michael kaiser ᢉ𐭩

when you first started dating kaiser, you told yourself you'd learn his native language.

you started with the basics of the german language; the alphabet, basic pronunciation, formal and informal greetings. you tried to get kaiser to engage in conversation with you to practice, but he either spoke far too fast or flat out refused, a thin smirk on his stupidly handsome face, almost like he was plotting something.

and he definitely was.

it started out suuupeerr small. you'd walk by him and you'd hear him murmur something under his breath, so indiscernible that you couldn't even begin to process how to translate it. everytime you nagged at him to repeat it, he'd just eye you with that oh-so-characteristic mocking smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

you could tell from the sultry tone of his voice that there was something afoot with his subdued statements, but you just couldn't for the life of you grasp onto what they actually meant; and kaiser loved that.

he took pleasure in knowing you were oblivious, that you didn't understand what he was saying, and unbeknownst to you, those hushed, mysterious remarks were teasing compliments regarding every aspect of you he could possibly think of; your face, figure, demeanour, his flirty comments knew no bounds.

however, it didn't take long for him to get bolder, spurred on by your flustered expression when he whispered those various flirty remarks in german that you couldn't comprehend.

you were sitting at the dinner table with him and he'd leant over, with that distinctive, challenging gaze, and said silkily, "du wirkst beinahe überirdisch," his facial expression perfectly reflecting how you'd expect someone who's very proud of themselves to look.

even with your limited knowledge of the language, something inside you can tell that kaiser is flirting with you, despite you having next to no clue what he just said.

"i can't flirt back when you talk to me in german," you huff, face growing hot as you evade your boyfriends gaze. "i don't know what you're saying to me."

kaiser just clicks his tongue as he leans back in his seat, his cold blue eyes triumphant. when will you realise that's the point? he just finds it so incredibly enjoyable when you're unable to comprehend what he's saying to you; it means he can say whatever he likes. and besides, it allows him to treat this whole saga as a competition, testing how long he can flirt with you in his native tongue without you catching onto a vague translation.

"you look flustered, mein schatz," he remarks, silky, teasing voice almost resembling that of a cat purring.

you just huff in response, making a mental note to hurry up and learn more german so that you can finally understand what your asshole boyfriend has to say about you!

sae itoshi ᢉ𐭩

you knew sae had spent time in spain after being recruited by re al when he was much younger, and as a result figured that he must be at least proficient in the language, if not entirely fluent. but you never really felt any obligation to learn spanish; why would you? he never spoke it, at least not in front of you.

well, not at first.

it came on rather suddenly. you were sitting at your desk, getting ready for the day, when sae slipped by you to grab something from your side of the room. you barely even noticed him, even as he paused before leaving, lingering in the doorway and gazing at you with an almost roguish calculation in his teal eyes.

"no sabes lo hermosa que eres."

his voice was quiet, smooth and exactly soft enough that your face immediately bloomed hot. you had no idea what he just said, but you could tell, both from the expression on his face and the way he was holding himself, that it was something flirty.

"what does that mean?" you eventually blurted out, flustered.

the corner's of sae's lips twitched upwards in a small -albeit annoyingly smug- smirk as his shoulders slowly rose then fell in a shrug.

"that's not fair," you had insisted, your lower lip jutted out in a pout. "you have to tell me what you said."

sae thought your failure to understand his words was so amusing. he found that he thoroughly enjoyed the rattled expression on your face when he so brazenly flirted with you in a tongue you couldn't understand.

he just sighed, as if the whole ordeal was greatly tiring for him. "tan insistente," he exhaled. you're no spanish expert, but you're pretty sure you could've guessed he meant insistent. how rude; he's the one slyly flirting with you when he knows you've not got a clue what he's saying!

"sae!" you protest, your face still burning. "translate for me, c'mon."

"you really are insistent," he remarks flatly. you feel a wave of relief wash over you at the fact he's returned to english, but the feeling of ease doesn't last long when he switches back to spanish moments later. "unfortunately, estoy loco por ti."

you feel heat spreading up your ears once again purely because of the tone of his voice. you feel so out of the loop!

"sae!" you repeat indignantly, trying to ignore the furious blush that's surely flooding your whole face. before you can even get another word in, your boyfriend just turns and walks away, hands resting languidly in his the pockets of his trousers.

"tell me what you were saying!" you shout after him, still disconcerted. in response, he just holds his arms out, palms facing the ceiling, fingers extended, and shrugs again. he doesn't look back at you, causing you to entirely miss the satisfied smirk resting on his lips.

fazed, you just stare at his back as he retreats into another room.

after you've regained your composure, you find there's only one coherent thought racing through your mind; you are definitely going to learn spanish.

bunny iglesias ᢉ𐭩

bunny has been flirting with you in spanish since the very beginning of your relationship; he finds it hilarious, because he's aware of the fact that you don't understand a single word. he can be as unfiltered and audacious as he wants, because you're clueless about the english translation. oh, the joy!

he's smart about it, though. you've noticed that he never says the same thing twice, purely because he doesn't want you to know what he's saying. not because what he says is filthy or ill-willed, in fact, it's quite the opposite. bunny's flirty comments towards you are either almost tooth rottingly sweet or the very epitome of romantic.

he isn't embarrassed of how in love with you he actually is, he just genuinely finds your inability to understand him amusing. he takes advantage of the significant language barrier between the two of you frequently, even speaking faster than is typical or pronouncing words slightly strangely. when you inevitably pout and grumble at him to flirt in english, he just smiles at you and says nothing, calm and resolute as ever.

when you emerge from your bedroom, dressed up and layered with perfume for your date with bunny, his gaze immediately softens as he says, "¿Cómo quieres que no esté pilladísimo de ti?" and wraps an arm around you, the smell of his cologne gentle below your nose.

you sigh, your cheeks warm beneath your makeup from the gentle, genuine tone of his voice. "not you acting like i know what you just said. again," you tell him pointedly. "you've gotta stop doing that, at least until i've learned a bit of spanish."

bunny just chuckles, kissing you lightly on the top of your head. "i'll stop when you stop being so irresistible, mi amor."

if there's one spanish phrase you do know that isn't hola, it's mi amor; bunny calls you it all the time. that's been consistent from the start, because you've never been anything less than his love.

vivian hugo ᢉ𐭩

the extent of your knowledge of your boyfriend's native language, french, barely stretched beyond bonjour and dubious scraps of the language you picked up from foreign films and your early years of high school.

hugo never asked you to pick up french, he didn't even mention it. he didn't expect you to learn a whole new language just for him. you two could converse without any issues at all, but he was nonetheless delighted when you bravely told him you were taking on the language.

he helped you at first, with the gendered pronouns, the use of verb conjugation and intimidating pronunciation. but when he came to the admittedly slow realisation that flirtatious comments were not even in the picture for you to learn any time soon, an idea blossomed in his head.

as soon as the mere thought entered hugo's brain, he couldn't shake it. he didn't bother starting subtle, and the next thing you knew, he was speaking in french to you constantly.

you hadn't the faintest idea what he was saying, but his short, gentle and sweet sounding comments always caused the tips of your ears to flush hot. you had tried, and failed, to find out what he could possibly be saying to you, but hugo never answered, his face as blank and his gaze as unyielding as ever whenever you protested about your lack of understanding.

because he'd already formed an annoying habit of it, you weren't exactly surprised when he returned from training and wrapped his arms around you, his chest warm against your back as he murmured cryptic french incomprehensibilities against your ear.

"i've got no idea what you're saying, viv," you complain with a pout, yet you feel yourself blushing regardless. "how am i supposed to flirt back?"

hugo pauses, as if weighing his options, perhaps considering whether he should continue teasing you or leave you alone, you think. but in reality, hugo isn't even considering backing off. he's just thinking of what to say to get another flustered reaction out of you.

"tu es la plus belle fille que j'aie jamais vue," he eventually murmurs, his voice soft and his breath warm against your skin. your face feels as if it's on fire as your scatterbrained mind tries to piece together a possible translation. but literally all you know about french is how to say hello and maybe how to ask someone how they are, so you're not exactly succeeding in your weak attempt to decode hugo's mysterious comment.

"do you get a kick out of leaving me in the dark or something?" you sigh, but you'd be lying if you said there wasn't a small smile tugging at your lips. it's obvious just from hugo's reverent tone of voice that what he's saying has to be something sweet.

"non," hugo replies softly, placing a gentle kiss against your cheek. "i'll stop it if you want, ma chérie."

but you both know full well that he's going to keep it up; hugo's too enamoured with the embarrassed flush that spreads across your face to drop the habit now.

psst! i know sae's native language is obviously japanese but just imagine him speaking spanish 😮‍💨 also left everything untranslated so you guys feel involved hehe

itoshi rin

rin has spent so much of his life convincing himself emotions are weaknesses that he honestly forgets what crying even feels like. 

anger? easy. frustration? constant. sadness? buried 6 feet under. 

the first time he cries in front of you is after visiting home. he doesn't tell you what happened or make a scene with a raised voice and slammed doors. he just comes into the apartment, quietly takes off his shoes, walks over to where you're reading on the couch… and sits beside you, not saying a word. that alone is enough to tell you something is terribly wrong. 

he stares at the floor for several minutes. you don't rush him. you simply reach over and intertwine your pinky with his. he squeezes yours almost immediately – the only response you’ve been able to get out of him this entire time. 

"... i'm tired." his voice is barely above a whisper. "... i'm so tired." 

his breathing becomes uneven. his shoulders start trembling almost imperceptibly. he looks furious at himself the second the first tear falls. 

"... dammit." 

he wipes at the first tear immediately. but then another one follows. and another. 

he turns his face away because somewhere deep inside him, there's still that old voice insisting don't let anyone see this. 

you gently cup his cheek. "look at me." 

he refuses. of course, stubborn rin. 

"please." 

he reluctantly does… eventually. and you notice every detail – his eyes are red. he looks almost offended by his own tears. 

"this is pathetic." 

"no. this is trust." 

that sentence absolutely ruins him and reframes his perspective at the same time. 

he leans forward until his forehead rests against your shoulder… and years of loneliness seem to pour out of him without words. 

he doesn't sob loudly. rin cries silently. his tears soak into your shirt while he grips the fabric like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. 

later, once he's finally calmed down, he quietly mutters, "... don't tell anyone." 

you smile. "there's nothing to tell. my boyfriend trusted me." 

he doesn't answer. he only reaches for your hand again. 

itoshi sae

sae doesn't believe crying should be shameful. he simply... doesn't cry. at least, that's what everyone assumes. they mistake emotional control for emotional absence. you know better. 

you've noticed how he quietly checks on injured teammates when nobody's looking. how he remembers tiny details people forget telling him. how he stares out hotel windows after difficult matches. how he feels everything. he's simply learned to carry it gracefully. 

the first time he cries is after an injury scares everyone. the doctors assure him he'll recover, that his career isn't over. everyone celebrates. 

"thank god." 

"you'll be back in no time." 

"what a relief." 

but once the room empties… he finally lets himself process how terrified he'd been. 

you sit beside his hospital bed. he doesn't look at you. 

"... i thought that was it." his voice is strangely hollow. yet he continues. "for a second… i couldn't feel my leg." 

you take his hand. he squeezes yours almost instinctively. then without warning, tears quietly begin rolling down his face. they simply... fall, like rain finally arriving after months of dry skies. 

he doesn't wipe them away or say sorry or even seem embarrassed. he simply lets himself exist inside the feeling. 

you brush one away with your thumb. "i've got you." 

"... i know." 

"you don't have to be strong every second." 

his lips curve into the smallest smile. "being strong is easier when someone reminds you i don't always have to be." 

later, when he's fully recovered, he'll jokingly tell you, "you're the only person who's seen me cry." 

"i feel honored." 

"... don't get cocky about it though." 

"mmm it’s too late to say that." 

he actually laughs out loud. 

nagi seishiro

nagi cries because he's overwhelmed. not with sadness, with love. he's never had someone choose him the way you do. 

before you, people mostly wanted something from him – his talent, his potential, his attention. even when people cared, it often came with expectations. you never asked him to be anything except... himself. 

the tears happen on an incredibly ordinary evening. you're both folding laundry. you're animatedly rambling about something completely random while he's half listening, half watching you with a lazy smile. 

and unprompted, this terrifying thought enters his head: what if one day this disappears? 

the idea hits him so hard his chest hurts. 

"... hey." 

"hm? what is it, sei?" 

"thanks." 

"for helping with laundry?" 

"for staying." 

you blink, confused. “where else would i be?" 

his eyes suddenly fill. he looks genuinely confused himself, too. "why am i..." he touches beneath his eye. "... oh." 

you immediately set the clothes aside. "come here." 

he practically melts into you like a sleepy cat seeking warmth. arms wrap around your waist, his face disappears into your neck. 

"... i'm really lucky." 

"you are." 

"... because i have you." he sniffles. "ugh, that was so cheesy." 

"and? say it again." 

you spend the next 20 minutes sitting on the floor surrounded by unfolded clothes while he quietly cries and listens to you remind him exactly why he's loved. 

the laundry never gets finished. neither of you care. 

mikage reo

reo spends most of his life being the person everyone else leans on. the reliable one. the confident one. the wealthy heir who's always composed. the one who solves problems before they exist. he smiles even when exhausted because people expect him to. 

so when he finally breaks, it's because he's spent months pretending everything is fine. family pressure. business expectations. football. media. injuries. 

everyone keeps asking something from him. nobody asks if he's okay. except you. 

one evening, you notice he's answering emails during dinner. again. his food has gone cold. his shoulders are painfully tense. 

you quietly close his laptop. "... hey." 

he instinctively reaches for it. "i need–” 

"no." 

"..." 

"i need you… reo." 

those were the only words he needed to hear to snap him out of the spiral that was pulling him downward. it was like you knew exactly what to say in the moment. 

you cup his face. "when was the last time someone took care of you?" 

that question completely dismantles every wall he's built. 

his lips press together. his breathing stutters. "... i don't..." 

he genuinely can't remember. inevitably, tears spill before he even realizes he's crying. 

he immediately laughs at himself. "wow." another tear. "this is embarrassing." 

you run a hand through his scalp. "you know what i see?" 

"... what?" 

"someone who's carried too much by himself." 

his smile crumbles. he starts crying properly then, with the kind of relief that comes from finally setting down a weight you've been carrying for years. he buries his face against your shoulder while your fingers continue to slowly comb through his hair. 

"i'm sorry." 

"for what?" 

"... for falling apart." 

you kiss the top of his head. "you're not falling apart. you're finally letting someone help carry you." 

he stays there for a long time, letting himself be held instead of being the one doing the holding. 

afterward, whenever life becomes overwhelming, he doesn't bottle everything up until it breaks him anymore. he now takes a different approach – he'll quietly find you, rest his head in your lap, and admit, "i think i'm reaching my limit." 

and every single time, you answer with the same gentle certainty: "then we'll face it together." 

because loving someone isn't just celebrating their victories – it's making sure they know their tears are welcome, too. 

bachira meguru

bachira cries like someone who's spent his entire life convincing himself he didn't need anybody. 

growing up, he learned how to laugh through loneliness. he'd turn empty afternoons into adventures with his "monster," smiling so brightly that nobody realized how much of that smile was stitched together by imagination instead of companionship. 

so when he meets you – someone who understands every weird little part of him without asking him to tone it down – it changes something fundamental inside him. 

the first time he cries is because you absentmindedly say something while you're both cooking dinner: "i'm really glad i found you." 

you don't even realize what you've said. you're too busy trying to rescue vegetables that are beginning to burn. 

it’s only after 2 minutes that you realize there’s been no response. "... megs?" 

he isn't answering. he's just standing there with a knife still in his hand, staring at the cutting board. 

"hey? you okay?" 

when he finally looks up, tears are already streaming down his face. "... sorry." he laughs through them. "i don't know why i'm crying." 

you immediately take the knife from his hands and guide him toward the couch. he's still smiling, laughing, and apologizing between sniffles. 

"that's the thing." he rubs his eyes. "for a really long time..." another tear slips down. "i thought people only stayed until they got bored of me." 

your heart practically cracks. "oh, meguru..." 

"and then you just..." he laughs again. "you just keep choosing me." 

you pull him into your arms before he can finish. he clings to you without hesitation, burying his face into your shoulder like he's finally allowing himself to believe he doesn't have to entertain someone to deserve being loved. 

after that, whenever life gets heavy, bachira doesn't hide behind jokes nearly as often. he'll flop dramatically into your lap and mumble, "so i think today's a crying day." 

and you'll smile, brushing his bangs away from his forehead. "then let's cry." 

shidou ryusei

shidou is loud. he gets passionate and explosive. he shouts when he's excited. he laughs with his whole chest. he celebrates goals like the stadium belongs to him. people assume that means he's emotionally fearless. it’s not anything new. 

but the truth? he's terrified of letting people see the parts of him that aren't exciting. after all, excitement gets applause. vulnerability gets silence. 

the first time he cries in front of you happens after he's suspended from a match. everyone online calls him a problem, a lost cause, a player with wasted talent. he pretends he doesn't care. he makes jokes and posts something ridiculous while grinning during interviews. 

then he comes home. and slumps while he mutters: "... they're kinda right." 

you've never heard him sound so… small. 

he shrugs. "i guess i always screw stuff up." 

you sit beside him. "look at me." 

"nah. not this time.” 

"ryusei." 

he finally turns. his eyes are glossy. "... i really try, y'know?" 

your chest tightens. "i know." 

"i don't wake up thinking, 'how can i ruin everything today?'" he lets out a bitter laugh. "people just think i'm some crazy idiot." 

the tears come suddenly after that, fast and unfiltered. he doesn't even try stopping them. he just cries exactly the way he laughs – with his entire heart. 

"what if i'm too much?" 

you don't answer right away. instead, you take his face into your hands. 

"you've never been too much, ryu. you've just spent too much time around people who only accepted the loud parts of you." 

he completely falls apart after that. he hugs you so tightly you're pretty sure your spine audibly protests with a few cracks. 

"... don't leave." 

you smile into his hair. "not a chance." 

karasu tabito

karasu prides himself on reading everyone else. he notices lies before they're spoken. he can tell who's nervous just by the way they shift their weight. he always knows what someone else is feeling. 

but his own emotions? those stay locked behind sarcasm and easy smiles. 

he convinces himself he's handling everything because he's still functioning, still training and winning and making everyone laugh. 

then his grandmother passes away. he attends the funeral. thanks everyone politely. comforts his own family. helps clean afterward. he does everything right. but he doesn't cry. not there. not even once. not even a single tear. 

it's 2 weeks later. you're both grocery shopping. you absentmindedly toss his grandmother's favorite candy into the cart because you remember she'd always sneak him pieces when he visited. 

"... oh." that's all he says. 

then he's standing completely still in the middle of the snack aisle. his shoulders start shaking. 

it finally clicks what you just did. “tabi baby, i am SO sorry.” you take the shopping basket from his hand before it falls. "i forgot..." 

his voice breaks as he holds up a hand. "it’s okay… it was… me who forgot… that she'd never eat these again." 

that's what does it. 

grief doesn't always arrive right away. sometimes it sneaks up between cereal boxes and discounted snacks in the most random of moments. you sympathize with that. 

karasu cries quietly into your shoulder while strangers politely pretend not to notice. 

later, he'll laugh weakly. "out of all places..." 

you smile. "love doesn't care where it catches up with us." 

he squeezes your hand all the way home. 

kaiser michael

kaiser has spent his entire life believing affection is conditional. perform well. be useful. be extraordinary. earn love. repeat. 

crying never fit into that equation so he learned to swallow every emotion until they became part of him. 

you notice it way before he does – how he dismisses compliments, how he instinctively apologizes for needing help, how he thanks you for things people in healthy relationships never think twice about. 

"thanks for waiting for me." 

"thanks for making dinner." 

"thanks for… staying." as if your love has an expiration date. 

the first time he cries happens after he loses a match he desperately wanted to win. 

the media tears him apart. fans argue over whether he's "washed." 

he brushes it off publicly with that familiar smirk. but privately… he stands in your apartment staring out the window. 

"if i stop being good..." his voice is almost inaudible. "... would you still love me?" 

you don't answer with words. you walk over, gently take his face between your hands, and kiss his forehead. 

"michael." 

he finally looks at you. 

"i loved you before today's match. i loved you during it. and i'm going to love you tomorrow." 

his composure shatters so quietly it almost hurts to witness. his lips tremble and his breathing catches before tears slowly spill over, one after another, while he desperately tries to blink them away. 

"... i don't know how to need people." 

"you don't have to know. we'll learn together." 

he leans into your touch like someone discovering warmth after living in winter for years. no loud sobs escape him either. he just cries with the exhausted relief of someone realizing they no longer have to earn a place in someone's heart. 

ness alexis

ness cries because he's finally loved without conditions. 

before you, so much of his self-worth came from what he could offer other people. what he could do. how useful he could be. whether he could make himself indispensable enough that nobody would leave. 

loving you is terrifying because, for the first time, he can't understand why someone chose him. 

one day, the two of you found yourselves playing a deep questions card game on the apartment couch. 

ness picks up a card and reads the question out loud: “... why me?” 

you don’t even have to think twice about it. the answer comes naturally: "you're brilliant, lex.” 

"... really?" 

"yes." 

"even when i'm emotional?" 

"especially then." 

he stares at you like you've spoken another language. 

the first time he cries is after making a mistake during an important match. he's convinced you're disappointed. he spends the entire drive home apologizing. 

"i’m sorry, i should've passed sooner." 

"alexis." 

"i know i looked stupid." 

"alexis." 

"i'm sorry you had to watch that–” 

you finally park the car. turn toward him. and take both of his hands. "why are you apologizing to me?" 

"because..." he can't finish. "... because i wasn't enough today." 

the silence that follows is deafening. you gently squeeze his fingers. 

"you think i love you because of football?" 

his eyes widen. "don't you?" 

your heart aches. "no. i love you because you're kind." 

another tear. 

"because you remember things about me that i even forget." 

another one falls. 

"because you always stop to pet every dog you see." 

his shoulders start trembling. 

"because you make me laugh until my stomach hurts." 

he completely breaks then. nobody has ever listed reasons to love him that had nothing to do with his performance. he cries into your embrace while clutching the front of your shirt with both hands. 

"i was so scared you'd stop choosing me." 

you kiss his temple. “you were never a trophy to win." you hold him just a little tighter. "you've always been a person to love." 

he cries harder after that, but this time, every tear carries away a little more of the fear he'd been holding onto for years.