sugurusladyknight

[sugurusladyknight]

rustling bedsheets. 24:32. cold, dark, winter, sunday night. the home was quite, it hardly felt like your home , and you're alone, and he's late to come home. you're brushed your teeth 5 times tonight and had to redo your skincare more than you'd care to admit from how many times you've splashed cold water on your face.

now, you turn in your bed again pulling the blankets closer to your body and curling into yourself. you feel like an oyster shit right in its shell. the blankets hug your body tightly like a second skin. fulfilling the same purpose as the thick fur coats of animals this time of year.

it's not even that late, you think as you check your phone, doing your best to not let the blankets fall off your body, only 24:33. why the fuck is the clock moving so slow.and if your being honest with yourself it was none of your business that he was running late. whether he'll come back home to you or not. if he's hurt. you don't care what is keeping him. who. what if he was with someone else.

images of him, your dearest friend, your dearest suguru, with another flashing behind your eyes. his sharp violet eyes focused on someone else. their hands in the inky hair he takes such good care of. suguru wouldn't let anyone touch his hair. though he let you braid it once, that means something. ...right?

what if he's touching them. ever so gently, the same way he handles most things, the way his hands should be handling you. his perfect form sitting on someone else's couch, or floor, or bed. soft lips that somehow never seem to dry, brushing with the lips of another. his laboured breathes and pretty smile and his perfect soft laughter after bumping teeth or foreheads or whatever and suddenly your sat straight up, back stiff, hair in a mess and eyes blown out. you see the imaginary scenes of your beloved and other playing behind your eyes like a horrible movie that only seems to become a clearer memory the more you wish to forget it.

now you're, getting out of bed, pacing. anxiously. biting at your fingertips and nails. nervous habit you can't seem to shake. he's seen you do it, he's always gently pull your hand away and pull it closer to himself to assess the damage. scolding you softly with a furrow between his brows and the furry of a livid hamster. that's how it came off. you wonder if he can tell how badly you wanted to tuck the stray hair behind his ear.

continuing to pace the expanse of your room. back and forth. and back and forth. and back and forth. being this worked up over this makes no sense, and yet here you are. there was no obligation for him yo tell you what was holding him up. and no obligation for you to feel this way.

his room is across the hall, you would probably smell the faint smell of him if you walk passed it. it was neat, though you don't spend much time there. it's his scared space, you never wanna come off as an intruder.

(to him your presence is the most welcome if intrusions, one he's seek out himself if he hadn't had the same juvenile worries he didn't know you share)

softly you open your door, as if there was some there who'll hear you. as if you were worried of being caught doing the wrong thing. you start off slow, pacing back and forth in hall with soft steps, you wanna tell yourself you pace doesn't slow when you walk past his room. not knowing whether it's alright to be hoping for him to magically appear and ease your worries. to smooth you to sleep

your doing your best to try manage the thoughts in your head, the softness of your steps, and listening for the door at the stairs trying to hear if he's there. and no you haven't run up to the window when you hear the smallest disruption from the silence (ignoring you pounding heart) to see if that was his bike or just... a fucking bird???

worried is how you feel. worried and anxious and helpless and scared and insane. he's good, so incredible good at helping with preventing these feelings from rousing, as if sugurus presence alone was safety and comfort incarnate. if peace were a person.

like the sun had disguised itself as the moon and been doomed to live the life of a human on earth, doing his very best to fit it in, though it remains incredibly clear he's too good for all of this. too good for all of you.

his presence felt like then sun on your skin.

divinity and he went hand in hand in your eyes. being a human incarnation of the sun didn't seem like such a faraway concept if the one in question suguru.

your still at the window, just paying less attention now to the initial goal of being on the look out for his bike, instead taking up overthinking his uncharacteristic tardiness and questions of his divinity (how fun is that!)

the overwhelming noise from your racing thoughts makes it feel like it's much less quite than it is. then you hear it. the click of your front door opening.

shit.

you wait. only a moment. everything slows but your hearts racing. suguru? or someone else? you hear who ever it is take a step, then two. it's him.

shit again.

panic if a different sort rises up your throat. it's suguru. you know it is. but she shouldn't know you worried. or that you up at this hour. or that you think he's really the sun in disguise. you've spoken to him about how you would have to get up earlier than usual in the coming weeks because of an unfortunate shift in you schedule. he'd be upset your losing sleep waiting up for him (simultaneously elated that you'd wait up for him to return to you safely. he always will. but that isn't your business to know.)

walking as quickly and quietly as you can you make it to your room, gently closing the door behind you and slipping back under your sheets. exhale. trying to slow your strangely rapid breathes, and an odd sting in your left knee. your cheeks feel hot, but your finding yourself a little smug about how graceful your unplanned but incredibly executed escape had been. eyes closed. breath slows. pretending to be asleep.

you are just wayy too good.

____

suguru steps into your shared home. deep breathe, it feels like the first time he's gotten to breathe all day. it's slow, he wants to savour it, coming home. coming in to you.

his usually sharp and concentrated violet eyes feel droopy and tired. he's thirsty, and frightfully, his lips are dry. the consequences of being dehydrated he guesses, making a conscious effort to make sure he doesn't lick them. that'll only make it worse in the long run. he makes a mental note: never forget your lip products, dry lips will make your day all that much worse. and adds it to the ever growing list of things he demands he remembers everyday

broad shoulders slumped, his body feels too heavy for him or carry right now. it's dark, the lights are all out. quite too. your probably asleep. he thinks back to what you had told him about a sudden shift in you schedule as he bends down to remove his shoes.

some of his hair falling out of its careful arrangement and draping over his shoulders. it's come loose at some point and he hadn't bothered him enough to be adjusting it.

he wants to rest. you said that you'd be doing a lot more far too early in the morning, and so you'd need to be in bed earlier than usual. that's what he thought, until rushed, heavy steps were heard?

a quizzical expression finds its way to his face, and a moment later, after successfully removing one shoe, he straightens his body. he can tell it's you. those are your steps. then a thud. you fell. the first instinct is to check that your alright, but before it really registered, you make a quick recovery and dash to your room slamming the door in a hurry.

now hold on now. feeling a mixture of what the fuck and amusement bubbles up his throat.

what the fuck because aren't you supposed to be asleep?? you'd have to be up in a few hours time. you'll be exhausted. on the other hand he wanted to burst out laughing because you must've been trying to be subtle, to run across the upper floor of the house you shared unnoticed. we're you waiting for him? the thought makes his cheeks warm, his heart skip a beat, and a weird butterfly sensation to erupt in his stomach.

it's dead quite now, so he removes his other shoe, and places them both down. one next to the other. suguru is then pulling out one of the shoes from the pair he knows your planning on wearing tomorrow. he looks for the matching pair, fishes it out, and places the pair of them together next to his. he'd do anything really if it meant convince you, fishing out the missing shoe from the unexplored and incredibly unorganized coat closet you share.

you won't have to worry about not finding one of them in your morning rush tomorrow. he'll be asleep then, but still, suguru wants to be a part of your day. to be helpful to you even though you don't know it. he hangs his jacket, next to yours again. that's where it's supposed to be.

making a beeline for the kitchen and quickly grabbing a glass of water, he makes his way up the stairs. he's making his way to you.

your tucked away in bed trying. back under your blankets body curled in on itself. trying to listen for what he's doing. you feel giddy. when you hear soft steps coming up the stairs.

okok!! show time.

you've hyped yourself for your life's best performance of... fake sleeping!!! deep breathe and bam, you're in character. eyes closed breathing slowed, hair adjusted, perfect. he knocks at the door, suppressing your wide giddy smile, he's got a smile on too, though you can't see it.

suguru opens the door ever so slightly and gently calls out to you. god his voice, low and ever so soft, pronouncing your name is what you'd go to war for. anything really would be too little of an ask in comparison to hearing him call out to you oh so sweetly again and again. you wanna hear that voice for the rest of your life.

when you don't respond, he takes a moment to contemplate his decision and weighing his options (a very gruelling task btw) and walks in to your scared space. suguru sits at the edge of your bed, careful not to disturb your very convincing performance.

it's not hard to keep your eyes closed. you can see him anyway. the way his dark hair is framing his face, providing the perfect contrast to make his violet eyes stand out more than they do, the way he's sitting, the soft and sharp lines that make up his face and neck. his steps sounded tired. you wish you would stop the charade and ask if he'd allow you to help him bathe, you'd wash his hair. dry it for him, remembering to put in all the products he loves to use (it's an arm workout i tell you) and braid it afterwards too.

he looks at you, you usually feel it when he does. and you wonder if it's common for people blush while sleeping. you wonder if he'll buy it. he doesn't. but he says nothing and so neither do you and continue on with your charade. he moves to sit on the ground next to your bed, and the absence of him is felt immediately. facing the wall you've decorated with paintings and posters, suguru wonders the inspiration behind them, the thoughtfully painted landscapes. he notices quite a few of them featuring the sun at various times of day, and the details carefully painted on what is usually simply done in a soild color. isn't the sun often only a supporting element in a painting? something in the background meant to accentuate the key elements?

i wanna ask about that sometime. why the sun?

shifting in you pretend sleep, you curl into the space he was just occupying. bringing yourself closer to him. now the back of his head only a breathe away from the kiss you desperately wish to blow him. he drinks from the glass he'd brought up with him and he starts speaking in that lovely voice of his.

he tells you all about his day and he doesn't spare any detail. he tells you about the dry lips he's had to deal with all day, satorus mischievous antics, the stray cat that reminded him of the white haired man, and one that reminded him of you. it's hard not to let out a chuckle at his awful misfortunes (the dry lip blues).

he speaks and speaks and it lulls you to sleep, you swear it works better than any lullaby could. for a moment you're thinking of him singing one to you, but before you get to finish the thought you're drifting off into a pleasant sleep.

feeling the weight of the day slowly leave his slumped shoulders. suguru is reluctant to leave your side. he doesn't wanna be without you, so he keeps your company and speaks until his words begin to slur together and the stories start to repeat. that night, suguru falls into a comfortable sleep, best he'd had in a while, on the floor next to your bed. feeling that he's home now.

____

when you awake the next morning, the alarms on your phone go off and your quick to shut it off. checking to see that you haven't woken him up. he slept there. you'd wished for it, but worried for his comfort. grabbing your blanket to cover him with, and trying to adjust him so he's more comfortable. he looks so pretty in his sleep. so at peace. a sight for sore eyes, first thing in the morning too. blessed is how it feels to know him.

taking a moment to admire him, you make a silent prayer he feels this way more often, and your off to be getting ready. making your way down the stairs, you check the time on your phone to see you're all good on time, you'd woken up quite tired, but felt the exhaustion leave your body at the sight of him sleeping soundly.

you make yourself breakfast, leaving a note for suguru on the counter with some fresh cut fruit and tea. he doesn't sleep in often, even in days he'd had a late night so your hoping his tea isn't cold when he gets to it, that it wraps him in a warm hug he'll feel from the inside out. you can only hope it gets him to think about you in all the ways you do him.

all you've got left to do is check to see that you have everything you need, keys, phone, your lip products (you've been warned of the grievances that come with dry lips), and all your other essentials before slipping on your shoes, grabbing your jacket from next to sugurus and making you way out the door. although, you don't quite remember that you've found your other shoe, or that you've put them there at all.

[sugurusladyknight]

editing and reposting on a new blog!

@sugurusladyknightt

rustling bedsheets. 24:32. cold, dark, winter, sunday night. the home was quite, it hardly felt like your home, and you're alone, and he's late to come home. you're brushed your teethed 5 times and had to redo your skincare more than you'd care to admit from how many times you splashed cold water on your face. now, you turn in your bed again pulling the blankets closer to your body, like a second skin, fulfilling the same purpose as the thick fur coats of animals this time of year. it's not even that late, only 24:33. why the fuck is the clock moving so slow.

and if your being honest with yourself it was none of your business that he was running late. whether he'll come back home to you or not. if he's hurt. you don't care what is keeping him. who. what if he was with someone else. images of him, your dearest friend, your dearest suguru, with another flashing behind your eyes. his sharp violet eyes focused on someone else. their hands in the inky hair he takes such good care of. he let you braid it once, that means something. ...right?

what if he's touching them. ever so gently, the same way he handles most things, perfect form sitting on someone else's couch, or bed, or floor. his soft lips that somehow never seem to be dry brushing with those of another, his laboured breathes and pretty smile and his perfect laugh after bumping teeth or foreheads or whatever and

suddenly your sat straight up, back stiff, hair in a mess and eyes blown out. you still see the scenes of your beloved and other playing behind your eyes. getting out of bed. pacing. anxiously. biting your nails as you counting to pace the expanse of your room. back and forth. and back and forth. and back and forth. his room is across the hall, you could smell him if you walk passed it. it was neat, though you don't spend much time there. softly you open your door, as if there was some there who'll hear you. you start off slow, pacing back and forth in hall, you wanna tell yourself you pace doesn't slow when you walk past the stairs trying to hear if he's there and no you haven't run up to the window to see if that was his bike or just... a fucking bird???

worried is how you feel. worried and anxious and helpless and scared. he's good, incredible at helping with prevent ming these feelings from rousing, as if sugurus presence alone was safety and comfort incarnate. if peace were a person. your still at the window, just paying less attention to your initial goal of looking out for his bike in favor of overthinking (how fun is that!)

the overwhelming noise from your racing thoughts makes it feel like it's much less quite than it is. then you hear it. the click of your front door opening. shit. you wait. just a moment. heart racing. suguru? or someone else? you hear who ever it is take a step, then two. it's him. shit again. panic if a different sort rises up your throat. it's suguru. you know it is. but she shouldn't know you worried. or that you up at this hour. you've spoken to him about how you would have to get up earlier than usual recently because of an unfortunate shift in you schedule. he'd be upset your losing sleep waiting up for him (simultaneously elated you'd wait up for him to return to you. he always will. but that isn't your business to know.)

walking as quickly and quietly as you can you make it to your room, gently close the door and slip back under your sheets. exhale. trying to slow your strangely rapid breathes, you find yourself a little smug about how graceful your escape had been. eyes closed. breath slows. pretending to be asleep. you are just wayy too good.

suguru steps into your shared home. deep breathe, it feels like the first time he's gotten to breathe all day. it's slow, he wants to savour it, coming home. coming in to you. his usually sharp concentrated eyes feel droopy and tired. he's thirsty, and freight fully his lips are dry. the consequences of being dehydrated he guesses. he's making a conscious effort to make sure he doesn't lick them, that'll only make it worse in the long run. quick mental note: never forget your lip products, dry lips will make your day that much worse. broad shoulders slumped, his body feeling too heavy for him or carry right now.

it's dark, the lights are all out. quite too. your probably asleep. he thinks back to what you had told him about a sudden shift in you schedule, as he bends down to remove his shoes, some of his hair falling out of its careful arrangement and over his shoulders. he wants to rest. you said that you'd be doing a lot more far to early in the morning, and so you'd need to be in bed earlier than usual. that's what he thought, until rushed, heavy steps can be heard? a quizzical expression finds its way to his face, and a moment later, after successfully removing one shoe, he straightens his body. he can tell it's you. those are your steps. then a thud. you fell. the first instinct is to check that your alright, but before it really registered, you make a quick recovery and dash to your room slamming the door in a hurry. now hold on now.

feeling a mixture of what the fuck and amusement. what the fuck because aren't you supposed to br asleep?? you'd have to be up in a few hours. you'll be exhausted. on the other hand he wanted to brush out laughing because you must've been trying to be subtle. we're you waiting for him. the thought makes his cheeks warm, his heart skip a beat, and a weird butterfly sensation in his stomach. it's dead quite now, so he removes his other shoe, and places them both down, pulling out one of the shoes from the pair he knows your planning on wearing tomorrow. he looks for the matching pair, fishes it out, and puts the pair of them together next to his. he'd do anything really if it meant convince you, fishing out the missing shoe from the unexplored and very unorganized coat closet you share. you won't have to worry about not finding one of them in your morning rush tomorrow. he'll be asleep then, but still, suguru wants to be a part of your day. he hangs his jacket, next to yours again. that's where it's supposed to be. quickly grabbing a glass of water, he makes his way up the stairs. he makes his way to you.

your still in bed trying to listen for what he's doing when you hear soft steps coming up the stairs. okok show time. you've hyped yourself up to... fake sleeping!!! deep breathe and bam. eyes closed breathing slowed, perfect. he knocks at the door, suppressing your giddy smile, he's smiling too though you can't see it.

he opens the door ever so slightly and gently calls out to you. god his voice pronouncing your name is what you'd go to war for. anything really would be too little of an ask in comparison to hearing him call out to you oh so sweetly. when you don't respond, he takes a moment to contemplate his decision and weighing his options (a very gruelling task btw) and walks. suguru sits at the edge of your bed, and it's not hard to keep your eyes closed. you see him anyway, the way his hair is framing his face, the way he's sitting, the curves that make up his face and neck. his steps sounded tired. you wish you'd stop the charade and ask if he'd want you to help him bathe with his hair. he looks at you 'c and you wonder if it's common for people blush while sleeping. you wonder is he'll buy it. he doesn't. but he says nothing and so you continue your charade. he moves to sit on the ground next to your bed and the absence of him is felt immediately. shifting in you pretend sleep, you curl into the space he was just occupying. your closer to him now the back of his head only a breathe away from the kiss you desperately blow him. he drinks from the glass he'd brought up with him before he starts speaking. he tells you about his day and he doesn't spare the detail, and he tells you about the dry lips he's had to deal with all day. it's hard not to let out a chuckle at his awful misfortunes. he speaks and speaks and it lulls you to sleep. feeling the weight of the day slowly leave his slumped shoulders. he keeps your company and speaks until his words start to slur together and he falls into a comfortable sleep on the floor next to your bed. he's home now.

when you wake the next morning, the alarms on your phone go off and your quick to shut it off. checking to see that you haven't woken him up. you grab your blanket and cover him with it, trying to adjust him so he's more comfortable. and then your off, getting ready. making your way down you check the time on your phone and your all good on time. you make yourself breakfast and leave a note for suguru on the counter and some cut fruit. you can only hope it gets him to think about you in all the ways you do him.

all you've got left to do is check to see that you have everything you need, keys, phone, your lip products, and all your other essentials before slipping on your shoes and making you way out the door. though you don't quite remember that you've put them there.