“in my dreams, you hunger and you ache for me. you devour me with curiosity and you are eager to see me, to know me, to unravel and understand me thoroughly.”
rin notices anri first because she doesn’t look at him.
it’s small. almost nothing. but he notices anyway.
she used to greet him when they crossed paths on campus, a nod or a quick “hey, rin.” sometimes a joke. sometimes a look that said i know you’re complicated, but you’re not invisible. now, when he walks past her outside the lecture hall, she shifts her gaze to her phone. when they end up in the same hallway, she angles her body away like he isn’t there. when their eyes almost meet, she blinks and looks somewhere else.
it shouldn’t matter.
but it does.
because it feels like another reminder that what he did didn’t just hurt you.
it rippled.
it changed the way people see him. the way people treat him.
and every time anri avoids him, something tightens in his chest, sharp and uncomfortable, like a bruise being pressed again and again.
he tells himself she’s just being protective of you. that she has every right to be.
but that doesn’t make it hurt less.
practice that day is brutal.
not because the drills are harder than usual, but because rin’s head isn’t in them. he’s slower to react. misjudges a pass. almost collides with another player and gets snapped at for it. sweat drips down his spine, his breathing heavy, legs burning, but none of it feels grounding the way it used to. the field feels too open. too loud. like there’s nothing left to drown out the thoughts he’s been trying to outrun.
by the time practice ends, his muscles are shaking with exhaustion and frustration.
the locker room smells like deodorant and sweat and wet fabric. teammates talk loudly, laughing, complaining about drills, arguing about food. rin sits on the bench and pulls off his cleats slowly, like his body is running on something weaker than autopilot.
he doesn’t realize bachira has been watching him until bachira plops down beside him, close enough that their knees almost touch.
“you look like shit,” bachira says brightly.
rin doesn’t answer.
bachira tilts his head. “no comeback? wow. you’re really in it, huh.”
rin exhales through his nose. “what do you want.”
“to make sure you don’t implode,” bachira replies easily. “or punch someone. or disappear into the void.”
rin ties his shoes tighter than necessary. “i’m fine.”
bachira snorts. “you’re about as fine as a soggy rice cracker.”
silence stretches between them for a moment, filled with the sounds of lockers slamming and showers starting up.
then bachira’s voice softens, just a little.
“you and [name]… you guys really done?”
rin’s hands pause.
“… yeah.”
“like, actually?”
he swallows. “we weren’t ever dating in the first place.”
bachira studies him sideways. “you look worse than when you lose a match.”
rin clenches his jaw. “don’t start.”
“i’m not starting,” bachira says. “i’m observing. monster analysis.”
rin almost laughs at that. almost.
“anri won’t even look at me anymore,” rin mutters before he can stop himself.
bachira’s eyes widen slightly. “oh, yeah. that tracks.”
“that tracks?” rin snaps.
bachira raises his hands. “hey, hey. not blaming you. just… she’s protective. she’s like a guard dog with lip gloss.”
rin huffs weakly despite himself.
bachira nudges his shoulder. “you really messed up, didn’t you.”
rin doesn’t answer.
because the answer lives in his chest and it hurts too much to say out loud.
bachira leans back against the locker, arms crossed loosely. “you know… i thought you were just being rin. cold. mysterious. emotionally constipated.”
“shut up.”
“but this?” bachira continues. “this looks like regret.”
rin’s throat tightens.
bachira glances around, then lowers his voice. “you still like her.”
rin’s fingers curl around the edge of the bench.
“… i hurt her.”
“yeah.”
“on purpose.”
“yeah.”
“i said things i can’t take back.”
bachira tilts his head again. “did you mean them?”
rin shakes his head immediately. “no.”
“then why say them?”
rin stares at the floor.
“… because if she hates me, she’ll stay away.”
bachira blinks. “wow. that’s the dumbest logic i’ve ever heard.”
rin glares at him. “you don’t get it.”
“no,” bachira says. “i do. you’re scared. so you went nuclear.”
rin’s chest tightens. “she deserves better.”
bachira shrugs. “i mean yeah, for sure. but that’s not for you to decide for her.”
that hits harder than rin expects.
“you don’t get to choose her pain,” bachira continues. “only your actions. and you chose the one that hurt her most.”
rin squeezes his eyes shut briefly.
“so what,” rin mutters. “i just… let her go.”
bachira hums. “maybe. or maybe you stop being a coward.”
rin looks up sharply. “you don’t know what’s going on.”
“maybe not,” bachira says. “but i know this: you look like you’re punishing yourself. and that’s not the same as protecting her.”
rin’s breath catches.
bachira nudges him again, lighter this time. “you don’t get bonus points for suffering quietly, you know.”
“… i don’t know how to fix it.”
“then start by not pretending you don’t care,” bachira replies. “you don’t have to be perfect. just… don’t be cruel.”
rin stares at his hands.
for the first time in weeks, something shifts.
not hope. not yet.
but the shape of his guilt changes. less sharp. more… useful.
bachira stands up and grabs his bag. “i’m hungry. you’re miserable. let’s go.”
rin doesn’t move right away. but when he finally stands, his chest doesn’t feel quite as hollow as it did an hour ago.
anri’s coldness still aches. your absence still aches.
but now, for the first time in a while, rin understands something important: ache isn’t just punishment.
it’s a sign that something still matters.
and maybe, just maybe, he hasn’t ruined everything beyond repair.
isagi finds out from you.
not all at once. not dramatically. just in pieces, slipped into conversation the way people talk about things they don’t want to make too heavy. you don’t say rin’s name with anger. you don’t say it with bitterness either. you say it like someone trying to be mature about something that still stings. and that, somehow, makes it worse.
isagi sits there, listening, arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes narrowing the more you talk.
“so let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “the same guy who wouldn’t even shake my hand after the match… is the same guy who decided to emotionally dropkick you out of nowhere?”
you sigh. “it’s not like that–”
“no, no,” isagi interrupts. “it IS like that. he didn’t wanna be polite to me, and now he wants to go and break your heart?”
he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “that’s crazy behavior.”
you laugh weakly. “you don’t have to fight him.”
“i might,” he says seriously. “for HIS character development.”
you shake your head, but the warmth of his anger settles somewhere in your chest. it feels good to be defended. to be cared about that loudly.
later that night, rin opens his phone and sees the message request.
yocchan_11.
for a second, he thinks he imagined it.
then he opens it.
we need to talk. if you’re serious about her at all, meet me tomorrow at ueno park. no soccer. no bullshit.
rin stares at the screen for a long time.
then he types back.
what time.
they meet at a quiet part of the park where trees block out most of the street noise. it’s cold enough that their breath fogs the air, but not cold enough to chase them away. isagi gets there first, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, eyes scanning until rin appears from the path.
they stand a few feet apart. neither of them smiles.
“so,” isagi says. “you actually showed up.”
rin doesn’t answer.
“you know,” isagi continues, “i thought you were just rude. turns out you’re… complicated.”
rin exhales. “if you’re here to yell at me–”
“i am,” isagi says. “but i also wanna know why.”
silence stretches.
rin looks at the ground. at the dirt. at the fallen leaves. anywhere but isagi’s face.
“… i messed up,” he says.
isagi raises an eyebrow. “that’s an understatement.”
rin’s jaw tightens. “i didn’t want to hurt her.”
“and yet, you did.”
rin squeezes his eyes shut briefly. “i thought if i pushed her away, she’d be safer.”
isagi’s expression shifts. “safer from what.”
rin doesn’t answer right away. his hands tremble slightly at his sides.
“… from me.”
isagi frowns. “that makes no sense.”
rin finally looks up. his eyes are glassy.
“i’m spider man.”
isagi blinks. once. twice.
“… huh?”
rin doesn’t stop. like the words have been waiting too long.
“i was bitten during an internship. jinpachi ego knows. he watches my stats. controls when i patrol. he thinks she’s a distraction. he thinks loving someone makes me inefficient. and maybe he’s right because the second she got close to me, spider man sightings dropped and he noticed and–”
his voice breaks.
“and i panicked.”
isagi just stares.
rin keeps going, breathing uneven now. “ego suspects everything. he tracks patterns. injuries. locations. if something happens to her because of me–”
his shoulders shake.
“i couldn’t live with that.”
the words collapse out of him. ugly. raw. uncontrolled.
“so i said things i didn’t mean,” rin whispers. “i made her hate me.”
his eyes burn.
“i thought that was better than getting her hurt or in danger.”
tears spill over before he can stop them. he scrubs at his face roughly, but it doesn’t help. his chest tightens. breathing turns shallow. broken.
isagi doesn’t interrupt. doesn’t mock him. doesn’t move. he just stands there, letting rin fall apart in front of him.
when rin finally goes quiet, staring at the ground like it might swallow him, isagi exhales slowly.
then he says nothing. for a long time.
five minutes pass. maybe more.
rin doesn’t look up.
he expects yelling. expects a punch. expects to be told he deserves what he got.
instead, isagi finally speaks.
“… okay.”
rin blinks. “okay?”
isagi rubs the back of his neck. “this is… insane. i need you to understand that. this is not normal information.”
rin lets out a shaky breath.
“but,” isagi continues, “i get it.”
rin looks up sharply.
“i don’t agree with what you did,” isagi clarifies. “but i get why you thought you had to.” he sighs. “you’re trying to carry too much by yourself.”
rin’s voice is hoarse. “i hurt her.”
“yeah,” isagi says. “you did.”
rin flinches at the call-out.
“but you didn’t do it because you didn’t care,” isagi adds. “you did it because you cared and didn’t know how to handle it.”
he steps closer.
“that doesn’t make it okay. but it means you’re not a complete asshole.”
rin’s throat tightens.
isagi looks him dead in the eye. “and if you think i’m just gonna let you ruin her life and walk away, you’re wrong.”
rin’s breath catches. “you hate me.”
“i did,” isagi admits. “especially after that game.”
he pauses.
“now i just think you’re an idiot with too much responsibility and zero emotional training.”
rin almost laughs. almost.
“listen,” isagi says. “she still cares about you. i can tell. even when she’s mad.”
rin’s chest aches. “i don’t deserve–”
“shut up,” isagi cuts in. “that’s not your decision.” he folds his arms. “you’re gonna fix this.”
rin shakes his head. “she won’t talk to me.”
“that’s where i come in,” isagi says. “i’ll help you. not because i like you.”
he smirks slightly.
“but because i love her.”
rin swallows hard.
“and i know you do, too,” isagi says quietly. “but you hurt her. so now you’re gonna prove you won’t do it again.”
rin nods slowly.
for the first time in weeks, the weight in his chest shifts.
not gone.
but… shared.
rin sits at his desk like it’s an interrogation chair.
lamp on. window cracked. the city hums outside, distant and uncaring. his phone is in his hand, your contact pulled up like muscle memory. he stares at it until his eyes blur, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
can we talk?
he types it.
stares at it.
deletes it.
his jaw tightens. he types again.
i’m sorry.
too small. too hollow.
delete.
i never meant to hurt you.
delete.
the words feel wrong no matter how he arranges them. too thin for what he’s carrying. too clean for something that’s been bleeding inside him for weeks. he locks his phone and drops it face-down on the desk like it might betray him if he looks at it again.
he tries a voice message next. presses record. says nothing for three seconds.
“… hey.”
his voice cracks on the single word.
he stops it immediately. deletes it. exhales hard through his nose and drags a hand down his face.
“useless,” he mutters to the room.
his gaze drifts without him meaning it to, moving over the mess of papers and notebooks scattered across his desk, until it lands on the bookshelf. engineering textbooks stacked like bricks. physics. biomechanics. tucked among them, the psychology book you once teased him about.
you look like you’d pretend not to care about this one.
you look like you’d secretly need it.
he stands slowly and crosses the room, fingers brushing along the spines until he pulls it free. flips through pages without reading until a word catches his eye. then another. then a definition he remembers you explaining once, half-joking, half-serious.
synesthesia.
the idea that senses overlap. that sound can feel like color. that emotions can taste like heat or cold. that the brain refuses to keep things neatly separated.
rin stares at the page longer than necessary.
his chest tightens.
that’s what you are, he thinks, sudden and painful. to me.
he goes back to his desk and sits. opens his notebook – the one filled with patrol times and calculations and schedules that keep him functioning. he hesitates only a second before tearing a page out. the sound of it ripping is loud in the quiet room. final. deliberate.
his pen feels heavier than it should when he picks it up.
for a moment, he just stares at the blank paper.
then his hand starts moving.
not carefully. not with a plan. the words don’t come in order. they come in feelings. in memories. in impressions. in colors and weight and warmth and loss. his grip tightens as he thinks about you sitting on his kitchen counter, about the way you used to look at him when he was exhausted, about how everything felt quieter when you were near. about the way it felt to say the things he said to you and watch something inside your eyes shut off.
his breathing grows uneven.
he writes like he’s bleeding something out of himself. pauses only to swallow or wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand. the theme forms on its own without him trying – not facts, not excuses, but sensation.
how you changed the way the world felt. how everything became louder and softer and sharper and warmer at the same time when you were there. how losing you made the world flatten back into something dull and gray.
when he finally stops, his hand aches.
the paper is full.
he doesn’t reread it yet. can’t. he folds it slowly instead, careful like it might tear if he isn’t gentle. sets it beside his phone, next to the pen, like a fragile thing.
his chest still hurts.
but it’s different now. not trapped. not rotting.
moving.
for the first time since he pushed you away, rin doesn’t feel like he’s just surviving what he did.
