Work Text:
You knew you aren’t exactly Japan’s beauty standard. First, because despite all of the years you have lived here, as a foreigner you will always be just that. A foreigner. But being a foreigner, who’s also fat, and living full time in Japan since she was a child? Yeah, that’s even worse.
You went your whole life feeling like a shadow. Not that you cared. Your body is your vessel. Your pride and joy. Comments, looks, maybe once would have tore you down. But you are far from the small child you once were. But, despite all of the confidence in the world, even champions have their own weak spots, like Achilles had his heel. And for you, that weak spot is your boyfriend, Suna Rintarou. Second year at Inarizaki High and possibly one of the most attractive guys at school.
You are not an idiot. You saw. You heard.
The way people whispered, snickered behind your back. “Her and him? How? Did he lose a bet or something?” And it’s funny, because in a way it’s like they foreshadow it all. You didn’t want to believe it, despite that nagging little voice at the back of your head that told you that it was too good to be true. Someone like him ? Someone who was definitely going to play pro volleyball in just few years, with someone like you did not make sense. To your inner voice, to the people around you two. And yet, you carried yourself head high. And for once, you almost regretted it. Because for once, that voice wasn’t wrong.
You were walking to the gym, heading to surprise Suna, before his volleyball practice started. You two had agreed previously to meet up that night at his place, but something came up, and you weren’t going to be able to make it. So you went to see him to let him know that.
You made your way quietly, the door was slightly open but you stopped in your tracks before you could walk in. One of the Miya brothers, Atsumu, was talking to Suna.
“I just can’t believe it man” he chuckled as he went to take a volleyball from the floor. “You have been dating her for seven months now? Almost eight? That’s quite insane. Is just— you know you can stop right? We were joking. It was a stupid bet made during that tournament in Tokyo. You don’t have to date her”
Suna shrugged, barely looking up from his phone.
“Yeah. I know.”
Atsumu let out a short laugh, pausing with the ball in his hands.
“So why are you still with her?”
There was a pause. Then, Suna finally looked up.
“Didn’t think it’d go on this long,” he said flatly. “Thought it’d end after a week or two.”
Atsumu whistled low, shaking his head.
“You’re cold, man. Seriously.”
Suna didn’t answer. His eyes dropped back to his screen, thumb hovering over a message he hadn’t sent. Something unreadable passed across his face, and then it was gone.
You stepped back from the door, quietly, like something in you already knew this would happen. You didn’t cry, not at first. And especially not now. You refuse to give anyone the satisfaction to see you cry. You didn’t run. Not until you turned the corner away from the gym. And almost slammed into Kita Shinsuke, who clipboard in hand, was walking towards the gym.
He looked up slightly startled, but with his usual kind expression.
“Oh. Hello,” he said, with a small nod.
Your throat tightened. You nodded politely.
“Hi,” you murmured and kept walking.
You didn’t see his brow furrow, or the way his gaze followed you confused.
Inside the gym, Atsumu tossed the ball up and caught it again. While Suna was still paying attention to his phone screen. Just then, Kita walked in through the side door, closing it gently behind him. He looked between the two second years, his eyes settling on Suna.
“She was here,” Kita said simply. “She left in a hurry. Looked upset.”
Suna blinked.
“…She saw?”
“I’d say it’s a good guess.” Kita’s tone didn’t change, but his gaze was steady. “What did you say?”
Atsumu sighed. “It was stupid. We were talking about that dumb bet—”
Kita cut in firmly. “I’m asking what was said. The words used.”
Suna didn’t move. He stood still, eyes on the ground.
Kita gave him a long look.
“You might want to go after her,” he said, then turned to Atsumu. “You—get changed. Five laps.”
“What? I didn’t say anything that bad—”
“Six laps,” Kita said without raising his voice. “Now.”
Atsumu groaned and muttered something under his breath, but he went. Suna stayed back, unmoving.
Outside, the sky was starting to darken. Students leaving in a hurry to catch their bus. You didn’t know where you were going, you just walked, the sound of your shoes hitting the pavement too loud in your ears.
Seven months. All those days. All those conversations. The first time he kissed you under the stars. The way he’d send photos of his cat at 1 am. The way he’d tug your sleeve when he was too lazy to say “come here.” The burned cds with songs that reminded him of you.
All of it.
What was real? How can all of it, be fake?
Suna didn’t know what to do. It was night now. You were supposed to meet at 5:30. It was past six. Nearly seven. The room was quiet except for the cars passing by and the occasional buzz of his phone, not from you, of course. Some group chat. Memes. Useless shit. You hadn’t texted.
You weren’t going to. He stared at the previous messages in your chat, thumb hovering. Should he be playing dumb?
“Hey! We were supposed to meet at 5:30pm, are you ok babe?” He deleted it.
Being real? “Can we talk please?” Deleted.
His fingers clenched tighter around the phone.
What could he even say? That he hadn’t meant for it to go this far? That he didn’t plan for you to matter? That seven months slipped by without him noticing what was changing? That he was a stupid fucker?
He’d hurt you. The one person who never made him feel like he had to perform, or pretend, or be anyone other than who he was. And now it was too quiet. Too late. He stood abruptly, shoved his phone in his jeans and grabbed a hoodie. He didn’t have a plan, just a nudge. And so he walked to that little park under your house, that park where you two made out more times that he can count, away from prying eyes.
Away from the lie that for months was silently breaking the relationship. You were there, head down as you swinged yourself on the swing, slowly. Then your head turned to him, as if you could sense his presence somehow. You didn’t plan on seeing him again. But fate is cruel, and when you looked up from the swing, eyes puffy, throat dry from holding back everything, you saw him walking toward you. Slow, like he had the right to take his time.
And your tears turned into rage.
“You don’t get to look at me like that.”
Suna blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you ’re the one who’s hurt.”
He didn’t say anything. Just shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket and looked away.
You took a step closer, voice shaking. “You don’t fucking care, do you?”
Still nothing.
“All this time— 7 fucking months, you never thought, Hey, maybe I should stop lying to her? Maybe I should grow a spine and tell her the truth? ”
“I tried,” he muttered, almost too quiet.
“No. You didn’t ,” you snapped, voice firm. “What— were you even going to tell me if I hadn’t found out like this? Accidentally, from Atsumu in the middle of the gym, like I’m some pathetic side hoe in your life?”
His jaw stiffened. But he stayed quiet.
Your voice kept rising. “What was the bet, huh? What did you win? Was it money? A dare? Just bored out of your mind so you thought, ‘Yeah, I’ll screw around with the fat foreign girl for fun’?”
“…it wasn’t like that.”
You laughed, angry and humorless, broken. “Then tell me what it was like , Suna. Tell me how the hell I was worth humiliating for a joke.”
He looked up then, finally meeting your eyes.
“It was a stupid joke between matches. At Tokyo. Atsumu said I wouldn’t have the balls to ask you out. So I did. I thought it would last a week. I didn’t think you’d say yes.”
You stared at him like you didn’t recognize him. Like he wasn’t the boy who’d brought you hot drinks after long walks, who’d listened to your rants about your mom, who’d kissed you behind vending machines like the world could wait.
“So— you were dared to ask me out,” you repeated, voice dead. “And you just… kept going. Because it was funny?”
“No,” he said, too fast. “I didn’t mean to—”
He cut himself off.
“You didn’t mean to what? Keep it up for almost a year? Make me think you cared? Look at me like I was someone and not just a fucking experiment?”
You were crying now, openly. Not caring who saw.
“I loved you,” you said, and it came out quiet, but heavy. Final. “I loved you. And you—you never even gave me the decency of honesty.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
You wiped your face with your sleeve and stepped back.
“I— you….” You sigh, eyes locked with his “fuck you”
You didn’t say goodbye. Your last words were harsh, filled with anger and sadness, and just like that you turned and walked away. Your silence hitting him harder than any slap could.
He didn’t turn on the lights once back in his room. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. The silence was suffocating. His phone buzzed once from his pocket. He didn’t check it. His legs gave out slowly. He slid down the door and sat there, knees pulled up, head falling forward into his hands. He didn’t cry easily. Not since middle school. But tonight was different.
Tonight, the tears came out too easily. He didn’t sob. Just sat there, quietly shaking, the kind of hurt that sits in your bones and won’t leave. He whispered your name once. Just once.
He remembered one thing. It was early on. Maybe at the end of the second month, going on the third. He’d had a rough practice, coach chewing him out, Atsumu being a pain. His parents being on his ass for a bad grade he had gotten.
And then you. Who showed up out of nowhere with a can of his favourite coffee and that stupid calm voice you used when trying to be serious.
“You don’t have to say anything. Just sit with me a bit, yeah?”
He didn’t say anything then, but you’d both sat under that sakura tree until it got dark. His head on your shoulder, closing his eyes listening to your pulse. Your steady heart, as you calmly read your book.
That was the day he realized his heart was fucked. That he was fucked and that he had fucked up. Because it didn’t feel like a bet anymore. Because he felt like the biggest loser in the entire world, unable to say the truth to you.
He never said it out loud. Not matter how many times you said “I love you”. You never pressured him. You were always so kind in giving him his time. And now you were gone. All because he waited too long to be someone better.
Four Months Later
He never dated anyone after. People asked, teased him, tried to set him up. But he just said he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t. Not in anyone else. Not after you.
Volleyball became the only thing he could focus on without guilt attached to it. He played harder. Sharper. Sometimes meaner. Coach noticed. Atsumu backed off. Even Osamu did.
The locker room got quiet when your name was brought up. All eyes on him and he pretended not to notice.
He watched you once from across the corridor. You were laughing with someone from student council, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. Because he hadn’t seen you laugh in months, and now that you finally could again, it wasn’t with him. He didn’t blame you. He blamed himself for all of it.
(Never Sent)— Found by a first year by accident one year after yours and Suna’s graduation, in a hidden corner of the boys changing room, while trying to retrieve his lost bracelet from under the lockers. Unnamed.
Hey.
I wasn’t sure if I’d write this. I know I don’t have the right to. I’m not good with words. You probably remember that. I think.
I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even expect you to read this, if it ever reaches you. But I needed to put this somewhere.
The bet was real. I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t. I wish I could erase it, but I can’t. I wish I’d stopped it sooner. But I didn’t. Why? I don’t know. Partially because the ego boost from my friends, even if small, was enough to gratify me. Partially because
I told myself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t hurting anyone. But I lied.
I fell in love with you when I wasn’t supposed to. Quietly. Slowly. Unexpectedly. In the in between moments. The way you talked about your art. The way your accent would slip up when you got mad or overly excited. The way your body supported mine, so soft and delicate, to hold and trace. How you never tried to change me, or ask for more than I could give. Even when you should have.
I thought I could keep it to myself. That I didn’t deserve to say it after everything I’d done. But I did love you. I still do. That’s the selfish true. I should’ve stopped the second I knew it was real. I should’ve told you everything the moment you started holding my hand like it mattered. But I didn’t. I thought I had time. I thought it wouldn’t be hard to excuse. But as I replay the look on your face from that night I understand how wrong I was. I’ll never forget that. I hope you forget me someday, though. I hope you get better, and stronger, and happier without having to carry the weight of what I did.
I hope that you find someone who can love you unapologetically loud, like you deserve to be loved and cherished.
I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know that. I’m not asking for it. But if nothing else, you should know that I loved you. Not from the start. Not the way you deserved. But I did. I do. I love you.
And I’m sorry I was too much of a coward to ever say it to your face.
I’m sorry. For all of it.