Suna didn’t even notice he’d been staring at you until you shifted on the couch. The room was quiet—too quiet—like it was holding its breath for the both of you. He was talking about his plans. The team’s plan, schedule and whatnot. You were talking about something small at first. Work. Plans for next month. And then your voice softens, careful but steady.

I don’t really see myself getting married.

Just like that. No buildup. No cushion. It wasn’t dramatic. You weren’t making a statement. You were just… telling him. And somehow, that made it hit harder

And maybe he shouldn’t have felt anything. Suna wasn’t the romantic type. He never fantasized about big ceremonies or matching rings. But something in him stilled, heavy and cold, like a tide pulling back too fast.

“…Oh.” He hated how small his voice sounded.

You explained, softly. Something about pressure. Expectations. The rate of divorce. Having to give up a dream for someone. Not to mention, in this economy?

“Yeah,” he replied, and his voice cracked in a way he hoped you didn’t hear. “Yeah, make sense.”

It didn’t make sense. Not to him. Not anymore.

Because he suddenly realized he wanted it. He wanted something real, lasting. Something he’d only allow himself to want if you were the one beside him. And hearing you say you didn’t… it left him suspended, somewhere between hope and resignation.

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes drifting to the corner of the room where your tote bag rested—half-unpacked—like you never planned to stay too long. His chest tightened.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” he asked.

You murmured something—an apology— small, gentle sorry.

He breathed out slowly. Not angry. Just… untethered. His mind wandered. To the photos he took of you, to the toothbrush you left in his apartment, to the quiet mornings where he thought maybe… maybe you were the one who made his life feel less like a blur.

He wasn’t someone who particularly clung to things. But then you happened. He thought he could build around you. Not marriage. Not necessarily. Just… stability. Something steady. A future that didn’t feel like a blur for once.

And now he wasn’t sure if he’d been stupid for thinking that.

“You know…” he started, voice low, “I don’t plan my life out much. I don’t care about traditions. But I thought…” He paused, jaw tightening.

“I thought if I ever changed my mind, it’d be because of you.”

He can feel the silence thickens. Suna slouched back into the couch, eyes staring up at the ceiling, avoiding the way you looked at him.

“Just feels like I’ve been… walking toward something you never wanted,” he murmured. “Makes me wonder what else I got wrong.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t lean in either.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “I just… need to think.”

He didn’t tell you he thought he might love you. He does. He didn’t say you felt too good for him sometimes—even untouchable—like he was lucky you even stayed. He didn’t admit he was scared. That he was unsure. That he didn’t know if wanting more made him foolish.

Suna closed his eyes.

He wanted to say ‘I want you’, even if you don’t want the same ending. He wanted to say ‘Stay’, even if it’s complicated. He wanted to say ‘I’ll figure it out’, just don’t leave him. As if those can change your mind instantly.

But all that came out was:

“Can we just sit like this for a bit?”