HII GIRL I LOVE YOUR WRITING can i request something (btw i request it cuz i’m watching a kdrama and its about that) what if we had an ex and he was abusive (hitting us and all) giving us bruise and scars but it was like 4 years ago and we got into a relationship with the blue lock boys 1 year after our last (so with our ex) so we’ve been with them for 3years and they know the story with our ex,what if were arguing and their attention wasn’t to hit is they just lifter their hands to put it in their hairs but we flinched like they were gonna hit us,how would they react ??
do anyone you want but can you do (it’s my favs so i have quit a few if it’s too much just tell me)
Isagi yoichi,noel noa,sae itoshi,rin itoshi,meguru bachira,nagi seishiro,kunigami rensuke (after wild card),barou shoei,ryusei shidou,michael kaiser,charles chevalier,bunny iglesias,julian loki,hugo vivien
THANK YOU SO MUCH IF YOU DO IT
could you tag me when you do? cuz idk if i’m gonna receive the notification
If anybody is suffering from something like this please don’t keep it to yourself and talk to someone!!🙏🏼❤️❤️
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ when you flinch during an argument
ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, barou shouei
author’s note. dear @khelidjadezed94, your request encouraged me to step outside my comfort zone and approach a subject I don’t usually write about, but I think it is important to explore difficult topics with care sometimes. I hope you enjoy this and that it is what you were hoping for. I chose only three characters because the post would have been endless otherwise—and somehow, each character’s part still ended up longer than the one before it hehehe. I hope you don’t mind ♡.
caution. this work portrays the lingering effects of physical abuse and is not intended to romanticize or minimize them. A loving relationship cannot automatically erase trauma, and healing does not always happen in a straight line.
warnings. aged-up characters, established relationships, a past physically abusive relationship, mentions of bruises and scars, trauma responses, flinching, arguing, fear of being hit, hurt/comfort, reassurance ♡
please remember: if your partner controls, intimidates, threatens, hits, or deliberately frightens you, it is abuse—and it is never your fault. You deserve support, safety, and a life in which you are not afraid of the person who claims to love you.
Please do not feel ashamed if leaving is complicated or cannot happen immediately. Your safety comes first, and asking for help is not a sign of weakness. ♡
Arguments with Sae rarely became loud.
Even when his patience thinned and his answers sharpened, he remained controlled. He did not shout simply because he was angry, nor did he throw words carelessly only to apologize once the damage had already been done. He could be cold, blunt, and frustratingly difficult to read, but he had never made you afraid of him.
You had known it throughout the three years you had spent together.
Tonight, however, knowing was not enough to stop your body from remembering something your mind had tried so hard to leave behind.
“You should have told me sooner,” Sae said.
His voice was level, but the tension beneath it made every word feel heavier. He stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island, still dressed in the dark training clothes he had arrived home in. His bag rested forgotten beside the door, abandoned the moment he had discovered the unanswered emails and rejection letters scattered across your laptop.
“I don’t know, Sae. When you weren’t preparing for a match or flying somewhere or already exhausted.”
You folded your arms tightly over your chest. “I didn’t want to add another problem to your life.”
“You losing your job isn’t some minor problem.”
“I didn’t lose it. My contract ended.”
“And you’ve been pretending everything is fine for two weeks.”
The shame you had been trying to suppress twisted painfully in your stomach. You had not wanted him to discover how many applications had gone unanswered or how often you had stared at your inbox, waiting for news that never arrived. You had not wanted to see concern enter his face and know you were responsible for placing it there.
“I knew you’d react like this.”
“Like I did something wrong.”
“You hid something important from me.”
“Because I knew you would judge me!”
Sae’s jaw tightened. “I’m not judging you.”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to make you regret the words immediately.
Sae looked away. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he lifted one hand toward his head, intending only to push his hair away from his forehead.
You only saw a raised hand.
Your shoulders snapped upward. Your head turned instinctively, chin tucking toward your chest while one arm rose to shield the side of your face. Your entire body folded inward before you had time to understand what you were doing.
The kitchen became completely still.
For one terrible second, you were no longer standing beneath the warm lights of the apartment you shared with Sae. You could smell alcohol on someone else’s breath. You could feel the edge of an old counter digging into your back and hear a voice accusing you of making him angry.
It was barely above a whisper.
His hand was no longer raised. Both of them rested flat against the counter where you could see them, his fingers spread against the stone. Whatever anger had been in his expression was gone.
You had seen Sae remain composed after devastating losses. You had watched him face aggressive reporters, hostile crowds, and opponents who seemed determined to tear him apart on the field without allowing so much as a crack to appear in his expression.
But now, as he looked at you, all that practiced indifference had disappeared.
His eyes were wide and painfully soft, fixed on the arm still raised near your face. There was horror in them, but none of it was directed at you. It was aimed at the thought that, even for a second, he had looked like someone who might hurt you.
“I’m not going to touch you,” he said immediately.
Your arm remained near your face.
He did not walk around the island or reach for you. He did not tell you to calm down or insist that you had misunderstood him. He simply stayed where he was, making himself as motionless and predictable as possible.
“I was moving my hair,” he continued quietly. “That’s all I was doing.”
Your voice broke around the words.
His eyes lowered for a moment. Pain moved across his face before he forced his attention back to you, unwilling to look away while you were frightened.
“You don’t have to explain.”
“You don’t have to defend me either.”
The gentleness of the interruption undid something inside you.
A sob escaped before you could swallow it. You covered your mouth, humiliation burning through the fear as tears filled your eyes.
Sae’s answer was immediate.
You flinched again, less dramatically this time, but he noticed. Of course he noticed. His voice softened even further, every trace of its previous sharpness disappearing.
“Don’t apologize to me for being scared.”
“But I know you’d never hit me.”
“I know you know, mi amor.”
The distinction settled between you.
Your mind knew Sae, yet your body had remembered someone else.
Three safe years had not erased every night that came before them. They had not removed the instinct buried beneath your skin, waiting for a familiar movement to wake it.
Sae slowly lowered himself into one of the chairs beside the island. The movement placed him below your eye level rather than towering across from you.
“I’m going to stay here,” he said gently. “You decide what happens next, okay?”
You wiped your face with trembling fingers before nodding. “But I don’t want you far away.”
That was another expression very few people were ever allowed to see. To the rest of the world, Sae’s gaze was calculating and distant, always assessing something no one else could understand. When it fell upon you, however, it changed. The sharpness remained, but it was wrapped in something warmer—something protective and tender that he never bothered offering anyone else.
Even now, with guilt tightening every line of his face, he looked at you as though you were something precious rather than fragile. Someone to be cared for, not handled.
“Do you want me to come closer?”
“I need you to say it.” It was not a demand. He simply wanted to be certain that the choice belonged entirely to you.
Sae rose carefully. Every movement was slow enough for you to follow as he walked around the island and stopped a few steps away.
He came within reach but kept his arms at his sides.
You were the one who closed the final distance.
The moment your forehead touched his chest, Sae’s breath shuddered above you. He waited until your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before lifting his hands.
His arms came around you with unbearable tenderness.
There was no urgency in the embrace, no desperate squeezing or attempt to prove that he was different. One hand settled lightly between your shoulder blades while the other cradled the back of your head, his palm warm and steady without forcing you any closer than you had chosen to be.
You buried your face against him.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered again.
Sae pressed his cheek against your hair. “I told you not to apologize.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
“We were arguing, and then I—”
“And then you got scared.” His thumb moved slowly against your back. “That matters more than finishing an argument.”
You clung to him more tightly.
“I don’t want to make things difficult for you.”
“But now you’ll have to think about every movement you make around me.”
Sae drew back only enough to look at you. His hand remained at the back of your head, keeping you close without preventing you from moving away.
“I think about you all the time anyway.”
The answer was so simple, so unmistakably sincere, that another tear slipped down your cheek.
His thumb caught it before it could fall any farther.
“Paying attention to you isn’t a burden,” he continued. “Knowing how to make you feel safe isn’t a punishment. Stop treating your pain like something you’re forcing me to carry.”
His gaze moved carefully over your face, lingering on every trace of fear as though he wished he could remove it with nothing more than the tenderness in his eyes.
“You don’t have to hide the ugly parts from me,” he murmured. “They don’t change how I see you.”
The question left you before you could reconsider it.
Something in Sae’s expression gave way.
His eyes, usually so cool and unreadable, warmed until the man holding you hardly resembled the one the rest of the world knew. His thumb brushed beneath your eye again, impossibly gentle.
“As the person I love,” he said. “Not as something broken. Not as a problem I have to fix. Just you.”
Your face crumpled against his chest once more.
Sae held you through the first shaking breath and the next one, never telling you to stop crying. He stayed silent when silence was what you needed, occasionally pressing his lips to your hair so softly that the kisses felt more like promises than interruptions.
When your legs began to feel weak, he noticed before you said anything.
“Can I take you to the sofa?”
You nodded against his chest.
“Carry you or walk with you?”
The question made another tear slip down your cheek, though this one came from an entirely different ache.
Sae slipped one arm beneath your knees and lifted you carefully. You rested your head against his shoulder as he carried you into the living room, his hold steady but never restrictive.
He sat with you curled sideways across his lap and pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa around both of you. He tucked the edges around your body with meticulous care, making certain that you were warm before settling one arm around your waist.
The argument remained unfinished in the kitchen.
Sae kept one hand beneath the blanket at your side and used the other to brush damp strands of hair away from your face.
“You’re safe here,” he murmured.
You searched his expression. “Are you angry with me?”
“I was frustrated because you were hurting alone and didn’t tell me.” His fingers paused against your cheek. “I wasn’t angry because you’re struggling. And I’m not angry now.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m afraid of you.”
Sae leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours.
“I care that you were afraid. I don’t care whether it was logical.”
He kissed beneath one eye, catching the dampness there, then repeated the gesture beneath the other with such careful tenderness that some of the tension finally began to leave your body.
His lips lingered near your cheek.
There was no anger left in his face. No frustration. He looked at you with an adoration so open that it almost made your chest ache—the kind he rarely put into words but revealed in every softened line of his expression whenever it was only the two of you.
“You are not them,” you whispered.
“You would never hurt me.”
“Never.” His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you delicately. “But you don’t have to say that to make me feel better. This isn’t about protecting my feelings.”
“I don’t want you to feel guilty.”
“I can handle feeling guilty.” His thumb stroked the skin beneath your ear. “What I won’t accept is you feeling ashamed.”
You closed your eyes again.
“You never have to prove you trust me by ignoring what your body is telling you,” he continued. “And you don’t have to pretend you’re fine because you think that’s easier for me.”
Sae’s palm cupped your cheek, holding you with the same care someone might use to protect a flame from the wind.
“Next time we argue, I’ll keep my hands down,” he said. “And if I move too quickly or my voice makes you uncomfortable, tell me. We stop. No questions.”
“You shouldn’t have to be afraid of moving around me.”
“I’m not afraid, mi amor.”
His voice held so much quiet adoration that your chest tightened. Beneath it, however, was a trace of something rougher—a restrained frustration at the thought that you had carried this fear alone and somehow convinced yourself that accommodating it would be too much to ask of him.
His thumb traced your cheekbone.
“I’m paying attention to someone I love.”
The words were quiet and completely certain.
“And I need you to understand something,” he continued. “You never have to earn gentleness from me. Not by being easy. Not by staying quiet. Not by healing quickly enough.”
You leaned forward and kissed him.
Sae returned it gently, allowing you to control the closeness. His mouth moved slowly against yours, never asking for more than you chose to give. When you pulled away, he pressed one final kiss to the tip of your nose before tucking your face beneath his chin and adjusting the blanket around your shoulders.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
His fingers moved steadily through your hair, separating the strands and smoothing them back again. Every few moments, his lips brushed your forehead, your temple, or the top of your head, as though he could not resist reminding you that he was still there.
Later, he brought you water without letting you leave the warmth of the sofa. When you tried to stand, he gave you a look so quietly disapproving that you sank back beneath the blanket without arguing.
He ordered your favorite food because neither of you felt like returning to the kitchen. When it arrived, he balanced the containers across the coffee table and sat close enough for your legs to remain draped over his lap.
He did not mention the argument again until you brought it up yourself.
“We still need to talk about what happened with my job,” you said quietly.
“No.” Sae traced a slow circle over your ankle beneath the blanket. “Tonight, you’re resting.”
“You won’t let me avoid it forever, though.”
His mouth curved faintly.
The small glimpse of familiar bluntness made you smile.
Sae noticed immediately. His expression softened in response, and he reached up to tuck your hair behind your ear.
“There you are,” he murmured.
Your heart warmed at the way he said it, as though your smile was something he had been waiting patiently to see again.
That night, you fell asleep with your head over his heart.
Sae remained awake longer than you did, one hand moving through your hair while the other rested protectively at your waist. He loosened his hold whenever you shifted, never allowing the embrace to become something you could not escape, but each time you unconsciously moved closer, his arms welcomed you without hesitation.
Every so often, even after your breathing had become slow and even, he pressed another kiss to your forehead.
Not because he believed affection could erase the past.
Only because he wanted every part of you—the frightened parts included—to know that it would never have to face the darkness alone again.
And because loving you had never meant loving only the parts that were easy.
To Sae, there had never been a version of you that was undeserving of tenderness.
Rin had been quiet since returning from training.
Not his ordinary quiet—the comfortable kind that allowed the two of you to exist beside each other without filling every moment with conversation. That silence had never bothered you. There was something peaceful about sitting beside him while he watched old matches or stretched after training, your legs resting across his lap as his fingers absently traced patterns against your ankle.
This silence was different.
It was heavier. Sharper around the edges.
It followed Rin through the apartment as he left his shoes near the entrance, showered, and sat on the edge of the bed with damp hair hanging over his eyes. He had barely looked at you since walking through the door. Even when you placed a glass of water on the nightstand beside him, he only muttered a quiet 'thank you' without lifting his head.
You had given him space for most of the evening.
By midnight, however, the distance between the two of you had begun to hurt.
“You can’t keep shutting me out every time something goes wrong.”
Rin’s shoulders stiffened.
“I’m not shutting you out.”
“You’ve barely looked at me since you came home.”
“I know. I asked you what happened.”
“And I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
You stood near the dresser with your arms folded, trying to keep your own frustration from taking control of your voice.
“You never want to talk about it.”
Rin lifted his head. His damp bangs shifted away from his eyes, revealing the exhaustion beneath them.
“Because talking doesn’t fix everything.”
“No, but pretending I’m not here doesn’t either!”
“I’m not pretending that.”
You knew he was tired. You knew the match review had gone badly and that Rin had always needed time to untangle disappointment before he could put it into words. Feelings did not come easily to him, especially when they involved weakness, failure, or anything he could not immediately solve through sheer effort.
Still, understanding why he withdrew did not make being pushed away hurt less.
“I’m trying to be here for you,” you said.
The moment the words left him, regret entered his face.
It was small—a slight widening of his eyes, the tension in his mouth loosening—but you knew him well enough to see it.
You looked away before he could see how deeply the words had landed.
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Rin stood from the bed. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”
“I’m repeating your own words!”
His frustration finally broke through.
“Can you just listen for once?”
The sharpness in his voice made your chest tighten.
Rin exhaled harshly and lifted his hand, intending only to drag his fingers through his damp hair.
Your back struck the dresser with a quiet thud, both hands rising near your face as you turned away from him.
The anger disappeared so completely that it was as though someone had torn it from the room.
You could hear his breathing, suddenly shallow and uneven. For several seconds, neither of you moved. You remained pressed against the dresser, one arm shielding your face while Rin stood several feet away, staring at you with an expression that made your stomach twist.
The sentence would have been true, but Rin seemed to understand that explaining himself was not the first thing you needed. Telling you that he had never intended to hit you would not change what your body had already believed.
He stepped backward instead.
“I’m putting my hands down.”
Rin slowly lowered himself to the floor.
He sat several feet away from you with his back against the side of the bed, placing both hands flat over his thighs where you could see them. His face had gone pale beneath the faint flush left by the argument.
“I’m not coming closer,” he said. His voice was lower now, each word careful. “I’ll stay here.”
Your heart was still beating painfully fast.
“I know you weren’t going to hit me.”
“You thought I was.” The words sounded hollow, but there was no accusation in them. Only devastation. “For a second.”
You hated the expression that crossed his face. It was not anger toward you. It was horror at the idea that his movement had brought someone else back into the room—that, for one brief moment, you had looked at Rin and—for one terrible second— seen the person who used to hurt you.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
Rin’s head lifted instantly.
Tears blurred your vision.
“I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
“But you’ve never hurt me.”
“That doesn’t matter right now.”
Rin’s fingers curled slightly against his legs, but he kept his hands exactly where you could see them. “You don’t have to make me feel better about this.”
Rin stared at the floor between you, his throat moving as he swallowed again.
“You were scared,” he continued. “I don’t get to sit here and make you comfort me because I feel horrible about it.”
Rin looked as though every instinct in him was begging him to cross the room. His body leaned almost imperceptibly toward you before he caught himself, pressing his shoulders harder against the bed to remain exactly where he had promised to stay.
His eyes never left your face.
To everyone else, Rin’s gaze could be cold enough to make them look away first. On the field, it was relentless—sharp, judgmental, always searching for the slightest weakness he could exploit.
It had never looked like that when it settled on you.
Even now, there was nothing cold in his eyes. They were painfully open, every trace of frustration replaced by concern he did not know how to conceal. He watched each uneven breath you took, every tremor in your fingers, as though he could keep you safe simply by noticing everything.
“I’m not them,” he said quietly. “But I know that doesn’t mean your body will forget what they did.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“You remembered what I told you.”
“Of course I remember, dear. All of it.”
The answer came without hesitation.
The bruises you used to conceal beneath long sleeves. The scar near your ribs you still avoided touching. The excuses you had made for someone who hurt you and then cried until you believed his apologies.
Rin remembered the way your voice had changed when you first told him. He remembered which details you could speak about and which ones made your hands begin to shake. He remembered even the things you had only mentioned once, years ago, because anything that had caused you pain seemed to remain lodged somewhere beneath his ribs.
He knew the story, but he had never treated your pain like a doorway he was entitled to force open. He listened when you offered pieces of it and left the rest untouched.
“I hate that they did that to you,” Rin murmured.
“I hate that you still have to feel it," he added.
The final word cracked slightly.
You sank slowly to the floor.
Rin’s body tensed, but he did not move toward you. His hands remained open over his thighs, even as his fingers trembled with the effort of keeping them there.
“Can I come closer?” you asked.
Something fragile entered his expression.
“You never have to ask me that, dear.”
You were not asking because you believed you needed permission to be near him. You were asking because, after having your choices taken from you for so long, you needed this moment to belong to both of you.
You crossed the short distance between you and stopped in front of him. Rin kept his hands on his thighs, even when your knees touched his.
Up close, you could see how distressed he truly was. His lips were pressed tightly together, and the skin around his eyes had reddened. He looked at you as though he wanted to memorize every sign that you were returning to him.
You reached for one of his hands.
His fingers opened immediately beneath yours.
The tension in his palm eased only when you threaded your fingers through his.
Rin’s eyes closed for a second.
When they opened again, the devastation in them had softened into something so tender that your chest ached.
He moved carefully, wrapping his arms around your waist only after you climbed into his lap. The embrace began hesitantly, his hands barely resting against you until you pressed closer.
Then Rin folded around you.
His face disappeared into your hair. One arm circled your middle while the other rose slowly along your back, his palm settling between your shoulders.
Not much. Just enough to reveal everything his expression had been trying to hide.
“I’m here,” you whispered.
“You don’t have to comfort me,” he said again, voice muffled against your hair.
You rested your cheek against his shoulder. Beneath your ear, his heartbeat was rapid and uneven.
“I want to be close to you.”
Rin’s hold tightened, though he remained careful not to trap you. His arms were strong around you, but there was always space to move, always a way out if you needed it.
“I’ll let go whenever you tell me.”
“And I won’t raise my voice like that again.”
“You might get frustrated again.”
“Then I’ll walk away until I can speak properly.”
His fingers curled into the back of your shirt.
“I’ll tell you I need time instead of acting like you don’t exist.”
You pulled back slightly.
Rin’s gaze dropped, shame tightening his features.
“I shouldn’t have said I didn’t ask for you,” he continued. “I was angry at myself, and I made it sound like caring about me was something you were doing wrong.”
“That doesn’t give me permission to hurt you.”
His answer was immediate.
Rin looked at you again, his expression serious despite the dampness gathering in his eyes.
“You shouldn’t ever have to wonder whether an argument is going to become something else.”
You lifted one hand to his face.
Rin instinctively became still when your palm cupped his cheek, allowing you to decide the contact just as he had allowed you to decide everything else.
He looked away immediately, embarrassed, but you gently turned him back toward you.
“I know I’m safe with you.”
“You don’t have to say that because you think I need to hear it.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” You brushed your thumb beneath his eye. “I was afraid for a second. Both things can be true.”
Then, slowly, he leaned into your palm.
The gesture was so small and trusting that your chest tightened. Rin was not someone who sought comfort easily, but with you, he allowed his eyes to close and rested the weight of his face against your hand as though it were the safest place he knew.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he murmured.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“You think you ruined everything.” His fingers tightened slightly at your waist. “You think I’m going to start looking at you differently.”
Your silence answered for you.
Rin’s expression softened.
“I do look at you differently.”
Your stomach sank before he continued.
“I look at you differently from everyone else.”
His hand rose slowly, stopping beside your face.
Rin brushed the tears from your cheek with the backs of his fingers. His touch was so light it barely disturbed your skin.
“I don’t see you the way they did,” he said. “I don’t look at you and see someone I can control. Or someone who has to make themself smaller so I don’t get angry.”
His thumb moved gently beneath your eye.
The simplicity of the words made your throat tighten.
“The person who leaves drinks beside me because I forget they’re there. The person who pretends not to be cold so she can steal my jacket later. The person who talks during movies and then gets annoyed when I pause them.”
A watery laugh slipped from you.
Rin’s mouth softened at the sound, the faintest hint of a smile appearing.
“There you are, dear” he whispered.
His gaze moved slowly over your face. He looked at you with an intensity that had nothing to do with football or rivalry, an attention so complete that it made the rest of the room disappear.
“You’re not what he did to you,” Rin continued. “And you’re not difficult because sometimes you still remember.”
“You don’t know how long it’ll take...”
“What if... it never completely goes away?”
His answer came so quickly that you stared at him.
Rin’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you gently.
“I’m not waiting for you to act like it never happened,” he said. “I love you as you are now.”
Rin gathered you against his chest before they could fall very far, tucking your head beneath his chin.
“You don’t have to be completely healed for me to love you,” he whispered into your hair. “And you don’t owe me a version of you that never flinches.”
The tears came quietly after that.
He held you through all of them.
Rin did not tell you to stop crying or insist that everything was all right. He simply kept one arm around you while his other hand moved slowly along your back, following the same path again and again until your breathing began to steady.
Every few moments, he pressed a kiss into your hair.
They were hesitant at first, almost uncertain, as though he worried even that small affection might be too much. When you shifted closer, however, his lips found your temple, then the edge of your forehead.
“You’re not difficult,” he whispered.
You had not realized you were still thinking it until he said it again.
“You’re not broken either.”
Your fingers tightened in his shirt.
“I feel like I am sometimes.” You murmured.
Rin drew back enough to look at you. His eyes sharpened, not with anger at you but with the fierce certainty he usually reserved for things he refused to compromise on.
“Because broken things don’t keep choosing to trust people after someone teaches them not to.”
Rin’s expression softened almost immediately, as though he worried the firmness of his answer had been too much.
“You’re still here,” he murmured. “You still love people. You still let me love you.”
His forehead rested against yours.
For a moment, you simply breathed together.
Then Rin’s gaze dropped to your mouth before quickly returning to your eyes.
His mouth touched yours with almost unbearable gentleness.
It was not a hungry kiss or an attempt to distract you from what had happened. Rin kissed you as though he were reminding you that every point of contact between you belonged to both of you.
His hand remained at the back of your neck, warm but loose enough for you to pull away whenever you wanted. When you leaned closer instead, his breath trembled against your lips.
Rin kissed you once more.
When he pulled away, he pressed careful kisses to your cheek, your temple, and the corner of your eye.
The affection was clumsy in its abundance, as though Rin had too much tenderness trapped inside him and did not know how else to release it. Each kiss lingered for barely a second before another replaced it.
You let out a quiet laugh.
The faint color already warming his face deepened.
You smiled and tucked your face beneath his chin again.
Rin’s arms closed around you.
For a while, neither of you moved.
Eventually, the hard floor began to make your legs ache, but you still did not feel ready to stand. Rin noticed the way you shifted and glanced toward the bed.
Instead, Rin reached behind himself and dragged every pillow from the bed onto the floor. He arranged them against the mattress, then pulled the comforter down and wrapped it around your shoulders.
The result was uneven and slightly ridiculous, but warm.
You settled between his legs with your back against his chest. Rin pulled the blanket around both of you, keeping one arm loosely across your waist.
He turned on one of your favorite movies, though neither of you followed the plot.
His fingers moved slowly through your hair. Each time he needed to change position, he warned you first without making the words sound clinical.
“I’m reaching for the water.”
“I’m going to pull the blanket higher.”
At first, the warnings made emotion press painfully against your throat. Then, little by little, they became comforting. Not because Rin believed you would always need them, but because he wanted you to know there would never be consequences for asking.
Eventually, you caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
There was no impatience in his voice.
He turned his hand inside yours and threaded your fingers together.
“Take as long as you need.”
You stared at your joined hands.
“What if I need this again?”
“What if it happens in the middle of another argument?”
“And if I can’t explain?”
His thumb brushed across your knuckles.
“Just say my name. Or tell me to sit down. I’ll understand.”
You rested your head back against his shoulder.
“You make it sound simple.”
“Making sure you feel safe with me.”
Rin kissed your forehead and pulled the blanket more securely around you both.
The argument would be discussed tomorrow. Rin would tell you what had happened during training, and the two of you would find a better way for him to ask for space without making you feel abandoned. You would talk about how to pause disagreements before frustration turned into sharp words neither of you meant.
But tonight was not about deciding who had been right.
Tonight, Rin simply held you.
As the night continued, your body slowly relaxed against his. Rin kept his palm open over your stomach, never tightening his arm when you shifted. Whenever your breathing changed, his fingers paused in your hair until he was certain you were comfortable.
When your eyes finally began to close, you felt him press another kiss to your temple.
“You really don’t think I’m difficult?”
His arm tightened by the smallest amount.
“You answered too quickly.”
“Because it’s a stupid question.”
You turned your head enough to look at him.
Rin’s expression was serious, but his eyes had softened again.
“You’re you,” he said. “That’s who I chose.”
The answer was so unmistakably Rin that warmth spread through your chest.
You tucked your face against his neck and closed your eyes.
Whenever sleep loosened your fingers from his shirt, he quietly gathered your hand and laced your fingers through his own, making sure that every time you stirred, you found his palm resting open and harmless inside yours.
Rin could not reach into your memories and remove the hands that had once hurt you.
He could not promise that your body would never become frightened again.
So he offered you what he could: patience, honesty, and the quiet certainty that you would never have to hide the frightened parts of yourself to remain loved.
And long after you fell asleep, Rin kept holding your hand, his thumb moving gently over your skin as if repeating the words he had struggled to say aloud.
And he was not going anywhere.
Barou knew something was wrong the moment he found the untouched food in the refrigerator.
He had prepared it that morning before training, portioning everything exactly the way you liked. Before leaving, he had sent you a message reminding you to eat before your afternoon shift.
Now it was nearly ten at night, and the container remained exactly where he had left it.
You glanced up from your laptop. “I forgot.”
Barou stood in front of the open refrigerator, one hand resting against the door. His training bag was still slung over his shoulder, and the fatigue of the day lingered in the stiffness of his posture.
“You forgot breakfast too.”
He closed the refrigerator more forcefully than necessary. Not enough to slam it, but enough for the sound to make tension gather between your shoulders.
His eyes lingered on you for a second, but his concern was already sharpening into frustration.
“You’ve been doing this all week.”
“So have I. I still eat.”
You rubbed at your tired eyes and turned back toward the unfinished document on your screen. The words had begun blurring together hours ago, but the thought of leaving it incomplete made anxiety crawl beneath your skin.
“I don’t need a lecture right now.”
“You need someone to tell you that running yourself into the ground is stupid.”
“And I said being busy doesn’t mean you stop taking care of yourself!"
The exhaustion you had been carrying all day ignited beneath his tone.
“You don’t get to order me around just because you made food.”
Barou’s expression darkened. “I’m not ordering you around.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.”
The moment the words left your mouth, part of you knew they were unfair.
Barou could be demanding. He could be bossy, stubborn, and so certain that he knew best that arguing with him sometimes felt like challenging a brick wall. But he loved through actions with a consistency that never wavered.
He cooked when you were tired, kept track of everything you misplaced, and remembered which food you liked when you were sick. Barou rarely announced that he was taking care of you.
Tonight, however, you were too overwhelmed to accept care without mistaking it for criticism.
“You know what?” You pushed away from the table. “I’m going to bed.”
“No. We’re not ending it like that.”
“Then stop acting like everybody who cares about you is trying to control you.”
Barou’s face changed as soon as he heard his own words. The anger vanished from his eyes, replaced by immediate regret.
“That isn’t what I meant,” he said.
The answer came without defensiveness.
Barou lifted one hand toward his forehead, intending only to rub away the pressure building behind his eyes.
You flinched so violently that the chair scraped across the floor behind you.
Every muscle in your body prepared for an impact that did not come.
Barou went completely still.
For one terrible second, the apartment disappeared.
You were somewhere else, trapped beneath colder lights with nowhere to retreat. You could remember a raised voice, the smell of stale alcohol, and the expression on someone’s face moments before their anger became physical.
Then there was only silence.
When you opened your eyes, Barou’s hand was already down.
He took one slow step backward.
His expression was unlike anything you had ever seen on him. The anger had drained away completely, and even his usual arrogance had disappeared. What remained was shock and a kind of raw fear that made him look almost unrecognizable.
Barou was rarely uncertain. He carried himself as though the world should rearrange itself around his presence.
Now he looked at you as though one wrong movement might break something precious.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was low enough that you barely recognized it. “I’m not coming near you.”
Your breath came out unsteadily.
Barou glanced around the room, checking the space between you and the doorway as though making sure nothing might leave you feeling trapped.
Then he moved sideways instead of forward, placing the table between you before lowering himself onto one knee.
He placed them flat against his thighs.
“I was touching my head,” he said. “I wasn’t going to—”. His jaw clenched before he could finish.
“I know,” you whispered. Barou’s eyes closed briefly.
When he looked at you again, his gaze held nothing but careful attention.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No.” His voice remained soft, but the familiar firmness returned to it.
“I was worried, and I used something painful against you because I was angry. I don’t get to do that.”
You wrapped your arms around yourself.
“I know you aren’t them.”
“Not more than this.” He gestured carefully toward you. “You got scared.”
The tears came before you could stop them.
Barou remained on his knee.
He did not rush toward you, though the way his fingers pressed into his thighs revealed how badly he wanted to. He refused to make his need to comfort you more important than your need for space.
His brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For reacting like that.”
“Don’t apologize for something they taught your body to do.”
Barou’s mouth tightened around the anger he refused to release in front of you. You knew some part of him wanted to rage at the person responsible for this fear.
But he did not speak about revenge.
He did not make himself louder or larger when you already felt small.
Instead, he focused entirely on you.
“I know you’d never hurt me.”
“And you still got scared.” His gaze did not leave yours. “That doesn’t make you stupid.”
You wiped your cheek with trembling fingers.
Barou shifted slightly, then caught himself.
“You’re already kneeling.”
Despite everything, a broken laugh slipped out. The smallest amount of relief entered his face.
Barou sat cross-legged on the floor, still several feet away. His hands rested open over his knees. The sight of him there was almost strange. Barou occupied every room as though it belonged to him, yet now he deliberately made himself smaller for you.
“You don’t have to come here,” he said. “I’ll stay like this as long as you need.”
His expression softened instantly.
To everyone else, Barou’s gaze was demanding. With you, its intensity became warmer—protective without treating you as helpless.
“No, I mean…” Your voice cracked. “I want you to hold me.”
“Come to you, or you come to me?”
He did not move immediately.
“Are you sure?” You nodded. “Say it.”
It was not an order. He needed to hear the choice in your voice.
“Come here, Shoei.” Barou rose only then.
He approached slowly, stopping directly in front of you without touching.
The question nearly broke your heart.
His hands settled gently at your waist.
You were the one who leaned into him.
Only when your forehead touched his chest did his arms close fully around your body, drawing you against him with careful, controlled strength.
The safety of it overwhelmed you.
You began crying in earnest, pressing your face into his shirt as your fingers clutched the fabric. Barou’s palm spread over the middle of your back, warm and steady.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. His other hand rose slowly before stopping near your head. “Hair okay?” You nodded.
Barou cradled the back of your head.
The touch was impossibly gentle for a man who used his strength so unapologetically everywhere else. His fingers moved carefully through your hair, smoothing it down again and again.
“That bastard doesn’t get to make you ashamed,” Barou said, his voice vibrating softly beneath your cheek. “Not in this house. Not with me.”
“I thought I was over it.”
“You don’t have to be over anything on a schedule.”
You pulled back slightly.
Barou looked down at you with fierce certainty.
“Three years with me doesn’t erase what happened before,” he said. “And I’m not keeping score every time you get scared.”
“You don’t think I’m afraid of you, do you?”
“You flinched because someone hurt you.” His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye.
“You came to me because you trust me.”
Barou’s hand remained against your face, his fingers loose enough for you to move away.
“You don’t have to defend me,” he continued. “I know who I am. And I know who you are.”
“How do you see me?” Barou’s brows drew together, as though he could not understand why you needed to ask.
He clicked his tongue immediately.
Despite everything, a weak smile appeared.
“I mean you’re my person,” he said, more awkwardly. “The one I come home to. The one who leaves their things everywhere and complains when I put them away properly.”
“I don’t leave them everywhere.”
You let out a watery laugh.
Barou’s thumb caught another tear before it reached your chin.
“The one who steals food from my plate after saying they aren’t hungry,” he continued. “The one who somehow loses their phone while holding it.”
His mouth twitched, but his gaze remained tender.
“I don’t look at you and see what they did to you,” Barou said. “And I don’t look at you and see someone weak.”
His palm shifted to the back of your neck.
“You survived them. That doesn’t mean you have to act strong every second.”
Something inside you gave way. Barou bent his head but stopped before his mouth reached your forehead.
His lips pressed against your skin.
The kiss lingered, warm and impossibly soft. Then another landed at your temple, followed by one against your hairline.
Barou watched the fear slowly begin to leave your face.
“You never have to prove anything to me by pretending you aren’t afraid,” he murmured.
Your fingers loosened in his shirt.
“And you don’t have to heal faster because I treat you right.”
“That’s the minimum,” he continued. “I’m supposed to treat you right.”
Another tear slipped free. Barou wiped it away.
“You don’t owe me some perfect version of yourself because I’m gentle with you.” He pressed another kiss to your forehead. “You deserve that.”
You buried your face against his chest again.
Barou’s arms closed around you, one palm moving slowly up and down your back.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” he murmured. “I was wrong.”
Barou did not apologize often, but he never offered the words halfway or hid behind excuses.
“I’m sorry too,” you said. “You were trying to take care of me.”
His expression became stern again, though his hands remained gentle.
“And you’re still eating.”
“Not this second,” he conceded.
The familiar authority in his voice settled around you like something solid and dependable.
He brushed another tear from your cheek.
“First, I’m putting you on the sofa. With permission.”
Barou slipped one arm beneath your knees and lifted you against his chest. His strength made the movement effortless, but he adjusted his grip carefully, making sure you never felt restrained.
He lowered you onto the sofa, arranged the cushions behind your back, and wrapped you in the thickest blanket he could find.
Your hand shot out and caught his wrist before you could stop yourself.
Barou looked down at your fingers.
His expression softened immediately.
“I’m making tea,” he explained. “I’ll stay where you can see me.”
You released him slowly. “Okay.”
He did exactly as promised, moving around the kitchen without turning his back to you for long or setting anything down too loudly.
The kettle heated while he reheated the food you had skipped.
When he returned, he placed everything on the table before sitting beside you.
“Can I get under there?” You lifted the edge of the blanket. Barou settled beneath it, and you immediately curled into his side.
His arm came around your shoulders while your head rested against his chest. He adjusted the blanket over your legs before placing the warm mug between your hands, keeping his own around yours until he was certain you could hold it steadily.
“You don’t have to do everything for me,” you murmured.
Barou looked down at you as though the answer should have been obvious.
He held the mug for you until your hands stopped shaking. When you finally managed a sip, his thumb brushed across your knuckles.
“That’s enough for now, love.”
After a while, he held a piece of fruit near your mouth.
“You said that about dinner.”
You gave him a tired glare.
Barou raised one eyebrow.
The firmness was familiar enough to make you smile.
He stayed patient through several bites until some color returned to your face.
At one point, you caught him staring.
Barou looked away. “Nothing.”
“You were looking at me.”
His gaze returned to your face.
“That you’re still here.”
The honesty in his voice caught you off guard.
You placed the mug down and curled more closely into his side.
Barou’s arm tightened around you, secure without becoming restrictive.
His lips pressed briefly against the top of your head.
Later, after you had eaten enough to satisfy him, Barou carried you to the bedroom. He helped you change into one of his shirts, turning his back while you undressed even though he had seen you countless times before.
Tonight, he seemed determined to give you control over every possible vulnerability.
When you were ready, he turned down the lights and climbed into bed beside you.
You settled with your cheek over his heart.
His fingers moved in slow circles against your back.
“Are we still arguing?” you asked drowsily.
Barou was silent for a moment.
You lifted your head. “Don’t be.”
His hand cupped your cheek.
“You stopped the second you realized.”
“I’ll stop sooner next time.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
The certainty in his voice made it clear that Barou had already begun memorizing every detail: the volume he had used, the movement of his hand, and the words that had cut too close.
“You don’t have to monitor every movement,” you whispered.
“I’m not monitoring myself, love.”
“What are you doing, then?”
His thumb traced your cheekbone.
“You matter enough for me to learn.”
Your expression crumpled. Barou sighed softly and pulled you closer.
“Don’t start crying again.”
“You said something sweet.”
“That isn’t saying something.”
A quiet laugh escaped you.
Barou looked down at you, and something warm moved through his expression.
The rest of the world saw the King: arrogance, discipline, and certainty.
You saw the way his eyes softened when you laughed after crying and the way his chest loosened only when he knew you were safe.
To you, his attention felt like being guarded.
“You’re staring again,” you whispered.
Barou clicked his tongue.
“You are annoying, love.” There was no irritation in the words.
You rested your cheek against his chest again.
“And you’re not skipping meals tomorrow,” he added.
“You’re ruining the moment.”
A small smile touched your lips.
Barou’s arms tightened around you.
“Good,” he murmured into your hair. “Then sleep. Your King’s right here.”
You laughed softly, and the sound seemed to loosen the last of the tension in his body.
For several moments, his fingers continued tracing slow circles against your back.
“What if I flinch again?”
“You won’t think I’m afraid of you?”
“I’ll think you got scared.”
“And if I can’t explain why?”
His hand resumed its movement.
“You tell me to stop, and I stop.”
“Then I’ll stay still until you’re ready.”
Your fingers curled against his shirt.
“You’ve thought about this.”
“You only found out a few hours ago.”
“I don’t need hours to decide I’m not letting you deal with it alone.”
Barou noticed immediately.
His hand moved to the back of your head, guiding you closer.
“Fine. Cry.” The blunt permission made your chest ache. “I’ve got you.”
There was no poetry in the way Barou said it. Only certainty—the same certainty with which he entered every match believing he would win.
He loved you with that certainty too.
Not carefully because he believed you were weak, but because he understood your trust was something valuable.
Barou pressed another kiss to your forehead.
“You don’t have to be easy to love,” he said.
He looked down at you, eyes fierce despite the tenderness of his touch.
“And I don’t want to hear you calling yourself difficult again.”
The simple answer settled deeply inside you.
Barou’s thumb brushed beneath your eye.
“You’re stubborn. You leave a mess everywhere. You forget to eat when you’re busy, and you argue when someone tells you to take care of yourself.”
“That doesn’t sound comforting.”
“You’re also the first person I look for when I come home.”
“The only person I trust to see me when I’m tired or angry or not at my best.”
His fingers moved carefully through your hair.
“And you’re the person I chose.”
The words were quiet, but coming from Barou, they felt like a vow.
“So stop acting like one bad night is going to make me look at you differently.”
“Do you look at me differently now?”
“Yes.” Your heart sank for only a second before he continued. “Now I know I need to be more careful.” His palm settled against your cheek. “That’s it.”
You leaned into his touch.
Barou watched you with an expression so tender that anyone else would have struggled to recognize him.
There was no pity in it. Only a fierce, steady love that refused to let the past decide what you deserved now.
You lifted yourself slightly and kissed him.
Barou returned it immediately, but his hand remained loose against your cheek. The kiss was gentle, almost unusually so, his lips moving against yours with a restraint that made warmth spread through your chest.
When you pulled away, he followed for one final, softer kiss.
You settled against him again.
His fingers continued rubbing your back long after your eyes closed.
Whenever you shifted in your sleep, Barou loosened his hold so you would never feel trapped. Whenever you moved closer, he tucked the blanket more securely around you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
His love could not rewrite the moments you spent with your ex.
It could not erase the bruises that had faded or remove the fear that sometimes returned without warning.
But it could offer you something different.
A home where raised hands only reached for you with permission.
A voice that could be demanding without ever becoming threatening.
Arms strong enough to hold you, but gentle enough to loosen the moment you needed space.
In the quiet safety of Barou’s embrace, you were slowly learning that care did not have to hurt.
And Barou, stubborn and proud and unwavering, intended to remind you as many times as necessary.
Not because he thought you were broken.
Not because he expected his love to heal everything.
Simply because you were his person.
And to Barou, that meant no frightened part of you would ever have to face the darkness alone again.
i'm not crying... you are. 😭😭😭
