#x bestfriendsuna

wc: 0.4k

pairings: timeskip!suna x gn!reader

contains: bestfriend!suna, implied mutual pining, suppressed feelings, emotionally confused suna, oblivious reader, sharing a drink=‘indirect kiss’, mentions of past memories, brief touches

[more about bestfriend!suna here]

“Can you hold this for me?” you ask, blindly moving your coffee toward Suna as you walk beside him, your other hand rifling through your purse.

He takes it without question, watching you from his peripheral, wondering what you could possibly be looking for. And Suna’s quiet beside you, content to be so. After all, he enjoys these moments, even if he doesn’t say.

With your head down now, Suna turns his own to face you. He presses a palm lightly to your back, a silent request to move toward him before your shoe catches on the large split in the sidewalk. The touch is brief; present and gone much too soon for you to take notice.

And Suna’s familiar with this unconscious habit of yours: placing your attention elsewhere, relying on him to ensure nothing happens. He takes…pride in it, in knowing that of all the things that have changed since you first met in middle school, this hasn’t been one of them.

However, he lifts your coffee to his lips, curious as to why it’s this drink in particular you always order. Suna tastes it, brows lifting in mild surprise—it’s good. He takes another drink, and another, before the coffee is snatched curtly from his hand.

You’re staring up at him. “I said hold it, Rin, not drink it.” You can see the beginnings of a smile on his mouth.

“Technically, I was the who bought it,” he says.

You pass him a few bills, pushing it against his chest as you turn a corner. “Not anymore.”

Suna breathes out a laugh through his nose, taking the money; you always did insist on paying him back, even if he could afford a price ten-fold of it.

Something falters in his expression then, a change you don’t see, when you drink from the same cup.

If he was a younger, he would’ve jested that it was an 'indirect kiss.’ But Suna’s older now, as are you, and he doesn’t mention it. Even if there’s a sudden, prodding warmth to his cheeks. He doesn’t understand.

Suna takes you back to your apartment building, listening as you tell him about your day until you reach the building’s front steps.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” you tell him, tugging at his jacket once, a wordless 'goodbye’cultivated when you were children, when Suna hadn’t been comfortable with hugs. The gesture had remained, even now.

He smiles, pulls at the fabric of your shirt near your waist in a similar manner that you had. “Of course.”

Before you move away from him completely, and with your back to him, Suna discreetly returns your money to your purse.

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