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It was getting to that point again. You could feel it. When you begin to question if you were truly loved. That’s how relationships were. Overwhelming happiness at first, and then…
No, you were loved. Maybe Ryomen didn’t say it as much as your ex’s did, but you knew. Only. You didn’t. Not really. Clearly you didn’t know if you were sitting on his couch staring down at your phone, not really watching. Just observing from this place in your head that buzzed, If he cares why hasn’t he noticed you’re quiet?
It wasn’t fair. You expecting him to know that you wanted him to look at you. Watching his face as he played some stupid game on a PlayStation. He wasn’t even smiling, just bored shifting a character across the screen.
Notice me.
It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t the one that had broken you. Maybe you came pre-broken because you’ve already played this game with others before.
Please.
Don’t play this game. You really didn’t want to. Truly. But the worming wouldn’t stop. If he loved you he’d notice. If he loved you he would be showing you. Really, it was so unfair to him. To play a game he hadn’t asked to participate in. Where he would inevitably lose, and your heart would sting, like it had begun to.
“I think I’mma go home.” Currant eyes found yours almost instantly at that, and something churned in your gut. It didn’t matter what he said. The game was already a loss, because you had to speak. He hadn’t noticed what was wrong. He’d failed.
“What's wrong.” A voice that rumbled in your ears, so soothing to listen to at any given time. Not this time. Didn’t matter how beautiful your tattooed boyfriend was, you made him play your mental game and he lost.
“Nothin’ wrong.” A mumble as your eyes flicked to the side. A lie. You didn’t wanna watch his face fold into that pout he always gave when he was thinking. Didn’t want to watch his eyes narrow and his brows furrow in thought, while his lips tugged slightly downward.
“Don’t fucking lie to me.” Your eyes drew back to his face. He wasn’t pouting. He was scowling instead. It was the angry brother to the pout. “I hate when you do that shit. What’s wrong. I’m not asking again.”
But I want you too. Really proof to me you care.
No. That was another game. Wasn’t fair on him. Your eyelids seemed to rim with wetness that you knew probably wasn’t actually gonna drop.
“I’m in my head.” That dark scary cave where the thought of being loved was incomprehensible. “I can’t turn it off.” The words rolling around in the dark over and over and over.
He’ll leave.
He’s tired of you.
Everyone is.
You think you can be loved?
Why would anybody love you?
Can’t he say the words this one time?
“You’re fucking stupid you know that?” Fingers slid through blush colored hair. “What is it this time brat? What’s that dummy head of yours saying?”
“That I don’t matter.” The rimming only got worse, and you were wrong. It did drop, salty and wet down your cheeks.
“Why you listenin’?”
“Cause I’m stupid,” you mumble, wiping tears up with your hoodie sleeve. Your head seemed to beat slightly, a headache born from too much thoughts and tears.
“No. C’mere doll.” Big arms opening as he gestured for you to come. And so you did, sliding onto his lap, and being smothered in his warmth. “My girl ain’t stupid. Don’t call’r that. Only I call her that, and she knows it’s not true.”
“Yeah it is.”
“Shut up.” You want to protest, but he’s squeezing you so hard your face is squashed into his chest. All the while, a large hand slides across the top of your head and then through your hair as he coos. “M’girl is smart you understand me. Her brain just a little dumb some times. Now why don’t you tell me why it’s saying you don’t matter hm?”
“Don’t wanna talk about it.” Nuzzling into his shoulder you tried to avoid it, but he’d never let you. Even as he lifts your head up your eyes want to be anywhere else than trained on those deep red ones of his. Because if your looking at his eyes, he can see right through you, like he always seems to. As if the book you think you are is just the simplest thing he’s ever had to read.
“No. Talk to me. I can’t fix it if you don’t talk to me.” The laugh it coaxed was breathy and sad. Stupid man, thinking he could fix your head. You told him your opinion on that topic many times over. “You know that I’m not letting you go until you tell me right? Staying right here until you open up.”
You were chewing the inside your cheek, and now trying to push away, but arms just engulfed you more. You weren’t running away. He wouldn’t let you. He wouldn’t be content that way, Only person that could bully you was him, not even yourself.
“In other relationships,” the words started small and quiet. “I would sit there while they did whatever the hell they were doing just waiting for them to notice me.” You would sit on their bed while they were to busy playing a racing game or they were to engrossed in their phone. It wasn’t that you needed to be the center of attention at all times, but back then in high school and fresh out it meant you didn’t always have time to spend with them. You just wanted to know you mattered. “You didn’t notice me either.”
“I always notice you.” He sounded so sure, but you chewed at your cheek before your head hung low looking at couch pillows. "Just cause I’m not actively interacting with you doesn’t mean I’m not noticing you.”
“No, ya don’t.” You say it like it’s a fact. Like there is no world where your actually noticed more than you believe yourself to be.
“Don’t I?” Head cocking he stared at you. “I pay enough attention to notice how many times you randomly make a duck face at nothing, it’s been five times right now by the way. Don’t look at me like that.” How could you not wrinkle your face in disdain and mortification at that? The face you randomly make all the time was fucking pitifully stupid, you didn’t want him noticing it. “And I notice how often you tug the blanket on and off your legs because you can’t decide if it’s too hot or its cold. And when your exasperated you’ll puff air out of your nose with a scoff as your brows wrinkle. There it is. Or when—”
“Shut up Ryomen.”
“Or when you say my name in fake contempt as if that will ever do anything other than make me grin. Come on, try harder brat.”
“Bitch.” There that grin was. Lazily and plastered across his face as if you were the most humorous creature on the planet. Maybe you were, in a pathetic sense. “I’m gonna fucking smack you.”
“I hope you would.” It was more like a muffled inconsequential thump against his shoulder than anything else. “Come on, you can do better than that.”
“You have psychological problems.” Who liked being smacked around?
Ryomen Sukuna.
“M’know, but indulge me.”
“Why?” But you smacked him away, though as usual it proofed to be fruitless, and big arms raised you up to drag you in closer, chest to chest.
“Cause it makes you smile.” And it did. In a lopsided exasperated, kind of way. Cause you both knew that you couldn’t actually hurt him, not that you truly want to, and he knew that. “That’s m’girl.”
“Shut up.”
“Only if you kiss me.” That grin still stayed on his face as he nudged at your side. “Come on, I want you to kiss me, Pretty please?”
“No.” His lips curled in a over exaggerated pout.
“My girl is so mean to me, jus wanna kiss.” Your eyes rolled at his moping, that you knew was just doing to coax a smile from you, which you reluctantly gave.
“You’re so fucking dumb.”
“Mhm, I know.” As he spoke he was dragging you up by the jaw, before pressing lips to your cheeks in seemingly random locations, something you loved to do to to him, before eventually finding your lips in a gentle sweet kiss.
Could a kiss like that actually be fake? Or that look in his beautiful slim eyes of pools of red. A look of playful adoration that seemed to tell you that your were precious. You didn’t think so, but then again, what did you know, you didn’t think your ex could fake a look of longing right before and kiss either and you’d be wrong.
“I love you.” A low grunt, and a nuzzle against your neck was what you received in response. It made you sigh. “Can you say it back?”
“Don’t you know it?” You should, because he was gentle when to others he was mean. Because he held you when you asked as if it was natural, even if you clung like a koala for hours until his limbs must have definitely cramped. Because he let you prattle about anything you pleased, even if it really was about nothing in particular. And you should have known because when you were out in public you were always in his line of sight if not in hand, and he was always peering down at your from his superior height. Always prying for your thoughts like they were a nice melody to just listen to.
You really should have known, but the world had broken you.
So with a soft sigh, and peck against your head he spoke, low almost hard to hear. “Yeah brat. I love you too.” And then nuzzling into your hair he mummers just one more thing. “Next time, just tell me you want attention, I’d always give it to you.”