───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

"The feeling that I'm losing her forever.”

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

CW - themes of emotional neglect, heartbreak, loneliness, and intense emotional pain.

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Rin Itoshi’s fingers trembled as he unfolded the fragile, crumpled letter, his eyes fixed on the words he’d never expected to find.  

You said you couldn’t keep doing this.

A certain scene played over and over in his head. The room was silent, heavy with unspoken words. You lay beside him, trembling softly in the quiet darkness, your hand resting gently on his side—an instinct, a desperate, trembling plea for connection. Your fingers curled slightly, fragile and uncertain, aching for him to notice, to reach out. All you wanted was for him to see you, truly see you, your love, your pain, your longing.  

Suddenly, he shifted. Without a word, his arm jerked away, shoving your hand off his waist as if it burned him, like your touch was a burden he couldn’t carry. His eyes flicked open just for a moment, and when they landed on you, he saw that same peaceful, fragile smile.  

But it wasn’t real. A silent, gentle mask concealed the silent plea to be loved–yet behind it, eyes reflecting something raw and hollow. You smiled because you wanted him to believe you were okay. After all, you wanted him to see the love you carried in silence. But inside, your heart was breaking—cracked and bleeding, aching for him to hold you, to love you the way you desperately needed.  

You just wanted him to love you. To hold you like you mattered, to see the pain in your eyes that you never dared to speak aloud. Every night you begged silently, hoping, praying that someday he’d notice—the way your love was wrapped around him, tender and real, though he never saw it.  

And yet, in that moment, he pushed you away again, oblivious to the invisible scars he’d left behind. His rejection cut deeper than any words could, stabbing into your soul, tearing at the fragile hope you clung to.  

He looked at you and saw only the peaceful smile, not the storm of ache behind it—the longing that screamed inside you, desperate to be loved, craving just a fraction of the affection you’d sacrificed everything for.

All you ever wanted was to be loved. And in that quiet, cold night, you had shown him your love—hopeful, trembling, real—while he had only seen the mask. And that realization tore him apart, gut-wrenching and raw, knowing he’d lost someone who loved him more than words could ever say.

Your handwriting was shaky, trembling with unspoken pain, each word heavy with sorrow and regret, echoing the ache he had left unacknowledged.  

“I feel like I’m just another thing you forget about,” you wrote.  

On another night, he remembers seeing you standing there, trembling in the cold, clutching your phone as if it were the only thing keeping you tethered to him. Your shoulders hunched, not from the chill but from the weight of silent despair, eyes empty and dull, staring past the flickering streetlights like you were already dissolving into the night.  

He remembered glancing at his screen and seeing your message—how you had begged for just a moment of his attention, a quiet plea that you mattered. But he had been too wrapped up in his world, too consumed with training to notice. His thumb hovered over the dismissive reply, then moved on, ignoring your call that night.  

And despite everything, you had forced a fragile smile, trembling as it touched your lips—a ghost of a grin that barely masked the ache inside. Your eyes flicked up, trying desperately to meet his, to show you were okay, even as the tears threatened to spill over. You looked so exhausted from waiting, shoulders hunched, as if trying to shrink into yourself to disappear. Silent. Broken. Hopeless.  

He couldn’t forget the look in your eyes—how hollow and tired they had become, how your face betrayed the exhaustion of pretending. You looked so drained from waiting, from holding back the tears, from pretending you were fine when every second in that cold, silent night was ripping you apart inside.  

And now, as he remembered it, that ache in his chest grew heavier, a suffocating weight of regret and grief. He had let you stand alone, abandoned your silent cry for help. You had begged him to see, and he had looked right past you, too blind to notice the cracks that were breaking your soul. 

You were tired of being ignored.

He often remembered how you would sit alone on the couch, eyes fixed on the worn carpet beneath you, as if the world around you had faded away. Your gaze was distant, lips pressed into a thin line, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. You looked so small, so invisible, as if you were trying to disappear into the silence, your quiet presence heavy with unspoken hurt.  

He’d storm past you, lost in his own chaos, barely registering how your body tensed at his passing. Sometimes, he’d snapped at you, voice sharp and dismissive, brushing aside your worries about his schedule as if they were trivial. “It’s not a big deal,” he’d said, waving you off like an annoyance, as if your concerns meant nothing.  

And yet, he often replayed that look in your eyes—how you’d glance up at him, desperate for a sign that you mattered, that he saw you. But he’d turn away, blind to the silent plea, as if you already knew he’d never truly notice.  

He realized how you’d tried to be invisible, hiding your pain behind a fragile mask, knowing deep down that no matter how much you needed him, he wouldn’t see. 

“I’ve given you everything I had, but it’s never enough for you,” you admitted.  

He remembered that night as if it were etched into his skin—how his voice had erupted, harsh and unforgiving, each word a lash that cut deeper than any physical blow. His anger had blurred his judgment, and he shouted at you with a fury that made his chest ache. In that moment, he saw himself, voice rising, accusing, blaming—words sharp and cold, dismissing your pain as nothing more than an overreaction, as if your tears were just an inconvenience he didn’t have time for.  

He could still feel the weight of your trembling shoulders, the way your hands had clenched into fists, trembling so violently it seemed you might shatter. Tears shimmered in your eyes—unshed, but so close to spilling—yet he’d dismissed that too, as if your hurt was a lie, a drama you’d invented for sympathy. He didn’t see how your voice cracked, how your body shook with the effort to stay composed, to hold back the storm threatening to drown you.  

In his mind’s eye, he watched you slowly retreat, head low as if trying to make yourself smaller, to disappear from the storm he’d created. His shouts echoed louder, each word a blow that pushed you further away, further into the silence where he couldn’t reach you. The gap between you widened with every shouted accusation, until you looked like a ghost slipping into the shadows, broken and invisible.  

He saw himself shouting, his voice raw with anger, pushing you back with words that sliced into your heart and made it ache so painfully he thought he might break. And then, just like that, you were gone—silent, retreating into a space where nothing he said or did could reach.  

And in that quiet aftermath, he finally saw it—the hollow, shattered look in your eyes, the way your trembling shoulders betrayed your attempt to stay strong. Every cruel word, every angry shout, had left scars he’d never seen until now, until it was too late to undo what he’d broken.

“Sometimes I wonder if you even see me,” you wrote.  

He remembered your quiet tears—how you looked at him with hope, only to be met with cold indifference, your eyes searching his face for just a flicker of love.  

A memory drifted back—nights when he sat on the couch, shoulders hunched and brows furrowed, lost in his frustrations. His phone was glued to his hand, screen glowing, as he scrolled through whatever was bothering him. You’d sit nearby, trying to catch his eye, voice quiet as you reached out, fingers trembling as they brushed against his arm. But he didn’t look up. He simply pulled away, as if he hadn’t noticed. His focus didn’t shift, not even for a second.  

You sat there, shoulders hunched, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, fighting to hold back the ache in your chest. You looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered, your gaze searching his face for just a flicker of warmth, a sign that he cared. But his face remained distant, cold, unmoving—like he was somewhere far away.  

He sat in the silence, but he could almost feel it— the ache in your chest, heavy and relentless. It was in the way your shoulders hunched, as if carrying an invisible weight, and in the trembling of your hands clutching that small bag so tightly. Your eyes, filled with quiet desperation, begged silently for him to notice, to understand, to care. You looked at him with a hope that sheathed your trembling voice, waiting for a sign, a single glance that might tell you he saw what you were feeling.  

But he didn’t look up. He didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on his phone, lost in a world that didn’t include you. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, as if the very air around you refused to acknowledge the ache you carried. And still, your eyes searched his face for just a flicker of warmth, a sign that he cared—even as he remained unaware of the silent plea you’d been making all night.

“I don’t think I can keep waiting for you to change,” you said.  

He saw you standing by the door, your hand trembling as it clutched a small bag. Your shoulders shook slightly, and your voice cracked as you tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You looked exhausted, like you’d been holding back tears all night, and now they threatened to spill over.  

You expected him to stop you, even just for a second. To reach out, to say something—anything—before you left. But he didn’t. His eyes stayed fixed on his phone or somewhere else, completely ignoring you, as if you were invisible.  

You hesitated, your breath hitching, then forced out the words that broke his heart: you loved him, but you needed more—something he couldn’t give. The desperation in your voice made it feel like a knife stabbing through him, yet he couldn’t move.  

He watched as you took a small, trembling step back, then another, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears, quietly slipping away without resistance, like you'd already prepared yourself for this moment, like you’d known it was coming all along. The soft click of the door closing behind you echoed in the silence, no fight, no goodbye, just a quiet, final departure.  

He didn’t care at first. He didn’t think you were leaving for good. He told himself that you’d come back, that it was just a moment of pain, a temporary goodbye. But then he found the letter hidden under your bed, the words faint but clear on the worn paper. One whole month before he found your letter. That’s when the ache began—the yearning, the regret, the terrible truth he had ignored for so long.

He can still remember hearing the final click of the door closing behind you, the silence that followed echoed louder than any words spoken in anger.

His eyes stay fixed on the final line, each word burning into his mind.  

He couldn’t look away, even as his hands trembled uncontrollably.  

That last line—the unspoken farewell—felt like a punch to the stomach, leaving him breathless.  

His tears blurred his vision, falling steadily, soaking the paper as he stared at it, unable to stop.  

They blurred the ink, smudging the words he desperately wanted to remember.  

Gently, he folded the fragile paper, as if afraid it might tear further.  

But no matter how carefully he handled it, the pain inside him only grew worse.  

He realized he had lost someone who loved him quietly, who had only wanted to be seen.  

And now, that silence was deafening, leaving him with a hollow ache he couldn’t shake.

—

Dear Rin,

I feel like I’m just another thing you forget about.

I’ve given you everything I had, but it’s never enough for you.

Sometimes I wonder if you even see me

I don’t think I can keep waiting for you to change.

I just wanted you to see that I was enough.

                                                    Sincerely, Y/N.

—

The weight in his chest grew heavier with each breath, like a stone lodged deep inside him, pressing down until he could barely breathe.  

His eyes darted back and forth over the crumpled paper, hands trembling as he reread every word—the raw, aching truth bleeding from each line, as if reading it could somehow make it less real.  

He was caught in a loop, every sentence stabbing anew, each one a mirror of the heartbreak he’d refused to see.  

He remembered your trembling hand reaching out, your eyes flickering with hope that he had refused to notice, your voice trembling as you begged silently for just a moment of his attention.  

Now, the silence was deafening—an unspoken void that screamed louder than any words ever could.  

He felt the ache of what he’d lost—what he’d shattered—like shards of glass lodged in his chest, bleeding pain he could no longer ignore.  

He finally saw the love you’d poured out, quietly, unrelentingly, the kind of love that never demanded, only gave, and hoped he’d see it someday.  

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

"Kiss me, we're on fire, babe."

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

CW - none!!

The final whistle blew, and a chorus of cheers erupted from the stands, reverberating through the stadium. The atmosphere crackled with excitement, a tangible energy that swirled around Don Lorenzo as he soaked in the fruits of their hard-fought victory. "With a shocking score of 6-2, UBERS takes home the crown!" With sweat glistening on his brow and his signature golden teeth gleaming brighter than the stadium lights, he felt a rush of accomplishment unlike any other.

As the crowd celebrated, Lorenzo scanned the stands until his eyes finally landed on you, waving enthusiastically and bouncing on your toes with pride. The sight sent a wave of warmth rushing through him, sweeping away all the fatigue from the game.

In an instant, he jogged over, shedding his damp jersey as he approached, the warmth of your beaming smile igniting something electric within him. “You’re here!” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I missed you so much during the game, okay?”

“Of course I’m here! I was cheering for you the entire time!” you gushed, feeling giddy at the sight of him, alive with enthusiasm.

“Thanks! But seriously,” he said, his handsome face lighting up with a cheeky grin, “I swear I was going crazy out there! I could smell you in the air, and it kept me going! Every time I caught a whiff, I thought, ‘I can’t wait to see her after this!’”

You laughed, a soft blush creeping to your cheeks. “The secret scent of victory and maybe a bit of my perfume, huh?”

“Exactly! That combo is unbeatable!” He stepped closer, the heat radiating from his body wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. “You make everything feel right. When I’m on that field, I’m not just playing for me—I’m playing for us. The sweat, the effort, it’s all worth it for this moment right here,” he said, looking deep into your eyes.

Your heart fluttered, and the world around you felt like it disappeared, leaving just the two of you in a sea of happiness. “I’m so proud of you. You played phenomenally!”

“Absolutely, okay?” he replied, buoyed by your praise and affection. He grasped your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and pulled you along to the sidelines where the team was gathering for post-game interviews.

As you walked together, the joy between you was palpable, and he couldn’t resist glancing down at you with that playful twinkle in his eye. “You know what? We should start a victory dinner tradition. I’ll bring my undeniable charm, and you’ll bring your amazing cooking, okay?”

“Deal! But only if you promise no one else will find out about my secret recipes!” you teased, batting your eyelashes at him, your laughter echoing in the air.

“Never!” His laughter rang out like a joyous melody as he pulled you a little closer, his gaze locked on you with an intensity that made your heart race. “You’re the best part of my world!”

Just then, a group of interviewers, cameras in tow, approached, eager to capture the celebrations unfolding. Lorenzo, always one to entertain, flashed that dazzling grin as he realized the cameras were rolling.

“Hey, everyone!” he called out, and the crowd cheered in response. He turned to you, excitement bubbling in him like soda fizzing over a glass. “Since we just won, I think we should give them something special, okay?”

Before you could react, he leaned in, and in that unforgettable moment, he pressed his lips against yours—soft, sweet, and full of affection, a celebratory kiss that sent a rush of warmth flooding through you. The world faded away, the cheers of the crowd becoming background noise as the cameras clicked and flashed, capturing the love and joy shared between you.

When he pulled back, a satisfied grin plastered across his face as he wiped a stray lock of hair from your forehead. “Perfect!” he declared, as if the kiss were merely a part of the plan all along. “Now they know just how lucky I am!”