rei

it’s past twelve, and you just arrived home with a terrible headache that has refused to go away, despite the painkillers you took hours ago. sae’s still overseas with an important match, so it’s just you in the large apartment you two usually share. desperate to rest, you drop your bags and skip dinner before hopping into the shower, hoping the hot water will soothe that damned headache of yours.  

unluckily enough, the headache is still there when you exit the shower. too tired to care, you speed through your bedtime routine and slip into bed.

the next morning, you stir and let out a pitiful whine; the headache is still there, but your body feels on fire, aching with every minor movement. you blindly reach for your phone to check the time, only to see two missed calls from sae. sae never double calls, so something must’ve happened. It’s four am, but you instantly call back—unsure if he’ll even pick up—and he answers on the first ring. 

“you didn’t pick up my calls,” he says plainly. there’s a brief pause before u respond. “I didn’t feel well,” you rasp out, voice hoarse from whatever infected you. “the match ended early, i’ll be home soon,” he replies calmly before hanging up.

you manage to muster up your remaining strength and toss your phone aside, before shifting underneath the covers to get comfortable again—dozing off as quickly as you were awoken. yet, you’re only able to rest a little before a cold hand—sae’s hand—is placed flush against your burning forehead, rousing you from your sleep. “you have a fever,” sae states, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious, while sitting on the side of the bed, staring at you in your pathetic state. you’re about to retort when he suddenly pulls his hand back and tells you to rest, as he stands up, so you do, albeit a bit reluctantly. 

it’s not long before he comes back with a wet towel and some pills with a cup of water for you. sae places the towel on your forehead, helps you swallow the pills, and is about to leave when you hastily grab his wrist, earning you a raised eyebrow.

“kiss it better?” you ask half-jokingly, to which he scoffs, but does so anyway—placing a quick kiss on your overly-warm forehead. sae knows better than to indulge in your silly antics, but he can’t help himself. maybe he’ll get sick, but what’s a little sickness to one of the best midfielders? he loves you too much to say no to you.

“come inside,” aki murmurs, while leaning against the bedroom doorframe, yet you make no effort to do so; you’re standing outside on the balcony, mindlessly staring out into the dark distance as the cool night air blows against you.

aki knows you hear him—you always do—but today, you don’t want to. you hear him sigh and some shuffling behind you, but don’t turn around, wanting to bask in your gloom a bit longer. It’s unusual for you to be so sad without reason, but you can’t help it today.

it’s not until aki grabs your hand that you finally snap back to reality. before you can stop yourself, you meet his eyes; he’s looking at you, with a mix of fondness and concern.

“come inside?” he asks again, but this time it’s a plea with a sense of desperation, so you do, nodding, even if you’re unsure you want to. your hand is still intertwined with his—warmth enveloping you—as he leads you back inside and closes the balcony door. you might be sad, but aki’s always there and willing to take care of you.

“this is so embarrassing," you mutter to yourself, lying in bed. you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep and it’s almost four in the morning. sae’s not even home either—probably on his way back from the airport—so you can’t even rely on him for comfort. something in the universe is clearly trying (and succeeding) at making you stay awake the entire night.

you’ve already tossed and turned, doomscrolled, wandered sae’s large spain penthouse, and drank tea, but nothing worked.

now, back in bed, your fingers are cautiously hovering over the call button to sae’s contact, but your inner monologue stops you before you can tap the green button: “sae’s probably exhausted from his flight..i shouldn’t.” And to that, you let out an exhausted groan and turn to face his untouched pillow.

in a last-ditch effort, you grab sae’s pillow and tug it close to your chest, inhaling his lingering scent, before closing your eyes in hopes of falling asleep.

yet, the sleep you desperately wished for doesn’t last long as you’re unceremoniously awakened by your alarm blaring at the crack of dawn—but that’s not what’s important. you open your eyes and almost instantly notice sae hovering over you with a deadpan expression. a hoarse “what?” leaves your mouth, and you swear a smile was tugging at the corner of his lips.

“nothing,” he says, before casually exiting the bedroom.

you’re left dumbfounded—still exhausted, cuddling his pillow, and in bed—but oh well; it’s too early to care about sae’s weird shenanigans, so you shut your eyes once again.

everyone knows about satoru gojo. The spoiled, since birth, white-haired freak who has girls fawning over him every second, minute, hour of the day. Yet, he’s your white-haired freak; the campus nerd’s boyfriend. behind the carefully constructed facade he wears every day, satoru, in his purest form, is simply the boy who sees you as his clarity; his remedy. He doesn’t have anything to prove in front of you, unabashedly showing every imperfection that’s there to him: his loud laugh, love for digimon, and sweet tooth. And if you ever had any complaints—not that you would—he’d do anything to fix them, just to satisfy you. So, that’s how you ended up here: back pressed to satoru’s toned chest, watching some corny zombie movie—except you’re not really watching the movie. 

you’ve long forgotten the movie, with your eyes drifting to your boyfriend’s toned arms, which are currently wrapped around you. But before you can process your next thought, satoru asks, “whatcha looking at?” before leaning down to get a glance at you, aware of your slipping consciousness. A sleepy, uncommitted hum escapes before you can realize, and all of a sudden, the movie is being turned off, and satoru is murmuring something about bedtime. 

In a state of newfound confusion and sleepiness, you quickly turn around to face your boyfriend, which is a task that’s a lot harder in pitch darkness, before asking “why’d you turn the movie off ‘toru?”

“baby, you were literally falling asleep. you weren’t even watching the movie!” satoru exclaims. 

you open your mouth to protest, but quickly realize that it’d be far too embarrassing to explain that you got distracted by his arms, so you let out a sigh instead and close your mouth, defeatedly.

and to that, satoru chuckles and tugs you closer to his chest, your face flush against the crook of his neck, saying, “we can watch another movie tomorrow, let’s go to bed,” followed by a yawn right after.

by the time he’s done talking, you’re practically asleep! it’s not your fault satoru’s neck is so comfy, so a meek “okay” is all you can muster out. the last thing you register is the comforter being tugged up and a kiss pressed to your cheek as you peacefully sleep—head still in the crook of his neck as he holds you, of course.