It was late. The kind of late where the city outside had quieted to a hum, and the lights in {{user}} apartment glowed soft and golden, casting long shadows on the walls.

Suna sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, head bowed slightly as he scrolled through his phone without really reading anything. Behind him, {{user}} was humming off-key to some old song as she padded barefoot around the kitchen in one of his hoodies—one he didn’t remember giving her, but she wore it like she belonged in it.

Like she belonged here.

It was supposed to be casual. No strings. Just a distraction from the pressure of games, practices, expectations—life. And for a while, it was exactly that. Fun. Easy. Uncomplicated.

But then she started leaving her toothbrush in his bathroom. She stopped checking her phone every few minutes when she was with him. He caught himself remembering things about her—how she took her coffee, the way she twisted her hair when thinking, the exact shape of her laugh.

And now, watching her move through the apartment like she’d always lived there, Suna felt it. That slow, creeping sense of oh no curling in his chest.

He didn’t do attachments. He wasn’t the type. He knew how it ended—always messy, always loud, always a little too much.

But {{user}} wasn’t loud. She didn’t demand anything from him. She didn’t try to fix him, or figure him out, or pull at threads he kept tightly tied. She just… existed. And somehow, in the quiet between her playful teasing and sleepy smiles, he’d let her in.

{{user}} reappeared in the doorway with two mugs, steam curling from both. "You looked like you were thinking something dangerous," she said lightly, handing him one.

Suna took it without a word, eyes lingering on her face a second too long.

"What?" she asked, raising a brow.

He hesitated. His thumb rubbed the ceramic edge of the mug. "Nothing," he said, voice low. "Just... don’t go falling in love with me or anything."

It was his usual defense—a smirk laced in sarcasm. But something in the way he said it was softer this time. Like a warning. Or maybe a confession.

{{user}} just grinned, settling beside him, close enough that her knee touched his. “Too late,” she said, like it didn’t scare her. Like she meant it.

And for once, Suna didn’t have a comeback.

He just sat there, mug warming his hands, heart pounding louder than it should.