probably food in the fridge. go eat an orange or something.”
you cross your arms at his words knowing damn well suna didn’t get the groceries like he promised. that’s why you two had to eat cereal and clementines for dinner. of course, he got an earful from you. something about how you always get the groceries on time, how he should start being more responsible, how there’s only one packet of ramen left in the cabinet.
but suna wasn’t listening (completely, at least). the exasperation in your voice translated to passion, fervor, and radiance in his head. he needed to know what else could elicit such ardor from you.
“can we make ramen?” you lightly pull on his arm to get him out of bed.
and even though it’s approaching midnight, and he should be asleep soon, suna gets up with a groan. he tells himself that the only reason he’s doing this is to make up for your disappointing dinner.
“who’s we? you’re gonna be on your phone while i make it,” he looks at you as you push yourself onto the counter. you’re crossing your legs and resting your chin in your hands while he places the pot on the stove.
he’s right, and he knows that. he can feign nonchalance, but he can’t fake the breath that’s caught in his throat when he hears you laugh at his words.
suna hums as he boils the single packet of ramen that’s left in your apartment, watching the seasoning bubble in the water with tired eyes. you’ve learned that he hums when he’s sleepy, and it’s never a song that you know. you’ve also learned that he’s particular about laundry detergents — he doesn’t like lavender scented ones. he’s always extra cautious when you’re by the stove because he remembers how his sister burnt her hand when she was younger. come to think of it, you’ve gotten to know your roommate quite well over the past eight months.
“so, who were you texting? you seemed kinda focused. never seen that before.”
he takes a deep breath, thinking back to the texts he got from her.
“it was my sister. she was just helping me with something,” he tells you.
suna recalls her words: “just tell them you like them more than just a friend or roommate. it’s now or never, dumbass.”
and even though he’s worried it’ll ruin things, suna waits for the noodles to boil, he waits for you to happily take the bowl from his hands, he waits for you to offer him a bite or two like you usually do.
it’s not until then does he say the words that have been sitting on his tongue for the past eight months.
