aera ᡣ𐭩

Itoshi Sae x Fem!Reader

romance, slow-burn, subtle yearning

word count: ~1,700

⸻

It was always like this with Sae.

Close, but not close enough.

You sat across from him in a quiet café, the city lights spilling through the windows, casting a soft glow over his face. His eyes were on his phone, fingers idly scrolling, but you knew he wasn’t really paying attention.

“You’re distracted,” you murmured, wrapping your hands around your cup.

Sae didn’t look up. “I’m always distracted.”

You sighed, watching him carefully. This had become routine—late-night meetings in places where no one would recognize him, quiet conversations filled with things he’d never say outright.

And yet, you still came.

Still waited for something more.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you said softly.

This time, his eyes flicked up—sharp, unreadable. “Doing what?”

You hesitated. “Calling me when you’re back in Japan. Pretending like we’re something we’re not.”

Sae leaned back in his seat, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “And what do you think we are?”

Your grip on your cup tightened. “I don’t know. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Silence stretched between you.

Sae had always been hard to read, always kept people at a distance. And yet, you could feel it—the way he lingered just enough to make you wonder, the way his gaze softened when he thought you weren’t looking.

Finally, he exhaled, setting his phone down. “You’re overthinking things again.”

You laughed, but it held no humor. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just tired of pretending you don’t mean anything to me.”

His jaw tensed. For the first time, he looked almost… hesitant.

Sae wasn’t good at emotions. He wasn’t good at holding onto things that felt real—because real meant complicated, and complicated meant messy.

But you’d always been different.

And that scared him.

You sighed, standing up. “I should go.”

Sae’s fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach out. But he didn’t.

He never did.

Instead, he just watched as you grabbed your coat, stepping toward the door.

Just before you left, his voice stopped you.

“Stay.”

The word was barely above a whisper, but it held enough weight to make you freeze.

Slowly, you turned.

Sae wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on the table, his expression unreadable. But his hands were clenched into fists, his posture rigid—like he was fighting against something he didn’t quite understand.

“You always leave,” he muttered.

You swallowed hard. “Because you never give me a reason to stay.”

He looked up then, and for the first time, you saw it—the fear, the hesitation, the quiet longing he never allowed himself to voice.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, voice rough.

Your heart ached. “I never asked you to be.”

Sae exhaled slowly. And then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours.

Not enough to hold you in place.

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 1: 𝙎𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮.

You don’t remember when it started.

At first, it was small things—missed texts, conversations that felt half-hearted, the way Rin’s focus would drift elsewhere even when he was sitting right next to you.

You told yourself it was nothing. Rin has always been serious about soccer, and you admired that about him. It was part of who he was—his unwavering dedication, his hunger to win. But lately, it felt like he wasn’t just focused.

It felt like he was disappearing.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Your voice comes out sharper than you intend, but you’re exhausted. You’ve tried being patient. You’ve tried pretending that things are fine. But Rin is sitting across from you at a café, eyes glued to his phone, scrolling through game footage like he’s the only one here.

He barely glances up. “Hm?“

Your chest tightens.

“You know what? Never mind.”

He exhales through his nose, finally putting his phone down. “If you had something important to say, you’d say it.”

Anger flares in your stomach. “I was saying something important, Rin. You just weren’t paying attention.”

His jaw tightens. “Because I have shit to do.”

“Right, of course.” You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “God forbid I expect my own boyfriend to actually care about our conversation.”

His expression darkens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “If you’re just here to pick a fight, I don’t have time for this.”

The words sting more than they should.

I don’t have time for this.

You stare at him, waiting for something—anything—that might soften the blow. But Rin just looks at you, expression unreadable, like he’s already somewhere else.

Like he’s already decided that you don’t matter as much as everything else in his life.

Your throat feels tight. “Right. Of course you don’t.”

You push your chair back and stand up. Rin watches you, but he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t say your name, doesn’t reach out, doesn’t try to fix what’s breaking between you.

You leave without looking back.

“You’re staring.”

Isagi blinks, snapping out of his daze. “Huh?”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes, Yoichi.”

His face flushes instantly. “I—I wasn’t staring!”

“You were,” you tease, leaning on the table between you two. “What, did I grow a second head or something?”

Isagi groans, dragging a hand down his face. “No! I was just… thinking.”

“About?”

His lips part, but no words come out. He looks away, scratching the back of his head—a nervous habit of his. You watch as the redness creeps up his neck, and it takes everything in you not to laugh.

Isagi is terrible at hiding things. His emotions are written all over his face, plain as day, and right now, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than caught in this conversation.

“You always do this,” you hum, resting your chin on your palm.

“Do what?”

“Get all flustered when I call you out.”

“I do not—!” He stops mid-sentence when he catches your expression, the mischievous glint in your eyes, and groans again. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“A little.” You grin. “But I am curious. What were you thinking about?”

Isagi hesitates. His fingers tap against the edge of the table, and for a second, you think he’s going to brush it off. But then, almost too quietly, he mutters something under his breath.

You blink. “What was that?”

His shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh before he finally meets your gaze.

“I was thinking that you look really pretty today.”

The words hit you like a train. They’re rushed, like he’s worried he’ll lose his nerve if he doesn’t say them fast enough. His eyes flick away immediately, ears burning red.

Your heart stumbles over itself. “Oh.”

Isagi finally glances up, brows furrowing at your stunned expression. “Wait—you don’t believe me?”

“I just—” You blink, warmth creeping up your cheeks. “You don’t usually say things like that so bluntly.”

He shifts in his seat. “Yeah, well… I mean it.” His voice is softer now, more certain. “I always think it. I just don’t always say it.”

The weight of his words settles in your chest, warm and golden. You’re used to Isagi being sweet in his own way—his thoughtfulness, the way he remembers the little things, how he always checks in on you. But hearing it so directly, so sincerely, is different. It makes your pulse quicken, your face warm.

“I think you’re pretty too,” you admit, voice quieter than before.

Isagi stares at you like you just told him the biggest secret in the world. His mouth opens, then closes again, before he rubs the back of his neck and laughs—small, breathy, disbelieving. “Really?”

You roll your eyes. “No, I just said it for fun.”

He shakes his head, still grinning. Then, slowly, he reaches across the table, hesitantly brushing his fingers over yours before curling them around your hand. His grip is firm but careful, like he’s testing the waters, seeing if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

“You’re really important to me,” he murmurs. “I hope you know that.”

Your chest tightens, but in the best way possible.

“I know,” you whisper. You squeeze his hand gently. “You’re important to me too, Yoichi.”

He exhales, relief washing over his features. Then, as if realizing he’s still holding your hand, his grip tightens just slightly. He doesn’t want to let go.

Neither do you.

There’s a comfortable silence, the kind that lingers between two people who don’t need words to fill the space. Isagi’s thumb absentmindedly traces over the back of your hand, his touch light, almost like he’s memorizing the feeling.

“You know,” you say after a while, “for someone who doesn’t always say things, you’re really good at making me feel special.”

He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “That’s because you are special.”

Your heart skips a beat.

He’s not even trying to be smooth—he’s just being honest.

You groan, half-exasperated, half-flustered. “You’re such a sap, Yoichi.”

He grins, leaning back slightly. “You like it, though.”

You narrow your eyes at him but don’t deny it. Instead, you squeeze his hand one more time before finally—reluctantly—pulling away.

“Come on,” you say, standing up. “I owe you a snack for being so cute today.”

Isagi blinks, then brightens instantly. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yep. But don’t get used to it.”

“No promises.”

And as he follows after you, still smiling, you realize something—

𝘳𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 - 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 - 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 - 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵

Rin Itoshi is not good with words.

You learned that early on, before you even got close to him. He’s sharp-tongued, brutally honest, and doesn’t care about sugarcoating anything. But when it comes to feelings—his feelings—he shuts down completely.

It’s frustrating sometimes.

Like right now.

“You’re unbelievable, Rin,” you huff, crossing your arms as you glare at him.

He’s standing in front of you, hands stuffed in his pockets, gaze unwavering. That stupid blank stare of his, the one that drives you insane because you can never tell what he’s thinking.

“What did I do?” he asks, voice as flat as ever.

Your jaw tightens. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Rin exhales sharply through his nose. He shifts his weight, glancing to the side. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides. He’s so infuriating. You’re trying to get something—anything—out of him, but he’s acting like none of this matters. Like you don’t matter.

And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’ve been reading into things too much. The lingering touches, the way he always looks for you after a match, how he listens when no one else does.

Maybe you were stupid for thinking he felt the same way.

“Forget it,” you mumble, turning on your heel.

You barely take a step before you feel it—fingers wrapping around your wrist, firm but not forceful. Rin pulls you back just enough to stop you from walking away.

Your heart stutters.

When you glance over your shoulder, his eyes are sharper than before—something intense simmering beneath the usual cold exterior.

“You’re mad because I don’t say things,” he states, voice quieter now.

You don’t respond. You don’t need to.

Rin exhales, like this is physically painful for him, like dragging the words out will kill him. But then—

“I like you.”

It’s blunt. Honest. Completely Rin.

Your breath catches. You turn fully to face him, but he beats you to it. His fingers slide from your wrist to your hand, lacing them together with a rare kind of hesitance. His grip is firm, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

He doesn’t look away when he says it again.

“I like you, okay? So don’t walk away.”

Something in your chest tightens—because this, right here, is the closest thing to a confession Rin Itoshi will ever give. It’s not dramatic, not poetic, but it’s real.

You squeeze his hand, lips parting, heartbeat loud in your ears.

And then you say the only thing that matters.

“I like you too, idiot.”

For the first time that night, Rin smirks—just slightly.

“Say it again.”

“Shut up.”