⋆ ˚ ʚ . he has his own flowstate on the field. but what’s his flowstate with you?
꒰ otoya eita ꒱ he loves football, no doubt, but it tires the fuck out of him. he comes home sweaty, his mind racing with whatever new thing he learned at practice just wanting to smoke a joint with you and calm down. he genuinely reaches flowstate when he’s finally sitting next to you in the balcony, your playlist playing (preferably you and his song) in the background. he gets giggly and sometimes even gets the munchies, but most of all he’s calm. it’s peaceful and he’s with you. soaking up each others presence as he just forgets about his day.
꒰ itoshi rin ꒱ he lives waking with you while sharing airpods with you. his hands intertwined with yours. no words, no one bothering him, no thoughts about his brother taking over his head, just you; even when your hand gets sweaty and you refuse to skip a song that he hates, his flowstate doesn’t get interrupted cause all he needs is you next to him and the light breeze of the air brushing through his air and the sun sets, a warm pink and orange gradient taking over the sky as you yap his ear off about your day. he’ll even chime in a say a few things if he’s happy enough.
꒰ itoshi sae ꒱ this man is all football football football and you. so it’s no surprise when his idea of a good time is replaying football matches as you scratch his hair. he genuinely reaches flowstate especially when you have sharp nails and not square ones. gets so mad when you interrupt set flow because you get distracted tracing or doing something so he’ll physically pry your hand off your phone or whatever, ignoring you protests, just so he can relax again and plan whatever he plans in his head for his future matches.
❦ a/n — I feel like this fic sucks bc I didn't know how to word it. Also! Sorry if Vivian is OOC!
❦ word count — 1.4k
❦ content — vivian hugo x fem reader, fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, not much else, not proofread !
❦ synopsis — Vivian Hugo wouldn't think that the movers changed his locks, but he does. He also wouldn't think that his girlfriend would be playing realtor, but she is.
── ❦ do you want the house tour? i could take you to the 1st, 2nd, 3rd floor!
By the time Vivian finally pulled into the driveway, he was exhausted.
The game had, luckily, only been three cities away. Unluckily, however, was that the bus ride home felt endless. His phone battery had died halfway through the trip, leaving him completely disconnected from the world for hours, unless you count staring out the window while listening to his teammates snoring connected.
All he wanted was a shower, a meal that wasn't stadium food, and maybe an hour to simply sit and complain about every little thing to you while you played with his hair.
But now, here he was…and the house looked different than it had when he'd left.
Not because anything major had changed. Just because it was finally yours.
There was no real estate agent always looming anymore. No contractors fixing the small things that Vivian insisted needed to be done. No paperwork sitting on every surface. No endless discussions about interest rates and mortgages anymore.
The porch light glowed warmly against the dark evening sky. Now it was just home.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he looked at the house.
You'd spent the entire day supervising movers while he was away and he'd felt guilty about missing it.
Moving into your first house together was supposed to be something you experienced side-by-side. Instead, you'd handled most of it alone while he was traveling and playing.
He grabbed his duffel bag and climbed the front steps. mThen he slid his key into the lock.
And…nothing happened. Vivian frowned and tried again.
Still nothing.
A third attempt earned him the same result, "...What?"
Had they changed the locks? Could you even do that in one day? Was there a need for that?
Before he could investigate further, the front door swung open.
And every thought he might have had immediately disappeared.
You stood in the doorway wearing an elegant black dress.
The kind of dress that belonged at a fancy restaurant. Or a charity gala. Or literally anywhere except a half-unpacked house.
Your hair was styled and your makeup was done. And tucked beneath one of your arms was a clipboard.
Vivian blinked, "Oh, shit." Your smile faltered, "What?"
Immediately, panic settled in.
Anniversary.
It had to be an anniversary.
But he had those written in his phone calendar. And his physical calendar. He wouldn’t make a mistake as big as that.
It had to be a reservation.
But…you would have told him. And usually he made the reservations…okay not that either.
Maybe it was some important event he'd forgotten.
His brain started desperately searching through every date he could think of.
Your birthday?
No.
His birthday?
Definitely not.
Valentine's Day?
No, wrong month.
First date?
First kiss?
The day he'd said I love you?
The day he'd given you a key to his old apartment?
The day you'd bought the house?
Were people supposed to celebrate that?
"Oh my God."
You stared, "What, Viv? What’s the matter-"
"Did I forget something?" He blurted it out, eyes squeezed shut because he was sure there was something he’d forgotten.
There was a brief moment of confusion. Then realization dawned on your face and you burst into laughter.
Vivian groaned, "Oh, come on."
"You think I dressed up because you forgot an anniversary?"
"Yes..?” You laughed even harder. His shoulders finally relaxed.
Okay. So he wasn't in trouble.
That was good.
Then you straightened, your expression suddenly becoming serious and scarily professional. You adjusted the clipboard you were holding, "Good evening, sir."
Vivian immediately pointed at you, "No." You ignored him, "Welcome to your private showing."
"No."
"Today I'll be presenting a truly exceptional property."
"Baby." He was all but begging you to drop the act.
"A property recently listed on the market."
He shook his head, "Not anymore. It’s our house." You gave him a small smile, "A property featuring one handsome professional football player."
Vivian covered his face, "Oh my God." "And one incredibly attractive homeowner." You added.
"Please stop."
"Would you like a tour?"
He sighed. The long-suffering sigh of a man who had been dating you for years. "...Do I have a choice?"
"No."
"Thought so."
You immediately grabbed his wrist, "Excellent. Follow me."
Before he could even set his duffel bag down, you were dragging him into the foyer. The foyer that currently consisted of sixteen boxes, one lamp, and a dining chair that appeared to have lost a fight with a bear if Vivian could guess by the amount of scratches on the wooden legs.
You spread your arms dramatically, "As you can see, the home features an open concept entryway."
"It's open because we haven't unpacked." Vivian mumbled, too entranced in your little act to actually say it out loud.
You gasped, "Sir, please refrain from insulting the property."
He gave you a look, "It's literally my property." You pointed to yourself, "No, it’sd my property."
"We both signed the paperwork."
You waved a hand at him, playfully dismissing his comment, "Technicalities."
Vivian laughed and the tour continued.
To the living room. Through the office. You even let him see the guest bedroom. You dramatically tried to sell him on the backyard.
Every room received an increasingly ridiculous presentation.
The living room apparently featured "state-of-the-art TV space."
The office boasted "excellent potential for avoiding your responsibilities."
The backyard offered "unlimited opportunities for touching grass."
By the time you showed him the laundry room, Vivian was already fighting a smile.
You threw open the door dramatically, "And now, one of the home's most exciting features." He knew his face was borderline in a full smile, "The laundry room?"
"The laundry room." You pointed proudly toward the washer, "It works." Vivian stared at you like you were crazy. Then laughed so hard he had to lean against the doorframe, "That's your sales pitch?"
"Do you know how many apartments I've had with broken laundry machines?"
"...Right. Okay I’m sold on the laundry room." You smiled victoriously, "Damn right."
The longer the tour went on, the more relaxed he became.
His exhaustion didn't disappear. But he felt less tired, more alive when he was with you.
Because every ridiculous joke reminded him that he was finally home with you. And that was all he'd wanted.
Eventually, you led him upstairs where the hallways were lined with unopened boxes.
The walls still looked strangely bare. Nothing was fully settled yet. But somehow it already felt like you two were right at home.
You stopped outside the last room then cleared your throat, "And finally, sir."
Vivian folded his arms, "Yes?"
You pushed open the door to the master bedroom.
Boxes lined the walls. Half the closet remained empty. The comforter wasn't even fully put on.
Yet it somehow felt more complete than every other room combined.
You stepped inside and Vivian followed.
Then you turned dramatically, stretching out your arms, "And finally, sir, we arrive at the master bedroom."
Vivian stared at you. Then he looked around the room and then back at you, "We've been in the master bedroom before."
You waved your hand in his face, "Details." "Pretty important details."
You ignored him, "As you can see, the room is spacious, inviting, and perfect for relaxation."
Vivian pointed at one of the many boxes you two had to still unpack, "There's a box of Christmas Decorations. It’s May." You looked at the box too, "It adds character."
Vivian snorted at your explanations. You stepped closer, "And the best feature?"
"Mhm?"
You nodded seriously. Then grabbed the front of his jacket, "Is this..."
Before he could respond, you pulled him down and kissed him. The surprised noise that escaped him made you grin.
His hands immediately found your waist like it was instinct.
You smiled into the kiss and let yourself fall backward.
A laugh escaped him as you dragged him down with you. The mattress bounced beneath your combined weight.
"Jesus-"
You giggled, "See? Comfortable." Vivian shook his head, smiling despite himself, "You're unbelievable." "I've been told." You reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The room wasn't finished.
The house wasn't finished.
There were still boxes everywhere.
Still things to unpack.
Still so much room for memories left to make.
Your smile softened, "So…" "So?" He raised an eyebrow at you, although you couldn’t quite tell because of his hair was in his face.
"Did you like the tour?"
Vivian glanced around the room one last time.
Then looked back at you.
His gaze was warm, fond. He was hopelessly in love.
He leaned closer until his forehead touched yours. "I think," he murmured, "I need another one."
Your laugh barely escaped before he kissed you again.
And even if you were surrounded by cardboard boxes and unfinished plans and a hope of the future you would built together, Vivian decided there wasn't a single place in the world he'd rather be.
on the off chance that someone sees this. please recommend me some (preferably long) completed JJK, Genshin, or BlueLock fics or smaus or both. i can’t find any. please and thank you.
wwwwud u write for eishtar (me) x yukimiya… answer when u feel like writing hehe
CHILDHOOD BSF! YUKI
Childhood best friend!Yukimiya who you grow up with til the age of 12 until he has to leave due to his mother's decision of him being a model. Despite him not wanting to leave you behind he goes and enjoys the start of his career. You've motivated him to do his best and so he will pour all his passion into becoming a model until the fateful day that you two will meet again.
His career takes off and he ends up entering a prestigious program at the age of 15 for models. Yukimiya ends up competing with various models for brands and despite his workload he still can't forget you; he prays he can see you again soon.
A year later he entered a distinguished college and unbeknownst to him you entered the same one.
Yukimiya felt unprepared—suddenly he wished he didn't pray that it would come so soon, and suddenly it occurred to him that perhaps you weren't just a close childhood friend who aided him, you were something more; his childhood sweetheart.
Stupidly enough, Yukimiya realised in the moment that he could've just asked his mom for your contact info instead of waiting for this fateful day.
BlueLock
Kunigami Rensuke x g/n!reader
TW: swearing, fluff, casual conversation, reader is a little odd, nice and considerate Kunigami
Word Count: 7.8K
Summary: You meet Kunigami once more by chance, getting more acquainted with him in the process. His normalcy and friendliness makes you wonder, are the vibes you're getting warranted? Or are you making something from nothing at all.
Side Note: FINALLY. After A WHOLE YEAR- part 2 arrives. I’m SO sorry for how stupidly behind this is- it’s kind of ridiculous. But please stick around!! I plan to make updates on this fic more regular.
Another note: I just wanna say I’m making the reader have a messy head on purpose. This could be interpreted as on the neurodivergent spectrum and/or as mental illness. While I don’t think I could ever fully capture how it is to be not neurotypical into exact words from my own experience, hopefully the characteristics displayed will add more substance to the story while giving representation to those who experience the same unorganized headspace and spiritic thoughts the reader does. Any constructive criticism to how I portray this in writing is very welcome :) ENJOY
Previous Part
The grass beneath your feet was more stiff than before. The cold made it so: it’s moisture semi-frozen because of the lowered temperature. Crunching with each step, it collapsed under the weight of you. Routinely making your way up the slope of your eating spot, the hard ground of the incline leads up to its highest point: the top of the hill. The green seemed to make hissing sounds in objection to your intrusion, in a display of distaste to your arrival.
The protesting sounds stopped when you did. Reusing the same motion as the day before, you patted the ground with your hand, checking for any unwanted moisture. Once again, there wasn’t any to be found. You placed your bag down, flat side parallel to how your back is soon to be. Crouching first, you ease into sitting on the cold grass, relaxing your back and leaning against the bag in order to provide at least some level of comfort that the iced hill definitely did not provide.
The weather hadn’t changed much from the previous day. The cold stayed put like a stubborn mule unwilling, unable to concede. You didn’t expect it to. Autumn had just begun. Day after day after day the chill would remain. From now until time took its course, it would stay, growing in strength with each passing week or so.
And this time, you planned. The jacket you wore now was thicker than yesterday’s. Layers of padding kept you from much of the chill’s bitterness. Though some parts endured the cold in its fullest, going unguarded against it. Your hands were one of those. Some of their feeling was lost to you, mostly numb and stiff from going unprotected against the weather. Whatever sensation they had left was not a pleasant one. It made you want to stuff your hands as deep into your pockets as possible, wanting to bring back the normality of warmth.
But you couldn’t do that. They were currently preoccupied with holding a familiar styrofoam container. The same from the day before.
Setting it into your lap, you allowed your arms to rise up and cross over your chest, your hands wedging themselves into the space in between the inside of your forearms and your sides. The temperature difference caused a shiver to erupt from your spine, the heated area not used to the new sensation. You hugged yourself tighter, willing the sharpness of your fingers to stop affecting you so.
After a short minute, you start to feel some of the life flow back into the extremities. Unfolding yourself, you reach for the container sitting in your lap. Hand clasping the lid and opening the tray, the smell of the warm food easily flowed through the air and to your nose. The stench of each article mixed together, creating the perfect storm of pleasantry. At least in your not-so-picky opinion. You would take what you could get. Without much hesitation or thought, you dug in, lifting whatever you chose into your mouth, the warmth of your lunch doing its part in warming you on this gray, autumn day.
Savoring the flavor, you shifted your gaze to the field in front of you. Observing from afar as you chewed, it was easily determined that the game going on before you was similar to what had been played before. Figures positioned in a recognizable pattern, the signature look was a giveaway. Football, once again. Focusing a little more, the imprecise features of the players vaguely matched those of yesterday. Only a few were mismatched. Other than that, every player was recurring.
Speaking of.
Instinctively, your eyes hopped from one body for another, quickly scanning each player for a particular set of looks. The forms went through a mental check off list, each failing in their own distinct way. That was until your eyes fell upon one in particular.
The familiar head of orange hair soon came into view: it wasn’t hard to find among the others. He wore a similar outfit as he did the day before, though with the addition of a hoodie of some kind. Looks like he had the same idea you did.
There he is.
Darting back and forth on the field he played, constantly giving chase to whomever was in possession of the ball. His eyes, from what you could see, were open and focused, always keeping track of where the object was, as well as keeping a mental note of where his teammates and opponents were at any given moment. His posture constantly switched from offense to defense, guarding whichever opposing member he was meant to be covering.
You shouldn't be surprised, really. It fits. ‘Well known school football player playing football in school.’ Duh. Yet, it catches you anyway. Your mouth forms a tight line.
You were almost afraid of this. Though ‘afraid’ is probably not the word you would use to describe how you feel. More like- ‘hesitant’.
The mental image of encountering Kunigami again after yesterday’s incident made you cringe. You noticed that now you knew of his presence, the atmosphere changed in some nuanced, indistinguishable way due to your first encounter with him. It’s almost like the air itself shifted. You felt a brush of chilly air against your skin. You pulled your jacket tighter around your body in reaction.
You thought about not coming back to this hillside for the sake of not wanting to be or feel awkward. It did take too much reasoning with yourself to decide not to. You’re not a coward. Most times. Besides, Kunigami never gave you a reason to avoid him. Not once. Who would you be to do so to him after he had been so… nice? Normal?
You were too stubborn to move spots, but too awkward to play things off as normal. Lord, can you get a break?
It’s not that you didn’t want to meet him again, it's just that… you would rather not. The chance alone put you sort-of on edge, changing the kind of headspace you were in. The feeling of the frigid air that was kept at bay with your jumbled thoughts was released, now once again a grating sensation of slight annoyance.
‘Weary’ should just be your middle name at this point.
You took a bite of your food, intentionally keeping your eyes mostly trained on the ground. However, you felt brave enough to peak up in certain instances, looking on to the commotion of the field when a sound would catch your attention. Honestly, it was intriguing, the way they all played together. You could tell there was a system there, somewhere. A structure to what Kunigami and his allies were shouting to each other at what looked to be at random. A method to the madness if you will. Not one you immediately recognized of course. Yet it was apparent by the way the players moved, where they moved, how they moved, and even how fast they moved, that there was some sort of plan.
You remained in your thoughts as you chewed. The blanket of hushed awareness you had hoped would come had not arrived. This usually happened. But the regularity of the moment didn’t make the experience any more enjoyable.
You wanted to find tranquility in your mind but struggled to truly find it. True tranquility, not what you told yourself was peace. To distract yourself, you took another bite of the plain-tasting food, focusing on the taste of whatever you had in your mouth. It worked for a second. You almost got it. Only a moment later to be taken right away with an intrusive thought. As another diversion, you attempted to watch in on the game before you, straining your ears to listen to the talking of the other students to find a score. That too, failed in its goal. Try and try as you might, you wouldn't settle. Worries from the everyday to the long term reverberated, keeping each one afloat with the strength of each other. Your thoughts kept buzzing around your head, like an annoying fly just waiting to be smacked from the sky. If only you had a fly swatter. Yet, sadly, you are, and have been, unarmed for a while now.
Oh well. You sigh. I’ll cope.
And that you did. If you had to guess, you’d probably say you’re actually pretty decent at it all this point.
You checked your phone a few times for the clock, even choosing to scroll mindlessly for a few minutes before slipping the device right back into your pocket from whence it came. You made an effort to not be on your phone during this time, you could be on twitter all you want later. No, when you were outside for this break, you wanted exactly that: a break. So you choose to take it, simple as that.
There wasn't much to think about as time ticked away. Not much to say as the game played on, and on. You ate in silence, alone. The seconds blurred to minutes as you finished your food, setting the tray aside when you thought you were satisfied. It only felt like a few moments outside on the prickly graying grass as the clock crept closer and closer. However, it dragged on noticeably longer this time. You could safely assume Kunigami was the reason. You would be a liar if you told someone you didn’t pay attention to him, specifically while on the field. You could recognize his voice by now without even looking at him by how he shouted to his teammates. You also noticed how he was on the field- like he was center stage. Like the game revolved around him as he controlled the ball for almost half of it. It was weird, how your eyes caught him on occasion while disregarding the other players. It was easy to chalk the phenomena up to circumstance. He was the only motherfucker you knew here, much less talk to. Also, he had the ball. Of course you would focus on him.
Before you knew it, the bell rang. Knowing the routine, you gathered your things, picking up your backpack first to sling onto your back, then your tray, holding it with a relaxed hand. You looked back at the field, just to see the game quickly stop, teams dissolving as the students made their way back into the school.
You felt odd leaving so soon. Out of place even, to move on. A weird feeling settled in your chest, like someone dropped a weight there and had forgotten it. You pondered the feeling for a moment, before shrugging it off to begin walking, knowing there’s not much to be done or explained. You know by now that questioning your feelings never leads to a straight answer, as weird as that is to think about.
Your descent down the hill was as per usual. Your steps were careful as they made their way down, watching for any slippery spots in the greenery. Your head was empty as you went, head cast downward, not needing to really look where you were going as your own muscle memory dragged you along. You subconsciously ran through a checklist of what you needed to do before going to class. The space around you grew louder as you approached the building, now in greater proximity to the students who were outside.
“Hey! Y/N!”
A shout from your side brings you back to the world around you, urging your head to face whatever, or whoever had hollered your name. Not expecting to be called, you’d imagine you were probably wearing a comically caught off-guard face, eyes blown out in shock. They searched the blacktop of widely strung-out, moving people, scanning for anyone who had already had their attention on you.
That voice sounded familiar.
Seeing a commotion, you were automatically drawn to that, almost forgetting what you were doing. Though it all comes full circle when you recognize a face amongst the crowd.
About twenty feet away from you, Kunigami stood closely accompanied by what you would assume was one of his football buddies. From what you could see, his hand was raised high in an effort to wave at you, a clear effort to grab your attention. On his face, he wore a subtle deadpanning scowl. It was obvious he was trying to conceal it with a more pacified expression, but it really wasn’t working. It made you confused for a millisecond as to what he could be so blatantly displeased at before you noticed the grip the other student had on his arm. Kunigami strained slightly against the hold his friend had on him as the stranger visibly smiled and boyishly laughed aloud at something unknown to you. It wasn’t until Kunigami saw you were looking at him before he changed his look to something more pleasant, trying to ease the growing tension he was probably aware he was showing. His hand relaxed as well- lowering from above his head.
You didn’t have any time to think to wave back yourself before the jock clinging to the red-head started pulling hard on his arm. Kunigami seemingly decides to compromise, giving in to the excitement of the other. Turning and stumbling over his feet, Kunigami stepped into a walk with the other players. Before you knew it, the player in question started gaining some distance away from your form, shaking his arm out of the grip of the one who had his hold on him. He walked to another door that led inside the school with some of the other football players, turning to give one last look to you before permanently stepping in line with the other students.
You are left where you were standing: a halted figure amongst the ever moving crowd. Seemingly miraculously, the weight held in your gut disappeared, yet not an ounce of your bewilderment chose to leave in any way, shape, or form. It seemed to congeal in your mind, even as you took the memorized path back to your locker, stepping in time to be one with the crowd. It subsided over time, but never truly went away. Rather, it hid, ready and willing to rear its ugly head whenever the next opportunity arrived. You wanted to think it would never get the chance.
The air was stuffy.
It would be, with this many students packed into one gymnasium. The already poor circulation mixed with the massive amounts of teenagers’ and young adults’ body odor proved to be an unpleasant combination, because of course it was. And the space, obviously, certainly did not help, it being far too small to comfortably hold as many bodies as the school staff wanted it to hold.
It was also loud. Very loud. The vast majority of the voices in the gym did not give a single shit about staying moderately tame, much less even a little quiet. Hundreds of students lining the stands all around you, the open ceiling reverberated with the clamor, serving as the most annoying white noise in existence. The sounds of laughter, scolding, yelling, offense, and gossip, along with other noises you couldn’t even decipher, all morphed into one amalgamation of a racket that roared on, and on, wholly chaotic, and definitely grating. You swore you couldn’t even hear yourself think in this mess of an assembly.
Thankfully, you got a little lucky. You ended up sitting in an obscure corner of the auditorium: a place not as crowded as the rest of the large room. On the second set of stands from the ground, you hunched over, keen on making yourself somewhat small amongst the rowdy bunches of trade school students behind you.
As you scanned the auditorium, you were able to distinguish a couple things. One, this was an athletic event of some kind. It was clear by the congregation of generally fit and popular people on the gym floor, right in the center of attention for everyone to see. They separated in groups, supposedly by the sport they played. You wouldn’t be able to tell which were which if it weren’t for the rudimentary signs that the taller individuals waved above their heads. Two, it was going to be boring. That was apparent from the moment several older men in suits showed up. You slumped further down in your set at the realization, robotically taking out your phone to see how else you could fiddle with it today.
It's not that you legitimately disliked sports or those who played them. You would never judge anyone for putting their effort into something they cared about. And while you definitely did not fit in with the crowd, and a good portion of the athletes were not raised right and you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, they’re students all the same. Egotistical, maybe. With a dash of narcissism, duh. But they were people all the same.
It’s these recognition assemblies you really didn’t care for. They’re the most performative things in the world, and they serve no purpose other than to boost some egos and make content for the local newspaper. They were dumb, through and through. And it seemed the majority of the audience watching knew that, as the staff visibly struggled to calm the erratic students.
It didn’t take long for the assembly to finally start. Somehow, the organizers were able to get all the athletes together and calm, just enough for the guest speakers to introduce themselves, and begin their speeches of unending boredom. They spoke of the various teams’ accomplishments throughout the year, expressing how proud they were in their performance, effectively getting the sentimental portion out of the way. As you could assume, they went onto specifying titles, going over each groups’ success in detail.
It would be an accurate statement to say that you were uninterested. From where you sat, you could barely see the stage, your vision obscured by the surrounding students. Not to mention your natural gravitation to the exit, which definitely did not help, given the distance from the podium where the speakers planned on hanging out for the next forty minutes or so. You found yourself zoning out, almost in record time too. Not that you cared to listen. The quicker this goes, the faster you’re out of this sweaty auditorium.
You feel a light tap on your shoulder.
“Hey… Y/N?”
Nearly jumping out of your own skin, you whip your head around, hair thrashing with the shear force of the movement. You look toward the one who had called your name.
Though you truly didn’t know what to expect, you definitely did not expect a mop of tangerine-colored hair, along with a matching set of eyes that seemed awfully familiar.
With a hand raised, Kunigami stood from the edge of the bleachers from where you sat. Blinking a few times, his eyes darted to the podium from where the guest continued to speak, only to look back at you, opening his mouth to say simply and plainly…
“Hey uh, could I sit here?” He pointed to the empty spot beside you, the last available space from the edge, and closest to him.
You didn’t give much thought into your answer, having no real reason to decline his request. “Uh yea! Sure.”
Kunigami's lip curled up in a half-smile. It was genuine from what you could tell.
Breathing out a thank you, he took a large step off of the floor, hoisting himself into the open seat with less clumsiness than you could ever manage. Scooting over, you made plenty of room for him to adjust and get comfortable, squeezing into yourself even more than before to make that happen.
Looking again at the event, Kunigami asked another, but slightly out of place question, “We’ve uh- started right?”
You rubbed your hands together, processing what he said before answering him clearly, “Yea, I think about like, five minutes ago?”
Kunigami nodded his head in approval, pulling out his phone to quickly check the time, only to put the device right back in the pocket from which it came. “Ah okay.” You could’ve sworn the ginger let out a puff of air, his shoulders deflating at the action. As odd as it was, you dropped it, but made note.
The player was… imposing. He took up space, metaphorically and in actuality. Not through any fault of his of course. It was your mind that did this to you with its tendency to turn nothing into something. Try as you might, its pattern of overthinking was persistent as the source of your downfall. As dramatic as that sounds. You force your attention away from your guest and to the speaker. He wasn’t entertaining by any means, certainly not. The old geizer drawled on and on about… something? You weren’t really paying attention, for Kunigami’s mere presence distracted you immensely.
The sound of countless clapping hands reeled you back to the present. Your fellow peers had erupted into a boystrosious applause, followed by a few hoots and hollers from the rowtier ones in the back. Zeroing back in on the podium, you knew it was brought on by the speaker, who had joined the audience in the clapping and was now turned to a group of male students.
While you didn’t have much reason to care, something caught your eye anyway. You recognized the faces of the students. Just vaguely. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You wracked your brain for the answer as you recalled what you had subconsciously remembered by the man’s speech spoken just moments ago. I saw them from the field that day, didn’t I?
And with that, you put it together: it was the soccer team. Yet, that discovery had only brought up another question.
If the soccer team was there, then why is the star player sitting next to you?
You turn your head to look at him, confusion plastered all over. He was looking at the stage as well, with an expression you couldn’t read. If you had to take a guess, it was a rather calmer one, yet his brow was a little stressed. It threw you off. Deciding to be a little bold, you speak.
“Um,” You begin. “Isn’t that the football team?”
Kunigami starts, turning his head to look at you. A moment passes before he responds. “Yeah that’s them.”
You continue, gesturing with your own double take at the group. They were receiving some sort of plaque, presented by the same old man as before, a showy smile displayed for all to see. “Shouldn’t you,” You pause to find the resolve to state the obvious. “Be with them?”
Kunigami’s eyes widened a fraction. They glance at the team, then back at you. Then to the team, then back at you. “Uh.” He says eloquently. “Yes?”
The carrot-top’s answer only confuses you more. “You’re on the team?” You ask it as a question, like you were searching for clarity in something that's already crystal. When he only stares back, you ask another. “Aren’t you… the guy?”
Kunigami blinked at that, expression morphing from what looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, to flat out perplexed. “The guy?” He parrots back, emphasizing the ‘the’ just as you said it. It’s not mocking in the slightest. It's very honest, almost innocently so.
Your mind scrambles for a better way to explain, not that you had one. “I mean…” You try, “Like,” Your hands rise from your lap, coming to rescue you from your stumbling. They move strangely, trying to form what you mean without the use of words. Ultimately, they fail. “I mean, the guy.”
Kunigami only looks. Thinking, still confused. His own hands come together, clasping one another as he leans over, hunching his back and supporting himself by resting his forearms on his legs. He speaks with raised brows. “You’re gonna have to help me here.”
You resist the urge to groan aloud. What really comes out is an agitated huff. You rack your brain for a synonym, coming up with one a second later. “The star?” You ask, kind of happy you found a substitute for your thoughts. “You’re the star of the team.”
At that, Kunigami’s eyes grow bigger. This time with a new emotion. It takes him darting his eyes away from you to decipher it. Flattery. The same he had shown before when he had paid for your lunch.
Is he embarrassed? Isn’t it the truth?
The one in question shakes his head. “No.” It’s soft how he says it, not very firm, yet still in a disagreeing tone. “I am not the star of the team.”
“So, what are you?” You go on to elaborate. “Like what it is called.”
What could barely be considered a smile makes its way on Kunigami’s face slowly, yet surely. His eyes show some amusement, though not the kind that makes someone feel as if they were being made fun of. Rather, he was enjoying himself. Sincerely. He looks back at you, blankly, with that hint of delight.
“I’m a forward.” He says plainly, though the face betrays his tone as he mentions the source of his joy. “That’s the position I play.”
You think for a moment. The label he named doesn’t sound familiar. “I mean… you’re called something else.” You pause to rearticulate your thoughts again, wringing your hands in your lap absentmindedly. “There’s another word for it.”
It doesn’t even take a full second before he replies. “Striker?”
“Yeah.” You say, recalling the term from how many times you’ve heard it over the intercom.
“Then yeah, I guess.” He says, shrugging. “Though it's not a term actually used in the game.”
You hum, though more to yourself than anyone else. Oh okay. The new piece of knowledge doesn’t slip from you so easily. As trivial as it is, you thought it was an interesting fact. So you plan to remember it. Besides, it might become relevant later.
The crowd rang out in applause once more, for seemingly no reason at all. It barely registered; you had no clue what they were on about. Instead, your focus grows, fixating itself on Kunigami, as so does your confusion. Your question has yet to be answered. You ask again, the sentence slipping from your lips before you had a chance to reconsider. “So why aren’t you up there?”
Kunigami shifts, just a little, just to get more comfortable. He just blinks some more, showing absolutely no sign of any negative emotion at your question. He looks to the team, then back to you, again. Yet, because he doesn’t respond right away, and because of his movement, you automatically think of it as discomfort. You’re backtracking before you know it. Your mind begins to spiral, thinking, oh god I fucked up even though, clearly, you didn’t. You avert your eyes, and apologize. “Sorry, it’s none of my business. I-”
“I just don’t want to be up there.”
You stop, and look at him again. He’s calm, not rattled in the slightest by anything you’ve said in the past fifteen seconds. He wrings his hands a bit, and looks at his fingernails for a second, but otherwise, he just sits.
He’s no fool. Kunigami can see how you were beginning to work yourself up, even if he can only view it from an outside perspective. He takes it in stride, and with a small smile and firm shake of his head, he addresses it. Simply.
“No need to apologize. It's a valid question.”
Now, it's your turn to blink. The sound of his voice sticks with you, his point driving itself home in the opening your insecurity created. “Oh.” You say. You didn’t expect that response. You expected something more akin to being brushed off, or even ignored. Instead, he just, answered. Huh. “Okay.”
He chooses to continue. He brings a hand up to scratch the back of his head. “I’m not a fan of this kinda stuff.” The clapping starts up once more. You look to the stage, wondering, what is it this time, only to see the football team begin to file off its steps. One student grasped the award tightly in his hand as he descended. He looked to be laughing with his friends, those of which you remember from before: when they had pulled Kunigami away from waving to you earlier in the week.
The redhead in question speaks again. You assume he’s aware he has your attention, even if you're not looking at him. “I don’t really see a purpose for it. It’s all for show anyway.”
You turn back to him. He’s already looking at you. For some reason, you notice something you hadn’t before. His eyes, though they were mostly an orange color, very similar to his hair, also had some brown in them. Just around the outer rim, where the shade of chocolate met the white of his pupil. You’re not sure why you can see it.
Instead of questioning it, you decide to reply to him. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He says. His eyes don’t leave yours. “It’s a load of crap.”
You’re still curious. You decide to pry some more, just a little bit. “Do you not like crowds?”
“Crowds?” He repeats, eyes widening a bit at your surprise question. He answers after he takes a second to think. “Uh, not really? I mean, I tolerate them. I guess I like them as much as anyone else.” He tilts his head in a questioning manner after he finishes speaking. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing.” You dismissed, shaking your head. “I was just wondering.”
Kunigami hums, content to move on. He turns his head away and back toward the stage. By now, a new group of students had ascended it, perhaps for an award of their own.
A flicker of his own curiosity makes Kunigami want to ask the same back. So, he does. “Do you not like crowds?”
You’re not as caught off-guard this time. His statement gives you the confidence to laugh shortly. “Ha. No.” You tug your hands closer into your body, crossing your arms over your chest so you're hugging your torso. “I don’t.”
Observing the movement, the striker can’t tell if you’ve done it consciously or not, since you don’t acknowledge it. A part of his brain connects your body language to what you’re saying. It's a part not connected to his inner monologue, so he doesn’t realize it, but he recognizes it nonetheless. Just internally. While it finds permanence, he continues as if he never made the observation. Which he sort of didn’t. Not truely.
Kunigami can’t help the twitch of his lip that compels its edge to go up. Otherwise, he responds, simply, plainly. With a hint of something neither he nor you realize is there. “Really?”
You’re oblivious to it. “Yeah.”
It’s silent after that. There’s no other reason to speak. The two of you continue to half-heartedly watch the assembly, now with a new understanding revealed: that you both don’t want to be here.
The solitude gives you a moment to process your conversation with the redhead. You didn’t expect it to go so, normal. Maybe you were the weird one here, but in all honesty, Kunigami was a jock. You’re not friends with jocks, at least not in any meaningful capacity. You’re not the kind of person who resonates with those kinds of people, at least the ones you knew of. It was foreign to you: how someone like him could act so, different in comparison to his peers. How he could just be a regular person.
You outwardly make a face. You want to slap yourself. “How could he just be a regular person?” What the hell are you talking about? Of course he’s a regular person. He’s a person, on the football team or not. It doesn’t matter if he’s quiet or a party animal. He didn’t appear to be away. His agreeable nature from your first meeting seemed to stem more from politeness than as a facet of his personality. Instead, he seemed on the calmer side, and is generally more internal.
But even if he wasn’t, it was none of your business. You have no idea why he keeps the company he does, nor why he’s even on the football team. You don’t know him, and that’s fine. As long as he’s not an asshole, that should be enough of a reason to be friendly back, just as he’s done to you.
A realization comes over you suddenly, and without warning. Unbeknownst to you, it's always been there. From the moment you met the player during that frigid recess. It was just waiting for the moment, the perfect moment where you would finally pull back the curtain to reveal its presence. It makes you stop your train of thought in its tracks. Not that it was going anywhere anyway.
Why is Kunigami so friendly to you, for no reason at all?
There’s a change of pace of commotion on the stage. A woman takes up a microphone. Her voice projects through the speakers built into the gymnasium. A dismissal is taking place quicker than you thought it would.
Quickly, she gives instructions on how to exit, delegating that those on the lower levels of the bleachers are to leave first, then those on the higher levels. This is to reduce the amount of chaos that will surely ensue after she gives the order, seeing as the gym was congested with as many people as the fucking titanic.
Even as she speaks, you know where this is going. As annoying as some of the staff can be, in instances like these, you feel bad for them. You watch it happen in slow-mo: she gives the “ok” and immediately, hundreds of students jump from their seats. Many around you rise too and begin to shuffle around. You stay put. So does Kunigami. The room rattles with the vibrations of countless shoes on the plastic of the bleachers. It’s a rumbling irritation, yet the sound is the least of your worries.
Try as she might, she cannot stop the hurricane of students who disregard their warnings and jump from their seats, their heads set on getting out of the packed auditorium. Her shouts of command fall on deaf ears as people descend, and walk casually past her. It's a funny sight: her beginning to fume as she continues to not be taken seriously as hundreds of students pass her by, and exit the gym. Surely by the next assembly you all will get another lecture on this.
You have two options, as you do every time you’re part of a massive crowd such as this, and everyone in it is trying to go to one place all at once. Either stay here, seated, watch the masses of people dissipate and risk being late for class, or you brave the congestion and suck it up to dive headfirst into the sea of sweaty, loud people. Neither option was appealing. It was usually a coin toss on which you picked. Sometimes it depends on your mood. Though you were not in a particularly bad one, you didn’t exactly want it to dampen over something as pointless as this.
While in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed that the striker beside you had begun to stand up. It was the ‘pop’ of his knee that snapped you from your reverie. He looked at you with a curious expression as he straightened himself, wondering to himself why you hadn’t made the move to leave as well. “Are you… staying here?”
It takes you a second to find a response casual enough to appear neurotypical. “Haha, nah. I'm just a bit slow.” You brush him off as you make to gather your things and stand, giving into the peer pressure the movement of clamoring bodies put onto you the moment they start to move toward the exit.
Though even as you begin to stand yourself, you couldn’t help but notice that Kunigami had not yet left. Instead he just stood there by your side, looking out into the sea of people at nobody in particular. It doesn’t take much for you to ask him why with a hint of your own assumption. “Are you waiting on me?”
“Yes.” He says, like it's obvious. He turns his head to see you properly and quirks a brow. “Why? You don’t mind, do you?”
You rush to straighten up at his confirmation. “A-ah no.” You’re frazzled. Just a little. “I-I mean, no. I don’t mind.” You slide your backpack onto your back, and adjust the straps. You find yourself doing the same: absentmindedly looking out into the crowd of peers from the slightly-elevated position you had on the bleachers, which has been steadily decreasing ever since the initial rush. “It’s just that,” you wonder, “I figured you’d already have gone off to class.”
Kunigami shaked his head at that. His semi-spiky head of hair jerks with it. “Nah, I’m in no rush.” He digs his hand into his pocket and fishes for his phone. Once again, he checks the time and puts the device right but where he found it. “Besides,” he says, blinking stoically. “You said you didn’t like crowds.”
Oh. “Oh.”
You’re not so caught up in your thoughts this time to have him wait for a response. “Uh- yeah I, I guess you’re right.” What? For real? You’re certainly surprised that the football player beside you had remembered what you said, even if it was only from a matter of minutes ago. You’re even more surprised he had thought about it enough to take some sort of action: to consciously let it dictate his choice of staying behind with you, even if it influenced his decision only a little bit. It was strange to say the least. He was strange.
You see Kunigami turning to the side toward the opening in the bleachers from which he had stepped up from. He craned his head to look back at you. “Here.” He said, motioning with his head to the exit you would guess he already designated. “Just follow me, and I’ll take the lead.”
You nod, and with an ‘okay’ from you, Kunigami fully turns around to the edge of the bleachers, and you mentally prepare yourself to go through whatever task this was about to become.
Your red-headed acquaintance swiftly takes a big step down from the height in a matter of seconds. He never stumbles as he does it, almost gracefully letting gravity carry his weight, falling from the elevated platform. He takes another step forward, kind of forming a rhythm. He turns around right after, watching for you to follow with that same thoughtful expression.
And you do, albeit less organized as he did it. You jump from the bleachers in a similar fashion, yet instead of moving in a stride, your shoes ‘thunk’ against the wooden floor. Kunigami sees you land, and an apology is already falling from his lips. “Sorry- we probably should’ve gone down the stairs.”
You chuckle at his effort. “No it's alright.” You say, waving him off with a vague hand motion. “No worries.”
Kunigami breathes out. “Ha, good.” And with that he turns once more. “Let's go. I think the bell is about to ring.”
You agree, and step in line behind him as he makes his way towards the set of double doors that separated you all from the rest of the school. At first the journey was smooth, but as the two of you got closer to the narrow passage, the area became more and more congested with students who were, conveniently, also trying to make their way towards the same set of doors. You creep closer to Kunigami as the bodies from all around close in. Though none made any solid contact, occasionally one or two would brush against your arm or leg. Accidental, probably, but it didn’t make you happy nonetheless. But don’t get the wrong idea. You weren’t ‘scared’ uncomfortable, just ‘annoyed’ uncomfortable.
As your duo passed through the worst of it, right on the threshold of the metal doors, Kunigami looked back at you over his shoulder. He said nothing, though his apricot eyes asked a silent question with the look he gave, eyebrows raised upward in a way that made them wider, more open: ‘you good?’
The sentiment didn’t pass you by. You give a tight-lipped smile at his once again confusing concern. ‘Yeah’
He seems satisfied with that, choosing to turn back around so he can look where he is going. The edge of his lip curls as he does. Just a little bit.
By facing forward, he unintentionally left your eyes to naturally fall upon whatever took the place of his own, which just so happened to be his back. From where you were, your gaze rested on the expanse of the back of his shoulder, and further up to the nape of his neck. You had never paid much attention to this part of him before. You didn’t have a reason to. Yet now, due to circumstance, you can’t help but look a little closer.
He was built. You already knew that part- it wasn’t hard to tell. But now, you were closer than normal. Meaning, you could see more than normal. You could see where the muscle that wrapped around the back of his shoulder blade- where it rounded off the edge of it to a degree you hadn’t seen so close on anyone before. You could see where his shirt strained because of it. Though not much, his clothes fit him well, the fabric would once and a while become taunt while he moved his arms in ways that went against its limits. You could see where that same muscle crept up with back and to the tops of his shoulders, once again rounding and defining the hump. You could see the skin of his nape, tanned probably due to the countless hours of football training done outside. It was smooth and undisturbed by any scars or blemishes. You could see where the tissue connected with the tendon of his neck, and where that then traveled up to his… undercut? You hadn’t yet noticed that either. WOW. He looks good with that. It really complements his-
You force yourself to stop your own untamed thought midway. You blink rapidly. Your eyes widened at the sentence you were just about to let be completed. What the FUCK?
You’re appalled at yourself. And a little ashamed. What was that shit?? Get a damn GRIP. You don’t even know this guy. You blink some more, and shake your head the smallest bit. It wouldn’t even matter if you did!! I mean SURE he’s not bad looking, and his back his build like a brick shithouse, and maybe the buzz underneath only adds to the icing on the cak-
“You alright?”
The voice of the motherfucker in question makes you want to dig a hole right where you stood and perish. You’d fear he had somehow heard you if he wasn’t looking at you like you hadn’t said anything at all.
“You look a little dazed. I didn’t know you had such a hard time with large numbers of people.” He says it easily in his tenor, and without a hint of judgment. You caught onto his nicety, mentally grasping it as a lifeline to pull yourself from whatever spiral you were about to go down.
You let out a laugh that has to seem out of place. “Haha- Nono I’m okay. It didn’t bother me that much, I was err- uh thinking about something else.” The last part comes out somewhat stiff and quiet, and you choose to look away from the redhead to find something else to occupy your frontal lobe.
You soon discover that the two of you have covered a lot more ground than you originally thought. You were now in the commons, a little ways away from the main exit of the auditorium, around the main seating area. Across the way was the closed-up concession stand the two of you visited not so long ago. Most of your peers in the auditorium had already moved in the hallway and through the school, save for a few stragglers.
Kunigami hums, then shrugs. “If you say so.” For the third time that day, he pulls out his phone to check something. Probably the time. Again. He seems like the kinda guy who’d want to be punctual. Internally you’re thankful he had dropped his concern as quickly as he did. You did NOT wanna talk about it.
He looks up from the device to offer a easy-going grin to you, and slips it back into his pocket. “Well I’d better get going.” He starts, “Don’t wanna be late for class.”
You nod back and reply eloquently. “Uh yeah. Definitely.”
At that, Kunigami nods to himself, and starts to turn on his heel, but not before bringing a hand up to give you a short wave. The same kind he had tried greeting you with early that week. His eyes shine with a serenity you can see clearly as he gives his departing words, again, a constant from your first meeting. “See ya later then, Y/N.”
And with that, and before you can say much at all aside from your own short little wave, he fully turns around to take long strides down the same hallway he had left from before, soon after pivoting down another hallway out of sight. One, if you were paying closer attention, you would recognize as the same secondary hallway as before, once again.
You watched him as he did, right from where you stood in the commons of the school. You remained like that for a few seconds before forcing your own legs to guide you down the opposite way, in the direction of your locker.
As you walk you’re preoccupied. Your fellow students are oblivious to your mental space as you keep to the right-hand side of the hallway, your head down as you mulled. Not that you’d ever want them to know. Many thoughts rattled around in your head as you approached your destination. Thoughts your second meeting, thoughts of your first, thoughts of him and his stupid back and his stupid concern, thoughts of how absurd this is all becoming-
Thoughts of how your patience was beginning to run out.
Taglist: @yuujiisann Its been so long so I didn’t know if you still wanted tagged but HERE YOU GO ANYWAY LOL
isagi “ ‘i’m not mean’ then proceeds to say the most diabolical shit on field and then run up to you post match smiling and happy, telling you he loves you and he wouldn’t be here without you like he didn’t just curse kaisers entire family tree with one word and and yell at his teammates for fucking up in the slightest” yoichi
michael “ who keeps making promises that he’ll be better just to get you to stay longer because he knows it will always work if he looks at you sincerely enough and promise knowing that the only thing he’s gonna do is continue to buy you more expensive gifts to excuse the fact he can’t be in a committed relationship ” kaiser
he cant help it; its not his fault you're so beautiful.
hugo never really thought about love growing up; even in high school when that's all everyone thought about, he was too busy leading everyone in the correct path to their true destiny.
yet, he never thought his destiny would be to fall in love with a random owner of a cafe.
it was the closest one to where his daily practice was, so it was only logical if he started going there for breakfast because the poor guy did not know his way around a kitchen.
.the moment he met you, he was awestruck with your beauty. eyes full of life and a smile that was almost contagious.
he found himself as a frequent customer, so frequent in fact that you'd always have his usual order ready minutes before he arrived.
he'd even sit by the stool in front of the counter, a place where he'd have the closest view of you.
it was kind of stalkerish even.
the way he couldn't help but follow you around with his eyes, a small bit of jealousy bubbling up whenever male customers would ask you out.
you'd always decline; nevertheless, he hated it. though, despite his slight stalkerish tendencies, he thought he was discreet about it.
until, you confronted him.
it wasn't rude or anything; it was more flirty.
“you're a creep, you know that, right?" you laughed as you slid over his plate.
"what?" he scoffed, his eye meeting yours, the look in his eye a tad bit too intense.
"what? i see you looking at me," you shrugged, a bright smile plastered on your face, but he couldn't quite tell if it was forced or not.
"and you always come here; not a single day except fridays that i dont see you come around."
"firstly, i have practice, and it just so happens your cafe is closest to the stadium. secondly, i simply like observing people."
"mm, yeah sure, observing as in glaring down every guy that tried to flirt with me?" you retorted, a smirk on your face.
"okay, and if i am a creep? it's not my fault you're so pretty."
the attitude laced in his voice earned a giggle out of you. “that's blunt; i like it."
a small moment of silence passed at the two of you just looked at each other, a smile making its way onto his face.
"listen uhm," you spoke up, "would you want to go out sometime?"
his face flushed red at the question, "yeah, ofcourse."
your eyes lit up, "great! text me sometime, 'kay?"
"but i don't even have your numb—"
"don't worry i wrote it on your cup," you laughed as you turned on your heel, making your way back to the cash register.
hugo found himself turning the cup, his eyes softening once he saw the numbers lazily scribbled onto it.
❤︎ : happy ending to this sae angst because i fear someone might dox me if i don’t make one!!! 1.5k wc. NOT proofread.
likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
sae hasn't had to share a house – let alone a room – in years. not since he left for spain, not since his relationship with his family became… well, complicated.
so, when you first moved in, it was like a whole other world for him. his daily routine was disrupted. the lifeless penthouse he owned with only a few fake plants to compensate for his lack of design abilities was ambushed by your belongings.
stacks of boxes filled his house for a good month because you kept delaying unpacking. he'd wake to your angry face when his alarm would go off and wake you at an absurd time. his bathroom was filled with your makeup and skincare – deeply contrasting to his simple three-step routine that left his skin flawless.
eventually, you declared his house needed a makeover. that it was too sad and ruined your aura.
you spent weeks planning the perfect layout with him, where everything would go, what things to buy and arguing over your difference in taste. (it actually was more like you planning everything and him agreeing to save himself the headache).
thus, a whole new atmosphere was born in his house. it was no longer monochrome with a few splashes of red here and there—but lively.
you painted the living room walls a deep red because you said it would pair nicely with the dark grey couch, which was adorned with throw pillows and a fluffy blanket.
book shelves which housed what was practically a whole library of your books. curtains that did a horrible job at blocking the sun but illuminated a sunset-like lighting in the house.
though, there was a room that remained plain, lifeless – the extra guest room which you said would eventually be your future kid's nursery. that you'd paint the walls together and make it special.
that small comment lead to an argument—a huge one.
sae never really wanted kids because he knew what he was like: cold, distant—heck, it took him years to prove to you he wasn't the worst man to ever walk the earth—he wasn't sure if he'd be a good dad. and as much as sae liked to act unbothered by everyone and anything, the thought of letting down his hypothetical child twisted a knot in his heart in a way he couldn't quite explain.
he thought he was going to lose you after that one argument; that you'd leave—leave the house you spent months decorating to be your future home together.
despite that, you worked it out. in the most surprising way ever. itoshi sae breaking down in front of you. he didn't cry or get angry; he just said everything – everything that weighed on his heart: being a bad father and, worst of all, losing you.
you just… told him it was okay. in that way you always did, drawing circles on his back while you told him why everything was going to be fine when itoshi sae was scared but too arrogant to admit it. and it was okay. he adjusted; he learned to incorporate you into the routine he spent years building meticulously, finally getting used to all your stuff everywhere but organised, making breakfast for two in the morning, not finishing up all the toothpaste too fast, buying your shampoo and conditioner at the store and not just his, making space in his closet because it wasn't just him anymore.
because soon, it was going to be more than just you and him. but a life, a family.
it wasn't long before he proposed.
he was never really fond of the idea of having to get on one knee and confess his ever-dying love that would be symbolised using the expensive diamond ring he'd bought.
it was all stupid to him. yet, he knew you wanted it. he knew what it meant to you. so he made it work. he always made it work.
it was simple, nothing lavish but just enough to be meaningful to you and not too lukewarm for him. the floor of your house was adorned with perfectly aligned rose petals that led to your shared room when you got home from work, with a messy heart (he tried) on the bed with a huge sign. saying, "will you marry me?"
he got on one knee, huffing before he began his speech.
it was an immediate yes, no questions asked.
the wedding was the same: small and private but beautiful and expensive.
as much as sae hated to admit it, he had never felt joy like that before. he never felt that nervous before; his eyes never stung like that when he saw you looking a little too beautiful. they stung so much the crowd began to whisper when he had to wipe his eyes. "holy fucking shit, is itoshi sae crying right now?"
after the honey moon ended, your life as a newly weds wasn't much different than just a couple living together – other than the crazy fans and congratulations, everything was practically the same.
until you walked out of the bathroom one day holding a positive pregnancy test. it was barely a year since you'd gotten married, and here you two were having your first kid.
sae couldn't explain the amount of emotions that ambushed him in that moment, the tears of joy and the rush of telling everyone. that your dream of painting the nursery together was finally going to come true.
consequently, that also meant it was just another thing for itoshi sae to adjust to.
the cries of your baby girl in the middle of the night, the compromising on who would deal with it that time, and changing the fucking nappies. that was his least favourite, waking up to a fresh pile of shit in his daughter's diapers.
watching how tired you were everyday, the eyebags under your eyes that stayed persistent no matter how much he tried to take off your plate. the arguments that took place every time he had to go overseas. it was all overwhelming yet so worth it.
the happiness he never thought he'd feel when he first heard his daughter speak her first words, "dada". (he was always destined to be a girl dad.)
not to mention the mess he'd come home to every day, toys scattered everywhere, piles of nappies, and baby food taking up half the fridge.
the toddler years were the worst.
then the second came, a son, three years after your daughter. at this point itoshi sae was certain there was nothing else he needed to adjust to.
he'd been through it all.
and it was that way for a few years—at least until your daughter got a boyfriend. you were totally chill about it; something he couldn't fathom. a boy? with his daughter? certainly not.
the house became a battlefield between a father and his precious only daughter. you and your son were mere spectators betting on who would be the fist to give up.
neither did. seemed to be that she had inherited her father's stubbornness.
yet, there were always the downsides. the sides of itoshi sae's personality that he still clung to even as he was pushing his late forties. things that tended to cause arguments between him and his children. the same things he feared would make him a bad father.
especially with his son—especially when the boy seemed to have no real talent in football. he couldn't accept that his own son could barely even score a goal.
nor could he accept that his son didn't quite seem to enjoy sports at all.
you always talked to him about it, yet part of him couldn't let it go. not until he saw what it did to his son. not until he watched as his son went through all the things he did, working his ass off to finally prove that he could be something big.
university was heartbreaking for him; he could barely handle their first day at kindergarten. how could he handle watching them travel abroad and only visiting three times a year? all of those feelings were buried deep inside his heart, though. to his kids he'd only say i miss you every now and then' in the most indifferent way ever. but they saw it in his eye. the way he'd look at them just a little longer than he usually does or how something in them would break when he waved them off at the airport.
okay, finally nothing he had to truly deal with anymore… never mind! his daughter's getting married! great.
walking her down the aisle was the hardest.
she looked just like you. the same hair; she had his eyes, but the light in them was certainly yours. she even wore the same dress you did, the one that you obsessed over and tried on every day for weeks before the wedding.
itoshi sae was crying. for real this time, not a sting in his eyes or an ache in his chest. but real tears, something he hadn't done since he was a baby. he truly had softened over the years.
the house was different now.
just you and him.
again.
the walls weren't just adorned with your wedding photos anymore, but with his daughters' and his sons'. family pictures that always turned out to be a disaster and bad-quality baby pictures that overwhelmed every hallway in the house.
child hood bedroom that held every memory within them. trophies, posters, plushies, toys, books, school backpacks, and clothes that didn't fit them right anymore.
