Speak to Me Softly
Shuri x POC reader
Summary: You avoid Shuri after an argument you had. A week after, you attend a street fighting tournament--something you promised her you wouldn't do again. When you come back home, you find Shuri waiting for you.
or
Shuri intends to confront you until you break down crying.
Word count: 1045
It’s late—way too late. You hope Shuri’s asleep, though you know her well enough to sense she isn’t.
Your hand hovers over the door handle as you think of what you’ll tell her if she asks…when she asks. You can lie. You can tell her that the bruises on your face came from a mugging, and the bruises on your knuckles came from fending them off.
No, that won’t work. And even if it did, you aren’t particularly fond of the Black Panther roaming your hometown stalking citizens she suspects as your fictional muggers.
The point is, you can’t tell her about the tournament; not when you promised her you would stop. But god, you were itching to go back into the ring, especially after the argument you had with Shuri a week ago.
The fight between you two ended up causing a lot more damage than expected. The things you told each other replay vividly in your head. The only thing you found distracting was the local boxing gym you went to only a few blocks away. One thing led to another and a buddy of yours convinced you to attend a match in an underground tournament. You were at your worst at this point. Shuri wasn't talking to you either. Perhaps part of you did this out of spite.
Now here you are holding your breath as you slowly open the door to your apartment. It’s dark inside. Quiet.
Maybe she is asleep.
Before you turn on the flashlight on your phone, the lamp switches on with Shuri seated on the couch next to it. Shit.
You keep your hood on and stuff your hands in the pockets of your hoodie, ensuring she doesn't see the brutal marks on your body that weren’t there when she last saw you.
Flicking your eyes to the ceiling, your shoulders sway to the kitchen.
“Sit.”
You purse your lips, eyeing the fridge. Orange juice sounds a lot better than another argument. “I’m thirsty,” you murmur.
“I’m sure you are.” She tilts her head to the couch. “Put your bag down and sit.”
With a clenched jaw, you prevent your girlfriend from repeating herself for the third time. You remove the duffel bag from your body, drop it where you stood, and join her on the couch while keeping the distance between the two of you. Your forearms sit on your thighs as you lean forward, training your eyes on the black television screen ahead of you.
“Look at me,” she demands. Not even a ‘where were you?’
Your head doesn’t turn. You sit there with bated breath, unsure what to do. Your fingers fidget with each other beneath your pocket. You wish you hadn’t come back.
You hear Shuri inhale deeply before she shifts closer to you. She lays a hand on your knee, gently but firmly pressing your leg down to cease its bouncing.
“Baby.” Her voice is soft this time. So soft. “Can you let me see your face? Please?”
Your vision starts to blur. You don’t know why.
Shuri pulls down your hoodie while using her other hand to rotate your face toward her.
“You went back,” she states instead of questions.
You continue to avoid her eyes. You don’t need to see them to know they’re hued with disappointment.
“You told me you wouldn’t.”
A tear rolls down your cheek. You were thinking of all these excuses—all the things you could say to prevent this conversation from happening, and yet not a lick of it could escape your tongue.
She whispers your name. “Look at me, please.”
You don’t want to. Your lips can’t help but pout as you stubbornly keep yourself from crying. You just beat the shit out of your opponent two hours ago, and now you were close to breaking down in front of your girlfriend.
Nonetheless, you reluctantly bring your tired eyes to hers. There’s nothing but undeserved love in her dark brown eyes.
Fuck. Here come the waterworks.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I know that I- that I promised you I wouldn’t,” you’re all sniffles at this point, “and that it’s not good for me, and I—”
Shuri caresses your cheek. “Breathe, my love.”
“I was just…” Breathe.
Your girlfriend nods, encouraging you to continue.
“I was just frustrated because of the…” you try to slow down. “Because of the fight we had.”
Shuri hums in response, wiping some of the wetness from your face.
“And I know it’s not an excuse. It’s- it’s not. But when we weren’t talking…I just,” your lips quiver, “I didn’t know what to do.”
Shuri leans her forehead against yours.
“I didn’t know what to do,” you murmur, mostly to yourself this time. “I’m sorry.”
Shuri removes your hands from your pockets. Leaning away, she inspects the swelling. She kisses your right knuckle.
“We’re gonna have to discuss this.”
You look down at your lap. Your pants are soaked in salty tears.
Shuri lifts your chin up. “But we’ll hold off for now. Okay?”
Your shoulders drop and all you do is nod childishly, exhaling.
Shuri’s eyes are glossy. She hates seeing you like this. That’s why she made you promise to stop street fighting in the first place.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Shuri lets you sit in the bathtub as she helps bathe you. Every few minutes she’ll kiss your cheek, your temple, or your lips to assure you she isn’t mad.
She’s frustrated, obviously. However, seeing you break was enough for her to pause. Until she realized how anxious you were, she intended on confronting you and talking about the argument from the other night.
And it wasn’t solely tonight. You avoided her all week before today, too ashamed to face her after the things you said during your fight—too sad to face her after the things she told you.
Shuri wrings out the washcloth, observing you as you sit in thought. Your face always tattles on your feelings; a blessing and a curse.
“Did you win?” She asks, pulling you out of your head.
You look at her, eyebrows raised. “Hm?”
She smiles, pecking your lips. “Did you win, my love?”
You huff out a chuckle.
“Yeah.” You rub your nose against hers. “I won.”
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