His Spring — Geto Suguru X Reader

His Spring — Geto Suguru x Reader

It shouldn’t have happened, not really, not at all—not then.

Careful; he should’ve been careful, and alert. For now he sat in the corner of the room, in a part he didn’t want to be at—with people he didn’t know, wearing clothes he watched to tear apart and let his body breathe—but all on top of that, stood you.

“Wanna join me in this party tonight?” Glossed lips and bashful grin—it didn’t take much, or any persuasion for that matter for him agree. Now, he wasn’t sure why he agreed, or if he did at all and you just assumed his dazed nod, something very natural he’s gotten along doing you, to be a yes.

So now he sat alone in the corner, eyes drafting to every movement of yours, your hips swung— left, right,left —he’d been observing you for a while now, anyone observing him would deem him a stalker at this point.

“What is your type in women?” The question rang in his mind again—something, weirdly enough that had been bouncing back into his mind every few days—his type? He’d wondered then, not really sure.

But he knew now, one look at you and he knew what his type was. One look at you and your silly graphic t-shirt of some anime and he knew his favourite fandom; one look at your converse and he knew his next expenditure; one look at your hair and he knew his hands were perfect to braid them; one look at you and he knew, he knew, he wanted to wait.

Wait everything out—in midst of all that was happening, in the midst of a tragedy his eyes had spotted you. Trained themselves to even see you as he slept.

To where his mind once questioned his existence, he now lay wondering if you liked poppies better of roses. To where he once questioned running away, he now knew he’d run away to you. He could run away to you.

Suguru used to feel he was nothing but a sad, lonely, tired winter, trudging along until the better Spring came about—until the spring made people forget of him- until the winter was no more.

Wrong.

But then again, could you blame him at all? In those black sweatshirts and black pants he’d assumed he’d find himself dead- in that cold shivering winter he thought he’d end—in that gloom, he thought, he wouldn’t continue any longer, he couldn’t. He didn’t know, right? He didn’t know, didn’t want to know, if he could at all live to see another Spring.

When he saw you, the question wasn’t to catch a spring or no, but the fact that he managed to and he considered you his achievement, the most prized one. He could sit and deny it to himself, as he’d tried initially but no, he ached for you. Day and night, he ached for you.

So pitifully wrong he knew he was back then, as your form approached him, a grin on your face, “C’mere,” you’d shouted over the music—so wrong he was.

For while you pulled him closer on the dance floor, of a party he disliked, he clung onto you- his dark hair ruffling to your shoulders too—for just then he knew that you were his Spring. You made him forget about his lonely, tired winter, you made him breathe. As you wrapped your hands around his neck and danced close to him, nothing romantic and yet he wouldn’t complain because Suguru lived every moment spent, had it been around you, basking in your Spring.

And as he held you close, supporting himself with you, knowing you loved it too, he smiled.

—

“What’s your favourite colour?” You’d asked with a grin, brows raised and a chart in your hand, “We’re gonna paint your house that colour!”

He’d smiled, and before he could say anything at all, “Wait let me guess,” you chimed in quickly, “Yellow? The light kind,” a smile adored your lips, a squeal bursting to escape and it did too as he nodded with a chuckle.

Your arms found themselves wrapped around him, “I know you so well,” you’d laughed and stared into his eyes—he stared in to yours, knowing all too well that until the word ‘yellow’ had escaped your lips, he was sure he hadn’t known that colour properly at all. And now that you’d said ‘yellow’ he knew he’d fallen in love with a colour too—a colour of life, he’d smiled.

But the truth lay all too bare for until you had said the word ‘yellow’ Suguru hadn’t found his favourite colour at all.

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