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Suna’s hand drops, then, to brush at the high of Atsumu’s cheekbone, briefly over a scrape, and then at Atsumu’s jaw and the tender yellowing bruise, poorly hidden by a thin layer of concealer, there. His touch flutters as if uncertain before he presses down, hard enough that Atsumu winces, breath hissing out between his teeth.
It’s a skill, too, to know when to stop fighting.
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Bookmark Notes:
gorgeous au. short and concise, clear ideas that hurt just the perfect amount. the way they touch and look at each other, the way they care so much, they feel so much and one as a reader can share that longing with them too. just beautiful ❤️
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Bookmark Notes:
Oh. Okay.
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Bookmark Notes:
pain.. good pain... real good pain