The apartment is quiet when Suna steps inside, just like it has been for the past four months.
Part of him still expects you to be there when he walks inside, greeting him with an embrace, a kiss, a sly comment or two—or, for the few months before your breakup, a nervous smile.
Can he even call it a breakup if you left with no word, blocking him on every single avenue and ghosting him without even a damn conversation?
Suna knows he did wrong. He realized it the moment you texted telling him to call you. If he’s honest with himself, he knew it before then too. He saw the way your smiles grew more anxious, more nervous. The way your touches lingered over his shoulder and arms when normally, he’d have to beg you to let go. The way you went to bed earlier than normal so you’d stop looking over your shoulder every time he picked up his phone.
You said you couldn’t trust him, and at first he didn’t believe it. But then all the evidence added up into one big ‘fuck you, Suna Rintarou’ moment the second he walked into the empty apartment: you didn’t trust him because he made you not trust him.
He knows all of that clearly now, because the deafening silence in the house reminds him of it every time he steps inside.
