souta

You can be allo and be single; it’s allowed. You feeling attraction doesn’t mean your priority NEEDS to be finding romance (it can be! But it also can not).

sae itoshi despises social media with every fiber of his being. it’s too lukewarm for him. all his accounts are managed by some pr team that solely posts professionally shot photos of him and he only opens instagram for the following reasons:

to repost reels of his match highlights that re al’s social media team tags him in,

to reluctantly comment on shidou’s posts after receiving an absurd amount of threatening texts from him,

and to like your posts and stories within seconds of you uploading them.

the latter being the main reason he bothers to check the app.

you’ve been together since you were both awkward teenagers but sae is still adamant about keeping your relationship private. not because he’s ashamed — far from it — but because his fanbase is, for lack of a better word, unhinged.

they know he’s been in a relationship for years; he’s never denied it in interviews. what they don’t know is who he’s dating. and with how private the midfielder is, most fans had long since accepted that they’d never find out. but as fate would have it, they get their answer a few hours after re al wins the uefa champions league.

sae’s just gotten out of the shower, a towel slung low on his hips as he rummages through his bag for a fresh set of clothes.

“took you long enough” you sigh, you’ve been waiting for him on the king-sized bed — wearing nothing but his spare re al kit — for what feels like forever.

sae glances up, his usual detached expression softening for just a fraction of a second as his teal eyes sweep over you. he pads toward the bed, the carpet muffling his steps until he’s right in front of you, leaning over. his fingers brush against your collarbone as he traces the collar of the jersey.

“you’re wearing my kit again ?” he shakes his head fondly before saying, “it’s not even your size” he emphasizes his point by tugging gently at the sleeve hanging well past your elbow.

“it still looks better on me.” you grin as you look up at him.

“i think it looks better off you.” his gaze drops from your eyes to your lips and then he’s kissing you. veiny hand moving from the jersey to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as he pours everything he felt during the match into your parted lips.

he barely pulls away, just enough to grab his phone from the nightstand without breaking the kiss completely. the screen illuminates his sharp features, casting a pale blue glow on his cheekbones as he opens the camera. he needs to commit this to memory, to capture this exact moment before he’s too lost in you to think straight.

there are few things sae itoshi loves more than taking pictures of you. he has thousands of them on his phone; candid shots of you sleeping, photos of you in his clothes, in your own, in nothing at all. on rare occasions he’ll post a picture or two on his close friends story. his way of showing you off without exposing you to his fans.

he doesn’t need to ask you to pose. you’re already turning onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows, and looking back at him over your shoulder. you reach back with one hand and point directly at the number ten between your shoulder blades. the soft click echoes in the hotel room as he captures the image. it’s perfect. you’re perfect. he’d be an idiot not to post it.

he’s quick, thumbs flying across the screen as he types out the caption, ‘the re al trophy’. he hits what he thinks is the right button to share this moment with his small, curated list: rin, his teammates, and shidou — who will undoubtedly send a tirade of messages saying he should be the one celebrating with sae instead of you. he tosses the phone onto the bed beside you, his attention immediately returning to more pressing matters. i.e. taking his jersey off you

he’s leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder when his phone vibrates. once. twice. then far too incessant for a close friends story. he breaks away with a frustrated groan, snatching his phone up. to his surprise and dismay, it’s not just shidou being shidou for once. but a tsunami of notifications from his official account.

his eyes widen as he opens instagram and sees it: the picture of you, in his kit, pointing at his number. posted to his public story, not close friends. thirty seconds ago. he scrambles to delete it even though he knows it’s already too late.