Anchor To The Weightless
Suna’s fingers trail along your skin, from your hands—where his were previously intertwined with—to the sensitive skin along your neck. His gaze was soft as he looks deeply into your hazy eyes—eyes full of doubt, a faraway look gracing your features even as you look back at him.
Suna, though, he continues his ministrations—his fingers continuously trailing along your bare skin in a heavily intimate way, a show of love that you didn’t know how to unravel or understand. He isn’t sure if anything he can say would pull you out or help you out of your own little space in your head where you were currently floating around in; a place he didn’t know how to get to or reach, but he remained hopeful that his touch was keeping you grounded in any sense, keeping you from floating further away from him.
He doesn’t quite know how and why it’s painful to see your eyes set on him, yet obviously zoned out, completely unfocused. It took him a while to find his way around your little moments similar to this, but he thinks this by far, may be the farthest you’ve been from him.
You feel like you’re not really there, but Suna’s trailing touch stay lightly grazing your skin, letting you know you are there—with him, laying beside him, in the same space as he resided in.
Suna can easily recall the first time he saw you like this—affectionate, needy, attentive you—shift so drastically into a ball of gloom. He could barely get you to speak to him, only in one-word replies if he’s lucky. The contrast sent his mind into overdrive in such a way that made him feel so, so lost. He never really got around to understand you in this state, not even when he’s asked, “What’s going on that pretty little head of yours?” a few times before.
Be that as it may, Suna didn’t fail to figure out the little things you needed through it or the little sighs that let him know you were on your way back floating in your head once again; simply because he loved you way more than you can wish to understand. This was something he hoped you knew, yet he also knew you evidently didn’t.
“I don’t feel like myself, Rintarō.” You manage to speak, finally, willing yourself slightly and slowly out of your headspace. Suna only hums, prodding you on yet not with pressure but with light encouragement. His fingers now moving across your skin not with mere grazes.
“I don’t feel like I’m enough for anyone or anything again—it doesn’t make sense,” he watches your eyebrows furrow together, “I feel worthless again, Rin. I feel like I should shouldn’t be anywhere, not with you, not here—not anywhere at all.”
Suna moves closer to you, one of his hands now placed to cup your cheek, looking at you attentively, waiting for you to continue.
“They’re called cognitive distortions, it’s annoying—I know what it is but I still can’t—I hate it so much, Rintarō,” you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration, he isn’t sure if you knew but you finally held on to him, your hand now gripping on his biceps; and you gripped hard, so hard that he can almost feel your frustration through it.
“But who else would you be, bunny?” He finally speaks, saying it in such a way that he’s asking out of genuine curiosity, genuinely logic.
“I don’t-I don’t know, Rin,” you shake your head, your lower lip quivering.
“You’re my only Y/N. You’re always enough for me—for so many people, even. And where else would you be? I want you here, Y/N. Not anywhere else. Not far away from me,” he continues, he feels his palm dampen for every tear that falls and it catches.
“I feel like you don’t want me or-or that you don’t really love me, Rintarō. I feel so alone and lost, I feel like something isn’t right,” you voice out, your voice trembling with a threat of a sob escaping.
The helpless look across your face is enough to weigh Suna Rintarō down; enough to tie a knot around his throat and restain his lungs. Enough to make his bones feel like they’re about to give out—which is far from the truth, he’s an athlete, after all—yet that did nothing to stop the way he felt his muscles weaken or his hold on you tremble as he finally pulled you completely close to him.
Suna placed your head his chest, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head while his arms circle around you securely, holding you against him. His eyes close, breathing you in, like he’s reminding himself you’re still with him.
“’m still here, aren’t I? I love you, want you, need you. I’ll keep you in my arms ’til you don’t feel alone anymore, ’til you’re okay. Will be right here with you, yeah?” Suna’s chest rose and fell deeply, slowly, and evenly against you, and you can hear the steady beat of his heart as your laid in his chest as if it were a lullaby, rocking you to sleep.
Suna Rintarō was no mythical entity capable of the wonders of magic, he couldn’t possibly recite a string of words that made sure you were to never feel like this again—try as he might. He supposes he’s no anchor either, an anchor can only do so much for the weightless, afterall. Neither was he a rope that could pull you back so easily with only a tug of his hand.
“You’ll hold me even when I’m like this?” You question him, staring into the wall, too scared to try to lift your head up and look at him in the eyes.
“I’ll hold you especially when you’re like this, Y/N,” Suna answers, and it’s an answer that allows you to exhale deeply, as if you were holding your breath without knowing. Just for a little bit, you feel yourself feel more at ease. It may not sound like much, but to you, it meant the world.
So perhaps Suna Rintarō was no magician, not a god—or even a rope that pulls you back, nor an anchor to keep you grounded and made it impossible for you to float away; but he was simply Suna Rintarō, which meant, he was more than all of that—more than an anchor or rope could ever hope to be, because Suna’s soft touches against your skin were like kisses of comfort, his gradual way of pulling you close to him was warmth directly around your heart, his words never deceptive as he answers you.
I’ll love you through it all; that’s what Suna thinks—and that’s what you hear him say as you laid your head against his chest, almost sure he didn’t know he had said it out loud.
“And I’ll always come back to you, Rin,” you mumble, enough for him to hear, just before your heavy eyes shut close—it’s enough for him to feel his weakened bones back to normal, his forceless muscles to relax, and the cage around his lungs to loosen, because that’s all he really needs to know, that’s all he can ask of you—that no matter how many times you’d float away from him, you’d always find your way back, and he would make sure of it.
