Ghosts in Love
-> Suna Rintaro x Reader
Chapter 1: In the Meat and Dairy Isle
Summary: Amidst shared streets and familiar alleys, chance encounters with your ex at grocery stores or parks evolve into shopping together and sharing park benches.
Loosely inspired by the poem "Ghosts in Love" by Carl Sandburg
Chapter Warning: exes, domestic angst lmao
Words: 1k words
Taglist: Open
Read on AO3 | Series Masterlist
You and Suna Rintaro have purchased tickets for a concert that is almost a year away.
Neither of you have canceled the booking for those tickets. Neither of you have tried to sell it off. It just lies there in the pile of your dusty emails. No attempt is made to delete it. You just let it make a home there, catching dust until you decide to reopen and read it again. And again.
It’s been 7 months since the two of you have broken up and you're wondering if you really need to get rid of them. You only mean, things have significantly mellowed down to a point where you go grocery shopping together, in a manner of speaking.
You still live in the same neighbourhood as him, so days of running into him at the grocery store, the park, or the laundromat have turned into days of shopping together, sharing a park bench, or using the same washing machine if there’s room. Cheaper that way, the two of you reason out.
So you've decided to bring it up at your next weekly run-in.
Except, you don’t see him all week. Or the week after that.
It’s odd but you don’t ruminate, you don’t have the time to. It’s the end of the month and you have deadlines that keep swamping up all over your calendar. And you also have a company ball to prepare for.
"Hey," he says, bopping your cold nose. You think that must have been instinct, because he brings his hand back down almost immediately at the touch. Like it stung to you, or that he's simply repulsed.
But you see him again, on a gloomy day. It’s raining on and off and everything is sticky. You’re sweating but you’re also cold as you stand opposite him in the meat and dairy aisle of the grocery store. His hair has grown a little, and it cascades across his face like a flood of dark water.
Your gaze is now drawn to the yogurt section as you look for the brand you usually use. A soft pink package. He lingers behind you through this, and you’re conscious of his movements. You wonder if he can see right through you, but it's a thought that only lasts for a split moment. He never really did understand you that well, you think.
"Haven't seen you in a while," you remark glibly as you toss a can of milk into your basket.
But it's a lot more intense in your head, and you find that your defences are back up. Why? You aren't sure, but you strongly believe that you will find out today.
“Yeah,” he says. You wait for a moment until you realize he isn’t going to explain himself. He doesn't have to after all.
“How have you been?” you try to change the topic.
“Fine, a bit restless. We haven’t had practices for a while,” he says. You proceed to basket the yogurt, along with some cheese.
You’re both sitting in a park now, just about to part ways before he says, “I went on a date.”
You hum in response.
—
The evening passes by as the two of you slip into the inevitable flow of a conversation.
You’re finally grateful you braced yourself for the inevitable.
You can’t say it doesn’t hurt, but it only hurts like a sting, rather than a typhoon. Right now, you’re too muddled with questions. Questions you don’t have the right to ask.
You don’t say anything.
A beat later, you ask, “Why are you telling me this?”
“I–I really don’t know actually,” he chuckles, and for the very first time, you hate it.
You hate the way his cheeks hollow into soft undefined dimples, you hate the crinkle at the edge of his eyes, and most of all you think you hate him in this moment.
“What?” It comes out before you can stop it, and nurture it into something more mellow — but right now, your anger seeps through your mouth and spits onto his face.
“Okay. Um, I really did need to leave so,” you say, and with a swoop you push yourself up.
This time you move quicker, walking away to leave but he stops you. His hand comes up to clutch your wrist. It's not tight enough for you to not walk away but you stop.
“I’m sorry,” he says and he seems genuine, which makes you hate him even more.
“It’s okay, Rin.” You say, because you could nurture your anger into something different. You’re definitely not okay, but you can pretend you think. For a bit, until you no longer have to pretend.
“Please, ca—just sit with me.” He says, and the wind blows, sending a chill down your back but you sit down anyway because you’ve never truly been good at telling him no. Not when it mattered, at least.
“Thank you,” he mutters.
You don’t speak for the rest of the time. The two of you just sit there, and your anger dies and it dies, and you almost forget about all of it, because this is nice right?
This is comfortable and familiar, and it makes you wish you could turn time back, at least in your head. But it’s abruptly met with a stop, when he speaks again, “It was bad.”
“I figured,” you say.
You hum, urging him to continue. Reluctant but ready.
“The date, I mean," he elaborates.
“I don’t think I’m over you yet,” he says. “It’s killing me just a bit, I think.” He tries to soften the sentence with a chuckle.
“I think that would kill me more,” he says soft as a whisper, you could barely hear it. It almost made you assume it was just the wind playing tricks on you.
“Want me to change neighbourhoods so you can move on then?”
Your words come out sounding a bit condescending but you have a soft edge to your voice, a lilt of humour if you will, like it’s amusing that you would ever do something like this for him. Would you?
“Anyway, it should be you if one of us is moving,” you say.
“Well, I was here first. It’s only fair,” you say, firmly.
“Me? No way,” he says, his pitch rising. “It’s closer to practice, and the home office."
He doesn’t say anything for a bit. You were here first, you were more in tune with this area than he was. Most of his favourite things about this neighbourhood are borrowed, he realizes. They're all yours.
At that, he feels a bit empty, “That’s actually fair.” He adds, “I’d rather neither of us have to move. I’d rather us be friends.”
“Me too, Rin.” You smile at him.
Only you can’t help but think about how it sounds like a distant fantasy, reminiscent of dream-addled childhood dreams where you thought of driving yourself across the country. You reassure yourself because you can drive now at least.
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