exes to lovers! isagi yoichi concept please... let me know if this is something you want to keep reading
fem reader works as an aged care nurse, isagi is a professional athlete
this is the first scene of the fic, got no clue how long it'll eventually turn out to be but i do have a loose outline for it
Breakups are never easy - you know it all too well. You’re still recovering four months on after your own. It’s hard to wake in a bed that once held two, and now it's just you. In those early moments, where you’re drifting between the realms of unconsciousness and lucidity, he lingers like a mirage. You feel his fingers warmly brush against your cheek again. The gentle sound of his voice, asking how his pretty baby is doing flutters towards you. You reach for him, joy in your heart as your broken voice reveals all your secrets you’ve locked away.
“God, I missed you so fucking much. I love you, Yoichi.”
But he slips from your grasp like dust.
When you wake, you shake your head at your own yearning, a frown pinching your face.
What right do you have, you think, to crave him like this, when you were the one to end it?
So you wash away the traces of your weakness, and go about your day.
This is the routine you’ve been settled in since. Some days, you manage to convince yourself you’re over being emotional, like when you’re pushing the evening medication trolley through the halls of your work, and one of the elderly has their television playing the latest match and you see him again. Flashes of him in action, racing across the field with the determination of a tidal wave in motion. Or, if you're unlucky (lucky) an after-match interview that centres the camera completely on him. His satisfied, no, euphoric grin, the way his sweat sticks his fringe to his forehead and when he attempts to wipe it away, it causes said fringe to stand straight up. The flush of blood rising to his cheeks. It captures his every reaction, every miniscule change while he answers the same mind-numbing questions posed by the reporter about the game he'd just won.
You watch him for a moment, (your heart bleeds in your chest—) you shrug it off with a smile and tap the plastic portioning cup to draw attention to yourself. “It’s time for your meds.”
Behind the screen, he’s easy to pull away from. He can’t bring you into his arms, fit your frame against his and keep you there, like this.
You don’t reflect on the other days. The ones where you have to call in sick because the very thought of venturing out into the world, alone again, makes you feel nauseous. You resist the urge to check what he’s doing on social media then, afraid of what you might see. You wonder, if it's this bad for you, what must he be experiencing?
You’re an awful person.
But deep down, you know it still was the right choice to make. Even if your heart disagrees.
