kaia™

⟡

the first time sero hanta ever decides to show up early, he’s stuck waiting at a theatre with an angry bakugo at his side.

not to say the fiery blond isn’t usually angry. but this time said anger comes with heat: he’s grinding straw between his molars so hard plastic cracks between his teeth. his feet tap like it’ll make time go by sooner. it doesn’t.

“i’m gonna kill that damn shitty hair.”

“we’re the ones who’re thirty minutes early.”

“shut the fuck up.”

dumb dog sero hanta does as he’s told. katsuki stews a little longer, neck rash red, phone clicking locked & unlocked till he decides he’s had enough—or till the anger reaches his bladder. “‘m going to the bathroom, watch my shit.”

katsuki doesn’t bother waiting for a reply. his hands shove in his pockets as he makes his way to the bathroom, phone tucked firm between sero’s palms. sero hanta knows better than to hold it with anything less than an iron grip. but then it buzzes—& almost cartoonishly, the phone hops & skips before settling between his fingers

sero sees the notification before he can pretend otherwise.

mine🫀: mina and i are otw

mine🫀 : hope we’ll make it. this girl can NOT drive.

sero muffles a snort. the text holds truth, mina cannot, in fact drive. he recalls the time she picked him up to go to the beach and—wait.

is that text from y/n?

he’s quick to take a picture, send it to the ‘inBESTigators 🕵️🔍’ GC. before he can even close his phone & resume playing saint, kiri’s response comes in.

ripped riot 🔥: could be a typo

ripped riot 🔥: like ‘mine’ could be short for miner

pikachu ⚡️[replying to ripped riot 🔥] : are we deadass

sero’s about to type a response of his own before the familiar heavy steps of steve maddens sag at his ears. katsuki’s back, jaw tight & angrier than ever.

further investigation will have to wait.

BAKUSQUAD CASE FILES — CASE STUDY #3.

observed by — denki kaminari

‘when the fuck did bakugo get funny?’

⟡

autumn break means thanksgiving shopping & black friday sales that make twelve dollar products drop to eleven ninety-nine. denki’s shopping for snacks, kiri needs energy drinks & you’re here for produce. katsuki is here because you all need his membership to get into costco.

something isn’t right.

& denki’s not talking about how the price of cheetos have somehow gone up. he’s talking about the fact that katsuki stands firm behind you, hands in pockets as you show him fruit. that’s fine—bakugo’s always been able to tell which apples are good & which aren’t.

but no apple evaluation requires katsuki to lean in that close.

and denki’s pretty sure there’s nothing funny about granny smiths either.

so why the fuck are you giggling ?

kaminari’s eyes flit to katsuki’s. if he was any other classmate, he’d say katsuki was bored. lips tight, eyes neutral, jaw slack. but denki’s no other classmate. he recognizes that twitch in his brow. the bob in his jugular.

katsuki is pleased. at least, denki thinks—no, swears he is. but just to be safe, he chooses to call in an actual katsuki expert. kirishima’s fatass is trying yet another free sample. for the sake of peace, denki chooses not to comment & instead goes straight to business.

“yo, kiri—i’m not seeing stuff, right? is bakugo not smirking and making y/n laugh??”

kirishima, in true fatass fashion, responds with a mouth filled with mini tacos. “I down’t see ‘t”

“bro. chew.”

“I don’t see it,” kiri gulps. “don’t you think we should respect their privacy?”

“we’re at a costco??”

but kaminari drops it. if the katsuki expert himself says there’s nothing, there’s obviously nothing.

right ?

BAKUSQUAD CASE FILES — CASE STUDY #4.

observed by — literally everyone

‘katsuki and y/n are definitely dating. oh, and kiri’s getting kicked from the group chat.’

⟡

mina ashido is not playing around.

the rest of the gang isn’t either. kaminari’s flipping through a scrapbook titled ‘PHOTOGRAPHICAL EVIDENCE.’ sero’s screenshotting group chat messages that sound too fond to not be affectionate. kirishima’s got his laptop open, looking over ‘evidence spreadsheets’ he swears aren’t empty.

but they are. and mina, rivaled only by sherlock himself, notices.

“kirishima, cell B-4. what’s written in there ?”

“I—uh, cell? what do you—“

“aha—” mina shuts her book. she’s towering over eijiro now, hands on her hips & glare so sharp it melts kiri like—well, acid.

“you’re not really doing anything.”

sero lifts a brow. kaminari gives the stink-eye.

“matter of fact…” mina continues, “you haven’t done anything. compiling evidence. listening in on on their convos. you haven’t done anything we’ve asked you to.”

“yeah,” sero quips. his phone’s in his lap now. “matter of fact, you always had some excuse about why you couldn’t.”

“matter of fact,” denki joins, “you’re always trying to deny evidence. talking about us ‘being delusional’.”

oh, kirishima’s in trouble now. blood in his jugular. tar in his throat. “I—“

mina can’t make up what happens next.

The door opens. It’s katsuki—not surprising—they’re literally all seated in a circle on the mat in his dorm. plans to hang out & just chill today—the usual. kiri is bakugo’s roommate. getting in isn’t a fuss.

but you’re right beside bakugo.

and your finger’s in his belt loop.

mina blinks. you haven’t noticed them yet. you look all calm and pretty, lashes low, eyes glued to your phone screen. your finger’s looped around the belt-hole like you’ve done it a thousand times before, and—

is that katsuki’s hoodie?

“what the fuck are you losers doing here?”

kiri’s already scrambling to defend the situation—something about she & the others showing up an hour early, he didn’t know, don’t blast us all—but mina’s not listening. she’s wondering if the refractive index of light is so strong it somehow made it look like katsuki gave your hand a light squeeze before tapping your hand off his jeans.

you’re still quiet behind him. hair all cute, jam-pink cheeks, fawn freckled & doe-eyed. kiri and katsuki are going back and forth. sero’s joined in. kaminari’s farted because he thinks no one will notice.

“y/n, is that bakugo’s hoodie?”

you can hear a pin drop. and another fart from kaminari.

“no, it’s—“

“it’s mine.” katsuki steps forward, hands in pockets & posture lazy like he didn’t say something scandalous. “got a problem, pinkie pie?”

“i could never.”

katsuki hums. he tugs you gently by the palm, door clicking shut behind him with the kick of his shin. he trudges toward the group, right hand in his pocket, left in yours—and he murmurs a quiet sit in your ear before doing a once-over.

“what’s all this?”

“evidence.”

“homework.”

“not evidence.”

tongue click. “evidence of ?”

“the refractive index of light.”

“you and y/n dating.”

“not you and y/n dating.”

“uh-huh,” katsuki picks up a photograph. he recognizes the scene: you’re tucked in his side, showing him something on your phone while he leans too close to be considered casual. you’re giggling here. cute.

he pockets it. “you guys are a bunch of fuckin’ idiots. and you—“ he turns to kirishima,

“no, no bro listen,” kirishima’s palm rests on his neck, an apologetic glance in your direction before he answers, “I did try to get them to leave you guys alone. they wouldn’t listen!”

“aha! so you were a traitor!”

bakugo glares. mina shrinks.

a muffled giggle pierces the silence. then a snort. & now you’re full on laughing—

“oh my god,” you sniffle, “you guys know we were literally gonna tell you, right?”

“tell us when?” sero speaks up, long moved away from kaminari. “it seems kiri here already knew about it.”

bakugo grunts. “why do you idiots think you’re here?”

oh.

bakugo takes a seat beside you. sero’s avoiding eye contact. kaminari’s avoiding the cheetos. mina bites her lip. you’re leaning over katsuki’s thigh now, photo evidence flip-book in your hands. you’re pointing out familiar photos while laughing & shaking your head, and bakugo’s looking back with a gaze so soft that mina doesn’t know how she didn’t see it sooner.

“i think we owe you two an apology.”

katsuki’s got his fingers twisting your knuckle. “y’think?”

sero, mina, and denki all look towards each other.

“we’re sorry.”

“for what?”

“for stalking you guys.”

“and not trusting that you’d tell us.”

“and being idiots.”

katsuki hums, satisfied. but he’s not done yet. he leans back on his palms before gently poking your hip. “should we forgive ‘em?”

“maybe. if they can send some of these photos.”

bakugo nods, turns to mina. “you heard the missus.”

“girl, take the whole book. like—seriously. omg.”

you hug it towards your chest, and mina can tell bakugo’s fighting a smile.

“right. and since you guys know now, you can all leave.”

the three protest. kiri interrupts. “i think it’s for the best. it’s been a long day.”

“that includes you, shitty hair.”

“huh—what?! this is my room too!”

“don’t care,” katsuki tugs you up with him, grip gentle, palm flat against your back as he steers you towards his bed.

“and didn’t ask,” he glances over his shoulder, “all of you, out.”

signs, end.

itoshi rin

rin's letters are painfully short because he erases every sentence that feels unnecessary until only the truth remains. no crossed-out words, no decorations, no fluff – only dark green fountain pen on thick cream paper folded into perfect thirds. 

he never hands them to you himself. you'll simply find one resting on your desk, tucked beneath your phone, or waiting on your nightstand after he's already left the room. 

the only thing that gives him away before you even unfold it is the impossibly precise fold and your name written in immaculate handwriting. 

people think i don't notice much. they're wrong. 

i notice when you pretend you're not tired. i notice when you smile differently because it's real. i notice that you always reach for my hand without looking. you've done it so many times that you already know where i'll be. 

i wonder if that's what trust feels like. like when we're apart, i keep reaching anyway. it's embarrassing. i've never told anyone that before. 

i don't pray. i don't make wishes. i don't even believe life gives people what they deserve. but every morning i wake up beside you, it feels like someone made a mistake in my favor. 

if there is another lifetime, find me again. i don't want to learn how to live without you twice. 

itoshi sae

sae writes on expensive cream stationery with this deep teal ink that matches the pools of his irises. his handwriting belongs in a museum – clean, graceful, so impossibly composed. 

no doodles. no unnecessary embellishments. the only indulgence is a small pink-red wax seal pressed onto the envelope because he likes beautiful things, and like so, you have become one of them. 

he never gives the letter to you directly. instead, it waits in your hotel room after one of his matches, tucked beneath your pillow or inside the book you packed for the flight. 

his letters don't feel like confessions. they feel like pieces of himself he'd never let anyone else hold. 

i've stood in cities people spend their entire lives dreaming about. i've watched the sun rise in places so beautiful they don't seem real. i've collected passport stamps. trophies. hotel keys. boarding passes. the list goes on. 

and yet… none of them have stayed with me the way one ordinary afternoon on the sofa with you has. 

isn't that strange? the world keeps offering me extraordinary things. but the memory i return to most is your head on my shoulder while neither of us said anything. 

you changed my definition of enough. i used to think fulfillment was something you earned. now i know sometimes it merely sits beside you, steals your blanket, and falls asleep halfway through a movie. 

if i lose everything one day… i don't think i'll be afraid. i already know what i'd spend the rest of my life trying to find again. 

you. 

nagi seishiro

nagi complains the entire time he's writing because his hand hurts after half a page, yet somehow, he always ends up filling both sides anyway. his handwriting is messy, slanted, abbreviated, and occasionally unreadable, with random doodles of sleepy cats, game controllers, clouds, and tiny versions of the two of you scattered between paragraphs. 

he writes with whatever blue pen happens to be closest and probably steals the paper from reo because buying stationery sounds like too much work. 

you'll find the letter somewhere ridiculous – inside your pocket, tucked into the snack cupboard, or hidden inside the game case you were about to use. 

it reads exactly like talking to him: sleepy, funny, scattered... until one sentence quietly breaks your heart. 

i thought love would've been louder tbh. cuz everyone talks abt fireworks + music + all that dramatic stuff. mine was quieter tho. 

it sounded like ur keys unlocking the front door. it sounded like u asking if i wanted dinner. it sounded like u telling me to move over bc i was taking up the whole couch. 

i don't think u noticed… but i started making room before u even asked. i don't really make room for people. u js... became part of where i wanted to be. 

yk i've won games, slept for 16 hours, finally beaten levels i've been stuck on 4ever. but none of that feels as good as hearing u laugh from another room and realizing ur here. 

if home is supposed to be a place u don't wanna leave… i think mine learned how to smile. it looks a lot like u :x 

mikage reo

reo treats every love letter as though it's a gift you'll treasure forever. lavender stationery edged in gold, matching envelopes sealed with dark wax bearing his initials, deep violet ink, pressed flowers tucked inside, and the faintest trace of his cologne on the paper because he secretly hopes years from now you'll unfold the letter and remember exactly what it felt like to hug him. 

he leaves them where you'll discover them first thing in the morning – on your breakfast tray, beside your coffee, resting against your pillow before he leaves for an away match. 

every letter starts polished and composed before slowly becoming more vulnerable than he ever intended. 

i've been given almost everything i've ever asked for. that's the funny thing. people assume that means i never learned how to want. then i met you. now i want ridiculous things. 

i want ordinary thursdays (where we be chuds in the house all day). 

i want grocery shopping with you arguing over which cereal to buy (because one is always healthier than the other, but doesn’t taste as good). 

i want to hear you complain that i'm humming too loudly while i cook (i sing good, okay?). 

i want wrinkles beside your eyes because i've spent decades making you laugh (dw i’ll buy whatever expensive eye cream you want). 

i want our grandchildren to roll their eyes when i tell them, for the hundredth time, about how beautiful you looked the day i realized i loved you (they’ll be sooo sick of me). 

i used to dream about becoming someone unforgettable. now my greatest dream is much smaller. 

i hope that when you're 80… and someone asks you if you lived a happy life… your first thought is still us. 

if that's selfish… i'll spend the rest of my life being selfish. after all, there has never been a future i want more than the one where i grow old enough to forget everything... except the sound of you saying my name. 

bachira meguru

bachira cannot commit to one ink color to save his life. the first paragraph is orange, the next is green, then purple, then back to yellow because "it felt happier." every margin is covered in doodles – little bees, flowers, smiling clouds, soccer balls with tiny faces, and cartoon versions of the two of you holding hands. 

the envelope has stickers on it before you've even opened it. sometimes there's a smiley face beside your name. sometimes he draws a tiny bee wearing a crown because he thought it looked cute. 

he hides his letters like little treasures – inside your lunchbox, tucked into your shoe, folded into your sketchbook, or slipped into your jacket pocket before you leave. he wants you to discover them when you least expect it. 

they always begin lightheartedly before quietly unraveling into something that makes your chest ache. 

today, i saw a butterfly with one wing that was a little smaller than the other. it still flew. it just looked different doing it. 

i think people are like that, too. everyone thinks love is supposed to fix the broken parts. you never tried to fix mine. you kissed them. you laughed with them. you made space for them. i didn't know someone could look at every strange little piece of me and decide they wanted all of it. 

do you know what my favorite sound is? it's not the crowd after i score. it's not the ball hitting the net. it's you laughing so hard you accidentally lean into me. i wish i could keep that sound in my pocket. then i'd never have to worry about lonely days. 

if there's another universe somewhere… i hope i still find you. even if you're a stranger. no, scratch that, ESPECIALLY if you’re a stranger. i think i'd recognize your smile before i remembered my own name. 

shidou ryusei

the envelope is bright red. or neon pink. or electric orange. there's absolutely nothing subtle about it. you know it's from him before you've even picked it up. he’s the only one that would pick colors so loud. 

his handwriting is all over the place – big, bold, messy, with words underlined 3 times because apparently every sentence is the most important sentence he's ever written lmao. 

there are stars, lightning bolts, badly drawn hearts, and random doodles squeezed between paragraphs because sitting still long enough to write a letter is already asking a lot of him. 

he shoves it into your hands with a grin, immediately tells you not to read it in front of him, then spends the next 10 minutes hovering behind you because he's dying to know your reaction. 

you're gonna laugh at me for writing this. don't. i already know it's embarrassing. 

but what i wanna say is: i've broken bones before. i've split my lip open. i've walked off the field covered in blood. none of that scared me as much as realizing one day… you could leave. 

i think that's when i knew. because all of a sudden, every goodbye felt too long. every hug ended too soon. every time you smiled at someone else, my heart got all stupid and weird. 

i hate that you can do that to me. i hate that i love it, too. 

basically, if the whole world disappeared tomorrow… i wouldn't be thinking about football. i'd be looking for your hand. 

because i've learned something: everything feels alive when you're looking at me. everything else just feels loud. 

karasu tabito

he’s all matte black stationery with silver gel ink because he thinks it looks cooler than regular paper, and annoyingly... he's right. 

his handwriting is clean, slightly slanted, confident. he rarely crosses anything out because he knows what he wants to say before the pen touches the page. 

there are no hearts or flowers, but tiny crows somehow end up doodled in the corners every single time. he claims he doesn't notice he's doing it. 

he slips his letters into your notebook, your tote bag, or under your windshield wiper before driving away. he'd rather let the letter speak than stand there awkwardly while you read it. 

don't start smilin’ just because i wrote ya a letter. actually… never mind. smile. i like when ya do that. 

ya know what's funny? i've spent most of my life thinkin’ love had to be excitin’, loud, and complicated. then ya showed up and somehow made silence feel interestin’. 

i've never been good at sitting still. except beside ya. with ya… i've watched rain hit windows for hours. i've finished cold cups of coffee because i forgot to drink them while listenin’ to ya talk. i've missed green lights because i was lookin’ at ya instead (terrible, i know). 

ya slowed me down. and still… i've never felt more alive. 

if anyone ever asks me what peace looks like… i'm probably just gonna show them a picture of ya <3 

kaiser michael

kaiser adores using heavy cream paper with a navy border, folded with impossible precision and sealed with dark blue wax pressed into the shape of a rose. one dried blue rose petal always slips out when you unfold the letter. 

he writes in elegant cursive with a fountain pen in deep navy ink. not a single correction. if he made a mistake, he rewrote the entire page. he’s a perfectionist like that. 

the paper smells faintly of his cologne because he kept it in the drawer beside his watches for days before deciding it was worthy to meet you. 

he never hands it to you. you'll find it tucked inside the novel you were reading, waiting in your hotel room after one of his matches, or hidden in your coat pocket before winter. 

before you… i measured my life by applause. how loud. how long. how many people stood when i entered a room or a field. it turns out applause echoes. it fills the room. then it leaves. 

you didn't. you stayed after the lights were gone. after the interviews and all the goals that no longer mattered. you loved the version of me that nobody clapped for. the tired one. the frightened one. the little boy who spent years believing affection was something people earned through perfection. 

you looked at every flaw i tried to bury beneath trophies… and loved me there. 

if i spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you… i still don't think i'll succeed. but i hope you'll let me keep trying. 

because every beautiful thing i've ever touched has eventually slipped through my fingers. i don't know what i'd become if you did, too. 

ness alexis

ness’s love letter signatures include magenta stationery with silver stars pressed into the border, tied shut with a pale ribbon because folding it plainly somehow feels too ordinary for something meant for you. 

beautiful looping handwriting that almost looks printed, every sentence perfectly spaced, every letter written slowly as though he's afraid rushing would somehow make the words less sincere. 

tiny sparkles, stars, moons, flowers, and little constellations fill the empty spaces around the page. 

he leaves the letter beneath your pillow before leaving for training or tucked inside your favorite novel because he's far too nervous to watch you read it. 

sometimes i wonder if people know they've changed someone's life while they're doing it. i don't think you knew. you smiled at me the same way you smiled at everyone else. you asked if i was alright like it was the most ordinary question in the world. it became the question that saved me. 

i've spent so much of my life trying to become someone worth choosing. someone useful, impressive, impossible to leave behind. then you loved me on days when i had nothing to offer except my company. 

do you know what that does to a person? it teaches them that maybe they were lovable before they started performing. 

i still have days where i wake up afraid you'll realize you've made a mistake. then you reach for my hand before you're fully awake… and every fear goes quiet. 

if one day i forget every match i've ever played… every trophy… every city… every face… i hope my heart remembers yours. i think it learned your name long before i ever wrote it down. 

yukimiya kenyu

yukimiya's letters are written on soft ivory paper with the faintest embossed border, always in dark brown fountain pen because he thinks black feels too harsh for something as gentle as love. his handwriting is elegant and fashion-magazine perfect, every line evenly spaced as if he spent hours making sure the page looked as beautiful as the words. 

tucked inside the envelope is almost always something tiny – a pressed flower from a walk you took together, a movie ticket he secretly kept, or a polaroid where you're laughing so hard your face is blurry. he treasures ordinary moments more than grand gestures. 

he leaves his letters somewhere they'll find you during a quiet moment – inside your journal, beneath your pillow before an away match, or folded into the sweater he knows you'll steal from him. 

there's always one sentence written smaller than the rest near the bottom, something he almost didn't have the courage to admit. 

people always tell me to keep looking ahead. keep chasing the next goal. the next dream. the next version of myself. i've spent so much of my life afraid that if i stopped moving, i'd lose everything. 

then i met you. and for the first time... i wanted to slow down. 

i wanted mornings that didn't belong to anyone except us. i wanted rainy afternoons where we forgot to check the time. i wanted to memorize the freckles on your body instead of another stadium. 

i've seen sunsets from airplanes, city lights from hotel balconies, fireworks after championships. they were beautiful. but beauty has never looked back at me. beauty has never laughed because i accidentally burned breakfast. beauty has never reached across the bed in its sleep just to make sure i was still there. you have. 

people ask me what i see when i picture the future. i never tell them the truth. it isn't another trophy. it isn't another headline. it's the light spilling through our bedroom curtains while you complain that i woke up too early again. it's growing old enough that the lines on your face become familiar to my fingertips. 

if i lose my sight one day… i don't think the world will become dark. i've spent so long learning the shape of your hands. i could find my way back to you with my eyes closed. 

barou shoei

barou refuses to buy "cute stationery." it's thick black paper with crisp white lettering because it's practical, clean, and gets the job done. his handwriting is sharp, blocky, and ridiculously neat, almost intimidating until you remember whose hands wrote every word. 

there are no decorations. no hearts. no perfume. no ribbons. 

the only thing that makes it unmistakably his is the envelope sealed with a small gold sticker because he doesn't trust the flap to stay shut. 

he'll never hand it to you directly. instead, you'll find it perfectly centered on the kitchen counter after he's already left for training, right beside the breakfast he made. 

every letter begins stiffly... and then somewhere along the way, the king forgets he's supposed to be guarding his heart. 

i've never understood people who say love changes you. it doesn't. it reveals you. 

before i met you, i thought strength meant never depending on anyone. never waiting, never needing, like a true king. 

then you started leaving your mug beside mine in the sink. your shoes by the front door. your shampoo in the shower. your laugh in every room of the house. 

and one day, the realization finally hit me. none of those things annoyed me. i started expecting them. looking for them. missing them. 

i've built my entire life on discipline. everything has a place. everything has a routine. you ruined all of it. 

now dinner feels wrong if you're working late. the bed feels too big when you're away. i catch myself cooking enough for two even when you're not home. that's your fault. 

don't apologize for it though. keep ruining my routines. keep leaving hair ties on the bathroom counter. keep stealing my clothes. keep reaching for my hand before we cross the street. 

i've conquered a lot of things. you're the only thing i've ever happily surrendered to. 

if being your home is considered weakness, then i'll spend the rest of my life refusing to become strong again. 

chigiri hyoma

chigiri loves to use pale pink stationery with cream envelopes, written in wine-red ink that somehow matches the color of his hair. his handwriting is delicate, flowing, and impossibly graceful, every letter curved so beautifully it almost looks painted instead of written. 

he presses tiny dried cherry blossom petals into the envelope during spring, and in winter, he'll tuck in a ribbon from a gift you once gave him because he's sentimental in ways very few people get to see. 

you'll usually find his letters tucked inside your skincare bag before a trip or resting against the mirror where you'll see them while getting ready in the morning. 

they read like quiet conversations whispered long after midnight. 

there was a time when i thought my life had already become smaller than i wanted it to be. every dream felt fragile. every step felt borrowed. i remember wondering if i'd spend the rest of my life mourning the version of myself i almost became. 

then you smiled at me. that was the day my future stopped feeling frightening. 

isn't that strange? you never promised to fix anything. you never asked me to become someone else. you simply loved the person standing in front of you. the one who was still afraid and healing. 

you made patience feel beautiful. you taught me that slowing down doesn't mean you've stopped living. 

sometimes… i watch you brushing your hair in the morning. or reading beside me while rain taps against the window. and i have to remind myself not to cry. happiness used to feel temporary. now it looks so ordinary. 

it stays in the warmth your side of the bed keeps after you've gotten up. it waits for me in the mug you've already filled because you knew i'd forget. it lives in all the ordinary moments that would've slipped past the version of me who only knew how to keep running away. 

i think that's why i love watching you when you don't know i'm looking. you're never doing anything extraordinary. you're just existing. 

so i hope that years from now, when my hair is even longer, our faces are softer, and the house is filled with little reminders that we've lived a life together... i'll still catch myself looking at you the same way, like i can't quite believe i was lucky enough to find someone who made staying still feel like the greatest adventure i'd ever have. 

iglesias bunny

bunny's letters are effortlessly pretty without trying too hard – soft cream stationery edged with muted gold, written in dark red ink because black "feels too corporate." his handwriting is smooth and stylish, the kind that somehow reflects his confidence, though every now and then one word slants awkwardly where he paused to think too long. 

he always tucks a pressed flower, a concert wristband, or a tiny candid photo inside because he likes the idea of every letter becoming a little time capsule. 

he doesn't hide them. instead, he'll casually leave one inside the tote bag he knows you're taking that day, pretending it wasn't completely intentional. 

his trademark is that he always signs the envelope with a tiny bunny silhouette instead of his name. 

i think people assume loving someone like me must be exciting. that it must be glamorous filled with flights, cameras, late nights, beautiful cities. they're only half right though. the exciting part has never been any of that. 

it's hearing your sleepy voice answer the phone after i've landed. it's watching you steal fries off my plate after insisting you weren't hungry. it's feeling your foot brush against mine beneath the blankets while you're already asleep. those are the moments i replay. not the headlines or the applause. 

i've met people who knew my face before they knew my name. people who thought they loved me without ever speaking to me. then you came along and loved me so quietly that sometimes i forget i was ever lonely. 

you've never asked me to perform for you. you've never needed me to be impressive. you just wanted me. i don't think i'll ever fully understand how lucky that makes me. 

if the whole world stopped recognizing me tomorrow… i'd still know exactly who i am. why? every time you look at me… i feel seen in a way fame could never teach. 

hugo vivian

hugo's stationery is understated, but expensive – thick cream paper with burgundy edging, written in deep charcoal ink. his handwriting is clean and confident, though a little more relaxed than you'd expect, with the occasional ink smudge where he rested his hand for too long while thinking. 

every envelope is tied shut with dark red ribbon instead of sealed because he likes old-fashioned romance more than he'll ever admit. 

he leaves his letters somewhere deeply personal – tucked inside the book on your bedside table, slipped into your suitcase before an away trip, or beneath your pillow before leaving for training. 

every single one ends with his initial instead of his full name because somehow that feels more intimate. 

before you… i thought love was measured by grand gestures. movies always show us the expensive dinners. the vacations. the surprises people post online so strangers can admire them. 

then you thanked me for making your coffee exactly the way you liked it. 

boop. 

just like that, my whole understanding of love changed. 

you smiled because i remembered which side of the bed you preferred. you laughed when i tucked your freezing feet against my legs during a movie. 

ding. 

another moment i accidentally locked away forever. 

i've started collecting those little sounds in my head. the click of the front door when you come home. the shuffle shuffle of your slippers across the floor. the tiny hum you make while you're deciding what snack you want. the soft "hm?" when i say your name and you're distracted. they're my favorite sounds. 

people ask me what success feels like. i don't think i'd describe it with trophies anymore. success is hearing your keys in the door going jingle jingle and catching myself smiling before i even realize i'm doing it. success is your toothbrush next to mine. success is you stealing a bite off my plate and pretending you asked first. 

chomp. 

liar. i let you get away with it every time. 

some nights, you're already asleep before i am. i'll look over, brush your hair away from your face and think… "wow." 

out of the billions of people who exist in this enormous world… i somehow get to love you. 

… ba-dump. 

ah, there it goes again. my heart still hasn't learned how to act normal around you. 

— h. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

The train’s quiet hum is all that fills your mind as you lean against the window. The scenary of your hometown passing you by in a blur as the train only speeds away. It’s speeding without a care for how much you want to run back. How much you need to go back.

Your head rests against the plush cushion of the train seat. The seats besides you are all empty. Most others sitting with friends or family. The only thing you have to console you is music.

A sample of a song you have been working on in your time at Kamakura, plays through your headphones. The familiar beat and melody of the music makes you hum. Besides you lay an open note book. One to write lyrics in.

The page that it is open to is blank. A clean white sheet of paper. It taunts you. It begs you to think of silly little love songs that you’ll one day perform. Yet, you can’t think of love right now.

Or rather - you can’t verbalize your love.

A dull ache remains in your heart as you look outside the window. A clutch on your heart so strong you need to write something. Yet what do you write? How do you write about something that occurs so often it becomes your new normal?

It’s an ache that you’ve always turned into hopeful wishes. Long far fetched fantasies between you and the boy who hold your heart in his hands. Stories about how he’d look at your with his brilliant green eyes and kiss you. Tales that are the basis to your songs.

Your lips part as you stare at the blue seat in front of you. For, no silly thoughts even attempt to appear in your mind. Your fist clenches around your pen as you sigh. All you can do is remember.

You should’ve expected this. After all you’ve spent the last few weeks running around your old neighbour hood like a kid again. Yet, you aren’t expecting to be haunted by a single memory over and over again. A single stupid memory.

You shake your head. You don’t want to constantly think about the past and your mistakes and past relations. Yet, you can’t not. How can you when everything reminds you of him?

You put down the pink pen that you hold in your hand. It certainly isn’t helping your case that your pen is the same colour of his hair. His gorgeous magenta hair. You can still envision it now.

Stop it. You told yourself you wouldn’t think of him. You can’t continue thinking of him. You’re on your way to university. To your new life overseas. You swear to yourself now; that you’ll leave all your past mistakes back with your hometown.

You look outside your window. You’ve give up on the notion on thinking about a new song. Perhaps what you need is inspiration. Inspiration that may strike in the world outside.

Yet, all you notice is the speed of the train. People passing into a blur. You’d never imagine going this fast as a little kid. The fastest you ever thought you could go was how fast you were that faithful night.

That night, the two of you were running. Strong winds pushing against your hair as you both shouted at each other to keep going. The buildings - still illuminated at this late hour - blurred past as you both ran. Your laughter contagious.

Your eyes were still red from crying. Your voice slightly hoarse. Yet neither of you two cared. All you needed to do was run.

That night was cool. The cold wind making your shiver as you both ran against the coast. Yet, neither of you were wearing thick jackets. Rather you were in a random shirt and pants and he was in his pyjamas.

Amidst the chilling night, there was one source of warmth. His hand. His soft warm hand that slipped into yours as you both slowed into a walk. A hand that squeezed yours.

“You’re so slow,” Sae comments as he punches your arm. A small smirk appearing on his face as he jerks his head at you. “So tepid,”

You roll your eyes in response. The loud crashes of the wave obscured the way you both laughed. Your footsteps slowly falling back into the rhythm of each other. A beat both of you were familiar with.

Your hand squeezes his as you both walk on the path by the beach. On his left were the occasional cars or traffic. Perhaps you both would pass a drunk salaryman. But - other than that - you two were alone.

Silence falls over you both. A quiet peace between the both of you as words neither of you want to say fall over each other. The echoes of your cries were washed away. Neither of you could hardly remember the video call you both had shared.

For that video call was one of many. One of the many were you cried to him about regret, not understanding the present, not knowing where to go next. One of many where he listened. It was one of many video calls that ended with you both meeting up and running around Kamakura till both of you were too tired to keep going.

“Hey let’s go there,” Sae pointed towards a brightly illuminated store. With large signs and an icon colour palette. A convenience store.

You nod your head as his hand tugs you towards the store. Quick padding of your feet echos. Short bickering and conversations ensue between you both as your arms end linked around each other. A smile wide on your face.

The bright lights of the store momentarily blind you both as you walked in. You mindlessly follow Sae as he drags you towards the freezers. He tugged your hand tight. Your eyes finally adjusting to the light.

Sae pushed a cold plastics into your hand. The sudden shocking you. Your hand shivers slightly as you turned the ice popsicle in your hand. You stare at the bright white lettering.

“I always lose with these popsicles,” Sae mentions as you both look for the winning popsicle. His hand still lingering in yours. “I think it’s rigged,”

You rolled your eyes at his comment as you lightly shoved him. He shook his head; picking up a new packet. His lips pursed as he debated the success of this stick. You offered him a new packet as he took both in his hands.

“Rin would love these,” his voice trailed off at the mention of his younger brother. His eyes softened. A small smile evident on his face.

“Oh speaking of rin,” you began; looking for your own popsicle. “Why isn’t he with us? Didn’t he complain last time that you kept leaving without him?”

“Oh I’m grounded,” Sae said blatantly. He shrugged as you both walk towards the cash register. “Rin broke his toys again and I took the blame so now I’m meant to be ‘isolated in my room’ while Rin sleeps with my parents,”

Your mouth was left in an o-shape as you both move to pay. Sae was always like that. He’s always take the blame and deal with the consequences later. He says he understands Rin and doesn’t want him to be in trouble.

It always baffled you.

Even now, as your readjust yourself in your chair. You never really understood why Sae would do any of that. Why suffer for the sake of others? It’s something that makes your lips purse in confusion.

Your eyes flicker to roof as a robotic voice speaks. Announcing the need to changes lines. You mouth dries as you lean your head back. Lips press together.

The blank pages taunt you. A reminder of what you set out to do. Yet, the snap of the book reminds you of what is yet to be written. You watch as the cover of the notebook slips into your bag.

You gaze outside, the scenery feeling faintly familiar. Structures and buildings close enough to your hometown is all you see as you get ready to disembark. Your fingers curl around your baggage as the train slows a stop. The once blurry scenery now clear.

Your push yourself from your seat. You queue behind unfamiliar faces to get off the train. Chatter surrounding you as you land on the platform. Your eyes searching for directions.

A vague arrow along with a sign to your next platform is what got you moving once more. You pass by twist and turns; trying to keep your eye on the direction ahead. Yet, floors are soon covered with feet and your motions controlled by the shove of other people. Your chest tightening at the onslaught.

You want to go back. Back to the solitude of the train. Back to the quiet station. Back to your room. Yet, here you are. Your back pressing against at least four other strangers as you try to find the white sign.

You push through the crowd. Seeing a vaguely similar number. The loud chatter and rolls of a train have you running through the station. A familiar automated voice speaking over head.

Your suitcase rolls against the ground as your stumble onto a new platform. Your hand curling it. The absence of a train worries you slightly as you take a step back. You watch as other trains pass by, yet none of them are right to get on. Your lips press together.

Before they part in realization.

You take a step. Your chest tightens. Your eyes widening. You check your ticket once more. Curses leaving your lips. Your feet pushing against the ground as you go back into the station.

You pant as questions circle your mind. How could this happen? You had already prepared the route in your head last night? Didn’t you follow the sign?

That stupid villainous sign. It continuous to hang overhead as it points aimlessly ahead. It gives the illusion of a helping hand. Yet, here you are – stranded.

You push through crowds of people who push against you. They try dragging you forwards once more, yet you weave past them. You’re trying to avoid a repeat. Another mistake. Another memory to regret.

But, you aren’t very good at that.

For as you feet finally land on your platform - you watch as the end of the train leaves your vision. A strong blow of wind pushing your hair to the side. You take a step back. Your hands releasing their tight grip on the luggage.

You almost want to laugh. Of course this would happen. You parents had warned you; saying you’d mess up somehow when living abroad. Little did they know you’d get lost before even arriving to the airport.

The roll of your suitcase feels dejected as you move to stand by the side. You watch as clocks tick by. Your hands fiddling with each other. Your mouth dries up as you try to figure out what to do next.

You look down at your watch. You aren’t going to miss you flight. You might be cutting it close for time - but it’s doable.

A small smile breaks onto your face. If you’d never met him, you’d be late by now. If you’d never met him, you’d be crying to your parents to come pick you up. If you’d never met Sae, you wouldn’t have the luxury of sitting down and opening up your book.

Your eyes gaze over precious lyrics you’ve written. Your shoulders relax as you stumble upon one song. One song that still makes you smile. One that makes you feel like a dumb middle school kid again.

The song in question was a present.

Your hands were antsy. You tried to calm your breathing - yet to know avail. You grip your phone in your hand as you watch Sae bid his goodbyes to his parents.

He was glowing. His smile was almost contagious. His green eyes shone as he joked with his brother. His head leaned against his younger brother shoulder as he pulled him in tight.

He had the time to spare. Sae always tried to get to the airport early - just to prepare. Yet, this time, the clock seemed to be pushing a bit faster. For before long there was only a few minutes left.

Your fingers clenched harder around your phone. Your heart pounding against your chest. Your mouth feels dry. It’s all too unfamiliar to you.

The sight of Sae walking towards felt unfamiliar. The roll of his own luggage felt unfamiliar. The way his smile wavered as he stands before you was unfamiliar. Your heart almost leapt out as he clears his throat.

“Hey,” he said simply. You almost started crying. His voice was unusually calm as he greeted you again.

“You better buy me something when you come back,” you tell him, your voice wavering. His smile slowly leaving his face. “Buy the most expensive thing you can find in Madrid”

He rolls his eyes. He punches your arm slightly; with a bit more force than both of you were used to. Then again, everything felt a bit more painful than you two were used to.

“Yeah and by the time I’m back I’m expecting a golden crown,” silence falls over the both of you. There was too much that wanted to be said. Too much that needed to be said. Yet, you both were worried that once those words were uttered it would be goodbye.

It’s stupid. He wasn’t dying. He was just moving away - to the other side of the world. He’d be back soon enough. To visit his home. To visit family. To visit you.

“You promised you wouldn’t cry,” he whispered out. Low enough only for you two to hear. “If you cry, then I’ll cry and I don’t want Rin to see me crying,”

You laugh as you blink away the forming tears. Your shoulders relaxing as you take a final look at Sae. The way his bangs nearly touch his eyes. The way his eyes shined as he mentions Rin. The way his hands clasp around his luggage worriedly. It was too familiar.

Before you knew it, his arms wrapped around your back. His face pressed against your shoulder. His hair brushing against your neck. You lean back against him as you held him close.

The warmth from his body pressed against you. His breathing slowed down as his heartbeat only got louder. Your hands gripping his shirt even more. Before his arms loosen around you.

You wished you held on a little tighter. You wished you pulled him closer. You wished that you didn’t let him go. But, you did.

He had a future waiting for him. A future that involved you both living across the planet from each other. Neither of you particularly liked it. But, as his mom informed you both that he had to go, you had no choice but to let go from the hug.

You stared as he turned his back to you. You stood beside Rin. The little boy who stood closer to you than needed. Your hands squeezing the phone in your hand.

You had nearly forgotten. You unlocked your phone and sent a single file to Sae. A single audio recording. A single song.

“Sae!” you called out just before he left your vision. He turned to see you pointing at your phone. In response he checked his own device and saw a notification come through.

He flashed a smile at you before waving off once more. His teeth flashing at you as he turns around. His tuff of pink hair being the last thing you saw. The last thing you saw before your first love left you.

The song you gave him was a love song. The first of the many you’ll find yourself writing. Yet, this song described little moments. Every hand hold, every shared laugh, every shared moment together.

You find yourself chuckling as you reread the lyrics. They’re corny. Yet, you remember spending hours recording each instrument until it sounds just like how chaotic your heart felt when you saw him. You press your lips together as you slowly close the book.

You stand up from your squat on the ground before evaluating your situation. Your legs ache. Your eyes readjusting to unfocus from the notebook. The light chatter of people wake you up from your daze.

Your fingers curling around your suitcase as wind pushes your hair. The rush of the train makes you look up. Before long you are faced with the sleek train.

You take a step onto the fairly empty train. You sit down on the plush chairs. Your head resting against the headrest of the chair. It’s familiar.

You pull out your notebook once more. The same pink pen in your hand as more people file into the train. But, instead of staring at a blank page, you turn to your past songs. Past melodies and lyrics.

The cool air from the air conditioning hits your face as you flick through various songs. You quietly remember the different genre each song tried to emulate. The different proses. The different symbolism. Yet, everything goes back to the same boy.

Sae.

You almost want to laugh. Most of your memories don’t even have him in them. If anything you spent more time with his younger brother. Yet, he has always been a presence in your mind.

Maybe it was the way he smiled at you. The way his hugs always last a bit longer than you’d like. The way he let himself got in trouble constantly. Maybe it’s due to his rebellious nature.

Yet, the boy that stole your heart at 14, still holds it tightly in his arms.

You sigh. Your head thumping against the back of the chair. You close your eyes as that dumb automatic voice announces the departure of the train.

You can imagine people saying goodbye to their homes. They’re bidding their childhoods goodbye. They’re leaving all they’ve ever known. You are too after all.

However, instead of sadness, all you feel is the need to squeeze your pen harder. You bite your tongue. You almost want to throw your notebook out the window. However, you instead settle for slipping it back into your bag.

You hear the familiar zipper. You sigh as you stare at the mess of your bag. However - you can bring to the self to sort it out. Instead you push aside a few items to make space. You push aside chargers, a pencil case and finally a scarf.

A scarf. You look at the fabric in your hand. Your eyes lingering on it. You pull it out of your bag and lay it on your lap. The fabric feeling as soft as it did then. What were you thinking when you packed this?

Is it cold in Madrid?

That’s what you thought back then too. As you held the scarf in your hands. It was a pale teal. With little hearts littering the design.

You were sitting on the edge of your bed as your feet swung back and forth. Your phone felt unusually heavy in your hands as the buzzing of your phone ring echoed in your room. A yawn left your lips. You leaned against your bed frame.

Your parents weren’t home. They were out at some work party you couldn’t bring yourself to care about. What you did care was the fact you’d have the house to yourself. A space for you to make noise. A space for you to stay up.

A space for you to call your boyfriend.

Due to time differences and his insane schedule, calls had become stories of the past. You could barely recall his voice. However, this was your chance. You chance to talk to him again. Your chance to reconnect. Maybe, this could be your chance to apologize.

You held the scarf closer to you as your phone continues to buzz. You squeezed the fabric in your hands. Maybe you should’ve waited? Perhaps it would’ve been smarter to wait for a text back before calling him.

Your finger lingered over the red button. The reflection of the light glowed against your thumb. You had let the phone ring out a bit longer. Your heart pounded against your chest; disappointment creeped into your mind once more.

“Sorry”

Your eyes flickered to the screen as his voice echoed out instead. The faint chatter in a foreign language disappeared as the slam of the door was heard. You heard him sigh. Before the request for a video call appeared on your screen.

He looked tired. That’s all you could think of as you were presented with his face. His skin shone from the sweat that reflected of it. His bangs were slicked back. His teal green eyes soften as you slowly entered his vision.

“What is it?” He asks. His voice hurried and deeper than you last recalled. Your response died on your throat as he tilted his head towards his wrist. “I don’t have much time I need to go back to training,”

“Oh,” that was the only sound that left your lips as he looked back at you. His eyebags more prominent as he turned his head. His eyes brows scrunched up as he waited for you to continue.

“Well, I wrote a new song and released it today an-“

Your words died as he sighed. His eyes looked over the screen, not daring to meet yours. His lips pale as he pressed them together. He shook his head.

“Another tepid song?” He asked. He wasn’t even trying to pretend he wasn’t annoyed. “Another song about you praising me and making up lukewarm lies? Don’t you have better things to write about?”

“I’m n-“

“I swear it’s the same song over and over again,” his voice got louder now. He looked at you as he shook his head. “You talk about how I changed your life or some stupid fairytale story. Grow up”

“What are you trying t-“

“Just shut up will you?” His voice was monotoned now. His teal eyes were dull. He sighs as he repeats the script he had been telling you for the past few days.

You honestly can’t remember when this argument started. You had finally released an album you’d been working on. You didn’t mean to write about him. You just did.

However, a few texts and voice messages later, he was almost at your throat. Insults about your lyrics. Accusations thrown at you. Moments of silences that felt louder than your songs themselves.

Silences that mimicked the one that had consumed you both. He sighed once more as you finally shut up. His hold on his phone shaky as neither of you spoke a word. The silence that had consumed you was one Sae despised.

“Who are you even singing about?” His question lingered. The answer seemed obvious to you - him of course. But, he continued before you could respond. “The boy who saved your life? The boy who made the game fun? When have I ever saved your dumb life?”

“Every day Sae,” you tried to reason. Your voice cracking as you talk. Yet, how were you meant to reason with a deaf man?

“You’re so stupid,” he insults you once more. Despite the frequency of these words, the feel your heart tighten with each one. “I don’t know who the hell you’re talking about but it’s stupid that you focus your life on them and not a h-“

“I’m writing about you Sae”

He lifts his eyebrow at you as he listens to the change in your tone. Your brush your hand over your hair as you look at him through the digital screen. Your throat hoarse. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to lower your volume.

“I’m writing about you Sae, can’t you see that?” Your vojce cracks. Your heart pounding in your ears. “You made everything easier Sae, who else would I be writing about? Of course I’d writing about you, you’re what I look forward to everyday. I write about you because I remember you in everything I do. I love yo-“

“Then forget me,”

The words lingered as he rolled his eyes. It’s as though what he said was the logical next step. Forget him. He made it sound like it was obvious.

“If you write about ‘me’ because you remember me, then just forget me,” he says flatly. He shrugs as you’re sit there staring at the screen. Your mouth parting as the words repeat in your mind.

However, he took your silence as a sign to leave. Your eyes blurred as the final flash of his annoyed face left your vision. The sight before you being replaced with your messages. Your chest tightens as you type out a message. A plead. A beg. Anything.

Yet, the messages doesn’t go through. No matter how many you send. You try calling him to no avail. A sob got stuck in your throat as nothing worked.

Your legs curled up into yourself as you let your body shake. Your held yourself tight as the room started to feel larger than before. Your hand grasp each other as no one was around to hold them for you. The tears that fell next were expected.

Your face turned damp as you let yourself cry. You laid your body down as you tried to forget him - try to do him one last favour. But all that replayed in your mind was his tired eyes. His exhausted tired eyes. Eyes that could barely meet yours as he said those three cruel words to you.

Now, as you look back on that event, all you feel is pity. Pity for your past self thinking they could overcome challenges you still face. Pity for your 17 year old self for thinking you could forget him. Pity for yourself, since you never got to give him the scarf that sits in your hands.

The blur of the world outside the train goes ignored as you lay the scarf on your lap. You reopen your notebook; flipping to the closest new page. Your hold on your pen tightens. A small smile appearing on your face.

It’s been a year. A year since you last called him. Yet, you could never keep your promise. Every song written after that call turned into yearning, begging, pleading for him.

You couldn’t forget him.

Yet, it’s been a year. You’re finally an adult now. You’re a few hours away from stepping foot in a foreign country alone. You’re growing up.

So, perhaps it’s time to let go off him. Let go off your silly high school lover. To finally be able to acknowledge him as a distance past mistake. To forget him.

You promise yourself, that this will be your final song to him. Your final call. One last message you hope he receives before you find something new in your life. A final song to end this chapter of your life.

The melody flows as you begin writing lyrics. Your feet tapping the beat of the song as you write notes. Your cross out words before replacing them with rhyming tunes. Your lips part as your stare at the completed verse before you.

The slow rumble of the train slowly disappear from your hearing. You barely feel the lack of warmth from the other chairs. The familiar Japanese scenery outside blurs as you continue to move on. For the only thing you are looking at now is the words before you.

You barely realize you had come to your stop until the familiar automated voice announces it. You hold the scarf and book in your hands as you leave the train. Your footsteps echoing as you arrive at the airport.

People around you seem filled with regret. Either the longing to stay on vacation for longer, or the want to stay home for a few more minutes. However, you can’t bring yourself to feel the same way. Instead, all you can think about is your new song.

The premise of the song is simple. It’s a summary of your love. A retelling of the life you had to live with. A confession of your mistakes and foolish decision.

But, most of all, it’s an apology.

An apology for not squeezing his hand tighter on your late night walks. An apology for not holding him closer. But most of all, an apology for not being there for him.

He was scared wasn’t he? Scared to be alone in a different country. Scared he wasn’t what the press had written about him. Scared he wasn’t what you had written about him.

You doubt he wanted to break you heart. He just wanted you to stop. Stop creating a boy he thought didn’t exist anymore. You’re sorry that you continued to.

Your shoulders seem to relax as you walk towards the check in. Your steps falling into beat. You’re willing to let go off all your regrets now as you identify the entrance. Finally ready to forget him.

That’s why, when you get a look at a familiar tuff of pink hair, you walk away. Your heart doesn’t even ache when you realize who you saw. All you do is walk away and join the queue.

For, you’ve grown haven’t you? You’ve grown enough to walk away from him, from your past, from everything that kept you grounded. You’ve grown enough to stand tall alone. You’ve grown enough to be able to apologize. If Sae could hear your thoughts; you’re sorry.

You’re sorry for loving him when he didn’t want to be loved at all.

“Sae isn’t tha-“

“shut up”

…

————————————————————————

Bllk Taglist: open

Sae specific taglist: open

Heavy serenade taglist: open

A few months after his engagement post, he posted a photo dump of you on your graduation with an uncharacteristically long caption talking about how proud of you he was and how much you were loved.

Like all his posts, this one blew up. The top comments were from his teammates, congratulating you and in Shidou's case, flirting with you, but a majority of the comments were loving this side of the midfielder.

Like always there was a large part that hated you.

A few days later Sae had a post match interview where someone asked about you.

"And your girlfriend, she's just passed the NCLEX exam right?"

This was a question that put a soft smile on Sae's face, "yeah, my fiancée? She's amazing."

A clip that silenced a shit ton of haters and was used in so many edits people thought it was from an anime.

☆ Rin Itoshi

You were a pilates instructor at an upscale studio in Tokyo and you had quite a following before people knew you and Rin were together.

Many people saw you as an it girl of sorts. You had five hundred thousand followers on TikTok and Instagram and you even had your own drink at a local coffee shop.

A lot of people figured you were dating a soccer player with your influx of "GRWM" posts for games, though some just thought you were doing it to gain some more followers you knew the truth.

Rin being as private as he was, was 100% okay with your wish of getting eloped.

Your family wasn't around, Rin wasn't as close with Sae as he once was and there was no way in hell he'd have his "lukewarm teammates" be at one of the most important events of his life.

You wore your ring in every picture and video you posted, but you never answered questions about it and overtime people just assumed it was a part of your life you wanted to keep private.

This all changed when you posted a photo dump with a simple caption that read, "life lately."

The dump started with a picture of you instructing a class, pretty scenery, shopping, a picture of you and Rin on the day you got married and the last picture was his hand holding your growing belly.

Quickly, the news of Rin being married and having a baby on the way went viral.

People couldn't understand how Rin managed to get married and how he hid it for so long.

"I told you, you don't wear your ring enough," you teased one night as you guys were sitting on the couch together and reading comments.

Rin clicked his teeth and rubbed your belly, "I hate when you read those things." But when he saw you pout he pressed a soft kiss to your head, "You know I don't wear it to games or practices..."

"...but I can start for you."

From that day on, at all of his matches and practices he wore a silicon black band on his ring finger.

Even though he could come off as cold and uncaring he'd do anything he could for his wife and your future kid.

☆ Yoichi Isagi

You were one of the most loved WAGS in the sports. You were at every game, you never spoke negatively about other teams or players and you had a life outside your husband.

Something that wasn't super common.

One time you and Bachira's wife were getting swarmed by paparazzi before a big game.

"Y/N! Keiko! Over here!" One person yelled, their cameras so close in your face.

"Can you guys lean in together for a pic?"

You kept smiling. It wasn't forced. You'd learned a long time ago that the cameras never disappeared, so fighting them only made things worse.

Keiko leaned toward you with an exhausted laugh. "Why do I feel like we're the ones playing today?"

"Because apparently we are," you whispered back.

A microphone suddenly appeared inches from your face.

"Ooo, Yoichi is not going to like that."

"There's been a lot of online discourse about wives distracting players. What's your opinion?"

You didn't even hesitate.

"I think if someone's relationship is distracting them from doing their job, that's between them. But supporting the person you love shouldn't ever be viewed as a distraction."

"Now excuse us."

Once the two of you finally made it inside, the rest of the game went as expected with their team winning. When you met up with Isagi he had already seen the clip of the reporter sticking a microphone in your face that almost made you fall down.

"I can't believe that fucker pushed you," he said through gritted teeth.

"Babe, it's okay... I'm not hurt." He looked over you, scanning your body to ensure you were okay.

He pulled you with him as he went up to the reporters outside the players tunnels.

"Hey!" He shouted, all cameras and reporters faced the two of you.

"I'm only going to say this once, any of you do something to harm her again and I can assure you that you'll never step foot in another stadium again." Isagi didn't wait for anyone to respond, and carried you out of the room and to the car waiting for you guys.

"Yoi... you're so dramatic."

He put his head on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around you as best as he could with his seatbelt on, "that pissed me off so much I didn't even get to check in with you."

"I'm fine, I just wish the paps would lay off me a bit."

☆

The next day tons of athletes and their partners were reposting what Isagi had said and showing their support.

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