𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒’

there wasn't any teasing, no dramatic reaction, just the smallest lift at the corner of his lips that disappeared almost as quickly as it came. somehow, that tiny expression meant more than any compliment he could have given.

he walked over as if nothing had happened, reaching up to smooth a wrinkle near your shoulder before gently pulling the collar straight. his hands were careful, almost automatic, making sure the jersey sat comfortably on you instead of awkwardly slipping to one side.

once he was finished, he gave your shoulder a light pat and quietly continued on his way, leaving you blinking after him until he paused a few steps later.

without turning around, he simply said, "keep it."

it wasn't because he didn't need another jersey. he had plenty. he just liked seeing you in something that belonged to him.

every time you wore it after that, whether you were waiting for him after training, curled up on the couch, or wandering around his apartment with the sleeves hiding your hands, hugo never said much. he'd only glance at you for a moment before his expression softened ever so slightly, a quiet kind of pride settling in his chest.

to everyone else, it was just his team jersey. to him, it looked exactly where it belonged.

michael kaiser

it had started as a problem you hadn't thought through very well.

laundry day had a habit of sneaking up on you, and by the time you finally dragged the overflowing basket into the washing machine, you realized every comfortable thing you owned was tumbling around inside with it. your pajamas, your favorite oversized hoodie, the shorts you always wore around the apartment—everything.

after searching every drawer twice in hopes you had forgotten something clean, you let out a quiet sigh before your eyes landed on the back of one of michael's jerseys hanging neatly in the closet.

it was the only thing left.

when you pulled it over your head, it swallowed you whole. the fabric slipped past your hips, the sleeves falling well beyond your wrists, and the neckline rested just enough against your collarbone that you kept tugging it back into place without thinking.

it smelled like him, faint traces of his cologne mixed with freshly washed cotton, and despite only meaning to wear it until your clothes finished drying, you found yourself curling up on the couch with a book, completely forgetting you were still wearing it.

michael came home much earlier than expected.

the sound of the front door opening made you glance up for only a second before returning to your page, assuming he'd head straight to the bedroom. instead, the apartment became strangely quiet.

when you finally looked over again, he was standing just inside the living room, one hand still resting on the strap of his bag as his blue eyes stayed fixed on you. for one rare moment, the usually confident striker looked completely caught off guard.

his jersey.

his name stretched across your shoulders, the oversized fabric making you look impossibly smaller than you already were, and somehow seeing something that represented him worn so casually by you made his chest tighten in a way he hadn't expected.

he had imagined it before—more than once, if he were being honest—but reality was somehow even better.

you immediately noticed where his attention was and looked down at yourself with an embarrassed laugh. "all my clothes are in the wash."

that was all the explanation he needed.

a grin slowly spread across his face, the kind that started off smug before melting into something much softer.

he crossed the room without another word, stopping right in front of you before gently tugging at the bottom of the jersey between his fingers as if he were admiring it. then he leaned down, pressing an affectionate kiss against your forehead before quietly mumbling that maybe laundry day should happen more often.

from then on, he'd "accidentally" leave one or two jerseys folded on your side of the closet.

he never admitted why, pretending they were simply easier to find there, but every time he walked through the apartment and caught you wearing one while making breakfast, folding clothes, or simply waiting for him to come home, he found himself smiling before he even realized it. no expensive outfit or designer dress ever managed to steal his attention the way his own jersey did.

seeing his name across your back felt oddly personal, almost possessive in the gentlest way, and if anyone asked where another one of his jerseys had disappeared to, he'd only shrug with a satisfied smile. everyone knew exactly where it had gone.

sae itoshi

the stadium was louder than anything you had ever experienced, thousands of voices crashing together every time the ball moved down the field, camera flashes lighting up the stands almost as often as the floodlights themselves.

you sat quietly among the crowd wearing sae's jersey, the oversized fabric slipping over your hands every time you pulled the sleeves down, his name resting across your shoulders where anyone paying enough attention could recognize it.

you hadn't thought much of it when you put it on that morning. it was comfortable, it smelled faintly like him after being washed, and it made you feel a little closer to him while he was out there.

sae noticed almost immediately.

he always scanned the stands before kickoff, never for long, never obviously, but enough to ground himself before the match began.

among thousands of faces, yours stood out without any effort.

maybe it was because he already knew exactly where you were sitting, or maybe it was because seeing his own jersey on you caught him completely off guard. for only a second, his usually unreadable expression softened, his eyes lingering just a little longer before he turned away to finish warming up as if nothing had happened.

to everyone else, it looked like another routine glance toward the crowd. to you, it was enough.

the match itself was exactly what everyone expected from itoshi sae. every touch was precise, every pass perfectly placed, every movement calm even under relentless pressure.

commentators praised his composure while the cameras constantly searched for his reactions, but they never found much. his face stayed as unreadable as ever, giving away nothing to the millions watching from home.

what they didn't catch was the brief moment after the final whistle.

as his teammates celebrated around him, sae's eyes drifted toward the stands again, finding you almost instantly. you were already smiling despite the distance between you, clapping harder than anyone around you, the sleeves of his jersey bouncing with every movement.

his shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, and although his expression barely changed, the corner of his mouth lifted into the smallest smile before disappearing just as quickly. it lasted no more than a heartbeat, but for someone like sae, it was everything.

later, once the stadium had begun to empty and the noise had faded into the background, you waited near the players' exit where families and loved ones usually gathered. sae stepped through the doors still carrying the exhaustion of ninety minutes on his shoulders, his hair slightly damp and his jersey sticking to him after the match. his gaze found you immediately.

he didn't comment on the result. he didn't comment on the reporters still calling his name.

instead, he stopped in front of you, looked at the jersey you were wearing one more time, and quietly reached up to straighten the collar where it had folded inward. his fingers lingered for only a second before dropping back to his side.

"it suits you," he said simply.

coming from anyone else, they would've been ordinary words.

coming from sae, they felt like the highest compliment he could give.

he walked beside you toward the car afterward, his hand finding yours without thinking. every so often, he'd glance at you from the corner of his eye, catching sight of his name across your back whenever the wind shifted the fabric.

he never admitted it aloud, but something about seeing you wearing his jersey after one of his matches settled the exhaustion in his chest faster than any victory ever could. it reminded him that no matter how loud the stadium became or how many people filled the stands, the only person he ever looked for was already waiting for him.

julian loki

every summer, loki's club hosted a charity event for children from local communities, turning one of the training grounds into something that barely resembled a professional football facility.

inflatable games replaced practice equipment, small football clinics were held across every corner of the field, players signed shirts and boots for hours, and families filled the stands just to watch their favorite athletes interact with the kids away from the pressure of official matches. despite his busy schedule, loki never missed it.

no matter how exhausting the season had been, this was one event he always made time for.

you had volunteered weeks earlier after the club reached out for extra help. by the morning of the event, staff members hurried around trying to organize hundreds of guests, and one coordinator quickly handed you a folded jersey with your volunteer badge attached to it.

"we're out of the staff shirts," they apologized with an embarrassed smile. "the players donated some extras for the volunteers. hope that's okay."

you didn't think much of it until you unfolded it. and it was loki's.

his number was printed across the back, his name stretching neatly above it, and before you could even ask if they had another one, someone was already calling your name from across the field because another group of children had arrived.

with no time left to change into anything else, you slipped it over your clothes and hurried off to work.

for the next several hours, you barely had a second to yourself. one moment you were helping little kids lace up borrowed boots before their mini matches, the next you were kneeling beside a crying little girl who had scraped her knee after tripping over a football.

you tied balloons onto benches, passed out lunches, wiped melted ice cream from tiny faces, and clapped louder than anyone whenever a child proudly showed off a goal they had scored against one of the academy coaches.

somewhere between all the laughter and endless running around, you completely forgot whose jersey you were wearing.

loki noticed almost immediately.

he had just finished signing a stack of footballs when his eyes wandered across the crowd, searching for the next group of children waiting in line. instead, they landed on you.

his jersey hung loosely on your frame, the sleeves covering half your hands while you crouched down to help a little boy retie the ribbon on the medal he had just won. his last name was printed across your shoulders, easy to recognize even from where he stood.

he couldn't stop staring for a second.

one of his teammates followed his gaze before breaking into a knowing smile. "looks good on them."

loki only hummed quietly, but the small smile that appeared on his face answered enough.

later that afternoon, one of the photographers asked all the volunteers to gather for a group picture alongside the players. you almost slipped away, figuring you didn't belong in the front, but one of the staff members waved you over anyway.

before you could choose a spot near the end of the line, loki casually stepped beside you as though it had happened by chance.

the camera flashed several times while children crowded around the players, laughing and holding up signed footballs. every now and then, your shoulder brushed against his. neither of you moved away.

when the event finally came to an end and families slowly began leaving the grounds, you started helping fold tables and carry equipment back inside. only then did you remember the jersey.

you hurried over to loki with an apologetic smile, carefully holding it out toward him after changing back into your own shirt.

"thanks for letting me borrow it."

he looked at the folded jersey in your hands before looking back at you.

"i wasn't."

you blinked.

he let out the quietest laugh. "they never asked."

before you could apologize for wearing it all day, he gently pushed the jersey back toward you.

"keep it." you frowned. "are you sure?" he nodded without a second thought. "it made the day a little better."

it wasn't because it was expensive or because he had dozens of others waiting in his locker. it was because every time he had looked across the field that afternoon, he had found you smiling in something that carried his name while making hundreds of children laugh.

somehow, out of everything that happened during the charity event, that was the moment he knew he'd remember long after the season was over.

don lorenzo

lorenzo had a habit of disappearing after matches.

while the rest of the team lingered for interviews, celebrated with supporters, or spoke with reporters, he usually slipped away toward the tunnel the second his responsibilities were finished. everyone assumed he simply wanted to avoid the cameras, and for the most part, they were right.

except on the days you came. which those were different.

you had arrived later than expected after getting caught in traffic, only making it to the stadium a few minutes before kickoff. in your rush, you had forgotten the jacket you'd planned to bring, leaving you shivering every time the evening wind swept through the stands.

by halftime, one of the club staff noticed and quietly disappeared before returning with an apologetic smile.

"lorenzo asked if you'd wear this." they handed you his warm-up jersey. and it was still slightly warm.

you stared at it for a moment before pulling it over your clothes, immediately sinking into the oversized fabric. the sleeves covered your hands completely, the collar slipped comfortably around your neck, and the warmth left behind from when he had worn it hadn't completely disappeared yet.

it felt less like borrowing clothing and more like borrowing a piece of him.

you never realized the television cameras had noticed.

throughout the second half, they occasionally caught you celebrating from the stands, smiling whenever lorenzo made another impossible defensive stop.

before long, social media was flooded with screenshots of you wearing his jersey, fans already joking that he'd somehow managed to smile more during this match than he had all month.

when the game finally ended, you waited near the tunnel with everyone else. the second lorenzo stepped out, still laughing with a teammate, his eyes found you almost instantly.

he stopped walking. his grin somehow grew even wider. his golden grills brighting you.

without caring that half the stadium staff could still see him, he wandered straight over, tilted his head for a moment as if admiring his own jersey on you, then reached over and lightly tugged at one of the oversized sleeves.

"looks expensive."

you laughed, looking down at it. "i was told to give it back." he looked genuinely confused. "who told you that?"

"one of the staff." he snorted. "they don't make that decision."

before you could protest, he casually slung an arm over your shoulders and began leading you toward the parking lot as though the conversation had already ended.

"it's yours now." you blinked. "lorenzo, this is one of your match warm-ups."

"yeah."

"aren't those important?" he shrugged. "not anymore."

to everyone else, it probably looked like another one of lorenzo's impulsive decisions. but the equipment manager wasn't surprised in the slightest.

he'd watched lorenzo ask for that exact jersey before the match instead of wearing a newer one. he'd watched him quietly tell a staff member where you were sitting during halftime. he'd watched him pretend it was a spontaneous idea when, in reality, he'd planned the whole thing from the moment he noticed you'd forgotten something warm.

he just didn't want you to be cold. he'd never admit that part aloud, of course.

instead, every time he caught you wearing it afterward—whether you were making coffee in the morning, curled up on the sofa, or opening the front door for him after training—he'd flash that unmistakable golden grin before dramatically announcing that you were lucky to own something so valuable.

the truth was much simpler. which was he liked seeing his name beside yours.

and if that meant finding excuses to leave more jerseys in your closet, then somehow another one always seemed to go "missing" after every season.

bunny iglesias

the date had been circled on both of your calendars for weeks, which was exactly why everything seemed determined to go wrong the moment the day finally arrived.

the outfit you had spent nearly an hour putting together was ruined less than twenty minutes before bunny was supposed to pick you up after you accidentally knocked an entire glass of iced coffee across the front of it, leaving dark stains that no amount of cold water was going to fix in time.

with your bedroom looking like a disaster from searching through every drawer and hanger you owned, panic slowly started settling in as you realized nothing else felt right.

everything was either too formal, too casual, or still sitting in the washing machine from the night before. after another frustrated glance around your room, your eyes landed on the jersey bunny had quietly handed you after one of his matches a few weeks earlier, telling you to keep it because he thought it suited you more than it suited him.

it was folded neatly over the back of your chair, and without giving yourself enough time to overthink it, you slipped it over your head. the oversized fabric immediately swallowed your frame, the sleeves falling over your hands while the hem reached far enough that it looked more like an oversized dress than sportswear.

you paired it with shorts hidden underneath and a pair of sneakers, quietly hoping he wouldn't think you had forgotten how important tonight was.

when the door finally opened, you barely had enough confidence to look him in the eyes.

you were already halfway through apologizing before he had even stepped inside, explaining between nervous laughs that your original outfit had been ruined and that this had only been a last minute solution because you hadn't known what else to wear.

bunny, however, wasn't listening very closely anymore. the second he saw you standing there wearing his jersey, his thoughts seemed to disappear entirely. his name stretched across your chest, the familiar number resting against your thighs as the oversized sleeves hid your hands every time you nervously fidgeted with the fabric.

for someone who always seemed to have something playful to say, he became unusually quiet, simply taking in the sight for a few long seconds before the widest, most genuine smile slowly spread across his face. there wasn't even the smallest hint of disappointment that you hadn't worn something dressier.

if anything, he looked happier than he probably would've been if you had shown up wearing the outfit you'd originally planned.

he stepped closer without saying much, gently fixing the collar where it had folded inward before smoothing an imaginary wrinkle near your shoulder, the careful movement making it obvious he was trying to hide just how much he liked seeing you dressed in something that belonged to him.

the rest of the evening felt almost effortless after that. the two of you wandered through quiet streets filled with little cafés and brightly lit storefronts, stopping whenever something caught your attention, sharing desserts with two forks instead of ordering separate ones, laughing over silly souvenirs neither of you needed, and taking blurry photos together that neither of you planned on deleting.

every now and then, someone recognized bunny, politely asking for a quick picture before wishing him luck for the rest of the season.

almost every single person glanced toward you afterward, their eyes naturally drifting to the jersey you were wearing before soft smiles spread across their faces as if they had quietly pieced everything together themselves.

bunny always noticed it. he noticed the double takes, the knowing smiles, the way people looked between the two of you before continuing on with their day, and instead of looking embarrassed or brushing it off, there was a quiet sense of pride in the way he stood just a little closer to you afterward.

he never pointed it out, never teased you for wearing it, but every so often you'd catch him looking at you instead of whatever was in front of him, his expression softening each time he noticed the oversized sleeves slipping over your hands or the way you absentmindedly tugged at the hem whenever you grew shy.

by the time the date came to an end and he walked you back to your front door, the jersey no longer felt like the emergency outfit you'd thrown on in a panic.

somehow, it had become part of every memory the two of you had made that night.

it carried the faint scent of the café you'd visited, a tiny smear of powdered sugar from the pastry you'd shared, and the warmth of the evening air after hours spent walking side by side.

as you reached for the hem, ready to apologize once more and promise to wash it before giving it back, bunny gently stopped you before you could pull it over your head.

his hand rested lightly around your wrist for only a second before he quietly shook his head, his smile softer now than it had been all evening. he told you to keep wearing it for a little longer, saying it looked exactly where it belonged, and the look on his face made it obvious he meant every word.

he had dozens of jerseys tucked away at home from seasons, matches, and training sessions that fans would probably pay a fortune to own, yet none of them had ever looked as valuable to him as the one hanging loosely from your shoulders.

from that night forward, whenever he thought back to your first real date together, he never remembered the restaurant, the desserts, or even the conversations that made the hours disappear.

the first thing that always came to mind was opening your front door and finding you standing there wearing his jersey, looking embarrassed over something he secretly thought was perfect from the very beginning.

teddy knight

you had spent the afternoon at his apartment while he sorted through old match footage on his laptop, occasionally asking for your opinion even though you knew he had already made up his mind before pressing play.

eventually boredom settled in, and while he was distracted with football, you wandered into his room looking for something comfortable to throw on after changing out of your clothes.

hanging neatly inside his closet was one of his jerseys, freshly washed and still carrying the faint scent of fabric softener.

without giving it much thought, you slipped it over your head simply because it was comfortable, the oversized fit reaching your thighs while the sleeves swallowed your hands.

it wasn't meant to make a statement or get his attention. if anything, you completely forgot you were wearing it by the time you wandered back into the living room, grabbing a drink from the kitchen before curling up on the couch like nothing was different.

teddy, noticed immediately.

he looked up from his laptop after hearing you walk back into the room, and for a moment his brain completely abandoned whatever match he had been analyzing.

his eyes stayed on you far longer than either of you realized, quietly taking in the way his jersey looked hanging off your frame, his last name stretching across your shoulders whenever you turned around, and the absentminded way you kept pulling the sleeves over your fingertips while scrolling through your phone.

a slow smile spread across his face before he even realized he was smiling, and without saying a single word, he reached for his own phone resting beside him.

you were too distracted to notice until you heard the familiar shutter sound, making you immediately look up in confusion.

teddy simply lowered his phone with the most satisfied expression imaginable, clearly pleased with whatever picture he'd managed to take while you were sitting there completely unaware.

you immediately asked to see it, convinced he had caught you making some ridiculous face, but the second he turned the screen toward you, your complaints disappeared.

the photo was surprisingly simple. you were sitting sideways on the couch with one leg tucked underneath you, lazily holding your drink while sunlight from the apartment windows spilled across the room, making the oversized jersey stand out against everything else.

you hadn't been posing, smiling for the camera, or even looking at him. you had just been existing, comfortable enough to forget he was watching.

somehow, that made the picture feel even more special. before you could tell him not to, teddy was already typing something with one hand, uploading the photo to his story with no dramatic caption, no explanation, just a small white heart and your figure wearing his jersey.

within minutes his phone began buzzing nonstop as teammates, friends, and supporters flooded the post with reactions, all of them immediately recognizing whose jersey you were wearing. teddy only laughed quietly every time another notification appeared, completely unbothered by the attention.

you buried your face in the sleeves the moment you realized thousands of people had already seen the picture, insisting he could have at least warned you first, but every ounce of embarrassment disappeared the second you looked over and saw how genuinely happy he seemed.

there wasn't any hidden motive behind posting it or any attempt to show off. he simply thought you looked cute wearing something that belonged to him and wanted to share the moment exactly as it happened.

later that evening, after the notifications had finally started slowing down, you caught him looking back at the photo again instead of the comments underneath it.

he zoomed in just enough to admire the tiny details no one else would ever notice, the way the oversized sleeves covered your hands, the sleepy expression on your face, and how naturally his jersey seemed to belong on you.

sae wasn't the type of person to suddenly become affectionate or expressive just because someone entered his life, and you never expected him to. instead, your relationship was built on quiet understanding, on comfortable silences that never needed to be filled with meaningless conversation, and on the little routines that slowly became a part of both your lives without either of you realizing it.

you never pushed him to open up before he was ready, never asked him to become someone he wasn't, and never treated his reserved nature like it was something that needed fixing.

if he wanted to sit beside you in complete silence after training, you let him. if he wanted to spend an hour watching old match footage while you read beside him, you stayed there anyway.

somehow, without forcing anything, your presence became the one place where his shoulders relaxed, where the weight he carried every single day didn't feel quite so heavy.

the first time you saw him smile happened because of something so unbelievably ordinary that neither of you realized it would become a memory you would treasure forever.

you had insisted on baking despite barely knowing what you were doing, refusing to look at the recipe because you claimed, with complete confidence, that "it couldn't be that hard." by the time the cookies came out of the oven, the kitchen looked like a disaster.

flour covered the countertops, batter had somehow reached the floor, and one side of your face had a streak of flour you hadn't noticed. completely unaware of how ridiculous you looked, you proudly held up one of the slightly burnt cookies toward him with a bright smile of your own, asking him if it at least looked edible.

for a brief second, sae simply stared at you before something inside him softened without permission. the corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly, his eyes losing that usual distant look as warmth quietly settled across his face. it wasn't a laugh or an exaggerated grin, just a small, genuine smile that appeared before he even realized what he was doing.

you stared at him in complete disbelief, so focused on his face that you almost forgot the cookie in your hand, quietly whispering that he had smiled. instead of answering, he reached over, brushed the flour from your cheek with his thumb, and looked away as though pretending nothing had happened, but the faint smile lingering on his face stayed there for several more seconds.

after that day, smiling became something that only belonged to you.

the rare occasions someone else happened to witness it left them questioning whether they had imagined the entire thing.

his teammates would glance over during a gathering only to catch him looking at you with the faintest curve on his lips before his expression returned to normal the moment he noticed anyone watching.

even rin found himself staring once, convinced his eyes were playing tricks on him because the older brother he had spent years trying to understand had just smiled so naturally at you over something as simple as you fixing the collar of his jacket before he left the house. (pretend they’re in a good sibling relationship..)

nobody said much about it afterward because there wasn't anything to say. the smile disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving only the memory behind, but it was enough to make everyone realize that the emotionless image the world had built around sae had never been completely true.

he wasn't incapable of smiling—he had simply never found someone who made it happen without asking.

sae still wasn't someone who smiled often, and he probably never would be. his personality remained quiet, reserved, and difficult for most people to read, but that never bothered you because you learned long ago that love wasn't always loud.

sometimes it existed in the smallest expressions, the gentlest touches, and the quietest moments shared between two people who understood each other without needing many words. every smile he gave you carried more meaning than a hundred spoken confessions ever could, because they were never forced, never performed, and never given out carelessly.

you greeted him softly, wished him goodnight, and disappeared into the bedroom without another word. he stood alone in the hallway, staring at the closed door far longer than he cared to admit before quietly muttering to himself, "this outcome was unexpected."

for perhaps the first time in his adult life, ego found himself completely unequipped to solve a problem. i mean, soccer was predictable, players could be analyzed, strategies could be rewritten.

but emotions, however, refused to fit into any pattern he understood.

after nearly an hour of sitting in front of a paused recording without absorbing a single second of it, he finally leaned back in his chair with an irritated sigh and admitted the one thing he hated admitting most.

"i require another perspective." the thought alone was enough to bruise his pride, but even ego knew when something was beyond his expertise.

once training ended later that afternoon, he walked into the common room where several blue lock players were resting after another exhausting session. conversations gradually faded as everyone noticed him standing there without a tablet in hand or another lecture prepared.

instead of criticizing their performances, he looked across the room before calmly saying, "i need advice." the sentence alone was enough to make nearly everyone stop what they were doing. isagi blinked in confusion, rin slowly lowered the water bottle in his hand, and bachira looked like he was trying not to smile.

"my wife is angry with me," ego admitted after a brief pause. "i intend to correct that."

he explained everything with the same emotionless tone he used when reviewing match footage, listing every forgotten dinner, every unanswered message, and every moment he had unknowingly placed blue lock above you.

somehow, hearing him describe the situation so matter of factly made it sound even worse. reo let out a tired sigh before pinching the bridge of his nose, while bachira quietly laughed into his sleeve, unable to believe what he was hearing. even nagi, who rarely cared enough to involve himself in anyone else's problems, looked over from the couch with genuine disbelief.

"you seriously said 'acknowledged' after she cut her hair?" he asked lazily. ego nodded once. "that was my response." another silence settled over the room before bachira shook his head with a grin. "ego-san, you're lucky she still talks to you."

even rin, who had stayed silent until then, folded his arms before bluntly adding, "you're impossible." surprisingly, ego didn't argue with any of them. he simply listened, quietly accepting every judgment without defending himself once.

anyone watching closely could tell this wasn't because he believed they were insulting him, it was because, somewhere deep down, he already knew they were right.

one by one, the players began offering whatever advice they could. isagi explained that an apology wasn't about finding the perfect explanation but about making sure the other person felt heard.

reo insisted that one evening away from work wouldn't destroy blue lock, while chigiri suggested doing something you genuinely enjoyed instead of something ego considered productive.

bachira enthusiastically recommended bringing home flowers and your favorite dessert, only for ego to quietly respond, "flowers eventually die." bachira stared at him for a moment before laughing. "that's not why people give them."

even nagi managed to contribute from where he was lying down. "leave your phone somewhere else," he mumbled. "if she catches you watching football during dinner again, you're finished." for nearly twenty minutes, ego remained completely silent, committing every suggestion to memory as though each one were part of a tactical briefing.

after a while, he finally asked the only question that had been bothering him since he'd walked into the room. "what constitutes a proper apology?" the room fell strangely quiet. nobody laughed that time. the question had been genuine. he did not ask because he wanted a quick fix.

he asked because he had realized, in the most uncomfortable way possible, that he had hurt you, and for once there was no strategy in the world that could erase that on its own.

the conversation lingered in his mind long after he left the common room. flowers remained the one suggestion that refused to leave him alone, not because he thought they were practical, but because everyone had spoken about them with such certainty that even he could not dismiss them outright.

they were temporary, yes, but that seemed to be the point. they were meant to be chosen, carried, arranged, and handed over with intent. so the next morning, before anyone else had even arrived, ego made an unusual stop on his way to the facility.

standing inside a florist's shop felt strangely unfamiliar, and the employee helping him quickly realized she was speaking to someone who knew absolutely nothing about flowers.

every time she explained the meaning behind a bouquet, ego listened with complete seriousness, asking questions as though she were teaching him football tactics instead of flower arrangements.

when she suggested a single bouquet would be enough, he frowned slightly. "how can one arrangement sufficiently convey several days' worth of neglect?" he asked. by the time he left, he hadn't purchased one bouquet.

he had purchased many, far more than anyone reasonably would, because if he was going to apologize, he intended to do it with the same obsessive seriousness he brought to everything else in his life.

throughout the morning, delivery after delivery arrived at blue lock. large metal buckets overflowing with fresh flowers lined the hallway outside the monitoring room while beautifully wrapped bouquets covered nearly every empty surface.

roses in soft shades of pink and white stood beside elegant lilies, delicate baby's breath, tulips, hydrangeas, carnations, and peonies, filling the once ordinary corridor with color and the faint scent of fresh blossoms.

even anri stopped in the middle of the hallway, blinking several times before looking toward ego's office in disbelief.

one assistant quietly asked if there was some kind of celebration they had forgotten about. without looking away from the monitor in front of him, ego simply replied, "they're for my wife." no further explanation followed, as if that somehow made everything perfectly normal.

around lunchtime, you arrived at blue lock carrying the familiar cup of instant noodles you brought him nearly every day, knowing perfectly well that if you didn't, he would forget to eat altogether.

you greeted a few staff members before making your usual walk toward the monitoring room, only to stop the moment you rounded the corner. your footsteps slowed to a complete halt as your eyes widened.

flowers were everywhere.

dozens of bouquets rested neatly against the walls, while enormous buckets overflowing with fresh blooms stretched almost the entire length of the hallway. for a brief moment, you genuinely wondered if you had somehow walked into the wrong building. "what..?" you whispered under your breath, looking around in complete confusion. "is it someone’s birthday today?"

your quiet voice carried into the monitoring room, causing ego to finally look away from the endless collection of glowing screens.

the moment he noticed you standing there, still holding his noodles while staring at the sea of flowers, he rose from his chair without hesitation and walked into the hallway. his gaze briefly shifted toward the bouquets before returning to you.

"you're here." you looked from him, back to the flowers, then back to him again, still trying to process what you were seeing. "ego," you asked softly, "why are there so many flowers?" there was a brief silence before he answered with complete honesty. "i was informed that one bouquet would be appropriate."

his eyes wandered over the dozens surrounding the hallway. "i was uncertain which arrangement you would prefer."

he stepped toward one bouquet that had been set aside from the others, lifting it carefully into his hands before holding it out to you. unlike the rest, this arrangement had been chosen with particular care, wrapped neatly in soft paper and ribbon, the flowers arranged so beautifully that it almost looked too perfect to touch.

"these are yours," he said quietly. "all of them." you could only stare at him in stunned silence before letting out the smallest, most disbelieving laugh.

"all of them?" you repeated.

ego gave a single nod. "i believed limiting myself to one bouquet would inadequately express the extent of my apology." the corners of your eyes began to sting as you accepted the bouquet from him, your fingers brushing against his for only a moment. for someone who struggled to express affection with words, somehow filling an entire hallway with flowers was the most ego-like apology imaginable.

he didn't try to dress it up with excuses, and he didn't act like any of it had been easy. he simply stood there, unusually still, waiting to see whether this was enough.

it wasn't enough to erase everything at once, and ego knew that.

the hurt he had caused could not be solved in a single gesture, no matter how many flowers he bought or how carefully he chose them. but when you looked up at him again, still holding the bouquet he had clearly agonized over, and he finally reached out to take the cup of noodles from your hands so you would not have to juggle both, something in the tension between you loosened.

"you asked the players for advice, didn't you?" you asked quietly, a little disbelief slipping into your voice.

ego paused for only a second before answering, "yes." that alone made a tiny laugh escape you, and hearing it seemed to do more for him than anything else had all day. he shifted the flowers into your arms more securely, then looked at you with a rare kind of honesty that left no room for pride.

"i don't wish to repeat this mistake." it was a simple sentence, but coming from him, it carried weight. he was not good at grand declarations, and he was not suddenly a man fluent in romance, but he was trying in the only way he knew how, with effort, with patience, and with a kind of stubborn sincerity that made it impossible to dismiss him completely.

when you followed him back inside, the bouquet cradled carefully in your arms and the smell of fresh flowers trailing behind you, the room felt different somehow, softer, warmer.

ego set the noodles down, then glanced at the flowers one more time as if checking that the entire display was still real.

for once, he was not looking at a screen. he was looking at you. "i am still learning," he admitted, voice lower than before. "but i would prefer to learn correctly." that was all it took for the last of your anger to begin giving way to something gentler, something tired and fond and relieved all at once. he had not fixed everything, but he had finally stopped treating your hurt like a problem he could ignore until later.

extra chocolate chips, a thicker layer of icing, another spoonful of sugar because you knew he wouldn't complain.

he just never really pointed it out. instead, he'd quietly eat everything you handed him, always finishing the last bite before you even sat down with your own plate. it wasn't long before he started looking forward to those afternoons more than he cared to admit.

after long missions, he'd find himself wondering if you'd be in the kitchen when he got back. sometimes he'd catch the smell of vanilla drifting through the hallway before he even opened the door, and without realizing it, the exhaustion sitting on his shoulders would feel just a little lighter.

he'd wander inside almost immediately, pretending he had only come to grab a drink, but he'd always end up staying, leaning against the counter while watching you carefully measure ingredients or decorate cookies with the same patience you gave everything else.

he liked watching you bake almost as much as he liked eating what you made.

there was something calming about seeing your complete focus settle on something so simple. you'd brush flour off your hands with a little frown whenever it got everywhere, quietly taste the batter to make sure it was right, and smile to yourself whenever something came out exactly how you wanted. you always looked happiest in the kitchen.

sometimes he'd steal pieces before you were finished.

a strawberry you'd sliced for a cake, a spoonful of batter, a cookie that definitely hadn't cooled long enough. you'd always catch him. and he'd always act like he had no idea what you were talking about.

and somehow, despite knowing exactly what he was doing, you'd simply sigh, shake your head, and make another batch because you already knew the first one wouldn't survive him.

the rest of the cleaners eventually stopped questioning why there always seemed to be something sweet waiting for rudo after missions. cookies wrapped neatly in paper, slices of cake tucked into containers, little pastries sitting on the table with no note attached because they didn't need one. everyone already knew who had made them.

rudo never left a single crumb behind.

one afternoon, while you were pulling another tray of cookies from the oven, you laughed quietly and asked if he was ever going to get tired of eating everything you baked.

he looked at the warm cookies in your hands for only a second before his eyes settled on you instead.

he wasn't smiling much. just enough for you to notice. because it had never really been about the sweets. they were good—probably the best he'd ever had.

but what he loved most was knowing that every cookie, every cake, every pastry had been made because, somewhere in the middle of measuring flour and stirring sugar into butter, you'd been thinking about him.

and if baking was the way you loved people— then rudo was more than happy to let you love him for as long as you'd let him.

and also, one of your favorite habits was leaving little sweets for rudo whenever he came back from a mission.

it started without much thought. after noticing how drained he always looked once the adrenaline wore off, you'd quietly slip into his room before he returned, setting a small treat on the bedside table where you knew he'd see it first.

sometimes it was a few homemade cookies tied together with ribbon, other times it was a slice of cake wrapped carefully so it wouldn't dry out, a cinnamon roll still smelling faintly of butter, or little chocolates tucked into a tiny paper bag. beside every dessert sat a folded note written in your handwriting.

“made these just for you!”

they were never long, they didn't have to be. but rudo kept every single one.

at first, he'd unfold them, read them once, then quietly tuck them into the drawer beside his bed. eventually the drawer became too full, so he started slipping them between the pages of old books, inside empty tins, and into little spaces only he knew about.

every note stayed exactly where he left it, corners becoming slightly worn over time from how often he'd reread them on nights when sleep refused to come.

the sweets never lasted longer than a few minutes, the notes lasted forever.

you never realized how much those tiny gestures meant to him. to you, it was simply the easiest way to say i'm glad you're home safely without making a big deal out of it. baking had always been your love language, and leaving those little surprises where he'd find them felt as natural as breathing.

for rudo, though, coming home slowly became his favorite part of every mission.

no matter how exhausted he was, he'd instinctively glance toward his bedside table the moment he stepped into his room, quietly hoping there would be another little package waiting there. and somehow, there almost always was.

he never asked you to keep doing it, you never asked whether he liked it.

cameras were already running, the staff hurried across the sidelines making final checks, and the players stretched while throwing small comments back and forth. everyone expected the usual routine where ego would appear on the massive screen with another speech about crushing dreams and devouring each other.

instead, the large doors leading toward the observation area quietly opened.

at first nobody paid much attention, until they noticed someone walking beside him. a woman?

you weren't wearing a staff uniform or carrying equipment. you simply walked beside ego as if it were the most natural thing in the world, matching his pace while holding two cups of coffee.

one was immediately handed to him without either of you saying much, almost like it was something you had done thousands of times before. ego accepted it absentmindedly while continuing to stare toward the field, already analyzing formations before kickoff, and you merely smiled to yourself before following him into the observation room overlooking the pitch.

the entire field seemed to pause.

"who's with ego?"

"there's no way."

even the players who usually ignored gossip couldn't stop glancing toward the glass window above the stadium.

inside the room, you quietly fixed the collar of ego's jacket after noticing it had folded awkwardly during the walk.

he barely reacted, only lowering his head for half a second so you could straighten it before immediately returning his attention to the field. there was no embarrassment between the two of you. no awkwardness. it looked practiced, comfortable domestic.

one of them blinked several times. "did ego just let someone touch him?" bachira leaned so far forward he almost forgot the match hadn't started yet. "is that his girlfriend?"

"isn't that a little old to be calling someone a girlfriend?" one of them muttered. "i guess wife?" the players guessed.

there was silence, then everyone started talking at once.

"is ego married?"

"you're lying."

"who would marry him?"

"apparently her."

even rin, who normally couldn't care less about other people's lives, looked up toward the observation room for another second longer than usual before clicking his tongue and looking away.

up above, you settled into the chair beside ego while quietly taking a notebook from your bag. every few minutes you'd write something down before sliding it toward him.

ego would glance at it, make a short correction, write something underneath, and slide it back without taking his eyes off the match for long. the two of you looked less like a husband and wife during those moments and more like two people completely absorbed in breaking football apart piece by piece.

isagi couldn't stop looking. "they're actually discussing the game together." "she understands football?" rin asked. "apparently enough that ego listens."

that somehow shocked them even more.

throughout the match, little moments kept happening that made the realization sink in further. you quietly reached over to move one of ego's empty coffee cups before it tipped over his desk because you already knew he'd forgotten it was there.

when he became so focused on the game that he absentmindedly

when he stayed frozen in front of one monitor for almost twenty straight minutes after halftime, you simply placed another fresh cup of coffee beside him before returning to your own notes, knowing he'd eventually reach for it without even realizing.

none of it looked forced, none of it looked dramatic. it was obvious you'd grown used to the strange habits everyone else found impossible to understand.

by the end of the match, curiosity had completely replaced football in some of the players' minds.

once the game finished, you stepped out into the hallway while ego remained behind to continue reviewing footage. almost immediately, several players found themselves standing awkwardly nearby, pretending they hadn't followed you.

bachira smiled first. "...um... excuse me..."

you turned toward them with a gentle expression. "yes?"

"...are you... really..." before he could finish, ego's voice echoed from inside the room without him even looking away from his monitors.

"stop bothering my wife and review your performance."

every single player froze, he had said it so casually. “my wife.” with no hesitation, no explanation. just a simple statement before immediately returning to football.

you let out a small laugh, looking almost amused by everyone's stunned expressions before offering them an apologetic smile. "sorry. he gets like this after matches."

the silence that followed lasted several seconds. then bachira grinned from ear to ear. "isn't that kind of cute?"

"is that seriously the part you focused on?" chigiri sighed. rin rubbed his forehead. "i genuinely thought he slept in the monitoring room." "is this why he never leaves?" one of them wondered.

"probably because he actually has someone dragging him home," they answered.

from that day forward, the mystery surrounding ego only grew. the players never saw him become openly affectionate, and he certainly wasn't the type to hold hands or shower you with compliments in front of others.

but every so often you'd appear beside him during important matches, quietly handing him coffee before sitting beside him with your notebook, and somehow those tiny, ordinary moments made something unbelievable feel completely real.

the man who constantly preached that football should consume every part of a player's life somehow still managed to build a life with someone who understood him well enough to exist peacefully within all that chaos, and somehow, that was the biggest surprise of all.

there wasn't a single rushed movement. he enjoyed the process, not because he cared about baking itself, but because perfection mattered. if he was going to give you something, it had to be flawless.

one egg cracked cleanly against the rim of the bowl before slipping into the mixture, then another. he poured in a careful splash of vanilla, and the warm, comforting scent immediately filled the kitchen, wrapping itself around him like an old memory.

he sifted the flour into a separate bowl, adding baking soda and a small pinch of salt before whisking the dry ingredients together until they were light and even. slowly, he folded them into the butter mixture, stirring in steady circles until the dough came together into a soft, velvety consistency without a single lump.

finally, he reached for the chocolate chips, letting them tumble into the bowl with a pleasant rattle before gently folding them throughout the dough. every scoop looked perfect, every chip evenly distributed.

he tilted his head slightly as he admired the mixture, humming under his breath. it looked exactly like any ordinary cookie dough. just warm, sweet, innocent, just as he intended.

his eyes drifted toward the doorway, lingering there for several quiet seconds.

no footsteps, no voices, satisfied that he was alone, he reached into the inside pocket of the coat hanging over the back of a nearby chair and withdrew a tiny glass vial, barely larger than his thumb. the liquid inside was crystal clear, so transparent it almost disappeared against the sunlight pouring through the window.

it looked like water, looked harmless, and ordinary. a slow smile curved across his lips as he uncorked it with practiced ease, holding it carefully above the bowl. three tiny drops slipped into the dough.

they vanished the instant they touched it, leaving no shimmer, no scent, no discoloration—nothing that would ever make someone question what they were eating. without missing a beat, he picked up the spoon again and stirred.

he did it slowly, thoroughly, methodically. he folded the dough over itself again and again until every trace of the potion had become inseparable from the butter, sugar, and vanilla. only after he was certain there wasn't the slightest remnant left did he set the spoon down.

"perfect."

the word came out as little more than a murmur, almost swallowed by the quiet of the kitchen. he slipped the now-empty vial back into his pocket as though it had never existed.

he lined a baking tray with fresh parchment paper before scooping rounded portions of dough into neat rows, carefully leaving enough space for each cookie to spread while baking.

they were almost identical in size, each one gently shaped with the back of the spoon before he pressed a few extra chocolate chips into the tops. it was a small detail, but it made them look homemade in the best possible way.

the tray disappeared into the oven, and within minutes the apartment began to fill with the rich scent of butter melting into sugar, warm vanilla curling through the air, and chocolate slowly softening beneath the heat. tamsy rested one elbow against the counter while he waited, his expression unreadable as the timer counted down.

when the soft ring finally echoed through the kitchen, he opened the oven and was greeted by a wave of comforting warmth. the cookies had turned a beautiful golden brown around the edges while the centers remained soft, the chocolate still glossy enough to glisten in the light.

he transferred each one onto a cooling rack with surprising care, allowing them to rest until they were just cool enough to handle but still warm enough to feel freshly baked.

once they had cooled, he arranged them neatly inside a cream-colored pastry box lined with delicate parchment paper, stacking them carefully so not a single cookie would break. he tied the lid shut with a pale ribbon before slipping a small folded note beneath it in tidy handwriting.

"thought you'd like these. figured i'd try baking for once." — t

there was no confession, no flirting, nothing that would raise suspicion.

it looked like a simple gift from someone who'd spent an afternoon trying something new. he smiled quietly to himself as he admired the finished box, brushing an invisible speck of flour from the ribbon before making his way to your door.

he left it there without knocking, setting it down gently so it wouldn't tip over, then walked away as though he'd simply completed another errand. there was no need to see your reaction.

because he already knew how the story would unfold.

later that afternoon, you returned home tired from the day, nearly walking past the small box waiting outside your apartment until the cream-colored ribbon caught your eye. you bent down with quiet curiosity, recognizing tamsy's handwriting almost immediately.

"...he baked?" you mutter.

the question left your lips with a small laugh as you carried the box inside before placing it carefully on the kitchen table.

the moment you untied the ribbon and lifted the lid, the smell of warm vanilla and rich chocolate drifted into the room, making your stomach rumble despite having eaten earlier.

the cookies looked almost too pretty to touch, each one perfectly golden with melted chocolate peeking through the surface. smiling to yourself, you picked one up while it was still faintly warm and took a bite. the edges gave way with a gentle crunch before the center melted against your tongue, soft and buttery with just the right amount of sweetness.

"wow.." you blinked in surprise before taking another bite. "these are amazing."

one cookie became two. two became four. before the evening was over, the box sat empty beside you, reduced to little more than scattered crumbs and the neatly folded note resting underneath.

the following morning, something felt different. not wrong, just unfamiliar.

before you'd even gotten out of bed, your thoughts drifted toward tamsy for no reason at all. you wondered if he'd always enjoyed baking. if he'd been proud of the cookies. whether he was awake already or still asleep somewhere, completely unaware that you'd eaten every last one.

the thoughts lingered longer than they should have, returning throughout the day no matter how many times you tried to focus on something else. when someone happened to mention his name in passing, you found yourself listening a little more carefully than usual.

by the time you spotted him across the room later that afternoon, your heartbeat stumbled so suddenly that you instinctively looked away, confused by the warmth spreading across your cheeks.

you laughed it off as embarrassment, convincing yourself you'd simply been caught staring.

the days that followed only deepened the feeling until it became impossible to ignore.

his smile seemed brighter than anyone else's. his voice lingered in your thoughts long after conversations ended. every small act of kindness replayed itself over and over in your mind, each memory becoming sweeter than the last.

without realizing it, you started searching for him whenever you entered a room, hoping he'd be there. if he brushed your shoulder while walking past, your heart fluttered.

if he complimented you, you carried those words with you for the rest of the day. it felt so natural that you never questioned it. you simply convinced yourself that somewhere along the way, you'd fallen hopelessly in love with him. meanwhile, tamsy noticed every little change with quiet satisfaction.

the way your eyes softened whenever they met his. the way you smiled before he even spoke. the way you trusted him more with every passing day. it wasn't the potion that made him powerful—it was what the potion allowed him to become.

the center of your attention, the person whose words mattered most.

nearly two weeks after you'd finished the cookies, tamsy found you sitting alone beneath the shade of a tree, absentmindedly looking at the nature. he approached with the same easy smile he always wore, hands tucked comfortably into his pockets as though this were any ordinary conversation.

"mind if i join you?"

you looked up, your face brightening the instant you saw him, and without thinking you shifted over to make room.

"of course."

the two of you sat together for a while, talking about nothing in particular until the conversation settled into a comfortable silence. finally, he turned his head toward you, his expression almost impossibly gentle.

"i've been wondering about something," he said softly. you stopped zoning out, giving him your full attention. "about what?" he smiled. "would you like to go out with me?"

your answer escaped your lips before doubt could even form. "i'd love to."

there wasn't even a second of hesitation.

tamsy's smile widened ever so slightly as he reached over and intertwined his fingers with yours. you saw it as the beginning of a relationship. he saw it as the final piece clicking perfectly into place.

from that day forward, every suggestion he made felt reasonable. every explanation sounded believable. every reassurance wrapped around your heart like a comforting blanket. when others questioned him, you defended him without thinking.

when he asked something of you, saying yes felt effortless. he never had to raise his voice or force your hand. the potion had done exactly what he wanted—it hadn't stolen your mind, it had made your love for him feel so genuine that every choice you made seemed like your own.

and that was exactly how tamsy preferred it.

his eyes shifted between you and the scenery behind you several times before he slowly walked a little farther to the side, then a little farther back. he tilted the phone slightly, frowned to himself, lowered it, then raised it again, clearly trying to line everything up exactly the way he wanted.

you couldn't help smiling to yourself because he looked far more focused than anyone needed to be just to take a vacation picture.

without saying much, he lifted one hand and motioned for you to move a few steps to your right. once you did, he looked at the screen again before making another small gesture for you to turn your shoulders just a little.

he wasn't trying to change the way you looked—he was watching the sunset behind you, waiting until the sunlight framed you instead of sitting directly above your head. once he seemed satisfied, he finally pressed the shutter, only to immediately lower the phone and study the picture instead of calling you over.

you expected him to be finished after that. instead, he quietly deleted it, not because you looked bad. because the reflection of the sun across the water wasn't where he wanted it.

he walked several more steps, crouched slightly this time, adjusted the exposure with his thumb, waited for a small wave to settle, then took another picture.

a few seconds later he did it again, changing his angle just enough that the horizon sat perfectly behind you. every now and then he'd glance up from the phone, comparing what he saw with the real view in front of him before making another tiny adjustment. to anyone else, it probably looked excessive.

to sae, he was simply making sure it was right.

after a while you stopped trying to pose altogether, figuring he'd tell you if he needed anything. instead you rested your hands against the railing again, letting yourself admire the ocean while the wind played with your hair.

somehow, that only seemed to make him take even more pictures. every time you smiled at the waves, looked toward the horizon, tucked your hair behind your ear, or laughed quietly to yourself, the sound of the camera followed a second later.

he wasn't asking you to smile or telling you how to stand. he was waiting for the moments that happened naturally.

by the time he finally walked back over, nearly half an hour had passed. without saying much, he handed your phone back, expecting the conversation to end there.

you thanked him absentmindedly while opening the gallery, but the second the first picture appeared on your screen, your footsteps came to a complete stop.

there were dozens of photos. and every single one looked different.

some captured the sunset wrapping around your silhouette while others focused on your reflection against the water, and a few were taken while you were laughing without even realizing he had the camera pointed at you. they didn't feel posed. they felt real.

you looked up at him in disbelief before looking back at the screen again, unable to stop scrolling. the more pictures you saw, the more obvious it became just how much effort he'd quietly put into them. every angle had been thought through. every beam of sunlight had been placed perfectly.

even the background somehow looked balanced in every single shot.

sae noticed how long you'd gone without saying anything and briefly glanced over. seeing your eyes still fixed on the screen, he asked if something was wrong, only for you to shake your head almost immediately.

you looked back at him with the biggest smile he'd seen all day and quietly admitted that they were beautiful.

he simply looked at the pictures once more before slipping one hand into his pocket.

"good.." and that was all he said.

"it has layers."

"exactly."

"layers are intimidating."

you laughed under your breath before gently pushing the recipe book a little closer to him. "well, since you're so intimidated, you can help me." bunny sighed dramatically, though the grin on his face immediately gave away that he didn't mind one bit.

while you measured out the flour and sugar into a large mixing bowl, he stood beside you reading each step aloud with far more concentration than the recipe actually required, occasionally stopping to reread a sentence before looking over at you with genuine confusion.

"what does 'fold the batter' even mean?" he asked, frowning at the page. "why can't it just say 'mix it'?" you couldn't help laughing as you cracked another egg into the bowl. "because folding and mixing aren't the same thing."

"who came up with baking?" he muttered under his breath. "football makes more sense."

once the cake batter was finally poured into the pan and tucked safely inside the oven, you wiped your hands on your apron before placing the basket of strawberries in front of him along with a cutting board and a small knife. "your next job." bunny looked down at the strawberries before raising an eyebrow.

"you're trusting me with a knife?"

"i trust you enough."

"that doesn't sound very reassuring."

"because it isn't."

he laughed quietly before picking up the first strawberry, carefully slicing it into neat little pieces. he was surprisingly focused, tongue poking lightly against the inside of his cheek as he tried to make every slice roughly the same size. after a few minutes he proudly glanced over at you. "look."

you leaned closer before smiling. "those actually look really nice." "actually?" he repeated with fake offense. "i thought you'd have more faith in me."

"i had some."

while you turned your attention toward whipping the cream, bunny looked back down at the neat pile of strawberries he'd just finished cutting. they looked... really good. bright red, perfectly ripe, and honestly too tempting to ignore.

he glanced toward you, making sure you were still busy with the mixer before quietly reaching over and picking up a single slice. "quality control," he whispered to himself before tossing it into his mouth.

"bunny." his hand froze instantly. slowly, he turned his head. "what?" you didn't even look away from the bowl. "put the strawberry down."

"i didn't take one."

"you're chewing."

"proof?"

you finally looked over, raising an eyebrow as you stared at his suspiciously full cheek before letting out a laugh.

"you're literally chewing."

"could be gum."

"you weren't chewing five seconds ago."

"you don't know that."

you walked over until you were standing beside him, folding your arms while looking between him and the noticeably smaller pile of strawberries. "those are for the cake."

"how am i supposed to know if they're good enough for the cake if nobody tastes them?"

"they're strawberries."

"exactly."

"they all taste like strawberries."

"that's a bold assumption." you couldn't help laughing as you gently flicked the center of his forehead. "no more quality checks." he rubbed the spot dramatically before sighing. "you're no fun."

"i'm trying to make sure we actually have enough strawberries."

"i only had one." you looked at him. he smiled sheepishly. "okay... maybe two." you shook your head, unable to hide your smile before reaching into the bowl yourself and holding out another slice.

"open."

he blinked before obediently opening his mouth. you placed the strawberry between his lips before lightly pinching his cheek. "there. now stop stealing them." he laughed softly, catching your wrist before pressing a quick kiss against the back of your hand.

"see? if i'd waited, you would've fed me anyway."

"don't get used to it."

"too late."

the kitchen slowly settled back into a comfortable silence as you finished whipping the cream, the soft hum of the mixer blending with the quiet music playing somewhere in the apartment.

after spending so many months apart because of training camps, interviews, and international matches, the silence didn't feel awkward—it felt comforting. there wasn't a phone buzzing every few minutes, no coach waiting for him at the training grounds, and no suitcase sitting by the front door reminding him he'd be leaving again.

for the first time in months, bunny had nowhere else to be.

without thinking much about it, he quietly set the knife down before walking over until he was standing directly behind you, his arms slipping around your waist while his chin rested against your shoulder.

"you're clingy today," you teased, smiling to yourself as you continued whisking. "am i?" he murmured.

"very."

"i don't think i care." he hugged you just a little tighter, letting out a content sigh before quietly adding, "today i just want to be your boyfriend."

his words made your hands stop for a second. you turned your head just enough to catch the soft smile on his face, noticing how relaxed he looked now that the pressure of the tournament had finally disappeared.

"i missed you," he admitted quietly, his voice barely louder than the whisk scraping against the bowl.

"not the calls, not the texts, you." your expression softened immediately as you rested one hand over his where it circled your waist. "i missed you too." bunny let out a quiet breath before laughing to himself. "every time we'd finish a match everyone wanted to celebrate."

"and you didn't?" you asked. "i did." he smiled. "but after a while all i wanted was to come home, steal your attention for a day, and bake something completely unnecessary."

you laughed. "strawberry shortcake is unnecessary?"