𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐒. | 𝑡. 𝑘𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑦𝑎𝑚𝑎, 𝑟. 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑎

𝟏𝟎 | 𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙥𝙞𝙙 𝘾𝙪𝙥𝙞𝙙

━━━ 𝐒 𝐓 𝐔 𝐏 𝐈 𝐃   𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐈 𝐃 ━━━

❝𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬?❞

❝𝘶𝘩... 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘺?❞

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a/n: sorry for the delay. promise i didn't intentionally abandon y'all, it's just been a crazy summer and i haven't had time to finish this chapter. 

no tw or pain for this one, promise ;)

xoleo

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THE FAINT AROMA OF FRESH CUPCAKES roused you from your slumber the following morning. Your vision, blurred at the edges with a  tired haze, settled on the TV in front of you. Suna's room, you noted as memories of the night before returned. While this certainly wasn't the first time you had woken up in his room, this was the first time you sat up in his bed feeling, well, good. You had finally settled things between you and Suna.

This is going to be the last time I ever sleep next to him, you reminded yourself. It was a sad revelation, but one you knew would help keep the two of you on good terms.

With a sigh and an exaggerated stretch, your joints cracked back to life. There was music playing somewhere outside the door, but it was faint enough that it dared to lull you back to sleep if you didn't get off your ass.

You missed having peaceful mornings like these. Mornings where you wouldn't feel the weight of the world upon your shoulders. You nestled further into the balled up sheets.

Something on the desk next to Suna's bed caught your eye. It was a small, white envelope, one with your name written right on it in what looked to be Suna's attempt at a scripted font. You shifted your weight onto your arm, leaning over and grabbing it.

Yep, that was definitely your name.

For a moment, you sat there debating whether or not you should actually open it.

Then the smoke alarm went off.

After pocketing the small envelope, you sat up quickly, shoving the covers off of  you and practically throwing the door to Suna's bedroom open. Almost instantly, you smelled smoke. In fact, the entire apartment seemed almost foggy with the grey tint of it. Gasping was a sore mistake on your behalf.

"Suna-" You coughed. Your hand flew up instinctively to cover your nose. "Suna, are you okay?"

When you finally peeled your eyes open, your question -- if you could even call it that -- was answered. Your roommate, in all of his six-foot glory was standing atop one of the kitchen chairs, fanning smoke away from the detector with a towel. Your favorite apron was tied around his torso.