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Even with clear directions from your best friend, he still has some difficulties with finding you. Most probably because it’s dark already, and you’re somewhere in the middle of a park. It’s not far from your apartment, but Suna still thinks he might have beaten his own record in getting there.
His steps lead him towards the swings you two loved spending your time at during high school years, but you’re not there. Not on the swings, not on the slide, not even on one of the benches inside the fenced playground. Luckily it’s silent, the rather chilly weather effectively discourages people from leaving their warm four walls.
Luckily it’s silent, because he can hear the lively chatter of your friends and walks where he’s sure the source is. Suna finds the group a few steps away from the main alley, under a huge tree, and greets them before coming closer to make himself known.
“Thanks for the call,” he nods with hands buried in his pockets. “And for staying with them. I’ll take it from here.”
“You sure you don’t need help?”
The man glances at you curled up on a cold grass and then quickly looks around the friends surrounding you dressed in clothes that might have been appropriate for the afternoon, but much less for an evening like this.
“Yeah, I’m good. Get home before you catch a cold.”
There’s laughter in response right before the good-nights and good-lucks, and let-us-know-if-you-need-anythings, but Suna barely pays any attention to it. He focuses on you, eyes scanning for any sign of discomfort even though he knows it’s the only thing you feel at the moment.
He crouches down and brushes your hair away from your face.
“Hi baby, it’s me. Let me take you home, yeah?”
His voice is quiet and gentle, but still enough to make you aware of his presence; your eyes move towards him and you blink slowly—action he takes as an agreement.
One arm slides under your knees, another behind your back and under your arm, and then you’re being lifted from the cold ground. Your head instinctively leans on Suna’s shoulder; he’s so warm and you’re so tired, and it feels as if you could fall asleep right there and then.
Your boyfriend carries you back to your shared apartment, and suddenly you’re overflowed with guilt. He’s too good for you. Too kind, too loving, too supporting. It was supposed to be a fun night, both for you and him even if separately, but here you are, defeated by the feeling of impending doom. And here he is, dragged out of the comfort and into the dark, carrying your weight like it’s nothing.
Absorbed in your thoughts, you don’t notice when you reach the familiar door until the man asks if you can stand on your own for a second. I can try, you think so you nod, and your feet indeed touch the floor but a strong arm still supports and embraces you tight.
The lock clicks and the door opens; Suna gently nudges you inside and into the bathroom, where he sits you on a tiny stool always kept by the bathtub. The fixture is filled with warm water while the man removes your clothes and make-up, and helps you get inside.
He lets you soak for a moment and your thoughts untangle, before grabbing your favourite shampoo. His fingertips massage your scalp in slow linear motions, sending tingles to your still numb limbs. With each move you feel the darkness dissipate a little, making it easier to breathe in the steamy air.
The touch disappears for a second and comes again on the skin on your face—tiny circles blooming with foam—removing the leftovers of the outing. It tickles like soft feathers and it’s not difficult to imagine this is what it is, even if for now they’re only in black and white.
You can’t tell if it’s been a minute or an hour, or even a whole eternity, before the hands move to the rest of your body. They’re rubbing at your muscles and joints, easing the tension with each squeeze.
Suna sees the expression on your face change—from the one of a painful indifference into the relaxed softness, and he wouldn’t make you move if not for a risk of you dozing off in the tub. He rinses the soap from your skin and hair, and wraps you in a fluffy towel on your way out.
Again, you’re seated on the stool, only this time with Suna behind you. As gently as he can, he brushes your hair, watching your reflection in the mirror closely for any sign of pain. But even if you felt any, you wouldn’t dare to show it with how tenderly he’s taking care of you.
However, there’s so much love in his gestures, in his touches, in his irises, so much more than you think you deserve, that the tears pool under your lids. They flow down your cheeks but Suna doesn’t say anything—he knows not to say anything—and lifts you silently to move you to the bedroom, where he dresses you in your favourite pyjamas.
Suna Rintarou is not a man of words; he doesn’t know how to describe the feelings swarming in his heart, doesn’t know how to name them. But he doesn’t need to, because his actions speak louder than any words ever could; they tell you everything you need to know and more.
So, wrapped tightly in the arms of the man that you love and who loves you, breathing in the scent that means safety and peace, you hide your face in the crook of his neck. And your hands shyly embracing him back tell him everything he needs to know.
“I’m home.”