. @ Xinai ྀི .ᐟ⊹

So of course, the internet which is a breeding ground for the most ridiculous theories and shipping culture. They didn’t know much about Loki which intrigued the public more and at that time you weren’t in a public relationship since you asked to be and Julian agreed with this also for your safety.

Because of this, There were constantly circulating rumors about Julian secretly dating some high-fashion runway model from Milan, or secretly seeing a famous pop star who had been spotted in the VIP lounge at one of his matches. Or that influencer that was a fan of his and all she wanted was a picture and respectfully left.

Every time a woman breathed in his general direction, a new tabloid article popped up claiming the teenage prodigy was "secretly dating" , he founded those people dumb and absolutely absurd.

“They write these things with so much confidence," Julian muttered, shaking his head as he scrolled through a sports gossip page on his phone. “ Ça me rend fou de voir à quel point ils sont stupides.”

You two were currently lounging in the backseat of his private car, watching the Parisian rain smear across the tinted windows. “Look at this one. It says I am 'secretly dating' a girl I met once for a One minute—Dior commercial shoot. I do not even remember her name.”

“Maybe you should call her up,” you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder. “The internet seems to think she’s your soulmate.”

You chuckled, pulling out your own phone and opening a social media app to scroll through your feed and opening the discussion on twitter about the quote on quote ‘look in his eyes’ to the model which made you laugh. While Julian kept on muttering beneath his breath.

As you scrolled, you hit a massive thread debating his love life.

@julian_loki_fan4real : Wait, does he actually have a girlfriend? I thought he was single?

↳ @vivanhugofan4ever : No, he’s definitely secretly dating that runway model. They were in the same city last week.

↳ @all_of_us_are_bums : Honestly, Loki is way too focused on football to have a girlfriend. He doesn't have time for a relationship.

You chuckled and faintly sighed and locked your phone slidding it into your pocket. Slowly, you tilted your head up, looking at Julian with a glint in your eyes.

Julian caught the shift in your posture, his gaze dropping from his phone to yours. The tense, annoyed lines on his face softened instantly.

“What is that look for?” he asked, a faint, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He let his phone drop onto his lap, completely forgetting about the sports gossip page.

“Ohhh, Just thinking about how much time you don't have for me,” you teased softly, shifting slightly so you could look at him better. “According to the all-knowing internet, you are far too focused on football to ever have a relationship. You're the godspeed, Julian. No time for love.”

Julian let out a soft huff and a genuine laugh finally breaking through his previous irritation. He reached over, his hand finding yours and wrapping his fingers securely around it. His thumb stroked the back of your hand

“L'homme égoïste s'adoucit pour sa petite amie” you playfully sighed and roll your eyes while keeping a teasing smirk playing on your lips. “How sweet and cute of you,” you said playfully cooing at him.

Julian’s thumb instantly stopped its soothing circles. His eyebrows shot up, a look of mock offense washing over his face.

“Ah, egoistical? Moi?” he huffed and, let go of your hand entirely. To be honest, Julian was kinda petty—no—really petty.

He gave your shoulder a petty, playful nudge, pushing you just far enough away so you were no longer leaning against him.

Julian crossed his arms over his chest, sliding over toward the opposite car door, looking out the window with a dramatic pout he could muster, which made you glance and side eye him, knowing he was kinda more sassy than you…to be fair from the amount of teasing you do, it was probably fair for him to act dramatic..

“I think I will keep my distance,” he muttered, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth completely gave away his act. “No more hand-holding for you.”

“Come on, Julian, pleaseee!” You came back and clung onto his arm, and poked his face. “My boyfriend loves me so dearly, right?”

Julian let out a soft huff, trying—and failing—to maintain his stern expression as your fingers poked his cheek. The corner of his mouth twitched higher, “maybe,” he sighed, though his tone was completely fond.

You continued to happily lean your weight right against him, sliding your hand down until your palm found his. You slotted your fingers between his, intertwining your hands securely.

Julian let out a defeated laugh, while he gave your hand a tight, reassuring squeeze.

“You really don't listen to a word I say, do you?” he murmured, while he looked at you. Your faces where incredibly near one another.

“You're incredibly spoiled, you know that? Who exactly taught you that you could get away with everything?”

“Ah, that's because I have such a loving boyfriend,” you chimed in, and gave his hand another playful tug, looking up at him with a thoroughly pleased grin.

Julian shook his head, though the sheer fondness in his eyes completely betrayed him. Hd smiled, and leaned down to press a kiss your cheek.

Soo how did the relationship between you and julian get leaked? Well….The secret broke out because of a single, grainy paparazzi picture. Internet sleuths instantly went to work piecing together the identity of the girl standing next to the global star and the press picked up on this…faster than Julian’s PR team.

You were dressed in a sleek trench coat and a pair of unmistakable Jimmy Choo heels. While having a pair of sunglasses and you walking next to Julian side by side.

While Julian, on the other hand, was captured wearing a casual Adidas tracksuit and a PXG jacket.

The media couldn’t tell if the two of you were even in a relationship or you were just random people who they assumed to be dating. But still really interesting because on the next shot, the both of you were holding hands…maybe…you couldn’t tell from the picture.

Unlike Julian, you had absolutely zero media training. You had no idea how to look past a flashing lens. You did not know how to give a perfectly neutral statement, or how to politely say “no comment” or pull off how sarcastic he was during interviews while keeping a straight face.

So it was really,really terrifying to see a bunch of people crowding the entrance of a shopping store waiting for you. You had no clue how they managed to find you, it creeped you out.

A small crowd of paparazzi and aggressive reporters waiting right by the entrance. You stood frozen, having absolutely no idea what the fuck this was about or who these people even were.

Coincidentally, your ass, who doesn’t like doing laundry wore the exact same trench coat from the picture.

The only difference today was that you had paired it with a simple top, a neat skirt, high boots, a big bag—that you oh so wished it was a birkin bag—and a pair of dark sunglasses—like Jane Birkin.

Jane Birkin was one of your absolute muses, to be honest. You didn’t like serge though…but thats another story.

You had moved to France entirely because of your job, and you had adapted to the lifestyle incredibly quickly…well you had too.

It was kinda hard at first since at the time you couldn’t talk to your colleagues and was a tad bit shy but you decided to put yourself out there and viola it worked out, you even took a few cooking classes to meet a group of people and talking to them helped you better in conversations and joking with peoplez

If you were being completely honest with yourself, it sounded a bit cringey, but your mindset from the very beginning had been simple, I want to be paid to live in France, nonetheless Paris, life tike opportunity right here guys..

And then, there was Julian Loki….You hadn't met through some cute meet-cute or a romantic way. Instead, you met through a disastrous way, that won’t be considered a “meet-cute”.

Instead of liking each other right away or experiencing love at first sight, it had been pure, mutual irritation.

Come to think of it, your entire relationship story felt exactly like one of those cheap, corny, cheesy Hallmark movies—a realization that made you deadpan right there on the sidewalk, when you remembered because of how it’s cliché.

You remembered cussing him out the very first time you met because he had carelessly bumped right into you, staining your shirt.

And Julian, being who he was, had completely lost his temper, entirely irritated that you were somehow “in his way and the one at fault.” Seriously the nerve of this guy wanted to make you crashout but you had to be emotionally regulated.

After that disastrous first encounter, fate apparently decided to play a cruel joke. You kept running into each other on so many occasions that it became ridiculous.

It made you loose your goddamn mind.

He was also, so deeply annoyed by the constant coincidences that he actually had the nerve to accuse you of stalking him.

At the time, you had absolutely no idea who this guy even was. You were completely appalled by his ego. Paris was a massive city, so how on earth did you keep seeing this exact same infuriating man?

“Are you following me?” he had snapped during your third accidental run-in at a quiet cafe, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at you.

“Because if you want an autograph, you could just ask instead of orchestrating these little run-ins.”

You had stared at him, deadpan and utterly unimpressed.

“An autograph? For what, being the most exhausting man in Paris?”

“Trust me, the last thing I want is to breathe the same air as you, let alone follow you.”

You fought constantly, trading insults every single time your paths crossed, until the tension finally broke.

One heated argument had shifted, entirely catching you both off guard. You didn't even know how you had managed to work it out—all you knew was that you had somehow tumbled headfirst into fan-fiction about an “enemies-to-lovers” trope.

It made you want to scream even more because you actually read about that shit in books, never expecting to live it. Even after that turning point, you had genuinely tried to call it quits.

You were completely convinced that a normal girl and a high-profile athlete could never work out. You did not want anything to do with the public eye. The mere thought of it lowkey stressed you out.

Also, dating wasn't exactly something you had been actively looking for; you were perfectly happy just working, living your life, and enjoying your peace with friends and family . Romance was supposed to be a fun little add-on, to your happy life.

And yet, some how it worked out and you were now here, the secret girlfriend of France's biggest football star.

“Kudos to myself,” you couldn't help but think with a smug little smile as you walked throughout the day, humming to yourself.

Because, duh, you were dating Julian Loki. Even if it was a secret relationship, your family knows…obviously but you told them to shut up about it, your friends doesn’t except the ones you really trusted. And for all the media chaos, you’ll get being with him the relationship definitely came with a lot of major pros.

Sure, he could be an absolute pain in the ass, and he would definitely still find petty ways to hate on you or tease you just to get a reaction. But honestly, that playful bickering was your thing. Like, it’s the whole reason why the both of you work…actually…because the both of you match each other.

On the flip side, the man absolutely loved you. He would happily cook meals for you after a long day, and he constantly spoiled you with gifts—especially shoes, clothes, and also food, since he knew exactly how much you loved fashion and eating.

“eating and fashion makes me happy,” you told him once and he took note of that.

Then your mind drifted back to your Jane Birkin-inspired outfit, and you let out a dramatic little sigh, internally.

You wondered if Julian would ever get you an actual Hermès Birkin bag. It wasn’t even a matter of money; you made your own paycheck and could comfortably buy one yourself.

The real issue was the notorious, agonizing Hermès waitlist. But Julian was a global superstar. If he walked into the boutique, the rules would magically bend.

They probably wouldn't make the star of France wait for months like a regular citizen. Maybe he could actually pull some strings...

Oh yeah, back to real life. Sorry, You had just been monologuing to yourself for a hot second while you froze up in-front of the cameras in-front of you.

So while you were trying to make sense of this whole dilemma the immediate reality crashed back in as you looked down at your clothes.

Coincidentally, you were wearing the exact same trench coat from the viral paparazzi picture they were showing you.

Paired with your skirt, high boots, your top a bag and dark sunglasses, the look was cool

( to be honest you rewore this outfit and haven’t washed a single one of them, so you didn’t know how people thought it was cool…since it was just an average fit…and haven’t cleaned them for weeks…but…they don’t need to know that tho)—to the media, it was the confirmation.

To them, right now, there was absolutely no doubt about it. You were the mystery girl.

“Est-ce que vous sortez avec Julian ?” a reporter barked in French, shoving a microphone toward your face. “Est-il vrai que vous vous voyez en secret ? Juste une déclaration !”

The lenses clicked furiously, capturing your initial confusion. You clutched your bag tighter, your mind racing “fuck you Julian” you internally said to yourself. But you had to get a grip on yourself.

The moment you started walking—trying—to ignore the people blocking your way the camera flashes started blinding you, and aggressive microphones were thrust into your space, completely cutting off your path.

“Excusez-moi ! Est-ce que c'est vous sur la photo avec Julian ?” A reporter shouted over the noise, shoving a smartphone screen toward your face. The screen displayed the grainy, zoomed-in paparazzi photo of you and Julian from weeks prior. “Êtes-vous la petite amie secrète de Julian Loki ?”

The main reporter kept pressing, thrusting his microphone even closer. “Alors ? C'est vous ou ce n'est pas vous ?”

You shrugged your shoulders elegantly, completely avoiding a direct confirmation. “Ah, pardon my French,” you said in English, offering an, unapologetic smile . “But I cannot speak French very well today. My vocabulary... it disappears when there are so many cameras in-front of my faces..” and gave a chuckle.

The interviewer didn't give up, quickly switching to English to keep the momentum going. “are you the girl in the photo, you have the same jacket, Are you dating the star of France?”

“Oh, that girl?” You chuckled, looking at the blurry photo on his screen with a critical eye, completely playing it down

“Paris is full of beautiful girls in nice trench coats. Besides, identifying me based on that blurry mess? It’s incredibly disturbing and disrespectful to my privacy, no? Not to mention, how you all completely came at me with your cameras” though it was a comment about how rude they were, you still smiled and act like you were brushing it off.

Before you could take a final step away, the reporter scrambled to throw out a completely different question to know more about you.

“Mademoiselle, je m'excuse, mais si vous n'êtes pas sa petite amie, quelle est votre opinion sur Julian Loki ? Vous devez bien avoir un avis sur le héros de la France !”

You stopped for a split second, tilting your head back with amusement. You let out a soft, laugh, casually adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“Honestly? I do not care about Julian Loki,” you said with a bright, teasing grin.

Before the reporter's jaw could completely hit the pavement, you smoothly switched to French, your tone being playful rather than having any malice.

“Qu'il coure après son ballon. I have no interest in the football world whatsoever.”

You chuckled at the sheer disbelief frozen on the interviewer's face, gave a final charming smile, and casually walked away, leaving them with a completely viral quote.

The internet completely lost its mind over the interview. Within hours, the clip of you dodging the paparazzi was trending worldwide. People were completely obsessed with how cool, sarcastic, nice , and unbothered you were.

TikTok was flooded with edits of you and social media users were universally praising the line “I do not care about Julian Loki.”

Naturally, the internet did what it does best—it tried to find you. The theories spread like wildfire across social media. Many users assumed you had to be an undercover influencer or a high-fashion model.

You seemed so entirely confident , fashionable and appeared so natural in front of the cameras that people figured you were used to the spotlight.

Thousands of amateur internet sleuths and football fan accounts launched a massive digital manhunt to uncover your identity.

They searched every single corner of the web, but they hit an absolute brick wall.The internet’s total failure to find any trace of you online only fueled the fire.

Since the public couldn't stalk an Instagram account or find your tiktok, it became an actual discussion topic.

Tens of thousands of users flooded threads, completely obsessed with you and your total lack of a digital footprint.

Okay, to be honest, you did have social media accounts. But you didn't post a single thing on them and used a fake name, no way you putting your real name out there.

You used to be chronically online but you had to detach just because it was getting to you and that turned you into someone who had zero desire to be active on any platform; you kept your profiles completely blank and private just to watch things or stay connected with actual friends.

You had the apps, but you weren't really there, you know?

The comments were along the lines of like this…

@bllk_season3_when : Honestly I don't even care if they are dating, I just have to say she is so cool.

@julia_loki_please: bro the way she carried herself? she’s so mamas i love her personality brah her fit is so cool like literally who is she 😭???

↳ @teddy_paddington : I’d say she’s probably a fashion girly.

↳ @sae_rin_pls_communicate : if they aren't together they need to be.

↳ @bllk_season3_when : NO REAL, also someone please write a fic like this…
@kunigami_we_miss_you : If Julian saw that interview, he's probably falling to his knees trying to find her handle just like the rest of us. i swear he is used to everyone kissing his feet.
 ↳ @reo_nagi_are_at_it_again : Please football gods let them be together.

Of course, the viral clip didn't just stay on fans phones—it made it all the way to the PXG training grounds.

Julian had just finished a grueling training session and walked into the locker room, throwing his damp towel over his shoulder

Every single one of his teammates was staring at him, their faces locked in terrible, mischievous grins

Before Julian could even ask what was wrong, one of the players stood up on a bench, holding a smartphone high in the air.

“Honestly? I do not care about Julian Loki,” your voice echoed loudly through the locker room speakers, followed by your teasing chuckle.

“Qu'il coure après son ballon. I have no interest in the football world whatsoever.”

The locker room absolutely exploded into laughter by how you mocked him.

“Ah, Julian!” one of the midfielders yelled, throwing an arm around Julian's rigid shoulders, entirely copying your tone.

“Go run after your little ball, Julian! The lady has no interest!” Julian’s face went completely bright red. He tried to maintain his usual cool, demeanor, but a helpless, fond smile crept at his lips as he covered his face with his hands, groaning out loud."

“Mon dieu... she actually said that,” Julian muttered, his voice muffled by his palms. He wasn't mad at all. In fact, the sheer audacity of your response made a breathless laugh escape his chest.

His phone buzzed violently in his hand, cutting through the locker room chaos. It was his PR manager. Julian swiped to answer, bracing himself as he stepped away from his howling teammates.

“Julian!” his manager's voice barked frantically through the receiver. “Who is she? The internet is melting down! She completely dismissed you on national television, Is she actually your girlfriend? Do we need to issue a statement?!”

Julian replied back , “Yes, she's my girlfriend,” he murmured into the phone, completely unbothered by the public relations nightmare. “Just leave it be fore awhile”

Before Julian could even call, you were at home already, having successfully slipped away from the streets to safely lock yourself inside your apartment.

You threw your trench coat over the couch, kicked off your boots, and sank into the sofa, finally letting out a long breath.

Not even twenty minutes later, the sharp buzzer of your apartment door rang out.

You unlocked it to find Julian standing in the hallway. He was in disguise, of course—oversized glasses and a low cap.

Genuinely, you understood why he did it, but the other residents on your flat floor were mostly quiet, old people who didn't care about pop culture, so it was always a bit amusing. Him trying to disguise himself. Because one time the old couple say him and didn’t even realize he was the guy they always talked about during football matches, oh and also..they called you a cute couple and just left the both of you.

He stepped inside, kicked the door shut with his heel, and immediately leaned his back against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So,” Julian began, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“Qu'il coure après son ballon'? Really, chérie?”

You sighed, walked back over to the sofa, and completely laid down. “Oh well, had to do something, no?”

“You told the entire world I was just a boy running after a little ball,” he countered, letting out a breathless laugh.

He walked over, his footsteps muffled by the rug, and stopped right in front of the sofa where you lay.

“ My entire locker room was howling and they mocked me for a solid fifteen minutes, and now my manager is frantically asking if we should just go public with our relationship.”

“What did you say?” you asked, tilting your head up.

“I said yeah, and asked me if I wanted to make us, public” Julian replied, his voice softening. He leaned down, hovering just over you as his hands rested on the back of the sofa. “But next time you get interviewed,” he whispered against your skin, a playful glint returning to his eyes, “maybe please tell them I am at least a good football player before you tell them to go away.”

“Well, you brought this on yourself,” you teased, looking up at him through your lashes. “If you didn't look like a walking bum in that photo, I wouldn't have had to deny knowing you.”

Julian gasped, feigning a look of complete heartbreak. “A bum? Wow. Oh well, since you are being so mean, I guess I won't show you my gift...”

He reached behind his back, pulling out a sleek, oversized shopping bag with the unmistakable, iconic Hermès logo stamped across the front.

That he had been hiding it behind his back the entire time. With a soft thud, he dropped the luxurious orange bag right onto your lap.

You sat frozen on the sofa, your eyes darting from the bag and then to Julian's face. He was still pouting (faking pout) , muttering under his breath about how incredibly mean you were to him after he went through all this trouble.

It was an actual Hermès bag. He literally bought you a Birkin bag the one you always wanted…

Your fingers wrapped around the smooth handles, your heart doing a little flip. But before you could even slide the box out of the bag and finally smile, Julian suddenly smirked. And suddenly snatched the handles right out of your grip.

“On second thought,” Julian said, lifting the bag high out of your reach as he spun on his heel. He turned his back to you and pretended to walk straight back toward the front door

“Since I am just a 'walking bum' who runs after a little ball, I think this beautiful thing deserves to go back to the boutique. Clearly, my efforts are unappreciated by my girlfriend.”

You bolted off the sofa, launching yourself at his back and tackling him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.

Julian let out a startled, breathless laugh as your sudden impact stopped him right in his tracks. He lifted the Hermès bag even higher in one hand, making you reach for it.

“Oh, Julian, mon coeur, sweetness,” you cooed, your tone voice changed to an incredibly sweet, while you pressed your face against his back. Anything to get that Birkin..“ my beautiful, smart, talented, world-class athlete. The absolute hero of France. The most handsome man ever, oh how much I adore you!”

Julian scoffed, but a massive, grin was already breaking across his face. He tried to look over his shoulder at you, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Wow. Look at that. her appreciation for football and love for her boyfriend return when an orange box is involved. How loving."

“I am overflowing with appreciation,” you said, squeezing his waist tightly before stepping around to block his path, looking up at him with a thoroughly pleased. “Now give me the bag.”

Julian let out a loud, rumbly laugh that shook his entire chest. he lowered his arm and handed the sleek handles back into your grasp, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “You are terrible,” he murmured, leaning down to press a quick, affectionate kiss to the top of your head. “Go open your bag,”

You smiled and kissed him back and didn't waste another second. Slipping back onto the sofa, you eagerly pulled the box out of the bag and untied the ribbon. Julian watched you, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the armrest, a deeply satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

As you lifted the lid and parted the protective tissue, there it sat a flawless, pristine Hermès Birkin bag in a gorgeous shade that you always wanted.

Julian let out amused chuckle as he saw your face. He slid down onto the sofa beside you, leaning in to look at the bag in your lap, then at your glowing face. “Do you have any idea what I had to do to get that?”

“Your lost of dignity is much appreciated, and it looks great on my lap,” you teased, running your fingers over the smooth leather before wrapping your arms around his neck. “Thank you, Julian. I love it.” You looked at the Birkin bag, smiling, then turned to him. “And I suppose... I love you too.”

Julian’s smirk melted into a warm, genuinely helpless smile. He wrapped his arms securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. “Perhaps my girlfriend is only using me,” he whispered in your ear.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your smile widening before you leaned in and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. Julian melted into it instantly, his hands resting gently on your hips as the playful banter finally softened into a quiet, tender moment.

When you finally pulled away, he was looking down at you with nothing but pure, unadulterated fondness, his thumb lightly tracing your hip.

“Wait, so... are you going to publicize our relationship?” you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder as the thought suddenly crossed your mind.

Julian quieted down, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. “If you want to, we can,” he murmured, his voice laced with complete sincerity. “Whatever makes you comfortable, chérie.”“

Mhm. Just tell the media to back off my life, though,” you added, looking up at him seriously. “I want to keep working. I like my job, and I like my peace.”“

“Yeah, of course,” Julian said softly, understanding completely. He leaned down and gave you a sweet, reassuring peck on the lips, sealing the promise. “No one is going to disrupt your life. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Though, if the paparazzi do catch us,” he added, “I'll just have to tell them you're only with me for the Birkin bags and the things I buy you, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his chest playfully, though you couldn't hide your smile. “Oh, like that would make me seem likable”

Julian chuckled, pressing his forehead against yours, then his hand slid from your cheek down to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling securely in your hair.

Julian leaned in and captured your lips in a deep kiss, making you melt against him, dropping your hands from his chest to wrap your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him down as if you couldn't get close enough.

Julian groaned softly into the kiss,while you kept on tugging him making his grip tightening on your waist as he pulled you flush against his lap, the Birkin bag completely forgotten on the cushion beside you.

When he finally parted from your lips, it was only to trail a line of open-mouthed, breathless kisses down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver in his arms. And carried you to the bedroom locked away from the rest of the world.

Thank goodness you had a day off…Julian can skip practice, maybe. Hopefully…so you can have more I guess…maybe?

A week later he had a post-match interview and now was im a press room that was suffocatingly hot, packed to maximum capacity with sports journalists, flashing lenses, and rolling cameras.

Julian sat at the center of the panel, his PXG training jacket zipped to his chin, casually spinning a bottle of water on the table.

He looked entirely unbothered by the fact that his game-winning goal—and his subsequent celebration—had just broken the sports side of the internet.

A French reporter raised his hand first, microphoned up and eager. “Julian, félicitations pour la victoire et ce but incroyable,” the reporter started, leaning forward with a smirk. “The whole world wants to know if you truly are with the girl who told you to just go run after your ball.”

Julian immediately let out a bright, boyish laugh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.

“Oui, c'est ma petite amie,” Julian said, his eyes lighting up with immense pride. “She wanted to hide it for her peace and safety, but yes, we are together.”

Once the laughter died down, an English journalist quickly grabbed the microphone to keep the momentum going. “Julian, if she wanted to hide it, how do you think she's going to react to you breaking the internet and confirming it right now?”

Julian chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a fond smirk. “To be honest, mon ami, she will probably hit me with a very petty comment the second I walk through the door,”

“She can never stay truly mad at me, unless I do wrong. Though, I did wear a tracksuit she hated recently, so...”

The room chuckled, and the journalist pressed further. “Would you say your girlfriend is sarcastic like you?”

Julian let out a sharp, dry laugh, his eyebrows shooting up in mock disbelief. “Sarcastic? No, no, she is an angel. She is completely sweet and never uses sarcasm,” Julian said, his tone dripping with so much heavy, obvious irony that the front row of reporters immediately started giggling.

He paused, flashing a bright, proud grin directly at the main camera lens. “But yes, she is actually much more petty than me. “

A reporter in the front row laughed, calling out, “why is she so discreet?”

“She has zero interest in the spotlight, and she has a real life to live. She likes her job, she likes her peace, and she doesn't want her world turned into a media circus. So respect that.”

The room was filled with hums of agreement, “Does that mean we won't see her in the VIP box at the next match?” A journalist pressed.

Julian smirked, leaning back in his chair and tapping his fingers against his water bottle.

“If she comes, she will probably sit in the regular stands pretending she doesn't know me. Especially if I play badly. She only claims me when I score goals or buy her shoes.”

The front row giggled, another reporter quickly asked “For someone who claims she doesn't care about the football world, she looked very proud to have you wrapped around her finger.”

“If she wants me to chase her, I am the fastest sprinter in France—I will always catch up.“

@vivian_hugo_ilysm : DID HE JUST CONFIRM IT?! 'Yes, she is my girlfriend' I AM SCREAMING HE LOOKS SO PROUD 😭 I LOVE THEM SM

@kunigami_we_missed_you : HE IS WHIPPED Y’ALL."

@reo_nagi_are_at_it_again : MAMA AND PAPA

@ alexis ness_is_da_goat : They definitely insult each other 24/7, I love them.

@sae_rin_pls_communicate : Julian saying 'If she wants me to chase her, I am the fastest sprinter in France—I will always catch up' is lowkey the most romantic and arrogant thing he has ever said….

@teddy_paddington : Istg i mever saw this man spend sm time during his interviews he is always sarcastic but the whole 20-minute post-match press conference was js him giggling and talking about his girlfriend…

@vivianhugo_and_julianloki : She only claims me when I score goals or buy her shoes’ LMAO she’s so real for that."

Once the interview session finally ended, it was only a few hours before you found yourself thoroughly bombarded by a very happy man.

“Julian, stop it,” you complained, though the words lacked any real bite. You tried to push his shoulders away, but it was like trying to move a solid brick wall.

He kept his hands locked securely on your hips, easily pulling your waist flush against his.He didn't listen to your protests at all. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a loud, exaggerated kiss right against your cheek.

“Julian, I'm serious—”

Gave you another one on the other cheek.

“Get off me, you giant bum—”

This time right on your forehead, knocking your head back slightly.

“I mean it!” you laughed, your hands pressing hard against his chest as you desperately tried to push him away more, your deadpan facade completely shattering.

Finally he caught your lips with a final, lingering kiss that completely made you give in, your arms losing their strength as you melted against him.

Julian pulled back just an inch, his chest rumbly with a breathless, triumphant laugh as he looked down at your flushed face. His fingers dug into your hips affectionately, anchoring you to him.

“There she is,” he murmured, his eyes having absolute adoration looking at you.

“You are incredibly annoying,” you sighed, giving his chest one last, weak shove before resting your hands flat against his jersey. “And you're sweaty. Go shower before you ruin my clean couch.”

“I love you..” Julian said..kissing your temple’s but you ignored him making Julian scoff tilting his head back. You rolled your eyes, pointing a firm finger toward the hallway. “Go. Shower. Now.”

Julian nodded, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he began to back away toward the bathroom. “Alright, alright, I am going. See? I am completely obedient for you.”

“Say something again and I’m banning you. Go. Shower.”

But the second you let your guard down and lowered your hand, Julian leaned forward and stole one more loud, lingering kiss right on your lips, catching you completely off guard. You gasped into the kiss, your hands automatically coming up to shove his chest away, but he was already laughing into your mouth.

Julian pulled back instantly, dodging your swatting hand with a triumphant chuckle. And spun around and sprinted down the hallway toward the bathroom.

You shook your head, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, though the massive, happy smile on your face completely gave you away. Walking into the living room, you looked over at your gorgeous new Hermès Birkin bag sitting safely on the sofa, and then down at the grass-stained match ball resting on the hallway.

You let out a soft sigh, “Yeah, okay... I guess this is my life now,” you murmured to yourself…

That was why you were out here drunk and giggling standing in-front of this man.

“Hello…mister...” you went up there with full—fake—confidence, hiding your anxiousness of making a fool of yourself in-front a random stranger when he heard you, it made him pique his interest.

The white-haired man glanced up from his drink, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Lo siento, preciosa , pero no entiendo inglés,” the man said with an amused chuckle. You blinked at him for a moment before pointing triumphantly at yourself.

“Uhmm..” you muttered while internally cussing at yourself for being dumb and coming up here, why in the hell did you agreed to your friends stupid dare..

“!Sí! ¡Te entiendo un poco..”You held your fingers a tiny distance apart. “Mi español es…” You searched desperately for the word before blurting out, “…muy malo…hablo un poco español.”

Bunny just laughed at you and let you continued on while eyeing at your figure trying to come up with what to say next

“¿Tú…” you mumbled, squinting as if the words might magically appear in your head. “Eh…tú..eres…muy…” You frowned while trying to concentrate on what to say . “¿Guapo?… ¿Tú… entiendes?”

Then you burst into laughter before he could answer, covering your face with both hands.

“Sorry,” you giggled. “My friends—mis amigos—uhm…they dared me to come ask you out.” You pointed vaguely toward the group of girls snickering from across the bar. “They’re probably laughing at me right now.” You laughed and brushed off the strand of hair blocking your face, “I’m sorry about that..” then you flashed him a smile.

You were so busy laughing at yourself that you completely missed the way the white-haired man looked at you. For a brief moment, Bunny simply stared. It was a bit late in the relationship to realize this, but you finally discovered that Bunny, per se, didn’t like to see people happy.

That realization made you freeze because when you first met, you were drunk and laughing.

“But you see, cariño,” Bunny murmured, “your laugh was so pretty and effortless. I love to hear it, whether it is loud or quiet.”

That’s what he said….

It wasn’t often someone approached him without recognizing who he was—without wanting a picture, an autograph, or something in return. As a rising football star, he enjoyed going out in public to eat or visit bars, but tonight he had been dragged out because the FC Barcha squad wanted to party at this specific spot.

Bunny assumed you probably had no idea who he was. It made him chuckle, knowing you had the guts to embarrass yourself in front of a stranger—let alone a famous athlete.

He rested an elbow against the counter, the corner of his lips curling into an amused smile.

“Qué desastre eres,” he murmured with a soft chuckle. “Pero eres adorable.”

You blinked hearing him murmured those words, you swallowed and gulped down knowing that either this man was accepting your clumsy flirting to him.

He tilted his head, ruby-red eyes catching the warm glow of the bar lights as they settled on you.

“Si me lo pides otra vez…” he said smoothly, “…esta vez diré que sí.”

You stared blankly. “…What…?”

His smile only widened—just a little.

“You don’t fully speak Spanish.”

You shook your head sheepishly. “Not…really…just a bit..but I’m not…good…”

He took a slow sip of his drink before looking back at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“So what did you say?”

“I just said…” He let the sentence hang on purpose, enjoying your confused expression. “…something nice to you.” Then he flashed you a smile.

“Oh…were you flirting?”

His chuckle answered the question before he did.

“Maybe.” He said on a humming note,

“Oh well…,” You laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Sorry for bothering you,” you said with an embarrassed grin. “I’ll… uh…go before my friends make fun of me even more.”

You turned your body to leave him, your face silently flushing with embarrassment. But before you could take more than a single step, gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist.

You turned back around.

There was a large hand that grabbed your wrist, that belonged to him, gripping you in a strange, possessive sort of way. He was still perched on the barstool, holding you loosely but firmly, his expression completely relaxed and still wearing a smile. Yet, there was an unmistakable curiosity dancing in his red eyes.

“Espera,” he murmured. He smiled to himself, watching your reaction before smoothly switching to English.

“What’s your name, cariño?”

Yeah, there was absolutely no doubt this man was flirting with you. Even if your Spanish wasn’t great, you weren’t that oblivious.

“Oh... my name? Well, it's—” You glanced to the side, trying to pull away, seemingly deciding if you wanted to continue on but you saw your friends smiling and giggling.

The only reason this all happened the first place was you thought he was pretty and hot…that was all…and now..you had to deal with the consequences.

“Cariño, it pains me that you don’t even want to tell me your name,” he interrupted your train of thought playfully.

You rolled your eyes lightly. “Well, my name is […]”

He smiled, the grip on your wrist loosening into a gentle stroke. “See? Isn't that hard to tell me.”

“Uhhhm...yeah”

He repeated your name slowly, tasting the syllables and making sure he pronounced every single one correctly before nodding to himself. “It suits you.”

You nodded your head. “And yours?”

He grinned, leaning a bit closer. “Bunny.”

You stared at him for a long, quiet moment. “...You’re lying.”

“I’m not, cariño.”

“...Your parents looked at a tiny baby and said, ‘Yeah, Bunny. We should definitely name him Bunny’?” Your dry joke broke through his smug exterior, making him laugh—a genuine, bright sound this time. “It sounds like naming your pet bunny or a cartoon character, are you sure that’s your name…bunny?”

“Maybe,” he chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “But my name is Bunny. Bunny Iglesias.”

He rested his chin in his palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He looked as though your disbelief was the absolute funniest thing he had heard all week.

You blinked, the full name echoing in your mind. “Iglesias... that sounds familiar...”

He tilted his head, his smile widening as he watched the realization slowly dawn on your face. He didn't offer any clues, clearly enjoying the way your brow furrowed as you tried to place where you had heard that name before.

"Familiar, huh?" he echoed, his deep voice carrying a trace of an amused purr.

Your eyes darted from his striking red eyes to the expensive, athletic cut of his jacket, and then past his shoulder toward the VIP lounge.

Across the bar, a group of loud, athletic-looking men in casual outfits were laughing and downing shots. One of them wore a shirt with a distinct, golden crest—the unmistakable logo of FC Barcha

Your jaw dropped slightly. Your mind raced back to the sports headlines, the viral football clips, edits, and the roaring stadiums. Bunny Iglesias. The New Generation World XI forward. The rising prodigy of Spanish football.

You were currently getting hit on by a world-class athlete whose face was plastered on billboards across Europe and the one that you saw many edits about…

“Oh my god…” you opened your mouth widely which just made him more amused about this unlikely interaction you were having.

"You..." you stammered, pointing a finger at him. "You play for Barcelona. You're that Iglesias. Like…THE IGLESIAS.”

Bunny let out a soft, delighted chuckle, finally releasing his grip on your wrist only to slide his hand down to catch your fingers.

He gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"Ah, so you do know me," he said, pretending to look disappointed. "And here I thought I finally met someone who just liked me for my charming personality”

Bunny leaned in closer, his chest shaking with a silent laugh as he took in your sheer, wide-eyed panic.

He could practically see your hesitation and embarrassment with you turning your head and close your eyes as you mentally prayed to every deity in existence to open up the floor and swallow you whole.

“Fuck me… fuck me…fuck me and my absolute, peak-level stupidity.”

You repeated the phrase like a manic; inside your head, you were having an entire internal monologue while fighting the urge to hysterically laugh out loud because you felt like everything was a dream and you weren’t even in spain. “It’s fine. It’s totally okay. I can just… walk away. I'll just say 'adios' and leave. I surrender…He’ll let me go… right? Right. Yeah. Sure. For someone named after a harmless little rabbit, why the fuck does he look so terrifyingly intense right now?”

Your body language was completely giving you away that you were regretting and facing humiliation in-front of him by how your hands were balled into tight fists at your sides, and your knuckles turning white as you seemingly trembled right where you stood.

You couldn't tell if the shaking was because:

1. You were still undeniably a little drunk from the bar's cocktails and a migraine was forming.

2. The sheer adrenaline of actually going through with your friends' stupid dare was finally crashing down on you. Plus you and your friends all screaming and laughing too loud.

3. You had just completely, thoroughly embarrassed yourself in front of a total stranger. Who was THE Bunny Iglesias and you’ve kinda just went up to him and flirted.

4. You actually kinda…no..REALLY like him—and this dare was absolutely not supposed to go this way.

5. Lastly why the fuck was he looking at you like that?

You bit the inside of your cheek, your wide eyes locked onto his. Bunny didn't look offended, and he certainly didn't look bored of you. Instead, he leaned forward against the counter, his broad shoulders shifting as his gaze entirely consuming you.

The famous forward player, Bunny Iglesias, looked at your flushed, trembling self and completely fallen in love with you taking his breath away.

“Shot of expresso or whatever they say…pretty sure you can imagine the song “Take your breath away by Berlin playing in his head.”

“Qué pasa, cariño?” he purred, his voice dropping into a low, velvety tone that did nothing to help your racing heart. “¿Te ha comido la lengua el gato?”

He didn't bother translating, completely aware that the more he spoke in Spanish the more it made your brain short-circuit further. He rested his cheek against his knuckles, while his vibrant red eyes locking onto yours with absolute amusement.

“No te preocupes, no muerdo... a menos que me lo pidas,” he whispered, a wicked grin stretching across his handsome face.

You just stood there, entirely frozen. Still staring at him completely just looking at him, ignoring everyone else.

“You’ll condemn yourself if you fumble this. You would literally start crying. You’ll be one of those people on TikTok with tragic lore like, ‘Yeah, a famous person was genuinely interested in me but I said no,’ and everyone in the comments would cry for you and calling you out.”

To be honest, the more you stared down at him—watching the easy, relaxed way he smiled up at you, and the rugged line of his cross-shaped facial scar made you look more at his face, completely allured by his smile.

To you... he was absolutely beautiful. He was charming and his presence was entirely overwhelming. But you can't give in yet.

“No... get a hold of yourself. Please do not give in to temptation. Mother Mary, please grant me strength, do not let me fold right now.”

Bunny noticed the sudden, frantic shift in your expression, your internal panic evidently painting itself all over your face.

A low, thoroughly amused rumble shook his chest as he shifted his weight, his thumb running over your knuckles one more time.“¿Qué pasa, mi vida?” he murmured, his deep Castilian accent wrapping around you like red velvet. “Estás pensando demasiado. Sé que te mueres por decir que sí, así que deja de pelear contigo misma.”

He didn't translate a single word, but the, confident gleam in his red eyes told you everything you needed to know.

Please, someone, anyone, my mom calling me and scolding me, my friends screaming and needing for help , a sudden bar fight—literally anything to save me, you pleaded to the heavens.

He reached out, his thumb gently brushing against your burning cheek. “Awh, princesa... it’s no fun when you go completely silent on me,” he teased in English, his smirk widening as he took in your flushed face. “Or are you just realizing how much trouble you are really in?”

You couldn't even form a coherent sentence. His gaze was so heavy, so entirely focused on you, that it left no room for doubt—this man wanted you, and he wanted you badly.

He let out a soft, delighted laugh, the sound low and entirely smug. “I am teasing you, cariño. Relax,” he said, his red eyes dancing with amusement. “Though… I think your friends owe me a massive apology now.”

You glanced across the crowded bar, where your friends were practically pressed against the opposite wall, frantically whispering and watching your every move from afar.

“They’re probably convinced you rejected me, by how you aren’t even speaking nor sitting down beside me..”Bunny reasoned, his grin only widening.

“I don’t think I did…,” you mumbled, your voice a little breathless.

Bunny’s fingers loosened around your wrist, though he didn’t let go immediately.

Instead, his thumb lightly stroked the sensitive skin of your pulse point, a slow, deliberate touch meant to keep you rooted to the spot. “You should stay.”

You looked at him, completely surprised. Then A small, soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I like you..”

You blinked, your heart doing a violent flip and a blush appeared on your cheeks.

“And your smile,” he added, his voice dropping into a smooth, quiet purr that was purely meant to fluster you even further.

For a second, you simply stared at him, your brain stalling out entirely under the sheer weight of his flirting. “…That’s, uh…”

You reached up and awkwardly scratched the back of your neck, unable to stop the nervous, breathless laugh that slipped out. “…Kind of a weird thing to say to someone you met, like… a minute ago.”

“It is?” He pondered fakingly, tilting his head with an expression of pure, innocent confusion that didn't match the hungry gleam in his red eyes at all.

“…Yeah,” you nodded quickly then laughed it off out loud, “hahahaha…that’s..your so funny…I should leave!”

“Awh, princesa why are you so scared, I mean it,” he said easily. He leaned just a fraction closer, his broad shoulders cutting off the rest of the noisy bar until it felt like it was just the two of you. “Me encantas, de verdad. I don't say things I don't mean, cariño.”

You looked at him suspiciously, your eyes narrowing as you tried to decide if this was all just a game to a famous athlete who was used to getting whatever he wanted especially since he was such a smooth talker he probably did this to many girls.

“…Do you tell everyone that?”

“No.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

His answer came so easily, so completely unbothered, that it caught you entirely off guard. He wasn’t even trying to impress you or put on a show.

If anything, he looked genuinely amused by the fact that you found his sudden, intense attraction to you so hard to believe.

“I don’t believe it,” you muttered, trying to inject some steel back into your voice despite your pounding head. “You probably did this to many girls before.”

Bunny paused, his thumb continuing that slow, agonizingly brushstroke against your wrist.

He didn't look offended by your accusation. If anything, your skepticism only seemed to fuel his amusement.

He tilted his head, his sharp red eyes locking onto yours “¿Eso crees?” he murmured softly, a lazy smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“You think I spend my free time wandering around Barcelona plazas holding the hands of random tourists?”

“I mean... you are a famous football player,” you countered, crossing your arms while he still held your wrist. “It’s kind of in the job description, isn’t it?”

Bunny let out a low, breathy chuckle, leaning in just closer. Making you shudder and step back.”

“Te equivocas, cariño. I don't chase people. I don't have the patience for it.”His grip softened, his fingers sliding down to catch yours, locking them securely. “But you...I like you..and I don’t lieee…” he hummed.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting down to his lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up to his vibrant red gaze.

“You're… you're doing this on purpose,” you stammered, your face burning so hot you were certain you were glowing under the dim bar lights. “You’re just trying to mess with me.”

“¿Yo?” Bunny feigned innocence, putting a hand over his chest while his grip on your wrist tightened just enough to tug you half an inch closer.

“ Oh I would never. I am just a lonely football player enjoying the company of a very pretty, very loud girl who crashed into my night.”

“I wasn't loud,” you protested weakly, though your voice lacked any real bite.

“You were laughing at yourself so hard you almost tripped over your own feet,” he corrected cheerfully, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest.

“It is amusing, And now, you are standing here trembling like a little bunny, looking at me like you want to run away.”

“Ironic, because you are the bunny here,” you muttered under your breath. He paused, his gaze dropping to your balled fists before slowly traveling back up to lock onto your wide eyes

“But you aren't running,” he whispered, his voice dropping, “Why is that, cariño? Are you starting to like me back?”

You opened your mouth to deny it—to throw out another sarcastic joke or insist that you were being played trapped—but the words completely died in your throat.

You let out a sharp, snarky huff, rolling your eyes as dramatically as your dizzy head would allow.

“Oh, please. Don't flatter yourself, conejo,” you shot back, using your terrible accent.

Bunny’s eyebrows shot up in pure delight, a bright, booming laugh escaping him.

“¿Conejo?” he echoed, his thumb tracing a smooth circle over your pulse point again, making your skin burn.

He looked down at your accusing finger, then back up to your lips, his gaze darkening. Which made you look away, making you internally question this man more, ‘genuinely why is he looking at me like that’

“You like the menace, don't you?” Bunny joked while making a whistling sound.

“I hate you,” you groaned, burying your burning face into your free hand while your heart hammered violently against your ribs.

“Mentirosa,” he chuckled softly, his grip on your wrist softening into a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“You don't hate me at all. Now, sit down before you actually fall over, cariño.”

As he guided you toward the stool, he wasn’t trying to impress you or put on a show. If anything, he looked genuinely serious on getting to know you and didn’t care about you being sarcastic back at him.

To a world-class athlete who usually dealt with people playing mind games, this was honesty one of the most funniest thing he'd encountered all year.

You pulled your hand back from your face, giving him a glaring, look. You dredged into your brain for the harsher vocabulary you’d picked up from your friends, from your own personal experience, determined to take that smug smirk off his face.

“Eres un bastardo molesto,” you snapped, your pronunciation completely ruined by the alcohol, turning the crisp insult into a slurred, tangled mess

Bunny froze for a split second, his red eyes widening. Then, a massive, delighted grin broke across his face, and he threw his head back with another booming laugh.

“¿Un bastardo molesto?” he echoed, leaning his forearms on the bar counter to bring himself right back into your space.

His thumb lazily swiped across your pulse point again, completely unfazed by your aggression. “Dios mío, cariño, you are horrible at pronouncing words, is it because you are drunk right now?”

“Stop laughing at me,” you groaned, your snarky confidence immediately deflating as your ears burned hotter, “I’m not drunk either…” you muttered under your breath.

“I am not laughing at you, I am admiring you,” he teased while making a purring sound. He leaned in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. “Though, if you are going to call me a bastard in my own language, princesa, you should at least roll your R's correctly. Otherwise, it just sounds like you are begging me to kiss you to make you shut up.”

You let out a breathless, defeated gasp, completely short-circuiting at the sheer audacity of his dirty talk and pushing his face away from you . “I—I am not begging you for anything!”

“Mentirosa,” he whispered, his eyes he hummed and rolled his eyes.

“You walked over here because your friends dared you,” Bunny continued. “You embarrassed yourself trying to speak Spanish, laughed at yourself instead of getting upset, and apologized before leaving.”

He shrugged lightly. “I thought it was cute.”Your ears warmed instantly, the blood rushing straight to your face. Trying to escape his intense, focus on you. You glanced over your shoulder and only saw your friends had completely abandoned any attempt to be subtle.

They were practically pressed against the other side of the bar, huddled over their drinks, watching the two of you with expressions that screamed, Why is he still talking to you?!

Bunny followed your gaze toward the table of absolute chaos, a low, deep chuckle vibrating in his chest.

As you stood there completely still, your buzzed brain frantically trying to come up with a snarky comeback to salvage your pride, Bunny shifted.

His large fingers smoothly slipped away from your wrist, granting you a tiny bit of freedom. Yet, he didn’t actually back away. He remained leaned in close, hovering over the counter, leaving you trapped in his personal space.

You could easily catch the rich, faint scent of his expensive cologne. Across the room, you could practically hear the collective gasp from your friends.

The exact moment Bunny released your wrist, they exchanged frantic, wide-eyed glances, completely losing their minds as they began aggressively gesturing to one another from afar.

Bunny tilted his head, completely amused by the silent panic stretching across your face as you looked back and forth between him and your chaotic friends.

“They look very stressed over there, cariño,” Bunny murmured, He rested his chin on his palm, leaning his elbow on the bar counter so he was looking directly up into your eyes. “Are you worried they are going to come over here and rescue you from the big, scary football player?”

“They aren't going to rescue me,” you mumbled, your face still burning. “They’re probably just placing bets on how fast I’m going to fumble this.”

Bunny let out a low, delighted chuckle. “Then don't fumble it. Stay right here with me and prove them wrong.” He gestured with a slight nod of his head toward the space right beside him.

“You came all the way over here on a dare, you butchered my native language, you called me a rabbit, and you called me a bastard. You cannot leave now, princesa.”

Bunny watched them out of the corner of his eye, thoroughly amused by their dramatic reactions. He waved over the bartender with a casual flick of his wrist.

“¿Qué quieres tomar, cariño?” he asked, his voice softening as he looked back at you. He caught himself and flashed a quick, apologetic grin. “Sorry—what would you like to drink? My treat.”

You cleared your throat, trying to regain even a shred of your usual confidence. “Just a a margarita is fine. Thanks.”

He ordered the drinks; the bartender nodding respectfully before rushing off to prepare them.

Bunny then turned his full attention back to you, resting both elbows on the counter.

“So,” Bunny murmured, a playful glint returning to his red eyes. “Since you were brave enough to face a stranger on a dare... tell me, what else do you do for fun”

Before you could answer You glanced from the other side of the bar—completely going blank trying to put two in two together.

Then a chorus of muffled screaming erupted. Your friends had apparently given up on pretending not to watch. One of them shot straight out of their seat, both fists raised triumphantly in the air.

“THEY’RE STILL TALKING!”

“NO WAY!”

“SHE ACTUALLY SCORED!”

“Guys, wait—that’s Bunny! Like, the Bunny Iglesias! Oh my fucking gosh!” While their fingers aggressively flying across her phone screen as she typed into a search engine. “Look at his face. Look at those red eyes and that light hair. Tell me I’m crazy, but isn't that literally Bunny?”

“Bunny? Like a rabbit?” Another girl scoffed, trying to peer over her shoulder. “Girl, that man is built like a brick wall, what are you talking about?”

“No, you idiot! Bunny Iglesias!” The girl with the phone shoved the glowing screen directly into theur face. “The star forward for FC Barcha! Next to Lavinho! The New Generation World XI prodigy! Look at the stadium photo from last week's match! Look at the cross-shaped scar on his face!”

A collective, sharp gasp sucked all the air out of their side of the booth. Someone nearly choked on her drink, slamming her glass onto the table so hard the ice rattled.

“Oh my fucking god,” the girl whispered, her jaw completely dropping. “Our friend, OUR FRIEND, THE […] walked over there on a stupid twenty-euro dare that we made because we hyped her up to go over her ‘crush’ thinking he was a total nobody... and she accidentally reeled in a multi-millionaire international football star?!”

“Is he... wait, is he flirting with her?” The girl squinted, watching Bunny lean his broad shoulders over the counter, completely trapping you in his personal space.

“Look at his body language. He just took his hand out of his pocket and touched her wrist. Oh, he is down bad.”

“Look at her face, she’s literally so pink, awhh so cute! ,” someone giggled, while aggressively shaking the person who choked on their drink.

“Should we rescue her? What if he's an evil man” A worried tone emerged from the group.

“Are you insane? Rescue her from that?” The girl pointed her manicured finger across the room.

“Look at how he's looking at her! Like a starving man, plus she doesn’t look uncomfortable look at her.”

“She better treat us for lunch tomorrow.”

“As if we are even gonna see her tomorrow,” another teased, wiggling her eyebrows knowingly.

Bunny glanced over your shoulder toward the table of absolute chaos. One of your friends gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Another saluted him. A third mimed wiping away tears as if witnessing a beautiful romance unfold on a movie screen.

Bunny couldn’t help but laugh. “You have very… supportive and loving friends.” He raised an eyebrow, highly amused.

You sighed heavily. “I was supposed to walk over, embarrass myself, get turned down, and come crawling back. Instead…” You gestured weakly between the two of you.

“This happened.”

Across the room, one of your friends suddenly stood right up on a chair. “YO, [….]! ASK FOR THEIR NUMBER!”

Another immediately shouted back, “WE BELIEVE IN YOU!”

You groaned so loudly that several nearby patrons laughed. “I am never going out with them again.”

Bunny rested his chin against his hand, watching your flustered expression with obvious satisfaction. “I don’t know…” His smile softened. “I think I should thank them.”

You turned your head slowly, seeing him tapping his chin while resting his hand on his palm, eyeing you intently. “…Why do you want to do that?”

“Because if they hadn’t dared you…” His vibrant red eyes locked onto yours. “…you never would’ve come over and said hello mister.”

Bunny looked at you for a quiet moment before smiling to himself. A loose strand of your hair had fallen into your face. Without much thought, he reached over.

“¿Puedo?”

You caught that one. “…Sí.”

His fingers gently tucked the strand behind your ear before pulling away just as quickly.

His touch was light, almost absentminded, yet somehow it left your heart beating a little faster.

“There,” he said softly.

“…Gracias.”

“De nada.” He studied you for another second before a brilliant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “¿Siempre sonríes así?”

You blinked. “…Yeah, I’d say so.”

“I like it very much,” he chimed in..”

You let out a subtle laugh “You’re very confident.”

“I know that, cariño,” he countered smoothly. “If I wasn’t, then I’d have none.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “…Qué descarado.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh?”

He laughed, making the corners of his eyes crease. “ really I like talking to you.”

Your expression softened. “…You barely even know me.”

Before you could think of a comeback, he reached out again. This time, it wasn't for your hair. His finger lightly poked your cheek two times, making your eye twitch in surprise.

“…Oye.” You stared at him, dumbfounded. “…Did you just poke me?”

“I had to.”

“Why?”

“Because it looked cute.”

“…That’s your explanation?” You laughed, gently swatting his hand away. “Qué raro eres.”

Bunny looked at you for a long moment, the amused smile on his face softening into something much quieter. “You know…” he murmured.

“Hm?”

“I think your friends are going to be very disappointed if you leave now.”

You followed his gaze. Across the bar, your friends were practically hanging over one another, shamelessly watching your every move. The moment they noticed you looking, they immediately started making exaggerated hand hearts and aggressive thumbs-up signs.

You groaned again. “I’m never speaking to them again.”

Bunny laughed. “I don’t believe you.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Then, before you could say anything else, Bunny stepped just a little closer.

“¿Puedo?”

You blinked. “…What?”

He tapped a finger lightly against his own cheek, silently asking for permission. Realizing exactly what he meant, you let out a nervous, breathless laugh. “…Uh…”

You barely had time to nod before he leaned in and pressed the briefest, gentlest kiss against your cheek. It lasted less than a second before he pulled away. When he looked back at you, he was smiling.

“Buenas noches,” he said softly.

Your brain completely stopped working. “…I…” Heat rushed straight to your face, making your cheeks feel like they were on fire. “…Did you just—”

From across the bar, a deafening chorus erupted.

“HE DID IT!”

“NO WAY!”

“LET’S GOOOO!”

One of your friends nearly fell right off their stool. “I TOLD YOU THEY’D HIT IT OFF! Holy shit, they’re gonna be making out tonight!”

Another slammed both hands on the table. “Our vacation is peak, guys! We need to book another one for next year!”

Even the bartender looked over, trying—and failing—not to laugh at the spectacle. You covered your burning face with both hands. “Oh my god…”

Bunny glanced toward your cheering friends before looking back at you, completely amused by your reaction. “They seem happy.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “…You planned that, didn’t you?”

He shrugged innocently. “I only said goodnight.”

“…With a kiss.”

“In Spain,” he replied with a teasing smile, “we’re affectionate.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “I have a feeling you don’t greet every stranger like that.”

His grin widened just enough to give his true intentions away. “I just only thought… you would smile again for me”

Your heart skipped a beat. From the other side of the bar came one final, roaring scream “KISS THEM BACK, [...]!”

You buried your face in your hands again. Bunny laughed so hard he literally had to lean against the counter for support. “Your friends are very enthusiastic and entertaining.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s going to hear about this for the rest of the trip.”

Across the room, one of your friends was dramatically fanning themselves while another pretended to wipe away tears of pride. “Guys, our mama is making it!” someone shouted. “DO NOT FUCKING FUMBLE THIS!”

“Shut up!” you called back, unable to stop yourself from laughing.

Bunny watched the exchange with an affectionate smile. “You laugh a lot.”

You looked back at him. “…Is that a bad thing?”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes dropping to your lips for a lingering, heavy moment before snapping back to yours. “No. Me vuelve loco como te ríes, cariño,” he whispered, leaning in until the tips of your noses almost brushed.

“Te juro que me estás tentando demasiado. Deja de jugar conmigo.”

Your breath hitched. You knew enough Spanish to catch the meaning of his words—he was telling you that you were driving him crazy, that you were tempting him too much, and to stop playing games with him. You were pretty sure..

“I’m not playing games,” you lied, your voice smaller now, your fingers nervously tightening against your own sleeves.

You forced a defiant look onto your face, trying to deflect and not seem an easy catch “And I told you, I don't speak good Spanish. So You’re cheating.”

“No estoy trampeando, nena,” he purred, his large hand sliding casually onto the counter, his fingers brushing against your arm just enough to send a sharp shiver straight through you.

His thumb traced a lazy, line against your wrist. “Sé perfectamente que me entiendes... y sé que tú también me quieres. No me mires así si no vas a cumplir lo que prometen esos ojos.

He was talking in a low, whisper, telling you that he knew you understood him, that he knew you wanted him back, and warning you not to look at him like that if you weren't going to follow through.

You let out a breathless, nervous chuckle, rolling your eyes to hide the fact that your knees felt like water and chocked on your laughter having to drop the margarita drink down.

“You are a literal menace, conejo, you know that? I am an innocent tourist. You shouldn't be saying things like that to me.”

“¿Inocente?” Bunny let out a rough, incredibly dark chuckle, his gaze dropping to the visible pulse point throbbing in your neck. “De inocente no tienes nada. Y si te sigo hablando así, es porque me muero por ver qué haces al respecto.”

He was practically hovering over you, his fingers tightening against your wrist with a quiet, a brief acknowledgment to the fact that he wasn't going to let you walk away tonight.

You swallowed hard, your snarky exterior completely melting under intensity of his stare. You wanted to play hard to get a little longer, but looking up into his eyes, you knew you were already losing this battle.

“You're making it really hard to leave,” you whispered, your defenses officially crumbling.

Bunny’s lips curled into a slow, victorious grin, his thumb smoothing over your skin. “Good. Because I have absolutely no intention of letting you go, mi vida.”

Before you could gather your thoughts to throw another snarky retort his way, his grip shifted. His large hand slid down from your wrist, his long fingers smoothly intertwining their way between yours until your hands were completely locked together.

Bunny slowly brought your joined hands upward. His gaze never left your face as he leaned down, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss right against your knuckles. And a low, velvety purr vibrated against your skin as he kissed your hand, a sound so deeply intimate it made your breath completely catch in your throat.

He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, his touch firm, possessive, and warm against the cool night air.

“Vente conmigo,” he murmured, while kissing your hand.

“Bunny…” you breathed, your snarky exterior completely gone soft as a wave of heat rushed from your neck all the way to your ears.

Lowkey, you wanted him just as badly, and it was noticeable . You weren't pulling your hand back; if anything, your fingers tightened against his, holding onto him just as securely.

“Por favor, nena,” he whispered against your knuckles, pressing another fervent kiss to your skin “Let's get out of here. Leave with me tonight. Just you and me.”

You swallowed hard. You were supposed to play hard to get, but you know what…yeah sure let’s go.. you thought to yourself.

“Yeah, Okay,” you whispered softly, your heart thumping, while you gave him a smile, “Let's go.”

A victorious, happy grin broke across Bunny's face, his fingers tightening around yours as he immediately guided you down the cobblestone path, completely ready to lose the rest of the world with you.

Together, you slipped out of the noisy bar and into the warm Spanish night. Behind you, your friends immediately erupted into another massive chorus of cheers loud enough to pierce right through the open doorway.

“THAT’S OUR FRIEND!”

“DON’T MESS THIS UP!”

“I LOVE YOU MAMI, YOU DA GOAT!”

You covered your face yet again, your shoulders shaking. “I’m actually going to block every single one of them.”

Bunny laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that felt entirely too close. “You won’t.”

“Yeah…You’re right,” you muttered. then looked back at them and waved them goodbye, while one of your friends sent you a flying kiss and pretended to catch it and send one back, laughing.

While bunny smiled at you just simply being happy with your friends.

Side by side, the two of you began to wander through the narrow streets, letting the city’s late-night chatter replace the noise of the party. For the first time that evening, there wasn’t a dare, a joke, or a crowd watching, just talking.

You found out more about him and so did he.

Bunny kept a casual pace, his hands slung into his pockets, but his tall, athletic built frame was angled entirely toward you. Every few steps, his shoulder would lightly brush against yours, and the faint touch of your fingertips crossing each-other while you walked.

“So, princesa,” Bunny broke the silence, his accent dropping into a low, velvety pitch“Now that we are away from your very loud entourage… are you still going to pretend you don't like me?”

The alcohol swirling in your system gave you a sudden, reckless surge of bravery. You stopped walking, turning your body to face him fully, crossing your arms defensively.

“No me gustas,” you fired back, trying your absolute best to piece together a sentence. You squinted at him, your tongue tripping slightly over the pronunciation because of the drinks. “Eres un… un dolor de cabeza. Y muy presumido.”

Bunny paused, his red eyes widening in pure delight. He looked down at you, a smirk spreading across his face as he took a deliberate step closer, completely invading your personal space

“¿Ah, sí?” he purred, his voice dropping into a rough, intimate register.

“¿Soy un dolor de cabeza? Pues a mí me parece que te pones muy nerviosa cuando estoy cerca, cariño. Mira cómo me miras… te mueres por mí y ni siquiera puedes negarlo.”

You understood exactly what he was doing—he was teasing you about how nervous you got when he was close.

“Stop doing that,” you stammered, your face burning a bright, furious red as you tried to take a step back.

But Bunny was faster. His large hand slid out of his pocket, his fingers smoothly catching your wrist.

He didn't squeeze, but his thumb began to trace a slow, agonizingly deliberate stroke over your racing pulse point, pulling you back toward him until the distance between you entirely vanished and both of your faces were near.

“¿Dejar de hacer qué, nena?” he whispered, leaning down until his lips almost brushed your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“¿Dejar de decirte lo mucho que te deseo? No puedo. Desde que me hablaste, lo único que quiero es tenerte para mí solo.”

“You are… literally a menace. Qué malo eres,” you whispered back.

Meanwhile, back inside the bar, your friends immediately huddled up the second the door clicked shut.

“Wait, holy shit... she’s actually gonna be with an athlete? Does this make her a WAG?”

“Guys she texted me and sent me her location just incase, she said ‘my head hurts and bunny is a pain in the ass but I want him badly’ what should I say?

One chimed in, “tell her to have protection and uhm….just tell her to take care of herself and don’t feel pressured with anything and tell safe”

“Okay okay!”

“Oh shit, guys, what if he is an evil man? Wait, fuck… we forgot! Look him up right now!”

One of your friends hurriedly pulled out their phone, typing furiously. “No… I don't see any bad drama. He has none… I think…he got that one thing with that Japanese boy tho…plus he is really fine people on the internet wants him…like badly..”

“Fuck that, but what if he is secretively evil? We should just send an Etsy witch after him…”

“Girl, what the fuck … an Etsy witch? No, wait! We should all just pray that his knees snap or he gets an ACL tear if he ever does something bad to her.”

The group went quiet for a moment, absorbing the intense threat. One by one, all of them slowly nodded in dark agreement.

“Wait, actually… yeah. An ACL tear woukd work…it will ruin his career, no?”

“I don’t know much but he is pretty liked for how high he can jump like a bunny… so if he bust his kneecaps then bye bye scoceer..”

“Well… I hope he is a nice guy.”

“Yeah…”

“Bunny Iglesias, do not fuck this up.”

The cool night air felt refreshing against your burning cheeks as you walked away from the neon glow of the bar.

For a few minutes, after that conversation you stopped talking to him. The only sound heard between you was the click of your shoes against the cobblestone street and the distant, muffled echoes of Barcelona’s nightlife.

“So,” Bunny broke the silence,“Where are you and your friends visiting from?”

“From, […] We’re just here on vacation,” you said, looking up at him. “We’ve been planning this trip for months. Though I didn’t exactly plan on getting with a professional athlete’ as part of the itinerary.”

Bunny chuckled, the sound deep and effortless. “Is that how you see it?” He hummed, “but all I did was calling you adorable.”

“Qué descarado,” you muttered under your breath again.

He let out a delighted laugh, his red eyes crinkling at the corners. “See? Your vocabulary is expanding already. If you stay in Spain a little longer, I might even teach you how to properly insult someone on the pitch.”

You only sighed and nodded in acknowledgment.

Bunny's face, fingers tightening around yours as he immediately guided you down the cobblestone path.

But you had only taken a few steps before a sharp spike of pain shot directly behind your eyes. The consequences of drinking too much was a huge migraine and the urge of throwing up.

You winced, your eyes shutting tightly as you involuntarily slowed your pace.

A heavy, throbbing started pounding against your temples, making the distant city lights blur into a dizzying smear.

Bunny stopped walking instantly.

Feeling the sudden tension in your hand, he turned his full attention back to you, his grin vanishing.

His red eyes searched your face, noticing how pale you had suddenly become and how you were protecting your head from the dim streetlights.

“Hey,” he said softly, his deep voice immediately dropping into a low, comforting murmur“¿Qué pasa? Are you okay?”

“My head,” you groaned, burying your free hand against your face as a sudden wave of nausea rolled through your stomach. “Bunny …I feel like I'm gonna throw up.”

Instead of looking grossed out or annoyed, Bunny’s instincts kicked in completely. He stepped closer, his large frame blocking out the light as his hand moved to steady your waist.

“Calm down cariño, I’ve got you,” he whispered close to your ear, his touch firm and grounding. He didn't hesitate for even a second. “If you need to throw up, go ahead. I’ll hold your hair back for you, princesa.”

He was genuinely ready to stand in a dark alley and hold your hair back just to make sure you were okay.

“I don't think I actually need to,” you breathed weakly, leaning your forehead against the cool fabric of his jacket just to keep your balance. “I just… I can barely walk. My legs feel like lead.”

Bunny let out a quiet, relieved breath, his chest rising against your cheek. “Okay. No more walking then.” Before you could make sense on what he meant

Bunny didn't even hesitate to carry you . He slid his arm beneath your knees and the other securely behind your back, scooping you entirely off the cobblestone street in one effortless motion.

A breathless gasp escaped your lips. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck to keep your balance, your, aching head resting right against his shoulder.

He began to walk with a steady, easy stride, carrying you through the narrow streets as if you weighed absolutely nothing.

“Wait uhm.. are you sure you can carry me?”

“Mhm, don’t worry…”

As he walked, his eyes glanced down at your face, noticing the tense strain around your eyes. He looked down toward your feet, where your strappy heeled shoes were dangling in the air.

“Hey,” Bunny whispered , against your ear. “Do you want me to take your heels off for you, cariño? For your comfort? They cannot be helping your head right now.”

You let out a weak, tired chuckle against his jacket, your fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of his shirt. “You’re going to walk down a street carrying a girl and holding a pair of heels?”

“I will do whatever makes you feel better, princesa,” he replied a gentle, genuine smile tugging at his lips as he adjusted his grip to keep you completely secure against him. “I am a football player, I’m practically built for strength and endurance…so don’t worry…Just close your eyes and let me handle it.”

Realizing the bright streetlights and the long walk back to your hotel lobby might make your headache worse, Bunny decided against heading straight back. And decided to rest for a bit , so he carried you to a secluded corner of the plaza.

And carefully lowered you onto a smooth, clean stone bench, keeping one hand gently behind your back until he was certain you wouldn't trip over.

Once you were settled, bunny dropped down onto his knees right in front of you, taking off your heels for your comfort. He rested his forearms on his knees so he was looking directly up at your face.

“Better?” he asked quietly, his eyes softening in the dim light.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “Thank you. And sorry.”

Bunny let out a quiet, amused breath. “You apologize too much. First for your Spanish, now for having a headache. I don’t know what world you come from, but you don’t have to say sorry every time—especially to me, cariño.”

You peeked one eye open, looking down at Bunny. He looked effortlessly striking. “I just didn't want my first impression to be a mess of person ”

“It's a memorable impression,” Bunny countered, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He reached up, his thumb lightly tracing a soothing circle over the back of your hand where it rested on your knee.

“And I told you. I didn't care about the Spanish. I liked how you simply smiled and laughed.”

He simply watched you, his thumb tracing a soothing circle over the back of your hand. It was nice just talking on the bench, but Bunny took note that staying out here might not be the best for your head.

“Sooo..can I get your number?” He pulled a sleek smartphone from his pocket and held it out to you, the screen already open to a blank contact page. “Unless, of course, you are just playing with my heart.”

“Later, I’ll give it to you…” you mumbled tiredly, “…just take me back to my hotel lobby..please”

“Gracias, mi vida,” he chimed in with a soft whistle.

He effortlessly scooped you back up, carrying you bridal style while your hands latched securely onto his shoulder blades for balance.

“No soy tu vida, solo soy una persona que conociste hace cinco minutos y además eres un mentiroso,” you tried to say, but because the sentence was so long and your head was spinning, your tongue completely tripped over the words and pronounced it horribly .

Bunny stared at you for a second, processing the sentence, before he burst into a genuine, loud laugh. “Okay..okay” Bunny simply said while his thumb tracing a slow, soothing circle over the back of your hand.

Then his gaze flicked down to your feet, where your strappy heeled shoes were pressed against the cold stone, and then back up to the tight, pained strain still visible around your eyes.

He took note of the way you slightly shivered when a cool breeze swept through the archway. Sitting out here on a hard stone bench in the middle of a public square—even a secluded one—was far from ideal.

Bunny let out a soft, thoughtful sigh before breaking the quiet. “Hey,” he murmured, his deep voice dropping into that low, comforting register that didn't hurt your ears. “As much as I am enjoying having you entirely to myself right now, this bench isn't going to fix your head, cariño.”

You opened your eyes fully this time, looking down at his face. “I’m okay...”

“You are freezing, and you are still wincing every time you hear a car drive past the plaza,” he countered.

He shifted, his fingers tightening around yours as he stood up from his haunches, instantly towering over you once again.

He leaned in closer, “My apartment is just a few blocks from here. It is quiet, dark, and I have medicine that will actually help. Come back with me.”

You hesitated for a split second, your tipsy, throbbing brain trying to process the invite. ‘Stranger danger’ echoed faintly in the back of your mind. Sure, he was a famous person, and liked you but you had still only known him for a short while.

“Bunny… I don’t think—”

“You don't have to, cariño,” he interrupted softly, his voice gentle as he caught your hesitation. He straightened up slightly, backing away just enough to give you space to breathe. “You can say no, and I can get a taxi for you right now. I don't mind.”

“Um, hold on,” you mumbled, pressing a hand to your throbbing temple. “I need to text my friends....”

“No, go ahead. I get it,” he hummed, nodding understandingly. There wasn't a single shred of annoyance in his face; if anything, his expression was completely respectful. “Safety and all. I won't let you do anything you don't want to do anyways.”

You offered him a weak, smile and pulled your phone out. The bright screen made you wince, but you blinked through the glare and saw a flood of multiple texts from your friends.

They were violently buzzing your notifications, assuring you not to have sex if you didn't want to, aggressively reminding you to ask for protection, and typing out an absolute novel of yada yada advice.

Half of the messages were just telling you to call them if anything felt off, reminding you that they were keeping a strict eye on your location.

A small laugh escaped your lips, hurting your head a little but warming your chest. You quickly typed back, 'Thanks, I love you guys.'

Their replies were almost instantaneous, 'We love you too.'

You locked your phone and slid it back into your purse, looking back up at him. “Okay. I told them.”

Bunny’s lips curled into a smile, “Okay Good...”

Before you could even blink, he dropped down to his knees right in front of you. He stood up and effortlessly scooped you back up, again, carrying you bridal style while your hands latched securely onto his shoulder blades for balance.

“Smile for me,” Bunny asked softly, You peeked one eye open, looking up at him suspiciously “Why?”

“Because,” he whispered, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his own lips as he nudged your cheek with his nose. “I told you before... you smile with your whole face. and I still want to see it, mi vida.”

A helpless, breathless little laugh escaped your lips despite your best efforts to play hard to get.

Bunny’s grin widened into something thoroughly victorious, his red eyes darkening with absolute satisfaction.

“There it is,” he murmured, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right against your forehead before continuing his easy stride down the street. “Now close your eyes, princesa. We are almost at my apartment.”

Bunny carried you down the quiet hallway of his apartment, and nudged open his bedroom door with his foot. The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft, glow of the city skyline filtering through the windows.

He moved toward the large bed lowering his towering frame until he sat at the edge of the mattress.

Instead of putting you completely down, he kept you cradled in his lap, letting your back rest against his solid chest while your legs draped over his knees.

“Shssh... I’ve got you,” he whispered,

Without another word, Bunny leaned down, his large hands moving toward your legs. His fingers lightly brushed against your knees, a tender touch that made a sudden shiver ripple straight down your spine.

You let out a soft sigh, your body slumping back completely against his chest as the relief washed over you. “Thank you, Bunny,” you mumbled, your eyes remaining squeezed shut against the lingering, heavy migraine.

“De nada, mi vida,” he murmured right against your crown, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, gently resting your face against his shoulder.

He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a bottle of water and a couple of pills. You opened your eyes slightly, looking at him cautiously as your tipsy brain tried to process the situation. Sensing your lingering hesitation, his red eyes softened with complete reassurance.

“Drink this,” he murmured gently. “Nothing in it, I swear.”

Trusting him completely, you forced yourself to take a few sips of the cool water, swallowing the medicine before humming and collapsing back into the white sheets.

Bunny adjusted the pillows around you, pulling the thick, warm comforter over your shoulders until you were perfectly tucked into the bed.

He slid into the bed right beside you, and slid his hand around your waist, embracing you securely ,while his other hand gently a stroked your hair, lulling you into sleep.

The next morning, you woke up slowly to the soft glare of daylight cutting through the expansive bedroom windows.

You lay tangled together in the plush white sheets. While Bunny’s face was directly in front of yours, nothing had actually happened that night—Bunny had kept his promise to not to anything at all.

Moving carefully so as not to wake him, your fingertips gently traced the rugged, uneven line of the cross-shaped scar on his face, the familiar ridges warm beneath your touch. You looked back at the scar, gently brushing your thumb along its edge.

“…Where did you get it?” you whispered softly.

“It’s a long story.”

You leaned in close, your breath fanning across his skin as you hummed a quiet, adoring sound. “You're very pretty,” you mumbled against his jaw, “You're handsome... very.”

A breathless chuckle was heard from bunny’s lips and you chuckled right back.

Bunny reached up, his large hand gently wrapping around the back of your neck to guide your weight back down against the mattress. trapping you beneath his comforting warmth, and buried his face into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your pulse point as he murmured something too low to understand.

He looked down at you, his thumb softly brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze softened. He spoke in a low, gentle tone. “Eres monísima, de verdad... Te quiero tanto,”he murmured.

Before you could even process the weight of those words, he was pressing soft, desperate kisses all over your jaw, your cheeks, and finally down to your lips.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him, pulling his body against yours. Your lips felt completely numb, from his kiss

Then, he shifted, his face burying into the crook of your neck. “I love you..te amo mucho,” he uttered beneath his lips.

You froze entirely, your breath catching in your throat as you stared blankly up at the ceiling.

Slowly, you moved your hands and brought your fingers up to his face, sliding the soft strands of his light hair away from his face while he continued to kiss you.

Your hand lingered against his crown, the pressure of your palm silently signaling for him to stop.

Bunny paused and slowly lifted his head, pulling back just a few inches so he could look down at you. For a long moment, neither of you uttered a word .

You just looked at each other. His eyes were searching your face for any sign of rejection, while his breathing was slightly shallow as he waited for your response.

You stared up into his eyes and smiled “I love you too,” you whispered back softly.

The words had barely left your lips before a visible wave of relief washed over Bunny’s face. Bunny let out a low, shaky chuckle, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his light purple hair mingling with your own.

“That makes me happy, corazón...” he breathed, You let out a l laugh, your hands still gently cupping his jaw as your thumb smoothed over the rough, uneven edge of his cross-shaped scar.

Before you could even reply, Bunny leaned into you pulling you into a deep, feverish kiss.

Meanwhile, on the completely opposite side of Barcelona, the morning sun was hitting the outdoor patio of a local breakfast cafe.

Your friends were huddled tightly around a small table, completely ignoring their iced coffees and pastries as they stared intensely at a phone screen. One of them slammed their hand on the table, making the silverware rattle.

“Oh, they definitely had sex, brah.”

“Oh, one hundred percent. Did you see the way he kept on eyeing her at the bar? I could feel the tension from were we at.”

Another friend aggressively pointed their spoon that they used to stir their coffee—at the group. “I’m telling you, if she comes to breakfast slouched over and talking about some ‘my legs hurt shit’, they hundred percent did it.”

“Wait, look at his Instagram story from an hour ago,” the third friend hissed, shoving the phone into the center of the table. It was a picture of the sunrise over a high-end apartment and it was a bed picture of someone in the sheets.

“NO FUCKING WAY”

“OH MY FUCKING GOSH”

“Mami looks so fine~”

“HOLY SHIT”

A collective, high-pitched gasp erupted from the table, drawing annoyed glares from a couple of local Spaniards dining nearby.

“BUNNY IGLESIAS, YOU absolute legend!” one of them cheered, raised her coffee cup in a mock toast. “Our baby really didn't fumble the dare.”

“WE DID IT FINALLY SHE—”

“Shut up, look—she just texted the group chat!”

The table immediately went dead silent as they all scrambled to read the single notification flashing on their screens: 'Hey guys, sorry I missed breakfast. Head still hurts a bit. See you at the hotel later. Love you all.”

Your friends all looked up at each other, their expressions perfectly matching.

“Yeah, okay. 'Head hurts.' Sure, Sure.”

“Do you think she knows we can see through her lies?”

“Doesn't matter. The second she steps foot back in that hotel lobby, we bombarding her with questions.”

The friend who was wearing sunglasses suddenly gasped, “Wait! What if he’s a player? Like, a literal player on and off the field? We need to make sure our girl didn't just become a one-night stat sheet for FC Barcha.”

“Please, did you see his eyes last night?” the first friend countered, leaning in so close her nose almost touched the table. “He looked at her like a starving man looking at a five-star tapas menu. He was down bad. I bet you he is probably clinging onto her right now.”

“I agree with her on this one” the third friend scoffed, furiously tapping her phone screen. “Guys... if they get married, do you think he can get us VIP tickets to the El Clásico match?..”

“We can ask him…”

“Guys we don’t even know for sure if he is an okay person, what if he is just using her you know how athletes get with their love scandals”

“Relax mami, i understand you but I’m sure bunny won’t hurt her…i hope..”

“[…] is an independent woman and I’d doubt she would stoop so low, we should give bunny the benefit of the doubt.”

“Everyone who agrees say aye.”

Everyone said aye…except for one.

The one friend that didn’t say no, rolled her eyes, throwing a crumpled napkin across the table. “You guys are ridiculous. First, we were praying for his ACL to tear if he hurt her, and now we are all planning for a wedding…that we aren’t sure…will happen?”

“Hey, hey hey, I can just FEEL it…that they will end up together and a good best friend protects and loves their friend and also plans the bachelorette party.”

“Guys! I have an idea. A Bachelorette party in Ibiza, next year all of us!”

The table erupted into a fresh wave of giggles and frantic whispering as they began plotting exactly how to ambush you with questions the moment you came back in the hotel room.

You let out a soft, defeated breath against his lips, finally trying to untangle your fingers from his soft lavender strands. “Bunny... please,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep and the breathless ache of his kisses. “I need to get up.”

“No,” Bunny replied instantly. His voice was a low, rumbling right against your skin.

Before you could even shift an inch, his heavy frame moved, nudging you right back down to the mattress.

He playfully pinned you down, sliding his long legs over yours and wrapping both of his massive arms securely around your waist.

He buried his face right into the crook of your neck, his messy hair tickling your jaw as he let his entire dead weight drop completely over you.

“Bunny!” you shouted , letting out a helpless laugh as you tried to push against his broad, shoulders. “Get off me, you're so heavy! You are literally huge, please... I can’t breathe.”

“Me da igual,” he purred into your skin, thoroughly stubborn against the idea of letting you go “I don't care. You aren't leaving this bed, corazón. They can wait.”

He tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you so close bunny lifted his head just enough to look down at your flushed, laughing face.

“I need you here,” he pleaded, affectionately.

Before you could even process how sweet he was being, Bunny started to completely pepper you with soft, kisses.

Pressing them all over your jaw, down your neck, across your m cheeks, and finally right onto your smiling lips, completely drowning out any lingering thoughts of your friends, the hotel, or the rest of the world.

You let out a soft giggle and sigh, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and melting completely into his touch…maybe you’ll stay…

Yoichi was completely locked in. His eyes were wide, tracking every movement on the screen as he aggressively muttered to himself under his breath.

"If the center-back shifts left... then the blind spot opens here. Their midfielder is the…key….”

You looked over at him, a mix of fondness and genuine concern swirling in your chest.

You were still in the early, butterflies-in-your-stomach stage of the relationship, and the both of you weren’t in the comfortability stage yet.

(like not comfortable in a sense seeing your partner be in the bathroom while you brush your teeth or even farting….)

and you wanted to be supportive person to Yoichi, But looking down at your phone, you couldn't help but feel a little left out.

He had a whole human being right here next to him, but the football game seemed a lot more interesting than hanging out.

‘Whatever’, you thought, scrolling mindlessly through your feed to pass the time.

Then, cutting through Yoichi’s monologue, a sharp, echoing squeak broke the silence of the room.

Pfrrrt! Puuft!

The television kept playing, but Yoichi froze instantly. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you. Within three seconds, his face flushed a shade of red that rivaled a tomato.

“I—that was...!” Yoichi stammered, as he practically scrambled backward. “That was just my feet! I swear!“

He was completely panicking, desperate to convince you that he wasn't disgusting, his hands flying up in a frantic defense.

You stared at him for a second, taking in his wide, terrified eyes and bright red face, before a giggle slipped out.

Within moments, you were laughing softly, the tension completely draining from the room.

“Yoichi, it's okay,” you smiled, setting your phone down and finally getting his full attention. “You don't have to make up an excuse. It's totally fine.”

He let out a shaky, embarrassed breath, rubbing the back of his neck as his blush finally started to fade. “You're... you're not grossed out?”

“Not at all,” you laughed, patting the space next to you. “But since that broke your attention, do you think you can pause the 'football' for a second and actually talk to your partner…please?”

“Mhm sorry...,” he mumbled softly, nodding his head. With a quick click of the remote, the TV screen went black, plunging the room into a much cozier darkness. Yoichi tossed the remote aside and slowly crawled over the blankets toward you.

He looked so incredibly flustered, burying his face directly into the crook of your neck the moment he reached you, effectively hiding his red face from your view.

His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. He was warm, and you could feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat against your ribs—partly from the sheer embarrassment of what had just happened.

“You're too nice to me,” he mumbled into your shoulder, his voice muffled but filled with relief. You just smiled, wrapping your arms around him and resting your chin on his soft hair, perfectly content now that you finally had his full attention.

･ ༝ ･ Shindou Ryusei

The comfort level between you and Shidou was very comfortable….Most couples had a “honeymoon phase” where they pretended their bodies didn't make noise, that they didn’t have loud, quiet, smelly farts or the fact that they even peed or pooped.

But the both of you just skipped right past that phase you were supposed to overcome..

Walking into the bathroom while the other person was taking a dump? The both of you didn't give a single fuck.

Passing each other in the hallway or the kitchen counter only to drop a drive-by fart right in the other’s space? That was the regular behavior.

He’d do it to you, you’d do it to him, and one time in a crowded convenience store, he’d let out a massive rip, looked at you with sheer, theatrical horror, and gasped, “Babe, in public?!” completely pinning the blame on you while the cashier judged you.

It was smelly too…

You usually took it in stride, but tonight was different. Tonight, Shidou had eaten something you told him not to eat too much off…but the dude just ate it okay…like who are you to tell him no when it comes to food.

You were both lounging on the couch, the TV playing something in the background, when Shidou shifted his weight. It started with a low, vibrating rumble that shook the couch cushions. Then came the sound—an absolute, ungodly explosion that sounded like a motorcycle engine failing a safety inspection.

It was, without a doubt, the loudest fart and soon to be the deadliest one you had ever experienced in your life.

“Holy shit, Shidou!”you choked out, pressing your shirt over your nose as you scrambled to the opposite end of the couch.

And Shidou just kept laughing…then seconds later, the actual air arrived. It wasn't just a regular smell, you know how stinky the farts could be but this one…this one was new…

It smelled like fermented garbage, rotten eggs, and whatever mix he’d consumed earlier, all compressed into a cloud that was funky and suffocating you.

Your eyes genuinely began to water. Trying to cover your nose with your shirt.

Shidou threw his head back against the couch cushions and burst into an unhinged, booming laugh, completely proud of the devastation he had just caused.

“Did you feel that one?!” he cackled, kicking his legs out in pure delight. He looked over at your watering eyes and your shirt pulled up to your eyebrows, his grin widening and had the audacity to sniff it and realize that his fart was nasty making him jump and go away making you follow him and glaring at him. The both of you suffering from that fart.

“Whoa, wait—babe! don't look at me like I'm a criminal! You blasted me in the kitchen this morning!”

“That was a squeak!” you gasped out, your voice muffled through the fabric of your shirt as you aggressively fanned the air away from your face. “This one smells like shit and I am literally going to pass out, Ryusei, open a window!”

“What the fuck did you even eat!” You screamed at him still smelling that god for awful stench.

“It’s okay babe!” he yelled back, completely unbothered by his own stench as he reached over, grabbing your waist to yank you back into his side. “Come back here, don't run away from meee!”

“Get away from me!” you shrieked trying to jerk away his hands that were now grabbing you by the waist.

･ ༝ ･ Barou Shoei

Right now, Barou was in full-blown lecture mode. He was looming over the bed, yelling at you with enough passion to rival a drill sergeant.

Honestly, you considered yourself a pretty clean person, but Barou took it to an entirely different, terrifying level. He constantly reminded you of your mom, nagging you about every single invisible dust speck or dirt smudge.

“How many times do I have to tell you?!” Barou roared, pointing a dramatic, accusing finger at the mattress. “The bed is for sleeping, not for dining! Look at this! Look at what you've done!"

You squinted. Right there, in the exact center of his perfectly smoothed, pristine bedsheets, sat a single, microscopic chip crumb.

“It's literally one crumb, Shoei—“

“A crumb leads to ants! Ants lead to chaos! I will not live in filth!”

Grumbling under his breath about your lack of discipline, Barou aggressively bent over, locking his knees and throwing his upper body forward to carefully pinch the offending crumb off the sheets.

But then suddenly the movement put a bit too much tension on his core.

Pfft. Pffffft!

A little squeak echoed the room cut right through his angry tirade.

‘Oopsies, he let one rip!’ The bedroom went dead silent. The only sound left was the distant hum of the traffic outside the apartment.

Barou froze mid-pinch. His hand remained hovering a millimeter above the sheet.

Barou soul visibly left his body, and for a solid three seconds, he held in his breath…he didn’t look up at you no..he already knows what your face would look like…

The angry veins on his forehead popped, Slowly, his un-gelled, beautifully hair swayed as he stood back up.

He refused to make eye contact with you, staring intently at the wall behind your head as a deep, pinkish flush crept up his neck and flooded his entire face while he closed his eyes praying you won’t tease him.

“Forget you heard that,” Barou commanded, his voice dropping to a rigid, strained whisper as he tried to maintain his dignity.

‘Boi what dignity…’

You bit your inside lip, your cheeks puffing up as you desperately tried to hold back a laugh. “Did you just—”

“It was nothing!” he barked, finally snapping his eyes to yours, his face completely burning.

“Right, right, ‘it was nothing’,” you choked out, mocking him while letting a giggle slip. “So, about that crumb...”

“The crumb is irrelevant!” Barou yelled, completely defeated as he grabbed his pillow and threw it over his blushing face.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore. Seeing him completely reduced to a blushing mess with a pillow over his face was simply too cute to handle.

You crawled across the bed sheets, sliding your arms around his stiff waist and pulling his dramatic self into a tight hug.

He tensed up at first, his entire body rigid with leftover embarrassment, but you didn't let go. You nudged the pillow aside just enough to expose his burning cheek and pressed a warm, lingering kiss right against his skin.

“Get off me,”he mumbled, though the growl lacked any real bite. He didn't actually push you away; in fact, his hands slowly came down to rest on your hips, keeping you close.

“Nope,”you smiled, leaning up to plant another soft kiss on his lips, effectively cutting off whatever rambling he was about to start up again.

Barou let out a long, sigh, and let his broad shoulders finally relaxing into the embrace.

His hair brushed against your face as he hid his nose in your shoulder, wrapping his arms securely around you.

“You're a pain in the ass,” he muttered quietly, his voice finally losing its strained edge.

“Yeah, but I'm your pain in the ass,” you teased, rubbing his back… “let one out again”

“Shut up, I’m not a baby.”

･ ༝ ･ Nagi Seishero

The weight of Nagi’s head was heavy and warm against your thighs. He uses you as a pillow and no matter how much you try to tug or push him away he is just soo heavy that you end up giving up and letting him stay.

He was completely curled up on your lap, his long legs tucked onto the end of the bed while his thumbs flew across his switch

He was entirely locked into his game, his breathing slow and even.

You gently ran your fingers through his soft, white hair, a small smile on your face. He really did look like a giant seal when he was relaxed like this.

Looking for a better angle to beat his high score, Nagi shifted his weight. He rolled over slightly, pressing his head deeper into your lap and burying his face against your stomach to get comfier.

Poof. Pffft!

A tiny, remarkably soft little noise escaped into the quiet bedroom room.

Making you freeze and your hand stopped mid-pet in his hair.

Nagi, however, didn't even pause his game. His thumbs kept tapping furiously against the glass screen.

He just slowly tilted his head back, looking straight up at you with those huge, completely blank gray eyes.

There wasn't a single shred of embarrassment on his face. He was entirely unbothered by the betrayal of his own body.

You stared down at him, completely dumbfounded by his lack of shame. “Nagi... did you just—”

“Ah... oopsie,” Nagi murmured, his voice a flat, sleepy monotone. “My tummy made a noise.”

“Reo usually fans the air for me when that happens,” he interrupted softly, blinking slowly like a spoiled prince.

He adjusted his switch in his hands, completely serious. “Can you do it?”

You let out a massive, defeated sigh, rolling your eyes as you rested your head against the back of the couch. God, I am genuinely the 'other person' in this relationship, you thought to yourself.

You could practically see Reo in your mind's eye, running around with a fan, frantically clearing the air while apologizing to his precious genius. Damn that rich boy for pampering this man into absolute helplessness.

“I am not fanning the air for you, Nagi Seishiro,” you said, swatting his shoulder playfully.

“Eh? Why not?” Nagi whined softly, letting his phone drop onto his chest for a split second.

He pouted, looking up at you with the most pathetic, puppy-dog eyes he could manage. “It's a hassle to move... my legs are numb. If you don't fan it, we're both going to suffer.”

“You're the one who farted, you deal with it!” you laughed and grabbed a nearby throw pillow and gently pressing it over his face to block him out.

“Mph... so cruel...” his muffled voice came from beneath the pillow. He didn't even try to fight it off, just instantly accepting his fate and letting his body go limp against your lap.

“Fine... then I'll just sleep under here.”

You couldn't help but chuckle, pulling the pillow back just enough to see his messy white hair and sleepy eyes.

He immediately looked up at you, a tiny, rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he nestled his head right back into your thighs, completely content to stay exactly where he was

Nagi didn’t even bother picking his switch back up. The device slipped out of his hands, clattering softly onto the bed as his long eyelashes fluttered shut.

“Hey, don't just go to sleep,” you murmured, though your voice lacked any real authority. You gently tapped his cheek.

“Mmm... too tired...”Nagi mumbled, his voice trailing off into a sleepy slur. He shifted his weight one last time, turning his face inward to bury his nose directly against your stomach.

His long arms reached up, wrapping loosely around your waist like a giant sloth locking onto a tree branch. “You're warm. It's a hassle to think...right…now”

You let out a soft huff, but the irritation completely melted away. you brought your hand back to his head, gently weaving your fingers through his ridiculously soft white hair.

Within minutes, his breathing slowed down into a deep slumber . With the soft rises and falling of his chest against your stomach where he pressed his face against you.

You leaned your head back against the pillow cushions, continuing to stroke his hair as you looked down at his serene, sleeping face.

･ ༝ ･ Rin Itoshi

The upscale restaurant was completely wasted on your brooding boyfriend. Rin had practically dragged you here just to sit across from you, arms crossed, and not seeming to enjoy the “date.”

When it was HIS idea to bring you here in the first place. You sighed, cutting into your expensive meal that barely had taste nor flavor while he just picked at his food, looking out the window with a permanent scowl.

“Rin, if you hate it here so much, why did we even come?” you asked, leaning your chin on your hand.

He didn't answer right away.“thought it would be good food but it’s just disgusting and bland” then he put his tongue out a little habit of his.

You were so dead with this dinner date with him “we should just go no?”

Before he couldn’t respond Rin took a deep inhale, then his lower half released a sudden, high-tension thump against the leather booth seat.

Pft! Pfft!

It wasn't a loud explosion; instead, it morphed into the slowest, highest-pitched, most absurdly cutesy little squeeeeeak you had ever heard.

It sounded like a ballon being squeezed very, very slowly running out of air.

Rin’s left eye twitched violently. WHile you dropped your silver ware, mouth agape.

Rin’s face that was usually all tense suddenly cracked from the embarrassment.

He slammed his eyes open, glaring at you when he heard you giggle. Your boyfriend just farted at a high end restaurant in-front of many people who was looking where the sound of someone farting came from.

“Shut up,” he hissed, he leaned over the table to intimidate you. “Don't look at me, we are leaving. Right now”

You pressed both hands over your mouth, your shoulders shaking violently. Your face was turning red from the sheer physical strain of trying to hold in your laughter and giggling the cutesy squeak from the great Rin Itoshi was the funniest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Rin—”a tiny, muffled giggle escaped your lips. “That’s so’ —I can’t” you kept on laughing.

“Do not laugh,” he commanded, his eye twitching again while a flush of blush appeared. He looked away aggressively, clicking his tongue and crossing his arms so tightly

“Die,” he muttered under his breath, hiding the lower half of his bright red face behind his high collar, though he didn't actually get up to leave—silently accepting his defeat as long as you kept smiling…I guess it’ll be fine.

･ ༝ ･ Vivian hugo

The comfort of a lazy afternoon had brought you and Vivian Hugo. He was completely dead weight, draped over your body like a heavy dog that was burying you under all of its fur.

While it started out cozy, “awh so sweet all couples do this moments” but his sheer muscle mass was starting to cut off your circulation.

“ Vivi... you're too heavy,”you wheezed, placing both hands against his broad chest. “Move a little. I can't breathe.”

“Please let me stay mon chou chou ,” Vivian murmured elegantly, his eyes closed as he rested his chin in the crook of your neck.

Genuinely needing some space, you gathered your strength and gave him a sudden, aggressive shove. The unexpected force caught him completely off guard, jolting his core as he tumbled slightly off your side.

Pfft. Pfrrrt!

A clear little squeaker cut right through the atmosphere of the both of you play fighting

Vivian froze.

You see it wouldn’t be a problem people fart but this one had a funky smell to it..

Then vivian broke the silence by coughing,

“I’m sorry..” he muttered, thinking that he had done something wrong and that it was really bad and how silent you were he felt really guilty till you grabbed the heavy duvet with both hands, flung it up, and completely draped the blanket over his head—trapping him in a makeshift tent.

Through the thick duvet, a loud, unstoppable burst of laughter erupted from your side of the bed. You were laughing so hard you were practically wheezing, clutching your stomach as you rolled around on the mattress.

“Hey! Ma cherie!,” Vivian’s muffled voice called out from beneath the duvet. He aggressively fought against the heavy fabric, thrashing around like a trapped cat until his head finally popped out of the blankets and then pulled you again crawling on top of you again putting his dead weight.

“Ah! Vivian, no! You're heavy!” you laughed, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders anyway, pulling him close as the two of you dissolved into a messy, comfortable heap of blankets and giggles.

･ ༝ ･ Sae Itoshi

You and Sae were out together, enjoying a rare day off from his grueling training and media schedule. He had insisted on taking you on a shopping date, eager to spoil you after weeks of separation, and the two of you were currently winding down in a little, upscale cafe.

Currently, it was entirely too quiet, since it still wasn’t peak lunch hours. The atmosphere was intimate, filled only with the soft hum of the refrigerator and the gentle clinking of porcelain.

Sae sat across from you in the plush leather booth, looking completely unbothered by the rest of the world. He was just sitting there so beautifully, slowly sipping his hot tea. While he was mid-sentence, talking about the endless, tedious interviews that he had to do and softly admitting how much he missed you, the peaceful ambiance shattered.

Sae's posture suddenly tensed. His shoulders locked up rigid.

Squeeeak.

A faint, but undeniably sharp, high-pitched squeak escaped from his side of the booth.

In a crowded, noisy stadium, it wouldn't have mattered. It would have been swallowed by the roar of thousands of fans. But in this quiet cafe? It was deafening….

The older couple at the table next to you paused their conversation mid-word. The barista wiping down the espresso machine stopped moving entirely, rag hovering over the metal.

People definitely heard it. All of them. We heard him fart.

Sae froze mid-sip. His teacup remained hovering exactly two inches from his lips, suspended in mid-air. His usual deadpan expression didn't change at all, remaining as stoic as a marble statue, but a tiny, deep red flush instantly crept up the very tips of his ears.

Slowly,he lowered the teacup back to its saucer with a tiny, clink.

He stared you down , his sharp teal eyes locked onto yours, trying to use his sheer, overwhelming aura to intimidate you into pretending it never happened.

You stared back, your lips twitching violently. You knew Sae. Behind closed doors, the two of you were comfortable enough that a little slip-up wouldn't matter—he’d let one go around you at home without a care in the world, completely relaxed.

But the fact that he had just suffered a public betrayal, right here in this pretentious, silent cafe, was simply too much to handle.

A loud laugh burst out of your mouth, shattering the tense silence of the room.

“I did not know you had guts like this, Sae,” you giggled, covering your mouth with both hands as the older couple next to you quickly looked away, suddenly fascinated by their pastries.

“Shut your mouth,” Sae hissed. He leaned across the table, his eyes narrowing to sharp slits as the stubborn blush deepened, betraying his calm facade.

“Everyone heard it. Look, the barista is literally trying not to look at us,” you wheezed, wiping a stray tear from your eye as your shoulders shook.

Sae glare intensified, burning a hole right through you, though the vibrant pink flush was now spreading down his jawline and disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, trapped between his fiercely guarded pride and the hilarious reality of the situation. If looks could kill, you would have been vaporized on the spot.

He reached out, his long fingers wrapping around your wrist with just enough firm pressure to stop your giggling, though his thumb brushed against your skin in a subconscious, habitual caress.

“One more word,” he threatened, his voice a low, gravelly vibration, "and I am leaving you here with the bill."

“Oh, come on, Sae,” you cooed softly, deliberately using the teasing suffix just to watch his eye twitch. “Don't be like that.”

After that embarrassing moment and you insisting to stay since you were still eating, Sae had to suck it up and in a fee moments everyone seemed to forget he let one rip.

The moment the cafe door chimed shut behind you and the cool humid afternoon air hit your faces, Sae finally let out a long, defeated breath. He didn't let go of your hand, though

Sae pulled you into the crowded safety of the sidewalk, weaving through the shoppers until you were surrounded by the comfortable noise of the city.

He stopped by a store window, finally looking down at you. The flush was still painting his cheeks, but the terrifying glare had softened into a familiar, exasperated pout.

“You are completely insufferable,” he muttered, pulling his scarf up to hide the lower half of his face. But as he looked away, you caught the faint, reluctant crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

You smiled, stepping closer to wrap your arm through his, leaning heavily against his side. “But you missed your wonderful partner” you teased.

Sae let out a quiet huff, his grip tightening securely around your hand as he started walking again, guiding you toward the stores. “Yeah. Unfortunately for me, I did.”

･ ༝ ･ Meguru Bachira

Meguru Bachira was currently rolled up in a ball on your bedroom rug, completely surrounded by a small army of your stuffed animals. He had barged into your apartment earlier without warning, loudly claiming he just missed you too much to stay away.

Within minutes of arriving, he had kicked off his shoes and shed his shirt. You didn't even mind—this was completely normal to you, and seeing him shirtless around your place was just a regular thing in the relationship.

He had a giant, plush seal tucked firmly under his chin, his yellow-streaked hair sticking up in every direction as he babbled enthusiastically about the “monster” inside him.

“And then, boom! The monster told me to pass right through the defense like woosh!” Bachira cheered, throwing his arms out to demonstrate the movement. “I wish you were there,”he sighed, a dramatic pout forming on his lips.

But his sudden, dramatic twist of his torso put a little too much pressure on his stomach.

Pffft-squeak. Prffft! Pfffrt!

A loud, distinct noise cut right through his ramblings.

Bachira froze mid-gesture. For a solid two seconds, his big, bright eyes blinked in total confusion. He didn't look terrified or ashamed instead, his face slowly flushed a cute, rosy pink.

Then, a massive, mischievous grin broke out across his face as he looked down at the plush seal in his arms.

“Whoa... oopsie!” Bachira gasped, lifting the stuffed animal up to eye level and shaking it gently. “Did you hear that, babe? Your seal just let out a huge one! Bad seal!”

You burst out laughing, leaning over the edge of the bed to look down at him. “Meguru, the seal didn't do that, you did!”

“Ehhh?! No way, it was definitely the monster!”Bachira joked , rolling over onto his back and kicking his legs in the air, completely unbothered by his own lack of shame.

“Well your monster needs to eat something to digest it out,” you teased, grabbing a pillow and tossing it right onto his stomach.

“Oof!” Bachira wheezed playfully, hugging the pillow tightly against his chest alongside the seal.

Before you could answer, he scrambled to his feet, abandoning his stuffed animal army on the floor.

He lunged toward the bed, landing face-first right next to you and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you into a goofy, shirtless bear hug.

“Let's go get burgers!” he exclaimed into your shoulder, shaking you back and forth.

You chuckled, running a hand through his messy, yellow-streaked hair. “Fine, fine. You’ll be paying though…I’m a bit broke right now…”

“But…I’m kinda broke too…” bachria faintly whispered…

･ ༝ ･ Bunny Iglesias

The charismatic Bunny took a time to get comfortable around you to fart, but in like two months of the relationship he had to shame.

For example, the two of you would be enjoying a nice, warm shower together, the heavy steam filling the glass.

You’d be leaning against his chest under the cascading hot water, completely relaxed and listening to him hum a song, when suddenly a muffled, underwater-sounding thump would echo up from the drain.

Because of the steam and the tightly confined space, the release would instantly turn into something the both of you smelled

“Oh my god, Bunny! In the shower?!” you’d gasp, cough-choking as you frantically wiped the strawberry-scented body wash from your eyes just to punch his wet shoulder. “¡Qué asco!”

Bunny didn’t flinch, why would he…your punches are basically nothing to him. He’d just throw his head back, letting the water hit his face as a loud, booming laugh bounced off the tiles. “Ay, mi amor, don't look at me like that!” he’d chuckle, wiping the water from his eyes and pulling you back against him by your waist. “It’s just natural! ¿no?”

But as dangerous as the bathroom was, nights in bed were an absolutely horrible.

You’d be peacefully scrolling on your phone under the heavy blankets, completely warm, cozy, and vulnerable. Next to you, Bunny would be scrolling through his own phone, completely shirtless and relaxed, when suddenly he’d subtly shift his weight.

Pfft. Pffffrt! Puuft!

You’d hear the muffled puff beneath the heavy sheets. Before your brain could even process what he was going to do next, seeing that smug grin in his face.

Bunny grabbed the edges of the heavy comforter, lift them up to trap the air, and tuck them firmly under your chin, pinning you beneath the covers.

He’d use his entire body weight to hold the blanket down like a human seal, trapping you inside the freshly contaminated tent.

“Bunny! Open the blanket! ¡Déjame salir!” you’d shriek, your voice muffled beneath the fabric as you kicked frantically against his legs, trying to find a breath of clean air.

“No way, cariño!” Bunny would howl with laughter from outside the blanket cocoon, holding the edges down with absolute, merciless strength.

When he finally took pity on you and lifted the sheets, you’d burst out into the fresh bedroom air, gasping dramatically and throwing a pillow directly at his face and slapping his forearm while cussing him out.

He’d just catch it out of the air, pull you into his chest, and press a wet, obnoxious kiss right onto your cheek, entirely unbothered by your glaring eyes.

The both of you would also compare who has the loudest farts… Bunny was making you breakfast

You stepped into the kitchen and found Bunny standing in front of the stove wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants.

“Good morning, !”Bunny beamed, not even turning around as he heard your footsteps.

You smiled, walking up behind him to wrap your arms around his bare waist, resting your cheek against his warm back. “It smells amazing, Bunny!”

“Im glad,” Bunny chuckled, leaning his head back to plant a quick kiss on the top of your head.

He turned back to the stove, gripping the handle of the skillet with both hands to give the food one final, dramatic flip. He lifted his leg slightly to catch his balance.

Pffffrt-prrfffrrrfrttt!!!

The sound was shockingly loud against the sizzle of the frying pan.

Bunny didn't even pause his cooking. He just kept stirring the eggs with a wooden spoon, completely unphased.

“Bunny! Right over the food?!” you cried out, immediately taking a giant step backward and swatting him on the lower back. “Are you serious right now?!”

“Hey, hey, watch the chef! And it wasn't over the food, it was directed away from the stove, por favor!” Bunny defended himself, bursting into a loud laugh. He turned around, holding the wooden spoon like a microphone

you groaned, covering your face with your hands, though a laugh was already bubbling up in your chest. Bunny smirked, stepping forward to pull your hands away from your face. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and swaying back and forth to the music.

“I don’t mind if you fart too ” bunny joked

You couldn't help but laugh, leaning into his embrace despite your mock annoyance. “If that's what you want”

Bunny blinked, “Wait,—”

Before he could finish his sentence, you gave his waist a tight, sudden squeeze, letting out a loud, answering pfft right against his sweatpants.

Bunny froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening in absolute delight before he howled with laughter, lifting you completely off your feet and spinning you around the kitchen.

“¡Eso es! That’s my love!” Bunny cheered, planting a giant, loud kiss right on your cheek.

Winter was a terrible time to live in Berlin. The once lively capital turned quieter, colder and more distant. The iced roads squelch under the soles of his shoes and he has to tighten his grip, allowing himself not to slip. 

Ever since they banned the usage of road salt, pebble stones were poured onto the icebound streets and somehow had to get the job done. Yet, they barely do anything—in fact they don’t do shit.

Michael feels the cold temperature rising to his head. Undoubtedly, his clothes are way too thin and flimsy for this weather, everyone would be able to tell at first glance. 

Not only is the scarf—if you could even call it that—not thick enough to keep him warm. It’s also that the jacket he wears isn’t suitable for this kind of weather and to make matters worse, his shoes are starting to fall apart—makes sense considering how long he’s had them. There were already holes that tore through the material of his shoes when he got them and now they’ve become too small for him to wear.

He has his old man to thank for that. 

There’s never enough food at home, every time he opens the fridge he’s met with the same disappointment. Even the fridge seems to mock him for the poor state he lives in. Not to mention they’re quite behind with this and last month’s rent. Heating costs, water costs the electricity bills — none of them could be paid. 

Other necessities like hygiene products, sufficient medical care or even school supplies weren’t covered by his father. While all his other classmates were attentively listening to what the teacher had to explain, he sat in the back of the class and scribbled onto a crumpled piece of paper he’d found on the floor. 

Ironically, there was never a shortage of alcohol at home. There’s not a single day where his drunkard of a father, sobers up to take over any form of responsibility. He’s willing to bet that his father doesn’t even know that it’s Michael’s birthday tomorrow. 

Everyone who indulges in alcohol is stupid. People drown in the essence of it until they’re no longer the same person. How do you even allow yourself to get to this point? Growing up with a father that would constantly be drunk made Michael develop a hatred for people who’d drink. To his dismay, Berlin wasn’t exactly the place where you could avoid it.

Matter of fact it was a paradise for the sorts of people he disliked. Ever since the legalisation of weed, the whole city reeks. People under the influence of something, doesn’t matter what, they’re all fucked in the mind. 

He brings up his hands to his face and exhales. The warm air—althought it’s not very helpful in matters of warming him up—makes him relax. That’s how his way to the U-Bahn proceeds, every now and then he’d rub his hands together before bringing them up to his face and breathe into them. 

If he’s lucky there wouldn’t be too many people around, it’s the night of Christmas Eve after all. Normal people with normal functioning families would spend their time together at home. You spend time with all your loved ones, sit around the dining table to enjoy a meal with them, and afterwards unwrap all the gifts that “Santa” brought.

He can’t even be mad. If he were to be honest, he’s envious. Christmas, the time of love and peace falls on the exact same day as his birthday. However, there was nothing loveable or peaceful about his life. All he’s ever known was rejection, disgust, violence. Whether it be from his peers or the adults around him. They all emitted a clear hatred against him.

Would anyone care if he disappeared? He doesn’t even need to think about it, because he knows the answer already. No one would even notice, who’s he kidding. He’s sure that his father would be happy. After all, there’s no point in living if it means having to continiue this shitty life. 

Sure, there was his football, but it’s just like Michael himself, another piece of trash that can be discared without a second thought. Living has no means or worth to it and he’s been proven one too many times that he has no worth either. 

That leaves the question: what is the point of living? 

Lost in his thoughts, he continues to walk down the concrete stairs that are stained with splotches of snow that are melting and turning into puddles of muddy water, until he reaches the platform. 

As he expected, there’s no one here. Maybe this was a sign. His thoughts have already consumed him, he found no reason to stay alive any longer. Simply, if his presence didn’t matter to anyone and he continues to live his life as a burden, then that must mean that only his absence would be seen as a sign of relief.

With that in mind he walks over to the train tracks, crossing over the white lines until he stands at the edge of the platform. There’s nothing to contemplate, nothing to reminisce before he decides to throw himself down the rails. His toes are already extending over the platform while his heels are still glued to the concrete. 

He’s already given up on everything, but somehow he can’t bring himself to end it. Why is he hesitating? The thought alone makes him furious, because there is no reason to live for him. So, why does he cling onto the hope that there is? How foolish.

The world passes him by like a train racing over the tracks. He puts his weight into the front and leans forward, expecting to be met with a heavy impact. But, instead of falling down and smelling rusted metal or track ballasts, the scent of tobacco embraces him. Someone’s hugging him from behind. He turns around and aggressively pushes them away, resulting in the person stumbling backwards. 

From the silhouette and the way you dress Michael guesses that person who just held him is a girl. Not to mention, quite a drunk girl. “Das ist was ich krieg’, obwohl ich dich gerade gerettet hab?” (That’s what I get for saving you now?) You hiccup before erupting into a fit of laughter.

Annoyed by your carefree attitude, he can’t help but feel mad. “Ich hab’ nicht danach gefragt, gerettet zu werden.” (I didn’t ask to be saved.) He snarls at you, and he fully expects you to leave, but to his surprise you don’t even seem to acknowledge it. 

All your mind is fixated on is sitting down and relaxing. The way you move and handle yourself—it’s sloppy and you look like you’re about to trip any second now, but Michael is wary of you, so all he does is simply watch your next move, instead of helping.

It’s actually quite impressive that you’re somehow able to sit yourself down, considering that you’re holding an open bottle without spilling it. Your head slumps against the metal seat, before spreading yourself out and taking up the majority of the room on the seat.

Suddenly your head pops up and for the first time this night, Michael can properly see your face. The word pretty flashes in his mind, but he’s quick to get rid of it. “Du hättest sowieso warten müssen.” (You would’ve needed to wait anyway.) You flash him a sleazy smile and nod your head towards the display panel. 

He follows your eyes towards the screen, it’s only then that he notices the bright orange moving text at the bottom. “Aufgrund von Eisbildung an den Stromschienen verspätet sich die Bahn. Wir bitten um Ihr Verständnis.” (Due to ice formation on the rails, the train is delayed. We ask for your understanding.)

He clicks his tongue before looking away. Could this situation be any worse? First he gets interrupted, secondly the person who saves him is a drunkard and lastly she’s trying to embarrass him after he had just considered taking his life.

“Aber jetzt mal im Ernst,” (But now in all seriousness,) you start off, taking a sip from the blue colored beverage that you hold in your hand. “Hugo” is boldly written on the sticker, underneath a percentage he can’t quite make out. “Geht’s dir denn gut?” (Are you doing well?) you ask him with curious eyes. “Offensichtlich nicht.” (Obviously not.) He retorts in anger and this time he expects you to get mad. 

Maybe you’d scream back or you’d be hurt and go away, but you stay. You remain seated and the corners of your lips tug upwards into an understanding smile. “Du musst nicht drüber reden, wenn du nicht willst, ‘tschuldigung. Ich check schon.” (You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to, sorry. I get it.)

There's radio silence after that, all he does is join you on the bench, still he makes sure that an empty seat remains in between the two of you. Sure, a tiny part of him feels bad, because there is someone who is willing to hear him out. He doubts that he’d open up to you, after all, he’s not entitled to do so, but your offer seems genuine that it makes him feel sorry for you. Albeit, you’re just drunk. You probably won’t even remember him the next day, so what's the use of it?

Seeing that he has nothing to say, your gaze drifts away from him, upwards to the analog clock that hangs next to the display panel. It’s 12 o’clock. A smile forms on your face and you let out a huff. “Frohe Weihnachten.” (Merry Christmas.) Not waiting for his response you chug down another sip of your drink, before wiping your mouth with the end of your sleeve.

He just nods in acknowledgement and stares down at the concrete floor to avoid looking at you. But, just because one of his senses is focused elsewhere, doesn’t mean that he completely drowns out his surroundings. 

No matter how much you try to cover them, Michael still hears your muffled cries. He’s the last person to run to when you need comfort, helping over sentimental and emotional people wasn’t one of his strengths. 

At first he tries to ignore it; he pretends not to hear you, but as soon as your breath starts to stagger, he allows himself to cast a glance in your direction. In the empty seat stands your now almost empty Hugo bottle completely abandoned. “Boah, nee.” (Hell, no.) He sighs in disbelief. Just now you were a cheery drunk and now you had to be a sad one?

But, leaving you here alone would be wrong. At least when there are tears streaking down your face, you look like you’re about to hyperventilate and when he’s partially “indebted” to you.

Remembering how you approached him, Michael attempts to do the same. “Äh, geht’s?” (Uh, you good?) But that seems to only make it worse, because you only start to heave more. He’s barely able to make out what you’re saying, there are incoherent bits, but because you keep interrupting yourself with sobs it’s hard to understand. 

“Es muss doch wohl auch alles schief gehen.” (Just everything has to go wrong.) Using the palms of your hands you try to dry your eyes and in the process of doing so, you accidentally smudge the bits of mascara around the corners of your eyes.

"Zuerst kam die Bahn zu spät und dann als ich endlich beim Casting war, wollten die schon aufhören,” (First the train was late and then when I finally got to the casting they already wanted to wrap up.) You sniffle and Michael notices how swollen your eyes have become. “Aber ich hab’s doch irgendwie hingekriegt, sie zu überzeugen. Die wollten dann halt meine Portfolios sehen und dann hab’ ich erst gemerkt, dass ich sie vergessen hab’.” (But I somehow managed to convince them. They wanted to see my portfolios and only then did I realise that I forgot them.) 

You stop mid-sentence again and from what he’s gathered, you seem to be a model—an aspiring one, it appears. “Doch die meinten dann, dass ich sie auch später schicken kann und erstmal zeigen soll, wie ich laufe, und oh mein Gott, digga, wie der größte Hurensohn bin ich hingefallen, und dann, dann war’s, ja,” (But they told me that I could also send them those later and show them how I walk first, and oh my god, i tripped like the biggest son of a bitch, and then, then it was, yeah.) You try to catch your breath afterward, before taking a small sip of the blue Hugo.

You’re clearly drunk and not in the right state of mind. He can’t stand being around the likes of you, people who try to make their problems disappear by drinking them away. If you just end up crying, throwing a fit or becoming aggressive, then you should just avoid it. He never saw the appeal of it and never will.

Unsure of what to do, he remains quiet and lets his eyes wander. Honestly, listening to your sob story just made him feel irritated and a tad bit annoyed, because wasn’t all of that preventable? Some preparation would’ve fixed all of that. However he bites back the urge to say that. Maybe if it had been someone else he would’ve expressed it, but he’s expecting you to start crying again if he were to tell you and he doesn’t want to deal with that.

His eyes roam around until they land on the hand you’re holding the glass bottle in. And that’s when he catches a glimpse of the back of your hand—there are tiny dark spots adorning your skin. They aren’t very obvious, in fact they’re so subtle that he’s intrigued to ask what they are.

Although what he wasn’t expecting was for you to speak up. “Willst du?” (Do you want?) You tilt your head to the side, offering him a small smile along with the bottle of Hugo. Michael can’t help but think to himself that you look completely different to the version of you a minute ago. You’re like a completely different person.

Also, it seems like you misread his curiosity, because it wasn’t the alcohol he was eyeing. He refuses your offer on the spot with a disgusted remark. “Ich bin nicht mal alt genug für den Scheiß.” (I’m not even old enough for this shit.) And for some reason that is what makes your eyes widen in surprise.

“Hä, wie alt bist du denn?” (Huh, how old are you then?) You ask dumbfounded and he can see how your grip on the bottle tightens. “15,” he pauses for a moment. “16 seit paar Minuten.” (16 since a few minutes.) Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, before you start to laugh. “Niemals. Du laberst doch.” (No way. You’re lying.) 

Unlike you who’s laughing, Michael didn’t really see what was so funny about it and shook his head. For some reason that makes you giggle even more and he’d be lying if the sound of it didn’t do something to him. 

“Hab zumindest gedacht, dass wir gleich alt sind. Dachte, du bist safe 17.” (I thought at least we’d be the same age. Was so sure that you’re 17.) You continue your laughing spree for a good minute until you stop. It looks like you realized something. “Alles Gute zum Geburtstag dann!” (Happy Birthday then!) You say in a sing-song voice and for some reason a small smile slips. “Danke.” (Thanks.)

However, he should’ve known that nothing good comes out of your mouth, because next thing he knows you’re offering alcohol again. “Schau mal, jetzt bist du alt genug, um zu trinken!” (Look now you’re old enough to drink!) you tease him and extend the bottle towards him, but he’s still adamant on refusing you. “Alter, pack das weg.” (Dude, put that away.) He grumbles and you can’t help but laugh.

Still, there’s something bothering him, he doesn’t realize how long he’s staring, until you cough, seemingly having caught on. “Brandflecken von Kippen.” (Burnmarks from cigarettes.) You set down the glass bottle and hold up your hand into the light to look at the marks. A smile forms on your face, but it’s different from the one you wore before. It’s a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Ist immer noch eine schlechte Gewohnheit.” (It’s still a bad habit.) You chuckle before tucking the hand into the pocket of your jacket, as if you try to gloss over it. However, it seems like, because his curiosity got the better of him, yours is too, because this time it’s not your hand which is in the spotlight, but to his dismay, his; your gaze has settled on his hand.

He doesn’t even have to look down to know what you’re referring to. There are fresh marks grazing his damaged knuckles. It’s disgusting how well he remembers the taste of the mixed spit with stomach acid and how they were frothing at his mouth. The way his knuckles hit the back of his throats before purging, it’s a habit he's not sure he can live without. 

It’s almost masochistic—inflicting pain towards yourself because you feel like you deserve it. It serves as a reminder for him that he’s being punished for something and needs to do better. Although, not because he enjoys it, but because he feels like that’s the only thing he’s deserving of. 

Before he can say anything you’re already speaking. “Jedenfalls, komm mal mit.” (Anyway, come with me.) And just like that you switched the topic of the conversation. Whether you knew that he wasn’t gonna open up to you like prior and took it into consideration this time or you just didn’t care for his answer—it didn’t really matter to him, because he was thankful that you didn’t snoop around more for whatever reason it may be.

And he does — he comes along with you. He’s known you for less than an hour, you caught him in a crucial moment and talked to him—there’s nothing more to your fleeting relationship. Sticking around with a drunk 17 year old girl wasn’t the smartest decision he’s ever made, but it was better than staying with his shitty father who’d only order him around or physically abuse him as soon as he got home.

Any place is better than going back home. Whether that be staying in an underground U-Bahn station, walking around on the snow clad streets of Berlin or sitting in front of a Späti as he’s waiting for the stranger he just met.

As if on cue, you appear. In your hand you hold a glass battle, however it doesn’t appear to be alcohol this time. You sit opposite of him and set the bottle down the table, motioning for him to take it. “Alles Gute.” (Congrats.) He recognizes the label—it’s a Fritz-Kola, yet, he’s confused by your gesture.

Seeing that he’s not taking the bottle, your eyes widen as if realition hit you. You rummage with the pockets of your jacket and take out a bedazzled lighter, before placing it below the lid of the bottle and popping it open. “Hier.” (Here.) You hand him the now open bottle and he takes it from you. 

After that the two of you just sit in silence. The neon lights that are illuminating the shop cast a nice glow on you and he can’t help but watch as you precisely slide your tongue over the tobacco filled rolling paper to seal it. 

Eventually, he does speak up, for a reason he’s unsure of himself. “Warum willst du eigentlich modeln?” (Why do you even want to model?) You think about it for a while and take a drag from your poorly rolled cigarette. “Hmm, gute Frage." (Hmm, good question.) And you have the audacity to just laugh about it. “Du hast nicht mal ‘nen Grund?” (You don’t even have a reason?) He deadpans, because he’d at least expect you to have some sort of serious motivation, after crying over it not too long ago.

“Muss man denn für alles einen Grund haben?” (Does one need to have a reason for everything?) You ash your cigarette, the remaints landing in the ash tray on the table. The carefree smile you wear on your lips confuses him, because if there was no reason for doing it, then why would you still bother? “

Your gaze lingers on him for a while until you speak up. “Ist zwar mega banal, aber berühmt zu sein und von Leuten beneidet zu werden, ist schon echt cool. Checkst du?” (It’s kinda silly, but being famous and having people envy you is pretty cool. Do you get me?) You chuckle in amusement, but he just lets out an exasperated sigh at your reasoning.

“Ich check schon, aber es ist jetzt nicht so als ob’s einfach wär’.” (I do get it, but it’s not like it’s easy.) He argues, but your smile doesn’t falter, in fact it only seems to widen at his remark. “Hab ich auch nicht behauptet,” (I never said it was.) you retort and put out your cigarette by drilling the burning end onto the table. “aber wo ist sonst der Spaß?” (but where’s the fun then?)

He didn’t expect that to be your answer and he’d lie if he said that it didn’t affect his way of seeing things. For the first time in his life, Michael sees a new side of this gruesome world. 

Unlike you Michael was not someone who had any goals—someone like him didn’t dare to dream.

“Außerdem ist es nicht unmöglich.” (Also, it’s not like it’s impossible.) Your words catch him off guard and he cocks his head to the side, questioning your statement. “Meinst du?” (You think so?) Humans had limits to them, whether it wasn’t ones they set for themselves there’d always be something else that blocks the path ahead. “Nichts ist unmöglich.” (Nothing’s impossible.) You shrug in simplicity and Michael wonders how you can say that so easily.

Do you realize the weight your words carry; are you aware that you just tipped over his world and created a new maxim for him?

But, before he can ask you any further you start to cough. It gets increasingly worse and you press your hand over your mouth as if suppressing something. “Ist alles gut?” (Are you okay?) He asks, hoping you don’t catch onto the worry that clings at his words. You just hum and nod your head up and down, although it was quite obvious that you weren’t doing good.

“Gib mir ‘nen Momen--” (Give me a momen–”) You take off the hand over your mouth to assure, not realizing the following consequences. The way you were coughing was scarily familiar, it’s something he’d often see his father do.

He leaned back just enough to give you space, in case you’d make a mess on the table. Luckily for him (and probably the owners of the shop) you turned your head to the side and vomited onto the pavement before letting your head fall down the table.

“Boah, ich bin so knock.” (Fuck, I’m so through.) You groan and he’s surprised you can even lift your head again before throwing up on the sidewalk once more. Your head slumps back onto the table and Michael just sits there for a moment in disbelief.

This has to be some sort of joke.

—

He comes to learn your name when he arrives at the ER with you clinging onto his now vomit stained jacket. You weren’t unconscious, but claiming that you were all sane would be a lie. At least you were responsive, even if that was only in the form of whines.

It’s surprisingly crowded, honestly he didn’t expect that so many people would be rushing to the ER during Christmas. Fortunately, you received treatment quite early. 

In the meantime Michael sat outside in the bleak hallways, pondering. He’s got to have some, if not several screws loose to drag a complete stranger to the ER — could you even be considered strangers at this point anymore? Aside from that there’s this weird feeling in his chest.

He’s on edge because he doesn’t know what’s happening to you and that might be the worst thing. How come he’s grown to care for you? The realization bothers him and he balls his fists together to stay calm. His nails press into the rough skin of his palm and the sting is the only thing that keeps Michael distracted from his thoughts.

There are rapid steps echoing through the hallway and all of a sudden there are two adults standing in front of him, a man and a woman. The woman’s eyes flicker around the surroundings and land on the room number. 

“Ist Frau [Nachname] hier?” (Is Ms. [Surname] here?) She asks in a worried tone, still trying to catch her breath. Michael just nods his head in agreement and both the man and the woman sigh in relief. “Dann musst du wohl die Person sein, die unsere Tochter hier hingebracht hat. Vielen Dank.” (Then you must be the person who brought our daughter here. Thank you very much.) 

The pair introduces themselves as your parents as they profusely continue to apologize to him for the problems you caused. Yet, that’s the least thing he’s stuck up on. It’s the fact that Michael is not used to being treated like this; all he’s ever known was distaste. But, now standing in front of him were two adults who thanked him full heartedly and didn't mark him off as a piece of trash.

He simply swallows and nods. “Es war nix.” (It was nothing.) The tips of his ears are reddening and he can feel his face getting warmer. He blames it on the cold. Standing there awkwardly and unsure of what to do now, he merely coughs. “Ich würd’ dann jetzt gehen.” (I’d leave now then.) 

But before he can go, your mother intervenes.

“Darf ich fragen, wie du heißt?” (May I ask what your name is?) His eyes slightly widened for a moment, because he was under the assumption that your parents were only being this nice for the sake of being polite. “Michael.” He responds after a while and just nods, attitude aloof and relaxed, but internally he’s just cringing at his own awkwardness. 

Your mother gives him a soft smile and he immediately spots the resemblance between the two of you. “Dann vielen Dank Michael.” (Then thank you very much Michael.) He can’t wrap his head around having parents who are this sincere. 

Naturally, because Michael never experienced anything like this ever on his own. In response he musters up the courage to give her an awkward smile, before turning his head.

“Mach’s gut und hab noch ein schönes Weihnachtsfest!” (Goodbye and have a nice Christmas celebration!) Your parents wave him off as he walks along the gloomy corridors of the ER. 

Michael was opposed to celebrating his birthday, let alone acknwleding it. It meant having to come to the terms that he was indeed born into this shithole of a world and has lived his life doing nothing. Every year is just another painful reminder.

Ironically it's on the same day as Christmas, a festival that's supposed to be celebrated by many. But that was never the case. His father wasn’t interested in Michael as a person in the slightest, all he was, was a tool. 

A day that was supposed to celebrate his birth? For him it’s never been anything else than a slap in the face that reminds him that no one cares for him.

However, this year might have been the sole exception. You were the first person who wished him a happy birthday tonight and maybe actually the first person to ever do so. 

His heart beats in his chest as he thinks about you. It’s a feeling he hasn’t familiarized with yet, but he doesn’t dislike it per se. The way you laugh about his stupid remarks, how fast you talk when youre excited and how you get too close to him without realizing it, it makes his heart flutter.

He wonders if you remember grabbing onto his hand on the way to the ER and refusing to let go. How you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck in the waiting room. You practically wailed when they wouldn’t let him go into the room with you. Maybe you’re already doing better now and finally resting.

At the thought of that content fills him, but it’s easily washed away by a wave of insecurity. Would you even remember him after you woke up? Even the mere thought of it makes him feel uneasy, because no matter how much he tries to deny it, he’s grown to care about you. 

No one makes him feel the same way you do. He supposes, that this is what love is — the one and only thing he's always secretly wished for. 

If this — if you, were this year’s gift to him, to make up for all the other years he spent drowning in the endless pool called loneliness, then he’d make sure to keep you all to himself and get you to remember him.

After all, "Nichts ist unmöglich.” (Nothing’s impossible.) He’ll beat the odds for you and make the impossible possible if that means being with you.

END NOTE: you know how we see michael chokes himself in one of the chapters, i wanted to incorporate that here to make it look like a habit he's been actively engaging in since early on, but switched it up. basically its become a coping mechanism.

Sae just sighed internally, wanting to move on, he would walk out if he could, but that damn manager has been onto him begging for him to at-least finish the interview rather than walking out.

“Itoshi-san!”A reporter nearly launched himself out of his chair.

“Would you mind commenting on the viral clip currently trending online?”

“What clip?” He questioned the reporter,raising his eyebrow.

“The one where a drone flew past you during training.”

“The video had accumulated over forty million views.”

One eyebrow lifted, while hid eyes narrowed, he was genuinely… deeply confused

“But, why ?” he asked the reporter , his voice being flat as ever.

If he remembered that day, nothing noteworthy had happened. A drone had flown too close during training and it was the associatation for some advertisement promo and he just looked at it.

That was all.

So why did forty million people, decide to watch him do something so ordinary was a beyond his understanding.

His gaze slowly swept across the room, silently searching for someone—anyone—to explain why simply looking at a drone had somehow become something people wanted to watch for entertainment.

The reporters just stared back, holding their breath, and they were sweating just to avoid his gaze.

The confusion lingered for five seconds before it settled back into the usual unreadable expression that he wore.

He dropped his gaze back down to the microphone in front of him, entirely checked out of the conversation.“People really watch anything.”

Every reporter including the manager blinked.

And The reporter hesitated to answer.

“People just really liked your expression.”

“My expression.”

“Yes.”

Sae stared at him.

“I was just looking at the drone.”

“Yes! Exactly!” The reporter smiled chuckling to himself. “People are very curious about your ‘RBF’ , it went popular, there are many compilations of it.”

“Did you know about it?”

“I did not.”

“Well…the hashtag #SaeLooksDone is currently number one worldwide on the internet.”

Then another reporter shot a question.

“How do you feel about fans saying your stare could make someone kneel six hundred times at their ancestors’ graves?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“People are also wondering if you’ve ever looked happy.”

“I’m happy, I just smile with my heart.” Sae replied—because that was indeed the truth.

Leaving the reporters in the room glance at each other.

Then a third reporter raised her hand.

“There’s a rumor that you haven’t smiled in public for years. Is that true?”

“No.”

“When was the last time then, Mr. Itoshi?”

Sae actually thought about it. “…Probably…”

The room leaned forward. “…Next question.”

Every keyboard in the room erupted into frantic typing.

Writing down : “Itoshi Sae does not remember when was the last time we smiled in public, maybe in his life.”

The poor PR manager looked moments away from filing his resignation by not wanting to deal with Sae Itoshi publicity.

“Itoshi-san!” Another hand shot into the air.

“People are saying your face never changes—would you say that is not true?”

“That is not true because my face does change.”

“Could you please, demonstrate?”

Then silence filled the room, Sae just blinked once. then another blink. he just blinked two times.

“There.” And The reporters collectively froze. Even the cameras stopped flashing.

“Was that it?” One of the reporter’s questioned, sweating whether he will be fine asking that question.

“Yes.”

Then someone accidentally snorted in the back row. Making Sae slowly turned his head toward the sound.

The person immediately shut up.

Another journalist nervously adjusted his glasses.

“So… would you say you have… um… resting… you know…”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“I have a face.”

Making the reporter who was already nervous just stare at him.

“I also don’t understand that question.”

His manager desperately tried to regain control, “Perhaps we should move back to football—”

“No.”

And every head turned.

“I don’t mind.”

Sae looked around the room with genuine curiosity. “This is entertaining, so go on, talk more.”

The reporters all collectively nodded along .

“I’d also like to know why we’re discussing my face.”

For forty painfully long minutes later, the conference finally ended. And the whole entire time was spent talking about his own face.

The moment Sae climbed into the waiting car, he pulled out his phone.

Twenty -seven unread messages.

NOTIFICATIONS: Julian Loki

mon ami

congratulations

your face has gone viral again

NOTIFICATIONS :Michael Kaiser

this you? 😐

fucking bum.

NOTIFICATIONS : Luna

Someone made a six-hour YouTube compilation of you looking disappointed, lol.

NOTIFICATIONS: Oliver Aiku

“There it changed" bro you cannot just blink twice and call it a demonstration

NOTIFICATIONS: number not saved (Bunny)

I think you looked great!

NOTIFICATIONS : Ryusei Shidou

LMAOOOOOOOOOO

CHECK THE EDIT’S I SENT YOU.

NOW.

He regret listening to him, he shouldn’t have opened it at all. Against his better judgment, Sae tapped it. The video had over ten million likes. The creator’s pinned comment sat at the top of the screen in frantic capital letters : “OH MY GOD THANK YOU FOR THE LIKES I’M LITERALLY SOBBING.”

Sae stared at it for a second before pressing play. Unlike the edits his teammates usually sent to mock him, this one was… surprisingly well-made.

It was an edit with the song “Honey” by KARA. It was the complete opposite of the intimidating image people usually associated with him.

The second edit appeared on his screen.

It was footage someone (Luna) had secretly taken on the team bus during a trip through Spain. And Sae was asleep. His head rested against the window,and his hair slightly messy from the ride, the afternoon sunlight spilling across his face.

The editor had slowed the footage down, added tiny white sparkles around him, and added the song “how to pretend” by Lucy Bedroque

“He's so pretty I'm actually crying,” he saw that comment while he was scrolling.

The next edit showed him in Madrid. Where he was standing at a street festival holding a churro, and having a drawn on spain’s flag on his cheek while he was silently chewing while staring off into the distance.

There were more sparkles and little animated hearts floated around his head.

“He looks like the prettiest person alive.”

“He is just three apples tall!”

Then he clicked on another edit. It was during training, and he had absentmindedly pushed his reddish-pink hair away from his face before looking toward the camera for barely a second.

And the comments absolutely immediately exploded across the screen.

@saesbiggestfan: This edit cleared my skin, watered my plants, paid my taxes, and fixed my sleep schedule.

@ohnojamjam: How does someone look this pretty while doing absolutely nothing.

@saeitoshigivemeonechance: I need him to look at me like that at least once.

↳ @bluelocknewseasonwhen: Get out.

↳ @saeitoshigivemeonechance: No, hear me out, PLEASE

Sae's eyebrow twitched. He certainly didn't understand why millions of people were emotionally invested in a these edits of him.

“…People are strange…,” he muttered, exiting the app.

Immediately, another notification appeared. From Ryusei Shidou had sent a YouTube link. That was another lukewarm mistake that he did.

Sae clicked it.

Title of the video : Ranking Every Itoshi Sae Facial Expression (IMPOSSIBLE) Duration: 8:03

The video opened with overly dramatic, classical music was blasting in the video.

#1 Airport Sae

A frantic reporter accidentally bumped into his shoulder. Sae looked over, giving him a three-degree side-eye. The video frame froze and s red circle appeared and zoom in, into his face.

#2 Interview Sae

The reporter was trying to make a joke while Sae just looked at him deadpanned while the reporter looked like he wanted to bury his head in the sand.

#3 Match Sae

It was a match against Re Al and FC Barcha and the big screen panned onto Sae face and he was just standing there being in his own little world, having the same expression.

#4 Vacation Sae

Another trip the Re Al group took and they were in Seville enjoying their time while Sae was trailing along them and was told to smile so he raised his hands and did a peace sign wearing the same expression.

#5 Eight-Year-Old Sae

A old footage that was dug up by fans and it was an eight year old Sae winning another award and was forced to take a picture and smile, minutes passed and the audio picked up him muttering “lukewarm” while wearing the expression again.

The creator zoomed in on the eyes and mouth, meticulously comparing every single screenshot. And the creator of the video actually legitimately made an actual mathematical graph appeared on screen. “Base on pictures and videos of him Sae Itoshi Facial Expression Consistency: 96.67%”

Sae closed the video and opened the Gen XI group chat,

number not saved (Bunny) : Sae, did you know you got named “El chico japonés guapo de Madrid"

Michael Kaiser: Millions of people think you're pretty and you still look like a bum npc

Lorezno: yoo, Sae bro can I sell your pics?

Vivian Hugo: You look nice

Vivian Hugo sent a picture to the group chat

It was a picture of Sae from a photoshoot, wearing the same expression against a very cute background

Julian Loki: Oh woah, you got kawaified too Sae, just like me!

Teddy: What’s going on?

Sae swiped down to read the Twitter discourse Shidou was sending him bombing his notifications .

@iluvbluelock: This is why he doesn't have forehead wrinkles. His face literally never moves…

(This was completely false, because Sae moisturized every single night and have a skincare routine)

↳ @cantheitoshibrosreunite: i don’t think sooo, He actually has a daily routine skin care and in an interview he said that he moisturized every single night before sleeping or after games. He even has a morning routine!

@unbench_rinitoshi_pls: Itoshi Sae has two emotions: 😐 and 😐 which is happier but slightly to the left.

@saeitoshiplease_talk_to_rin: posted a meme joking about Sae Itoshi’s permanent resting bitch face, and RE Al Twitter absolutely ran with it. Within minutes, the tweet was flooded with thousands of likes and retweets, turning Japan's national treasure into a viral sensation.

@imaybe_like_bllk : why does sae always look like a corporate employee forced to attend a team-building exercise.

@football_clips: Y'all remember that Madrid festival photo where he looked like he genuinely wanted to not be there ? Fun fact: he was actually having the time of his life.

@ohno_saeis_behind_you: The original interview is somehow even funnier.

The poster posted the clip of the interview

Reporter: "Are you enjoy your time at the festival ?”

Sae: "yes, I’m enjoying my time."

Reporter: "...Then why do you look upset…?”

Sae: "I’m not, I enjoyed being here and and I look forward for more opportunities to participate in festivals."

↳ @Ilovesaeitoshi: HE WAS HAPPY. THAT WAS HIS HAPPY FACE.

↳ @Isagi_pleaseshower: LMAO YES HE WAS!!

@bluelock_is_cool: The day Sae smiles, Japan's economy will increase.

@rinitoshiilyyy: Maybe Rin thought Sae hated him because this is literally just his face.

↳ @rineyelashes: I suddenly understand Rin's entire childhood.

@iwanticecream_rn: Imagine introducing him to your parents.

↳ @Ihave_icecream: IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY

@thesaeitoshifan: I’m not kidding, I need him to look at me like that

↳ @whenwill_season_three_come: GET OUT.

↳ @saeitoshigivemeonechance: I GET YOU DW TWIN !!

Sae sighed heavily and closed the app. Right as he did, Shidou sent one final text. It was a grid meme of his face from today's press conference.

Hungry.

Hungry but in Spain.

Hungry but in Japan.

Hungry but you see your brother.

He locked his phone with a definitive click, he was not going to respond nor talk for awhile—but it did make him amused.

“…People have too much free time…”

Itoshi Sae genuinely believed…that he looked perfectly normal.

That there was nothing wrong at all and he was living a good life. He doesn’t seem to realize that he is blunt half of the time, even if he doesn’t mean it.

He leaned his head against the cool glass of the car window, closed his eyes, and began reviewing FC Barcha statistics in his head to finally get some peace, after a long tiring day.

It wasn’t his fault people can’t tell that he is happy, but it didn’t matter.

Thank you for reading٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶ !!

The camera then pans towards Chris Prince who was sitting and smiling beside Noel Noa.

“Let’s begin with the well loved ‘Perfect Hero,’ the ace of Manshine City… Chris Prince!”

Chris stood before anyone asked him to.

“So, Mr.Prince ,” the reporter smiled. “The media constantly praises your flawless physique, incredible public image, and unmatched confidence. How do you always manage to stay so incredibly cool… and more importantly… remain so humble?”

Chris closed his eyes, and took a deep breath,

“Well you see—”

And without warning, he tore his suit jacket off. Then, rip, his shirt while Chris stood proudly before the flashing cameras in nothing but perfectly sculpted abs.

“The answer—”Chris said, his voice dropping an octave. “Is discipline and love.” He then shifted into a side-chest pose. Flexing another time. "And an excellent skincare routine."

The reporter blinked twice, entirely speechless staring at Chris Prince’s abs and that was caught 4k by the camera man.

Chris looked directly into the lens of the nearest camera, flashing a blinding smile. “So remember, to take care of yourself .” He winked.

In the seat next to him, Lavinho was already leaning over, clutching his stomach as he laughed uncontrollably. Snuffy just sighed heavily, burying his face in his hand. While Noel Noa didn't even look up from his hands.

The reporter quickly pulled his eyes away from Chris's gleaming torso and recovered his professionalism.

“Well—uhm, thank you!” The reporter nodded, “speaking of your physique, people on the internet are loving your new commercial.”

The massive projector screen behind them lit up. And Chris immediately grinned, his eyes sparkling. “Oh. It's that commercial.”

On-screen, a dramatic, slow-motion video began to play. Of Chris Prince walking out of the ocean, while water cascade off his frame.

And his hair somehow remained perfectly coiffed despite it being wet, and his abs were fully on display. While He stared deep into the camera with smoldering intensity.

“People ask me...” the on-screen Chris murmured. “How do you have this beautiful?l He smiled a flawless, white smile. “I don't. Beauty stays me.”

The screen faded to black, and a sleek bottle appeared.

CHRIS PRINCE SIGNATURE 8-IN-1 PROTEIN SHAMPOO.

The voiceover returned with on screen prince saying, “For your hair... And, everything else.”

The commercial cut to black and absolute silence filled the press room.

The reporter slowly turned back to the real-life, shirtless Chris. “People have been making edits of this in the internet, what do you have to say?”

Chris nodded confidently, “I’ve seen many edits and, I’d say do more!” He winked at the camera.

The reporter cleared his throat loudly. "Ahem... Next, we have the world's number one player... Noel Noa."

Noa looked exactly the same as he had twenty minutes ago. His arms were crossed, his expression was completely blank, and he hadn't reacted to a single piece of Chris's display.

“Mr. Noa,”the reporter smiled nervously, trying to reset the mood. “As the greatest football player in the world, what do you think you would be if you weren't a football player?”

“A virgin,” Noa said.The reporter froze. His pen hovered over his notepad as a stunned silence fell over the room.

“...Excuse me? Could you... elaborate on that?”

“No.”

The producer burst into a loud, booming laugh, which instantly triggered the rest of the media room.

The reporter couldn't help it anymore—he wiped a tear of laughter from his eye, trying to compose himself before moving on to the next question .

The reporter swallowed hard and forced a tight smile, He quickly scrambled to find a new question.

“Right... well, moving on! You scored five goals on your last game, Noa! You must be absolutely ecstatic, over the moon, feeling like a god?”

“It was adequate,” Noa answered instantly, without a hint of hesitation. “Adequate?”

The reporter blinked. “Five goals in a single match is just... adequate?”

“Yes, it was adequate because the ball hit the back of the goal.”

“That is its purpose.” The reporter cleared his throat, trying to pivot to a deeper, more human angle. “ i see. Well, what would you say is your greatest motivation out there on the pitch?”

“Winning.”

“And... after winning?”

“Winning again.”

“And outside of football?”

“Sleep.” The reporter nodded slowly, desperate to find a shred of passion. But the reporter just nodded and looked at the production crew and the reporter awkwardly chuckled, the sound echoing hollowly through his microphone while , Noel Noa just dead-stared at him, completely unblinking.

Desperate to escape the awkwardness, the reporter cleared his throat loudly.

“Ahem! Well... let’s move on to our next Master Striker. Is Marc Snuffy!”

Snuffy leaned forward, While The reporter beamed, gesturing to the massive screen. "

“Snuffy, you are known as a tactical mastermind, and well loved figure.”

“But we dug into the archives, and we have a little surprise from your early days. Let's take a look at this picture of you from your youth club!”

The screen lit up.

It was, without a doubt, the most horrendous picture ever taken of a human being.

A teenage Snuffy stared out at the audience.

He had an aggressive, patchy bowl cut, and a terrible case of puberty acne, and a youth jersey that was three sizes too big, making his neck look like a single blade of grass.

To top it off, he was fiercely crossing his eyes and holding up a peace sign.

The entire press room went completely silent.

Snuffy’s professional smile vanished instantly. His face went entirely pale.

“Oh my god,” Snuffy face palmed

Lavinho gasped, leaning forward. He stared at the screen, clutched his chest, and then let out a laugh so violent it sounded like a dying bird. "

“HAHAHA! WHAT IS THAT?! Snuffy, you looked so different ”

Chris Prince leaned over too, inspecting the screen. “Wow. And I thought my teenage years were awkward.”

“Snuffy, mate... where did your hairline go back then?“

“Turn it off,” Snuffy muttered, “this was a long time ago,”

The reporter, sweating profusely under the awkward tension, frantically gestured to the production crew. "Yes, uh, let's change the screen! Moving swiftly along to our final Master Striker... Lavinho!"

The horrendous teenage photo of Snuffy vanished, replaced by a video file.

Lavinho instantly sat up, a massive grin spreading across his face. “Lavinho,” the reporter began, adjusting his glasses as the video started to play.

““Lavinho, last weekend you hosted a celebration after your club’s victory.”

“The media has… quite a few questions regarding your behavior.”

The screen showed pure, chaos. The video clip started with Lavinho standing on top of a grand piano, he was aggressively dancing while screaming lyrics in Portuguese, completely hyperactive.

And in the background, three of his professional teammates were trying to keep up with him and a whole bunch of people invited were shouting hyping him up.

Suddenly, Lavinho sprinted across the top of the piano, and executed a massive, chaotic front flip right off the instrument, while shouting at the top of his lungs.

one teammate could be heard saying.

“Don’t—”

Lavinho sprinted and jumped. Performing an unnecessary front flip off the piano while yelling,

“VIVA O FUTEBOL!”

The video paused on a blurry frame of Lavinho mid-air, completely upside down.

“Care to explain, Lavinho?” the reporter asked, trying to sound authoritative.

“Many critics are questioning if this was an appropriate behavior for a team captain during a high-stakes tournament.”

Lavinho stared at the paused image, “That flip was cleaner than I remembered.”

“Well—I came, I saw, and I conquered or came, wise words of Mr.world wide”Lavinho leaned into the microphone.

“And…if your celebrations don’t look a little ridiculous…”

He pointed proudly at the frozen image of himself suspended upside down in midair. “…did you really celebrate?”

The reporter slowly lowered his cue cards, accepting defeat. “Well, that is all folks—I think that’s all the time we have today.”

“Thank you to Chris Prince, Noel Noa, Marc Snuffy, and Lavinho for joining us.”

And the camera panned to the three of them sitting down, Chris flexed one last time for the camera.

Snuffy noodded patting chris’s back and Lavinho waved both hands enthusiastically.

Noa had already left the stage thirty seconds earlier.

And The broadcast faded to black.

The Internet, approximately four minutes later.

────୨ৎ────

@chrisprince_comeback: Chris Prince ripping off another shirt on live TV for the 37th time, lol.

↳ @needhimistggg: I’M NOT COMPLAINING ABOUT IT!

↳ @lol_lol: I’m a guy and I love Chris Prince, genuinely think he is one of the finest man out there.

↳ @chrisweneedyousm: WE NEED CHRIS PRINCE ON A KALVIN KLEIN PROMO PLEASEEEEE!!! @kalvinkleinofficial

↳ @kalvinkleinofficial: maybe…

@Iwanticecream_sobad: Does Chris Prince’s shampoo actually work or is everyone buying it because he’s shirtless?

↳ @myhair_smells_so_nice: It actually helps lol.

↳ @idonotplay_abtbllk: Bought it as a joke. But my hair has never looked better.

↳ @ChrisPrinceOfficial: You’re welcome.

@julianlooki_ily: Julian Loki missing this interview was probably the smartest decision anyone made today.

↳ @julianlokithegoat: Bro chose Champions League football over whatever THIS was.

↳ @weneed_to_see_more_julianloki: He probably opened Twitter after the match and immediately closed the app.

↳ @vivienandjulian: He would’ve left after Chris took his shirt off.

@noel_and_ego_lore_pls: I CANNOT WITH NOEL NOA

↳ @ego_getbetter:“A virgin,” bro…

@we_luv_snuffy: Marc Snuffy was not that BAD

@canwe_see_Lavinho_again: I love Lavinho sm

↳ @look_behind_you: i met him irl and he laughs so loudly.

────୨ৎ────

Itoshi Rin – “You Look Just Like Sae”

Ever since the Blue Lock vs. Japan U-20 match, Rin Itoshi had become one of the most recognizable young footballers in the country. Unfortunately, that also meant having to deal with the media and broadcasters.

This was precisely why he was currently sitting on a comfortable couch, staring across at the host. The interviewer sat in a large armchair, smiling politely. “Rin, thank you for joining us today.”

Rin gave a short nod. “Thanks.”

It wasn't a well-kept secret that Rin Itoshi was an awkward teenager.  He had received media training, but from the looks of it, he still had absolutely no idea what he was doing. 

He was trying to be as well-behaved as possible, simply nodding and answering questions in short bursts.

The interview began normally enough. It was a standard “get to know the Blue Lock players” segment.

Favorite food.

Favorite memories.

How he prepared before matches.

Everything was going surprisingly well. Until, that is, the host brought him up.

Everyone knew who “he” was. It was his older brother, Sae Itoshi. Rin had famously stated before that if he were stuck on a deserted island with Sae, he wouldn't even know what to say, and would probably just try to settle a score. 

His teammates knew better than to bring up Sae in front of him. Bachira had tried it once; he still regretted it.

“So…” the interviewer started, leaning forward.

“Many fans say you and your big brother, Sae Itoshi, look almost identical.”

Rin answered before the sentence could even finish. “We don’t.”

A giant screen lit up behind him.

PHOTO #1

A picture of Sae and Rin standing side-by-side after a youth tournament. With the Same teal eyes, same  long eyelashes.

The only real difference was their facial expressions. Both were sticking their tongues out at the camera because someone behind the lens had apparently told them to. 

Rin stared at the screen, flatly refusing to admit the obvious. “We don’t.”

The producer clicked to the next slide.

PHOTO #2

The brothers were sitting on a park bench, both glaring fiercely at a seagull for some reason, it was because Rin’s ice cream cone had dropped to the ground, leaving Sae to hand over his own cone while maintaining a death stare at the bird. Rin was perfectly copying his big brother's glare.

“We don’t.” Rin repeated again. 

Click.

PHOTO #3

A photo from elementary school. Sae was standing with his arms crossed. A tiny Rin stood right beside him, crossing his arms in the exact same manner, smiling brightly as he looked up at his big brother.

“That was not…” Rin trailed off.

Click.

PHOTO #4

Both of them fast asleep during a family road trip. The brother were next to each other sleeping in the same position.

Same slight frown. Same hand tucked neatly beneath their cheeks. 

The interviewer covered a smile. “You even sleep the same way.”

“We really don—“

Click.

PHOTO #5

A photo of Rin and Sae from their childhood, being completely smiley together and holding hands.

“Look at the two of you, so cute,” the interviewer cooed.

Click.

The next picture filled the screen. It was newborn Rin, fresh out of the hospital. He was bright pinkish-red, wrinkly, and his tiny fists were clenched tightly. He looked remarkably upset about the mere concept of existing.

The interviewer blinked. “And would you like to explain this?”

For the first time during the entire interview, Rin's composure cracked. “Where did you get that?”

The interviewer smiled innocently. “Your mother.”

“Delete it.”

“Oh, we have another one.” The interviewer ignored Rin who was now, tweaking out.

Click.

Newborn Sae. Also bright red. Also incredibly wrinkly. He was making the exact same grumpy expression, his tiny tongue sticking out slightly.

Click.

The next slide placed the two baby pictures side-by-side. The only visible difference was the color of the hospital blankets and the fact that Sae's mouth was open a bit more.

“Delete both.”

“We can’t.”

“And Why?”

“They’re already online.”

Rin slowly closed his eyes, inhaling sharply.

“Actually,” the interviewer added, “your brother sent us a picture too when we reached out to him. It's a photo of you with your tongue out, trying to copy him.”

The interviewer hurriedly continued before Rin could explode. “Before you leave, we actually asked Sae Itoshi one question beforehand and he responded.”

Rin immediately frowned. “Why?”

The screen switched to a pre-recorded video clip. Sae sat in front of a camera with his usual unreadable, detached expression.

An off-screen voice asked, “People often compare you and Rin. What do you think?”

Sae answered without a shred of hesitation. “He copies me.”

Rin immediately leaned toward the studio monitor, his eyes wide. “I WHAT?”

On the screen, Sae continued calmly, “When he was little... he doesn’t like people knowing, but he copied how I stood. How I put my tongue out. It was cute. And whenever he grumbles now…” Sae looked directly into the camera lens. “…I’m reminded of myself.”

Rin looked utterly horrified and disgusted, Deep down, he knew it was true—he often deadpanned and grumbled in the exact same way his big brother did.

The interviewer slowly pulled out another sheet of photos. “We found… several examples.”

Click.

Tiny Rin, about four years old, standing right behind Sae and making the exact same grumpy face.

Click.

Sae drinking a juice box. Rin drinking a juice box in the exact same way.

Click.

Sae sitting with one knee raised. Rin sitting beside him in the exact same pose.

Click.

Sae glaring at someone off-camera. Rin glaring in the exact same direction.

“We don’t,” Rin muttered, ignoring every picture being shown to him.

Click.

A teenage Sae after scoring a goal. A teenage Rin after scoring a goal. Neither was smiling. Both were fixing their hair with the exact same hand gesture.

The interviewer couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “So… you’re saying you’ve never copied your brother?”

“No.”

At that exact moment, Rin absentmindedly crossed his arms over his chest.

The producer quietly pulled up a final split-screen on the monitor. On the left was Sae, crossing his arms. On the right was Rin, doing it the exact same way in real-time.

The interview ended right there.

Rin stormed out of the studio twenty minutes early, immediately calling his mother to demand why on earth she had agreed to send those files. The producer later admitted on social media that they still had another thirty-three comparison photos they never got the chance to show.

────୨ৎ────

@iluvtheitoshi_bros : awh look at them both just three popcorns tall 🥹

@unbench_itoshi_rin_pls: All they have to do is just talk, pleaseeee make up you two :(

This poster posted an edit captioned: “Born to lock in.”

The edit was twenty-three seconds long. And consisted entirely of newborn Rin blinking once, edited by using the song f(x) - Shadow.

↳ @give_ness_morescreen_time: HE LOOKS LIKE A GUMMY WORM

↳@bllk_is_awsome:RIN IS SO CUTEEE

@nomore_misscommunication_pls: Imagine your own mother emailing these pictures to the media 😭

@sae_talkto_rin_pls: I NEED TO SEE RIN SMILE AGAIN

↳ @turn_off_da_phone: NO SAME!! 

────୨ৎ────

The Luxury hair shampoo commerical — Jyubei Aryu

The commercial opens in stark, high-contrast black and white, plunging the viewer into a void of pure, dramatic darkness. 

The heavy silence is immediately shattered by a booming, theatrical Italian opera. The whole entire commercial was dramatized.

From the shadows, Jyubei Aryu walks slowly toward the lens, wearing an open-chest silk robe  and  was standing while his hair was being blown by an absolute hurricane-force fan  directly into his face while staying majestic, as always.

As the video progresses and him posing , his voice was heard  “Beauty…”

The camera aggressively pans in tight as Aryu executes a flawless, first hair flip. 

Every single strand moves in ultra-slow motion,

“Wonder…” followed immediately by a second, highly calculated hair flip. His eyes lock with the camera lens.

For the final sequence, Aryu executes a third, violent whip of his mane that blinds the camera  “…Majestic.” 

A sleek, black obsidian shampoo bottle with the word “STYLISH” embossed in font slowly descends into the frame. 

Aryu catches the bottle flawlessly without looking, holds it gently against his cheek, tilts his head, and breathes directly into the screen looking at us saying the words,“…Stay glamorous.”

                     ────୨ৎ────

@Gagamaru_isawsome:  that the man clearly moisturizes in IMAX 3D

 @Barou_inamaid_costume: the studio fan deserves an oscar!

@i_dont_know_anymore: Aryu is so iconic.

@bllk4everrrr: Chigiri and Aryu have top ten best hair’s.

@Isagis_Puzzle_Piece: pls someone edit Aryu with the "I don’t sell audio”

@heis_trying_to_ignore_it:  aryu acting like he is in a renaissance painting

@Kunigami_imysm: i had already bought a four-bottle supply. It actually smelles so good.

                      ────୨ৎ────

Gagemeru Caught on video.

The viral video begins with a shaky, snow-dusted lens as a travel vlogger tries hiking in Japan during the freezing winter days. 

Shivering into her microphone, she smiles breathlessly at the lens, announcing to her audience, “Today we’re exploring one of Japan’s beautiful winter mountains—” 

The camera pans around to show her face completely messed up by the biting snow and howling wind, but the peaceful vlog diary is abruptly interrupted when a massive figure suddenly passes right by her in the background. 

Fans immediately realized that it was none other than Gin Gagamaru, completely barefoot and wearing no jacket, whatsoever. 

He was just casually walking through a winter freeze that should have been humanly impossible to survive.

The vlogger completely freezes in shock, her jaw dropping as she stares at the giant walking through the snow. 

She turns the camera toward him and calls out, “Sir?” Gagamaru stops, turns, and nods politely at her, his voice perfectly calm as he replies, “Morning.” 

Looking at his bare skin against the ice, the terrified vlogger asks, “Aren’t you cold?” Gagamaru doesn't blink and quickly replied

“No, have a great day ma’am,” before turning around to keep walking away. 

Leaving her utterly baffled, the vlogger starts following him since it was a hiking track afterall.

Just five minutes later, the peaceful hike turns into chaos when a wild boar suddenly charges out from the treeline directly toward the camera. 

Before she could react or scream, Gagamaru moves with lightning reflexes and tackles the wild animal head-on into the snowbank. 

The stunned boar scrambles back up, completely terrified by the human mountain, and immediately runs away into the brush.

Gagamaru casually stands up, pats the fresh snow off his hands, and turns to the camera with a friendly look before he just keeps walking up the mountain as if nothing happened.

   ────୨ৎ────

@gagamaru_we_luv_u:He’s definitely not human.

↳ @i_ranoutofideas:Didn't he fight a bear??

↳ @shindou_backstory_soon: Yeah, he talked about it in the interview.

↳@ imscaredforhisbackstory:Holy shit this guy is strong.

@we_love_f(x) :National Geographic guest appearance when?

@Gagamaru_Stan_Account: Gagamaru we love you!

              ────୨ৎ────

Yo Hiori-Live streaming

You already know what Yo Hiori does in his free time: he livestreams. 

For someone who is a professional athlete, this man screentime is cooked.

He had already been streaming for five hours straight, casually playing games and chatting with his viewers, when a fan sent a Super Chat and donated 30 dollars to the stream. 

The money was being raised for a charity going toward people who needed it, most likely for cancer research or kids with broken bones. 

Taking advantage of the donation highlight, a viewer in the chat popped the ultimate question: “Hiori, how much is your screen time?”

Without hesitating, Hiori casually opens up his phone settings and holds the screen up to his camera lens. 

The display reads a staggering 33 hours and 42 minutes.

The chat instantly explodes into absolute chaos, with messages flying across the screen at lightning speed. 

The top comment screams in pure disbelief, “THAT’S MORE THAN A DAY.” 

Hiori just shrugs his shoulders at the webcam, completely unfazed and calmly explains, “I was reading.” 

A spam of confused “What?” messages floods the chat box immediately. 

Hiori looks away slightly and murmurs, “…Mostly...” The chat pushes harder, demanding to know, “…Reading what?” 

Hiori blinks sleepily at his monitor “uhm—oh look at that, I won.” Time to go. 

────୨ৎ────

@hiori_readsfanfics: Go outside.

↳@hiori_is_cool: Bro he literally is an athlete HE GOES OUTSIDE AND WORKS OUT.

@Hioris_Left_cheek: Hiori send those fanfic links.

@imjustlikehim:Hiori is just like me.

                ────୨ৎ────

Street interview-Karasu and Otoya 

The video opens on a bustling, Kyoto sidewalk, the background filled with the low hum of chatter and ambient traffic. 

The camera pans directly to a reporter holding a microphone, smiling warmly.

“And we are live in Kyoto! Alright, I’m here with Blue Lock’s own Crow. Tell me, which player in the facility has the absolute no romantic charm?”

The camera shifts over to Karasu Tabito, who is leaning casually against a metal railing with his hands tucked into his pockets.

Hearing the question, Karasu doesn't even shift his posture. He just stands there smirking, a look of pure, immediate certainty in his eyes.

"It's Otoya for sure," Karasu says, the smirk widening on his face without a single second of hesitation.

Right on cue, Otoya Eita saunters casually into the shot from the side. 

He is slowly sipping from a can of soda, looking completely relaxed and entirely ignoring the reporter's microphone. 

He looks straight at Karasu, looking entirely pleased with himself.

“Yo. You won't believe it," Otoya brags smoothly. "I literally just scored a local girl's phone number down the block.”

Karasu’s smirk vanishes instantly and lets out a heavy, sigh then raising a hand to aggressively pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Ya absolutely stupid," Karasu bluntly breaks the news, his voice dropping into a flat, deadpan tone. “She definitely gave you a fake number because you looked terrifying.”

A long, agonizingly deadpan five-second silence settles over the entire sidewalk. Nobody moves. 

Otoya doesn't look offended instead , he slowly turns his head to stare straight into the camera lens, his eyes wide and completely unblinking.

Otoya reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and immediately dials the number, aggressively tapping the screen to put it on speakerphone.

“Oh! He's calling her right now!” the reporter says, leaning in closer with a wide grin. “Let's see if she answers!”

Otoya finally breaks his stare from the camera and throws a confident smirk over at his friend. “Watch and learn, Karasu.”

The phone line clicks. 

For a split second, there is absolute quiet, followed by the cold, digital tone of an automated voice filling the street: "We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected, or is no longer in service. Please hang up and—"

“I TOLD YER SHE DID NOT GIVE YOU HER NUMBER”Karasu suddenly laughed out loud whils Otoya just stands there completely limp, still staring down at the disconnected phone screen in utter, silent disbelief.

                ────୨ৎ────

@imtiredstrsly: Karasu didn't even hesitate to choose him 😭

@iluvotoya: Otoya must be coping so hard.

@karasuistuff: I saw them filming this! Otoya literally walked into a lamppost two minutes later trying to look cool.

                ────୨ৎ────

“Caught 4k” — Alexis ness

An anonymous teammate from the Bastard München leaked a a five-second video clip taken on the team’s international flight on the way to a football game.

The footage catches Alexis Ness in the window seat, sleeping and looking entirely too pure for this earth. 

Tightly curled up into a neat little ball under a fluffy, pastel-blue airline blanket that is pulled all the way up to his chin. 

Clutching a ridiculously tiny travel pillow against his chest, yet is he somehow wearing the most serene smile, like he was having the sweetest dream imaginable. 

He looks so peaceful that the internet instantly chooses made a meme out of it.

Within two hours, the "Sleeping Ness" becomes the biggest meme on the internet, with fans editing his cozy, blanket-wrapped body into the most chaotic photoshops as possible.

On the Titanic, Ness is edited sleeping peacefully on a wooden deck chair, tucked in tight, while the ship visibly breaks in half and passengers panic in the background. 

For the moon landing, a photoshopped, Ness is shown floating upside down, fast asleep with his pillow, right next to Neil Armstrong as he takes his first steps.

In the dinosaur age, Ness is curled up on a patch of grass, while the meteor crashes into the horizon behind a pack of running dinosaurs.

People made fan-arts, edits and even started drawing other characters like Ness. All because we all thought he was cute.

                ────୨ৎ────

@kaiser_story_sad: i wish i could sleep like that

@might_do_more: LEAVE MY BOY ALONE HE IS JUST TAKING A COMFY NAP

@igotfour_hours_of_sleep: I LOVE NESSS SMMM

                ────୨ৎ────

“The Viral Photoshoot Kawaii Meme”— Julian loki

“Julian Loki is so pretty, I love him”

That was often the comments you would see under cute edits of Julian paired with songs like “Écoute Chérie” by Vendredi sur Mer, and you know what, they were right. Because Julian Loki has to be one of the prettiest people out there.

(Listen, I’m a fan of him since he got introduced, he the goat)

So it was no suprise that he’ll model for big brands and the community completely implodes after a luxury French fashion house drops the behind-the-scenes footage of their multi-million dollar campaign starring Julian Loki. 

The young prodigy is deadass so attractive that modeling agencies have been aggressively throwing contracts at him for months, making him earn an absolute fortune and skyrocketing his popularity way past the sports world, people who weren’t into sports probably thought he was a Model by how he is always seen in city billboards.

But there was this specific shoot that triggers a viral wave across TikTok and Twitter because of how aggressively cute he is, making it a reaction meme that the internet obsesses over and always referenced.

The studio had soft lighting, a massive slow-motion wind machine, and Loki wearing a soft cashmere turtle neck.

He looks fine posing normal , “Perfect, Julian! Maintain that intense gaze! Look straight into the lens but can you act shy…if you can” the photographer calls out from behind the camera.

Then he flashes a devastatingly cute, dimpled smile, and tugged the turtle neck closer.

“Ah, sorry! I can't do the face for that long, it makes my eyes water!” Loki laughs, shaking his head.

The photographer slowly lowers the camera, clutching his heart. “No, no... keep doing that..”

The official behind-the-scenes clip hits 55 million views in less than three hours, turning his bright, boyish grin into a multi-purpose reaction meme for anything wholesome or sweet.

────୨ৎ────

@loki_pls_a_chance: Deadass Julian Loki is so fine, istg my jaw dropped to the floor when he smiled 😭

↳ @its_a_mbaqqeparallel: He literally is so cute!!

@vivien_and_loki_4ever:  His natural ageyo- sal is so refreshing.

This poster posted an edit of Julian Loki with the song “GEE” by SNSD

↳ @iluv_julian_loki: HE NEEDS TO DO A PHOTOSHOOT WITH VIVI PLEASEEEEEE !!

────୨ৎ────

The “Noa challenge” — Noa Noel

Well…PIFA demanded that all global football ambassadors perform a lively celebratory dance for the upcoming World Cup promotional campaign.

They need the views, okay?

The problem was that ALL of them had to dance, imagine seeing grown, muscular, well built players—who are always seriously and competitive in the pitch acting all cute….

yeah no…

Except for the following: , Lavinho , Julian and even Snuffy agreed…alongside many others…Sae probably thought it was a hassle but he had to since it’s a contract and all….but When presented with the concept of choreography to Noel Noa

He just stared blankly at the production team and says a flat, final “no,” until the director aggressively points at the fine print and reminds him that he already signed the legally binding contract.

Left with no choice, Noa performs the smallest, stiffest, dance ever with his arms glued to his sides and his facial expression remaining completely frozen without changing a single pixel.

He was already old and didn’t even want to do this…

Once the commercial releases, it went viral in under an hour as the internet launches the global #NoaDanceChallenge, and they posted bloopers of people hyping him up to dance only to see a flat expression and a sigh.

────୨ৎ────

@noel_noa_and_ego_when: HE DID NOT WANT TO BE THERE!

@this_took_five_hours: Someone add this dance to Fortnite, NOW !!

@egoist_real: nurse…its…awake!

────୨ৎ────

“The Reality TV”— New Gen X

You see, PIFA thought it was a good idea to have a massive marketing stunt funded heavily by them, the World's Next Generation XI players are forced to live under one roof in a luxury mansion. 

For a week…yeah…which one of them pitch this idea…no one knows!

And they posted a promo video of things that happened within the week of their stay.

The camera then pans and shows clips of the New Gen X activities.

“The Least Exciting Person”

The cameras quietly followed Michael Kaiser as he paced a secluded balcony, his phone pressed firmly against his ear.

The crew captured his voice dripping with absolute distain. “No… he’s the least exciting person to look at. He is a fucking bum—his face just annoys me,”

Kaiser sneered, rolling his eyes dramatically before abruptly ending the call and muttering curses to himself.

Cut immediately to a private confessional, where a producer sat behind the camera trying to piece together the gossip.

“So… were you talking about Teddy Knight?” the producer asked. Kaiser looked genuinely blank, blinking at the lens.

“Who?”, kaiser asked thrn the producer clarified

“Teddy, teddy part of Gen X.” Kaiser scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, no. It was Isagi. But yeah,”

he added after a pause, “He is also the least exciting person to look at.”

Naturally, production stirred the pot by showing the raw footage to Teddy during his own confessional block.

Teddy watched the clip in complete, silence, then the camera pans, “I'm not even close to him,” Teddy muttered to the camera.

The editors then cut to the main living area where Teddy was already sitting on the couch, and Kaiser walked into the room, instantly freezing when he saw teddy.

The room became painfully quiet. Kaiser stared at Teddy; Teddy stared back.

Kaiser grabbed a random bottle of water from the counter, spun on his heel, and walked away without saying a single word.

Kasier Lost His Sunglasses

Everyone was (paid) finally agreed on one relaxing day off at the beach.

Down by the shoreline, Bunny was being completely buried in sand by Lorenzo.

Nearby, Julian Loki was walking along the shoreline.

Teddy…teddy..was teddy…the crew can’t seem to find him.

Sae Itoshi, was already fast asleep in a hammock beneath a massive umbrella.

Meanwhile, Vivien wandered the shoreline, taking aesthetic pictures of seashells and tightly clutching that blank book he is known for carrying everywhere.

The happiness shattered when Kaiser proudly strutted toward the water, adjusting his expensive designer sunglasses on his head that costed $89,000 (he got it for free after a shooting)

Suddenly, a massive, wave crashed directly over his head

The water receded, showing Kaiser soaking wet with his hair ruined, while his sunglasses floated away into the deep ocean.

The camera frantically zoomed in on his panicked face as he splashed around, blind and desperate, searching the waves.

Bunny immediately broke into loud, Lorenzo, yelled out that he would swim after them—but only if Kaiser paid him 80 bucks cash upfront.

From under the umbrella, Sae Itoshi opened one eye and delivered a well known famous side-eye of his , caught in crisp 4K.

“Stop taking pics—Lorenzo is in jail”

Lorenzo was apparently in local jail, and the car ride was a mess.

Loki was behind the wheel, while Vivien sat in the passenger seat trying to navigate.

Kaiser sat directly behind him, while Sae was passed out asleep against the window, completely uncaring by what was happening

Bunny smiled mischievously and held up his phone for a selfie. “Say cheese.”

Kaiser, leaned into the frame with a smoldering pout. Teddy threw a peace sign, and Bunny, leaning forwardand threw bunny ears behind the sleeping Sae's head. Then bunny handed Vivien the phone to snap pictures.

Click. Click. Click.

Another picture. Then another, with everyone aggressively posing while a teammate was locked in a holding cell.

Julian turned around , “Guys, seriously, stop taking pictures! Lorenzo, is literally in trouble right now.”

The scene ended with another private confessional,

The producer noted, “Lorenzo said he might’ve been arrested, and you guys were doing a photoshoot.”

Sitting on the confession couch side-by-side, Bunny, Kaiser, Vivien, Teddy and Sae looked completely unbothered. Kaiser simply shrugged at the camera, adjusted his hair, and said,

“We just looked really good that day.”

The teaser promo ends there, many people tuned in, some hoped it was them being seriously and football while some liked the idea, the internet was divided.

────୨ৎ────

@kaisermogs: GUYS BE QUIET, MY SHOW IS ON

↳@ohmygosh_want_ishappening: kaiser is literally so funny here.

@saeitoshi_ispretty: THIS is NOT about FOOTBALL

@teddywhoisthat: please give teddy screentime in the show…

@cake_is_good: are we ignoring the fact lorenzo went to jail????

↳ @iwant_cake: yes.

────୨ৎ────

“What’s In My Bag?”—Anri Teieri

Anri Teieri, the beloved woman who single-handedly runs Blue Lock, with Ego Jinipachi, agrees to a casual “What's In My Bag” interview. 

Deeply admired and loved by the fanbase, especially by female fans who constantly flood TikTok with high-quality edits because of how much they admire her, she was pretty huge and deserves all love and support.

the video started with her smiling sweetly to showing of her everyday essentials: a neat leather wallet, a tinted lip balm, and her meticulously organized daily planner, the charms on her bags and she was telling stories.

Till the tone shifts instantly as she continues digging into the depths of her designer bag,

pulling out three heavy-duty emergency whistles, six tangled high-speed charging cables, a custom stress ball shaped exactly like Jinpachi Ego’s head, two industrial-sized packets of extra-strength painkillers, a thick stack of legally binding signed waivers, and three completely different brands of smartphones.

When the bewildered reporter asks, “Why on earth do you have all of these?”

Anri’s beautiful smile fades into a deadpan stare, she lets out a long, exhausted sigh and mumbled two words: “Blue Lock.”

The reporter nods in immediatly understanding, and the clip ends right there.

────୨ৎ────

@anri_is_pretty: GIVE MY GIRL A BREAKK

@pusheenloverrr: BRO EGO, GIVE HER VACATION DAYS

@anri_we_luv_you: the fact that it started as wholesome and then her vibe completely changed when she mumbled blue lock😭😭

────୨ৎ────

Ego goes live

The official Blue Lock account suddenly goes live, presenting a pitch-black screen that remains dark for thirty grueling minutes. 

Millions tune in to a broadcast of nothingness but then an aggressive slurping of instant noodles and a deeply annoyed, familiar voice was heard.

The camera abruptly flips, accidentally revealing Jinpachi Ego in the most bum-ass outfit imaginable.

And he was wearing a headband that pushed back his hair, fully exposing his massive forehead as he wildly gestures with a pair of chopsticks at the monitors, completely crashing out in real-time over the match footage.

“Oh my gosh... can these kids actually shoot the goal? Look at this. Horrible. He missed from five yards out. How?!”

He continued on with his complaining, for twenty minutes straight tweaking out seeing the Blue Lock players suck at their scoring’s and training.

He finally looks down at his phone screen, freezing as he notices the active screen. He squints directly into the lens, asking, “Am I live?” right before seeing the viewer count sitting at a staggering 2.7 million people.

Before he ends it ego is heard screaming at the top of his lungs: “ANRI! ANRI!”

Then the livestream ended.

────୨ৎ────

@isagi_takea_shower: HE IS SUCH A MESS 😭

@bl_or_BL: Wait...

@ego_stan: He is still fine idk what you all say, the forehead reveal won me over.

The poster posted an edit of his exposed forehead with the song 'Kinky Love' playing in the background.

────୨ৎ────

“Brother and Sister live” —Hyoma Chigiri ft(Koyuki Chigiri).

Hyoma Chigiri hops onto Instagram Live alongside his older sister, Koyuki Chigiri, it was just a random live stream because they were both bored, the entire time they’ve been having petty fights and kicking each-other and both outing each other’s stories.

Hyoma was doing his nightly skin care routine while his sister was beside him and playing music in the background while she waits for the food she ordered for her and him to eat.

The chat immediately moves at lightning speed, with thousands of viewers and began on asking questions.

Koyuki was reading the comments, “ ‘How does it feel to have a popular younger brother?' Um, nuh-uh. The real question should be— how does it feel to have a hot older sister, Hyoma?”

Which earned hyoma to give a nasty side eye to his sister while he continued doing his skin care on stream.

Koyuki then continued squinting closely at the screen to read the next fast-moving question “ ‘Koyuki, do you have a girlfriend?' Oh. No, I don’t.”

Then she smiled to the camera Hyoma Suddenly lets out a dramatic scoff, and aggressively flips his long, pristine well cared pink hair onto his sisters face. Making koyuki grimace at disgust.

The live stream lasted for about two more hours before they went to bed.

────୨ৎ────

@Chigiri_hair_fan: Her sister is sooo fine omg, the Chigiri genetics are literally a cheat code 😭

↳ @i_need_yogurt: I have massive gender envy watching this stream right now, how do they BOTH look that gorgeous?!

@bl_4ever: LMAO, my boyfriend saw the screen over my shoulder and said “'who is that cute girl on the left?' and I had to tell him 'baby, that is a whole guy... that's a professional footballer’ ”

@koyuki_stan_01: I love her 😍

This poster posted an edit of Koyuki the audios 'Glamorous' blasting in the background

────୨ৎ────

“I love you mom!”—Meguru Bachira

During a post-match media press conference, a female reporter smiles warmly at Meguru Bachira, mentioning how deeply proud his mother is of him.

It was a short clip but it was so sweet.

She notes“We all know your mom is your biggest fan! What would you like to say to her?”

The camera pans to Bachira, smiling, “ I really love my mom and I want to say that I love her so so much and I’m thankful for her, I love you mom!”

Bachira was happy and waving and that comment made the reporter feel sentimental and the clip ends there.

────୨ৎ────

@BACHIRA_SOSWEET: TEARS IN MY EYES

@fly_day: I genuinely cannot, I love how his mom always supported him knowing how he was treated as a kid.

────୨ৎ────

“Forehead…Incident”—Yukimiya Kenyu

A younger , like reaally young Yukimiya Kenyu secures a endorsement deal with a luxury clothing brand. The photographer nods happily at the monitor, praising him.

“Beautiful! Gorgeous! Can we try one shot without the bangs? Let's get them out of your face.”

Yukimiya was hesitant, “Uh... do we have to?”

The Photographer said, It’ll only take one shot, Kenyu!”

Then a stylist came and pushes his bangs completely back, and pins them back

Click. Click. Click.

The Photographer: Slowly lowers at the camera, staring at the digital preview screen in absolute, deadpan silence, and looks back up, “…Maybe…not…let’s put them back…”

────୨ৎ────

@yuki_isoretty: He is so pretty either way

@itsbeenhours: PUT THEM BACK 😭 PUT THEM BACK RIGHT NOW OR I AM DELETING MY ACCOUNT😭😭😭😭

@ineedtostopandtakeabreak: The forehead reveal changed my life, but not for the better….🫩

────୨ৎ────

“That One Cologne Commercial”—Isagi Yoichi

Isagi Yoichi was well known and had a bright, promising future alongside the rest of the Blue Lock players, making brands eager to sign the new football stars.

That is how, a high-end fragrance company chose Isagi Yoichi as the face of their newest cologne….

Their slogan was simple

Confidence. Elegance. Mystery.

That was the vibe of the scent and they wanted someone like Isagi…surprisingly..

In the studio, the director confidently walked over and patted his back. “Alright, Isagi. I don’t want football. I just want you to look cool.”

Isagi nodded seriously, replying, “Understood sir!”

The crew sighed in relief, calling out, “Cameras are rolling.”

“Action!” Then someone hit the tape.

Take One

the lights turned on, and a crystal bottle of cologne sat in Isagi’s hand. He slowly looked into the camera far too intensely as his eyes narrowed.

The staff collectively recognized that look. “He’s doing it,” the cameraman whispered. “Is that… metavision thing?”

“If your opponent predicts your movement based on your scent…” Following a dramatic pause, he finished,

“…..you’ll be dead. So you must devour them with your aroma.”

Silence gripped the room before the director immediately stood up and shouted,

“CUT! Why did you threaten the customer?!”

Take Two

The makeup team was freshening him up, while the director took a deep breath to coach him.

“Forget football..please….” The director pleaded,

“Okay?”

“Okay Sir!”

Isagi picked up the bottle and began, “people stink, and you don’t want to stink at all and you want to defeat your enemies.”

“CUT!!”

Take Three

The director was crouching in front of him. “Just smile. …Can you do that?” Isagi nodded, “yes sir!”

The director called for action, and Isagi smiled. Instantly, the entire room became uncomfortable.

It wasn’t a normal smile; it was the exact expression Isagi made whenever he’d cuss someone out on the football pitch.

The photographer slowly lowered his camera and muttered, “why is he like that…”

The boom operator took one nervous step backward as the director sighed and called a quiet, “…Cut….”

Take Four

The marketing team was brought in to make a script. “Just read this,” they instructed. Isagi looked down at the line

“Confidence isn’t something you wear… it’s something you become.”

“Okay…okay…,” Isagi muttered. Everyone sighed in relief.

“Action!” He looked at the camera and delivered the first line perfectly: “…Confidence isn’t something you wear.”

Everyone smiled, waiting for the finish. Instead, Isagi hesitated. “…It’s…” The director’s eye twitched as Isagi went off-script again: “sorry, I forgot…”

Take Five,

the director had completely given up. “Just hold the bottle…Please.”

The camera rolled, and for ten perfect seconds, everything was beautiful. Then, Isagi quietly whispered to himself, “…

“If Kaiser wore this… …He’d probably still stink.” The director screamed, “

“CUT!” and collapsed into a chair, muttering, “…Just air the bloopers.”

One month later, the commercial released exactly as filmed, with no edits and no script.

It was just the entire thing of Isagi failing to advertise the perfume and it exploded.

Nobody understood how the fragrance sold out globally within forty-eight hours.

────୨ৎ────

@isagi_and_bachira: He’s trying so hard 😭 someone give him his ball back.

@isagiiiis: HE IS HAPPY TO LOOK A MESSSSS

@TheLuxuryFragrance :We’re honestly not sure why sales tripled.

↳ @iboughttheperfume: Whoever approved this deserves a promotion.

@Bllk_lover: this poster posted a meme

Director:

“Don’t mention football.”

Isagi:

“So anyway…”

────୨ৎ────

Micheal Kaiser Reads Your Tweets

The Bastard München social media team had convinced Michael Kaiser to participate in one of the internet's favorite celebrity segments, which was “Reading Your Tweets.”

Kaiser is lounging comfortably on the chair, completely at ease in front of the lens.

Then he picked up the first card from the stack, and a slow grin spread across his face as he read the text aloud. "

“I'd let Michael Kaiser ruin my life.” He looked directly into the camera with total “…that is Understandable….” Then moved on to the next not responding to that note.

He pulled the third card and began to read, but his expression instantly shifted.

“Why does Kaiser hate Isagi so much? Is it because—”He stopped reading mid-sentence.

The smile completely disappeared from his face. In absolute silence, he slowly folded the card once, twice, and three times.

He then calmly ripped it apart and muttered, “next.”

From behind the camera, the producer tried to intervene, pointing out that he didn't even finish reading it.

Kaiser smiled again, instantly switching back to his charming persona. “I don't need to.”

He moved on to the next card, and his eyes suddenly lit up.

“Kaiser definitely spends his free time looking at aesthetic boards on Pinterest.” He looked up, genuinely delighted.

“Oh. I do!” The producer blinked in confusion, asking what he meant. "

“I only discovered Pinterest recently,”Kaiser explained warmly.

“It's wonderful, I love it. Next card.” He pulled the next one

“Does Alexis Ness get paid to agree with everything Kaiser says?”

Kaiser looked deeply offended by the accusation. He stared straight at the camera and gave a flat, definitive, “No.”

The producer then handed him one last card, mentioning that this particular topic was currently trending.

Kaiser nodded smoothly, he flipped the card over and read,

“Michael Kaiser probably looks at his own edits before bed.”

He stopped, looking directly into the camera lens.

He let the silence hang in the room for a few heavy seconds before finally admitting,

“Only if there are new ones.”

And the scene ends there!

────୨ৎ────

@Kaiser_weluv_u: HOLD UP. Kaiser has a Pinterest?? Someone find his username immediately.

@kaiser_hair: “...Only if there are new ones.” HE IS SO REAL FOR THAT.

@okay_kaiserandness: The way he ripped the Isagi card in complete silence...

────୨ৎ────

Nanase vs the deers

 The Blue Lock’s team trip to Nara Park was supposed to be relaxing. It was just like a fun little trip, you know, to feed the famous deer, explore the area, see the historical temples, and take pictures.

Everything was peaceful, supposedly.

Nanase had been especially excited. He stood in front of the camera with a freshly opened pack of deer crackers. “They’re so polite! Look, they even bow!” He smiled brightly as several deer gently approached him. One politely dipped its head. “See? They’re so cute.”

The cameraman nodded. Then—a loud snort echoed across the path.

Nanase turned his head. Standing several meters away was one enormous male deer.

It slowly lifted its head, its eyes locked directly onto the crackers in Nanase’s hands.

The deer took one step forward. “…Uh…” Another step. Then another. The deer snorted again. Nanase looked at the camera. “…Guys?”

The deer suddenly charged.

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!”

Nanase turned and bolted down the stone pathway at full speed.

The cameraman immediately started running after him, causing the footage to become violently shaky.

Tourists stepped aside as Nanase sprinted through the park.

One elderly woman calmly continued feeding another deer without even looking up.

The chase passed directly in front of an ancient temple, with Nanase completing one full lap around it.

Meanwhile, about a few meters away, Kurona stood completely still, calmly eating a strawberry ice cream cone.

Beside him, Hiori quietly enjoyed a vanilla ice cream, watching Nanase sprint past for the fourth time.

“He looks like his still going at it, ain’t he?” Hiori snorted .

Raichi folded his arms. “He’ll be fine.”

Nanase sprinted past again, screaming, “RAICHI! HELP!”

Raichi didn’t move. “You’ve got legs. USE ’EM!”

“I AM USING THEM!” Nanase wailed.

Kurona watched Nanase disappear into the distance. “…Lap five…”

Cut to another angle.

Nanase ran directly toward Isagi, who had just walked out of a souvenir shop carrying a small bag and was smiling

“ISAGIIIIIIII! THE DEER WANTS ME!”

Isagi looked up, completely blank. “…What?”

Before he could react, Nanase ran straight past him.

The massive deer followed immediately behind. A split second later, three more deer joined the chase.

Isagi blinked. “…Why are there four now..?”

────୨ৎ────

@kansai_countryaccent: I WAS THERE.WHY WAS THAT GUY RUNNING LIKE HIS LIFE DEPENDED ON IT.

@VisitNara We’d like to remind visitors that the deer are generally very gentle and during times like this its best to avoid them.

@it_1pm_ok: “You've got legs, USE 'EM!” Legit means survive on your own.

@hiori_drop_thatfanficlink: Hiori and Kurona eating ice cream while Nanase fights for his life 😭

@bluelock_lover2022: Shoutout to the cameraman who kept running with Nanase to get the footage

────୨ৎ────

Sae itoshi Resting bitch face : Check this out!

────୨ৎ────

“Post-Match Spotlight”—Aoshi Tokimitsu

A sports reporter sat down with Aoshi Tokimitsu for a quick post-match interview. The cameras rolled and the reporter smiled politely.

“So, Tokimitsu… how does it feel being officially recognized as one of Blue Lock’s strongest physical players?”

Tokimitsu immediately froze. Within seconds, he was sweating bullets. His fingers twisted together nervously.

“p-please don’t say that!”

“I’m probably not!”

“I’m actually the weakest!”

The reporter blinked.

“ well according to the data…you are one of the—.”

Tokimitsu’s face somehow became even paler.

“IT WAS PROBABLY A MISTAKE!”

“I APOLOGIZE TO EVERYONE!”

The reporter stared at him in complete disbelief. While Tokimitsu looked like he was on the verge of tears.

The reporter slowly lowered her cue cards.

“…We’re… just going to end it there.”

────୨ৎ────

@afan_ofbllk: Someone please give this person a pep talk."

@can_igo_now: someone tell him NO ONE is MAD AT HIM

────୨ৎ────

 “Oh, France”—Zantetsu Tsurugi

(The blue lock guys aren’t known for their intelligence..)

The media team decided to put the players through a random street-interview segment featuring rapid-fire trivia.

It was simple, unfortunately for the producers, the Blue Lock boys are famously geniuses on the pitch and total airheads off of it.

Zantetsu Tsurugi stood in front of the microphone, looking incredibly intellectual.

The interviewer smiled, holding up the microphone. “Alright, Zantetsu! First question, keep it quick. What country is Paris in?”

Zantetsu didn't blink. He slowly reached up with his middle finger and adjusted his glasses,

He closed his eyes & took a deep,

“Europe?”

The interviewer stared at him, blinking in dead silence. The camera remained perfectly still.

Realizing the interviewer hadn't moved on to the next question, Zantetsu’s eyes widened slightly behind his frames.

A sudden spark of panic hit his brain. He quickly cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses a second time to cover his embarrassment.

“Oh, wait,” Zantetsu corrected himself quickly, his face flushing slightly. “France.”

The producer behind the camera let out a heavy sigh, realizing it was going to be a very, very long shoot.

────୨ৎ────

@let_me_post_this: The lights are on but absolutely nobody is home.

@zantetsu_woah: He’s trying his best 😭 at least he got the continent right!

@bllk_funny: Zangetsu…… please just stick to sports..

────୨ৎ────

“My Skin Care Rountine”—Niko Ikki

After months of requests from people, Niko Ikki uploaded the video everyone had been asking for has been uploaded.

The reason was they wanted to know how the heck is he able to see with his thick bangs.

The video opened with Niko standing in front of his bathroom mirror. With his thick black bangs hung over his face as always, completely covering his eyes.

Not once did he brush them aside. He looked into the camera. “…A lot of people asked for this. So… here it is.”

He reached for a bottle of foaming cleanser. “First, we use cleanser.” He pumped a generous amount into his hands before working it into a thick lather.

Then massaged it into his face, except the entire upper half of his face. “Then my acne wash..”

Next came a hydrating toner. He poured a few drops into his palms and gently patted it into his skin. He reached for a serum. “This helps with my acne.”

The moisturizer came next. He spread it evenly across his face but The bangs never once was lifted. Not even once.

Finally, he held up a bottle of sunscreen.

“…Most important step...” He carefully applied it to every exposed part of his face, then calmly lowered his hands.

“Done.” He gave the camera a small nod. “Thanks for watching.”

The video ended.

────୨ৎ────

@niko_please_yourbangs: Great routine. …Please moisturize your forehead too.

@niko_did_aki_ref: I’M CRYING HIS BANGS DIDN’T MOVE A SINGLE MILLIMETER 😭😭😭 Like how did he not get soap in them??

@your_forehead_needs_help: The fungal acne under there must be planning a revolution.

────୨ৎ────

“A Date—Oh Wait, Just Friends” — Nagi & Reo

It started with one blurry fan photo taken at a quiet, upscale café in Tokyo.The caption simply read, “I think I just saw Nagi and Reo?”

Within ten minutes, it had over two million views. With the comments flooded in almost instantly.

@lemme_know_pt2: They are having a date again lol.

@going_insane: Istg they’re always together.

@nagifan4life: But you kinda get it because they both matter so much to each other. I think there’s more to their relationship.

@reofanfr: I know… they’re really sweet.

The picture itself was surprisingly ordinary.

Reo sat upright at a corner table, completely focused on the tablet in front of him, quietly scrolling through it while occasionally taking a sip of his coffee.Beside him—Or rather—Leaning onto him—Was Nagi.

Completely slumped against Reo’s shoulder, his head resting there

With one earbud hung loosely from his ear while his phone rested lazily in one hand as he tapped away at a mobile game.

Every few seconds, without even looking up from the screen, Reo casually reached over with his free hand and slid Nagi’s untouched drink a little closer.

A few moments later, he’d pick up his own fork, hold it toward Nagi, and wait.

Without lifting his head from Reo’s shoulder, Nagi simply leaned forward, took a bite, quietly chewed, and went right back to his game.

Neither of them acknowledged that any of this was unusual.

────୨ৎ────

@nagi_reo_friends: Despite every dramatic speech they’ve ever given on the pitch… off the field they’ll forever just be friends.

@iluvnagi: They have to be soulmates.

@reo_we_luv_u_too: I work there. They were at that table for almost an two hours, and Nagi genuinely never moved.

@please_tell_me_this_is_good: Reo feeding Nagi without either of them looking at each other is actually insane, that tells you they’ve BEEN like this.

────୨ৎ────

Japan Airline In flight safety procedours— aiku and sendou

Japan Airlines announced a special collaboration with two of the members of Japan’s national football squad.

And the video premiered online a week before airing on flights, and millions tuned in.

The cabin lights brightened as a calm stewardness spoke, “Welcome aboard Japan Airlines.”

The camera slowly panned down the aisle to find Oliver Aiku standing in the center. he looked directly into the camera. “Welcome aboard.” He effortlessly picked up the seatbelt and, with one smooth motion, fastened it around his waist.

“Please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened whenever seated.”

Aiku flashed the camera with a smile and then a wink.

The comment section would later identify the exact timestamp.

The camera slowly pulled back. One row behind him sat Sendou.

He wasn’t looking at the camera or paying attention to the safety demonstration; he was staring directly at Aiku, completely side eyeing him.

Please store your carry-on luggage beneath the seat in front of you.” Sendou was still staring at him, not breaking eye contact

Cut to the confessional filmed afterward, the producer smiled. “So… were you disappointed not to be the main presenter?” Sendou smiled politely. “No…definently not…” while he was glancing at Aiku.

The camera cut back to the cabin's emergency exit row, where the both of them sat perfectly still.

“Please familiarize yourself with the nearest emergency exit.”

Next came the oxygen mask demonstration. A flight attendant calmly showed how to pull the mask down, and Aiku demonstrated perfectly.

The stewardess continued, “Secure your own mask before assisting others.” The camera briefly cut to Sendou, who was already wearing his mask.

Then came the life vest. Aiku confidently demonstrated how to inflate it after leaving the aircraft. The stewardess smiled, “Do not inflate your life vest inside the cabin.”

The video ended with the entire team standing together near the aircraft door. Aiku smiled warmly. “We hope you enjoy your flight.” Sendou smiled too, muttering under his breath, “I could’ve said that.”

────୨ৎ────

@JapanAirlines:Thank you for flying with us.

@you_can_tell_Im_loosing_it: Someone please check on Sendou

@imsorry_this_is_bad: the side-eye Sendou was giving Aiku from the second row deserves its own acting award.

@Aiku_we_luv_u: The wink wasn’t necessary for flight safety… but it was highly appreciated.

────୨ৎ────

“React To Edits” —Shidou Ryusei

Shidou Ryusei had been invited onto a popular sports channel to react to fan-made edits from across the internet.

The interviewer gave him just one warning before filming started: “Some of these are… interesting.” Shidou simply grinned in response, “I already like ’em.” The screen lit up.

The first edit featured heavy phonk music, with intense color grading, digital lightning effects, and glowing eyes.

There were twenty-seven transitions packed into just twelve seconds, with every single one of his goals slowed down dramatically.

The edit ended with the bold words: “THE DEMON OF BLUE LOCK.”

Silence fell over the room as Shidou leaned closer to the monitor. “THAT’S ME?!” He suddenly burst into loud laughter. “ THAT’S SO COOL—NO WAY! WHO MADE THIS? I NEED THEIR @ RIGHT NOW!”

The interviewer laughed from behind the scenes. “You… want to follow them?”

Shidou yelled, “heck yeah, you see how cool that was and how amazing my shot was—I wanna shake their hand!”

The interview continued and they showed him a total of twenty six edits and every-time he loved them, he even cried saying that it captured “football’s essence.”

“So do you have anything to say?” The interviewer asked him, “tag me to all of your edits about me!”

Then the clip ends.

────୨ৎ────

@i_luv_Shindou: Shidou aggressively asking for the editor’s username instead is exactly what I expected from him. 😭

@hesoswag: Shidou genuinely has the healthiest relationship with fan edits I’ve ever seen from a professional athlete.

────୨ৎ────

“Sidequests”— Loki, Huhgo, and Charles

Paris, France. The City of Love, home to the Louvre, Eiffel tower , and three professional footballers.

Paris is a massive city but somehow, Julian Loki, Vivien Hugo, and Charles Chevalier manage to be spotted in every single tourist photo taken.

The whole thing started by an unassuming tourist photo in front of the Eiffel Tower, that was posted with a caption read “Best vacation ever!”

At first glance, it was a perfectly normal image. It only went viral when someone zoomed in to the background, to a blurry streak wearing a tracksuit who was sprinting across the Champ de Mars at Mach 2.

You’d think its the average person, but It was Julian Loki, completing his morning run.

People didn’t look into it too deeply at first; they just assumed the tourist got incredibly lucky catching him running.

They were wrong…(I realized the last parts lowkey suck cause idk how to execute things now…)

The Marrige Proposal

The next incident occurred during a romantic proposal under the glowing lights of the Eiffel Tower. Where a man dropped to one knee with a velvet ring box in hand. And his girlfriend gasping, The hired photographer counted down.

“Three...”

“Two...”

“One...”

Click.

Right between the couple's shoulders, stood Julian Loki and Charles Chevalier. With Loki was smiling politely, holding up a peace sign and Charles was standing right next to him, striking the exact same peace-sign pose.

The couple was absolutely overjoyed by the unexpected guests and framed the picture anyway.

Side Quest Marathon

Later that week, thousands of runners gathered for a high-profile charity race.

Loki, completely oblivious to it accidentally crossed the starting line just as the starting pistol fired. And he had no idea what was going on but decided to just go ahead and run.

He crossed the finish line in first place before realizing it was an official, closed-course event.

The official race photo captured him looking profoundly confused while receiving a gold medal.

he donated a massive sum to the fundraiser to make up for the accidental victory..

Wedding Shoot

Then came wedding photoshoot of a two newly wed, just taking pictures.The bride and groom posed elegantly, twenty feet ahead of an imposing figure standing perfectly still, Vivien Hugo.

Who was holding his phone impossibly low—tilting his head backwards with a weird angle.

The resulting camera shot captured only his sharp jawline, his chin, and seeing his interior of his nostrils. While he slowly panned the phone toward his face, completely ignoring the bride behind him.

Click.

The photographer pulled his eye away from the camera . “...Is that...?”

The bride squinted. “Oh my god, honey, that’s my idol! Vivien!”

Instead of being kicked out for crashing a private event, Vivien was immediately invited to the reception, spending the rest of the evening mingling as an honored guest.

Where is charles, julian and Vivien?

The internet blew up and began posting daily compilations. they were playing “Where is Charles, Julian, and Vivien?”

A family photo at the Louvre. Captured Loki in the left corner. Vivien's chin occupies the right corner. And Charles was seen in between them

A view of the Palace of Versailles gardens. In the extreme background, all three players are visible, just sitting at the bench while no one bothered them.

A family visiting the Louvre gathered together for a vacation photo. Everyone smiled.

They asked to be taken a picture and the person they asked was Julian counted down.

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

Click.

The family all said thank you and while checking they realized that Loki took a few selfies of himself.

Charles Chevalier Becomes Someone’s Family Member

A group of tourists took a large family picture outside a famous Paris café. The lineup was massive: three grandparents, four parents, six children, and somehow… Charles…Charles was there…

Nobody noticed, charles was was just and smiling politely. One grandfather even put an arm around his shoulder to fit him into the frame.

The family didn’t realize the error until they posted it online with the caption. “Amazing family trip ❤️”

Someone immediately commented, “Is that Charles Chevalier?”

One family member replied “who?”

Charles eventually saw the trending post.

“Nice family, I loved being around you guys!”

────୨ৎ────

@finally_done: I DON’T EVEN WATCH FOOTBALL. BUT WHY IS THE VIVIEN HUGO AT MY SISTERS WEDDING?

@VisitParisWe: We cannot guarantee that they will always be in your photos.

@vivien_you_so_tuff: why does vivien take pics like that…

────୨ৎ────

“Teddy Night Backlash”—Teddy Knight

The internet’s favorite punching bag, Teddy Knight, was invited onto a late-night talk show to react to the countless memes, edits, and tweets people had made about him.

The interviewer smiled sympathetically.

“Hello, Teddy… I just want to say that—you don’t have to look at these if you don’t want to.”

The camera panned to Teddy. Completely expressionless,but he gave a small nod and a small thumbs up

“It is truly okay, I’m prepared and I’ve already seen some of it.”

“…Well.” The interviewer cleared his throat. “Okay then.”

The first tweet flashed on the big screen.

COMMENT ONE

“He is the least exciting person to look at.”

Teddy stared at the screen, blinking once.

The next one popped up immediately,

COMMENT TWO

“FIRST UGLY AND CHOPPED 😭😭”

Teddy tilted his head slightly,

And another comment loaded.

COMMENT THREE

“NEW GEN X NPC.”

The interviewer leaned over, looking genuinely concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” Teddy replied softly.

The internet had begun making up completely fake, ridiculously specific scenarios just to paint Teddy as the most mundane boring person alive.

The final post had over five million views. It was a completely normal, picture of Teddy standing.

No edit. No caption. No audio.

And the top comment read

“He’s just… there.”

The studio went silent and for a brief second before the entire front row of the audience and the interviewer completely were quiet.

“So… Teddy. Any message for the internet?”

Teddy looked directly into the camera lens, his expression entirely sincere, devoid of any malice.

“I promise…” Teddy paused, swallowed hard, and finished, “…I’m more interesting in person.” Teddy just gave a polite, tiny wave to the lens.

The interview finally ended.

────୨ৎ────

@Im_finally_finally_done: okay now I feel bad. He’s literally just a polite boy.

↳ @icannotwithteddy: no, don’t feel bad.

────୨ৎ────

By the way I’m making a part two, lemme know if you want any characters to be featured and if you wanna get tagged!

First: your family had decided to spend your summer vacation in Spain. This was innocuous and broad enough, considering how large the country was, so you concluded that your brother’s desire to practice his rudimentary Spanish in a more realistic setting than his high school classroom could not be blamed for your plight.

Second: your father had gotten a great deal on rooms in a luxury beachfront hotel. He was like a bloodhound when it came to haggling and discounts, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were staying in such a nice place for a relatively cheap price — and with a complimentary breakfast every morning, too! Anyways, the hotel had its own private pool that you could’ve been lounging around beside, so that probably wasn’t the cause, either.

Third: your mother had told you that the beach within walking distance of the hotel was famous for its smooth waters and pale sand. You had to visit at least once, according to her and every other travel guide written about the region, but since no one had wanted to go with you, you had decided to go alone, bringing a book, a bottle of sunscreen, and a blanket with you, throwing a dress on over your swimsuit and preparing yourself to spend the entire day soaking in the sun’s rays. This was definitely a contributor to your current predicament, although considering the miles of beach that stretched out in both directions as far as the eye could see where you could’ve been instead of right there, it wasn’t the sole factor.

Fourth: you had thought you would get hungry at some point and had had the foresight to bring a sandwich with you. That was definitely the reason. If only you hadn’t been so concerned with your stomach! If only you had just sucked it up and made the trek back to the hotel upon feeling peckish instead of being so lazy and planning ahead, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Can you get off of me?” the boy groaned.

“I am so sorry!” you said, scrambling to your feet and offering him your hand. He did not take it, standing on his own and doing his best to wipe the sand from his face. Then he shook his head like a dog, shaking out the grittiness from his soft hair. “I’m really sorry. I was just running so fast, and I was so worried about my sandwich that I didn’t notice you were there until it was too late!”

“Sandwich?” he said. A few paces away, a seagull landed, the remnants of your lunch held in its beak. You and the boy watched as it tilted its head back, swallowing the last few bites before cawing at you in satisfaction.

“You pig!” you shouted, pointing at it, the boy beside you temporarily forgotten as you fumed over the loss. It cocked its head at you. “That was mine!”

“Ah,” the boy said. “Your sandwich.”

The seagull hopped towards you, like it was teasing you or something, and you screeched before diving at it. Satisfied with the mischief it had caused and the food it had stolen, as well as with making a fool out of you, the seagull took wing, flying well out of reach and leaving you facedown on the ground, your stomach grumbling sadly and emptily.

A foot nudged against your rib cage. “Hey. Sandwich girl. You’re not concussed, are you?”

Being referred to as sandwich girl was so humiliating that you were instantly pushing yourself into a sitting position, folding your arms across your chest as you gazed up at the boy, who still wore that same unimpressed expression from when you had barreled into him.

“No,” you said.

“That’s great,” he said, though he did not sound particularly concerned nor relieved. “Mind elaborating a bit more on why you ran me over? You could’ve seriously injured me, and then you would’ve been in a bunch of trouble.”

“You would’ve been in a bunch of trouble,” you mocked, making your voice high and smarmy. “Jeez, what are you, some kind of celebrity or something? I ran you over because I was taking a break from reading my book, and I realized that I was hungry. Well, luckily, I had brought a sandwich along with me, so it wasn’t a huge deal. I was just about ready to dig in, when that fat pig of a bird swooped down and stole it right out of my hands! The gall! The shamelessness! It was definitely laughing at me, and I can’t stand anyone who laughs at me, so naturally I took off in pursuit, and, uh, that’s how I ended up crashing into you. Though you really should’ve been paying more attention, too. What’s so fascinating about the horizon that you just blocked out the rest of the world for it?”

“I like looking at the ocean,” he said. “But, wait. What do you mean, some kind of celebrity? Don’t you know who I am?”

You gave him a once-over. He was tall, though not impressively so, and definitely well-muscled. His hair was a warm shade, and his green eyes were framed with long eyelashes that fluttered every time he blinked. A pair of sunglasses was perched atop the crown of his head, and the top few buttons of his white shirt were undone, lending him a breezy appearance.

“You’re not handsome enough to be an actor, so that can’t be it,” you said, chewing on your lower lip in thought. “Plus, I’ve seen a bunch of movies, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t been in any of them, so if you were in the film industry, you’d be a D-lister at best, and there’s no way you’d want to flex that kind of status.”

He furrowed his brow, the first hint of a different expression than the one he had kept for the entirety of your very brief acquaintance. “What?”

“What else are people famous for?” you said. “Oh! Are you a singer or something? Were you in that one boy band from a few years ago? I’m sorry, I was too busy having a ‘not-like-other-girls’ phase when they were popular, so I never got into them. I’m over the phase now, if you were wondering, but that would be why I didn’t recognize you.”

“You are amazingly off the mark,” he said.

“I am? I’m kind of out of ideas at this point, though. Can I have a hint or something?” you said.

“Do you watch soccer?” he said. You made a face.

“Hell no,” you said. His eye twitched, so you hurried to elaborate. “My little brother is obsessed with it, so by law, I’m required to hate everything related to the sport. Do you have any siblings? You’d get it if you did.”

“Ask your brother about Sae Itoshi,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, drafting a text to your brother and sending it when you had deemed it to be a perfect blend of uninterested and cool while also underscoring the urgency of the request. “So, your name’s Sae Itoshi? I’m Y/N L/N! I’m not a celebrity, though. If you text anyone and ask them about me, they’ll probably be pretty confused.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” he said. Your phone vibrated in your hand, and when you looked at the notification, you saw that it was from your brother.

uglier sibling: no shit i know about sae itoshi. he’s that one super talented midfielder on re al. he’s dad and i’s fav player atm.

You gulped, glancing up at Sae before returning to your phone.

me: lol wtf is re al.

uglier sibling: it’s madrid’s team lmfaooo dumbass how do you not know that

uglier sibling: actually wait why are u even asking lol

uglier sibling: did u meet him or something

me: funny story actually!

uglier sibling: WHAT

uglier sibling: y/n are u with sae itoshi rn.

uglier sibling: y/n answer pls

uglier sibling: can you at least get his autograph for me or smth???

Pretending like you were still texting your brother, you typed the name Sae Itoshi into your phone’s search engine. The photos that came up matched the boy in front of you, and the news articles made your heart pound. He actually was a celebrity, and furthermore, his earlier arrogance was deserved. If you had somehow injured such a famous player and put him out of commission for the season, then you really would’ve been done for. It hadn’t been an exaggerated sense of self-importance but an honest evaluation of himself.

“Ahem,” you said, feigning a cough to appear dignified and mature. “It seems like you are a pretty well-known soccer player, Mr. Itoshi.”

“It seems like I am,” he said.

“My brother and dad are big fans, apparently,” you said.

“Good thing you didn’t take me out permanently, then, or I’m sure they would’ve been pretty disappointed,” he said.

You cringed. “I’m sorry again.”

“Whatever. I won’t hold it against you; all’s well that ends well, after all,” he said.

“I feel really bad, though,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“You didn’t do anything, so there’s nothing to make up for,” he said.

“Not true! I knocked you over and said you’re not handsome!” you said. “I’d say that warrants some kind of recompense.”

“It’ll warrant more recompense if you keep saying it,” he said.

“You agree that you deserve payment, then? Great! Um…how about I…buy you lunch?” you said, the insistent pangs of your stomach reminding you that you still hadn’t eaten.

“Is food the only thing you can think about?” he said.

“For your information, it is not, but I haven’t eaten since the morning, so I’m hungry,” you said.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m not interested, and just so you know, I’ve been asked out by plenty of girls, but by far, this has been the lamest attempt.”

You supposed, looking back, that it did seem like that was your end goal. But, of course, it had been nothing of the sort; you were just planning on going to eat yourself and thought that you might as well kill two birds with one stone. It was just your luck that he had twisted your words into such a request, though! How were you supposed to maneuver yourself out of this position? If you denied it furiously, then it would seem like you were just ashamed at getting caught, but if you didn’t say anything, then it would be akin to agreeing with his accusation.

There was only one way out of it, and even though you were usually opposed to lying, and even more opposed to bullying others, it was the only thing you could think of. So, bowing your head, you clasped your hands together in front of your heart.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type, Mr. Itoshi,” you said. “Like I said, you’re really not that handsome. Also, I’m into tall guys.”

That was how you found yourself sitting across from Sae Itoshi in a private booth at a fancy restaurant, your hands trembling as you read over the menu items and their associated prices.

“I’m in the mood for steak,” Sae said, stroking his chin and setting down his menu, interlacing his fingers and raising his eyebrows at you. “What about you?”

“Steak is a dinner item, don’t you think?” you said, your head spinning at the fact that he had picked the most expensive thing that was served at the entire establishment. “It’s lunchtime.”

“I’m an athlete,” he said seriously. “I need a lot of protein in all of my meals. Especially because I’m so short. It’s important for me to build muscle, don’t you agree? How else will I manage to compete with the taller, better-looking players?”

“Steak it is,” you said with a faux smile. “As for me, I’ll just get crackers.”

“Crackers? What kind of lunch is that?” he said.

“An affordable one,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing!” you said. “It’s nothing. I just really like crackers.”

He gave you an odd look. “Alright.”

You waved the waiter over. He had been hovering around your table for the past few minutes, and as soon as he saw you beckoning him, he sprinted to your side, fumbling with his pen and notepad before reaching you and bowing.

“Sae Itoshi, sir! I’m sorry to interrupt your date, but I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of yours. If — if it’s not too much trouble, could I have your autograph?” he said.

Sae sighed, a long-suffering and irritable sigh. “Just take our order first. I’ll give it to you after we’ve eaten.”

“Oh, my apologies,” the waiter said. “What would you like?”

“I’ll have the steak, and I also want this sandwich, but omit the tomatoes, please,” he said, pointing at the menu items he wanted.

“Got it,” the waiter said. “What about you, miss?”

“Just the crackers,” you said. The waiter paused, but when you did not say anything more, he giggled nervously.

“Would you, uh, like some cheese with those?” he said.

“Nope,” you said. “I’m really the biggest fan of plain crackers. That’s all I want.”

“Sure, miss, if that’s what you’d like,” he said. “So, one steak, one sandwich, and a plate of crackers?”

“That’s right,” Sae said, hardly looking up from his phone when he did so. It was only once the waiter had run off to place your orders that he put the device away, resting his elbows against the table, setting his chin in his hands and giving you a bored look. “Why are you glaring at me?”

“Steak and a sandwich, really?” you said.

“A conversation with you was more than enough to increase my appetite,” he said. “Forget about that. This is the part where you ask me questions about myself and I pretend like I am interested enough to answer them.”

“Why would I do that?” you said, rolling your eyes at him. “Actually, I’m pretty sure your answer to that question will be something that makes me even more annoyed than I already am, so don’t bother. What’s your favorite movie?”

“You’re not going to ask me about soccer?” he said. “It’s Taxi Driver, by the way.”

“I don’t know that much about soccer, so what would I even ask? Based on what I’ve seen from the matches my brother and dad watch, it’s just a bunch of sweaty guys kicking around a ball and pretending like they’re dying whenever another player happens to look at them the wrong way,” you said. “Oh, actually, I am curious about that. How many of those injuries are real? Have you ever faked getting hurt?”

“Almost none of them,” he said. “Generally, players will overreact for the sake of entertainment and the possibility of the opposition receiving yellow cards. I’ve never needed to do anything like that, and I never want to, because it looks stupid. Also, soccer is more than that mediocre description you just gave me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” you said. “Man kick ball. Ball go in net. Man happy. That’s the extent of it.”

“Women play soccer, too,” he said.

“It’s the same concept there, but with women instead of men. Not the argument you thought it was,” you said.

“I can’t believe you actually dislike soccer,” he said.

There was definitely some irony in the fact that you couldn’t care less about his chosen sport, and yet you were the one who had somehow finagled your way into eating with him — even if you were the one who was paying. There were so many people who’d do anything to be in your place, but to you, it was a begrudging chore that you were only performing because you felt obligated to. Mentally, you had already marked the entire encounter down as something that you’d laugh about to your friends later; a fun story you’d tell at parties, but little else.

“Like I told you earlier, I’m the older sister. If I didn’t rag on my brother’s interests, then I couldn’t claim that title in any way that mattered,” you said. Sae’s eyes flicked down to the ground.

“You should be nice to your brother when you can,” he said.

“Are you some kind of an only child or saint, then? There’s no way you’re saying that if you have a normal relationship with any possible siblings,” you said.

“I have a little brother,” he said. “Our relationship is okay. I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

“Long distance?” you said, reaching over to pat him on the hand sympathetically. “That’s the worst. I miss my friends and my pets already, and I’m only here for vacation.”

He snatched his hand away. “You make it sound like we’re dating or something. It’s alright. I’m sure it’ll be the same as it was whenever I go back.”

“True, it’s not like he can dump you and find a new brother who’s both better and more conveniently located than you are. He’s kind of stuck with you forever,” you said.

“Enough about my brother,” he said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay,” you said. “What TV shows do you watch when you’re bored?”

The two of you continued on in that mindless manner until your food arrived. Your mood, which had steadily been rising as Sae proved himself to be, if nothing else, a willing conversationalist, rapidly plummeted as the waiter set the steak and sandwich in front of Sae and the crackers in front of you.

“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said.

“I’m sure one of us will,” you said, picking up a cracker and biting into it rebelliously. Sae began to cut his steak into small pieces, using his fork to demurely place the meat on his tongue, doing nothing to disguise the indulgence of eating such a wonderfully prepared meal while you were stuck with crackers.

“What a shame,” Sae said when he was about halfway through his steak. You hadn’t spoken since the food had come, mostly because you were too busy fervently hoping that he would choke and you would somehow be awarded a free meal as an apology on the restaurant’s part, so you jumped at the sound of his voice cutting through the silence. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat that sandwich after all.”

“We should send it back, then,” you said.

“What sort of place do you think this is?” he said. “It’s already been ordered, so it’s ours now.”

“Are you serious?” you said. “What now? I’ll have to pay for something that you didn’t even eat!”

“You’ll just have to have it,” he said.

“Me?” you said, already salivating at the delectable sandwich, the bread which was taunting you. Come, it seemed to be calling out to you. Eat me. You know you want to. “I guess that’s a sensible prospect. Someone’s going to have to take it.”

“Someone will,” he agreed, sliding the plate across the table and stealing a cracker for his troubles. “It might as well be you. My coach will be pretty upset if I get stomach cramps next season because I overate too much on my off time. I’d have to tell him that it was your fault, and then you’d have all of Re Al after you, and you don’t want that. They’re relentless.”

Your fingers inched towards the sandwich. “I definitely don’t. That sounds scary.”

“It would be amusing,” he said. “A waste of resources, though. They might cut my salary to make up for it. ”

“Then the only solution is for me to eat this sandwich,” you said.

“Essentially,” he said. You gave in, taking an enormous bite of the tantalizing sandwich and exhaling in delight. It really was as good as the exorbitant price tag claimed it would be, and although you would never buy such a thing for yourself, you found that you were a little more grateful for the series of events that had led you to be in this position now that your stomach was finally being greeted with something substantial.

“It’s good,” you said, your words muffled by the napkin you held in front of your mouth as you finished chewing. “I can kind of get why they charge so much now. It’s still way more than any sandwich should ever cost, ever, but…I kinda get it. Is your food good, too?”

“It is,” he said.

“Alright!” you said, giving him a double thumbs up. “Then you can consider this a worthy apology! Let’s finish eating and be done with the entire mess.”

“Hm? But how can it be a worthy apology when I’m the one who paid for everything? To me, that doesn’t sound like an apology at all,” he said. You froze, your mouth wide open, the sandwich still halfway to your mouth and drooping in your hands. Sae looked at you, still expressionless, though if you really focused, you would’ve noticed something like mirth dancing in his irises.

“What do you mean?” you said. He unlocked his phone and showed you his screen.

“You can pay by app here,” he said. “I did it as soon as we were done ordering. I was going to tell you after you ordered what you wanted for yourself, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so frugal that you’d really only order crackers!”

“But — but I was supposed to pay! To apologize for—”

“You don’t have to say it,” Sae said sourly, cutting you off. “Believe me, I remember exactly what you have to apologize for, and I’m not going to forget. I just paid this time because I was feeling generous, but you still owe me.”

It was a little suspicious, but you didn’t have any reason to accuse him of anything, so you only narrowed your eyes at him. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you mulled over the latest reveal. He was paying for the entire lunch? You still owed him? You could manipulate that in your favor, then.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay for your breakfast,” you said. “The hotel I’m staying at has complimentary breakfast for guests, but outsiders can eat for a certain fee. I’ll pay for your entrance, and then we can be even.”

“Sure,” he said. “I eat breakfast early, though.”

“How early?” you said.

“I have a snack at 7:00 a.m., before I go for my morning run, and then I eat a proper meal afterwards,” he said.

“Oh!” you said. “Any chance you could not do that?”

“It’s part of my training regimen,” he said. “How about you pay for my food and come on my run with me?”

“I hate running,” you said.

“You’re apologizing. It’s supposed to be an agonizing process,” he said. “You’ve called me short and ugly at least three separate times already, not to mention the entire slamming into me ordeal. It’s really the least you can do.”

“7:00 it is,” you said, though you were fighting back tears at the mere thought of getting up so early while on vacation. “Give me your phone.”

“No way,” he said, holding the phone away from you while you tried to swipe at it. “What are you going to do, post something embarrassing on my social media accounts?”

“Why would I do that?” you said. “I was going to text myself so I had your number and could send you my location for tomorrow.”

“Or you could tell me which hotel you’re staying at now, and then my phone is entirely removed from the equation,” he suggested.

“Do you think I remember the name?” you said. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I don’t.”

He handed you his phone with an aggravated huff. “Fine. Don’t abuse the privilege. I only give important people my contact information.”

“Woah, you really are stingy,” you said, scrolling through his contacts list. All of them either had the designation of work attached to their profiles, or they were clearly members of Sae’s family.

Clicking on the plus sign in the corner, you created a new contact for yourself, typing in your number and giving yourself the name Y/N L/N — sandwich. It fit the naming conventions he had going on, and if it weren’t for the reminder that you were the so-called ‘sandwich girl’, you doubted he would remember who you were in the first place.

“Of course I am. Imagine I gave every crazy fan I met my number. I’d have a million stalkers before you could say Re Al,”he said.

“I’m not a crazy fan. To clarify, I’m not a fan in the first place,” you said, texting yourself from his number before taking out your own phone and responding to the message with a thumbs up.

“Correct, which is why you get my number,” he said.

“I feel so honored,” you said dryly. “Actually, you know what? I would feel honored, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re only giving it to me because you want to wake me up at an unholy hour and make me run with you before paying for your breakfast.”

“Would you rather pay for this meal?” he said, showing you the receipt he had been emailed. Your eyes widened, and then you shook your head rapidly.

“Nope! See you tomorrow!”

The next morning, you tiptoed around the hotel room as you got ready, trying your best not to wake your mother up. She, and the rest of your family, had been up late last night, going out for dinner and dessert well past your bedtime. Far too embarrassed to tell them the realreason you were going to sleep early, you had said you were sick and went to bed as soon as the sun set.

Angrily gnawing on a granola bar from your mother’s emergency stash, you stomped down the spiraling hotel staircase, your eyes still bleary as you texted your family group chat that you were going out for a morning walk but would be back for breakfast.

Sae Itoshi was waiting for you in the lobby, doing some weird stretching routine that involved pressing his foot against the wall and leaning over it. You watched him, bemused, wondering which muscles he was trying to stretch before giving up and deciding it was probably one of those pro moves that you were too uninterested and unathletic for.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you said, giving him another one of the granola bars you had taken from your mother’s backpack. “Sorry, it’s sort of smushed. It’s been in a backpack for the last few days.”

He pinched the wrapper between his forefinger and thumb, looking at the granola bar with a disgusted expression. You didn’t think it was thategregious, but according to Sae, it must have been all but an offense against humanity, as he tossed it into the trash can within seconds of having it within his grasp.

“I already ate my snack,” he said.

“Why did you throw that away? I could’ve eaten it!” you said.

“That thing had probably melted and reformed at least twice. It was most definitely radioactive. I did you a favor, so you should say thank you,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Itoshi, for protecting me from the horrors of a slightly misshapen granola bar. I’m sure that, by throwing away that still edible brick of deliciousness, you have done me a great service. Possibly, you have even saved my life. I am eternally grateful,” you said.

He snorted. “You’re terrible at groveling. No wonder you have to do all of this ridiculous stuff to apologize to me instead of just saying sorry and moving on like a normal person.”

“Look, it’s a product of my upbringing,” you said. He finished stretching and headed out of the door; you followed after him with a smile at the hotel concierge, who seemed surprised to watch you go — whether it was the hour or your company, you weren’t sure. “Whenever my parents did something to upset me, they never apologized. They just came to my room with a bowl of fruit they had cut for me.”

“At least you got fruit,” he said. “My parents just told me to go practice soccer until I had cooled off.”

“Wow, really? That’s hardcore,” you said. Sae began to jog, and you did the same, though it was closer to a run for you than anything. “Did you just kick around the ball until you were less mad?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

“How horrible,” you said.

“Eh, it’s fine. It was a good way to get my anger out, and it had the added benefit of making me better at the sport, so it was pretty constructive overall,” he said.

“I still can’t imagine it,” you said, shaking your head. “What’s it like, being a professional athlete? Your entire life revolves around a game. What about when you can’t play anymore? When you’re too old, or if you get injured?”

His upper lip curled. “Do you want that to happen or something? Why are you speaking it into existence?”

“Not the injury part, but everyone grows old. You can’t stop that,” you said.

“I’ll play for as long as I can, and then I’ll coach for longer,” he said. “After that, I’ll retire and make sure my kids follow in my footsteps. Athletes make a lot of money, so I luckily won’t ever have to worry much about my finances.”

“What if your kids don’t want to play soccer?” you said. He actually sneered this time, the expression at home on his cold face.

“What else would they do with themselves? If they don’t want to play soccer, or if they have no talent at it, then they’re definitely not my children in the first place,” he said.

“Hm, maybe cooking? What if they want to be a chef?” you said.

“Then I’d wonder how your kids snuck into my house,” he said. You gasped, though it was as much for breath as it was out of offense.

“Stop it! You just happened to catch me at a hungry time!” you said.

“Sure,” he said.

“Just entertain the hypothetical that you really did somehow father children that were into cooking instead of soccer. How would you react?” you said.

“I would put them up for adoption,” he said.

“Seriously?” you said.

“No, obviously not,” he said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Why did you actually find that to be within the realm of possibility?”

“I think you’re some kind of soccer fiend. Who knows how dedicated you are to the cause?” you said.

“Not that dedicated,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if my kids can’t play soccer, and our relationship would probably be a bit distant, as I don’t know much about anything else, but I wouldn’t disown them.”

“You don’t know much about anything besides soccer? That’s a little sad,” you said.

“Kind of,” he said.

“Do you wish you knew about other things?” you said.

“Everyone has something they specialize in. It’s not uncommon for someone to know a lot about one thing and only a little about others,” he said. “My ‘thing’ is soccer. If it wasn’t that, then it’d be something else, so if I was in the business of wishing, I’d always be unsatisfied.”

You were already panting for breath when Sae picked up the pace, though he had not so much as broken a sweat yet. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in your obvious struggles, and then he made the decision to not slow down at all.

“I get it,” you said. “You’ll face no judgment from me.”

“Like I would care if you did judge me,” he said. “You’re already dying, and we haven’t even started running yet.”

“This isn’t running?” you said. “What the hell? How much faster can you even go?”

“If you think that this is anywhere near the pace of an average soccer match, then I don’t even know where to begin with you,” he said.

“You look slower on TV!”

“What, so you think I’m slow, too?”

You and Sae returned to the hotel in markedly different conditions. He wasn’t even warm, still appearing to be perfectly put together and entirely perspiration-free, smelling faintly like body soap and cologne. On the other hand, you were still trying to regain your wits about you, leaning on his shoulder so that you did not fall over from exhaustion.

“This is embarrassing for you,” he informed you as you walked towards the breakfast area.

“You’re a professional athlete and I’m a normal girl! It would be embarrassing for you if I could keep up!” you argued weakly.

“That would be true, if I wasn’t going easy on you,” he said, pulling out a chair for you and helping you into it, brushing his arm off when he was sure you were seated. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Have fun,” you said, resting your head in your hands, already knowing what you wanted to get. “We can walk through the buffet together. I’ll take the time to recover.”

“You do that,” he said.

While he was gone, you opened your phone, catching up on all of the texts in the family group chat that you hadn’t been able to read while you were attempting to run with Sae.

me: going for a morning walk but i’ll be back for breakfast

me: just wanted to let you all know so you weren’t worried!

uglier sibling: yeah nobody was worried LMFAO

mom: Hope you’re feeling better, honey!

dad: Make sure you’re back before 10. That’s when the complimentary breakfast ends, and we’re not paying for overpriced toast with jam.

uglier sibling: i still can’t believe u went for a morning walk

uglier sibling: like

uglier sibling: since when do u voluntarily wake up in the mornings at all let alone leave ur bed LET ALONE TAKE A WALK

uglier sibling: bitches will meet sae itoshi one time and suddenly they’re fitness influencers or wtvr

uglier sibling: btw i’m still mad that u didn’t get his autograph or a photo with him or anything

uglier sibling: i bet u made it up

uglier sibling: LIAR. FRAUD. HACK.

mom: Honey, leave your sister alone. Why would she make something like that up? 

dad: Your mother is right. Y/N doesn’t even know who Sae Itoshi is.

So it was a typical conversation, then. You hadn’t missed much; just your brother being salty and your parents showing some care for your well-being, as well as your father worrying for his wallet like he was prone to do. You didn’t even bother responding, just liking your father’s two messages and then putting your phone away.

“Y/N, you’re back already? What good timing!” your father called out to you from the entrance to the hotel restaurant. The world slowed as you turned to see the rest of your family walking into the restaurant, dressed in their typical touristy outfits. Your mother waved at you, and your brother faked gagging.

“Wow, you look like shit,” he said. “The fuck kinda morning walk were you on?”

“Gross, it’s you,” you said. “Go away! I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have any food with you,” he pointed out. “Can I sit with you? The parents are way too chipper in the mornings.”

“No!” you said.

“But there’s an empty seat at your table. Are you saving it for someone?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, wishing that for once they would’ve all slept in instead of getting here at the exact time that you and Sae had.

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“Come on, you two, let’s sit together and have a family breakfast!” your father said, motioning you and your brother over from where he and your mother had settled at a four-person table. Your brother gave you a pleading look.

“I’ll owe you forever,” he said. “I’ll grind on all of your video games for you the entire plane ride home!”

“I’m not lying, dude, I actually am sitting with someone. Now fuck off and leave me alone!” you hissed.

“Who?” he said, crossing his arms. “Your imaginary friend? Or your imaginary boyfriend!”

“Excuse me? Sorry, I was sitting there. Do you mind—?”

The most comical expression you had ever seen flashed over your brother’s face just then. It was horror mixed with incredulity mixed with extreme confusion. He turned slowly, his jaw dropping as he made eye contact with Sae Itoshi, whose dry countenance and perfect posture were as off-putting as ever.

“What?” your brother said. “What is going on?”

Sae sat opposite you. “This hotel has the most confusing first floor layout I’ve ever encountered. It took me ages just to find the bathroom.”

“There’s signs. Can you not read?” you said. He stared at you dully.

“I can read. I just happened not to look up at them,” he said.

“If I didn’t want to pay for even more food, I’d make another short joke, but I shall refrain,” you said.

“That was cutting it close,” he said.

“Y/N. My beautiful, amazing, wonderful older sister,” your brother said.

“Yes?” you said, preparing yourself for the incoming explosion. “Also, that’s not what you were calling me in the group chat earlier, was it?”

“Is that Sae Itoshi?” he said.

“Liar, fraud, hack, was that what it was?” you said. “Run along, loser. Maybe if you were nicer to me, I’d let you sit with us.”

Your brother opened his mouth to argue, but then, like he had remembered he was standing in front of his idol, he hung his head and trudged off, scuffing his toes against the floor as he did and giving you a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“That’s your little brother?” Sae said.

“Yup,” you said. “Your self-proclaimed biggest fan.”

“And you made him go sit with your parents instead of talking to me? You’re super mean, big sister,” Sae said.

“He wouldn’t shut up if I let him stay here, and considering the goal of this is for you to eat and then leave me alone for the rest of my vacation, that would not be conducive,” you said.

“I see,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was the goal.”

“Isn’t it yours, as well? I’m sure you’d like to enjoy yourself on your time off from soccer,” you said.

“Who says I’m not enjoying myself?” he said. You furrowed your brow at him.

“You’ve had the same expression on your face every time we’ve spoken,” you pointed out, lowering your eyelids and pursing your lips in an imitation of his resting mien. “Like this. It’s totally amphibious.”

“Amphibious?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know what amphibious means? Man, when you said you only focused on soccer, I didn’t think it was this bad!” you said.

“I know what amphibious means! I just don’t see how the word applies,” he said.

“Oh, right. Well, you kind of look like the frog emoji,” you said. “Sorry, I could’ve been clearer. That’s my bad.”

“Were you dropped on the head as a baby? I’m asking this from a place of concern, not anger,” Sae said. “It’s because you say so many nonsensical things. After all, I look nothing like the frog emoji.”

“Sure, and people tell me I look like a famous actress,” you said.

“Really?” he said.

“No, I thought we were both saying things that aren’t true,” you said.

“I think you look like a famous actress,” he said. “There. Now we’re both saying things that are true.”

“Well done, Mr. Itoshi! That was clever,” you said, knowing when to concede.

“Thank you,” he said. “Let’s go get our food now. If you die of starvation on my watch, it’ll be a major scandal for Re Al.”

“Your manager must love you,” you said. “So conscientious of your public image.”

“Nope, he’s usually pretty pissed at me,” he said as the two of you got in the buffet line.

“What for?” you said.

“Contrary to what you think, I’m pretty unconcerned with my public image. I’m a soccer player, not some kind of philanthropist or actor or whatever,” he said. “What does it matter if I offend people? My value is in playing well, not being friendly or kind.”

“No one ever accused you of being either of those two,” you said, spreading butter and jam over your toast. “You’re not that bad, though.”

“You’re not that bad, either,” he said. “At least, you’re better company than my manager.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you said. He scoffed.

“You have low standards,” he said.

“Yours are lower,” you said.

“Very mature response.”

“Thanks!”

Sae was a pretty agreeable breakfast partner. He wasn’t as impossibly cheerful as your parents, who generally drove you crazy with their talkativeness so early in the day, but he also wasn’t as silent and closed off as your brother, who was prone to snapping at others until he had finished at least half of his meal. As with lunch yesterday, it was almost an enjoyable experience, right up until you remembered whose card he was eating on.

“Where are you going?” he said when your plates had been cleared and you had pushed yourself to your feet. He followed after you as you made your way to the hostess’s station, ignoring the whispers that echoed behind the two of you.

“To pay for you to be here, duh,” you said, fishing around in your purse for your wallet. “I know you’re famous and all, but that doesn’t mean you get to eat for free. In fact, that was kind of the point of the meal.”

“I already paid for myself, so you can go and sit back down with your family if you’d like,” he said.

“What? When?” you said.

“I wouldn’t spend that long in a bathroom,” he said. “Not a public one.”

“You little—! Now what?” you said.

“Now you have to see me tomorrow,” he said. “Bye. I’ll pick you up for dinner, so make sure to wear something nice, and bring your credit card. It’s your treat.”

He walked off with a jaunty wave, leaving you standing there, confounded by the development. He had paid for himself again? What was the point of making you take him places if he was just going to cough up the cash himself anyways?

“Psst. Y/N,” your brother said. You weren’t sure when or where he had appeared, but it remained that he was suddenly tapping you on the shoulder and whispering in your ear. “Does Sae Itoshi have a crush on you? If so, please ask if he can get tickets for dad and I to attend his next game.”

“What?” you said, a shockwave running through your entire body at the mere thought of Sae having a crush on you. It was so juvenile and cliched as to be out of Sae’s character entirely. “No! I just owe him.”

“For what?” your brother said.

“I ran into him, called him ugly, and said that he was short,” you said. “Indirectly, of course, but it still happened. I was supposed to buy him lunch yesterday as an apology, but then he ended up paying for us both, and then today, I went on a run with him, and I was going to pay for him to have breakfast here, but guess what?”

“He paid for himself?” your brother said.

“He paid for — yeah, how did you know?” you said.

“There weren’t that many ways the story could’ve gone. Also, I overheard you guys talking,” he said.

“Creep,” you said.

“Weirdo,” he said.

“Freak,” you said.

“Stupid,” he said. “I bet he has a crush on you.”

“Why would he? We have zero common interests, and I’ve mostly only insulted him in our very short time knowing one another,” you said.

“Maybe he’s into that. Some guys are. My one friend is — actually, I’m not exposing him like that,” he said.

“Thank you, because I really didn’t want to know,” you said.

“Anyways, where I was going with that is some guys like girls who humble them a bit. Especially someone like Sae Itoshi; he’s probably so used to people falling all over themselves to get his attention that it’s nice for him to hang out with someone who’s too oblivious to care about that kind of stuff,” he said.

“People like you?” you said. “I told him you were his biggest fan, just so you know.”

“Why would you do that?” your brother said, his eyes bugging out and his mouth forming a pained grimace. “He probably thinks I’m a nerd now!”

“You do it to yourself, buddy,” you said. “Let’s go. It looks like the parents want us to go sit with them. Think you can handle it?”

“After learning that my hero has a crush on my sister and, furthermore, probably thinks of me as some kind of dweeb, I can handle anything,” he said.

The entire day, you pondered your brother’s words. Did Sae have a crush on you? Running through his actions and every conversation you both had ever had led you to think that he did not. It didn’t seem like he liked you very much in even a platonic sense, so how could anyone begin to think he liked you romantically? It was just tolerance for the sake of his pride, that was all.

And you definitely didn’t like him. He was emotionless and conceited and teased you far too often. What did it matter that he was somewhat attractive? He had a terrible personality, and you bet that if more of his fans knew what he was like, he wouldn’t have any to begin with.

No wonder Sae’s manager hated him. He was probably a jerk to his poor employees, too.

“We’re thinking of going here for dinner tonight,” your father said the next day. “Look, their reviews are pretty high, and their prices aren’t crazy. What does everyone think?”

“I’m fine with anything,” your mother said.

“Same here,” your brother said.

“Y/N?” your father said. You were about to respond when your own phone buzzed. You knew exactly who it was texting you, and you sighed as you opened it.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I will be there in one hour.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): You better not have forgotten about our plans for tonight.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I made a reservation, so I’ll really be mad if you stand me up.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Especially because you’re paying.

me: I WILL BE THERE OMFG STOP TEXTING ME

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Okay.

“I can’t,” you said.

“Why not? Are you on some new diet or something? They should have vegetarian options, so that won’t be a problem,” your father said. “We can look at their menu beforehand if you prefer, and if you really don’t like anything, then we can find somewhere else.”

“I already have plans,” you said, your lower lip jutting out childishly. “Not that I want to! But I made a promise.”

“You already have plans? What’s that supposed to mean?” your mother said.

“I’m having dinner with someone,” you said.

“Ooh, how exciting! With who?” she said.

“I bet I can guess!” your brother sang.

“Enough out of you!” you said, kicking him in the back of the leg. He doubled over, though that did not stop him from smirking at you.

“Y/N and Sae, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” he said.

“You’re going out with Sae Itoshi?” your father said. “You should’ve just said so! That’s perfectly alright, honey. Actually, he’s the one man I’m not upset about you dating!”

“We are not dating!” you said. “It’s a more transactional relationship than that. No feelings involved. It’s just me apologizing to him.”

“Are you close enough to him to get an autograph for your brother and I?” your dad said.

“Um.” You thought about it. Would Sae give you an autograph for them? You weren’t sure. There was a chance he would, but there was also a high chance he would not. “I dunno. I can ask.”

“You’ll ask for dad, but not for me? Wow, I see how it is,” your brother said.

“Yeah, because you’re annoying!” you said. “Ugh. I have to get ready now. He’ll be here to get me in an hour. Have fun at dinner, all of you. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.”

“You have fun as well,” your mother said. “Make sure not to bring any money with you. Gentlemen should always pay on the first date.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” you said, giving up on explaining things to your family for the sake of your sanity.

Sae was aggressively punctual. Exactly an hour after he had texted you, a shiny black car was pulling up in the valet lane, and a tall, bald man in a suit was opening the door for you. You climbed in awkwardly, finding Sae to be sitting on the other side, gazing out of the window pensively.

“Hello,” you said, smoothing your dress and buckling your seatbelt. “You have a driver?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “I usually walk places when I’m on vacation, but this restaurant is kind of far, so I thought it’d be more prudent to have the driver take us.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you, driver, sir.”

The driver hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything else. You supposed he probably wasn’t used to talking with his passengers; you doubted Sae ever spoke to him much.

“It’s been so hot out recently,” Sae said stiffly.

“That’s what happens during the summer, yes,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said.

“You’re right, though,” you said. “It has been hot.”

“Super hot,” he said.

“Yes,” you said. “Super hot.”

That must’ve been why there was a slight redness to his cheeks. There was definitely no other reason. And there wasn’t any other reason for why you felt uncomfortably warm, shifting in your seat to dissipate the feeling in your stomach. It was the temperature. That was all.

Given the trend, you really should have anticipated it when Sae paid for your dinner while you were freshening up in the bathroom, but you really had not seen it coming in the slightest. He scrunched up his face when you argued, simply telling you that he would see you tomorrow before dropping you back off at your hotel, the receipt in your hand, his flourishing signature scrawled across the back.

“For your brother,” he had said, handing it to you before you could even ask him for his autograph. “You said he was a fan, right? I’ll get him a better one later, but for now, this should do.”

You spent every day of the rest of that vacation with Sae Itoshi. Some days, you would accompany him on a morning walk — he had softened to slowing his pace, so that he was only barely jogging instead of the full on run that he had forced you into that first time — and on others, the two of you would have some meal or another together. The common theme was that, if there was money involved, he would take care of it. Without question, without hesitation, he always slapped your hand back and pulled out his own credit card, telling you that now you both had to meet again, and the next time you really would be the one paying, or else he’d never be able to forgive you for your terrible behavior.

Your parents and brother complained about it at first, as your new friendship with Sae — could it be considered a friendship, or was it something else? — meant you did not see them much on what was supposed to be a family vacation.

You brought it up with Sae, and he responded with something about how it wouldn’t have been a problem at all if you weren’t such a freeloader and actually paid for him, like you were supposed to. This resulted in a lighthearted squabble between you both, which in turn made you forget your family’s whining, and as well you should have. You could take a million more vacations with them, but you’d likely never get a chance to hang out with Sae Itoshi again, so why wouldn’t you take advantage of it when you could?

Sae didn’t forget, though. He sent you back from dinner the next evening with a soccer ball he had won in one of his games, his signature and a note of gratitude scribbled on it in black marker.

Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter and sister from you while you’re on your trip. I really appreciate it, even if she doesn’t know anything about soccer. — Sae Itoshi

They stopped complaining after that. The ball became your brother’s most prized possession, and every day, your father would tell you how happy he was that you had made such a considerate friend.

“And you know, if you ever want to date him,” he’d say, elbowing you in the side with an obnoxious wink. “We wouldn’t be opposed!”

Your mother was in the same boat. “He really cares about you, I think. Enough that he gave your family something so precious just because he thought we didn’t like him. You could do a lot worse than that.”

“Plus, he’s rich and famous!” your brother would chime in without fail. “Double win!”

“You guys are all nuts,” you’d tell them, shaking your head to disguise how pleased the thought of dating Sae made you.

It could never happen. Like your brother was so happy to remind you, he was rich and famous, an athlete that was adored worldwide and played for the best soccer club in history. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he ever choose you? You and he were from two different planes of existence. Maybe you could pretend for a little bit that you weren’t, but the date for your eventual departure from Spain was drawing closer and closer, and that day meant the certain end of the fever dream that was your closeness with Sae.

You had been prepared from the start for it to finish in this way. You would go home and tell all of your friends about your trip, how you had spent almost every day with the famous soccer player Sae Itoshi, how he had given you his phone number and made you go on runs with him, how together, you and him had eaten lunch and dinner and breakfast and several meals that you were convinced he had just made up to have an excuse to buy food for the two of you — brunch, linner, midnight snacks and third desserts.

There were other things that you wouldn’t tell them, too, things that Sae had not necessarily said to you in confidence but which you sensed were held close to his heart and which you would therefore hold close to yours. His little brother was named Rin, and they had the same eyes, though Rin’s were quicker to water and perpetually had hair falling into them. He still watched the same shows he used to when he was very small, because they reminded him of his parents’ home. He thought that a person’s athletic potential could be determined by the shape of their butt, but he tended to avoid looking as a form of respect for others.

“That’s a pretty cool skill, Sae! What do you think my athletic potential is?” you had asked when he had revealed that last fact.

“If it’s possible for a person to have negative potential, then that’s about what yours is. If it’s not, then you’re definitely at a zero,” he had responded.

“You didn’t even look,” you had said, shoving a French fry into his mouth as punishment. He hated French fries for how unhealthy they were, and you had half-expected him to lecture you about fats and oils and salts, but instead, he had dutifully chewed and swallowed without any theatrics.

“Don’t need to, and don’t plan to,” he had said, and that was that. “I’ve already seen you run, and that told me all I needed to know about your athletic skills. Or, in this case, your lack thereof.”

If you took his words at face value, then you would’ve thought he truly hated you. He never missed a chance to make fun of you, and you were the same way — certainly, anyone who overheard your conversations would’ve been convinced that you and he were bitter enemies. But that was because they didn’t see the way he always positioned himself on the sidewalk so that he was between you and the oncoming traffic. They didn’t see the way he’d pull out your chair and only pretend to frown when you’d thank him for it. They didn’t see the way his ears would turn pink if you dared to smile in his direction or, heaven forbid, agreed with what he was saying instead of arguing, as was your go-to.

No, you were pretty confident that Sae Itoshi did not hate you. It was just that soccer was his thing and all other areas were beyond him, areas which included such fields as emotional awareness and sensitivity.

Maybe you might tell the friends you were particularly close to about that. Sae Itoshi treated me pretty well, you’d say, with grand, sweeping hand motions to emphasize the point. As well as he knew how to, which was well enough for me. If I ever get a boyfriend, they’ll have a lot to live up to. Seems kind of unfair to whatever poor schmuck gets stuck with the task, don’t you think? Considering the two of us never even dated…

“I'm going home tomorrow morning,” you said. The sun was setting, and the two of you were walking along the same stretch of beach that you had first met at. “I finished packing all of my things before dinner. It’s surreal, almost. I feel like an entirely different person now, compared to when I came here.”

“Is that so?” he said, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “I wonder why.”

“Did you just smile?” you said. Immediately, he scowled.

“No way,” he said. “I’d never smile because of something you said.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, you definitely smiled. I made you smile! I made you smile! I made you smile!” you said, poking him in the cheek repeatedly. Sae’s expressions were so subtle that it was easy to overlook them before they had vanished, but there was no overlooking what you had just seen. He had definitely smiled at you, or at least he had been about to.

“Stop poking me,” he grumbled.

“No,” you said, poking him again. “Only if you smile again.”

“Hell no,” he said. You poked his cheek again. “Y/N. Stop it.”

“Will you miss me?” you said.

“Not if you don’t quit that!” he said, grabbing your wrist when you prepared to poke him again. Heat rose to your cheeks at the way his thumb rested against your pulse, and when he realized he was holding your hand so familiarly, his own cheeks flushed. “No. I won’t.”

“I’ll miss you,” you said, digging your feet into the sand, turning out to the sea because you couldn’t stand to look at him when you were being so vulnerable. “I’ll tell everyone I know about you, of course, but it won’t be the same. Something funny will happen, and I’ll think to myself, oh, Sae would’ve snorted at that — but not laughed, because you don’t laugh. Or I’ll order shitty French fries, and it’ll remind me of how much you’d scold me for eating them. You’d say something like, those are basically heart attacks in a box, and then you’d pour a bottle of salted kombucha down my throat to cleanse my system.”

Somewhere in the distance, a seagull squawked, reminding you of the fateful encounter from so long ago. You wished you could go back and get to know Sae all over again. You wished you could ask him the same questions and not know the answers, so that you were surprised when he told them to you. You wished you could argue with him for a little bit longer. You wished that, one more time, you could imply he was short and ugly and slow and a thousand other rude adjectives, even if he was really none of those things, none of them at all.

“I’m going to ask you one last question, okay?” you said. “Please think over your answer carefully. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he said, uncharacteristically gently. “I’ll really consider it well.”

“What’s your favorite animal?” you said.

“Seagulls,” he said immediately, directly contradicting his solemn oath. You laughed at this, burying your face in your hands to hide the hitch in your throat.

“You traitor,” you said. “You know all about the feud between seagulls and I, and yet you’re still claiming they’re your favorites?”

“They always have been,” he said. “I like migratory birds, how they don’t stay in one place but are always moving around. It must be such a blissful life.”

“But it’s probably pretty lonely, too,” you said. “They don’t have anywhere to call home.”

“I like lonely things,” he said. “That’s why the end of the summer is my favorite season.”

“Hm,” you said. “Then, if I tell you that I’ll be lonely once I leave here, will you like me, too?”

He looked at you, but you stared resolutely ahead, your gaze trained on the horizon, the way his had been on the day you had run into him. It was such a kiddish question, and internally, you were beating yourself up for asking it, but deep down, you wanted to know, so you did not move to retract it.

“Well, I like seagulls for a different reason now,” he said.

So that was your answer, then. The waves crashed against the shore, and a balmy wind blew through your hair and clothes, carrying the light scent of Sae’s cologne to your nose, the same one he had worn for as long as you could remember.

“I understand,” you said.

“These days, it’s a specific seagull I’m fond of, actually,” he said.

“Huh? Like a breed or something?” you said.

“No, just one bird in particular,” he said. “It did me a really huge favor recently.”

“What are you talking about? You always say that you suspect I was dropped on the head as a baby, but between the two of us, I think the one that was dropped was you,” you said, the fraying ends of your rejected feelings driving you to irascibility.

“A while ago, I was standing on the beach, feeling pretty annoyed with the world — as usual,” he said. “I had had to run from the paparazzi in order to go on this vacation without being bothered, you know, and I honestly was starting to question if I’d ever be seen as a normal person. I get that the only thing I’m good at is soccer, but it’s pretty tiring to be thought of as a guy who kicks balls around and nothing more.”

Unbidden, you inhaled sharply, because the story was starting to sound familiar. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of Sae smiling shyly, peering down at you through his unfairly long eyelashes.

“That seagull must’ve known how I was feeling. There’s no other explanation for it all. It must’ve known how I was feeling, and somehow, it managed to find the one person in the entire world that saw me as something other than that. Do you know what it did next? It stole that person’s sandwich, and it led her right to me,” he said.

“Are you talking about me?” you said.

“How many people do you think have called me a short, ugly, D-list celebrity instead of asking for my autograph upon meeting me?” he said.

“Probably not very many,” you said. He chuckled.

“Probably not any,” he said. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“Probably not,” you said. He stroked your hair, though his motions were like a marionette’s — he was not very used to this type of relationship, after all. But he was trying his best, and you found that to be far more endearing than any suave gestures might’ve been.

“I know you have to go soon, so I was planning on not saying anything,” he said. “What would be the point? I figured this was just a summer fling for you. But then you had to go and be all sentimental, and I had to say something.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said. “It would’ve been worse if I had returned home without knowing at all. Where do we go from here, though?”

“Where do we go from here? Let me think. Well, I’ll ask you to be my girlfriend,” he said. “And you’ll say yes, because who would ever reject me? Then we’ll talk on the phone every day, and you can send me photos of things you find funny, and I’ll have a sixth sense for when you’re eating French fries and I’ll send you strongly worded texts in reprimand. You’ll fly over to watch my matches whenever possible, and when I’m on my next break, I’ll come visit you and meet your family and friends properly.”

“Getting a little presumptuous, aren’t we? What if I say no?” you said.

“Will you?” he said.

“Not sure. How about you ask and find out?” you said.

“If you’re going to say no, then I don’t want to,” he said. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I can’t be with a man who’s afraid of rejection. It was nice knowing you, Sae,” you said. “See you around. Hope you lose the Champions League.”

“Wait! I’m not afraid of rejection,” he said. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? Officially, I mean.”

“Yes, of course,” you said. “But you’re going to have to buy my plane tickets if you want me to watch you. Even with frequent flier miles, I doubt I can afford coming to see you that often.”

“Consider it done,” he said. You grinned at him.

“You know, if you’re my boyfriend, then you’re going to have to keep paying for our dates, as well. My mother said that’s the gentlemanly thing for you to do,” you said.

“Right, I was expecting that,” he said. “Don’t you think there’s a reason why I haven’t let you buy anything yet?”

“Then how am I ever supposed to apologize to you for the circumstances of our first meeting? I mean, I was pretty harsh,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said. “Let me think.”

“Mhm,” you said. “I know that that’s out of your comfort zone, so I’ll give you a minute.”

“I have an idea,” he said, though it was accompanied by a slight glare at your jab.

“What is it?” you said.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You obliged, squeezing them shut, though not without widening your feet into the defensive stance he had demonstrated to you on the day he had attempted to teach you basic soccer skills.

“What are you going to do, tackle me or something? I’m using the position you taught me, but please be gentle, you’re way more muscular than—!”

You were cut off by him pressing his lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, gentle and light, like feathers in the air or water against the sand, and he pulled away before you could really react or reciprocate. He had left you wanting, and you knew he knew that, because there was a smugness to his voice when he spoke next.

“Apology accepted,” he said as you blinked at him in shock, your mind still lagging well behind your body. “Now we’re even.”

“Hold on,” you said. “I’m suddenly feeling very repentant and remorseful. Are you quite sure you forgive me with just that?”

He laughed. It was such a lovely sound, his laugh, and you would’ve told him so if you weren’t afraid that he’d stop when you pointed it out.

“Maybe not,” he said. “You might have to apologize a bit more.”

“That sounds doable,” you said. “Yeah, I might be able to work that in. It’ll be agonizing, but a wise man once told me that that’s just the nature of apologizing, so it’s the least I can do, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, holding your face in his hands and leaning in. You did the same, your eyes closing all on their own as you sought out the connection he had deprived you of earlier.

As the sun set over the horizon and the seagulls settled in for the night, he kissed you again.