𝘢𝘷𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘢ᯓ໒꒱

and truthfully, you’d confess—you’ve never been more at peace than right now. always caught in their crossfire, the chaos is far better than their icy cold silence, the kind that had you treading on fragile glass with every small step you wanted to take to them. as silly as it sounds, perhaps this was their way of making it up to you, who constantly gets stuck in the middle.

“where the fuck do you think you’re going?” rin snarls, the two of you watching sae get up from his seat. you don't miss the way he takes his wallet with him.

“the toilet, you idiot,” sae retorts as he leaves your table to head inside.

bullshit. at least half of it is. he’s gonna pay the fucking bill before he comes back.

silence ensues between you and the younger brother, the two of you turning your heads and glancing at one another before reaching for your phones in lightning speed. “that fucking whore. we said we’d split.”

“your brother hasn’t done math for years, rin. he doesn’t know how to divide by three—should we count the service charges?”

“no. he was the only asshole on our table, anyways.”

you look over to the restroom from outside like a delirious stalker, noting that sae hasn’t left for the counter. you don’t pay attention to when your phone conducts its biometric scan, feeling it vibrate in your palms at the unsuccessful attempt as it brings you to the keypad. you type out your incredibly original password with muscle memory—your birthday in numerical digits—and open your screen for the online banking app.

except you have no idea where the fuck it is. since when did your home screen look like this?

“huh?” you question, swiping left and right to the foreign layout. you speak to rin, “cover mine for me first, please. my phone is acting up.”

“roger that,” the athlete responds, typing in both of your shares and confirming the transaction. he hits send, and the mission is accomplished for both of you, assuming sae doesn’t send the money back. the device vibrates at the new notification: your account has received xxxxx japanese yen from r*n i***hi.

wait a moment..?

rin can’t mistake sae’s number for yours. that’d be stupid, even for him. you know both yours and sae’s contacts are saved, and he had to confirm the payment details a second time before sending it out.

unless—holy shit—

“that’s my phone, dumbass,” a voice quips. you look to see japan’s national treasure in all his glory, wallet in hand as he gives you an undecipherable look. you put his device down immediately like you’re allergic to his belongings.

“ah, sorry—” you say, scrambling for your own phone on the table so you can pay rin back. that explains why the layout was unfamiliar to you. god forbid you ever need to go through sae’s home screen again for anything; you’d take forever figuring out which app was in what folder.

you stop typing.

never mind the fact that you weren’t on your phone. how did you even get as far as unlocking sae’s? you have no clue what his password is (nor do you know rin’s, for that matter). you only know yours; your birthday.

your birthday—you did try opening his phone with your password.

and it worked. your password worked. that was the only way you would’ve gotten as far as his home screen—oh.

oh my fucking god.

his password is your birthday.

sae itoshi’s password is the same as yours—your fucking birthday. the same fucking numbers in the same fucking order. not his birthday, or rin’s, or his favorite soccer player from when he was a kid.

yours.

you drop your phone unceremoniously, not trusting yourself to pay anything with the way your brain is lagging. your face is warm, cheeks hot and eyes wide. god bless rin, too sidetracked by his messages to notice how you’re sinking further into your seat.

and you know sae; known him for most of your life, known him long enough to know that this means something—that this meant you mean something to him. do you? do you mean something?

your head spins dizzy at the implications, and you make the mistake of looking in his direction while the realization washes over your features. your eyes meet his in a steely teal, inevitably so, and the older brother stares at you like its confirmation.

he knows. he’s looking at you like he wanted you to know. like he was waiting for you. like he has you right where he wants you to be.

(if you were paying more attention, you would’ve seen yourself in his wallpaper.)

“figured something out?” he asks, a ghost of a smirk on his lips as he quirks his brow.

hesitantly, you nod.

“good.” sae leans back, just in time for the waiter to return with the bill and his card.

~

a pair of shoes tumbles before the step homewards in the genkan, a grunt heaves from you as you reach down to hook your fingers in the open mouths to place them tidy amongst other pairs.

“thanks for walking me back,” you say, casting a sideway glance at your companion. your eyes narrow, already bracing for an incoming smart remark. “even if it’s just six houses away.”

sae shrugs. “didn’t want you falling asleep standing up.”

“as if you'd catch me if i did.” you yawn, plopping a seat on the step of the genkan.

sae doesn't say anything. instead, he moves toward the empty space next to you, lowering himself into a seat.

but before he can settle, you spring back to your feet. his brow lifts in quiet confusion, catching the way you’re giggling at his expression. you turn away, stepping inside—only to feel your socks betray you, sliding across the freshly polished floor.

because the genkan is far too fucking wide for you to grab ahold of a wall, you let out an involuntary wail, a high-pitched noise somewhere between panic and despair, arms flailing as your legs scramble for grip. it’s a pathetic sound—loud enough to echo against the empty hall.

in a desperate attempt to save yourself, your hand latches onto the nearest thing—sae’s head.

your fingers clutch his hair like the claw of a crane machine, yanking upward as you twist your body to keep balance. the wail tapers into an awkward groan as you finally manage to steady yourself in the most absurd pose imaginable, one foot twisted behind the other.

there’s a beat of silence. you slowly turn your head, heart pounding to see him below you—one full palm braced against the floor, his back caught mid-fall, hair sticking up between your fingers where you yanked like you’d damn near uprooted him.

he looks up at you, deadpan, while you’re still frozen in your awkward stance, clutching his head like a trophy you didn’t mean to win.

the ridiculousness of it all hits you, and you let go like you’ve just realized you were holding fire. a choked laugh slips out—half hysterical, half wheeze. “oh my god… you—i—”

sae doesn’t move. “are you done?” 

you're not. you're doubling over, clutching your stomach, the laughter spilling out like you've completely lost it. “your face—i almost killed you—”

“you almost killed yourself.” he mutters, running a hand through his hair with a sigh as if this is somehow your fault.

you stagger back a step, still giggling, wiping at your eyes. “i’m sorry, i swear i didn’t mean to grab you like a—like a claw machine prize.”

he pushes himself up, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “you’re terrible at walking.”

“no, it’s the floor,” you shoot back between snickers, pointing an accusing finger at the glossy surface. “it’s polished within the inches. i was set up.”

he gives you a flat look, the kind that says he’s not buying it, then walks past you like nothing happened.

you watch him, still trying to catch your breath. “wow. no sympathy, huh?”

“you lived.” he says simply, heading for the kitchen like he owns the place.

you trail after him, muttering under your breath, and grab a glass from the cupboard. cold water rushes from the tap, and the sound steadies you a bit.

“want some?” you ask, holding up a second glass.

he glances at you, expression soft under the kitchen lights. “yeah.”

you fill it and carefully walk over, planting each foot like you’re crossing a minefield. he takes the glass from you, fingers brushing yours for a split second—enough to make you overly aware of the warmth.

you lean back against the counter, sipping your water with exaggerated nonchalance. “sooo,” you say, “do you always escort people six houses down just to watch them nearly die in their own home?”

sae sips his water slowly, eyes flicking up to meet yours over the rim. “only you.”

you choke on your drink a little, coughing, while he turns away to set his glass down like he didn’t just say that.

then you ask if he wants anything else. he only shakes his head.

“no. i’ll just head home. we have an early morning tomorrow.”

you nod, gulping down the rest of your water, the coolness washing away the lingering heat of embarrassment. setting the glass aside, you follow him back to the door.

the night air seeps in as you slide it open. he steps into his shoes while you linger by the door, hand resting on the frame. there’s a beat where neither of you moves.

“i’ll walk you,” you offer, almost casually.

he gives you another of those looks of his—flat, the kind that makes you second-guess yourself. “you’re walking me home now?”

you mirror his expression without missing a beat. “i’m being polite.”

for the first time all night, his mouth twists, not into a smirk but a sneer. it’s faint, but it pulls at his features in a way that tugs at a memory—rin’s face, sulking and bitter, flashes briefly in your mind. the resemblance is uncanny; you're struck by how alike they are in moments like this. you bite back a laugh, thinking how much rin would hate that comparison.

sae doesn’t say anything, just shoves his hands in his pockets and steps out. without thinking, you fall into step beside him.

the summer air is still warm and heavy, clinging to the edges of your skin. streetlights hum above, their glow pooling faintly on the pavement, and somewhere in the trees, cicadas drone—a low, constant chorus that stitches the night together.

you walk side by side, shadows stretching long and thin, barely brushing. neither of you talk much, but it doesn’t feel awkward. silence always settles between you that says everything without saying anything at all.

you arrive at the entrance of the itoshi estate sooner than expected. the gates stand tall, sleek against the dim glow of the solar-powered lights lining the path. the house looms beyond, parts of it swallowed by the dark, save for the warm glow of a single light upstairs.

“he’s still out?” you ask, squinting at the window.

“probably,” sae mutters. “told us he was with friends.”

you snort. “and he says they aren't his friends.” 

sae doesn't say anything. the silence folds back over the two of you, thick and still. you shift your weight, toes curling against the edge of the pavement.

“well… i’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” you say, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes.

sae steps forward, close enough that the faint scent of summer clings to him. the breeze teases a loose strand across your cheek, and without thinking, his hand lifts. fingers ghost over your skin as he tucks it back, grazing the side of your face with a touch so light it almost isn't there.

“yeah,” he says, voice low—softer than the night air.

you keep his hand there, leaning into the warmth, and meet him halfway. your lips press a quick, lingering kiss to the side of his face—fleeting, but enough to leave something burning in the air between you, a spark that hums long after you pull away.

his hand abruptly slips from your cheek as you turn, the movement almost reluctant, as if it wishes to stay. but you take off quickly, not daring to look back, and so you miss the way he stays there—rooted to the spot, the night holding its breath around him like he is. the glow under the streetlight spills over him, catching on strands of auburn—his current shade so close to the strands it almost blurs, as though the night itself softened to hold him in its light.

sae watches as your figure retreats into the night, each step pulling you deeper until the shadows and the heavy summer air seem to swallow you from his sight. yet his eyes follow, tracing your outline long after it’s gone, as if by sheer will he can keep you from disappearing. 

8:12 PM

your phone buzzes against the desk, screen lighting up the dim of your room.

— (8:12 PM) rinnie boy: can you meet me at the usual spot? wont take long.

you stare at it for a moment, the corners of your mouth tugging upward. no greeting. no explanation. just straight to the point. you laugh under your breath—quiet, hearty. it’s so him. so rin. 

you don’t text back. instead, you slip the phone into your jacket pocket and tiptoe out of your room, tell no one. the house remains still as you move through it like a ghost.

the front door groans open on its hinges, a muted creak breaking the stillness. you leave it unlocked, a small, silent promise to yourself that you’ll be coming back.

outside, the night air wraps around you once more with the smell of summer earth; you inhale deeply, filling your lungs until it almost aches, then tilt your head back as you exhale slowly, watching the breath disappear into the darkness.

above you, the moon hangs high—silver and clear, its light spilling soft across the quiet street.

how pretty.

the neighborhood fades behind you, each step carrying you closer to the edge of the trail where the scent of saltwater thickens in the air, sharp and familiar. ahead, the distant crash of waves rises and falls, a low, steady heartbeat calling you forward.

you know this path by heart. it’s the same one you’ve taken a hundred times before, back when summers were endless and the sea belonged to you, sae, and rin. even now, the memories cling—you can almost hear their voices chasing each other through the dark, laughter bouncing between the trees.

the rocks appear first, jagged silhouettes against the pale sand, and you smile faintly at the sight. how many times had you dared each other to climb them barefoot, only to scrape your knees raw? you step closer, the sand crunching soft under your soles.

the beach opens up before you, quiet with the low glow of the moon on the water. the tide reaches lazily across the shore, then slid away with a sibilant sigh, leaving behind trails of moonlit fissures.

you crouch at the edge where the sand meets stone, fingers curling under the hem of your shoes. they slip off, the cool air brushing against your socks. you peel those off too, tucking them into the shoes before setting both aside neatly.

the rocks usher you down slowly, hands brushing against the rough stone for balance, the sea growing louder with every step. the moonlight cuts across the water, a trembling path of silver leading straight into the horizon, and you follow it with your eyes, heart thrumming.

the sand is cold, the grains soft and shifting between your toes, clinging as if they don’t want to let you go. you breathe in deeply, the salt in the air biting at your lungs, while the wind threads through your hair, pulling at it like an old friend. for a brief moment, the night feels almost gentle—wrapping itself around you with the same warmth it once held in summers past.

as you walk further, the sand darkens, damp and heavy, sticking to your skin with every step closer to the water’s edge. the sea breathes in and out, each wave folding over itself. you smile faintly because this place has always been yours—yours and theirs.

and there—where the tide stretches to kiss the shore—you see him. rin stands unmoving, the wind tugging at his hair. his back is to you.

you pause for a moment, your steps slowing as your eyes trace the rigid line of his shoulders. even from here, you can see how tightly he’s wound, every muscle locked like he’s holding something back. is he cold?

the wind bites sharper the closer you get, and he looks as if he’s been standing there for some time. how long has he been out here, waiting in the dark with only the sea to keep him company? the thought settles heavy in your chest, but you keep walking, drawn to him like the tide to the shore.

8:22 PM

“you’re late,” rin’s voice cuts as he turns to meet you.

you laugh softly, brushing hair away from your cheek as the wind nudges it back. “only by five minutes.”

but there’s something in the way he stands—something brittle and trembling, like glass stretched thin to the point of shattering—and it stills your laughter in your throat. you take a step toward him, then another, the sand giving way beneath you. “what’s wrong?”

“why him?” he says, and immediately, the words don’t sound like they belong to him at all. they rip free, raw and jagged, like something torn from his throat—stripped of the calm you’re so used to. it’s not the voice of rin who teases, who sulks, who hides behind sharp remarks—it’s something darker, something that trembles with anger and something else you can’t name. it sends a shiver crawling up your spine, because for the first time, you’re not sure if he’s asking you, or if he’s asking himself. “and why was it always you?”

you blink, stunned, his words ringing against the roar of the sea. “rin, what are you—”

“you could’ve chosen me,” he whispers, and there it is—laced with something fiercer, something akin to a storm tearing itself apart. “you could’ve stayed.”

the tide swells at his voice, a sudden surge against the shore, louder, harsher, like the sea itself recoiled with him.

it unsettles you—like standing barefoot at the shoreline, the tide lapping at your ankles, each wave pulling sand from beneath your feet as if urging you. to answer to it—and you would if it were any other time. the sea had always been beautiful. but tonight it feels like the trick of the tide—soft one moment, pulling the next.

your gaze meets rin’s, and find the ocean staring back at you.

its surface seems to burn, swirling with a fierce, impulsive light—lit by sharp, unspent fury. harsh breeze churning like waves struck by a storm. it’s something desperate enough to ignite the water itself, and you feel it crawl up your ribs like the start of an undertow.

it’s a sea that doesn’t wait for you to swim. it seizes, it drags, it devours.

it is so how unlike sae it is. his waters never lunge. his tide a patient pulse that presses gently against your ankles, again and again. his sea is quieter, cold in the right places and almost still, but the brined winds are sharp where it must be. a calm that only cuts those who venture too deep, but with you, it was always a quiet hush.

“rin, you’re my—” but the words tangle and catch, fraying on your tongue. a friend, a brother—something not enough. and whatever else you might have said is swallowed by the storm raging in his eyes.

then his hand moves—faster than thought, faster than fear. the impact explodes white behind your eyes as his fist collides with your face. blood rushes hot and sudden from your nose, the metallic taste flooding your mouth.

teal eyes flash—something jagged caught between fury and remorse—just as your balance slips. the tide lapping higher as you stumble backward, the shore vanishing beneath your feet. cold bites at your shins, then your knees, then your weightless plunge. and before you can catch yourself, the ocean spreads its arms wide and cradles your falling in.

you thrash on instinct, the salt scalding your eyes, lungs searing as you break the surface with a ragged gasp. “rin—!”

but his hands are on you again, holding you, forcing you under. the sky fractures above, stars scattering like shards of broken glass as your vision blurs, bleeding at the edges. the waves roar in your ears, louder and louder, until the world narrows to nothing but sound and the searing panic in your chest. your hands swipe blindly, clawing at his sweatshirt’s arm, nails catching and tearing through the fabric as though in doing so would unmake his hold. your mouth parts to scream—but the sea swallows it. your cry turning to bubbles that rush upward, burst and disappear into nothing.

through it all, through the burning in your throat and the darkness curling at the edge of your sight, you see his eyes.

they hover above you, unnaturally bright against the hollowed dark of his face, catching light where none should linger. glowing faintly as if the moonlight itself had sunk into them. they churn—alive and uncontrollable. they hold you there as surely as his hands do, burning with anger and grief and something you can’t name.

your breath curls into ribbons of nothing, lost to the waters. and still—still—you see them.

amidst the sea against the rocks, they are like seaglass kissed by the sun. like the ocean caught mid-breath, like light bent and refracted through water until it becomes something softer, something sadder. they burn into you, the only thing that does not blur no matter how the world folds in on itself.

you want to tell him they’re beautiful. you want to tell him they’ve always been beautiful. but the water chokes the words before they can leave you, drowning them as easily as it drowns the last air in your chest.

and then—suddenly—the pressure around your throat eases. almost as if the fury has burned itself out. his grip, once the anchor dragging yoy under, shifts—hesitates—then slide from your neck to your shoulders. his fingers tremble against your salted skin as it continues to your back, gathering your unmvoving body as if something fragile, breakable. fingers that moments ago threatened your life now clutch at you with a different kind of desperation, hauling you up, up, as if the sea itself might seal you away. 

he drags you through the dark, breaks you through the skin of the sea with you in his arms. the night air rushes in like a gasp, cold and trembling, kissing your face where water could not. 

but it’s too late.

the fire in your chest is gone, the weight in your limbs drags you down from within. even as he holds you, the tide claims you, resting you in its cold embrace, rocking you.

your body drifts, weightless, and your gaze stays locked on his. even as the world dims, even as everything else fades, those eyes remain—the storm-tossed fury is gone, snuffed out like a wave receding from the shore.

what’s left is something unsound, something breaking—tears gathering at the edges, trembling before they spill. they catch the moonlight as they fall, glimmering like tiny shards of glass, sliding down to the apples of his cheeks, ripened red from the cold and from something far colder.

amidst your fading consciousness, as your hearing betrays you and the roar of the waves swallow all else, you catch them. your throat raw from the water, you force out the words anyway.

“...i’m sorry…rin..”

even as they scrape from your lips, hoarse and thin, your gaze finds his tears. the salt on his face mirrors the salt in the sea, and for a fleeting instant, all you want is to reach out to him, bring comfort to him, to tell him it’s okay, but your hands—still clutching at him—feel impossibly heavy. your limbs refuse their service and only a scarce breath escapes you.

he sees it—or at least, he sees you try. and in that frozen instant, panic and horror and love all collide in his gaze.

you’re still alive.

you no longer hear the waves, or the wind, or even the loud thread of your own heartbeat. but through the haze of your rapidly darkening vision, you catch the shape of his mouth, trembling as it forms words you can’t reach.

“no, no, no—i’m sorry!”

his voice doesn’t carry to you, but the desperation does—cracking, splintering under the weight of your name. 

you feel him wipe at your busted lip, again and again, only making it worse. his knuckles brushing the cut like he can erase the damage he put there. salt stings it. his breath hitches, catching in his throat like barbed wire.

the sea sloshes cold at your back, your legs, pulling, but rin pulls harder—hauled up against him with frantic, jerking movements. his hands are everywhere at once: his thumbs drag beneath your nose, pushing the wet hair from your face, his palm cups your chin but trembles too hard to hold you steady, snearing the blood across your cheeks in his rush to find you under it all.

“come on—hey—breathe,” he stammers—no, begs—his voice cracking and frayed, words spilling without aim. like the prior storm-wracked in his eyes. he shakes you once, stills, then shakes again—too hard, too desperate the longer you don’t react. CPR doesn’t even cross his mind, the sheer urgency of his panic burns out reason—there’s only the animal, blind instinct to have you respond to him.

your nose is bent at an ugly angle, blooming a bruise warping the bridge of your nose, the swelling, the slick blood pooling in the hollows of your face. his breath stutters as he presses there, gently at first, then firmer as though coaxing bone back into place could undo the way your breath rattles. he sees your eyes dull, the life draining out of them—staring, unfocused—and that terrible, terrible thing crawling up his throat as your life slips through his fingers: what have i done?

the fury returns in his eyes—at himself, at you, at the world—but it’s drowning fast, collapsing under the weight of horror. he’s still shaking you, but it’s softer now, like shaking is the only thing left he knows to do, and it’s failing him.

the waves is too loud. it presses from all sides. too heavy, too cold. his arms are the only warmth, and even that is fading.

the sea holds you, his arms are around you, but it’s his eyes that cradle you, and you realize as the darkness at last swallows you, that they are the last piece of the brothers you take with you.

the sea keeps all secrets.

there’s a place in kanagawa where the waves don’t reach too far up the sand.

where the wind isn’t harsh, and the sun sets slow.

they’d build lopsided castles with toy shovels, scold the tide for ruining them, try again anyway.

“this one’ll last.”

“let’s build it taller than yesterday.”

“if we make it far enough from the water, maybe the sea won’t touch it.”

and the brothers would nod. every time. because if she said so, it must be true.

tonight, the stars are out.

they scatter like shards of glass across the black, sharp and cold, but still burning. they watch silently from above, distant witnesses, as if they too, remember.

but rin doesn’t notice. not the stars, not the sky—he barely notices the cold creeping up through his soaked socks, numbing his feet. the weight in his hands heavier than he ever imagined, dragging at the back of his shoulder blades, his arms, at his chest—its struggles slowing, weakening, until it settles into something unbearably still.

she’s not fighting anymore.

only her hair moves now, fanning out on the surface—like seaweed, like something untethered, like a ghost.

something in him breaks open when her body finally slacks—utterly, fatally still. his hands fall useleslly at her sides, then clutch again. tighter, tighter, until his nails leave crescents in her skin. his head bows, forehead to forehead, breathing shaking and hot with the salt of the sea and something bitter.

“i didn’t…” he starts, low, lost. caught between throat and chest, too heavy to form properly. “i didn’t mean—”

the words refuse to leave, sinking like stones in water, pressing down against his tongue. each breath shudders through him, ragged and trembling. carrying weight of everything he cannot undo.

he tells himself it’s not happening. that if he just blinks hard enough, he’ll wake up. maybe in the old room he shared with sae, maybe in 2012, sunburnt and laughing, ten years old again. knees scraped raw from the beach, the smell of salt clinging to their skin.

her voice would be there too, ringing sharp and bright in his ear. 

“rin! look at this crab! it’s waving at you!”

but this one isn’t a crab.

it’s her hand.

floating.

limp.

8:34 PM

he didn’t mean to do it.

that’s what he keeps telling himself.

he’d just wanted her to say it. that all this time, he hadn’t been invisible. that sae could see him too. hadn’t stolen her too.

“why him?” he asked her. “and why is it always you?”

she said something, he can’t remember what. perhaps, he never really heard it. it wasn’t what he wanted. it wasn’t enough.

he doesn’t remember the way his hands were moving.

doesn’t remember his fist flying toward her, the shock in her eyes before the edge of the dock.

he doesn’t remember pushing her into the water.

doesn’t remember holding her down.

only the way his name left her mouth last.

soft. breaking. gargled.

8:39 PM

the grains lodge under his nails. salt stings every raw scrape on his fingers. he’s still breathing hard. shaking. half-choked on sea air and something copper. he’s still on his knees when the tide rolls in.

the same tide they used to play tag with. the same one they used to pretend was magic. that they could tame it.

“if you stand really still,” she told rin once, “you can feel the ocean’s heartbeat.”

right now, he can’t feel anything.

not even the fresh color of scarlet tainting the water, painting his palms. not even the faint pulse from her neck.

his hands fall away from her, and the waves rise to claim what’s left—washing the blood into the dark, swallowing it whole.

he stands, but the sea does not absolve him.

the water cleanses everything but him.

he nudges her with his foot, a small, almost reluctant motion that sends her drifting farther out. her shoulder rolls with the tide, the moonlight catching on pale skin. for a moment she floats—weightless, suspended—before the current claims her again, pulling her under like she knows how to hide.

his fingers tremble when he pulls off his sweatshirt. leaving him in a thin, white undershirt. the fabric bears the evidence of the chaos, but it’s not in tatters; it’s still whole enough to be folded. a dark, wet stain mars the hem, obvious against the fabric. he folds it once, twice, balls it up tight, and the bundle disappears into the underbrush along the cliff trail, down the path no one goes to anymore.

his socks squish with each step. squelching and waterlogged. so, they're off next. they are cold and suffocating, and he peels them off like skin—like shedding something rotten. flings them into the ditch and lands by the service road, swallowed by weeds.

his shoes go back on bare. the laces cut into his skin. they bite, and he lets them.

he doesn't run. running would make it look real.

so he walks—slow, steady—each step measured against the pounding in his chest. he pats his sand-ridden pants as he passes the forgotten footprint trails that won't survive the tide. past the rocks where the three of them once sat shoulder to shoulder, necks craned to watch fireworks bloom and die in the sky.

rin’s gaze catches the shoes she had kicked off before making her way down the rocks toward the beach. he snatches them up without a thought, tossing them into the underbush, burying them in the shadows. evidence, he knows. and he can only hope the sea carries her body far, far away before anyone finds it. 

he moves past the gnarled tree they’d used as a goalpost, where laughter once clung to the bark. the echoes now twisting in his chest like a cruel reminder of what’s been lost.

by the time he gets home, it was a quarter to nine. his fingertips are raw, skin scraped from stone and salt, every nerve humming with exhaustion and a carefully maintained air of nonchalance. but underneath it all, he’s shitting himself.

his parents don't notice his missing clothing. nor the dampness clinging stubbornly to his pants. they never paid too much attention, after all. never asked too many questions, never lingered long enough to see.

rin passes by his older brother’s room. sae had just returned from spain with her—something about renewing visas—and earlier, rin had seen the two of them together. although sae had seemed to have no plans to stay at the house, he knows his brother is in there; he caught sight of sae’s shoes by the genkan. sae had stayed, after all—conveniently along the way after dropping her home.

sae is probably already asleep, unaware of everything that’s happened. 

rin swallows hard, picturing the scene tomorrow… tomorrow, when practice rolls and she doesn't show—what will his brother do? the thought claws at him akin to earlier on his skin. sae isn’t cruel, not entirely. he’s still a human, with rules, with morals. capable of emotions, capable of normal worry. but rin knows the sharp indifference, the cutting edge of his brother’s personality—the same edge that had scarred him one snowy night—shall it slice through tomorrow.

he imagines sae pacing, almost see the sharp line of sae’s jaw, the narrowing of his eyes as frustration blooms, the quiet gnawing disappointment in his brother’s eyes. lips pressing into a thin line as he processes the absence. maybe a sigh, a terse question, or an eruption of pointed words—but ultimately, concern will bloom through the cracks, because sae may be blunt, but he has a conscience.

the weight of guilt presses hard against rin’s ribs. constricting and unforgiving. he could lie, fudge the truth, pretend. but he knows sae. the truth, when it finally strikes, will land like a storm.

and rin, passing by, can only feel the weight of what’s coming, he can’t stop it. he can only brace himself for the reckoning he knows is coming.

he showers without thinking. the water runs hot, so hot it burns the skin at his shoulders, but not enough to scald away what clings to him. the steam clouds the glass, curling around him like a shroud. there’s blood beneath his nails—thin, dark crescents that refuse to wash out. he digs at them, scrubbing until the skin around them furthers, reddened and raw. he tells himself it’s rust from the swing set they used to fight over. he tells himself it’s nothing.

each lather, each scrub of his arms, his chest, is frantic, desperate. the water beads and rolls off, but the water only runs red, then clear, down the drain, but not the weight in his hands. it doesn’t wash.

he reminds himself again that it’s nothing. tells himself she would’ve said sorry for making him feel this way. 

he swears it. each pass of the soap like a prayer, each rinse like a wish, like a child trying to trade his soul for a do-over.

he tells himself again that it’s fine. you cleaned it all. you didn't mean it.

she would have forgiven you.

and that’s the worst part. she would have.

if he’d cried. if he’d said sorry. if he’d just reached for her instead of pushing her deeper where the water swallowed her screams.

she would’ve hugged him. told him it’s okay. like she always did when sae ignored him. when he was mean.

she would’ve forgiven him for murder.

he swallows the bile blooming at the back of his throat, bitter proof that guilt has a taste—and it lingers.

his fingers rake through his hair like sand, as if he could tear out the memory with the strands. the water runs down his face, hot enough to sting his eyes, but not enough to erase the image of her hair fanning out on the water, the way it wrapped around his wrists like bounds—soft, silken chains that burned more than any rope could.

his fingers rake again and again through hair, across skin, searching for something that was never his to hold.

not her hand.

not her throat.

not her forgiveness.

but he digs anyway—into his scalp, into his own flesh—if he tears deep enough, he might find it buried there. as if pain could trade for absolution. as if depth could turn back time, as if the tide hadn’t already swallowed her laughter whole.

the water runs hot, then scalding, then cold, but still he digs. because stopping would mean admitting it’s gone. admitting she’s gone. and the only thing left of her is the memory that won’t let him go.

it clings to him, even as she sank. how it tethered him to the moment he wishes he could wash away, the moment that will never loosen its grip.

with each desperate handful of sand, he stacks apologies he’ll never get to say.

walls to keep the tide from coming in.

turrets of denial rising against a storm that won’t stop.

the shower hisses to a close, the last threads of steam curling around him like smoke. he tilts his head back beneath the dying spray, relentless—like the phantom trace of nails once dragged down his back, something that dared to fight even as it yielded.

it’s almost punishing, but not enough.

it can’t beat the blood out of his hands. can’t strip the ghost of her touch from his arms. can’t drown out the sound of her voice saying his name for the last time.

as the water slides down his face, he remembers her voice, small and sure, from summers long ago. the three of them crouched by the shore, watching the tide eat away at the edges of a sandcastle they’d built too close to the waves.

“my nana always tells me that the sea never forgets,” she had told them, eyes bright as she traced circles in the wet sand. “the water holds memories. it keeps them, even when people let go.”

back then, he’d laughed, throwing shells into the foam. back then, it was just a story.

now, every drop feels like it should cleanse, like it should take the weight from his shoulders, but instead it reminds him—water remembers. it carries things. it holds them close, even when no one else will.

and no matter how hard he scrubs, no matter how hot the water runs, it leaves him standing there with the same stain seared into his chest.

some things, he realizes, are never meant to wash away.

the tides watch.

and the sea never forgets.

extras

— (7:55 PM) you: You made it home safe, right?

— (7:57 PM) pest 🦟: yup!

— (7:57 PM) you: Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.

— (7:57 PM) pest 🦟: oh haha oh nooo i think im sickk

— (7:58 PM) pest 🦟: i wont be able to come to practice tmrw i think cough cough

— (7:58 PM) you: You are not getting out of this.

— (7:58 PM) pest 🦟: 😰😰 > read

— (8:18 PM) you: Thanks for earlier btw.

he deletes it. Retypes.

— (8:19 PM) you: Thanks for walking with me.

sae hesitates, thumb lingering, then hits send.

minutes stretch. he scrolls up, eyes catching on the last message she sent—something silly, something mundane, just minutes ago.

— (8:23 PM) you: You’re not asleep yet, are you?

the screen stays blank. he exhales, turns onto his side.

— (8:34 PM) you: Guess you are.

— (8:34 PM) you: Call me when you see this.

he types one more, softer than the rest, almost like he’s saying it out loud.

— (8:39 PM) you: Goodnight.

michael kaiser

you two probably text a lot more than you call, so the first time he hears your voice properly is either because he called without thinking or you sent a quick voice message.

he freezes the second you start speaking. like, for once, michael kaiser is actually silent.

you're in the middle of explaining something and he suddenly interrupts with,

"wait, wait, hold on. why do you sound like that?"

cue him immediately smirking when you go, "what do you mean?" in your natural accent.

if you're aussie, he's mimicking you on the spot, going "g'day mate" in the worst accent known to man.

if you're british, he instantly starts going "oi bruv, innit?" every chance he gets, even though you tell him you don't talk like that.

once the teasing dies down, he's actually fascinated by it. asks where you grew up, what other words you say differently.

will start sending you random sentences to "say out loud for him" so he can hear how you pronounce them.

itoshi sae

sae does not call often. so when he does, it's usually quick and to the point.

but the moment you answer and speak, there's this very noticeable pause.

"you didn't tell me you had an accent."

if you're aussie, he's caught off guard because he didn’t expect the slang—he'll make you repeat phrases, pretending it's because he doesn’t understand, but he's really just listening.

if you're british, there's a tiny smirk in his voice when he says, "figures. you sound like you're about to invite me for tea."

100% starts paying extra attention to how you pronounce his name.

he won't say it, but he thinks it's really attractive. it makes you stand out in his head, especially when you get emotional or excited and your accent thickens.

occasionally texts you with: "call me when you can." and when you ask why, it's just "want to hear your voice."

in person, he's more obvious. leans in when you talk, maybe smirks when you slip into slang without realising.

nagi seishiro

nagi’s first reaction is pure confusion:

"woah… your voice is, like… different. that's cool."

if you're aussie, he's instantly grinning and asking, "say shrimp on the barbie" while lying in bed.

if you're british, he laughs when you say "bottle of water" and makes you say it three more times.

not much gets nagi interested, but your voice is an instant hook. he'll call just to hear you talk.

literally has you on speaker while gaming and will just go, "keep talking, it's nice."

if you're ever tired and speaking softer, he gets so clingy:

"mm, don't hang up yet. i like it."

once he hears your accent, he associates it with comfort and warmth, so even if he teases you sometimes, he secretly loves it the most.

reo mikage

reo's reaction is pure excitement. he's loud about it from the start.

"WAIT. oh my god, you have an accent?? why didn't you tell me?!"

if you're aussie, he's instantly asking you to teach him slang and will attempt it horribly:

"arvo? what the hell is that? ohhh afternoon??"

if you're british, he's begging you to say posh things just so he can laugh:

"please, say 'would you like a spot of tea?'"

immediately brags to his friends. "you guys have to hear their voice, it's literally the cutest thing."

saves voice messages you send him and sets them as notification sounds.

if you say his name in your accent, he's GONE:

"say it again. just one more time. …okay, five more."

100% tries to copy your accent when you're together, but it's so bad you have to beg him to stop.

and whenever you asked why he looked so serious in the baby store, he'd mutter something about you choosing a car seat based on colour and not safety features.

he was terrified.

but he was excited too.

the photo of the baby’s ultrasound scan never left his wallet ever since he saw the tiny life growing inside of you. he didn’t talk about it much, but you noticed how often he would stare at it all the time with a faint smile on his face. you saw it in how often he stayed home instead of training. how gently he touched your belly. how carefully he held you when your body grew tired.

he never planned to start a family, never expected to be a father. but now, he wanted to be one more than anything.

the hospital

it started with cramps at first. then bleeding. then panic.

you were rushed to the hospital, and sae was already running out of his match-day warm-up session before the call ended. and when he got there, he sat by your side the entire time — holding your hand, breathing in sync with yours, trying to keep calm while the doctor’s words blurred into static.

your body was too weak, and the pregnancy had already taken a toll.

but the doctors were confident. said they could manage it. said the labour wasn’t progressing fast. said they had time.

he didn’t want to leave. didn’t want to leave you alone here. because if anything happened, he could be by your side and help you get through it.

so he told his manager, voice clipped and shaking, “i’m sitting out.”

the manager looked at him — not cold, not unfeeling — just stuck. “i’m sorry, sae. this is bigger than me. the higher-ups said no. it’s a must-win match and you’re irreplaceable.”

sae gritted his teeth. “i don’t give a fuck about the match. my wife is in the hospital. our child could die, or even worse, she— just… i’m not going.”

“you’ll breach contract. you’ll be fined, dropped. you know what that means. it’s too late for them to find a replacement for you, not when all the strategies and formations have already been decided. you know the others don’t compare to you.”

then you, lying in the bed, barely strong enough to lift your head, said softly, “he’s right. it’s too much of a loss, sae.”

he turned to you. “don’t.”

“the doctor said there’s still time. please, sae. just finish the match. then come back. i’ll wait. i promise.” you pleaded, squeezing his hand lightly, desperately.

his heart was breaking, but he nodded. kissed your hand. and whispered, “fine, okay. please, just… be safe.”

the call

he was halfway through the match when the call came. he didn’t answer. couldn’t. his phone was switched off, so the hospital called his manager.

it happened during halftime.

the team was in the locker room. the coach was shouting. sae wasn’t listening until the manager crouched beside him and said nothing at first. just placed a hand on his shoulder.

“what?” sae asked, already knowing.

the manager hesitated. “the baby didn’t make it.”

sae blinked. like the words didn’t register.

“what…?”

“she went into labour early. the baby—”

“no. no, fuck— is she okay?” he stood up, ready to walk out. “i need to go. now.”

“you can’t.”

“don’t fucking tell me i can’t—!”

“we’re already here, halfway into a match. if you walk out now, you’ll breach the contract. they’ll sue. you’ll lose everything.”

“i don’t care.”

the manager didn’t argue. didn’t push.

he just said, “she would.”

and that broke him.

he sat back down. buried his face in his hands. let out a frustrated groan. dragged his fingers through his hair like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

“she was still fighting for our child,” he muttered. “and here i was, kicking a fucking ball.”

he hated himself.

the second half

the moment the second half begun, he stepped onto the pitch like it was a battlefield.

he didn’t play to win.

he played to end it. to end everything.

the commentators said he looked ruthless. brilliant. phenomenal.

colder than ever.

but he wasn’t playing for the crowd. or the team. or the league. he was playing to survive the next forty-five minutes without you. to make everything end faster so he could be by your side again.

and the thought of you lying there alone broke his heart more than anything. because you, more than him, must’ve been more afraid than anyone else.

the aftermath

the second the whistle blew, he ran.

not a word to the team. not his teammates. not a glance. just sprinted down the tunnel without looking back. and when he ran out, the press was already there, waiting for him outside.

they knew.

“itoshi sae—” “we heard your wife was hospitalised—” “is it true she lost the baby?” “was it worth it?”

flash. flash. flash.

questions like bullets. cameras like weapons.

it made him sick.

“shut the fuck up. get out of my face. don’t touch me.” he snapped.

he shoved cameras. knocked a mic clean out of someone’s hand.

no apologies. no explanations.

he wasn’t thinking straight, he couldn’t. he just ran.

the guilt

the moment he reached your hospital room. everything inside him was shaking.

then you looked up at him with an extremely forced smile that broke him even more. that was the saddest smile he’d ever seen.

he dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hand clenching yours tightly.

“i know you’re trying to be strong,” he whispered. “but please… don’t comfort me. i know you want to cry too.”

so you did.

you both did.

“i’m so sorry, sae,” you cried.

and that apology hurt him even more.

“no… don’t be. i’m sorry,” he breathed. “for not being with you. i’m so sorry.”

and you held each other like you were the only two people left in the world.

after

after you were discharged, he stayed by your side for days. weeks, even. he cooked. cleaned. sat beside you while you stared at the wall blankly. he told you stories. played the playlist you'd made for the baby. held your hand. fed you. everything.

but you were gone. not physically.

just… somewhere else.

the light in your eyes was gone. and no matter what he did, he couldn’t bring it back.

the baby died that day.

but so did something in you.

and sae… he felt like he buried his whole heart in that same grave. he lost everything, and so did you.

itoshi rin

he didn’t mean to knock the box out of your hands. he just brushed past you in a rush and smack. 

“...” 

the silence was LOUD. 

rin turned slowly, like he already knew he committed war crimes. “was that…” 

you just stared at the frosting-covered sidewalk. 

“it’s fine,” you said quietly. “not mad.” 

he was about to say “i’ll buy you another one,” but you sniffled and he short-circuited. 

“you… you’re crying???” 

you tried to cover your face but he saw it. the quiver in your lip. the glassy eyes. the sorrow of a woman betrayed by fate. 

rin.exe has stopped functioning. 

“okay. okay. it’s not just the cupcake. something else happened. i– fuck.” 

he immediately grabs your hand and drags you into the nearest store. 

“pick anything you want,” he says. “anything. i’ll pay. just stop crying before someone thinks i murdered your dog or something.” 

he’s so awkward, but so desperate to fix it. ends up sitting with you in a café quietly feeding you cake with a fork while looking guilty like a wet cat. 

mikage reo

he’s holding the box like it’s a designer clutch until nagi calls him and he answers with one hand while gesturing dramatically. 

the cupcake box slips out of his arm like a stock market crash and plummets. 

splat. 

“OH NO.” he gasps. “OH NONONONONO babe. babe. no.” 

you stare at the ground. dead-eyed. 

“i-it’s okay,” he says, already pulling out his credit card. “we’ll get a better one. a gourmet one. a ten-tiered one.” 

but you just turn away, shoulders shaking. 

“wait. wait are you–??” 

when you actually start crying, reo has an emotional breakdown like this is his fault and his family just lost their fortune again. 

“BABY NOOO, i didn’t know this cupcake meant THIS MUCH. i didn’t know it was a symbol of PEACE IN YOUR LIFE.” 

hugs you like you’re made of glass. whispering things like “you’ve been so strong for so long” and “you don’t deserve this pain.” 

drags you to the fanciest dessert place in town and makes them cater to you like a royal. you leave with five cupcakes and a new scarf. 

nagi seishiro

simply forgot it was in his bag. 

sat on it. 

“oh. whoops.” 

you look. you blink. the cupcake is a pancake. 

and he’s just. sipping his energy drink. 

“it’s okay, i’ll buy you a new one,” he says casually, until he sees your lip wobble. 

then he's like "wait… are you crying? over that?” 

“it’s not just that,” you say, voice cracking. 

his eyes widen like 👁👁 oh shit. 

he awkwardly reaches out and pats your head. “uhh. there, there. cupcake’s dead but you’re not. that’s what matters.” 

somehow makes you laugh just a little through the tears. then he’s like “mission complete.” 

later buys you two cupcakes and lets you eat both while he watches youtube videos beside you in comfortable silence. 

kaiser michael

he was showing off. twirling the cupcake box in one hand like it's a prop in a circus. 

you literally said “stop playing with it before you–” 

thud. 

the look on your face was betrayal incarnate. 

“oh c’mon, you weren’t really gonna eat that were you?” he smirks, until you just sit down on the curb and burst into tears. 

he stands there, blinking. “wait. are you actually–? OH NO.” 

it’s the one moment he realizes he is not the main character of this tragedy. you are. and he’s the villain. 

he crouches beside you, trying to offer hugs and compliments and dumb jokes: “i’ll make a music video called ‘cupcake girl’ in your honor.” 

ends up walking you into a bakery and going, “my girlfriend’s having a full-blown meltdown. what’s the most comforting thing you sell.” 

he spends $60 on sweets and then feeds you like you’re royalty while stroking your hair. 

“if anyone drops your cupcake again i’m breaking their legs, got it? even if it’s my own.” 

shidou ryusei

he tried to take a bite before you could. 

like a menace. he thought he was being funny. 

instead he missed, the cupcake fell, and he looked up with frosting on his nose and no regrets. 

“... i’ll buy you another one, babe.” 

“no it’s fine,” you say. “totally fine. not gonna cry over a dessert like some child.” 

and then. you. start. crying. 

“WAIT. you are crying?? over a cupcake?!??” 

then he starts LAUGHING. “you’re so dramatic, i love it.” 

gives you the most chaotic but genuine hug ever, spinning you around and calling you his “little frosting goblin” like it’s endearing. 

makes you scream-laugh until you forget why you were upset. 

still buys you a new cupcake, but puts his name on it. “property of shidou’s girlfriend. do not touch or you die.” 

karasu tabito

kicked the box by accident when you set it on the bench for a second. 

you both watched it drop in slow motion. 

“noooOooooOooo!” you screeched. 

splat. 

“bro i’m so sorry,” he whispers, looking like he just killed your dog. 

“i-it’s fine,” you say. “it’s fine.” 

then you sniffle. and he flinches. 

“WAIT. no. don’t cry. please don’t cry. i’ll do anything. i’ll dance. i’ll rap. i’ll dye my hair. i’ll fight otoya in your honor.” 

you let out a wet sob. 

now he’s spiraling. pulls his hoodie over your head to hide you like “DON’T LET THE WORLD SEE YOU LIKE THIS YOU’RE TOO PRECIOUS.” 

carries you bridal-style into the nearest bakery like it’s a heist. 

“we need a cupcake. stat. the best you have. this is a CODE RED.” 

makes it his life mission to ensure you never cry over desserts again. 

itoshi sae

you were walking side-by-side. he swung his gym bag a little too hard. 

BAM. cupcake box flies out of your hands and lands frosting-side down. 

you stood in silence. the world went quiet. 

sae blinked. “... oops.” 

“i’m going to pretend you didn’t just ruin the only thing getting me through this day.” 

“it’s just a cupcake–” 

bad choice of words. 

you start crying. not loud. but just standing there, silently sobbing like the heroine of a tragic k-drama. 

sae just stares. frozen. he is not emotionally equipped for this. 

“fuck. okay. um.” 

he pulls you to the side, puts his jacket over your shoulders, and buys out half the bakery. 

“take them all. eat until you forget i was ever involved.” 

you sniffle and mutter “i hate you.” 

he scoffs but wipes your tears anyway, mumbling “yeah yeah, save the drama for the frosting.”