you look up, deadpan. rin is standing there just past your bedroom door. he stands like a ghost, no greeting whatsoever, just straight to the point. as blunt as his brother’s bangs.
“nice to see you too, rin. hello. yes, i missed you too. i haven’t seen or heard from you for fourteen days. i thought ego sent you off to war. i already got my stationery prepared, i was about to write you a letter confessing—”
“i grew. one centimeter.”
he says it again, like repetition will make it more meaningful. like the metric system is the most important thing in the world right now. he’s still by the door, arms by his side, shoulders stiff, and his bag hanging on his back. you don’t know whether he’s proud or just incredibly weird about measurements.
“as i was saying,” you continue, undeterred, “if you didn’t tell me beforehand that ego sent you guys training, i would’ve thought he killed you off for some petty reason. but then i thought, no, ego isn’t that bad. he’s actually a really good mentor. so you getting killed off was out.”
“i said i grew a centimeter.”
you finally lower your phone, staring at him like your brain has frozen halfway through processing. there’s a beat of silence. one. two. maybe three. hell, might as well take five.
“…okay,” you say slowly. “what do you want me to do about it?”
he meets your gaze without blinking. not a hint of irony. voice low and flat and utterly serious.
nothing comes out of your mouth. you physically cannot form a response because what the hell did he just say to you. you refuse to believe this is happening. what the hell happened? where the hell did ego send him?
your eyes narrow in pure disbelief. like you’ve accidentally walked into the wrong conversation. like you’re still waiting for the punchline and realizing, with growing horror, that there isn’t one.
“i worked hard,” he says, cutting you off like that explains everything.
“sleep schedule, posture work, morning trainings, meditating, yoga.” he says it with that same mechanical efficiency he uses when analyzing plays on the pitch. “ measurable progress.”
you just keep looking at him.
he looks back, completely unfazed.
he’s serious. itoshi rin is dead serious.
this man walked straight to your apartment as soon as training ended just to tell you that he grew a single centimeter and expects verbal validation for it.
“you’re unbelievable,” you mutter.
but your body betrays you—because even though your face is blank and your tone is flat, you reach up a hand and let him bend down and touch his head to your palm. you press your palm to the top of his head like you’re measuring it yourself.
okay, maybe he does feel the tiniest bit taller.
you drop your hand and sigh in defeat. as always you can never say no to him. curse you and your soft spot for one itoshi rin.
“congratulations on your one centimeter progress. growth arc of the century. it’s very impressive and inspiring.”
and like that, rin just plops onto you.
literally. like gravity ceased to exist for a moment and he decided your body was the most suitable mattress in the world. you grunt under his weight, your back hitting the couch cushions as he crashes on top of you like a human plank. his duffel bag falls to the floor with a thud, completely ignored.
his arms slide around your waist with zero subtlety, his face burying into your shoulder like it’s instinct. you’re still half-frozen from the whiplash of the past five minutes. your brain hasn’t even recovered from the praise me incident, and now he’s lying on you like he lives here (he does.)
you feel him breathe out. slow, deep, and heavy. the kind of breath someone takes when they’re finally safe. when they’re home.
and then—he bites you. not hard. just enough to feel his teeth graze your shoulder. no warning, no reason. like a cat acting out affection.
he hums. that’s a yes. completely unapologetic.
you tilt your head, staring at the ceiling like it might offer you clarity. it doesn’t. “you’re insane.”
“missed you.” rin says it so quietly. mumbled into you skin like he’s etching his word in your being and it makes your heart do its stupid backflips.
he presses closer, like he can’t get enough. like fourteen days was fourteen lifetimes.
and just when you think he’s settled, he mumbles again:
“…still want that praise.”
you close your eyes. not in annoyance, but because itoshi rin is exhausting (affectionately) and unfortunately, yours.
jbbartram-illu
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
germansingergirl