Stop Using Me {suna x uke male}

Chp: 14

(M/N) could not stop staring at his ceiling, his hands crossed over his chest. He had stopped tossing and turning hours ago. He turned to the side and closed his eyes, attempting to sleep.

He let Suna guide him back to the dance floor, he wrapped his arms around (M/N)'s waist. (M/N) wrapped his arms around Suna's neck. Both of their right hands traveled. Suna traveled up (M/N)'s waist to his arm grabbing his hand. (M/N)'s hand traveled down Suna's neck and shoulders, down to his hand. Now both of their right hands were intertwined.

(M/N) quickly opened his eyes, hating the fact that he would think of that. That he showed weakness for a bit. He sighed and ran his fingers through his bed-head (H/C) hair.

"I would think of weakness as soon as I try to sleep." He mumbled.

He sat up and went to the bathroom, he looked in the mirror and only sighed. He walked out to his closet, throwing a t-shirt on. Putting on black socks. He was already wearing sweats.

He went to his bed and pulled out a box, taking a few throwing knives out and a secret gun he's been hiding. Just in case no one was there, he would use his gun. Luckily, he found out that the practice room was sound proof. So he didn't have to worry about anyone hearing him.

He opened his door quietly and closed it, walking silently to the practice room. He didn't want to wake anyone up and definitely didn't want to explain why he was up.

After taking a few rights, there was the practice room. That was the only place he could remember. A small smirk made it's way to his face. He opened the door and shut it silently, he turned and scanned the room.

His smirk only widened, no one was in here but him.

"Great," he mumbled, "haven't used my gun in a bit. Hopefully I haven't lost my touch..."

He then chuckled and shook his head, of course I haven't lost it. I'm practically invincible.

He walked to the shooting area and pulled his gun out, hoping he had bullets in there. And he did.

He usually listened to music, but having to be in an unknown place- where they don't know you never miss- put a hold on that. Anyone could just walk in, anyone could find out. He needed all of his senses.

He lifted the gun up and aimed for the dummies head, and fired the gun, the sound bounced off the walls. Echoing to his ears, the bullets went straight through the dummies head, fluff scattered on the ground. A smile stretched onto (M/N)'s face.

"Ah, I missed this." His thumb tracing the trigger on his gun, "And my gun."

He began shooting some more, not once did he miss where he was aiming. He aimed for the knee, shot it, he aimed for the elbow, hit it, he aimed for the chest, went right through just like the head. He never once missed.

He began cleaning up, deciding to throw his knives since he ran out of bullets. After cleaning up the stuffing, he grabbed a new dummy and replaced it. Making it seem that he wasn't even there. He picked up his bullet shells and threw them in his pocket, a safer way to not get caught. He would dispose of them properly.

As he was walking to the targets across the room, the door began creaking open. He shivered at the sound.

How can someone make any sound this late at night? They must not be stealthy.

He shrugged it off and threw his knife, hitting straight in the middle, the bullseye. He walked to the side, to the other target. He twirled a dagger on his fingertips and threw it in the air. Catching it before spinning to the side and throwing it with his non-dominant hand. Hitting smack dab in the middle again.

"You're pretty good." A familiar voice said.

(M/N) glanced at the familiar taller male and nodded, turning back and grabbing two more knives and one more dagger. He angled his body to hit the middle of the target that was three targets away. Throwing his dagger and hitting the middle again.

"You're very loud. You aren't that stealthy." (M/N) said, "You need to be quieter."

He took his last two knives, jumping and doing a side flip, and threw them at the same time. Both hitting the middle of the target as well.

He never once missed. He never misses.

The taller male's eyes widened, "Thats a little much, don't you think?" He asked.

"No," (M/N) shortly said looking slightly up in his eyes, "I like practicing for real life scenarios. You never know what could happen on the battle field. Something could happen and you have to move in impossible ways to survive."

"It sounds like you have experience."

"Well, how else am I this good? I had to fight to survive."

He walked to the targets, taking his knives and daggers out of the target. He wasn't feeling the slightest bit tired, but he didn't really want to be in his presence at the moment.

A burning feeling would bubble up, thinking about him or seeing him, and he hated the taste. He hated the weak. He hated weakness.

That's not how he grew up, that's not what he learned, that's not what he's going to start doing.

He put his daggers and knives back in his pocket, and lazily stuck his hands in his pockets. Making sure you couldn't see the outline of his gun and shells in his other pocket.

He made slight eye contact with the taller and began walking, until a hand gripped his shoulder.

"I hope you're not avoiding me." He stated lowly.

"No, just tired." He sighed.

"Come on, Angel. Don't tell me it's because of the dance. Do you perhaps," he began laughing slightly, "had felt something for me?" He smirked.

(M/N) looked at him blankly, "Oh don't get cocky." He cheeks burned to a redden color, "I just... have been practicing for a while and now I'm tired."

Which wasn't a complete lie. Suna studied his face, his eyes scanning every inch. Wanting to find the lie, but they stopped at his alluring, soft (E/C) eyes. He was looking deep into them, falling too deep.

(M/N) cleared his throat, Suna snapped out of it. "You can let go now..." He mumbled.

"Right," he let go scratching his cheek, "sorry." He mumbled to the shorter.

(M/N) waved it off and bid a goodbye, heading to his room. Shaking off the touch Suna left behind. (M/N) left without a sound. Even with all the shells in his pocket, clashing against his gun, you wouldn't even tell (M/N) was there. He was like a ghost.