08. almost caught
the apartment feels different when it’s quiet.
not hostile. not cold. just… heavy. like the air itself knows what’s about to happen and is bracing for impact.
you stand near the door at first, fingers curled around the strap of your bag, like you might still bolt. rin notices. of course he does. he always notices the things you wish he wouldn’t.
“you’re not leaving,” he says carefully. not a question.
you look at him. really look at him. hair slightly damp from a rushed shower. jacket half-zipped. eyes sharp, but tired in a way you haven’t seen before.
“i didn’t come here to run,” you say. “i came here because i’m tired of pretending i’m okay with this.”
that gets his full attention.
he exhales slowly. “with… what.”
you let out a humorless laugh. “don’t do that.”
rin stiffens. “do what.”
“act like you don’t know.” your voice doesn’t shake, which surprises even you. “you’ve been pulling away. again. canceling. avoiding. acting like i’m something you have to schedule around instead of–” you stop yourself, jaw tightening. “instead of someone you chose to work with. someone that matters.”
silence. thick. unbearable.
rin looks away first.
that hurts more than you expect.
“i don’t hate you for being busy,” you continue, softer now. “i don’t hate you for having things in your life i don’t know about. i hate feeling like i’m being slowly edged out without an explanation.”
he swallows.
“every time you say ‘soccer’ like that’s the end of the conversation,” you say, stepping closer despite yourself, “it feels like you’re telling me i don’t get to ask. like i don’t get to care.”
“that’s not what i’m saying,” rin mutters.
“then say something else.”
that makes him look at you again. really look. his brows knit together, conflicted, like he’s fighting himself more than he’s fighting you.
“i’m not good at this,” he admits finally. “talking. explaining. i never have been.”
you soften, just a little. “i understand.”
“but i’m trying to keep you out of it,” he adds, frustration creeping into his voice. “because once you’re in it, you’re in danger. once you know things, you can’t unknow them.”
you blink. “rin… i’m already in it.”
that lands. hard.
he drags a hand down his face. “that’s exactly what scares me.”
your chest tightens, but you don’t back down. not this time.
“i don’t need every detail,” you say, steady and sure. “i don’t need a play-by-play of your life. i just need honesty. i need to know that when you look me in the eye and tell me something, it’s real.”
he’s quiet for a long moment.
then quietly, “i’m not lying to you.”
“then stop disappearing,” you reply. “stop making choices for me. let me decide what i can handle.”
his shoulders slump, just slightly. like something in him finally gives.
“… okay,” he says.
the word is small. but sincere.
“i can’t promise i’ll be perfect,” rin continues. “i can promise i’ll talk to you. even when it’s inconvenient. even when it’s hard.”
you search his face, looking for hesitation. for an escape route. there isn’t one.
“and i’ll do better,” he adds, voice lower. “with you.”
your chest loosens. not completely, but enough.
“that’s all i wanted,” you say. “to not feel shut out.”
he nods once. firm. resolved.
when you leave his apartment, it doesn’t feel like retreat. it feels like closure. or at least the beginning of something healthier.
the door closes. and the silence returns. for about three seconds. then–
“wowww,” sae says from the kitchen. “that was intense.”
rin whips around. “how long were you listening.”
sae grins, unapologetic. “long enough to know you’d be dead if you messed that up.”
rin groans. “get out.”
“nah,” sae drawls, yawning and stretching. “i’m proud of you. didn’t think you had it in you.”
rin scowls. “say one more word.”
sae heads into the bathroom, laughing. “yeah yeah. don’t screw it up again, spider boy.”
the door shuts.
rin sinks onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.
“… shit,” he mutters.
and for once, it’s not because he ran.
saturdays feel slower from above.
rin notices it immediately – the way the city exhales instead of sprints, the way people linger instead of rushing. tokyo looks almost gentle today, neon signs reflected softly in still-wet pavement from earlier rain.
he’s already invisible when you step outside.
the suit hums low against his skin, light-bending field active, rendering him nothing more than displaced air on the rooftop across the street. he hadn’t even realized he’d turned it on. muscle memory. instinct.
just in case, he tells himself.
you check your reflection in the glass building beside you, slipping your phone into your pocket. you’re dressed comfortably, but intentionally – clean shoes, nice coat, hair done in a way that suggests effort without trying too hard.
rin’s gaze narrows.
she’s going somewhere.
you don’t wander this time. no aimless detours. no vending machines. no indecision. you walk with purpose, cutting down a familiar street like you’ve traced this route before.
planned, rin realizes. this was planned.
he follows easily, soundless above you, the invisibility keeping him hidden even as he shifts positions. he keeps telling himself he’ll peel off soon. that he’s just making sure you’re safe until wherever you’re headed.
you stop outside a small café tucked between a bookstore and a tailor shop.
and you smile.
rin feels it immediately – pointed and unwelcome.
someone steps out to meet you.
a guy. about your age. messy dark hair, familiar posture, relaxed in a way that says you’ve known him for a while. he grins when he sees you, lifting a hand in a small wave.
rin only has one thought: who the hell is that.
“yoichi,” you say, warmth unmistakable.
rin’s jaw tightens. so that’s his name.
you step closer, already talking, already comfortable. isagi laughs, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed about something you said. you nudge his arm with your elbow, teasing.
rin watches the interaction with too much attention.
no hesitation. no awkwardness. no first-meet stiffness.
yeah, rin thinks grimly. definitely not random.
you pull out your phone, showing him something – probably a text or a schedule. rin catches fragments of the conversation as the wind shifts.
“–before my shift,” you say.
“figured we could grab something quick,” isagi replies.
“i’m hungry anyway.”
rin exhales slowly.
before her shift, he repeats. so this was slotted into her day.
you two walk together, side by side. not touching, but close enough that your arms brush now and then. rin clocks it every single time.
you talk with your hands when you explain something, animated, bright. isagi listens intently, eyes on you like the world narrows when you speak.
rin hates that part the most.
it’s not a date, he thinks, irrational and sharp. if it were, i’d know.
but would he?
his grip tightens on the ledge beneath his fingers.
why do i even care?
the answer comes immediately.
because it’s her.
you stop by a convenience store. isagi grabs drinks without asking, hands you one automatically, clearly knowing what you like. you don’t protest, just smile and thank him.
rin looks away for half a second.
childhood friend, he decides. has to be.
he watches you sit together on a low wall outside, legs swinging slightly as you sip your drink. you complain about work, about a customer from last week. isagi groans in sympathy, dramatic, making you laugh.
rin’s chest tightens at the sound.
she’s never laughed like that with me before, he thinks, then immediately regrets it.
isagi talks about school. waseda, apparently. complains about workload. you groan in sympathy, dramatically clutching your chest, mirroring isagi’s behavior from earlier.
rin scoffs quietly. “of course.”
same type, he thinks. earnest. annoying. probably nice.
eventually, you check the time on your phone and sigh. “i should head in soon.”
“yeah,” isagi says, nodding. “figured. just wanted to see you.”
rin’s grip flexes unconsciously against the rooftop edge.
you stand, adjusting your bag. there’s no hug. no lingering touch. just an easy smile, a promise to text later, and a small wave as you head toward your workplace – the cafe.
rin releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, feeling something loosen and tighten all at once.
relief. jealousy. guilt.
dammit, he tells himself. this is bad.
he waits.
watches isagi walk the opposite direction, hands in his pockets, expression relaxed. no circling back. no following you. no suspicious behavior.
so he’s not a threat, rin concludes.
the invisibility stays on anyway.
he watches you put on your apron from inside the cafe, talking to your coworker with a bright smile on your face.
this isn’t stalking, he reminds himself. i’d do this for anyone.
but the thought doesn’t stick.
because when you take your first order of the day and rin finally turns away, all he can think is –
she has a life i’m not part of.
he inhales slowly.
and i so badly want to be in it.
soccer practice is already loud before sae shows up.
cleats scrape against turf, someone’s yelling about missed passes, bachira is laughing way too hard at something that definitely wasn’t that funny – and then the entire field goes dead quiet.
rin notices it a second too late.
“… no way.”
sae is standing just beyond the fence, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, posture relaxed in the way only someone who knows he’s untouchable can be. like the world bends slightly to accommodate him.
the reaction is instant.
“IS THAT–”
“holy shit, that’s SAE ITOSHI.”
“why is he HERE???”
“rin, why didn’t you SAY ANYTHING–”
rin groans. “i didn’t invite him.”
sae lifts a hand in a lazy wave, clearly enjoying the chaos.
the coach practically sprints over, bowing a little too deep. rin’s teammates are whispering, staring, losing their minds in real time.
bachira, of course, grins. “your brother’s hot in person, y’know that?”
“shut up,” rin mutters.
practice dissolves into something half-hearted after that. everyone’s distracted, glancing over at sae like he might disappear if they blink too long.
rin finishes drills fast. too fast. sae notices.
“you’ve been rushing,” sae says once they’re off to the side, away from the noise. “you usually drag things out.”
“what do you want,” rin replies flatly.
sae smirks. “missed me?”
rin doesn’t answer.
they stand there for a moment, the wind cool against sweat-damp shirts. sae tilts his head, studying him in that infuriating way that always makes rin feel fourteen again.
“… so,” sae says casually. “how’s the girl.”
rin stiffens.
“you’ve been in japan for like three days,” rin says. “how have you not found something else to talk about.”
sae shrugs.
rin looks away, jaw tight. “she’s fine.”
“that’s not what i asked.”
silence stretches.
rin exhales through his nose. “i followed her yesterday.”
sae raises an eyebrow. “followed.”
“not like that,” rin snaps. “she was out alone.”
“mm.”
“and she met up with a guy.”
sae hums thoughtfully. rin keeps talking before he can stop himself.
“they hung out around a cafe she works at. talked. laughed. it was obvious they knew each other.”
he pauses, then adds, quieter, “i was thinking about stopping by that café sometime. not on purpose. just–”
sae bursts out laughing.
full-on, unrestrained. for a whole minute straight.
rin glares. “... what’s so funny.”
“you,” sae says, wiping at his eye. “you’re imagining competition where there isn’t any.”
rin frowns. “you don’t know that.”
“i do,” sae replies easily. “because if there were something between them, you would’ve seen it. you notice everything.”
rin clenches his fists. “he could still like her.”
“and?” sae counters. “that doesn’t mean she likes him back.”
rin hesitates.
sae softens, just a little.
“rin,” he says, quieter now. “you’re not losing her. you’re just scared because you care.”
rin hates how accurate that is.
“… i think he’s her childhood friend,” rin admits reluctantly. “goes to waseda.”
“see?” sae smirks. “no threat.”
rin scoffs. “easy for you to say.”
“no,” sae says. “it’s easy for me to see. you’re the one standing in your own way.”
rin looks back toward the field, where his teammates are still buzzing, still whispering about sae like he’s a myth that walked onto campus.
“you don’t get it,” rin mutters. “she doesn’t know everything about me.”
sae glances at him sideways. “then tell her. or don’t. but don’t punish yourself over imaginary rivals.”
he pauses, then adds smugly, “also? if you’re making excuses to visit cafés now, you’re down horrendous.”
rin shoves him lightly. “get out of here.”
sae laughs, backing away. “practice harder. and relax.”
as sae leaves, rin stays behind for a moment longer, chest tight, thoughts loud.
you’re imagining competition where there isn’t any.
for once, rin hopes his brother is right.
it starts harmlessly. just curiosity.
you’re supposed to be writing an essay – media ethics, anonymity, public trust – something about how figures without faces invite projection, fear, devotion. you stare at the prompt for a long time before typing a single word.
case study: spider man (tokyo).
you tell yourself it’s practical. relevant. almost too perfect.
once you start, you can’t stop. tabs multiply across your screen. news articles. shaky phone footage. timelines made by fans and critics alike. think pieces arguing whether he’s a menace or a necessity. comment sections that make your head hurt.
you scroll. highlight. annotate.
and then you notice things. little things at first.
sightings slow down during midterms. almost disappear during finals week. then spike again during breaks, holidays, long weekends.
student, your brain supplies quietly.
you swallow and keep reading.
locations overlap. not all of them, but enough. neighborhoods you know well. streets you walk often. the konbini you stop at when you’re too tired to cook. areas just close enough to campus to be convenient.
your fingers pause over the keyboard. then you keep going.
someone posts a slow-motion clip, speculating about his build. athletic. flexible. powerful legs. strong core. commenters argue about what sport he might play. soccer comes up more than once.
you don’t laugh this time.
another article mentions eyewitnesses seeing him injured – limping slightly, favoring one arm. you cross-reference dates without meaning to.
rin missing class. rin leaving early. rin cancelling a meeting. “soccer,” he’d said.
your chest feels tight now.
you lean back, rubbing your face. this is stupid. circumstantial. confirmation bias. exactly the kind of trap you warn people about in club meetings.
and yet –
your eyes drift to your desk. your phone.
same dark teal case. plain. unassuming. you remember the one in spider man’s hand. remember thinking it was funny. random.
but now your stomach drops.
you close the tab. then another. then another.
you save the document. rename it something neutral. draft_v2.
you’re not ready. not to say it out loud. not even to think it all the way through.
so you file it away. neat. controlled. tucked into the back of your mind like a sealed envelope marked later.
outside, rain taps softly against the windows.
across the street, on a nearby building’s rooftop, rin watches. he doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe much. just waits.
your apartment light flickers once, twice, then clicks off. darkness.
rin exhales, slow and careful, eyes never leaving your window.
she’s getting close, he thinks.
and for the first time since this all began, he isn’t sure whether he wants you to stop.
© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢
masterlist | ch. 07 | ch. 09
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