[ 𝟑:𝟐𝟕 𝐀𝐌 ] 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔.

[ 𝟑:𝟐𝟕 𝐀𝐌 ] 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔.

geto supposes this is a bit odd—he doesn’t usually race to apartments and knock on doors incessantly at three am, he doesn’t usually show up in a wrinkled t-shirt and mismatched socks, and he doesn’t usually have his hair in a low bun that’s threatening to fall out any second.

but then again, he’s not usually staying up late at night and thinking about how the dude you called cute in your philosophy class is planning to ask you out tomorrow.

“suguru, what are you—”

“i love you,” he interrupts, a rushed and panted out statement, making your eyes widen. you stare at him, blinking as the light from the hallway stings your sleep hazed eyes.

“what are you—”

“i really fucking love you, and i think you should date me.”

and he does. geto suguru has been in love with you since the day you move next door to his childhood home. he’s been in love with you since the day you step foot on his lawn and tell him he needs a haircut. he’s been in love with you since the moment you worm your way into his life and bring your unwarranted opinions and know-it-all attitude, and he thinks that he’s the only one who deserves to love you at all.

the guy from philosophy (whatever his name is) doesn’t deserve your playful banter and witty remarks. he doesn’t deserve your random fun facts and ceaseless rambles. he doesn’t deserve your late night texts and whispered facetimes, and he doesn’t deserve you. not like geto does, at least, and geto suguru is not letting a mere schoolgirl crush come in the way of his carefully nurtured love.

“suguru, it’s three am,” you say in disbelief, rubbing the sleep from out of your eyes as you decide to acknowledge his (rather bold) statement after your brain starts functioning.

“that’s okay. i still love you at three am,” he shrugs, pouting to himself. he eyes your appearance, tries not to stare too hard at the way your shirt is a little low at the neckline, tries to avoid glancing at the plumpness of your lips for too long as you process his words with a soft frown.

“oh, really? you should know i’m rather grouchy when i’m sleepy,” you warn him, and then he cracks a smile—because that’s all he needs to hear to know you feel the same.

and he supposes it’s not hard to figure out that you do. it’s not hard to see that there’s love in the way you flick his forehead and tell him to piss off, or the way you curse him out as he steals your food with a scowl, or even the way you promptly leave him on read after every petty argument you have over text.

because there’s fondness in the way you fight back a smile as you roll your eyes, and there’s fondness in the way you slightly push your plate closer begrudgingly, and there’s fondness in the way you text him first the next day and ask if he’s ready to admit he’s wrong because you miss him.

and it’s an odd mix, the two of you, but your sun soaked fingertips against his moonlit skin feels as right as the sound of his name dancing off your lips, and he thinks you were made for him in every regard. so if he has to stand before you at three am and risk your wrath for waking you up, then he’ll gladly do that—so long as no asshole from philosophy is scoring a date with you tomorrow after class.

“yeah, i know,” he snorts, “you’re kind of grouchy all the time,” he adds, hand outstretched and carefully pressing against the curve of your cheek. you lean into his palm, let the roughness of his skin soothe over the longing in your heart.

“and you still want to date me?” you raise a brow.

“of course,” he says instantly, “so say you want to date me too. or i’ll resort to plan b.”

“what’s plan b?”

“killing the dude from philosophy that wants to ask you out,” he hums, “and everyone else that follows until i’m the only choice left.”

“i guess i have to say yes to avoid a lot of bloodshed then, don’t i?” you ask playfully.

but then your fingers smooth back loose strands of dark hair behind his ear, and your hand rests behind his head and pulls him closer—and he thinks maybe you’d have been inclined to say yes either way.

“oh definitely,” he grins, youth brimming over his features as your lips brush over his and seal the deal. and geto suguru has been in love with you since the day you move in next to his home, and he thinks he’ll love you just as much the day you move in next to his spot in bed too, arms circling around his waist and lips mapping his skin.

“in that case, lucky for them, i love you too.”

this is painfully cheesy but i want a soft childhood friends to lovers / boy next door trope with suguru so bad SOBS