Guys Im Gonna Post The First Act Again When I Reach Home Bcs I Forgot The Tags >:(

guys im gonna post the first act again when i reach home bcs i forgot the tags >:(

my life is complete now.

with this, i will be passing away. life is good.

adorable

Miya Atsumu: ceo of cute fists

Hello! Can I please be added to the tag list for Wonderwall? I love stories like this and I’m already invested in just the intro!!💞

ofc!! ‘m glad you like it :>

hello my love how are you 😻

hello loml i will be good if kazuha comes home when i wish for him in a hour😻😻😻currently out for dinner with my family

hbu? how’s your day going dear :>

oh my love >:( the way i understand this feeling sm, lol i kin you

[9:57 PM]— SUNA RINTARO

“I’m sorry.” Suna Rintaro looks at you with sunken eyes, standing a distance away from you helplessly, watching as you rolled your eyes and continued folding your clothes. He supposes this could be worse. You could be folding your clothes to leave, he reasons, he should be grateful it’s just the laundry. 

But his stomach doesn’t feel any less heavy, and his conscience is oh so guilt-ridden.   

“Whatever, Rinatro. Come fold your laundry,” you say sternly, and he doesn’t like it. Suna’s only ever used to gentleness from you, a fondness that was hazy, blurred around the edges, undefined. The line where it started met no end. Suna had long given up trying to figure out the extent of your love. He figured as long it was his, he’d make it work. 

But Suna was also never a favorite. He wasn’t a favorite student, nor was he ever a favorite friend, and he certainly was no one’s favorite teammate. He was pretty sure he wasn’t ever even his parents’ favorite child— even when he was their only one. 

For a long time he was okay with that. He was okay with standing off to the side, and he was relieved when eyes weren’t on him, when no one but himself had bestowed to him the crushing weight of expectations. But as love often did to one, he’d changed his ways for you. 

Evidently not enough. 

“Baby, I really am sorry—”

“Are you? Are you really? Because I don’t know if you are,” you spat harshly, and Suna almost recoiled, like you were a predator and he was your prey. He wasn’t used to this feeling, and he was scared. Scared of letting you down, and scared of not being enough. Or worse. Scared of never having the potential to be enough in the first place. It felt like he was always reaching, but he could never quite get a grasp. 

“I am,” he whispers, and his voice is almost frail. 

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