Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Age 6, during recess / POV: Rin)

Careless idiot. That became Rin's new name every time he dared to step onto the playground during recess.

The older kids always made this weird sound—somewhere between a groan and an irritated chuckle—the second they saw him coming. Unprepared for, and unenthusiastic about, the unpredictable destruction they knew was on its way. he knew it was bad. The names were mean and unnecessary—and yeah, mean again.

But what would Big Brother do? He'd ignore the bullies. Keep walking. Keep going. That's what Big Brother always did.

So Rin kept going too. His mission today? Stomping on a carefully built Jenga tower.

No reason. It wasn't his tower. He just saw it there—leaning all wrong, practically begging to fall—and figured, yeah. Why not?

It was gonna fall anyway. Probably before whoever playing with it even came back with the next block. Why was it even here out in the open all alone? Anyone could have knocked it over by running past it. That would have been satisfying. Maybe I could rebuild it and-

A loud screech then tore through Rin's thoughts from across the playground.

"My tower!"

Rin blinked slowly and turned. A boy was running toward the fallen tower. No, he was running toward him.

Sashimi Man. That's what it said on the back of his backpack—big blue letters stitched all bold and crooked.

That's a funny name. Rin's head tilted to the side as he watched the boy running toward him, not even bothering to adjust his falling backpack in his fit of rage. I wonder if he likes fish. It would be funny if his Momma named him that but he hated fish.

The boy looked really mad though. Not fish-fan mad. More like fish-hate mad.

"You broke my tower!"

"Me?" Rin snapped out of his random thoughts, finally noticing Sashimi Man's anger. "But it was gonna fall any-"

"TEACHER!!"

Rin frowned. Aw. That sounds bad. Am I gonna be yelled at by Momma and Papa again? They always yell when the teacher calls them.

I hope "typical" fits in here.

Big brother says it all the time.

But Sashimi Man didn't wait for the teacher. He picked up a block—and threw it.

Thunk

When Rin looked down, his forearm already had a large spot of and ugly, dark purple splashed onto it like a rectangle. Yucky. That happened a lot.

Figures. Thanks, Papa.

His skin was soft, that's what everyone said. But Big Bro said soft isn't always a good thing. Not when you bruise like a peach in the summer. He was a carbon copy of his father, dark green hair, unusually delicate skin, long eyelashes, small frame, random plus shaped birthmarks on their collarbones.

He didn't cry.

he didn't yell.

He didn't really even move.

Sashimi Man stared at him harder. Like Rin was cheating by not crying.

And then more blocks came flying.

Thunk. Thunk.

Rin winced when the third block smacked against his shin, taking a step back. Wow. That's a lot of blocks.

This feels like one of those carnival games Big Bro is so good at. The ones where you throw stuff to win a bear.

Is this a game?

He stared at Sashimi Man's face. His cheeks were all red now and his eyebrows were squished together in fury. Wow. He looks like Retsuko. 

Scary. I wish Big Bro was here.

And just like that—

"Stop throwing blocks. You're making a mess and the sound is annoying."

That voice.

That calm, tired, perfect voice.

Rin smiled without meaning to. Big Brother had arrived.

The other boy froze, block still clutched in one hand.

He turned—slow, like he already regretted it—and came face to face with Sae Itoshi.

Sae didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't even look angry.

Just... done.

His gaze flicked down to the mess of wooden blocks, then up to the boy holding one.

"I said stop."

That was all

Sashimi Man wavered, then dropped the block with a loud clack and stormed off. Not a word. Not even a glare. Rin's shoulders finally dropped.

Sae turned to him, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"You okay?"

Rin nodded. "I think so."

Sae stepped closer, crouched down, and gently took Rin's arm. His fingers hovered over the bruising skin, not quite touching it.

"You're already bruising. You've gotta be more careful"

Rin looked down, then up again. "But he was mad. About the tower. It was already gonna fall, though."

Sae sighed — not in a mean way. Just tired. "I know. But next time... maybe don't help it fall."

Rin blinked. "Was that the wrong choice?"

Sae didn't answer right away. He let go and ruffled Rin's hair.

"Next time, find me first."

It wasn't like Sae was big. Actually, he was smaller than most kids his age—especially with his Dad's genes. His skin was much more fragile than Rin's already delicate skin, his lashes were a bit thicker underneath the eyes, and instead of a birthmark on his collarbone, he had a fading scrape from soccer practice. (Though that wasn't genetics. Just bad luck.) Compared to older kids, Sae wasn't much. Even compared to kids his own age, he looked small.

Put him next to someone younger—like Rin or Sashimi Man—and he still didn't seem all that big.

But somehow, he felt big. He could still get the largest of bullies to back off without even raising his voice. Sae wasn't intimidating because of his size or strength. He was intimidating because of how calm he was. Because no matter what was happening, he never flinched. Never panicked. he just... stood there. Like nothing could touch him.

It was Sae who later put on a show for Rin to watch while Sae left for soccer practice. Sashimi Man is what is was the main hero. Rin didn't like him much.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The screeching sound of the overpriced digital alarm clock woke Sae from his restless sleep, cold sweat dampening his face and making his bangs cling to his forehead. No nightmares. No dreams. Just a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion he hadn’t earned.

His mouth felt dry, tongue heavy.

I don’t remember sleeping with my mouth open. Though, I guess it wouldn't make sense for me to be able to remember what I wasn't awake for.

His whole body ached like he’d spent the night fighting ghosts. He hadn’t. He was sure of that.

A headache pulsed behind his eyes—low, dull, but persistent. The kind that sat behind your skull like it was waiting to get worse.

I should get up.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet.

Crap.

Sae used to be someone who got up before alarms.

He used to beat the sun to the finish line. Now, he just watched light leak in through cheap blinds like it wasn’t meant for him.

The ceiling above him hadn’t changed in the fours years he'd lives in this hellish excuse for a condo, and yet every time he looked at it, it felt more distant. Like the room kept getting taller and he kept getting smaller. Though the latter wouldn't be hard to believe.

His limbs were heavy. Sweat cooled against his skin. A faint chill clung to the air, though his forehead felt hot.

Is it the air, or me?

The blanket was tangled around one of his legs like he’d kicked at it in his sleep. His right arm was flung above his head, the fingers numb. His other hand lay slack across his chest, rising and falling too slowly for someone his age. Concerning for most, though normal for Sae.

The pillow had grown damp beneath his cheek. His t-shirt clung to his back. It didn’t feel like rest. It felt like recovery from a war he couldn’t remember fighting.

Now he just felt… small. Stuck.

His eyes tracked lazily across the room: a dusty participation trophy from a tournament he didn’t even try in. He won it as a kid. Accidentally dropped it in his suitcase when he first left for Spain. A hoodie from last week still slouched on the back of a chair. There were holes in it, but Sae didn't have the energy to throw it away. His soccer cleats tossed somewhere near the corner, one lying on its side, half untied.

A water glass sat on the nightstand—cloudy from dust, a faint ring of lime at the bottom where the water used to be. He hadn't refilled it in days.

Get up.

He didn’t. Just blinked at the ceiling and let the moment go.

I messed up my passes.

To any other player, they would’ve looked clean—pinpoint, even. But to Sae, it was like missing a penalty with no goalkeeper in sight. Unforgivable.

I should’ve known they’d pass less to me after that.

They always did when he made a mistake. Any other player and they surely wouldn't notice. Not because he wasn’t reliable—but because he wasn’t one of them.

They didn’t say it. Not outright. But the way they looked at him when he scored... it wasn’t respect.

That’s not how they’d look at a Spanish striker.

A Japanese midfielder stealing the spotlight? They’d never admit it, but it bruised their egos in places no coach could reach and being a midfielder wasn't even half of the reason they glared at him with so much disgust whenever he scored.

He remembered the way they used to “accidentally” shove him too hard during scrimmages. The way one of them once "accidentally" snapped an elbow back while lunging for the ball and hit him square in the nose—blood dripping fast enough that it stained his cleats before anyone moved to help.

He remembered vaguely being cornered by a couple of his more bold teammates when he was 14 after the coach gave him a compliment—obviously laced with a couple "For a Japanese kid"s, though they didn't seem to notice—and one of them felt the need to gut punch him.

Luna did "just so happen" to walk in while they were preparing to beat Sae bloody—not smart if they wanted to at least try to hide the abuse—and take Sae away to his office, saving him from the bruises he surely would've earned himself. Sae still wondered to this day why Luna even had an office, but it hurt to think about Luna.

I think I would've preferred the bruises.

Even now, his chest tightened at the memory. A phantom pain, right where that fist landed. Right where large, cold hands forced him down. He found the first pain more tolerable than the latter.

He shut his eyes. Let the alarm ring.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The alarm still hadn’t stopped.

It rang and rang like it had no intention of ever being silenced. And for some reason, the sound felt sharper now. More persistent. A knife slicing through fog.

His arm ached. His head pounded.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

His calf gave a sudden twitch—tightening with a warning cramp that made his toes curl under the blanket.

Great.

He shifted slightly, a groan leaving his throat before he could catch it. It came out soft, hoarse. He blinked at the ceiling, then let his eyes fall closed again.

I should get up.

Another minute passed. Maybe more. The alarm didn’t care.

Then, finally, his hand moved. Just barely.

He brought it up to cover his eyes, rubbing at the sockets with the heel of his palm, trying to chase the grit from his lashes. Every motion felt slow. Disconnected.

His body didn’t want to obey. It responded like a machine out of charge—sluggish, stalling between every command.

The blanket slid off as he turned onto his side. Cold air kissed his damp back and made him wince.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

He sat up with the kind of effort that felt theatrical—like dragging himself upright in front of an invisible audience.

A spike of nausea twisted in his gut. He shut his eyes against it.

When he opened them again, his room looked even messier than before.

Or maybe it was just clearer now. Less blurred by sleep. More honest in the daylight.

He sighed. If I let it keep ringing, I'll probably get a noise complaint from that weird couple next door.

He reached toward the nightstand and slammed the heel of his hand against the top of the clock.

BEEP. BEEP. B—

Silence.

His hand dropped back to his lap.

He didn’t feel triumphant. Didn’t feel rested. Just… present. In the worst kind of way. Like a ghost at their own funeral.

Sae finally stood up — and immediately regretted it.

His head spun. A wave of nausea punched through his gut. The warning cramp in his left calf exploded into a full-blown charley horse. The room shifted sideways for a second, and he gripped the edge of the bed frame to steady himself, knuckles pale.

His body wasn’t built for this today. Maybe not any day.

The air in the room felt too thin, like he was breathing through cloth. His legs were stiff, his lower back aching, and every joint groaned in silent protest. Even the carpet felt rough against the soles of his feet — not because it was, but because every nerve seemed to be tuned to pain.

He shuffled to the closet with slow, deliberate movements, favoring his right leg. Every step sent a spike of heat through the cramped muscle. By the time he reached the dresser, he was already sweating again.

Changing was its own kind of punishment. He pulled on a black turtleneck and dark jeans, grimacing at the tightness of the denim around his knees. His hoodie hung where he’d left it yesterday — draped over the chair — but he didn’t bother grabbing it. It felt like too much effort.

He stared at the bottom drawer of his dresser where his socks were. The thought of bending down was enough to keep him barefoot for now, no matter how much he despised being without socks, even in his own home. He could get them after he applied his ZapoChill.

Sae moved to the bathroom like a man twice his age. A dull ache pulsed behind his eyes. He grabbed the bottle of ZapoChill, spraying it generously on his calf. The cooling effect hit fast — stinging first, then numbing. He sighed quietly through his nose.

The bathroom light was too bright. The mirror showed a pale face, flushed ears, and hair that stuck to the sides of his face with sweat. He looked like he’d lost a fight in his sleep.

Brushing his teeth was a mechanical task — until the brush slipped too far.

He gagged, causing his jaw to snap shut against the toothbrush, and in the next second, froze.

"Don’t bite down, idiot. The more you do this wrong, the longer it'll last."

The voice in his head was unmistakable. Distant, cold, familiar.

Sae’s hands clenched around the sink, the toothbrush falling into the basin with a soft clatter. His eyes squeezed shut.

For a moment, he braced for impact — expecting the slap, the punishment for biting down. Even though there was no one else in the room.

His body remembered what his mind worked so hard to forget.

Then the memory surged.

___

He was on his knees again. Carpet beneath him. Luna standing over him like a shadow cast too long. That office — always cold, always locked. The scent of cologne and leather and something unclean.

Luna’s hand had tangled in his hair.

"You’ll get better at this," he’d whispered. "You’re smart. And obedient."

Sae hadn’t understood — not at first. But Luna made sure he did. Slowly. Patiently. With twisted affection and careful words.

"You’re special, Sae. Don’t let anyone else touch you like this. Only me."

The pressure. The breathlessness. The violation.

Sae tried to pull away once. Luna had yanked him back.

"You’ll choke if you fight it. Relax. Take it all. That’s it... good boy."

The desperation for air was what caused his jaw to snap shut. Or at least start to close until Luna yelped and Sae remembered to keep his mouth open wide.

Then came the harsh slap. "Don't bite down, idiot. The more you do this wrong, the longer it'll last."

When it finally stopped, Sae had barely been able to breathe. His throat raw, his eyes stinging.

Luna knelt beside him, wiping his mouth like a child.

"See? Not so hard. You’re getting stronger."

Sae had wanted to scream. But instead, he’d nodded.

___

The memory snapped like a rubber band.

He was back in the bathroom. On the floor. Knees against tile, not carpet. That was about all he could remind himself to keep calm.

His phone buzzed.

He blinked at it. One new message. From Shidou.

[Demon]

lets play togthr. i mis playin w u

[Demon]

we shld go out. like a date. but not a date. unless 💦👅😝

Another one.

[Demon]

SAEEEEEEEEE 😭😭 don’t ignore meeeeee

And another.

 

[Demon]

Sae ur making me beg. so embarassing. unless sae-chan likes it

Sae stared at the screen. Blank. Still shaking.

His mind reeled — from the memory, the voice, the ache that still hadn’t faded.

But the Demon’s words were... stupid. Annoying. Relentless.

And somehow, that made him breathe.

He didn’t reply.

But he didn't exactly block the number either. He just stood there, staring at his phone like it had woken him up from a nightmare. Which, it kind of had.

Sae was never an attention whore. Quite the opposite, actually. He didn't mind being alone and silence was an acquaintance of his. But for some reason... he pressed the call button.

He listened to the ring for what seemed like forever, though it was barely two seconds before Shidou answered. "Sae-chan!" Under normal circumstances, Sae would've scolded Shidou for yelling and hung up right then and there. But right now, he wanted to hear Shidou's voice. No, NEEDED.

 "Demon." Sae tried his best to hide the waver in his voice, which seemed to work because Shidou made no comment and let him continue. "It's six in the morning. I figured you would be asleep."

"Of course not! I'm always up early. I have a feeling you're not always up this early, though. Never heard you sound so tired."

That made Sae's breath hitch. He noticed. Sae couldn't tell if what he said was to distract Shidou, or himself.

"Demon, I'm hungry."

Chapter Text

6:42 am, Shidou Ryusei's Apartment

When he first heard Sae's words, he accidentally bit down on his tongue rather than the piece of bacon in his mouth, causing the shockingly expensive plate to fall out of his hand, even pricier bacon sliding off. The ceramic plate shattered upon impact with the tile, of course, and the pieces were sent flying from the table all the way under the couch, in the open bathroom, and somehow into the pantry. The slightly burnt bacon hit the floor, no longer salvageable to most. Ryusei wasn't most, though. But that wasn't the concern right now. Sae had hung up the phone before he could even process his words.

He held his breath, expecting to wake up from this unmerciful daydream any second now. But he didn't. He didn't release his breath, either, until his slightly fading tan face turned blue.

After a solid 50 seconds, (Nothing compared to his all time record of 4 minutes. Impressive, right?), he exhaled loudly, his dizziness disappearing soon after.

He had to repeat the words in his head again and again and again before he could fully process that they were real.

"Demon, I'm hungry."

Nope. Totally real.

No way... No fucking way. Sae fucking Itoshi had agreed to go on a date with him. And that wasn't any more of a surprise than the fact that he actually CALLED.

Shidou had assumed Sae forgot about him after the U-20 match, even after agreeing to give Shidou his number when Shidou scored that hat trick. Buuuut, Shidou hadn't technically scored the hat trick and Sae still gave him his number. So Sae had to care. At least a little.

Shidou's brain lingered on the thought of Sae's words for a while, his heart doing more backflips than he ever could.

Had he been unaware of Sae's lack of patience, he would've day dreamed about Sae's words forever. But he knew better than to test Sae's patience. (Hah. Get it? God, I'm a cornball now.)

[You]

luky me

Sae-chan wants to go on a date w me of all ppl

im so in luv

marry meee

Sae didn't respond for a while.

At first, Shidou didn’t mind. Quiet had never truly bothered him, especially from Sae. His silence usually meant he was just thinking—he always responded immediately after discovering his response. But after three minutes passed, something shifted. It wasn’t just quiet anymore. It was heavy. It filled the space like fog, dense and unspoken.

[You]

?

Sae-Chan

Sae-chaaan

dont ignore meee

He didn’t want to ask what was wrong.

He didn’t want to push.

But the silence stretched thin, taut like a wire ready to snap.

He looked at the screen. Stillness. No typing indicator, no reply. Not even a read receipt.

His heartbeat quickened—not the fluttery kind he usually felt around Sae, like when Sae fed him those delicious passes during the U-20 match. This wasn't a fun feeling. There was a pain, an already forming lump in his throat.

He swallowed, trying to calm the spiraling dread building in his chest.

Maybe Sae was busy. Maybe he didn’t see the message. Maybe—

Stop it, stop overreacting.

He cut off the mental freefall before it could begin. Overthinking wouldn’t help. It never did.

Still, his fingers twitched where they rested, desperate to do something—anything—to fill the gap Sae’s silence left in the air between them.

He considered sending another text. Just one. Just softly. A nudge, not a shove.

But he didn’t.

He waited.

Because maybe waiting would let Sae find whatever words he needed. Or maybe it wouldn't. Maybe silence was all he had for Shidou.

And maybe that was the answer.

Damn. Maybe I should apologize and try to-

His phone buzzes. 

When he heard the buzz, he released a breath, though he doesn't remember ever holding it.

He looked down at his phone, expecting some kind of smart comeback, only to see the address to a nearby diner.

[Sae-Chan]

*Insert random link*

Shidou was just sitting there in shock for a good minute before Sae texts again.

[Sae-Chan]

9 pm. Don't be late.

The moment Shidou saw the second text, he immediately knew this date wasn't just for food. No dinner date was at 9 at night. That made him giggle—something he was glad he wouldn't remember doing later on.

---

Shidou stood half-naked in the middle of his disaster-zone he was still somehow proud to call a bedroom, the chaos around him multiplying the longer he spent lingering around in his room.

Dirty socks draped across random pieces of furniture like lazy flags of defeat, empty snack wrappers crunched underfoot, and crumpled t-shirts formed tiny cotton mountains around the base of his unmade bed. It was only natural he had a couple used condoms hiding somewhere in his bed sheets from a hookup. The air was thick with the stale smell of old cologne, sweat, and the unmistakable musk of men. He honestly preferred the smell of man than woman, no hate to women, though. His mirror—smudged and streaked with months of neglect—offered a blurry version of himself. Or maybe it wasn’t the mirror at all. Maybe it was just the adrenaline thundering through his head that made everything feel slightly out of focus.

Whatever. He didn’t have time to psychoanalyze his reflection.

One thing was painfully clear, even through the haze—his wardrobe was a living catastrophe. He had clothes, sure, but none of them made sense together and most were either relics from three growth spurts ago or impulse buys that looked better in theory.

Shidou didn't mind. He once wore a bright green turtleneck with dark green cargo pants. Every hanger in his closet was a testament to bad decisions, spontaneous nights, and a complete disregard for anything remotely “fashionable.” But what most called a disaster, Shidou simply called an explosion. When it came to clothes, it was nothing but an artistic explosion that only he could ever truly appreciate.

Still, the chaos had a system—his own twisted version of organization.

Club tops shoved together on one side, dress shirts (if you could call them that) crumpled like forgotten dreams in the corner. They were all outdated and pathetically snug, a silent reminder that Shidou never cared to present himself as anything other than a walking contradiction.

Pajamas were a mix of mismatched sets and old band tees. His jerseys were sacred—crisp, clean, and folded with military precision. Everything else—boxers, socks, shorts, pants—were stashed away in chaotic drawers that operated like black holes. You put something in, and only the brave dared to retrieve it again.

Tonight was a big deal, though. He wasn’t about to show up looking like he raided a lost-and-found bin. Not when Sae would be there. Sae, who could dismantle your entire sense of style with one bored glance and a single sentence.

"Too extra." Those two simple words from Sae stopped Shidou from ever looking at neon joggers and a mesh tank top the same.

So, he filtered through every piece, tossing aside the metallic bomber jacket, a leopard print button-down, and those cursed white skinny jeans with holes in all the wrong places. The pile of rejected clothes grew like a fashion graveyard behind him. He'd called it an "artistic explosion." So, in other words, just gaslighting himself into believing he's not trying to avoid cleaning his room.

After what felt like hours—but was probably just twenty panicked minutes—he landed on something tolerable in Sae's standards (He once stared at Shidou in the same outfit for more than .2 seconds, but that could just be Shidou's delusion): a loose, black, long-sleeved shirt with distressed cuts over the shoulders and elbows.

It looked like it had survived a street fight—and maybe it had, Shidou loved his street fights—but it oozed just enough edge without screaming desperation. Paired with black cargo pants, he was finally bordering on acceptable. It wasn’t high fashion, but it wasn’t social suicide either. God, he sounded like an insecure teenage girl in middle school.

He threw the shirt on and ran a hand through his unruly hair, trying to tame it into something that didn’t resemble a bird’s nest. He was out of hairspray because he had wasted all his money on art supplies rather than the spray he used to keep his hair sticking up. Though, he still looked attractive, at least to his standards. His fingers brushed over the fabric at his elbows—it was soft, worn-in, familiar. Like armor.

This was it.

As he stepped back from the mirror, the reflection sharpened, just a little. Not because the glass had magically cleaned itself, but because he’d made a choice. And for Shidou, that was half the battle. It was only right that he threw up some hand guns and gave himself a good ol' "Hotty is ready to go." Unfortunately, he would never forget he said this.

---

Shidou finally showed up—half an hour late. Not because of traffic or any logistical nightmare. He just walked. His car sat at home, dangerously low on fuel, the warning light screaming like a siren he’d chosen to ignore. He didn’t even consider filling it. Something told him he wouldn’t need a ride back anyway.

The walk felt longer than it really was. The late summer heat pressed down on him with every step, making the concrete sizzle beneath his shoes. His neighborhood wasn’t made for introspective wandering, but Shidou weaved through backroads and side streets, dragging his feet deliberately like it was some kind of penance. No music, no calls, no distractions. Just the ambient noise of the city and the roar of his own thoughts.

When he arrived, surprise splashed onto his face. The diner wasn’t nearly like anything he imagined.

When Sae messaged him with the location, Shidou spent more time imagining something extravagant rather than actually looking at the picture just under the address. High ceilings, velvet booths, mirrored walls reflecting ambient candlelight. He thought there’d be wine lists with prices printed in tiny, merciless fonts. Something fancy and way out of his price range.

Instead, he stood in front of a squat, weathered building that looked like it had been here since the 1970s and never once considered updating itself.

He was too busy thinking to read the words of the glowing sign pressed against the door from the inside. Grease clung to the air like perfume, blending with the tang of rubber from the mechanic's shop nearby. The whole block was exactly for Shidou. It felt like it was fate itself that brought Shidou here, when in reality, it was none other than Sae.

Shidou squinted up at the building, muttering under his breath. "Really, Sae? This place? Didn't think you were into the classics."

He walked a little past the diner and settled into a cracked plastic bench at the adjacent bus stop. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t even clean. But somehow it felt like the right place to wait. The sun had begun its descent, casting a syrupy orange sheen over everything, stretching shadows like long fingers across the pavement.

He pulled out his phone—not to check messages, but to confirm the time.

Ten minutes had passed. Just ten. But it felt like an entire match had been played inside his chest, the crowd still roaring. His knee bounced involuntarily. The more he tried to calm himself, the more the tension slipped beneath his skin and took root.

What if he doesn’t come?

The thought hovered like humidity, thick and hard to ignore. He hated that his brain went there so easily. Sae had picked the place. Sae had messaged first. Sae had said he was hungry. That should mean something. Shidou wasn't delusional. Right?

But the silence around him began to feel pointed. Targeted.

He leaned back and stared up at the sky. No stars yet—just smears of burnt orange and navy blue fighting for dominance. A plane passed overhead with a soft rumble. Somewhere behind him, a dog barked three times and fell silent again.

It was too quiet. Not enough action. And yet, it made him feel slightly relaxed. At peace.

At least until he remembered the possibility of Sae playing games with him. Then the dread came crawling back in. Screw this. I need to calm down.

Then, out of nowhere, a bird landed beside him on the bench. Sleek and black, sharp-eyed and judgmental. It squawked once—loud and deliberate—before flapping its wings and taking off without ceremony.

Shidou blinked. “Disrespectful ass bird,” he muttered. “I like it.”

He cracked a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Distraction was welcome. But the thought came creeping back almost immediately.

What if he doesn’t come?

He hated how fragile that question made him feel. He wasn’t supposed to care. That’s what he told himself. He was supposed to be over it. Supposed to have moved on, laughed it off, pretended Sae’s silence hadn’t burrowed into him like rust on steel.

But here he was, clutching hope like it owed him something.

The bench dug into his spine.

The diner glowed slightly brighter now, artificial lights flickering on overhead. Shidou studied the interior through smudged glass windows. The booths looked sticky, lined with faux-leather in an aggressive shade of red. A waitress moved lazily between tables. A jukebox blinked in the corner, clearly more decorative than functional.

Why this place?  
It wasn’t nostalgia. Not that Shidou knew of. Sae didn't seem like the type for that. But Sae had chosen it purposefully, and that thought gnawed at Shidou more than he wanted to admit.

Maybe it was symbolic. Or ironic. Or maybe Sae just didn’t care. Maybe he picked it on a whim. That idea left Shidou's mind almost as quickly as it entered.

Sae wouldn't do that. All of his moves were planned strategically.

Shidou's hand reached into his jacket pocket and fished out the receipt Sae had written on. It had been stuck under his fridge magnet for days, folded and refolded until it felt papery and worn. Sae's number. The one he gave him after that not-so-complete hat trick he made during the U-20 matches.

It was barely his handwriting anymore. Shidou stared at the faded ink like he could decode something from its silence. Had this dread not been chewing away at his usual overflowing confidence, he would've stared at Sae's fading handwriting for hours. Neat, organized, designed to match each letter's height perfectly.

He tucked the paper away again and hunched forward. The tension in his back was sharp now, traveling through his shoulders like static. Every movement felt deliberate. Like he was prepping for a fight, not a conversation.

And maybe that’s what this would be.

A fight masquerading as civility.

His mind wandered to the last game they played together. Sae didn’t yell. Didn’t criticize. He just played—and when the whistle blew, he vanished like a breath held too long. No “good game.” No locker room banter. Just absence.

Shidou had waited days after first getting Sae's number. Texts unanswered. A call that rang and rang and rang.

Then the silence became normal. Expected.

Until this.

This cryptic invite. More so Sae agreeing to Shidou taking him on a date.

Now every passing second felt like a trap.

Maybe Sae wasn’t coming. Maybe it was all an elaborate way of saying “you never had a chance” without actually saying anything at all. That would be just like him—controlled, clean, distant. No messy emotions. No drama.

But Shidou wanted drama. Needed it.

He wanted the confrontation. The explanation. Even if it hurt. Even if it left him bleeding.

Because silence was worse than pain.

He stretched his legs and looked at the diner’s door. Somehow, the diner would stay open until midnight every day except Sundays, closing early past 6. A couple walked out—a man with a trucker cap and a woman cradling a to-go box—but no sign of Sae. Not yet.

His stomach rumbled.

There was a part of him that wanted to go in. Get a coffee. Sit down like it didn’t matter. But something about entering alone felt wrong. Like stepping onto a battlefield without your armor.

He stayed seated.

Another plane passed overhead, lower this time. The sound rattled in his chest.

He realized he was holding his breath.

Let it out slowly.

This moment—it was drawn out, stretched, oppressive. But it was also electric. Like anything could still happen.

He imagined what he’d say.

"Hey."  
No, too casual.

"Sae, why now?"

Too desperate.

"You could’ve picked anywhere in the world, and you picked this place. What does that mean?"

Too intense.

But wasn’t he intense? Wasn’t that the point? Weren't his explosions his entire personality?

He wanted to say something real. Something that forced Sae to respond—not with calm evasion, but with something messy. Something that cracked his polished composure.

A piece of him—a small, dangerous piece—wanted Sae to regret the silence. To see the damage and admit it meant something.

Not everything needed to be neat.

The wind picked up, and Shidou leaned into it. His hair ruffled, and for a moment he closed his eyes, letting the sensation ground him.

Still no footsteps. Still no shadow. Still no Sae.

But he waited.

Because somewhere beneath all his bravado, beneath the sarcastic quips and impulsive flare, Shidou still believed in unfinished stories. In people choosing to circle back, even when it made no logical sense.

He waited.

And the moment held its breath right along with him.

Finally, a voice. "Demon."

---

When Shidou heard the voice, he didn't even have to turn all the way around before smirking. "Sae-Chan!" He turned on his heel to see none other than Sae in some plain old black button up and jeans, sunglasses on.

He looked extra attractive with sunglasses, despite them hiding his shiny teal eyes and long underlashes.

"Have you no decency, Demon?" Sae hissed at Shidou, making him feel even more excited. He was trying so hard to not be recognized by onlookers without putting any actual effort into it. "I'm just so happy to see you, Sae-Chan. It's been days since the U-20 match."

Sae frowned, his eyes narrowing. "It's been a week." For some reason, Shidou's ears felt a little hot. Strange.

He never usually felt embarassment, so this was new. Sae was right, though. It had been only about a week since Blue Lock's two week break thing started.

"Well it feels like I haven't seen you in years!"

"Is exaggeration your only hobby?"

"How mean, Sae-Chan. As a matter of fact, I'm amazing at plenty things!"

Sae let out a small scoff and turned around, facing the entrance of the diner. "I'd rather not wait and listen. Let's go."

Shidou smiled, but deep, deep down, a new feeling was starting to creep up. It made him feel uneasy, the way Sae looked. Something about the exhaustion in those teal eyes, despite him always looking frightfully tired. His face slightly paler than Shidou had last seen him. The way his body tensed, more so than usual. And Shidou stared at Sae's body enough to know his shoulders were never this strained.

Still, Shidou followed Sae into the diner, sitting down at a booth far enough away from everyone else that no one would be able to recognize the two from a quick glance.

"So, Lashes. Figured you would be back in Spain by now."

Most people wouldn't notice the slight clench from Sae's fingers onto the table corner. But Shidou wasn't most people.

Shidou was preparing to divert the conversation until Sae finally responded after a moment or two of silence.

"If you thought I was in Spain, why ask me on the date?"

"Hey, I could've totally flown to Spain had you been there and still agreed." Shidou couldn't help but smile at the thought.

"You're a strange person, Demon." Sae's fingers curled around his phone as he stuffed it into his pocket. "My idiot manager accidentally cancelled my flight. Now I have a new one scheduled in a few days."

"I'm gonna miss you, Lashes."

"We barely know each other."

"And yet, you were so welcoming. I almost thought your little shower comment at the U-20 match was an invitation." Shidou's smirk faltered for a moment when he noticed Sae's eye twitch. It wasn't annoyance, so what was it? Shidou cleared his throat before changing the subject. "Maybe I'll pay Spain a little visit when I get another break."

Before Sae could respond, the waiter approached them and asked them for their orders. Shidou, unsurprisingly, ordered gyudon (beef bowl) and Sae ordered some Kenchinjiru. As they waited for their food, Sae spent his time on his phone while Shidou blabbed about whatever he remembered.

It didn't look like Sae was listening, but Shidou knew Sae listened to every detail. He probably spent so much time using this ability to get the upper hand over his opponents that it had become a real habit. Shidou loved this little habit of Sae's. It reminded him that Sae isn't a robot, and is a real person with feelings.

After a short amount of time, their food came and Shidou finished his bowl in a measly 10 minutes. "So, Lashes. Why'd you pick this place?"

Sae looked up from his meal and swallows the bits of food in his mouth. "Rin used to whine about wanting to go here when we were children. I felt curious and decided to go."

"Wow. Without Baby Lashes? Cruel."

"Hm."

It was around 9:30 when they left the diner and Shidou somehow managed to convince Sae to go to the beach with him. His only arguments had been that it would be fun—to which Sae scoffed—and that Sae looked a little pale and in need of sun—to which Sae actually agreed to.

Of course, by the time they got there, the sunset was already gone and it was dark out. Shidou loved the dark because there was always a glow not too far from it, whether it be symbolic, metaphoric, or literal.

They spent a while at the beach, watching the waves crash against the tide, Shidou's voice drowning out the sounds of crickets. He talked and talked and talked and talked until Sae looked like he was preparing a response. But all that came out was a raspy choke. "Demon-" Sae choked a bit, stumbling to regain his balance.

"Lashes? You good?"

"I want to go back."

"Aw, that sucks. But okay. Let me just get a picture of-" Shidou had been reaching for his phone when a body fell limp against him, causing him to stumble before catching himself and the body.

Sae was lighter than he looked, considering the muscle that became more obvious in jerseys. Shidou nearly giggled like an idiot until he realized Sae wasn't conscious.

Sae wasn't conscious and he couldn't tell if he was breathing.

Chapter Text

12 years ago, the backyard of the Itoshi residency

The sun had long since dipped below the neighbor’s roof, but the yard was still lit — pale and harsh under the buzzing backyard floodlights.

Sae’s legs ached. His socks were soaked with sweat and dew, his shoelaces dragging in the dirt after coming untied again. He stood in the middle of the patchy grass, a ball at his feet, and stared at the orange cones in front of him like they were enemies.

“Let's do it all again,” his father called from the patio.

Sae didn’t move.

His mother’s voice followed, gentler. “Come on, Sae. You’re almost there. Just three more drills, okay?”

He shook his head.

The sting behind his eyes caught him by surprise — a tight, burning blur. His throat hurt when he said, “I don’t want to.”

There was a pause. Just the buzz of the light. A breeze rustled the trees.

Then footsteps. Heavy ones. His father’s.

A shadow fell across the cones. “That’s not how you get better,” he said flatly. “You think the other kids are stopping right now?”

Sae’s lip wobbled. “My legs hurt.”

“They’re supposed to.”

His mother came closer now too, crouching beside him, brushing sweaty bangs from his forehead. Her hand was cool. “Sweetheart,” she murmured. “You’re gonna be a star. Remember what the coach said? You have talent. You just have to keep working.”

He looked up at her. She smiled. But her eyes flicked toward his father.

When Sae didn’t move, his father knelt down too — not to comfort, but to be eye-level.

“You want this, don’t you?” he asked. “You want to be the best?”

Sae stayed silent, searching for the answer he thought they would like most. Then he nodded.

“Then act like it.”

He grabbed Sae by the arm and yanked him up, not harshly enough to hurt him, but enough to force Sae onto his feet. “Again.”

This time, Sae obeyed. He moved.

Not because he wanted to. Not even because he agreed. But because stopping wasn’t an option.

Because somewhere deep in his little-boy chest, it already felt like love was something you earned with sweat. Like rest had to be bought with pain.

Like if he stopped now — they might not wait for him to catch up.

11:42 am, present day, Shidou Ryusei's apartment

Sae woke to the weight of too many blankets and the taste of sleep still clinging to his mouth.

The air pressed against him—thick, humid, wrong. Not his room. Not his bed.

The light bleeding in from the window was sharp and pale, stabbing at his eyes like needles. He turned his head and immediately regretted it.

His skull throbbed, not in clean, sharp pain, but in waves—slow, hot, nauseating. Something sour curled in his stomach. His tongue felt like it had been dipped in cotton.

Wherever he was, it smelled faintly of detergent and sweat. Not his sweat, he realized too late.

He shifted slightly beneath the blankets. The motion made his head spin. A shiver wracked him despite the heat clinging to his skin. His shirt, damp and twisted, clung to his chest and ribs like it was trying to strangle him.

There was a hum somewhere—maybe a fridge, maybe the A/C—but it wasn’t enough. His body couldn’t decide whether to burn or freeze.

He blinked slowly. Once. Twice.

Still the same ceiling. Still the same dizziness behind his eyes.

He didn’t remember getting here.

His hands were shaking.

He felt his arm poking at his stomach because he was lying on it and turned to the side. That’s when he saw it — a folded towel near the corner of the bed. And beneath it, the edge of a basin, still filled with water, slightly pink-tinted from the damp cloth half-submerged in it.

Not the kind of pink from soap or fabric dye.

Sae blinked.

There were tissues in the trash. A faint trail of droplets by the bed that had dried into little white marks. Disgusting.

The pillow was different from the rest — fluffier, maybe swapped out.

Someone had taken care of him.

That shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did.

Shidou had sat here, hadn’t he? In this room, quiet and still, the way he never was. He had watched Sae sleep. Maybe wiped sweat from his face. Maybe panicked, even. Maybe—

Sae closed his eyes.

He didn’t know what was worse — the idea of Shidou seeing him that weak, or the thought that he hadn’t minded.

The floor was cold under his feet.

Sae winced as he stood, head pulsing with a quiet throb that felt deeper than pain — like something buried in bone. Still, he took a step. Then another. One hand brushed against the wall as he walked.

Shidou’s apartment was... lived-in. That was the first word that came to mind. Not messy, but chaotic. Organized by instinct, not logic — drawers slightly open, books in stacks instead of shelves, keys and coins scattered across counters like they’d landed mid-flight.

There was no silence here. Even in the stillness, everything felt loud.

Sae wandered down a short hallway. A door hung half-open on the left — a guest room, probably. Made him wonder why Shidou had put Sae in his own room rather than there. Another on the right — bathroom, faint smell of mint and aftershave. At the end of the hall, the living room opened up, sun leaking through blinds in pale gold stripes.

He honestly didn't expect Shidou to live in such a clean apartment, not taking his bedroom into account, that is. Living here wouldn't be so bad, if not for the neighbors. God, Sae hated neighbors.

His eyes caught on something small on the coffee table. A bottle of fever medication. Half-empty. Next to it — a note. Just one word.

Drink.

Sae stared.

The handwriting was scrawled, hurried. But still careful. Like it had been written in a rush, but read over a few times before being left behind.

He turned it over. Nothing on the back.

A surprise. Shidou seemed like the type to to lose the plot with how much he talked.

And yet...

Sae felt it again — that weird feeling in his gut, not from sickness, but from something quieter. Something he didn’t want to name.

He took the bottle. He drank.

The glass door to the balcony was half open.

A breeze slipped through the crack, warm and summer-heavy. It carried the smell of sunscreen. Sae paused, one hand on the frame, and squinted toward the light spilling in.

There was movement outside.

He stepped closer. And froze.

There, standing with legs and arms spread out like a Roman god with no sense of shame—was Shidou Ryusei.

Completely naked.

Not a towel. Not a scrap of clothing. Just a smug expression that somehow deepened the moment he noticed Sae watching.

Sae didn't scream. He didn’t stagger back, or slam the door, or throw a book in protest—though all of those were on the table. Instead, he just blinked. Slowly. Then again. As if whatever this was was making him hallucinate now.

“You’re awake,” Shidou said, voice low and stretched with sun-drenched laziness. He didn’t move an inch.

Sae stared, maybe a little too long. “You’re naked.”

“Observant.” Shidou pulled one arm behind his head, relaxed as ever. “I was getting vitamin D. It's for my tan. And besides, you were asleep. Thought I’d get a solid hour of peace before you turned back into a grumpy corpse.”

Sae opened his mouth and as quickly as he opened it, he closed it. Rubbed at his temple like this was somehow his fault.

“I’m going back to bed,” he muttered, turning.

But his knees buckled slightly — not dramatically, not enough to fall, but enough to catch Shidou’s attention.

In a second, the chair creaked, and Shidou was on his feet — moving toward him without shame or urgency, still completely unclothed.

Sae held up a hand like a warding spell. “You look like a furless possum that escaped a motivational seminar, got scammed by a shaved raccoon selling spiritual UV enlightenment, and ended up sunbathing like a pest stripped of its exoskeleton. I wish I was hallucinating.”

“But you’re about to collapse again,” Shidou said after a small snicker, tone flipping on a dime from playful to serious. “You look like hell.”

“I just saw you naked. Of course I look like hell.”

Shidou snorted, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed a towel from the railing and wrapped it around his waist. "I took a wild guess and declared whatever yesterday was as a heatstroke. Just a pretty severe one. Strange, since it really isn't hot enough to cause a heatstroke. Not unless you've never drunk water." He stepped forward carefully this time.

“Let me help.” Shidou slowly wrapped an arm around Sae's waist and pulled Sae closer to lean on him.

For once, Sae didn’t argue. That feeling in his gut was back.

He internally thanked his heatstroke for being the best excuse as to why his face was so flushed.

___

Shidou's POV

When they reached Shidou’s room, Sae didn’t say a word. He just stood there, blinking at the bed like it had never existed before. Shidou gave a small sigh and tugged the blanket back with one hand.

"Alright, prince. Get in before you drop dead on my floor."

Sae hesitated. For a second, it looked like he might argue, but whatever fire had been in him earlier had simmered into dull embers. He sat down slowly, his hands brushing the mattress like he wasn’t sure it would hold him.

As Sae moved to lie down, Shidou caught it again — that faint, reddish impression along his wrist, subtle but unmistakable. The kind of mark that didn’t come from impact or play. The kind you hide under sleeves. He didn’t mention it. Not yet.

Instead, Shidou ducked into his bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and dampening it under cool water. When he returned, Sae had already sunk halfway beneath the covers, his expression pinched, eyelids fluttering with exhaustion.

“You're burning up,” Shidou muttered, pressing the cloth gently to Sae’s forehead. “Like a fever took a joyride through hell.”

“I’m fine,” Sae rasped.

“Sure,” Shidou said. “And I’m a nun.”

He watched Sae close his eyes again, his breathing slowing. He looked younger like this — stripped of the perfect uniform, the cold eyes, the spine made of steel. Just a tired boy with too many shadows under his skin.

By now, either Sae's sweat or Shidou pressing the cloth against Sae's forehead had worn off the hairspray in Sae's hair, causing his bangs to fall back into place, clinging to his skin. It was kind of cute, in a way, seeing Sae with his bangs down.

Shidou leaned back in the chair beside the bed, arms crossed, gaze flicking toward that wrist again.

Not an accident. Not illness.

Something else.

He’d seen marks like that before — on players who broke too early. Who were pushed too hard. Who didn’t know how to scream for help, so they bled it out instead.

Though he often caught it on those who were even a little smaller than their bigger opponents. Sae wasn't exactly small, but he wasn't very big either.

He didn’t know Sae well enough to ask.

But he was going to find out anyway.

___

It took barely two minutes for Sae to finally go to sleep. Fully, this time. His face had gone slack, his breathing slow and deep, and that stubborn crease between his brows had smoothed out.

Shidou waited a minute more, just in case.

Then he stood.

Quietly, he paced to the foot of the bed, scanning the room. Sae hadn’t brought much on their date—just his phone, the clothes he showed up in, and a bag he hadn’t let go of until the heatstroke dragged him under. It now sat slumped by the wall, half-unzipped.

Shidou hesitated, jaw tightening. It wasn't his business. But curiosity was never kind to him. So he crouched beside it.

Inside: a worn jacket. Socks. A travel-sized bottle of cologne — barely used. A notepad with a single page ripped out. And at the very bottom, a crumpled water bottle and an unopened sports drink. He set them aside.

Tucked into one of the inner compartments was a small drawstring pouch. When he opened it, something cold and metallic brushed against his fingers.

A chain bracelet.

Not flashy — just thin silver links and a tiny, flat plate at the center. Sae’s name was etched into the metal, so small it looked like it had been done by hand. Below it, in barely-legible script, was a date. A birthday, maybe.

The links near the plate were worn smoother than the others. Fidgeted with, probably. Rubbed over and over like a habit. Like a comfort. Or a reminder.

Shidou closed his fist around it. It had small sharp bits on the inside of the links. Hidden well so you could only see them if the bracelet was turned inside-out.

The pouch also held a few dollars. Simple ones and fives. There were his two bracelets there as well. One black, one white. Shidou didn't read the little etchings on the inside of them, but he didn't really have to. It was a little too obvious.

Nearby, tucked beneath the bracelets and cash, was a folded piece of cloth — dark and soft, but frayed at the edges, stained faintly with something that might have been rust or dried blood.

Shidou’s breath hitched.

He set the pouch down slowly.

The last thing he pulled out of the bag wasn’t an object. It was a smell.

A familiar one.

He leaned in — faint, but definitely there. Antiseptic. Bleach. Something sharp and chemical that wasn't usually found in small pouches.

Hospitals?

No. Not quite.

More like… medical wipes. Disinfectant.

The kind used on open wounds.

He closed the bag again, slower this time.

His gaze flicked back toward Sae. The boy hadn’t moved, but a bead of sweat traced down his temple, caught in the pillowcase. Shidou reached out, carefully brushing damp bangs from his forehead.

Too warm. Still.

He sat down again.

He didn't know what was going on with Sae, but he knew it hadn't started today.

And it sure as hell didn’t end when he walked through Shidou’s door.

Chapter Text

Shidou adjusted the damp towel on Sae’s forehead for the third time in five minutes. It wasn’t slipping or anything. He just needed a reason to be that close again, hovering in the hush between breaths, where concern disguised itself as casual contact.

Or where affection disguised itself as concern.

It was the only way he knew how to stay present without sounding worried.

The gesture helped—anchored him in a moment where he could pretend he wasn’t watching Sae fade, pixel by pixel.

“You know,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to Sae’s flushed face, “You look real pretty when you’re half-dead. All pink and helpless. If I’d known you'd be this attractive when sick, I would’ve poisoned you myself.” His voice was smooth, practiced. Almost lazy.

Sae didn’t laugh. He barely blinked. Not a twitch of annoyance or sarcasm.

Just a glassy stare aimed somewhere past Shidou’s shoulder.

Shidou let the smile tug at his lips anyway. “Tough crowd.” The silence around them wasn’t new, but it hit harder when Sae didn’t even bother rolling his eyes.

He dipped the cloth back in the bowl of water, watching the way Sae’s gaze drifted—unfocused, like he was trying not to be present in his own body. Not sleeping, but not really awake either.

That fuzzy threshold where fever blurred everything.

Where even pain couldn’t quite reach.

The skin under his eyes was darker than yesterday. Paler, too. Thinner. Shidou could practically see the weight of silence pressing on him.

Still no questions.

Still no protests.

Still no Sae.

Just that eerie stillness that replaced him when words weren't accessible.

But the guy was here. And breathing. And that had to count for something. A body in the room, a pulse in the quiet. Shidou held onto that like it meant more than it probably did.

“I had to skip my tan for this, ya know,” Shidou said, wringing out the towel. “Don’t act too honored. I just didn’t want your lifeless body staining the couch if you croaked.” His tone was playful, but it wobbled toward the end.

Still nothing. Not a blink. Not a scoff. Not even a grunt.

Shidou chuckled under his breath, trying to pretend it didn’t sting a little. He didn’t expect Sae to talk back. But part of him still hoped. It felt unnatural, being the only voice in the room for this long.

“Y’know, most people would’ve at least given me a dramatic gasp by now. Maybe a fainting spell. But not you.” He leaned closer, voice low. “Gotta say, I respect that. You suffer so quietly. Almost makes me feel bad for having a good time.” His fingers brushed Sae’s temple, gentle and deliberate.

That got a twitch. Barely a change in expression, but Shidou caught it. A flicker of resistance—proof that someone was still inside there, behind the heat and the haze.

A win.

He leaned back on his hands, stretching like a cat and purposely knocking his knee into Sae’s. “By the way, when you do wake up properly, I fully expect a thank-you gift. Something small and heartfelt. Like a kiss.” His grin widened, sharp and boyish, ready to turn shameless if Sae gave even half a reaction.

This time Sae blinked slowly. Then turned his face away, settling deeper into the blanket cocoon like he hadn’t heard anything at all. But the movement had weight. Intention.

Shidou grinned.

He stayed like that, knee pressed against Sae’s, watching the quiet unfold. The room was dim, water still, air thick with unsaid things. Shidou didn’t speak again for a while. Didn’t need to. The absence of words said plenty. It always did, with Sae at least.

Every breath Sae took was a reminder—annoyingly subtle and maddeningly real—that he wasn’t gone. That he could still twitch, blink, maybe return in a blaze of biting sarcasm later on.

And when he did, Shidou would be ready.

---

Shidou gave the soup in his hands a small stir, watching the surface swirl in lazy eddies. Steam rose like ghosts from the pot, warm but not quite comforting. He leaned against the counter, yawning into the crook of his shoulder.

The kitchen light buzzed faintly above him, yellowed and too harsh, casting his shadow long across the floor tiles.

He should’ve made something fancier. Something decadent, indulgent. Sae had a thing for shrimp—something he wouldn't deny forcing Sae to tell him—delicate little curls of seafood swimming in buttery sauce. Or mushrooms sautéed until they surrendered their earthy flavor. Or… what was that French crap Sae liked? Bouillabaisse, pr something like that.

Rich, pretentious, and perfect for guilt-tripping someone into doting.

Too late now. The miso packet was already open, the powder halfway dissolved into the broth. He wasn’t a damn five-star chef, and this wasn’t a luxury hospital. Just a bruised apartment and a battered man inside it.

He ladled the soup into a mismatched bowl—blue porcelain chipped at the rim—and settled it on a tray beside a glass of water and a sleeve of crackers. A little on-the-nose, maybe. Like something you'd feed a kid with the flu. But the domesticity of it made him smirk. Sae would either scoff or secretly adore it. Either way, he’d win.

“Coming in hot,” Shidou called, balancing the tray with one hand and nudging the bedroom door open with his hip. His voice had that teasing lilt, the kind he used to annoy Sae on purpose. “Figured I’d feed you like a Victorian wife—oh.”

He stopped in the doorway.

Sae hadn’t moved from where he lay before: curled toward the wall, wrapped tight in the duvet. But something in the room had shifted, like the air pressure had dipped just slightly. Enough to notice. Enough to prickle against Shidou’s skin.

He stepped inside slowly, eyes trailing downward. Sae’s sleeves—before pushed up past his elbows—were now yanked down. Not just to his wrists, but farther. The fabric swallowed his hands, bunched like he’d done it in a rush, clumsy and urgent.

That was… weird.

Shidou blinked. Then frowned. It wasn't really all that cold. Fever chills or something. That would make sense. It would explain the silence. The static in the room.

Still, he couldn’t shake the impression that something was off. It wasn't just quiet; it was deliberately quiet. The kind that padded out of hiding and curled into corners you couldn’t reach.

He set the tray down on the nightstand with exaggerated care. The glass clinked against the wood. Sae’s face remained turned toward the wall—hair a little messy at the temple, breath shallow but even.

Nothing alarmingly unusual.

Nothing he could call out without sounding paranoid.

“You're missing out,” Shidou said, keeping his voice soft, almost playful. “I didn’t even poison this one.”

Nothing.

He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the spoon, dipping it into the bowl. He blew on the broth, watching the steam drift away like fog over a lake. “C’mon. Just one bite. For me?”

He leaned in, not quite close enough to touch. Waiting for a flinch, a groan, an insult. Any sign that Sae was still holding on beneath all the layers.

But Sae just adjusted slightly—barely. The blanket slid higher over his shoulder, his hands disappearing under the covers like they were retreating.

Shidou hesitated.

His grin faltered for half a heartbeat. Something about the gesture felt too rehearsed. Like he wasn’t just cold. Like he was protecting something, hiding it—not from the air, but from Shidou.

That realization sat heavy in his gut. He swallowed it with a breath and a forced chuckle.

“Alright, fine.” He set the spoon down, masking the ripple of unease with practiced charm. “But you’re gonna owe me two kisses now. One for the soup. One for wasting it.”

No answer.

He tried to grin through the silence, to mold it into something normal. Something familiar.

“No response?” he said quickly, a little too brightly. “I'll take that as a yes.”

The silence didn’t deny him. But it didn’t affirm him either.

And that, more than anything, haunted the room.

“Alright, that’s it.” Shidou clapped his hands together with theatrical flourish, letting the sharp smack echo against the walls. He leaned over the bed with a smirk tugging at his lips, eyes scanning the lump beneath the covers. “You've had your beauty sleep, your dramatic fainting moment, your hot soup delivery. What’s next—divine resurrection? Time to rise from the dead.”

The bed didn’t stir.

He tilted his head, one brow arching in exaggerated curiosity. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re ignoring me.”

No response. Just a faint shift in the blanket, like wind brushing fabric. Then — a flicker. Sae’s eyes cracked open, slow and sluggish as though time moved differently behind them. They didn’t sharpen with irritation or glimmer with mockery. They didn’t do much of anything at all.

Blank.

That was new.

Shidou’s teasing edge dulled slightly. Not enough to fall away, but enough to glance over Sae’s expression more closely. He reached for the blanket, his voice still light-hearted, still adorned in its usual bravado. “Come on. Sit up. Move your legs. Even ghosts stretch their legs sometimes. Don’t make me start reciting seances.”

But as his fingers brushed the edge of the fabric, Sae’s hand darted out — not violently, not with haste, but with unsettling purpose. He caught the blanket mid-lift and held it firm, like anchoring himself to the bed. "Don't."

Shidou paused, blinking. “Don’t what?”

Sae’s jaw flexed. A breath escaped him, shallow. “Don't...” Another pause. “Just don't. It's too cold.”

For half a second, Shidou felt a little scared.

Then he remembered being hot and cold at the same time was a common heatstroke symptom and internally facepalmed.

Shidou stared at him, waiting for the follow-up — some offhand jab, a tired sigh, something with teeth. But Sae’s eyes dropped again, glazed and distant. He seemed less like he was lying down and more like he was dissolving into the mattress. Like gravity wanted him gone.

That itch returned to Shidou’s chest. The uncomfortable kind. Tight. Twitchy. The kind that refused to be reasoned with, that muttered things beneath your logic.

He forced a grin anyway. That was his weapon of choice. “Wow. Still ignoring such a classic meal, huh? These crackers deserve better. But with the way you're staring at that soup, I'd say it has a better chance of winning your heart than me.”

No smile. Not even a flicker.

Just quiet.

Shidou rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture less casual now. His eyes wandered toward the soup left cooling on the tray beside them. It felt silly suddenly. Cartoonish. Like bringing a paper umbrella to a flood.

He told himself Sae was just tired. Feverish. Sleep-deprived. That the silence wasn’t personal, just clinical.

The body doing what it needed to heal. He told himself this wasn’t new, not really. Just a variation. A lull. It would pass.

Still… the way Sae pulled the blanket back up, slowly, curling into it like something shrinking — it stuck. Like a film over the room. Like a splinter behind his ribs.

Shidou crouched lower, careful not to touch the mattress, careful not to make the gesture feel invasive. His voice dipped with him, gentler now. “You okay?”

Sae didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched — past casual, past comfortable, into the kind that makes you press your ear to it for a pulse.

Then finally, a whisper.

“Fine.”

Not convincing. Not even trying to be.

Shidou studied him — the slope of his shoulders beneath the blanket, the dull sheen of sweat on his forehead, the disconnection in his gaze. Everything about it felt brittle. Hollow. Like if you pressed too hard, you wouldn’t get anger or pushback. You’d get nothing at all.

He didn’t believe him.

But he smiled anyway. Because sometimes that’s the only thing you can do when the words won’t fix it. When all that’s left is presence, stubborn and stupid and terribly sincere.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, letting his weight dip into the mattress just slightly. Not enough to disturb. Just enough to say, I’m still here.

---

It was just supposed to be a quick trip to the laundry room. Nothing complicated. Just a load of laundry and a few minutes away from the stale quiet of the apartment.

Shidou had gathered the pile without ceremony — a couple of shirts, socks bundled like limp little ghosts, and Sae’s jacket. The one he had found in Sae's bag. It was soft and worn at the edges, soaked in the kind of comfort that couldn't be replicated by detergent or fresh fabric.

He walked the dim hallway with the rhythm of someone half-awake and half-bored. No urgency in his steps. No creeping dread.

The laundry room greeted him with the same flickering overhead light and that faint scent of musty dust and cheap citrus softener. He didn’t really notice. He never did.

The shirts landed in the washer with a thud. Socks followed like punctuation. Sae’s jacket went in last. A little hesitantly. Shidou paused for a moment before letting it go — like he was handing over a keepsake, not a dirty piece of fabric — and then closed the lid with a click. The rush of water filled the silence, steady and mindless.

He hummed something tuneless under his breath. Just to occupy the space. The quiet wasn’t threatening. Not yet.

When he came back upstairs, the bed was empty.

He slowed. Not dramatically. Just a flicker of caution threading through his gut.

The bathroom door was closed.

That wasn’t unusual. Sae had been dragging himself between bed and bathroom all day, depending on how miserable he felt. But something in the way the door sat—fully shut, no light peeking through the bottom edge—made Shidou hesitate.

He knocked, knuckles light against the wood. “You alive in there?”

A pause.

Then a muffled reply. “Yeah.”

Flat. Distant.

Shidou pressed his shoulder to the wall, arms crossed. His tone dipped into teasing instinctively, like he could pull Sae out with charm alone. “Don’t die on my floor, alright? I just vacuumed. Would ruin the aesthetic.”

No answer.

He gave it another beat — waiting for a groan, a sarcastic comment, the usual eye-roll he could hear even through a door.

Nothing came.

Eventually, the door creaked open. Sae stepped out slowly, head down. His sleeves were all the way past his wrists, hoodie pulled over his head like he was embarrassed of his own bangs.

The look was exaggerated, dramatic in a way that wasn’t meant to be seen. Like camouflage for something shakier underneath.

Shidou blinked at him. “Didn’t know you were a fan of looking that tragic.”

Sae didn’t answer. He walked past, gaze glued to the floor. No tilt of the mouth. No spark behind his eyes.

Just distance.

Shidou watched him go, something small tugging at his ribs.

He stepped into the bathroom—just to grab a towel, just to finish the loop—and immediately felt it.

The atmosphere clamped down. A damp, invisible pressure.

His hand reached for the used towel out of habit.

Paused.

A white towel hung over the basket, freshly used, sagging slightly. His fingers grazed it—and froze. Near the bottom edge, smeared faintly into the fibers, a trace of red clung to the weave. Barely noticeable. Not enough to scream, but just enough to whisper.

A smudge. A suggestion.

Shidou stared at it, breath gone shallow.

It smelled like soap. Clean. Overwashed. But not untouched.

He didn’t say anything. Not to himself. Not to the air.

He folded the towel carefully, like rough movement might disturb something sacred.

Then set it aside. Walked into the hall with his expression unruffled, his grin sharpened back into place, like armor.

By the time he entered the living room, he found Sae curled into the couch like gravity had hooked onto him harder than it should’ve. Sleeves still long. Fingers invisible. Hair slightly damp from the shower. He looked clean. Fresh. Hollow.

Shidou tossed a folded hoodie toward him. “In case you wanna complete the hermit look. You’re missing the mysterious sunglasses and the stack of unpaid bills.”

Sae pulled it over wordlessly.

Shidou dropped onto the couch beside him, legs stretched across the coffee table with theatrical laziness. His body angled toward Sae, casual enough to invite conversation.

“So,” he said. “What’s the plan now? You gonna rot in my living room ‘til your fever gets bored and leaves?”

Sae didn’t look up. His gaze stayed anchored to the carpet like it might tell him something he hadn’t figured out yet.

Shidou raised a brow. “Thrilling conversation. You’re really spoiling me.”

Still nothing.

He leaned over, bumped their shoulders together gently. Just enough to make contact. “Hey. Come on. Don't make me jealous of that carpet.”

That got something. Barely.

The smallest twitch of Sae’s mouth. The briefest suggestion of amusement, like a shadow passing through glass. Not a smile. Not even half.

Shidou latched onto it like it was proof of life. “See? He’s got your heart already. Tragic. I thought we had something. Should I start a feud with my own carpet?”

Sae pulled his sleeves down further, fingers vanishing entirely.

Shidou watched him quietly. The joke softened. His posture leaned forward just slightly.

“…You good?” he asked. Not playful. Not clinical. Just simple. Bare.

“Yeah.”

It came out too fast. Too clean. The kind of word that gets rehearsed into muscle memory and loses meaning somewhere along the way.

It echoed like glass between them — polished and flawless, and just as impossible to break.

Shidou didn’t push.

He leaned back into the couch, head tipping toward the ceiling. The cushions creaked softly under his weight.

Silence gathered like static.

Not heavy. Not oppressive.

Just fragile. Like a glass dome placed over the moment. Beautiful, delicate, and impossible to touch without cracking the whole thing open.

Shidou tapped his fingers lightly against his thigh. A slow, uneven rhythm. Not a song. Not anything close.

Eventually, he said, “You ever play that dumb game where you count ceiling tiles and give up halfway through?”

Sae didn’t answer.

Shidou didn’t finish the thought.

The soup bowl sat abandoned on the coffee table, empty but still warm to the touch, a faint trace of broth clinging to its rim like it hadn’t quite let go. A glass of water rested beside it, full to the brim and untouched except for the light condensation wrapping its sides like a slow breath. The crackers were missing — eaten or forgotten, it didn’t really matter.

It was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came from peace or comfort. The kind that whispered against the walls, sinking into corners and weaving around furniture, thick and barely breathable.

Sae was hunched forward on the couch, half-asleep or halfway trying to be. His posture wasn’t relaxed — not completely. Just wilted, like his bones had grown tired of holding him up and settled for something passable. His hair fell over his eyes, damp strands brushing against the bridge of his nose. The hoodie hung off one shoulder, fabric bunched around the elbows like it had given up staying in place. His arms were draped over his knees, sleeves pushed up slightly — maybe because he’d fidgeted without realizing, maybe because the couch fabric clung, maybe because he just didn’t care.

Shidou just sat motionless.

He hadn’t walked in expecting anything. Hadn’t planned to stop. He’d just meant to grab his phone, maybe toss the soup bowl in the sink and get back to pretending everything was fine.

But something kept him there. Rooted.

His eyes skimmed over the frame of Sae’s body in the shadows. The blue-gray glow from the streetlights outside caught the contours of Sae’s arms just right — and there, barely visible beneath the pale skin, a set of thin, linear marks pulled into soft focus.

Shidou blinked.

They weren’t angry or jagged. Just… precise. Silent. Too clean to be accidental. Too familiar in their shape and pattern to be dismissed as scrapes from daily chaos.

The breath left him a little too quickly. Not loud enough to be heard, but enough to change how the air sat in his chest.

Then, Sae shifted.

Not dramatically — no jolt of realization, no shame or fear — just a subtle motion. The sleeves slid down again, soft and obedient. Covered everything. Hid it like it had never existed, like Shidou hadn’t seen a thing.

It was so smooth it almost convinced him it hadn’t happened.

Almost.

He cleared his throat, casual as always, shoulders squared like nothing had cracked. Stepped into the room with his usual lilt. “Yo. You crashin’ here tonight or what?”

Sae didn’t lift his head. His voice came out muffled, half-smothered by the curtain of hair. “I’ll sleep here.”

Shidou nodded, already reaching for the nearest blanket tossed over the arm of the couch. He gave it a dramatic shake, the motion crisp and ridiculous. “You better. Wouldn’t want Carpet to miss you.”

He tossed it over Sae without waiting for a response. It landed on his lap with a gentle thud, creasing slightly where his hands didn’t move to catch it.

No smile. No reply.

Just a nod. Tired. Detached.

Shidou settled onto the far end of the couch, legs stretched out stiffly as if trying not to take up too much space. He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t fill the silence with useless chatter.

But he didn’t look away, either.

His eyes wandered past the window where the night spilled itself across rooftops and empty streets. The outside looked untouched by anything fragile. It was just quiet and dark and blank. Comforting, maybe, to someone who wasn’t holding a handful of questions inside their chest.

Sae shifted slightly in the corner, burrowing deeper into the blanket, hoodie tugged higher on his shoulder now, sleeves long again. His fingers disappeared beneath fabric. Hidden. Quiet.

The light from outside caught the side of his face — pale and soft at the edges — highlighting the way his mouth stayed neutral, expression unreadable.

Shidou didn’t reach out.

Didn’t push. Didn’t interrogate.

He just sat there, the weight of what he saw still balancing in the back of his throat like something fragile and sharp.

There was a space between them now. Not just physical — emotional, psychic, something that lived in silence and sleeve-covered forearms. And yet Shidou didn’t fill it with urgency.

Instead, his gaze stayed steady.

Not dissecting. Not pitying.

Just... present.

Like he could hold vigil without permission.

The hum of the fridge kicked in from the kitchen. A car passed outside, headlights flashing dim across the ceiling. And through all of it, neither of them spoke.

There was no more pretending. No more excuses.

It was late. Too late for soup. Too late for jokes.

But not too late to stay.

Chapter Text

The net rippled.

Sae’s heel barely hit the grass before the next ball was already rolling toward him. His father’s voice, clipped and sharp, echoed across the empty field. “Again.”

He didn’t argue. Just turned, lined up, and struck.

Another perfect shot.

Another sharp, “Again.”

His legs were starting to feel heavy. He could feel the stiffness in his calves every time he pivoted, the faint burn that had been building up since his tenth repetition, now clawing up to his thighs. His back was slick with sweat despite the crisp afternoon breeze, and his breath was becoming uneven, though he kept it hidden.

He reset.

Another shot.

Another, “Again.”

Sae didn't know how many times it had been. He wasn't counting. Counting would only make it feel slower. His father wouldn’t stop until the shot was flawless. Not just perfect — flawless.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rin sitting on the bleachers beside their mother. His little brother's feet swung just above the grass, his small hands gripping the bench like it was an anchor. Rin always watched. He never said anything, but his eyes would track every movement, wide and unblinking. Like he wanted to memorize it.

Sae hated that look.

He wasn’t even sure why.

Maybe because Rin still looked at him like he was a hero he could depend on.

Maybe because he didn't want Rin to depend on a fake hero who was bound to fall apart one day soon.

He felt the ache deep in his muscles as he reset again. The ball at his feet blurred for a moment — his eyes stung from sweat dripping down his brow — but he lined up the shot anyway.

Another hit.

“Reset,” his father said, not even bothering with “again” this time.

Sae exhaled through his nose, sharp, but he turned back to position. The spot where the ball rested was already worn into the turf, a small dent where he'd stood so many times today. His cleats dug in.

How long had it been? An hour? More?

His stomach was starting to curl with that familiar, sick feeling. That tipping point where his body wanted to slow down, but his mind wouldn't let it. He thought, briefly, about telling his parents. Saying he was tired. That his legs were locking up.

But then he heard his mother’s voice — soft, but firm. "You can rest after you finish properly, Sae."

Properly.

Properly meant no mistakes. Properly meant he didn’t stumble when he reset, even though his left knee was starting to feel like it might buckle. Properly meant no rest.

Retaliation meant disappointment. Sae hated seeing that look on his mother's face. When she looked at him as if blaming herself for Sae's failure.

He could still feel Rin’s gaze. It wasn’t pitying. Not worried, either. Just... trusting.

That was worse.

Because Sae wasn’t supposed to get tired.

Tired meant weakness. Tired meant someone else would outwork him.

And Sae was going to be the best. He wasn’t going to let anyone take that from him. No one would surpass him.

So long as Rin's trust remained in Sae, Sae would keep going.

Another ball rolled to his feet. Another shot lined up. He hit it clean, though his ankle wobbled slightly on the follow-through. His father didn’t say anything, but the pause in his silence said enough.

Reset.

Sae’s jaw clenched as he turned back, toes catching in the groove he'd carved into the earth. The sun was starting to dip now, casting a golden glow over the field. Long shadows stretched across the grass, following him like chains every time he moved.

His body wasn’t keeping up anymore. His passes were still crisp, his shots still good — but they didn’t feel clean. There was a drag, a weight to every step, like his legs were moving a half-second slower than his mind.

He grit his teeth and sent the ball flying.

This time, his father let the net ripple in silence for a breath longer than usual.

“You’re dropping your hip,” came the critique.

It wasn’t new. Sae had been dropping his hip slightly for the past twenty minutes. His father had waited this long to mention it because he expected Sae to correct it himself.

Sae’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His palms stung — he hadn’t realized he was clenching them that hard.

“Fix it.”

Sae took his position again. Out of instinct. Out of habit. Out of necessity.

He couldn’t stop now. Not with Rin watching. Not with his parents expecting. Not with his heart holding on by the thread woven by soccer itself.

The next shot would be better. He didn’t care if his legs gave out afterward.

He just needed to make this one count.

---

The sun had begun dipping, casting long shadows across the emptying practice field. Sae stood at the edge, ball balanced under his foot, mindlessly rolling it back and forth. Rin wasn't too far, chasing after a squirrel. Still in a distance close enough for Sae to reach him in a matter of seconds if anything were to go wrong.

Their parents had migrated to a nearby bench, deep in murmured conversation.

Sae didn’t hear their words, but he didn’t need to.

He knew what they were discussing. They always were.

He flicked the ball up, catching it on his thigh, holding the bounce.

“You’re Sae Itoshi, right?”

The voice didn’t belong to anyone he recognized. Calm, clear. A man in a dark navy tracksuit had approached, clipboard tucked beneath his arm, a small badge clipped to his chest — Real Madrid CF Youth Development.

Sae’s foot dropped the ball instinctively. He straightened.

“Yes.”

The man smiled, but it wasn’t a wide grin. More professional than friendly. “I’ve been watching you this past hour. You’ve got sharp instincts. Do you know who we are?”

“A stranger.” Sae’s reply was flat. Obvious.

The scout huffed a small laugh at the bluntness. “Fair enough. You’re not wrong. But I'm also a scout for Real Madrid's Youth Team. We’re holding tryouts for youth recruits this weekend. Selective group. Invite only.”

He extended a hand, offering a card.

Sae stared at it for a second too long before taking it.

The badge gleamed in the setting sun, and the printed words blurred for a moment as Sae’s mind whirled.

“We’re interested in seeing what you can do,” the scout continued. “But it’s not a formality. You’ll need to prove you belong. Can you do that, Sae?”

He didn’t need to think about it. “Yes.”

The man’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Good. Be at the address on the back by 8 a.m. Sharp. Don’t be late.”

Sae nodded once. The scout gave a polite bow before turning away, clipboard back under his arm. He didn’t approach anyone else.

That didn’t go unnoticed.

Rin jogged over the moment the man left earshot, eyes wide with curiosity. “Nii-chan! Who was that? What did he want?”

Sae held out the card. Rin leaned in to squint at it, his mouth forming a silent "whoa."

Their parents were there a second later.

“Who was that man?” their father asked, eyes sharp.

“A scout.” Sae handed over the card.

Their mother’s fingers curled around it as she read. The crease in her brow smoothed slightly, only to return deeper.

“The tryouts,” she muttered, glancing at her husband. “It’s happening sooner than we thought.”

Their father’s hand rested on Sae’s shoulder. Firm. Heavy. “You’ll be ready.”

It wasn’t a question.

Rin, oblivious to the tension, practically bounced. “Does this mean you’ll go to Spain now, Nii-chan? You’ll play for Real Madrid?”

Sae’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I have to pass the tryout first.”

His mother crouched down to his level, brushing his bangs aside. “You’ll pass. You’ve worked too hard not to.”

The praise didn’t make his chest swell. It settled in his stomach like a stone. Heavy. Pressing.

The man had said prove you belong.

Sae already knew how to do that. He just had to keep doing what he always did. No mistakes. No weaknesses.

Their father checked his watch. “We’re done for today. Let’s go home.”

Rin whined, but even he didn’t push it when their father’s tone brooked no argument.

As they gathered their things, Sae’s eyes flickered back to the field. The empty goalposts. The fading sun. For a brief second, he allowed himself to imagine it — the pristine white kits, the roaring stadiums, the unspoken expectation of carrying more than his own name.

Then he looked at the card again. The sharp, embossed letters stared back.

Real Madrid CF. Youth Development Tryouts. Invitation Only.

No room for hesitation. No room for error.

The car ride home was quiet.

---

The sun sat low in the sky, casting long, golden streaks over the Royal Madrid training grounds. The air was still, but the tension buzzed. Boys in gleaming white practice kits warmed up across the field, their movements sharp and rehearsed. Sae stood among them, silent, his cleats pressed into the grass as if anchoring him.

Today wasn’t just practice. It was a culling.

The tryout scrimmage was about to begin.

Coaches with clipboards and sharp eyes whispered among themselves at the sidelines. Sae didn’t care about them. He wasn’t here to impress anyone. He was here to prove himself right.

Two teams were assembled, Sae placed with players whose names blurred together. He didn’t bother learning them. The whistle blew.

The game began with chaos. Possession shifted, boys scrambling with the desperation of those who knew they were replaceable. Sae stayed back, analyzing. The ball was sloppy, passes too soft or too ambitious, but eventually it rolled to him.

And the game shifted.

His first touch was clean, stopping the ball dead at his feet. The defender lunged, and Sae moved around him like water, barely brushing shoulders. Another opponent approached. Sae’s pass sliced through him, curving into open space where none of his teammates had run.

They hadn’t anticipated the angle. Yet.

Sae followed the ball, scooping it up with the outside of his boot, dragging it into a sharp turn. The midfielder across from him flinched, expecting a pass. Sae cut through instead, weaving in. He could hear the footsteps—his own, light and assured, and the others, frantic.

By the time he reached the penalty box, defenders had begun swarming. Their positioning tightened, but Sae didn’t falter. A faint, a pivot, a sudden stop that made the field feel like it tilted sideways. One of the defenders stumbled.

He shot.

It wasn’t a powerful kick, but precise. The ball kissed the bottom corner of the net, brushing past the keeper's fingertips.

1-0.

The players paused. Sae jogged back into position, eyes ahead. His teammates stared, unspoken questions in their glances. The next play started.

The ball gravitated toward him, as if magnetized. Every time it did, Sae dictated the rhythm. He dribbled in tight arcs, passed into spaces his teammates hadn’t thought to fill. But slowly, they adapted. Their movements became less frantic. Some began following his lead, trailing his periphery, timing their runs based on his cues.

Puppets, he thought. They weren’t good, but they could learn.

Sae took advantage.

He became the axis, controlling rotations. A backheel pass to a boy who’d been invisible until then—goal. A feint that sent three defenders off balance—assist. The scoreboard ticked upwards.

Opponents tried to crowd him. He slipped through. They tried to shove him into corners. He redirected play. Every challenge made him sharper.

His awareness expanded. He noticed how the opposing striker would always glance left before receiving a pass. How their left-back's weight leaned forward too much, making him vulnerable to chip passes. He stored each flaw like a weapon.

Soon, his teammates stopped hesitating.

They anticipated the passes he hadn’t made yet. A winger sprinted the moment Sae twitched his shoulder. The midfield shifted wider when he dragged defenders inward. They weren’t reading the game.

They were reading him.

A breakaway play sealed the scrimmage. Sae received the ball near midfield. Three opponents closed in. He didn’t pass. Instead, he nudged the ball forward, baiting them. When they committed, he flicked the ball up and over their legs. A small lob, delicate and cruel.

He sprinted past.

Now it was him and the keeper.

The keeper braced for a shot. Sae slowed, posture suggesting a strike. But he chipped the ball instead, watching it arc gracefully over the keeper's outstretched arms.

It was almost theatrical.

The whistle blew. The scrimmage was over.

Sae didn’t need to look at the sidelines to know the scouts had seen enough.

As the players dispersed, panting and sweat-drenched, Sae walked off the field alone. The murmurs followed him—soft, incredulous. He didn’t care.

He had no teammates here.

Only witnesses.

One of the coaches, a man with sharp eyes and a tighter smile, called his name. Sae turned, expecting instructions or a lecture. Instead, the man offered a curt nod.

"You’ll be hearing from us soon."

Sae didn’t react outwardly, but a thought settled in his chest.

Of course I will.

The sky had deepened into a richer gold as he collected his bag. Other boys milled about, some congratulating each other, others brooding. Sae barely noticed. The game had ended, and with it, his attention had already shifted forward.

This was only the first step.

He knew there would be more games. Harder ones. Teams that wouldn’t follow his rhythm so easily. Opponents who would target him deliberately. 

But for now, he had made his mark.

He could already hear the strings pulling.

The man sitting beside Sae was supposed to be his guide, or manager, or… something. Sae wasn’t exactly sure. He had introduced himself twice at the airport, bowing stiffly both times, like the formality would somehow make up for how unprepared he looked. His name had been something boring. Gerald, maybe. Or George.

He’d spent the first fifteen minutes of the flight shifting in his seat, glancing at Sae from the corner of his eye, clearly debating whether or not to strike up conversation.

He lost that battle.

“So, um—” Gerard (or Garret, Sae wasn’t sure) cleared his throat. “You’ve flown before, right, Itoshi-san?”

Sae didn’t look up from the window. “Once.”

“Oh, right. That’s… that’s good.” The man’s laugh was a nervous puff of air. He fiddled with the pamphlet in the seat pocket. “These flights can be long. Very long. So it’s good you’ve flown before. You’re… used to it.”

Sae didn’t answer.

The manager deflated slightly, scratching the back of his neck. “If you need anything, please tell me. Really. Don’t hesitate.” He paused. “Though, um, I suppose you probably won’t.”

Sae finally glanced at him. The man smiled — polite, strained — then quickly turned his gaze back to his own lap, like he regretted speaking at all.

The silence grew.

It wasn’t that Sae was trying to intimidate him. He just didn’t have energy for small talk. Or for people who treated him like he was something fragile that might shatter if they said the wrong thing. He didn’t need a babysitter.

And yet, this guy’s job was to be exactly that.

Sae leaned back in his seat, resting his chin on his hand, eyes drifting to the window again. The manager seemed relieved by the disengagement.

Another ten minutes passed before Gerard(?) shifted again. This time, with more determination.

“I, um, read your file.” He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. “I mean… just the official stuff. Your stats. Nothing private, of course.”

Sae sighed through his nose. “What do you want?”

“Nothing! Nothing. I just… wanted to say you’re very talented for a boy your age.” The man forced a chuckle. “But I suppose you hear that all the time.”

Sae didn’t reply.

George(?) forged ahead anyway. “You’ll be meeting the Academy Director when we land. He’s a very busy man, but he made time to meet you personally. That doesn’t happen often.”

Sae could feel the weight of the manager’s gaze, gauging his reaction.

“Okay,” Sae said flatly.

“He’s… a little strict,” the manager continued. “But fair. The kind of person who appreciates hard work and… initiative.”

Another glance. Another pause.

“You’ve been to Spain before?”

“No.”

“Ah. Well. It’s, um, very different from Japan. Warmer. Laid-back. The people are friendly, but they can be… passionate. Loud, sometimes.”

Sae hummed, noncommittal.

The manager wilted.

For a while, the only sound was the soft drone of the airplane, the muted shuffle of footsteps in the aisle.

Sae closed his eyes.

It wasn’t like he was mad at the guy. He just didn’t care.

His world had shrunk to a window frame and the faint reflection of his own face. His brother and parents had faded somewhere behind him. The tryouts, the scout’s words, the applause—all of it felt far away, like a match highlight he wasn’t part of.

“I know this must be a lot,” the manager tried again. “It’s okay to be nervous.”

Sae opened his eyes, fixing the man with a blank stare.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Right. Of course.” The manager smiled, small and tight. “You’re very mature.”

He didn’t sound convinced.

Sae leaned his forehead against the cool window.

He wasn’t nervous. Not really. He was just tired. Tired of the questions. Tired of people deciding what he should feel.

Tired of adults talking around him like he wasn’t there.

He missed Rin. He missed being a nobody only the news knew the name of.

He missed soccer.

He wanted the plane to land so he could start.

On the ground, no one would care how many times he spoke. Only how many goals he scored.

That was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

The small tray thudded lightly on the table beside him. Sae barely glanced at it, eyes fixed on the muted flicker of the TV. The smell of food — too rich, too heavy — seeped through the room, but it didn’t stir his appetite.

“Hey,” Shidou’s voice cut through the silence, playful but low. “You gonna eat that, or just starve yourself to death?”

Sae didn’t answer. He could've sworn it was night not too long ago. So he probably fell asleep.

Humiliating, not being able to remember.

His throat felt raw, his body weighed down by a heaviness that made even breathing feel like a chore. The fever hadn’t quite left him, and every muscle ached in protest. Still, he hated being treated like he was fragile.

Shidou settled beside him, the heat of his presence close enough to make Sae’s skin prickle. “Come on. You’re embarrassing me.”

The words were teasing, but Sae caught something else under the surface—a touch of worry maybe, buried too deep to reach.

“I’m not hungry,” Sae said finally, voice brittle, the lie easy to say, hard to think about.

Shidou smirked, ignoring the obvious. “Not hungry, huh? Then what’s that noise?” He reached out, prodding Sae’s stomach with a light jab.

To both their surprises, Sae let out a small yelp at the jab. His stomach twisted painfully. Maybe he was hungry. Maybe it was just his body asking for something, anything.

It wasn't a hard jab, Sae just had a body more sensitive than most. Though, he'd rather let Shidou believe the jab was too aggressive.

“See?” Shidou grinned after a moment, seemingly recovering from the little incident. “You’re starving.”

Sae pulled his legs up, hugging them close. “Doesn’t mean I want to eat.”

Shidou’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second, but then he laughed. “Whatever you say.”

He picked up a pair of chopsticks and jabbed a piece of meat on the tray, waving it in front of Sae’s face. “Open up, Sae-chan. It’s good. I swear.”

Sae’s stomach twisted again. The smell was tempting, but his pride—or maybe just his stubbornness—held firm.

“No.”

Shidou’s brow lifted in mock surprise. “No?”

“Not hungry.”

“But I bought it just for you.” The chopsticks hovered. “Don’t be rude.”

Sae’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to Shidou’s face, searching for any sign of impatience or irritation. There was none. Just that persistent, teasing smirk.

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. It was humiliating, this dance of feeding and refusing, care and distance.

“No,” Sae muttered, turning his head away. “Eat it yourself.”

Shidou chuckled, but there was a quiet in his eyes now. “You’re impossible.”

Sae’s heart sank a little. He hated this. The way Shidou cared—too much, maybe. Like Sae was fragile glass ready to shatter at any moment. It made him want to push harder, to prove he wasn’t weak.

He hated being treated as fragile, though he was. He hated when people cared too much, though he probably needed it. He hated Shidou playing caretaker, though his stomach felt weird whenever Shidou spoke like Sae was his to protect.

“I’m fine,” Sae said softly, more to himself than anyone else.

“Yeah?” Shidou’s voice lowered, teasing. “Then why do you look like hell?”

Sae didn’t answer. He bit his lip instead, the familiar taste of raw flesh bitter in his mouth.

For a long moment, the room was quiet except for the soft hum of the TV.

Shidou shifted closer. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

Sae’s eyes flicked to him sharply. Did he really think Sae was pretending?

“I’m not pretending,” Sae snapped, more harshly than intended.

Shidou raised his hands in surrender, a smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, okay. No pressure.”

But the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Sae felt a pang of guilt. He wanted to be honest, to let Shidou see the mess inside, but the walls were up. Always up.

He so desperately—deep in his heart— wanted, no, needed a comfort. Of any kind.

But he had learned long ago that the more you are given, the more it hurts when you're no longer given it.

Instead, he stared at the floor. “I just want to rest.”

Shidou’s expression softened. “Then rest.”

The tray sat untouched. Sae’s stomach growled again, louder this time, and he clenched his fists.

He hated needing help. Hated feeling so small. Hated how his ears were turning pink from the little noises his stomach was betraying him with.

Shidou reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Sae’s forehead. The touch was gentle, almost tender.

Sae flinched but didn’t pull away.

Had he let Shidou continue, he surely would have melted right then and there.

“Eat a little,” Shidou urged softly.

Sae’s mind screamed yes, but his body betrayed him with a small shake of the head.

The tension between wanting to push Shidou away and craving the care was tearing him apart.

And somewhere deep down, Sae wondered if Shidou could see—if he could understand—the war raging inside.

But for now, Sae kept silent. Let Shidou hold the space. Let the quiet stretch between them like a fragile thread.

The food sat cold, forgotten.

Sae closed his eyes, praying for the ache inside to dull, for the exhaustion to finally claim him.

Shidou didn’t give up.

He leaned closer, those dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know, if you don’t eat, you’ll never get your strength back.”

Sae glared at the tray like it was the enemy.

“Are you trying to stay weak on purpose?” Shidou teased, poking Sae’s side with a finger.

Sae jerked away, crossing his arms tightly. “Don’t.”

“But it’s true.” Shidou grinned like he was winning a game. “You want me to have to carry you around all day?”

Sae’s cheeks flared hot. “I’m not weak.”

“Oh? Then why don’t you prove it by eating something?”

Sae bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood. Good. At least the pain was real.

He wanted to snap at Shidou, to tell him to leave him alone. But every time he opened his mouth, the words caught in his throat, swallowed by a strange mix of frustration and something softer—something like relief that someone cared enough to fight for him.

Shidou’s grin softened just a little. “Come on, Sae. Just one bite.”

Sae looked away, stubborn as ever.

The silence stretched, heavy and awkward.

Shidou’s voice dropped, a low whisper. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Sae’s head snapped back.

“What?”

Shidou winked. “If you eat, I’ll tell you a secret.”

A secret?

Sae’s curiosity pricked, but he hid it well.

“No secrets.”

He was dying inside, wanting to know so terribly what secrets a guy like Shidou could have, especially since his life was usually an open book that no one bothered to read.

Shidou laughed softly. “You’re impossible.”

Sae wanted to be impossible. Wanted to be left alone. But he didn’t say it.

Instead, Shidou grabbed a piece of food with his chopsticks, bringing it close to Sae’s lips again.

This time, Sae didn’t pull away fast enough.

The food touched his mouth.

Sae froze, tasting the sweetness mixed with spice.

Shidou smiled, victorious.

“See? Not so bad.”

Sae swallowed hard.

Shidou’s teasing eyes locked on his.

Sae internally gagged, not because the food was bad, but because Shidou's teasing gaze was so terribly familiar in ways Sae couldn't describe.

Not if he wanted to keep his eyes dry.

Sae chewed the food slowly, not because he wanted to, but because Shidou was watching, waiting. That made it worse.

He hated feeling like a child. Like he needed permission just to eat.

So, when Shidou asked if he wanted more, Sae snapped without thinking.

“No. Don’t treat me like I’m some helpless kid.”

"I'm not treating you like a helpless kid, Sae-Chan. I'm only taking care of you."

Sae's response was purely on impulse. He didn't mean to say it. He just wanted the conversation to be over.

"You only take care of me because it makes you feel useful."

The words hit the air sharper than he expected.

Shidou blinked, eyes darkening for a heartbeat, then carefully looking away.

Sae’s stomach twisted. He wanted to take it back—wanted to explain that it was just his stupid inability to express himself through words properly—but the lump in his throat grew.

He stared at the tray, feeling the weight of what he’d said.

Shidou said nothing.

Just folded his arms, quiet now, distant.

Sae hated it. The silence felt colder than any argument.

He wanted to fix it but didn’t know how.

Instead, he sat stiffly, fighting down the mix of guilt and frustration swirling inside.

His fingers pressed against the tray’s edge, nails digging into plastic.

Or metal. He couldn't tell.

Shidou’s quietness stretched out, making Sae more restless.

He wanted to apologize but the words tangled in his throat again.

Instead, Sae looked away, tracing a scuff in the tray with a shaky finger.

The room felt smaller. Louder.

Sae swallowed hard.

What had he done?

Shidou’s eyes flicked back to Sae, quiet but sharp—like he was weighing every word, every breath.

There was something in the way Shidou’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, the faint twitch of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Sae’s chest tightened.

He hated that he’d caused this.

But Shidou said nothing.

No angry words. No raised voice.

Just a slow, deliberate silence.

Instead, Shidou leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the floor between them.

The air felt thick, almost heavy enough to touch.

Sae swallowed, the lump in his throat growing, heat prickling at the edges of his eyes.

He couldn’t meet Shidou’s gaze—not yet.

Shidou finally cleared his throat, voice low and careful.

“Just... let me know if you want something, okay? No pressure.”

The words sounded softer, almost like a question.

Sae nodded silently, biting back the urge to say more.

Shidou’s hands clenched briefly into fists, then relaxed.

The quiet stretched between them again.

Sae’s heart hammered—not from anger, but the ache of regret.

He wanted to make things right, but didn’t know where to start.

For now, he stayed still, words caught in his throat.

Shidou stood slowly, as if breaking the spell that hung between them.

He glanced at Sae one last time—eyes soft but guarded.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” Shidou said quietly, voice low like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile silence.

Sae nodded, barely trusting himself to speak.

Shidou slipped out, the door clicking softly behind him.

The emptiness that followed settled in like a weight pressing on Sae’s chest.

He sat frozen, staring at the spot where Shidou had been moments before.

The hum of the quiet bedroom filled the space, each second stretching longer than the last.

Sae’s fingers twitched restlessly in his lap.

The ache inside didn’t soften — it only seemed to grow, sharper with the silence.

His mind spun, flitting between the moment, the sting of the unspoken, and the hollow heat beneath his skin.

No one was watching now.

No one would know.

The urge pressed heavy — something that needed release, even if just for a moment.

But Sae blinked it away, swallowing hard, trying to will the feeling down.

He closed his eyes, counting breaths, trying to steady the storm inside.

The quiet wasn’t peace.

It was waiting.

The second the door clicked shut, Sae’s whole body tensed like a coiled spring ready to snap.

He didn’t dare breathe too deeply.

He tried his exercises, counting from 1 to 20 and then 20 to 1, solving random math equations in his head, every stupid calming exercise he had learned from the internet.

His hands trembled as he reached down beside the bed, fingers brushing against the small bottle he’d stashed away earlier—the sharp chemical burn waiting silently like a cruel promise.

He had been sure to hide the bottle well, in case Shidou ever got curious and searched his bag. He had always had it hidden in an internal pocket of his bag, using disinfectant wipes to distract anyone from the smell.

He pulled the bottle out slowly, the plastic cool and heavy in his palm.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out the quiet hum of the apartment.

With practiced motions, he tore off a small square of fabric—a rag he’d hidden among his things, worn and frayed from repeated use.

His fingers, slick with sweat, fumbled as he poured a few drops—or a hundred—of the liquid onto the cloth.

The scent hit him first—acrid, bitter, like a wound left to fester.

He swallowed hard, jaw clenched tight.

There was no turning back.

He lifted his shirt up and adjusted his pants a little lower than their usual spot.

Pressing the soaked rag against the soft skin just above his groin, he winced as the acid met flesh.

A white-hot fire blossomed instantly, crawling beneath the surface in searing waves.

He grit his teeth, refusing to cry out, even as the pain flared brighter—a cruel, savage heat that burned through his skin like liquid fire.

He hated using that area, or even touching it at all, but it was the easiest spot to hide, whether he was in normal clothes, his jersey, or even just his boxers.

Dumbass.

The rag moved in harsh circles, smearing the chemical deeper, ripping through the protective barrier of skin with each rough stroke.

The flesh reddened quickly, swelling, raw and angry like a fresh brand.

Tiny beads of sweat dotted his forehead, mixing with tears he blinked away fiercely.

His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts.

Idiot. You should have just eaten the goddamn food.

He didn’t stop until his hand ached, until the skin beneath the rag was blistered and blistering, the surface bubbling and weeping clear fluid.

When he finally peeled the rag away, a raw, crimson wound stared back at him, throbbing with fierce intensity.

His flesh burned as if scorched by fire, pain pulsing with every heartbeat.

The damage was cruelly vivid—a self-inflicted punishment etched into his flesh, painful enough to match the turmoil inside.

Sae pressed his palm flat against the injury, willing the fire to dull, but the ache lingered, a reminder he couldn’t escape.

His gaze flicked to the floor, ashamed and hollow.

No one was here to see.

No one would.

But the pain was real.

And for a fleeting moment, it was all he could feel.

The sharp knock at the door barely registered.

Sae’s hand froze, clutching the rag soaked with burning chemicals.

His breath hitched, heart hammering in his chest like a warning bell.

He barely had time to slide the rag back into the bottle and tuck it away before the door creaked open.

Shidou’s eyes widened, his usual playful smile flickering into something unreadable.

The sight of Sae’s reddened, blistered skin—exposed and raw beneath the pulled-up shirt and lowered pants—stopped him cold.

For a long, frozen moment, neither of them moved.

The air thickened, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Sae’s gaze dropped to the floor, cheeks burning hotter than the wound itself.

Shidou’s mouth parted, silence spilling between them like a broken dam.

Shock. Confusion. Something softer — worry?

It all swirled in Shidou’s eyes, but no words came.

Sae felt the weight of Shidou’s stare like a physical thing, heavy and cold.

He wanted to run. To disappear. To never be seen like this again.

But he couldn’t move.

The raw sting on his body pulsed with every heartbeat, a brutal reminder of the pain he welcomed — and the truth he hid.

The silence stretched, taut and unbearable.

Then, finally, Shidou opened his mouth to speak.

"Sae..."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but the words seemingly got caught somewhere between his throat and the thick air.

He only stood there, frozen.

And Sae knew.

He knew this moment would change everything.

Because now he wasn't Japan's National Treasure, or the Level-Headed Midfielder. He was the weak little boy harming himself in someone else's apartment bedroom.

Chapter Text

Sae’s chest tightened, every muscle in his body coiling like a spring ready to snap. He froze mid-motion, fingers curling as he stared at the door.

The chemical had already begun to eat at his skin, leaving angry, bright red marks that would throb long after the initial sting had passed and horrifying little blisters. A part of him wanted to scream, to hurl the bottle across the room, to vanish completely. But it was too late.

Shidou could see the burn as clear as day.

Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Not angry—at least, not yet—but alert, tense, aware. Sae’s stomach lurched. The sharp, metallic taste of panic filled his mouth, and he felt suddenly nauseous. Maybe it was the thought of someone as unbothered as Shidou getting angry. He had horrible experiences with typically unbothered people getting angry.

His heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears.

No, no, no, don’t let him see… don’t let him see… There's still a few seconds... Just hide it...

He hadn't even noticed his hand was pressing against the burn until the sweat from his palm met peeling flesh. He tried to pull it away subtly, but the motion jerked, and the burn flared, making him hiss through clenched teeth. Shidou’s eyes narrowed just slightly, and that fraction of attention felt like a spotlight burning straight through him.

Sae’s mind raced. He needed an excuse. Anything. Anything. “I… I was cleaning,” he started, voice unsteady. “I thought… it was sanitizer."

Sanitizer. The word felt brittle in his mouth. He had used sanitizer once or twice to get himself sick, though he stopoed that after a while because he missed too many practices because of it.

It was a weak, pathetic, and transparent excuse. But he held it there, hoping it would pass, hoping Shidou would believe him, or at least not press further.

Shidou’s gaze didn’t waver, steady and piercing. “Cleaning?” His voice was low, cautious, but there was a hint of disbelief in it. “With… that?” He gestured subtly toward Sae’s hand and the ragged, harsh red burn marking his skin.

Sae swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

Just don’t panic. They don't get angry when you're calm.

“I… I didn’t mean to… it was an accident,” he stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. He tried to hide the burn by pulling the hem of his shirt back down, but every movement sent a flare of pain through the chemical burn. His fingers trembled, slick with sweat and the residue from the chemical.

Shidou took a single step forward, his presence filling the doorway. Sae’s stomach knotted even tighter.

There was no escaping now.

His thighs burned, and the raw, angry skin screamed at him to stop, to remove the chemical, to hide, to make it all vanish.

Why did I do this? Why did I do this… Why couldn't I just wait 'till I got home? Why do I always do stupid shit?

Sae’s mind flickered, unwanted and cruel, to the small voice from the past.

You're not a very smart child, Sae. You could've waited until you were bck at your condo. 

A whisper of memory, faint but cutting, a reminder of someone who had taught him to obey, to hide, to mask pain. He flinched ever so slightly, pulling the cloth closer to his body.

No, no, no… not now…

Shidou’s voice was calm but probing. “Where did you get this?” His eyes were focused, sharp, patient but insistent.

Panic gripped Sae’s chest. He couldn’t—he couldn’t say. He opened his mouth, words caught somewhere between truth and fabrication. “I… I thought it was sanitizer… I swear.”

Shidou blinked, studying him for a long moment. The burn on Sae’s thigh glared bright under the dim light of the room, raw and unforgiving. Shidou’s focus was drawn there, and for a fraction of a second, Sae dared to hope.

Maybe he won’t notice. Maybe he’ll accept it.

But hope was dangerous. Sae knew it. Every instinct screamed at him that Shidou’s calm was not ignorance—it was observation, measuring, cataloging, aware. And yet, somehow, Shidou nodded slowly, stepping closer, moving with cautious precision. Sae’s chest tightened further, muscles coiling as if he could spring backward and disappear, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Shidou knelt, reaching toward the burn, but Sae’s body tensed, flinching at the proximity. The flash of memory struck again—someone else’s hands, guiding, controlling, always controlling. Sae gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay still. Just get this over with quickly. Think of a better excuse. Or is it too late? Dammit.

“Just let me see it,” Shidou murmured, voice softer now, almost coaxing. Sae’s fingers twitched, trembling against his waist. The pain was sharp, immediate, and the chemical hissed against raw skin. He wanted to scream, to tell Shidou to go away, to vanish entirely, but he stayed rooted, frozen by fear, panic, and the odd, conflicted sense of care that Shidou exuded.

Shidou’s hands hovered, careful, meticulous. The heat from his body radiated subtly, a strange comfort Sae didn’t allow himself to recognize.

He focused on the burn, ignoring the warmth, the presence, the attention, and the way his stomach flipped every time Shidou’s fingers brushed too close.

He hated when people went anywhere near his waist. He wanted to rip the dirty hands off whoever even came close, intentional or not.

No one could ever understand just how much trust Sae was putting into Shidou right now.

Sae’s vision blurred slightly as the throbbing pain and the adrenaline from near-discovery combined. He chewed the inside of his cheek, tasting iron and panic.

Why did I… why did I…

His mind looped endlessly, circling guilt, fear, and the compulsion that had led him here. The chemical bite on his skin was a cruel punctuation to every misstep, every accident, every perceived failure.

Shidou finally reached for a clean cloth, soaked it in cool water, and gently pressed it against the burn. Sae flinched instinctively, almost jerking away, but Shidou held steady, his touch deliberate but careful. The cold sting of water against raw, chemical-burned skin made Sae wince, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to wipe them away, to hide the evidence of weakness, but Shidou’s presence was unrelenting.

“Breathe,” Shidou said quietly, almost more to himself than to Sae. “It’ll sting less if you breathe.”

Sae’s mind screamed at him.

Breathe? Breathe!? I want to fucking die right now! Wait. No. This is my fault. I did this. I need to stop saying I want to die.

His chest tightened, but he obeyed Shidou, shallow, quick breaths that barely counted as breathing leaving and entering his throat.

Shidou’s eyes flicked up briefly, meeting Sae’s gaze. Something passed there, a silent understanding, an acknowledgment of the fragility without judgment. And in that instant, Sae felt the weight of everything he had tried to hide: the compulsion, the secrecy, the memory of hands that were never gentle, and the stark reality of the present.

Every nerve in his body was alert, ready to flee, ready to lie, ready to collapse. The room smelled faintly of chemical, water, and the warmth of Shidou’s presence, and Sae couldn’t decide which was more overwhelming: the physical pain or the mental turmoil.

The cloth pressed against his thigh hissed one final time as Shidou lifted it away, inspecting the damage. Sae’s fingers clenched the edge of the bed, knuckles white, muscles taut. He held his breath, waiting for the verdict, the accusation, the reaction.

Shidou didn’t speak immediately. He just looked, careful, silent, weighing, watching. And for a long, suspended moment, Sae allowed himself the briefest flicker of relief. Maybe he had evaded total exposure. Maybe Shidou would just… move on. After all, it's not like Shidou was ever this quiet, let alone if he was curious about something.

But deep down, Sae knew the reality. This was only the beginning. The threshold had been crossed. Shidou had seen, even if he didn’t yet understand. And Sae’s world, delicate and precarious, trembled on the edge of exposure.

Sae's pulse was a relentless drum in his ears, pounding so loud he could barely think. The burn on his thigh flared again as he shifted slightly, trying to shift his leg away without drawing more attention. Every nerve in his body screamed panic.

Don’t move. Hide your leg. Just let the demon help. Don't let him see.

Every thought was immediately replaced with one suggesting the opposite.

Shidou’s eyes, sharp and steady, followed his every motion, calm but insistent. “You said it was sanitizer,” he said, voice low, almost conversational, yet carrying an undercurrent of skepticism. “Is that right?”

Sae swallowed, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. “Y-yeah,” he stammered, voice shaking. “I… I didn’t think it would hurt. I thought it was just sanitizer.”

“Just sanitizer,” Shidou repeated, tilting his head slightly. His gaze didn’t leave Sae. “And that burn… that’s from sanitizer?”

Sae’s chest tightened.

Yes, yes, that’s what it is. Just play stupid. It's not new to you anyway.

“I-I must've brought the wrong bottle. I didn’t realize.”

Shidou’s expression remained unreadable, but his eyes narrowed fractionally. “Hmm.” He took a step closer. “Why would you have an acidic chemical anywhere near your home sanitizer in the first place?"

Sae’s hands trembled.

No, go back to being stupid. Please. Go back to being dumb and horny and unserious. Stop being smart. Stop caring. Please.

“I-I was just… messing with it. I didn’t mean for it to hurt."

The words felt hollow even as they left his mouth.

Shidou crouched slightly, just enough to be at eye level. “Messing with sanitizer,” he repeated, tone gentle but probing. "You? Really?”

Sae nodded rapidly, hoping the gesture would be enough. “Yes. It was just a slow moment.”

Shidou’s gaze lingered on the burn, scanning every detail. Sae could feel the heat of it in his chest, the panic twisting tighter around his ribs. Don’t let him notice.

"Pretty uncharacteristic for you to mess with shit. Or stutter like that."

Sae tried to focus on the ceiling, the floor, anything but the intensity in Shidou’s eyes.

“Okay,” Shidou said slowly, almost thoughtfully. “But why hide it then? If it was an accident, why not just… tell me?”

Sae’s stomach twisted.

Shit. What do I say again? I practiced this, right? Yeah, I-I, no, ugh, what do I say?

“I… I panicked,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to… I thought… it would… I didn’t mean-”

Shidou’s brow furrowed slightly. “You thought what?”

Sae’s mind raced, frantic. Make something up. Anything. “I… thought… it might get me in trouble?”

The words stumbled out, awkward and uncertain. “I didn’t want you to… get upset.”

Shidou tilted his head, studying him. “Get upset? Over an accident?”

Sae nodded quickly, too quickly. “Y-yeah. I… I didn’t mean to hurt myself. It was a mistake.”

Dumbass! You're mixing up notes. The demon isn't who you say this to. Shit!

Shidou’s gaze didn’t waver.

“I see,” he said slowly, like he was considering the pieces of a puzzle. “And the chemical… you really thought it was sanitizer?”

Sae’s throat was dry. He could feel the sweat prickling at the nape of his neck, his fingers clenching the edge of his knee like a lifeline.

Yes. Yeah, that's right. Just believe that. Think of me as stupid, not this. Please.

“Y-yes."

He sounded so out of character in his head that he could only imagine how Shidou felt watching Sae Itoshi stumble on his words this badly.

Shidou moved a fraction closer, still calm but undeniably focused.

“All right,” he said softly. “But next time… maybe don't try to touch anything during your fever unless someone's there to watch you?"

Sae exhaled, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief washed over him in a wave, but it was fleeting. He could feel Shidou’s eyes still on him, and he knew this was far from over. The adrenaline had made his hands shake, the burn still throbbed, but at least… Shidou believed him. For now.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice small. “I… I will.”

Shidou’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Good. That’s all I’m asking.”

Sae sagged slightly, trying to relax without drawing attention to the burn. He kept his gaze on the burn, as if it would disappear any second now.

His mind spun with the close call, the way Shidou’s presence had nearly unraveled him, and the knowledge that he had only narrowly escaped exposure. He really, really didn't want to admit it, but any more of the interrogating and he might've just cried.

Shidou stepped back slightly, giving him space. Sae’s muscles, taut for minutes that felt like hours, finally allowed him a small measure of release. He took a careful breath, trying to steady the chaos in his chest. Just… breathe. Don’t mess it up.

Shidou’s gaze softened slightly, still cautious, still observing. “You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now, a touch gentler.

Sae swallowed, nodding. “Y-yeah… I’m… fine.” The lie felt weak, but it would have to hold. Just this once, just until he forgets…

He hated this side of Shidou. He hated how caring Shidou looked right now, how soft his smile could be, how luring his gaze was, how had they been like this just a few years prior and Sae would've cried to Shidou for hours and hours on end...

Shidou’s eyes lingered for a long moment, then he nodded, stepping fully back into the room. “All right. I’ll trust you on that.”

Sae exhaled in a small, quiet sigh. Relief flooded through him, yet beneath it was the ever-present thrum of fear.

He believes me… for now. But he saw. He knows something’s off. I just… I need to be careful.

---

Sae sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, the sting still radiating through his entire body. His skin was flushed and damp, and the faint smell of singed fabric lingered in the air, reminding him of his mistake.

The hem of his shirt was darkened in patches, fabric frayed where he had tugged it too hard to expose the wound.

It wasn’t terrible—at least not compared to other injuries he had endured—but it pulsed in a steady, aching throb that made it impossible to ignore.

Shidou crouched in front of him, his usual cocky grin wiped away, replaced with something sharp and focused. His gaze flicked from Sae’s pale face to the angry red mark blooming across his skin. The shift in his expression was disorienting; Sae was used to Shidou’s relentless teasing, not this tight coil of concern.

On any other circumstances, Sae would've cursed himself internally for the heat his ears were radiating.

“Don’t move,” Shidou muttered. He straightened, rummaging through a cabinet along the far wall. Bottles clinked, metal scraped softly against glass. Every sound made Sae’s chest tighten.

The silence between them was louder than any words.

Sae’s fingers clenched into the blanket beneath him. He wanted to say something—some explanation, some dismissive remark to cut through the air—but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He hated the way Shidou moved with such certainty, hated the way his body leaned toward him instinctively. Like he knows what he’s doing. Like he’s done this before. Like-

His jaw locked. A voice trickled in, low and unyielding.

You don’t get to flinch. If you flinch, you make it worse.

Sae’s throat tightened. He looked down at the floorboards, willing them to blur, to become something else. But they stayed sharp, painfully real.

Shidou’s footsteps drew close again. “Alright. Got what I need.”

Sae forced himself to glance up. Shidou had a small tray balanced in one hand—gauze, a bottle of clear liquid, a jar of cream, scissors. The clinical neatness of it made Sae’s stomach drop. It was too familiar.

Shidou set the tray on the nightstand. He crouched again, this time closer, so close that Sae could feel the warmth radiating off him. “Let me see.” His voice softened, but it carried no hesitation.

Sae instinctively drew himself back a fraction. The movement was tiny, almost imperceptible, but Shidou noticed. His brow furrowed.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, steady but not sharp. “Promise.”

Sae hated the way that word hit him. Promise. A word that once meant nothing but shattered glass. His chest pulled tight, lungs constricting as the memory pressed down.

He made promises too. Didn’t he say—

The voice in his head sharpened, crueler this time.

You’re pathetic if you let him see you squirm. Pathetic.

It didn't help that this was his own thoughts and not some cruel memory.

Sae bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste iron. “It’s fine,” he muttered, trying to sound bored. Detached. He lied back on the bed, a little too fast, as though daring Shidou to try it.

Shidou didn’t call him out. He just nodded, accepting the gesture with quiet gravity. Carefully, he leaned over and pressed his thumb to Sae's stomach, his touch firm but gentle, and slowly moved it down to the burn. Sae tried not to recoil at the contact.

The burn was an ugly patch of raw pink against his skin. Shidou’s lips pressed together in a tight line as he examined it. “Not deep. Could’ve been worse. Still gonna sting like hell.”

Sae looked away, jaw set.

The first touch of liquid was agony. Shidou dabbed at the burn with sterile gauze soaked in the clear fluid, and Sae’s whole body jerked despite himself. He hissed, breath caught between his teeth.

“Hold still,” Shidou murmured, not unkindly. “This is just the rinse. Gotta make sure nothing lingers.”

The voice in Sae’s head returned, colder this time.

Stop moving. You ruin everything when you move.

Also his own thoughts. Anxiety-1, Self esteem-0.

He froze, knuckles white against the blanket. The sting crawled up his body, searing, but he locked his body into stillness. His chest rose in shallow bursts, but he made no sound. He refused.

Shidou noticed. His eyes flicked up briefly, studying Sae’s clenched jaw, his rigid shoulders. Something shifted in his expression again, that sharpness of concern pulling tighter. But he said nothing, only worked with quieter movements.

The gauze pressed again, softer now, and Sae flinched before he could stop himself.

That voice roared. Pathetic. Always pathetic.

He sucked in a sharp breath, biting back the sound that wanted to follow. His throat ached with the effort.

“Hey,” Shidou said, quieter now, almost too quiet. “It’s just me. You don’t have to-...” He cut himself off, shaking his head slightly as though debating what he was allowed to say. His fingers steadied Sae's trembling body with small presses, thumb brushing just above uninjured skin. “Almost done.”

Sae nodded once, mechanical, afraid his voice would crack if he spoke.

The rinse ended, leaving his skin raw and throbbing. Shidou reached for the jar of cream next, twisting it open with a faint click. A faint scent of herbs drifted out, clean and strangely grounding.

“This’ll help the sting,” Shidou explained. “Cool it down. Just a thin layer.”

Sae didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

The first touch of cream was gentler than the rinse. Cool, soothing. But it wasn’t the sensation that made Sae tense—it was the way Shidou’s fingers moved, careful, tracing the edges of pain with quiet precision. It was too intimate, too close.

His body remembered a different hand, one that pretended to care only to twist the knife deeper. His stomach lurched, nausea rising sharp and sudden. He bit down hard on his tongue, eyes burning.

Shidou must’ve felt the tremor in his arm. He paused, his hand still hovering above Sae’s skin. “Too much?”

“No,” Sae said quickly. Too quickly. His voice was hoarse, unsteady. He forced it flatter, colder. “Keep going.”

Shidou’s gaze lingered on him, but he obeyed, spreading the cream in careful strokes. He didn’t comment on the trembling, didn’t press for answers. But the silence felt heavier with every second.

When he finished, he reached for fresh gauze and began to wrap it around Sae's waist, firm enough to hold, gentle enough not to dig. His movements were practiced, efficient, like this wasn’t the first time he’d patched someone up.

Sae was confident that if this hadn't been such a concerning incident, Shidou would've made a joke about how little gauze it took to wrap around Sae's waist.

Sae stared at the floor, refusing to look at him. His breath finally slowed, but the weight in his chest didn’t ease.

“There,” Shidou said quietly, tying the bandage off with a final tug. “Should hold. We’ll change it tomorrow.”

Sae nodded once, eyes still downcast. His lower half felt lighter, softer, but his chest was heavier than ever.

Shidou sat back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. He studied Sae in silence for a long moment. “You didn’t have to do that alone, y’know.”

Sae’s head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes. “I told you, it was an accident—”

“I’m not talking about the bottle,” Shidou cut in, his voice steady but soft. “I mean… whatever made you look like you were somewhere else just now.”

Sae froze. His heart stopped, then slammed back into motion, too fast, too loud. The room tilted.

But Shidou didn’t push further. He leaned back, giving Sae that space, though his gaze didn’t waver. “Anyway. It’s handled.” He stood, collecting the tray with slow movements, as though careful not to spook him further.

Sae’s throat worked, words caught there, unspeakable. He wanted to snap, to shove him away with some sharp remark. But nothing came. Only silence.

Shidou set the tray aside and glanced back once more. His voice was calm, almost casual. “Rest up, alright? Don’t touch the bandage. I'll be back.”

And then he was gone, leaving Sae alone with the burn—and the echo of a voice that still wouldn’t quiet.

He had wanted to shove Shidou away mere seconds ago. Now he wanted to beg for him to come back.

---

The quiet settled between them like an unwelcome guest.

Shidou hadn’t moved far after tending to Sae’s burn. He sat with his elbows resting loosely on his knees, still facing him, his eyes wandering as though he were trying to puzzle something out. His expression wasn’t harsh, not really, but there was a weight in the way he looked at Sae—as though he were staring at a page with half its words missing, trying to guess what had been erased.

Sae hated it.

He kept his gaze angled away, fixed on the muted glow of the lamp against the wall. Anything but Shidou. The cotton of his sleeve clung damply to his skin where he’d been sweating from the fever, and he tugged at it absentmindedly, pretending that was what occupied him. His body still ached from too much tension; his chest rose too shallow, too fast.

The silence should have been comfortable—after all, he was good at silence. Silence was safe. Silence meant no one could accuse him of lying.

Silence meant no one could make him say those horrible things.

But under Shidou’s steady presence, silence had teeth.

“You gonna explain?” Shidou asked finally, his voice even but undeniably cutting through the air.

Sae’s head jerked slightly—barely perceptible, but he felt it in his own bones. He kept his eyes forward. “Explain what?”

“The way you froze.” Shidou leaned back, slouching against the chair now, but his eyes didn’t let go. “When I touched your arm. You looked like I’d hit you. I know I'm violent, but I didn't think you thought like that.”

Sae’s throat closed. Heat climbed the back of his neck—not the fever, not entirely.

He didn't hate Shidou. He didn't see him as a violent monster, despite the demon nickname. It was routine that betrayed Sae.

He forced a scoff out, thin and brittle. “I was already burned. Of course it hurt.”

Shidou didn’t look away.

The quiet stretched again, taut and sharp, until Sae’s skin prickled with the urge to fill it. But Shidou didn’t move, didn’t press, didn’t blink. He just let the words hang there, making Sae feel as though his own excuse was echoing back at him, hollow.

“You didn’t flinch from pain,” Shidou said at last. “You flinched like you expected something worse.”

That voice again.

That echo in his head—Pathetic. Can’t even stand to be touched. What did you think would happen, Sae? That I’d be gentle?

Sae shut his eyes for half a second, squeezing the voice away. When he opened them again, Shidou was still watching.

“I told you,” Sae muttered, low, almost inaudible. “It’s nothing.”

Shidou leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, and Sae felt the shift in the air immediately—like a predator narrowing in on weakness, except Shidou’s presence wasn’t sharp. It was steady, grounding, like he was daring Sae to keep hiding when the truth was already bleeding through.

“You keep saying ‘nothing,’” Shidou said, “but your body’s screaming something else.”

Sae swallowed. His tongue felt like paper.

There was nothing he could say without unraveling. He knew it. Every instinct screamed at him to hold the walls up higher, keep the mask tight. Shidou didn’t need to know. Shidou couldn’t know.

But Shidou was waiting, patient in his own unyielding way.

Sae shifted, tugging the blanket tighter around himself, though it was too warm for it. His chest throbbed with something restless, angry, frightened all at once. He hated this—hated being seen, hated the way Shidou’s presence chipped away at the lies he thought he had perfected.

Finally, he forced out, “You don’t have to keep… hovering. I’ll be fine.”

Shidou tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in something that wasn’t suspicion exactly—more like disbelief. “You’re not fine.”

The words landed heavier than Sae expected. They weren’t an accusation. They weren’t even harsh. They were… soft. Unshakable. A simple statement of truth, spoken like Shidou couldn’t imagine doubting it.

Sae’s breath caught in his throat.

For a moment, he had no words at all. Just that faint hum of panic in his chest, warring with a bone-deep weariness. He wanted to argue, to deny, to scoff and call Shidou delusional. But the words stuck.

Shidou leaned back again, finally breaking the eye contact, letting Sae breathe. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” His tone shifted, lighter, almost resigned. “But don’t insult me by pretending I didn’t see what I saw.”

Sae’s chest loosened and tightened all at once. Relief that Shidou let it go. Fear because it wasn’t really let go—it was just written down somewhere, filed away.

The quiet returned, but this time it wasn’t sharp. It was heavier, weighted down by everything unspoken, everything left unsaid.

Sae turned his face further toward the wall, away from the heat of Shidou’s presence. His body ached to collapse, to shut down completely. His fever hummed under his skin, dragging him closer to sleep.

But even as his eyes fell closed, he could still feel it—the way Shidou’s attention lingered. Not demanding. Not prying. Just… there.

A steady presence he didn’t know how to accept.

And when sleep failed to drag him under, the silence persevered, thick with everything he couldn’t say.

---

The apartment was quiet in a way that felt deliberate, like silence was the only language Shidou trusted not to break anything fragile.

Curtains shifted with the faintest brush of night air, shadows stretching across the floor in long, soft strokes. A clock ticked distantly from the kitchen, the sound slow and patient, as though it, too, knew that time had to move carefully here.

Sae lay against the bed, eyes half-lidded and heavy from exhaustion. The burn still stung beneath the salve Shidou had applied, the skin throbbing in a way that felt tethered to more than just physical injury. But compared to the sharp ache earlier, it was manageable. Contained.

Shidou hadn’t moved far since finishing the treatment. He sat at the other end of the room, leaning against the armrest of his armchair, one leg bent up as he balanced his phone loosely in one hand. He wasn’t scrolling, though. The screen kept dimming before he tapped it again without looking, as though pretending to be busy while keeping an eye on Sae.

The room wasn’t silent because nothing could be said—it was silent because everything that mattered already was.

Sae shifted slightly, pulling the blanket Shidou had draped over him tighter. The motion felt both automatic and hesitant, like admitting he wanted its warmth might expose something too raw. His breathing had evened out, no longer the shaky rhythm of earlier, but his chest still rose with the restrained kind of tension that betrayed thought he didn’t want to voice.

Shidou noticed. He didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned back further, stretching out until his arm rested along the top of the couch. Not in a cage, not in a claim—just there. Close enough to be felt if Sae needed it, far enough to vanish if he didn’t.

That unspoken line, that balance, was its own message.

Sae stared at the faint grain of the ceiling for what felt like minutes. He could feel the edges of his exhaustion pressing in, threatening to pull him under, but his body resisted sleep the way a cornered animal resists stillness. Rest meant letting his guard down. Rest meant trusting the room wouldn’t shift into something dangerous the moment his eyes closed.

He knew that, rationally, this wasn’t there. Shidou wasn’t him. The voice in his head that had cut through earlier had gone quiet, leaving only the echo of its presence, but the damage lingered. He pressed his lips together, jaw tight.

From the corner of his vision, Shidou adjusted — sliding his phone onto the side table, shifting slightly closer though not enough to crowd. He rested his chin on his hand and regarded Sae in a way that wasn’t invasive, wasn’t demanding, just steady.

It was almost worse.

“Stop looking like that,” Sae muttered finally, voice rough.

“Like what?” Shidou asked, tone light, though his eyes didn’t waver.

“Like you’re… waiting.”

Shidou tilted his head, thoughtful. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.”

“That’s-” Sae cut himself off, exhaling sharply. He wanted to argue, but the effort pressed against something brittle in his chest. He shifted again, curling slightly under the blanket, frustration mounting less at Shidou and more at himself. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re tired.” Shidou didn’t soften the words; he let them land as fact. But his voice had a quietness to it, a kind of careful gentleness that didn’t try to force agreement.

"That was an open opportunity for something vulgar and you didn't take it. Maybe I should call an ambulance."

"Soon, Sae-Chan. You're not free from my wordplay yet."

Sae closed his eyes briefly and scoffed. His head ached faintly, his throat dry. He wanted water, he wanted silence, he wanted—he didn’t even know what he wanted.

When he opened his eyes again, the room felt smaller, though nothing had changed. Just him, Shidou, the soft pulse of the night around them.

Shidou moved again, subtle, slow. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, resting his hands loosely between them. His posture had changed from laid-back to intent, but still without pressure.

“You don’t have to fight sleep like it’s me,” Shidou said finally.

Sae’s pulse kicked hard at that. He swallowed.

“I’m not—” His voice broke, and he hated it. He pushed through anyway. “I’m not fighting. I just-”

The words snagged. They didn’t want to leave his throat.

Shidou didn’t fill the space. He let it stay open, patient, like he knew words only worked when they weren’t forced out.

Sae’s hand, hidden beneath the blanket, curled slowly into a fist. He wanted to say it—that sleep never felt safe, that silence never lasted, that every moment of letting go in the past had been punished. But his mouth refused to shape the truth.

Instead, he looked at Shidou, the words slipping sideways: “Why are you doing this?”

Shidou blinked once, slow, as though considering whether Sae already knew the answer.

Then he shrugged, small and quiet. “Because you’re here.”

Sae’s throat tightened.

The simplicity of it was infuriating, terrifying, and comforting all at once. Because you’re here. No strings, no explanations. No weapon hidden in the phrasing.

He dropped his gaze, unable to meet Shidou’s steady one any longer.

The clock ticked again. Outside, a car passed distantly on the street. The world moved on, slow and soft.

---

It was the blanket being adjusted again—carefully, without a word—that finally cracked something in Sae. Shidou hadn’t asked, hadn’t announced it, just reached over and tugged the edge so it sat better against Sae’s shoulder.

Not invasive. Not claiming. Just there.

Sae blinked hard, vision blurring for a moment he refused to acknowledge. His lips parted, but he didn’t say thank you. Couldn’t. The word would have been too small for the way his chest ached.

Instead, he let out a breath that trembled slightly. Not a sob, not a collapse, but the smallest release.

Shidou leaned back again, satisfied, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. Not smug, not victorious. Just… there.

That was when Sae realized.

Shidou hadn’t said it aloud, but the message was in everything he did. The blanket. The silence. The steadiness.

Rest. You’re safe here.

The words lived in the air between them, unspoken but undeniable.

Sae closed his eyes. This time, when sleep pulled, he didn’t fight.

Chapter Text

The ball skidded across the pitch, wet with dew from an overwatered morning. Sae adjusted his stride, catching it before the defender could close him down. His cleats tore faint lines in the grass as he pivoted and released a pass so clean it sliced between two jerseys like thread through fabric.

“¡Oye, buena, Itoshi!” (Hey, nice one, Itoshi!) one of the midfielders called out, already sprinting after the ball.

Sae didn’t reply. He hardly ever did. Praise washed off him the same way insults did—quick, cold, leaving no mark. At least that’s what he told himself.

The scrimmage was supposed to be just that: practice, repetition, control. But today, the air had that twisted current of performance. The kind that made everyone’s backs a little straighter, touches a little sharper. Not because of the coaches.

Because of him.

Leonardo Luna leaned against the fence at the edge of the training pitch, sunglasses propped lazily in his hair, his hands clasped like a man who had all the time in the world. The sun caught on the silver of his watch, sending blinding flickers across the field every time he shifted.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not officially. Luna was far above the Youth Team—Spain’s golden forward, a man whose name filled stadiums, the Scion of Real Madrid. But he liked to come. Always unannounced, always smiling. Like a benevolent older brother checking in.

Sae knew better. Or maybe he didn’t.

He’d met Luna a few times. Enough times for Luna to go straight to mocking him whenever they encountered each other. Enough to recognize the effortless charisma. But not enough to realize that charm turned sharp when you were close, like glass that glittered until you touched it.

A shout cut through the game. “¡Itoshi, mueve esas piernas más rápido!” (Itoshi, move those legs faster!)

A shove followed, the defender’s shoulder slamming into Sae’s side harder than necessary. He caught himself, but only barely. His knee jarred, sending a quick ache through his joint.

“Sorry, tío,” the boy muttered with a smirk. “Didn’t see you there.”

Laughter rippled around.

Sae’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He adjusted his socks instead, the elastic biting into skin already rubbed raw.

From the sidelines, Luna’s voice drifted over, warm and amused. “Eh, chicos, cuidado con la joya japonesa, ¿sí? Que no se rompa antes del debut.” (Hey, boys, careful with the Japanese jewel, yeah? Don’t let him break before his debut.)

The boys laughed louder. The word “jewel” hung in the air like a mockery.

Japanese jewel. Not Spanish enough to be one of them. Not European enough to blend. Just shiny, foreign.

Sae’s stomach twisted, but he masked it with a sharp turn of his head, demanding the next pass.

The ball came, too fast, deliberately sloppy. He trapped it cleanly anyway, his touch whispering control. But then a boot clipped his ankle—“accidentally.”

He stumbled.

He fell.

The grass burned his palms.

A whistle blew, half-hearted.

From the fence, Luna called out again, his tone coated in velvet. “Vamos, Itoshi. Un artista como tú no puede estar en el suelo tanto tiempo.” (Come on, Itoshi. An artist like you can’t be on the ground so long.)

The boys snickered. One leaned close as Sae pushed himself up, voice low but sharp enough to slice. “He’s right. Little princess should stay on his feet.”

Princess. Jewel. Words that sparkled but cut.

English. He hated when they did that, speaking English so Sae could fully understand their insults. It was the second language he learned after Japanese, third being Spanish, or whatever they called it here.

Sae pressed his tongue against his teeth until the urge to snap faded. He’d learned young that silence was both shield and blade.

He got up. Kept playing.

---

The scrimmage rolled on, but the rhythm felt poisoned. Every touch was tested, every movement shadowed.

Sae received the ball again near the center circle. He pivoted, vision cutting ahead like glass through water. But before he could pass, another body crashed into him from behind, arms hooking around his waist in a parody of a tackle.

He went down hard, the weight crushing him.

“¡Gol!” the boy crowed, pretending the fall had been some kind of victory. “Looks like I scored.”

The laughter this time wasn’t light. It was edged.

Sae shoved him off, breath sharp. His ribs ached where the elbow had dug in.

And then Luna’s voice came again, sing-song and casual, the tone of a man telling a joke at a family barbecue.

“Eh, chicos, no abuséis, ¿vale? O es que os gusta demasiado abrazarlo.” (Hey, boys, don’t overdo it, okay? Or do you just like hugging him too much?)

The laughter broke into a roar.

“¡Eso!” (That’s it!) one of them shouted, gesturing crudely.

Sae’s ears burned, though his face remained blank. He pushed his hair back, the strands damp with sweat.

Inside, Sae's anger was burning more than his ears. Why was Luna joking with them? And why didn't the coach care!?

But the answer came just as quickly, crushing in its weight. Because he doesn’t care. Because in Luna's eyes, Sae didn't matter enough to protect.

He tried to bury that thought, but it lingered, a stone in his shoe.

He pushed himself back up onto his feet, making himself a little lighter, trying hard to seem like he wasn't winded.

The scrimmage resumed. Sae pressed on, sharper, faster, angrier. His passes cut like blades, his shots cracked against the goalposts.

It didn’t matter.

Another defender slammed him from the side, knocking him into the dirt again. This time, the shove lingered, a hand pressing down between his shoulder blades.

“Qué blandito eres, Itoshi.” (You’re so soft, Itoshi.) The words were drawn out, mocking, almost intimate.

“Like a girl,” Another boy. Damn it. They were all ganging up on him now.

Sae forced himself up. His shirt clung to his back, grass sticking to the damp fabric.

On the sidelines, Luna whistled low. “Ay, qué bonito. Parece modelo de revista con todo ese verde pegado.” (Ah, how pretty. Looks like a magazine model with all that green stuck to him.)

Pretty. Model. Jewel. Princess.

The words stacked higher and higher until Sae felt them pressing on his chest.

Still, he played on. Because stopping meant weakness, and weakness was blood in the water.

---

Toward the end of the scrimmage, Luna finally stepped forward. His shadow stretched across the pitch, long and cutting.

“Chicos,” he called, smiling wide. “Dadme un poco de espectáculo, ¿eh? Quiero ver lo que tenéis. Enséñadle a nuestro Itoshi cómo se juega de verdad en España.” (Boys, give me a little show, yeah? I want to see what you’ve got. Show our Itoshi how we really play in Spain.)

It wasn’t encouragement. It was permission.

The tackles grew harder. The fouls rougher. Each time Sae touched the ball, someone crashed into him, clipped him, shoved him. His body throbbed with bruises forming like constellations under his skin.

And still Luna clapped, laughed, cheered them on.

“¡Eso es, así se hace!” (That’s it, that’s how it’s done!)

“Venga, Sae, demuéstrales tu magia japonesa.” (Come on, Sae, show them your Japanese magic.)

Magic. Jewel. Princess. Words that caged him.

By the final whistle, Sae’s chest heaved with effort. His arms were streaked with dirt, his legs stinging. His lips tasted faintly of blood where he’d bitten them.

The boys jogged off, laughing, shoving each other. Some clapped him on the back, the force always a little too hard to be friendly.

Luna strolled over, his smile a weapon disguised as warmth.

“Well done, chicos. Muy divertido.” (Very fun.) His gaze flicked to Sae, sharp beneath the lazy charm. “And you, Itoshi… qué paciencia tienes. (What patience you have.) That’s good. Patience is important here.”

The words sounded kind. They weren’t.

Sae bowed his head slightly, more to escape the stare than out of respect. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

Inside, the thought coiled again, bitter as iron.

He likes this. He enjoys watching me humiliated.

But he swallowed it.

Because saying it aloud would make it real.

And if it was real, then he couldn't pretend the Scion's comments were just jokes.

The locker room smelled like damp turf and disinfectant, the kind of sharp tang that clung to Sae’s throat even when he held his breath.

Water dripped from a showerhead in the corner, rhythmic and annoying, each drop clicking against the tile.

He sat on the bench closest to his locker, methodically pulling off his cleats. One, then the other. He set them neatly side by side.

His movements were quiet, deliberate—something to anchor himself with. He focused on the sound of the laces brushing together, on the scrape of studs against tile. Anything but the voices that were already buzzing across the room.

“Oi, quiet as always.” One of the forwards snapped his towel against the bench, like a whip. “You ever make a sound, Itoshi?”

A couple of laughs rippled through the group.

Sae kept his eyes down, stripping his shin guards. It didn't matter anyways. Best to let it pass.

“Bet he’s mute,” another voice chimed in, nasal and sharp. “Can’t speak unless it’s Japanese, huh?”

That got louder laughter. Someone mimicked a clumsy bow, hands pressed together. “Arigato, arigato!”

Sae’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing. He folded his socks with care, smoothing the edges flat against his thigh.

---

They were circling now, voices growing louder, sharper. The teasing wasn’t new; it was the same stale mix of boredom and cruelty that seemed to fuel these sessions.

“What’s it like over there, Itoshi?” a midfielder called from the far side. “You eat sushi for breakfast? Or is it dog? Heard that’s more your style.”

More laughter, this time meaner.

A flick of fingers cracked against the back of his head. Sae didn’t flinch, though the sting lit against his scalp.

“Nothing, huh? Too proud to talk?”

The boy leaned closer, voice dripping mock-sweet. “Say something in Japanese. Come on. Give us a little ‘konichiwa,’ eh?”

The group laughed again, egging him on.

Sae exhaled slowly. He could feel their attention pressing in from every angle, like heat against the back of his neck. He slid his shirt over his head, folding it once, twice, placing it carefully on his bag.

"Konnichiwa." That caused an uproar. He had tried to make it sound as stereotypical as the boys wanted. He made sure he pronounced it the way the boys wanted. He humored them, all because he was tired.

He heard the shuffle of sneakers and then the bench creaked as one of them dropped down beside him. The air smelled of sweat and cheap deodorant.

“Too busy thinking about your girlfriend?” the boy murmured.

The laughter that followed was rougher, closer. Someone whistled low.

“Probably not, bet he’s the quiet type with girls too.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t even like girls.”

“Oi, you think he’s a virgin?"

"Definitely, look at him.”

"Give 'em a break, he's barely 14. Plus, no one would give this thing the time of day. You know how stuck up his kind gets."

The words stuck like grease, leaving an oily residue in the air.

Sae’s hands moved automatically, tucking his shirt deeper into the bag. They want a reaction. So he won’t give them one. That's what he learned back at home. The only lesson he ever truly studied.

But his stomach tightened anyway.

The flicks turned into small shoves—his shoulder nudged, his bag tugged out of reach. One of them grabbed his cleats, dangling them by the laces like bait.

“Wonder what kind of porn you watch, eh? Bet it’s all—what’s it called—tentacle stuff.” Laughter roared through the room. “Straight outta Tokyo!”

Another voice piled on. “Or maybe he doesn’t need porn. Just looks in the mirror.”

They laughed harder at that, echoing off the tile walls.

Sae’s lips pressed thin. Breathe. In, out. Fold, stack, move. His locker door was cool against his fingertips.

A hearty chuckle and then some Spanish cut through the noise then, fast and fluid.

“¿Qué pasa, princesa?” (What’s up, princess?)

The word bit sharper than the shove. Sae didn’t need the translation. He knew mockery when he heard it. The tone made it sound like an insult dressed up as a pet name, barbed and sticky.

“Princesa Itoshi,” another repeated, snickering. “Cute little thing, huh?”

More Spanish followed, their accents thick, laughter slicing into each syllable.

“Tan calladito, parece que le gusta.” (So quiet, seems like he likes it.)

“Claro, es su rollo.” (Of course, that’s his thing.)

The words slipped past him in a blur, but the tone said enough.

He ignored them all, forced his brain to mot translate their words. But it still stung.

Someone leaned down close to his ear, breath humid.

“Hey, princesa. You ever gonna talk, or you just like sitting there, looking pretty?”

The others laughed harder, the sound bouncing around him.

Sae’s knuckles tightened on the locker door. His heartbeat drummed once, twice, steadying itself.

Calm. That's what he was supposed to be as a big brother.

He turned his head just slightly, eyes lifting.

They stilled for a second, maybe caught off guard by the quiet sharpness in his gaze. He didn’t glare, didn’t scowl—just looked at them, flat and unyielding.

The moment passed in a blink. The laughter started again, louder to cover the silence.

“Careful, lads, he might bite.”

“Only if you pay him.”

Inside, Sae forced his breathing even. Let them talk. Words don’t touch skin. Keep the edges clean.

But every shove, every jeer clung to him like static. And he knew—just as the sweat on his back was real—that they weren’t finished yet.

The voices carried on, circling him like a pack. The shower kept dripping in the corner. The smell of turf and disinfectant pressed in heavier.

He set his jaw. He wouldn’t break here. Not now.

And still, they were there, crowding, laughing, louder and closer, ready to keep going as long as they had the time.

The scene didn’t end.

Steam curled off damp jerseys and the sharp tang of disinfectant clung stubbornly to the air, refusing to mix with the sour stench of sweat. Cleats clattered on tile, half-kicked off, half-abandoned, their hollow knocks echoing louder than they should have in the narrow space. Sae kept his posture rigid in a way that begged not to be noticed.

Of course, that never worked.

“Eh, Itoshi, ¿por qué corres como si fueras de porcelana?” (Eh, Itoshi, why do you run like you’re made of porcelain?) The words came from Miguel, tall and wiry, whose grin never reached his eyes. He flicked his towel at Sae’s shoulder, the slap sharp against damp skin.

Sae didn’t flinch, not outwardly. Inwardly, he catalogued it: sharp but not bruising, just enough to remind him his presence was tolerated, never welcomed.

“I run fine,” Sae said flatly, tugging at the laces of his cleats. His voice was sandpaper, stripped down from keeping itself even too often.

Miguel chuckled, tossing his towel into his locker. “Claro, claro. Siempre tan serio. Pareces un abuelo.” (Sure, sure. Always so serious. You look like a grandfather.)

Laughter erupted around him—not full, genuine laughter, but the forced kind, practiced, designed to sting.

Grandfather, porcelain… They'd have said anything just to turn Sae into something he wasn't.

It’s not funny. It’s never funny. Stop laughing.

A shove at his back interrupted his thoughts. His balance wavered, knees hitting the wood bench painfully.

“¿Qué pasa, Itoshi? ¿No puedes mantenerte en pie?” (What’s wrong, Itoshi? Can’t stay on your feet?) This time it was one relatively broader than the rest—a defender—sweat still dripping down his temples. He loomed, blocking the fluorescent light that hummed overhead. “No wonder no one passes to you. Too frágil.”

Sae straightened without a word, jaw tightening. His silence always made them louder.

“Frágil, frágil,” he sang, twisting the word until it sounded more like an accusation than a description.

A boot nudged Sae’s bag, pushing it farther down the bench. He reached for it quickly, fingers curling protectively around the strap.

“Ah, cuidado,” (Careful,) another teased, “su mamá se enfadará si se mancha.” (his mom will get mad if it gets dirty.)

That one stung in ways they couldn’t have understood. His mother wasn’t here, never had been here. He wondered if she even remembered she had a son in Spain. She never called. Then again, she was probably busy with Sae's father and Rin.

Sae tugged the bag closer, ignoring the way their laughter spiked.

Stupid people. I'm surrounded by them. Stop talking about me. Stop talking about my Mom.

“Eh, mírame.” (Eh, look at me.)

One of the smaller boys—still much bigger than Sae— crouched down in front of him. He tapped his own cheek, grinning. “¿Dónde están tus ojos? No puedo verlos.” (Where are your eyes? I can’t see them.)

That earned louder laughter, crueler this time.

“They’re there,” Sae muttered. His hands curled into fists against his thighs, nails biting into skin.

“Tan raros. Siempre cerrados. ¿Duermes en el campo?” (So weird. Always closed. Do you sleep on the field?)

“Maybe he can’t see the ball.”

“Maybe he doesn’t even like girls, eh? Por eso corre así.” (That’s why he runs like that.)

The comment twisted, shifted, became something uglier as whispers passed through the group.

Sae’s breath lodged in his throat. He wanted to move — to stand, to leave, to do anything but sit there while the circle tightened. But leaving only ever made them follow.

Ignore it. Ignore it. They’ll get bored. They always get bored.

Except sometimes they didn’t.

A guy's hand shot out, fingers hooking Sae’s wrist. His grip wasn’t playful; it pressed too hard, bone against bone. “Oye, dime la verdad,” (Hey, tell me the truth,) He said, voice pitched high like a joke, but his eyes were sharp. “Nunca hablas de chicas. ¿O prefieres chicos?” (You never talk about girls. Or do you prefer boys?)

The laughter this time was vicious.

Sae yanked his arm free, a bit too hard, and the sound of skin snapping away echoed like a slap.

“I don’t care,” he said flatly.

“Ohhh, he doesn’t care,” The bigger one mocked, leaning closer. “Eso significa que sí.” (That means yes.)

Their voices tangled over one another — jeers, whistles, laughter.

If Sae had an older brother, surely they'd stop. The thought surfaced unbidden, sharp, aching. Sae Itoshi isn’t supposed to need anyone. But when he was in Japan with Rin, nobody bullied him as long as Sae was around. He wanted a big brother to be there, to....

He cut the thought off. He didn't need anyone. And Rin was plenty. He didn't need another brother.

“Déjalo,” (Leave him,) someone muttered half-heartedly, though the grin on his face said otherwise.

The circle broke, but only slightly. Someone flicked Sae’s ear as they passed. Someone else tugged his damp hair, muttering about how soft it was.

He hated the way his skin crawled afterward, as though their fingerprints clung.

Don’t react. Don’t give them more.

But some just couldn't resist. The smaller boy leaned against the locker across from Sae, arms folded, head tilted.

“You know,” he said lightly, “Leonardo Luna came to watch us once.”

That name. He knew Luna was there. He had seen him. But still, it snapped Sae’s head up despite himself.

They all noticed. And their grins sharpened.

“Sí, Luna. El genio. El dios del balón.” (Yes, Luna. The genius. The god of the ball.) He said it with mock-reverence, but there was something darker underneath. “He said he liked players who… suffer. Players who don’t complain. Players who take it.”

The words dripped slow, deliberate.

Sae’s throat went dry. He remembered the one or two times Luna had looked at him, really looked, like he was measuring something invisible. He remembered thinking it was admiration, maybe even approval.

But the way the boy said it —players who suffer —it made his stomach knot.

“Maybe he likes you, Itoshi."

"Yeah, you’d be his favorite. I heard he liked weak women. You fit thay descriptiom well enough, right?"

The room erupted again.

Sae stared at the floor, vision blurring against the tile.

Is that what it was? Not admiration. Not interest. Just entertainment. Just something to laugh at. If Luna knew, if he ever really cared… wouldn’t he have stopped this?

The thought hurt more than the bruise blooming on his knee.

A shove from behind snapped him back, hard enough to rattle the lockers.

“Vamos, viejo,” (Come on, old man,) someome sneered, “Show us that samurai spirit.”

Samurai. Porcelain. Fragile. Old man. The words stacked, one over another, until they pressed against his ribs like stones.

Sae stood abruptly, yanking his bag onto his shoulder. He didn’t care that the strap cut into his skin. He didn’t care that leaving meant they’d call him weak. He needed air.

Sae walked quickly the second he escaped that locker room, shoulders tight, head ducked. The weight of his bag pressed against his spine as he kept his eyes locked on the dull carpet beneath his shoes. Each step echoed louder than it should have, the sound ricocheting up the narrow dormitory hall as though daring someone to notice him. He wanted to melt into the wall, disappear into his room, shut the door, and breathe without anyone watching.

But the world wasn’t that kind.

“Oi, Itoshi!”

The call shot through the hallway like a pebble flicked at glass. Sae froze, the back of his neck prickling. His chest constricted, but he forced his steps forward, pretending he hadn’t heard. Pretend, pretend, pretend—if he could just reach his room, he could-

The footsteps followed. Too many. The scuff of sneakers, the click of sandals, laughter in voices that had already chosen him as their target.

“You deaf, Samurai?”

Another voice chimed in, sharper. “Or is he just too stuck-up to answer?”

Laughter broke out behind him. Sae’s jaw clenched. He swallowed hard and forced his face blank, the way he’d learned to do on the pitch, the way he did when the entire stadium wanted to see him crack.

Don’t look back. Don’t give them anything.

“Damn, look at him, he’s really crying,” one of the boys jeered. “Oi, you crying, Itoshi?”

“I’m not crying,” Sae muttered, his voice low enough that it might not even have reached them. But his throat burned. His eyes stung, vision blurring at the corners. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron.

That only made them laugh harder.

“Aw, don’t cry, little geisha.”

“Yeah, put some makeup on him, he’ll look right at home.”

More snickers. Someone hissed mock Japanese under their breath—nonsense syllables, exaggerated bows. Another boy added, “What’s he even doing here anyway? Thought they only made cartoons and sushi.”

Sae’s chest constricted, fury sparking hot under the shame. He tried to keep walking, but a shoulder shoved into his back, knocking him off-balance.

“Hey, don’t run away. We’re just talking.”

Another boy swung around in front of him, blocking his path. Sae’s stomach flipped. He shifted his bag higher, intent on ducking around, but fingers closed on the strap. The yank almost pulled him off his feet.

“Give it back,” Sae said quickly, too quickly, voice thin.

“What, this?” The boy dangled the bag by the strap, swinging it out of reach. “Relax. We’ll give it back… after you hang out a little.”

“Yeah, don’t be rude, Itoshi. That’s probably why he acts all high and mighty on the field—never learned to socialize like a normal person.”

“Maybe in Japan they don’t teach them not to be courtesans or whatever they're called.”

The words hit harder than the shove had. Sae’s chest seized.

He wasn't like that—he wasn't a whore. People didn't really see him like that, did they?

It was always the same word, the same ugly laugh behind it. He’d lost track of how many times he’d heard it this week alone. It always suprised him whenever they used it, though. He didn’t even know what they thought they meant by it. He kept his head down, refused to give them an answer. But that only fed them.

“Bet he’s easy, huh? That’s why he never says anything.”

“Come on, look at him—crying already. You’d only have to touch him once.”

And then they did. A hand shoved into his shoulder, another brushing against his arm, fingers grazing too close to his hip. Nothing violent, nothing obvious, just enough to make his skin crawl. Sae stiffened, every muscle locked.

Don’t move. Don’t react. Don’t let them see.

“Look at him. He’s shaking.”

“Careful, he might break if you breathe on him.”

They laughed again, cruel and easy, bouncing off one another.

Sae’s breath shuddered out of him. He focused on the wall past them, on the numbers painted above the doors, if only to remind himself he was close. Just a few more steps and he’d be safe. Just a few more steps-

But his bag was still swinging in the boy’s grip. He reached for it, quick, desperate.

“Give it back,” he repeated. “Please.”

“Please?” The boy’s eyebrows rose. “Did you hear that? He begged.”

The others howled. “Say it again, Geisha. Beg.”

Heat crawled up Sae’s neck. His hands trembled as he dropped them back to his sides. Don’t. Just don’t. He could wait it out. They would get bored. He just had to wait.

But then one of them said it—

“Bet Rin’s the same way.”

Everything inside Sae went white. His body jolted before he even knew it, fists clenching. “Don’t—” His voice cracked sharp, strangled.

“Ohhh, touched a nerve?”

“Yeah, his little brother, right? I heard he’s in Japan. Probably just like big bro—crybaby, slut, easy money.”

The words tangled together, blurring through the pounding in Sae’s ears. His chest heaved, vision narrowing. His fists twitched at his sides. One more word—one more word and he would-

“Well, well, what’s this?”

The voice slid into the air like oil, smooth and heavy. All of them froze.

Leonardo Luna strolled into the hall, hands in his pockets, smile stretched lazy and sharp. His eyes skimmed over the group, settling—predictably—on Sae.

“You boys bothering my pretty little teammate?”

Sae’s stomach dropped. A different kind of dread surged through him, cold and suffocating.

The boys laughed nervously, stepping back but not dispersing. “We weren’t bothering him, Luna. Just talking.”

“Just talking, huh?” Luna tilted his head, that smile widening. “Funny, because I’ve seen what happens when people ‘just talk’ to him. He doesn’t look so happy.”

“Aw, come on, that's just his face. You know how these Japanese get down,” one of the boys muttered. “We were just joking around.”

“Mm.” Luna’s gaze lingered. “Be careful with your jokes. You don’t want to break him. Fragile little thing, this one.”

He let the words hang, dripping with amusement. The boys shifted, some chuckling, others awkward.

“Besides—” Luna’s grin sharpened—“if anyone’s going to make him cry, it should be me, no?”

The laughter this time was louder, easier. The boys elbowed one another, glancing between Luna and Sae like they were in on the same secret.

Sae’s skin burned. His throat closed. He stood frozen, wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

“Anyway.” Luna clapped his hands once, casual. “Run along. Don’t you all have better things to do than torment my little cherry blossom?”

“Cherry blossom?” One of the boys snickered, but they were already dispersing, handing Sae’s bag back half-heartedly. “Alright, alright. Whatever you say, Luna.”

“Yeah, see you later, Itoshi. Don’t cry too much.”

Their laughter trailed off as they disappeared around the corner.

Silence dropped heavy in their wake.

Sae’s fingers closed tight around the strap of his bag, knuckles white. He stared at the floor, chest still heaving. He could feel Luna’s gaze on him—steady, hot, suffocating.

“Lucky you, hm?” Luna drawled at last. “That I came along when I did.”

Sae said nothing. His throat was too tight. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

“What would you do without me, pretty boy? Hm? You’d have been eaten alive.”

Still nothing. He forced his grip tighter, swallowing hard.

“You should thank me.” Luna’s tone dipped, softer now, lilting with mock sweetness. “Come on. A little gratitude. Or is ‘thank you’ too hard in Japanese?”

The joke cut sharp. Sae flinched, shoulders hunching.

Luna chuckled, stepping closer. His shadow slipped over Sae’s shoes. “You really are adorable when you’re quiet. Makes a man want to see how far he can push you.”

Sae’s breath hitched. His entire body screamed at him to move, but his legs were lead.

“Don’t worry.” Luna’s voice curled like smoke around his ears. “I’ll take care of you. Better me than them, right?”

That was enough. Sae’s body finally obeyed. He stepped back, quick, almost stumbling. “I’m fine.”

He turned, shoving the strap higher on his shoulder, and walked—fast.

Behind him, Luna hummed low, amused. “So cold, mi flor. But you’ll come around.”

Sae didn’t look back. He didn’t breathe until his door clicked shut behind him, and even then, the air scraped like glass down his throat.

The walls of Sae’s room felt too white, too clean, as if they were waiting for him to leave them stained with something ugly. He sat at the edge of his bed, his training jersey sticking to the sweat that hadn’t quite dried from practice, his hair damp, his chest still carrying the echo of laughter that wasn’t his own. His hands sat idle in his lap, nails pressing faint little half-moons into his palms, as though that tiny sting might distract from the real bruises.

They had laughed at him again from their rooms in the hall when he escaped Luna.

Someone had whispered “skinny little thing” under their breath, and another had added something about Japanese boys being delicate, not built for real football. The words had been sharp, cutting between tackles, but it was the laughter that had lingered, louder than the referee’s whistle, louder than his own thoughts.

Sae leaned forward, elbows digging into his thighs, head pressing against his hands. He wanted—God, he wanted Rin. His little brother’s voice, his stubborn confidence, his childish insistence that they could do anything together. If Rin had been here, maybe they wouldn’t have pushed him so hard. Maybe he would’ve had someone to look at when the world got too loud.

But Rin was oceans away.

Sae’s breath trembled out of him. He wanted to call his parents, too, but the thought withered quickly. What would he even say? That he couldn’t handle practice? That he was tired of being the foreigner in the room? That he hated how the bruises throbbed and how the words stayed long after the bruises would fade? His parents would tell him to endure. They would say this was his dream. That sacrifices were necessary.

The silence pressed harder against his ears. His chest began to ache. He could almost feel the words gathering in his throat, a dam straining against pressure. His vision blurred before he even realized tears had formed.

“No,” Sae muttered, shaking his head quickly, as though the single syllable might banish everything. His hands rubbed furiously at his eyes. But the tears wouldn’t stop. They came heavier now, falling into his palms, warm and traitorous.

The sound of his own sobbing startled him. He hadn’t meant for it to escape, hadn’t meant to hear the broken little sound crack free from his throat. It made him angrier, ashamed. He curled forward, forehead nearly touching his knees, fists clenched against the mattress.

Pathetic.

That voice was his own, but crueler. He hated how easily it spoke.

His eyes darted to the desk across the room. The sharp edge of the drawer caught the low lamplight. For a second—just a second—he thought about slamming his knuckles against it, thought about the pain blooming brighter than humiliation, about how maybe it would give him something else to focus on.

The thought terrified him.

“No,” he whispered again, louder this time, forcing himself to sit back. His breath came out uneven, shaky. He tried wiping at his eyes, erasing the evidence of his breakdown, but his cheeks were still wet and red, his lashes still damp.

The knock on the door froze him in place.

Three light raps. Playful. Too casual.

Sae’s stomach flipped. His first thought was Rin—stupid, impossible—but the sound was nothing like his brother. It also didn't help that his brothrt was countries away. The voice that followed confirmed it.

“Chico lindo (pretty boy), you hiding in there?”

Luna.

Panic shot through him. He scrubbed at his face furiously with the hem of his sleeve, ignoring how rough the fabric felt against skin already raw from tears. He sniffed, inhaled sharp, pressed his palms to his eyes until stars danced behind them. By the time he stumbled to his feet and opened the door, his face looked nearly composed. Almost.

Luna leaned against the frame, casual, smiling like he’d just heard the best joke in the world. His hair was damp from his own shower, his clothes loose but stylish in a way Sae could never pull off.

“There you are,” Luna said, stepping past him without invitation. He tossed himself onto Sae’s bed, shoes and all, propping his arms behind his head. “I thought maybe you’d drowned in the shower. But no, you’re just sulking. Typical.”

“I’m not—” Sae started, but his voice cracked, betraying him. He shut his mouth quickly.

Luna chuckled, the sound warm, teasing. “Relax, niño pequeño (little boy). I was there, remember? They’re idiots.” His tone was breezy, like this was all nothing, like the scrapes and bruises weren’t stinging on Sae’s body right now.

Sae lingered by the door, hands twitching uselessly. “They were just… joking.”

“Ah,” Luna said, smirking. “And do you believe that?”

Sae didn’t answer.

Luna sat up slowly, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes sharper now despite the smile that never faded. “You’re too good to let it get to you. They only push because they see how talented you are. They’re afraid. Envious.”

His words should have comforted, but the tone—the mocking lilt, the deliberate pause—made Sae bristle. Still, some part of him clung to them anyway.

“Your body,” Luna continued, his gaze flicking over Sae in a way that made him shift uncomfortably, “is too sharp, too perfect, to be wasted on their little games. Don’t let them dirty it.”

Sae’s throat went dry. He tried to pretend he hadn’t heard the words that way, tried to shove the unease aside. Maybe Luna really did mean it kindly. Maybe.

But Luna didn’t stop. “You looked beautiful out there, you know. Even when they shoved you down. The way you got back up. It’s… admirable.”

Sae’s chest tightened. The words sounded like praise, but the smile looked like amusement. His head lowered.

“Don’t—” Sae’s voice broke again. He swallowed. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” Luna’s grin widened. “It’s true.”

Sae shook his head, tears threatening again despite himself. He tried to fight them, biting the inside of his cheek until it hurt. But Luna’s gaze was too steady, too knowing.

And then, like a dam finally bursting, Sae let out a choked sob. His hands flew up to his face. He hated how it sounded, how weak it felt.

“Ah,” Luna murmured, almost gently, as though amused and touched at once. He stood, closing the distance with ease, and before Sae could move away, strong arms wrapped around him.

The embrace was firm, almost parental, but the way Luna’s fingers pressed lightly against the back of his neck, tracing there, sent a shiver down his spine.

“Shh, mi pequeño tesoro (my little treasure),” Luna whispered, tone soothing, though his smile lingered, invisible against Sae’s hair. “Let it out. You’re safe here. With me.”

Sae broke. His body sagged into the hold, his sobs muffled against Luna’s shoulder. All the anger, the humiliation, the loneliness poured out of him like water from a cracked glass. He hated himself for it, hated how desperately he clung to Luna’s shirt, hated how he felt both comforted and mocked at the same time.

But he couldn’t stop.

And Luna held him tighter.

Chapter Text

The phone buzzed again, for what felt like the third time that morning. The vibration rattled against the edge of the kitchen counter before slipping, almost falling to the floor. Shidou caught it with a sharp snatch of his hand, glaring at the glowing screen like the caller ID itself was mocking him.

Sae’s manager, Dabadie. Again.

The man had been relentless for the last three days, calling at least four times an hour. Sometimes he left voicemails in that stiff, professional tone that Shidou hated — clipped, polite, but with the sharp undercurrent of someone trying very hard not to lose patience. The last one had been along the lines of: “Sae, you need to come back to the hotel sometime this week. I've found a new flight for you, but I'm not sure if you'll make it if you don't start packing soon.”

Shidou let the phone buzz until it silenced itself. He didn’t have the energy to lie to him, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to tell the truth. Not when the truth was Sae Itoshi refusing to say a single word to him for three straight days as if Shidou had been the one to hurt him.

He tossed the phone back on the counter and leaned against the fridge, rubbing his temples.

The silence in the apartment was heavy. Not the peaceful kind—the kind that sat like a weight on his chest, squeezing tighter every time he tried to breathe. He could hear the faintest creak of the wooden floorboards down the hall, the occasional soft sound of running water in the bathroom, or the near-silent rustle of fabric when Sae shifted on the couch. But never his voice.

Never even his eyes, really. Sae had mastered the art of looking past him, of moving around the apartment like Shidou was a ghost in his peripheral vision. And for someone as sharp as Sae, as intentional, that wasn’t an accident.

Shidou pushed off the fridge and stalked toward the living room.

There he was: curled on the far end of the couch, back against the armrest, knees bent, some bland TV show playing in front of him that Shidou knew he wasn’t watching. His gaze was fixed somewhere in the middle distance, unfocused, like even the air was more worth his attention than Shidou.

That sting in Shidou’s chest had become familiar. He almost welcomed it now.

“Oi,” Shidou said, leaning his weight on the back of the couch, close enough to crowd Sae without actually touching him. “You planning on ignoring me forever, or just until you get bored?”

Sae didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. Just shifted his jaw once, a little clench, like the only acknowledgment Shidou deserved was irritation.

Shidou let out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Damn. You’re good at this. If silent treatment was a sport, you’d already be MVP.”

Nothing.

He dropped onto the couch next to him, sprawling out, taking up too much space like always. The springs dipped under his weight, but Sae didn’t move away — not physically. Just mentally, emotionally, retreating deeper into whatever fortress he’d built around himself.

The silence stretched.

Shidou drummed his fingers against his thigh, a restless beat that filled the emptiness between them. He thought of the bathroom cabinet—the one with the cleaning supplies tucked underneath. He’d caught Sae flinching once when he opened it absentmindedly to grab a sponge. Not big, not dramatic, just a flash of something in Sae’s eyes before he smoothed it out again. Shidou had shut the door harder than he meant to, just to break the tension. Since then, he’d kept an eye on it, even if he never said anything.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to.

But every time the words rose up—Don’t go near that. Don’t do that again. Don’t make me watch you destroy yourself—he looked at Sae’s face and saw the stubborn set of his jaw, the steel in his silence, and swallowed it back down.

Another buzz from the kitchen. Sae's manager again.

Shidou sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Your guy’s losing his mind out there. Doesn’t know where his golden boy disappeared to. Should I tell him you’re just shacking up here, having the time of your life ignoring me?”

Still nothing.

Shidou tilted his head, studying Sae’s profile. Sharp cheekbones, faint shadows under his eyes, lips pressed in a thin line. He looked carved out of something fragile, like porcelain that could shatter if Shidou pushed too hard.

And yet, this was the same guy who could take an elbow to the ribs on the field and keep running like it was nothing. The same guy who never bent, never faltered, never admitted to pain until it was dragging him under.

Shidou wanted to shake him. He wanted to drag the words out of him, even if they were angry ones. Anything was better than this suffocating silence.

Instead, he forced a grin and leaned closer. “Y’know, you’re cute when you’re pissed. Almost makes me wanna keep pushing you until you snap.”

For half a second — half a second — Sae’s eyes flicked to his, sharp and burning. Then they were gone again, retreating back to that blank middle distance.

It was the most he’d gotten in three days.

Shidou leaned back, letting out a slow breath. He could feel the heat of his own frustration simmering under his skin, but he forced it down. Sae wasn’t a bomb to be detonated. He was… whatever the opposite was. A black hole. Pulling everything in, swallowing it whole, leaving nothing behind.

And Shidou? He was the idiot standing too close, daring gravity to tear him apart.

The phone buzzed again. Shidou ignored it.

Shidou had always been loud—too loud, if you asked anyone who’d had to spend more than ten minutes with him. Coaches told him to tone it down, teammates rolled their eyes, fans called him shameless. He never cared. Noise was part of him, chaos lived in his bones. Silence, though—that was the one thing he couldn’t stomach.

And right now, Sae was smothering him in it.

The apartment felt heavy with it, like the air had been thickened just to choke him. Shidou sprawled across the couch in a position that was half-sleep, half-boredom, head dangling off the armrest, legs stretched until his heels tapped the coffee table. He made a point of sighing as dramatically as possible, letting the sound echo, but Sae didn’t bite.

Sae was still sitting next to him, back turned to him, pretending to be absorbed in the daily news playing on the TV. The news! Who even paid attention to that anymore? The occasional sigh of boredom that even Sae couldn't hide was the only acknowledgement Shidou got that he hadn’t turned to stone.

Shidou drummed his fingers against his chest. “Oi, Sae-Chan,” he drawled, stretching his voice until it cracked just to be annoying. “You’re real bad at the whole silent treatment thing, you know. Too obvious. You’ve gotta mix it up, keep me guessing. Pretend to laugh at my jokes, and then freeze me out later. Otherwise, it’s just boring.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

Shidou tilted his head, watching the line of Sae’s shoulders. They were tight—tighter than usual, like the guy had stuffed every ounce of emotion he refused to show into the curve of his back. The tension sat there like a warning sign, daring Shidou to push harder.

He grinned. Of course he’d push harder.

Rolling upright, he stalked toward the kitchen. “What’s on today’s thrilling headline, huh? ‘Broody Midfielder Avoids Eye Contact with World’s Sexiest Man’? Must be front-page news.”

Sae didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t even breathe differently. Just flipped the page.

Shidou leaned over his shoulder, close enough to smell the faint soap clinging to Sae’s hair. “...Oh. It’s stocks. Knew you were boring, but this is next level. You trying to put me to sleep? ‘Cause it’s working.”

The television flickered off. Finally. Sae set the remote down on the table with precise control, as if daring Shidou to make one more joke. Shidou cocked his head, grin widening—finally, some reaction.

But Sae didn’t look at him. He just stood, crossed the room, and opened the fridge.

Shidou’s grin faltered. Not much, just a hairline crack, but enough that he felt it. Sae’s movements were stiff, too deliberate. He wasn’t ignoring Shidou out of indifference; he was clinging to that silence like a shield.

And Shidou hated that shield more than anything.

He flopped into one of the dining chairs, legs splayed, watching Sae rummage through the fridge. “You’re not seriously gonna survive on yogurt like yesterday, are you? You’ll waste away, Sae-chan. And if you waste away, what’ll I eat when I get bored, huh? You’re supposed to feed me with your irritance. That’s our thing.”

Sae pulled out a bottle of water. Just water. He shut the fridge, cracked the cap, and drank.

Shidou leaned forward, elbows on the table. “That’s not food.”

No answer.

“Oi.” He reached out, plucking the bottle right from Sae’s hand before he could walk off. “What is this? You trying to hydrate yourself into an early grave? Pathetic.”

Sae’s eyes flicked toward him, cold as ever, but beneath that frost Shidou caught something—something that almost looked like panic. It was the same expression Shidou could expect from a school boy being bullied for the millionth time.

Shidou held it out of reach, pouting dramatically. “Say ‘please.’”

Nothing. Sae just snatched it back, this time gripping it like a lifeline.

Shidou slumped back, arms crossed, grinning to cover the small ache in his chest. That flash of panic—he didn’t imagine it. Sae wasn’t just being stubborn. He was unraveling under that silence, and Shidou didn’t know how to stitch him back together.

The phone buzzed on the table. Sae’s phone.

They both froze.

Shidou’s eyes flicked to the screen. Dabadie. Again.

Sae didn’t move. Didn’t even glance at the phone. The vibration buzzed itself out, leaving the silence heavier than before.

Shidou cleared his throat. “Y’know, ignoring your manager isn’t exactly a pro move. He’s gonna hunt you down eventually. And when he does, don’t drag me into your mess. I don’t look good in court.”

No reaction. Sae twisted the cap of his bottle tighter.

Shidou groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You’re killing me, Sae-chan. For real. What’s it take to get one word outta you? Should I juggle knives? Strip? Write you a love song? ‘Cause don’t tempt me, I’ll do it.”

Still nothing.

But when Sae walked past him, their eyes met for half a second, and Shidou saw it—the storm hiding there. Anger, shame, exhaustion, all bottled up so tightly it was going to burst.

And Shidou couldn't help the thought crawling out of his core.

He’s punishing himself again.

The thought clamped around his throat, stealing his grin for a beat too long. He covered it fast, leaning back in his chair, whistling tunelessly. But his eyes followed Sae as he left the room, water bottle clutched like it could ward off everything.

The silence swallowed him again.

Shidou hated silence.

So he stood, stomped deliberately loud down the hall, and called, “Oi, Sae-chan, if you’re ignoring me ‘cause of the cleaning supplies, newsflash: I already tossed most of ‘em. You’re safe. Promise.”

He didn’t add that he’d hidden them in the back of his car, that he couldn’t even stand looking at bleach anymore without thinking of Sae’s thigh. He didn’t add that the smell of disinfectant made his chest seize.

No answer. Just the slam of a bedroom door.

Shidou leaned his forehead against the wood, grin gone now. His voice softened, rare and raw. “...I’m not your enemy, y’know.”

Inside, silence pressed back.

And Shidou told himself he’d break through it. Even if it killed him.

----

The apartment was quiet, too quiet. Shidou hated it. Not the kind of quiet that meant peace, but the kind that sat in your throat and weighed your tongue down so you couldn’t say anything without hearing how wrong it sounded.

The moment Sae left Shidou's room—his reason for entering still unknown—he sat at the table, elbow propped up, cheek against his hand. His eyes were locked on the television across the room, but Shidou could tell he wasn’t watching. After all, the TV wasn't even on. His gaze slid right through the screen like he was staring into a world Shidou didn’t have the map to.

Shidou banged the cupboard door a little harder than he meant to. “Oi, we’ve got rice, eggs, some sad-ass tomatoes… You want fried rice or an omelet?”

No answer.

Sae’s fingers tapped once against the table, then went still.

Shidou turned, spatula in hand, and leaned against the counter. “You know, silent treatment isn’t cute on you. You don’t even pout right.”

Still nothing.

Sae didn’t roll his eyes, didn’t twitch, didn’t give him that sharp, annoyed glare that Shidou usually lived for. He just sat there, blank as if Shidou’s voice had been turned into static.

Shidou forced out a chuckle. “Fine, fine. Don’t talk. You’ll eat though. I don’t give a damn if you glare at me while I shove a fork in your mouth.”

That finally got a reaction, but not the one Shidou wanted. Sae’s shoulders tensed, his spine stiffening in that too-subtle way that screamed Don’t touch me.

Shidou’s smirk faltered, but he didn’t let it fall all the way. He swung back toward the stove, cracked eggs into a pan, and tried to focus on the sizzle.

Had it been the idea of Shidou forcing Sae to eat that made Sae tense like that? Or was it the idea of something being forced into his mouth?

The silence pressed on his back like a hand shoving him forward.

By the time the rice was hot and golden, the tomatoes soft enough to bleed into the mix, Shidou was sweating more from the tension than the heat. He scooped it into two bowls and thunked them onto the table with a little too much force.

“Eat,” he ordered.

Sae blinked, slow, like dragging himself out of whatever place he’d been hiding inside. His gaze fell to the food, lingered for a heartbeat too long, then slid away again. He didn’t reach for the spoon.

Shidou dropped into the chair across from him, clattering his own spoon against the bowl. He took a big mouthful, chewed loud, swallowed louder. “See? Not poisoned.”

Nothing.

Shidou bit back a groan. “I don’t care if you hate me right now, Sae. You still gotta eat.”

For a second, Sae’s lips parted, like words almost clawed their way out. Then he pressed them shut again and shook his head once.

Shidou leaned back, let his spoon fall with a clatter. He dragged his hand over his face, muffling a laugh that was more frustration than humor. “You’re killing me, y’know that? Sitting there, looking like you’re carved out of marble and acting like I don’t exist.”

His phone buzzed on the counter. He didn’t even need to check—it was Sae’s manager again.

He let it ring.

---

Later, when Shidou tried to clean up, Sae finally moved. Not to help, not to join, but to stop him. The second Shidou pulled the bottle of cleaning spray out from under the sink, Sae was there, hand snapping out to grab his wrist.

His touch was quick, too quick, and his face gave him away — that flicker of panic, sharp and raw, before he smoothed it back to blankness.

Shidou froze, spray bottle dangling between them. “...What?”

Sae let go just as fast. His voice, when it came, was sandpaper thin. “I’ll do it later.”

Shidou tilted his head, searching his face. But Sae turned away, retreating like a shadow sliding along the floor, back to the table, back to silence.

Something in Shidou twisted. Because there was no way in hell he would ever let Sae touch bleach again.

---

The rest of the evening bled together in the same quiet rhythm: Shidou clattering around the kitchen, Sae refusing to speak, Shidou muttering under his breath, Sae staring holes into nothing. Every sound Shidou made was too loud, every silence Sae held onto was too heavy.

When the sky outside went dark and the city lights bled through the window, Shidou dropped onto the couch and sprawled out like it was big enough to hold the world. Sae's phone buzzed again—Dabadie, persistent as ever.

He ignored it.

Instead, his eyes drifted to Sae, somehow already back at the couch, arms folded, head bowed just enough that his hair shadowed his face. He looked small, smaller than Shidou ever wanted to admit.

Shidou thought about saying something—something stupid like: You look like a cat sulking after a bath—just to break the tension. But his throat locked. The words would land wrong. Everything landed wrong these days.

So he stayed quiet too, for once.

And in that silence, he promised himself—even if Sae never spoke to him again, even if Sae never forgave him—he wasn’t going to let him disappear into that silence alone.

The phone buzzed. Again. Shidou ignored it. Again.

Not because he didn’t care, but because the sharp, vibrating hum grated against the tension already stringing the apartment thin. It came from the coffee table, screen face-down, Sae’s phone trembling with one more unanswered call. The device seemed almost alive—like it resented being ignored, like it was trying to claw its way into Sae’s attention.

But Sae didn’t move.

He sat curled in the corner of the couch, long legs pulled up against himself, chin resting on his knee as if the position could make him smaller. The television flickered dim light across his face, but his eyes weren’t tracking it—no recognition of the soccer highlights playing, no interest in the players darting across the field. Sae’s gaze had narrowed into the hollow space somewhere between the coffee table and the floor. So he turned it on again for nothing. Shidou would've made a joke about Sae spoiling his electricity bill, but no words would leave his throat when he opened his mouth.

Another vibration rattled the phone. A pause. Then again. Persistent. Unrelenting.

Shidou clenched his jaw, dragging his tongue across the back of his teeth. He didn’t have to check the caller ID. Sae hadn’t picked up a single call since the incident. And each time, it was the same name flashing across the screen—Gerbadie.

The silence between rings was heavier than the ringing itself.

“Y’know,” Shidou finally said, leaning against the armrest, his words sharp and deliberate, “You keep dodging those calls, and sooner or later, the guy’s gonna show up at your door. Not sure how you’re planning to explain why you’ve been shacked up here all week.”

No reaction.

Sae shifted, but it wasn’t acknowledgment—it was retreat. His arm pulled tighter around his knee, cheek pressing into the fabric of his sweats.

Shidou narrowed his eyes. “Oi, you deaf or just ignoring me?”

The silence thickened.

That was the thing about Sae’s silence—it wasn’t emptiness. It wasn’t passive. It had weight. Every time he shut down, it was like he’d barricaded himself behind invisible walls, forcing Shidou to stand outside, fists balled, debating whether to keep pounding or just walk away.

He hated it. Hated how it felt like Sae was saying more in silence than he ever did in words. He hated how he couldn't understand any of it.

The phone stopped buzzing, leaving the air in the apartment suffocatingly quiet.

“Guess that’s a no, then,” Shidou muttered, pushing himself off the couch. His body thrummed with restless energy. He couldn’t sit still in silence, not like this. The tension demanded movement—something.

He strode toward the kitchen, half-ready to grab a snack, half-ready to just slam cabinets until the noise shattered the suffocating quiet. But the moment he stepped into the tiled space, his gaze caught on the row of supplies tucked neatly against the wall near the sink.

A bottle of disinfectant. A container of bleach. A spray of surface cleaner.

All harmless in most people’s hands. All screaming hazards now.

Shidou froze, shoulders stiffening.

The memory of Sae’s hip—the raw, burned skin, the acrid smell of chemicals clinging to the air—flashed in his mind. His stomach churned. His fists tightened.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

From this angle, he could see Sae on the couch, posture unchanging, gaze still anchored somewhere unreachable. The sight twisted something in Shidou’s chest. He looked back at the cleaning supplies, jaw working.

One by one, he grabbed them. The spray bottles, the bleach, the half-used roll of paper towels stained from some old kitchen mishap. He shoved them into the cabinet under the sink, slammed the door shut, then crouched down and locked it with the little childproof latch he’d ripped off a drugstore shelf the day after Sae’s… incident.

It was a pathetic solution. It wouldn’t stop Sae if he really wanted to get to them. But it gave Shidou a fragment of control—something to hold onto in this ocean of spiraling helplessness.

When he came back to the living room, Sae’s eyes flicked up—just for a fraction of a second, catching the movement of Shidou’s return—before darting away again.

Shidou dropped onto the couch beside him, deliberately sprawling so his knee brushed against Sae’s. Physical space was the only way to breach that wall of silence sometimes.

“You planning to keep this up forever?” Shidou asked, tone low but sharp. “’Cause lemme tell you—your manager’s not an idiot. He’s already figured out you’re hiding. And when he finds out you’re holed up here with me—” he leaned closer, lips curling into something halfway between a smirk and a snarl, “—you’re the one that’s gonna look pathetic. Not me.”

Still nothing.

Sae’s lips parted, breath catching like maybe—maybe—he’d say something. But instead, he pressed them back together, shaking his head barely enough to be noticed.

It made something ugly twist in Shidou’s chest.

“You think ignoring me makes this easier?” Shidou pressed. His voice cut sharper than he intended, teeth gritted against the sting of frustration. “You think if you don’t talk, I’ll just give up? Leave you alone? Newsflash, genius—I don’t give a shit how long it takes. I’m not leaving.”

Sae flinched. It was subtle, nearly imperceptible—but Shidou caught it.

He forced himself to breathe out slowly through his nose. The edge in his voice softened—just a fraction. “You’re scared, huh?”

That time, Sae’s shoulders hunched tighter, his forehead dipping into the bend of his knee as if he could bury himself in the fabric.

Shidou’s chest burned.

The phone buzzed again.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Shidou snatched it off the table before Sae could even think about it, glaring down at the glowing screen. Manager. Again. Always the manager.

He turned it around, holding it out toward Sae. “Pick up.”

Sae shook his head instantly.

“Pick. Up.”

Another shake. His knuckles whitened where they gripped his sweats.

“Why?” Shidou demanded. His tone cracked under the strain of his patience. “You planning to just ghost him forever? What then? You think the club’s not gonna notice their golden boy disappearing off the face of the earth? They’ll hunt you down, Sae. Doesn’t matter how quiet you sit here. They’ll drag you back out.”

For the first time in hours, Sae’s lips parted. His voice was hoarse, unused, barely audible.

“Don’t… wanna.”

Shidou blinked.

It was the smallest admission, but it slammed into his chest with the force of a freight train.

He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, phone dangling in his grip. “Don’t wanna what? Don’t wanna play? Don’t wanna see him? Don’t wanna explain why you’re burning holes into your own damn body?”

The words came harsher than he meant, anger and desperation tangled into one unfiltered snarl.

Sae’s gaze dropped instantly. His voice shrank even smaller.

“…Don’t wanna go back.”

The words were fragile. Terrified.

Shidou stared at him, heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted to demand more, wanted to tear the rest of the truth out of him piece by piece—but the look on Sae’s face stopped him cold.

Because Sae looked like a cornered animal.

The phone buzzed again in his hand, dragging him back.

With a sharp inhale, Shidou flipped it over and hit decline. The screen went black. The vibration stopped.

He set the phone down face-first on the table, the silence after the rejection deafening.

Sae’s eyes flicked up again, brief and uncertain, like he didn’t understand why Shidou would do that.

Shidou leaned back against the couch, exhaling slow. “Fine. Not today. But you can’t hide forever.”

Sae curled tighter into himself, but for the first time all week, Shidou thought he caught the faintest glimmer of something beneath the silence. Not gratitude, not relief—just confusion. As if Sae hadn’t expected anyone to take his side, even in something as small as refusing a call.

Shidou raked a hand through his hair, staring at the ceiling. His chest felt heavy, but his jaw had unclenched, if only slightly.

The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t quite as suffocating this time.

---

Shidou had patience for a lot of things—referees with crooked whistles, defenders who confused “tackle” with “maim,” even the occasional fan who thought screaming insults about his teeth from three rows back was peak comedy. But Sae’s silence? That shit was eating him alive.

For the third day in a row, the apartment they temporarily shared wasn’t just quiet. It was suffocating. Sae, usually sharp-tongued even in the middle of a fight, had locked himself behind an invisible wall, answering nothing, acknowledging nothing. Shidou had been talking into a void so cold and deliberate it made him want to smash something just to hear the sound. And now Sae kept acting like this defenseless little bunny hiding from a wolf.

The manager’s number lit up Sae’s phone on the counter again—so annoying. The call buzzed angrily against the polished marble. Sae didn’t even flinch from his spot on the couch, staring blankly at the muted TV screen like the pixelated figures moving there were some sort of escape hatch.

Shidou snatched up the phone before it rang itself out and switched the phone to silent.

Although the vibrations stopped, the notifications still popped up. Shidou looked at Sae for a reaction—any kind of reaction, really—but there was nothing but silence as a response.

Shidou’s jaw flexed, molars grinding. He wanted to rip that icy mask off Sae’s face and make him say something. Anything. Even “fuck off.” Silence was worse—it was rejection wrapped in glass, cutting Shidou every time he tried to reach through. But he couldn't. Not when Sae looked so... different when Shidou got angry at him. It hurt Shidou even more than being angry did.

Another missed call. Another message unread.

Shidou tossed the phone back onto the coffee table with a clatter that echoed too loud in the apartment. “What’s the plan, huh? You gonna ghost the whole damn world now? Pretend no one exists except me?” He laughed, but it was hollow, edged with something almost dangerous. “Newsflash, Sae—it doesn’t work like that. They’re gonna come knocking eventually. And when they do, what—am I supposed to tell them you’ve taken a vow of fucking silence?”

Still nothing. Sae’s eyes didn’t even flick toward him.

The laugh died in Shidou’s throat. His hands curled into fists at his sides, itching to slam against the wall or table, anything to break the stillness choking the room. But he didn’t. God, he was so fucking angry right now. But he couldn't hurt Sae. He would NEVER hurt Sae. The real mystery was whether or not Sae knew that.

Instead, he moved closer. His shadow cut across Sae’s blank face, but even then, Sae refused to acknowledge him. The television light flickered across pale skin, across lips pressed too tightly together, across the faint redness that still lingered near the edge of Sae’s hip under the hem of his shorts—hidden if you didn’t know where to look. Shidou knew. He couldn’t stop seeing it.

The chemical burns haunted his vision like afterimages.

“Oi.” His voice snapped sharp as glass. “Don’t ignore me.”

Silence.

His patience cracked.

“Answer me, Sae. Or so help me, I’ll-” He cut himself off, chest heaving. What? What would he do? Yell louder? Drag Sae out by force? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was the scream clawing up his throat, demanding release.

He slammed his hand flat against the wall beside Sae’s head. The sound cracked through the condo like a gunshot. Sae flinched, barely—so small it might have been missed if Shidou wasn’t watching him with the obsession of a hawk. But it was there. A fracture in the wall of ice.

“Finally,” Shidou snarled, leaning down, eyes boring into Sae’s. “A reaction. Took you long enough. You think you’re untouchable? That if you stay quiet, I’ll stop caring? Fuck no. You don’t get to erase yourself like this. Not from me.”

Sae’s jaw tightened, and for one heartbeat, it looked like he might finally speak. But then his lips pressed flat again, and he turned his head slightly away. The dismissal sliced through Shidou’s chest like a blade.

His laugh this time was sharp, bitter. “Right. Pretend I’m not even here. That’s easier, isn’t it? Easier than explaining why your manager’s blowing up your phone. Easier than talking about why you’re practically crawling out of your skin every time you pass the cleaning cabinet. Easier than-” He cut himself off once more, teeth snapping together with a click. He wasn’t supposed to say that. Not out loud.

But Sae’s shoulders had gone stiff, and Shidou knew the words hit home.

“You think I don’t notice?” Shidou pushed. His voice was shaking now, too close to breaking. “Every time you walk by that cupboard, it’s like you’re dragging your body with chains. Like you can’t look at it, can’t even breathe near it. And I know why, Sae. I know. You think I didn’t see? You think I’ll just—just swallow it down and pretend I didn’t walk in on you—” His voice cracked, rage and terror colliding, twisting his throat. “Fuck!”

He slammed his fist against the wall again, knuckles stinging. He didn’t care. He wanted it to hurt. Maybe then Sae would finally see him.

The silence stretched, taut as wire.

Shidou’s breath came rough, his chest heaving. His anger was loud, but underneath it lay something darker, more desperate: fear. If Sae could erase himself so easily with silence, if he could punish himself so ruthlessly with hidden scars… what else could he erase? What else could he decide to end?

The thought made Shidou sick.

His fist collided with the wall one last time and this time, he heard a whimper. The smallest little sound. But still there. And that was what made Shidou realize. He was the monster right now. He was the one becoming violent, he was the one practically threatening Sae. He just... didn't expect Sae to react so obviously.

He dropped his forehead against the wall, fist still pressed against it, trembling. His voice when it came was low, raw. “Talk to me, Sae. Please. Just… talk.”

Nothing.

The void pressed back. And Shidou, for once in his life, didn’t know if he’d survive it.

---

Silence. That damn silence again.

Shidou slammed the cabinet door shut, harder than he meant to, the echo bouncing off the clean kitchen tiles. The sound barely filled the air before it died, leaving the room quiet once more. Sae sat at the edge of the couch, body rigid, eyes fixed on the floor. Not a flinch, not a twitch, not a single acknowledgement of the noise.

It had been like this for hours now.

Every time Shidou tried to talk, Sae shut down. Every time Shidou tried to push, Sae sealed himself tighter, brick on brick, wall on wall. That wall was tall enough now that Shidou could scream at the top of his lungs and still feel like he was shouting into a soundproof box. Every time Shidou got angry, there was that small tremble.

“Oi,” Shidou muttered, dragging open another cabinet, yanking out a bottle of bleach. He glared at it like it had personally wronged him. “Thought you could hide from me, huh?”

He tossed it into the growing pile in the corner of the kitchen: bottles of disinfectant, surface sprays, powdered detergent, even the damn dish soap. Every chemical he could find, every single thing Sae might look at too long, was being confiscated. He didn’t care if the apartment ended up filthy—better a dirty floor than Sae burning himself again.

Still no reaction from the couch. Sae’s posture hadn’t shifted, his stare locked firmly downward, hands resting on his knees like weights.

Shidou wiped a hand down his face, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted iron. He hated this. Hated the silence, hated the suffocating distance, hated the way his chest ached every time he looked at Sae and remembered that horrible moment at the doorway. That smell. That sight. The burn blooming across Sae’s skin like something rotten and furious.

And Sae hadn’t said a damn word since.

“Don’t just sit there, bastard,” Shidou snapped, voice cracking sharper than he intended. “You think this is easy for me? Huh? You think I like tearing this place apart, hunting down every bottle, every fucking spray can?!”

Sae blinked once. Slow. Dull. Then returned to his blank stare at the floor.

It was like punching a mattress. All of Shidou’s words sank into nothing, muffled, absorbed, leaving no dent, no response.

He stormed into the bathroom, wrenching open the cabinet under the sink. More bottles, neatly stacked, the faint sting of ammonia rising as he grabbed them by the necks. He hauled them out, one by one, hands trembling now with the effort to stay controlled.

He wasn’t even sure who he was angry at anymore. Sae, for shutting him out? Himself, for not catching it sooner? Whoever the hell made Sae like this? Or maybe the whole damn world, for thinking someone like Sae had to hold everything in until he cracked open under the pressure.

When Shidou came back into the living room, arms loaded with bottles, Sae’s eyes flicked up. Just for a second. Just a flicker. Shidou saw it—proof that he was being noticed.

But then Sae’s gaze dropped back to the floor, like nothing mattered.

That tiny spark, that almost-look, snapped the thin thread holding Shidou’s temper together.

“Say something!” The words tore out of him before he could stop them, bouncing off the walls, sharp enough to sting his own ears. He threw the bottles onto the pile with a crash, plastic clattering, liquid sloshing. “Anything! You think sitting there quiet makes this better? You think if you don’t talk, it’ll go away?”

No answer.

Shidou’s fists clenched. His chest heaved. The heat behind his eyes burned, but it wasn’t rage anymore—it was fear, thick and suffocating, curling in his lungs like smoke.

“You almost—” His voice cracked, broke, came back rougher. “You almost…” He couldn’t finish. His throat refused.

Sae didn’t even look at him.

Shidou’s hands went to his hair, tugging hard, grounding himself in the sharp pull at his scalp. He wanted to shake Sae, drag the words out of him, anything to break the silence. But he couldn’t. Not after seeing that burn. Not after realizing how far Sae had already gone while Shidou had been too busy pretending everything was fine.

“Fine,” Shidou spat, turning toward the kitchen, sweeping the pile of bottles into a trash bag. His movements were frantic, clumsy, rage and panic twisting together. “You won’t talk? Fine. I’ll handle this. I’ll handle everything. You won’t get another chance to-” His throat caught again. He bit it back, shoving the bag shut with a violent twist of plastic.

Behind him, the silence deepened.

It was unbearable.

“I can’t do this alone.” The words came out before Shidou realized he’d spoken them. His hands stilled on the trash bag. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He hadn’t meant to admit that weakness, not in front of Sae, not when Sae was already fragile. But the truth pressed against his ribs, demanding release. “I can’t-”

He stopped himself for the millionth time that day, jaw tight, breath ragged.

He stormed toward the door, bag slung over his shoulder like dead weight. He needed air. Space. Something before he broke worse than Sae had. His hand shook on the doorknob.

For one last moment, he glanced back. Sae hadn’t moved. Still sitting on the couch, silent, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes pinned to the floor as if the weight of the world was holding him down.

Shidou’s chest ached. Something inside him cracked, quiet but devastating.

He left, slamming the door harder than necessary.

Outside, the night was cold and sharp, city lights blurring in his vision. He dropped the bag against the side of the building, pressing his phone to his ear before he could talk himself out of it.

Rin’s contact glared up at him from the screen. He’d sworn he wouldn’t. He’d sworn he’d handle this alone, that Rin was the last person he’d ever drag into this mess.

But his thumb hit call anyway.

The dial tone rang. Once. Twice. Shidou’s breath trembled. His jaw ached from clenching.

“Pick up,” he muttered. “For fuck’s sake, pick up.”

On the fourth ring, Rin’s voice cut through.

“Who is this?”

Shidou closed his eyes, breath shuddering. For the first time in days, the silence broke.

Chapter Text

The phone buzzed once, twice, three times before Rin cracked an eye open.

He’d only managed maybe three hours of sleep. He knew it without checking the clock. His body still felt heavy, his head stuffed with cotton, and his chest ached with the irritation of being wrenched out of half-decent unconsciousness. He buried his face into the pillow, hoping whoever was calling would get bored and hang up.

The buzzing persisted.

Rin cursed under his breath.

His hand shot out across the sheets, fumbling around for his phone. He finally caught it with the tips of his fingers, dragged it into view, and squinted at the screen through the dim glow.

Unknown Number

He groaned, rolling onto his back. He should hang up. He would hang up—he had zero patience for spam calls, and even less for weirdos who didn’t have the guts to show their ID.

But his thumb hovered over the decline button.

Something about the timing, about the persistence of the call, about the way his brain felt scrambled from lack of rest—he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it. He was too tired to be smart, too tired to overthink.

With a sharp inhale, Rin pressed accept and brought the phone to his ear.

“Who is this?” His voice came out hoarse, threaded with all the annoyance he felt.

What answered him wasn’t a telemarketer or a wrong number.

It was chaos.

“Oh, thank god you picked up,” the voice on the other end burst out. Fast, loud, desperate. “Look, I don’t know if Sae usually acts like this, but he’s-he’s burning up, and he won’t eat, and he keeps shutting me out and-”

“Stop.” Rin cut the voice off immediately, pushing himself upright in bed. His blood prickled awake under his skin. “Stop. Who the hell even are you?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, rushed, like it hurt to admit:

“Ryusei Shidou.”

Rin froze.

The name slammed into his brain like ice water. He knew the reputation. Loud. Crude. A total clown on the field. And for reasons Rin never fully cared enough to investigate, his brother’s name had been dragged into conversations about him more than once.

His jaw locked. He was talking about Sae. Why? Surely Sae was back in Spain. And Sae hadn't actually been planning to give Shidou his number, right?

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Rin muttered. “Why the hell are you calling me?”

On the other end, Shidou didn’t rise to the bait, didn’t spit back with cocky arrogance like Rin expected. Instead, his words tumbled out again, faster, jagged with raw panic:

“Listen, I just-I need to know, okay? He’s never been into, like… chemicals, right? Does he normally shut down like this? Or get dizzy? Does he—”

Rin’s hand tightened around the phone. His heart thumped harder, but his irritation spiked even higher than the unease twisting in his stomach.

“Oi. What the hell are you even asking me for?” His voice sharpened, cutting across the spiraling questions. “You call me outta nowhere, spouting bullshit like-like that, instead of just telling me what’s going on?”

On the other end, Shidou sucked in a breath that sounded ragged, like he’d been running or like he was drowning.

Rin swung his legs off the bed, pacing already without realizing it. He could feel his pulse pounding in his throat.

This wasn’t the Shidou he’d so reluctantly dealt with. Not the smirking idiot who loved the spotlight, who said obscene things just to get a reaction. This voice was frayed at the edges. This voice was… afraid.

And every instinct Rin had told him not to trust it. Not fully.

But every instinct also told him something was really, really wrong.

The phone pressed hot against Rin’s ear as silence stretched in the wake of Shidou’s frantic spill. Rin sat rigid on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall like it might suddenly explain what the hell just happened.

“You done?” Rin muttered finally, voice flat, controlled.

On the other end, Shidou’s breathing was audible, uneven. Not the cocky bastard Rin had been at the mercy of. Not the smug striker who couldn’t shut up about his goals. This was someone else entirely, someone cornered.

Shidou tried again. “Look-I just-I need to know. He’s never been into… cleaning supplies, right? Or like-sanitizers, or chemicals? He wouldn’t… I mean, that’s not something he normally-”

Rin blinked, his brow furrowing. What the hell kind of question is that?

“Why the hell are you asking me that?” Rin snapped.

“I just-I need to know if this is… normal for him.”

Rin stood, restless, pacing across his room. His feet dragged against the floorboards, the rhythm sharp against the heavy silence. His irritation spiked—Shidou’s words were too jumbled, too frantic, and worst of all, they made no sense.

Normal? What was normal? He had no context, he didn't know what was going on. Sae suddenly had an interest in cleaning supplies?

Rin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, dumbass. I don't know what you're talking about, but that shitty brother never cared for chemicals when we were kids.”

“When you were kids-” Shidou’s voice caught, like he was biting his tongue mid-sentence. “No, I mean now. Does he usually… shut down like this? Is that his thing? Like, silent treatment?”

Rin stopped dead in his tracks. A scoff escaped his throat, dry and sharp. “You’re seriously calling me to ask if my brother likes using silent treatment? The guy hasn’t talked to me in years. You want me to give you a textbook on him, I don’t have one.”

The pause on the other end stretched thin, filled with Shidou’s shaky breaths. Rin could almost see him, jittering, running a hand through his hair, wild eyes darting around like he was trapped.

“Fuck,” Shidou muttered, low but audible.

The sound twisted something in Rin’s chest. Not sympathy—never that—but unease. This wasn’t how Shidou was supposed to sound. Rin had imagined him arrogant, maybe mocking, maybe even smug about holding Sae’s attention. But not this.

Not terrified.

Rin clenched his jaw. “Oi. Calm the hell down. You’re not making sense.”

“I’m trying,” Shidou snapped back, but it wasn’t anger. It was desperation, breaking through the edges of his voice. “I’ve been trying for three days. He won’t eat. He won’t look at me half the time. He’s burning up and then freezing cold and then-”

“Stop.” Rin’s voice cut like a blade. “Breathe. You’re spiraling. If you want me to stay on the phone, quit that tepid bullshit.”

The silence that followed wasn’t relief—it was heavier, like Shidou had pressed a hand over his mouth to stop himself from unraveling further.

Rin exhaled slowly, forcing the weight out of his chest. “Listen. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but calling me like this isn’t helping you. Or him.”

Shidou let out a laugh—sharp, hollow. “Yeah? Then what would you do, genius?”

Rin’s jaw tightened. He wanted to throw the phone against the wall. He wanted to tell Shidou to deal with his own mess and leave him the hell out of it. But behind the irritation was a sliver of something he hated more than anything: uncertainty.

Because Shidou’s panic wasn’t fake.

And Rin didn’t know what to do with that.

He turned, staring out the dark window of his room. The city beyond was quiet, muted lights spilling across rooftops. “You’re not making sense over the phone,” he said finally. His voice had steadied, cooled, sharpened into command. “So here’s what we’re gonna do. Meet me.”

“What?”

“Face to face. I don’t care where. You pick, or I will.”

There was a beat, then Shidou blurted, “Arcade. I can text you the address. Soon as possible.”

Rin let the silence linger just long enough to make the point. “Fine.”

He hung up before Shidou could say another word.

---

The food court at the arcade was all noise and neon. Lights strobed against the ceiling tiles, kids shouted as they slammed buttons on machines, and somewhere near the corner, a claw machine screamed its synthetic victory tune. The place reeked of fried food and soda syrup—the kind of chaos Rin Itoshi hated. He'd rather die than come here ever again.

He pushed through the crowd, hands buried deep in his pockets, scowl carved sharp across his face. The whole walk over, he’d told himself this was stupid. Whatever some psycho like Shidou wanted, it couldn’t possibly be worth his time. But curiosity had bitten into him like a thorn he couldn’t shake. Shidou’s voice over the phone—panicked, stumbling, pleading—was nothing like how he usually was.

That contradiction was what dragged Rin here.

He spotted him immediately.

Shidou Ryusei sat alone at one of the corner tables, jittering in his seat. No arcade tokens, no food tray, just his phone lying flat on the table like a lifeline. His knee bounced so hard the table trembled, and every few seconds his hand darted to the phone, flipping it face up, then face down, then up again—like he couldn’t decide if he was waiting for it to ring or dreading it.

Rin slowed, watching. Shidou’s hair was a mess—more so than usual—and his hoodie slouched like he’d thrown it on without looking, and his usual cocky grin was nowhere in sight. He looked… thinner, somehow. Coiled too tight.

Rin shoved the thought aside and approached.

The second Shidou saw him, his head snapped up. “Finally.”

Rin slid into the seat across from him, arms folded. His tone was flat, cutting. “You’re lucky I showed up at all.”

Shidou leaned forward instantly, words tumbling like he’d been holding them back all day. “He hasn’t eaten in three days—no, he takes sips of water, but then he pushes it away—his fever’s up and down, I’ve tried-”

Rin slammed a hand on the table. The crack made a kid at the next table look over. “Oi. What did I say about the spiraling? Calm down before you start talking.”

Shidou’s mouth snapped shut. His leg kept bouncing.

Rin studied him for a long moment, irritation simmering in his gut. He’d expected smugness, mockery, maybe even some twisted joke about Sae. Not this. Not a guy sitting across from him looking like he hadn’t slept in days, hands shaking like he was holding back a panic attack.

“…Start over,” Rin said finally. “From the top. And make sense this time.”

Shidou exhaled hard, dragging both hands over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was slower—forced into order, like he was pulling words out one at a time.

“Sae won’t eat. He barely drinks. He’s burning up one day and freezing the next. And he won’t tell me anything.”

Rin’s chest tightened despite himself. He forced his tone flat. “So? He gets fevers sometimes.”

Shidou’s eyes snapped up, bloodshot and sharp. “Not like this.”

The certainty in his voice dug under Rin’s skin.

Shidou leaned closer, elbows on the table. His words spilled faster, but steadier than before. “He won’t look at me, won’t talk to me. When I ask him simple stuff, he just—” Shidou mimed a wall with his hand, flat and immovable. “Like he’s not even there. And when I pressed harder, he-”

He stopped. His jaw flexed.

Rin’s patience frayed. “He what?”

Shidou’s knuckles tapped the table. Once. Twice. He didn’t answer.

Rin ground his teeth. “You drag me here just to clam up?”

“No,” Shidou said quickly. His leg stopped bouncing—only because he’d locked it with his hand. “I just… don’t wanna say something wrong.”

Rin narrowed his eyes. Ryusei Shidou, afraid of saying something wrong? The world really was upside down.

“Fine,” Rin said. “Then ask your damn questions. The ones you wouldn’t shut up about on the phone.”

Shidou’s throat bobbed. He nodded, then leaned forward again. “When he gets upset, does he usually… hide it? Or does he let it out?”

The question caught Rin off guard. He frowned. “…Hide it.”

Shidou nodded, quick, seemingly scribbling the answer into his brain.

“If he stops talking, is that normal?”

“Yes,” Rin said immediately. Too fast. His jaw tightened.

Shidou raised a brow. “Normal how?”

Rin looked away, scowling at the arcade machines. “Sae’s always been like that. He doesn’t… waste words.”

Shidou hummed low, a sound halfway between agreement and unease. His fingers tapped the phone again, restless.

Rin’s annoyance sharpened. “The hell are you doing, running a survey? Why don’t you tell me what’s going on instead of playing twenty questions?”

Shidou’s jaw clenched. He raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “I already told you. Just... Not a well spoken summary."

The words froze Rin’s tongue.

For a moment, the noise of the arcade faded. The kids, the machines, the blaring music—it all fell into the background. All Rin could hear was the weight in Shidou’s voice, heavy enough to bend the table between them.

This wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t dramatics. It was fear.

Rin sat back slowly, arms crossed tighter. “…You’re not making sense.”

Shidou let out a sharp laugh that wasn’t funny. “Yeah. Story of my life.” He leaned forward again, desperate now. “Just-meet me halfway, Lashes. Please. Does Sae ever… mess with cleaning stuff? Like chemicals?”

Rin blinked. The question was so bizarre it broke his scowl. “…What?”

“Chemicals. Disinfectant. Anything. Does he-” Shidou cut himself off, biting down on the rest. His eyes darted down to the phone, then back up.

Rin’s stomach twisted. His irritation, his suspicion, all of it wavered under something colder. Shidou wasn’t joking. He wasn’t fishing for gossip.

And for the first time in years, Rin felt like a little kid again—someone asking questions about Sae that he couldn’t answer, no matter how much he wanted to.

---

The food court was noisy in that grating, fluorescent way—plastic trays clattering, kids shrieking over the arcade machines, the steady bass of some pop song bleeding from overhead speakers. Rin tuned it all out. His eyes didn’t leave the guy across the table.

Ryusei Shidou.

Every interaction he had with him painted the bastard as loud, cocky, unhinged. The type who ran his mouth, picked fights, grinned at the chaos he caused.

The man in front of him didn’t fit the picture.

Shidou sat hunched forward, elbows digging into his knees, phone clutched tight like it might bolt if he loosened his grip. His leg bounced under the table, jittering hard enough to shake the cups on the surface. His mouth kept opening like he was about to speak, then snapping shut again.

The silence stretched, only the arcade noise filling it.

Finally, Rin said, flat and sharp, “Why do you even care this much? What’s wrong with my brother?”

Shidou’s head jerked up. His pupils were blown wide, eyes bloodshot like he hadn’t slept. His jaw worked, like he was chewing words that wouldn’t come out.

"Like I said, he’s sick,” Shidou muttered.

Rin snorted. “Bullshit.”

Shidou flinched like the word hit him. Rin leaned forward, arms crossing tighter.

“You wouldn’t be panicking like this over a fever. Start talking straight.”

For a second, Rin thought it worked. Shidou’s mouth opened, breath caught in his throat—

Then the phone in his hand lit up and buzzed.

Both of them looked at it at roughly the same time Shidou was faster and turned the phone toward his face.

Shidou reacted instantly. He swiped before the first ring even finished, pressing the phone so hard to his ear his knuckles whitened.

“Yeah?” His voice cracked. Too sharp, too desperate.

Rin’s eyes narrowed.

Shidou turned away slightly, but Rin still caught every word.

“…No, stay put. I told you to stay in bed.” His voice dipped, urgent, a rawness to it Rin hadn’t heard from him before. “…Don’t touch anything, you hear me? I’ll be back soon.”

Rin’s heartbeat picked up, thudding against his ribs.

Who the hell was on the other side?

Shidou’s shoulders hunched as if someone might overhear him, though the arcade din drowned out most things. His voice lowered, but Rin leaned in, catching the edges of it.

“…I know, I know. Just wait for me.”

The words weren’t cocky. Weren’t careless.

They were pleading.

Rin stiffened.

He didn’t need to hear the other side of the call. He already knew.

It was Sae.

He tried to speak—“Oi. Why—” but stopped himself. His throat locked up, his teeth grit. He wanted to rip the phone out of Shidou’s hand, demand answers, but something about Shidou’s face froze him.

The guy wasn’t faking this. He wasn’t putting on some performance.

This was raw. Terrified.

Shidou’s fingers dragged down his face as he listened, eyes shutting tight, a ragged breath leaking through his nose. “No, don’t get up. Just stay put. Please.”

Rin’s gut twisted.

Please.

He’d never thought he’d hear Ryusei Shidou of all people beg.

Well, he did at one point when the idea of Shidou in bed popped in his mind. But that was forever ago. Just a small thought he had.

It was normal. He thought of Isagi the same way every so often.

He’d never thought he’d hear his brother’s name wrapped in that kind of desperation.

Because when Shidou slipped—when his guard cracked and the name tore out of him—Rin’s blood ran ice cold.

“Sae. Please.”

There it was.

Undeniable.

He had his guesses, but now there was no pretending he was wrong.

Rin sat frozen in his chair, arcade chaos ringing hollow in his ears, staring at the white-knuckled grip Shidou had on his phone and the way his whole body trembled around it.

This wasn’t arrogance. This wasn’t swagger.

This was fear.

And Rin didn’t know if he was ready to hear why.

---

The sound of the arcade had dulled into background static. Neon flashed against Rin’s peripheral vision, the clang of tokens hitting metal, laughter from some kids at a shooter machine—all of it blurred into one meaningless wall of noise. His focus was narrowed to the man across from him.

Shidou Ryusei. Again.

Fidgeting. Knuckles drumming against the table, leg bouncing beneath it. He was still on the phone with Sae. He wasn’t even pretending to be his usual cocky self—the way Rin had always imagined him, loud and unbearable. No. The guy sitting across from him now looked wired, jittery, like a spring stretched too tight and ready to snap.

Rin didn’t like it.

He didn’t like that the questions had been vague, and worse, that they’d been the kind of questions that made his chest tighten with unease. He didn’t like the way Shidou dodged when pressed, like a guilty man avoiding a confession. He HATED the way Shidou sounded on the phone.

And most of all, Rin didn’t like that every second wasted here was another second Sae remained… what? Sick? Unstable? Dying?

Dying.

No. He cut that thought short. He wouldn’t give it room.

Rin couldn't hear what they were talking about, but for a split second, he thought he could hear Sae speak. A question, maybe?

"No, you won't.” Shidou’s voice snapped into the receiver, pitched too high at first, then dropping into something low, tight. “No, stay put. I told you to stay in bed.”

Rin’s head tilted. Bed?

“Don’t touch anything, you hear me?” Shidou’s words tumbled out fast, almost pleading. “I’ll be back soon.”

Rin narrowed his eyes. He didn’t need to hear the other side of the call to know. The pit of his stomach had already dropped.

“…I know, I know. Just wait for me.”

His tone. It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t anything like the obnoxious striker Rin had braced himself for.

It was terrified.

The hairs at the back of Rin’s neck rose.

He opened his mouth to demand answers but nothing came out of his throat except a low rumble.

Shidou kept talking, voice soft now, almost broken: “…Don’t scare me like that again. … No, I'm still coming home in an hour. Just—stay put.”

Every sound in the arcade warped, went muffled. The laughter, the clatter of games, the static of a vending machine. All of it tunneled until there was only Shidou’s voice—and Rin’s pulse hammering in his ears.

Rin’s thoughts stuttered, then roared: He said Sae. He’s with Sae. He’s been with Sae this whole time.

Something hot burned in his chest, though he couldn’t name it—fear, rage, guilt, maybe all of them knotted into one. His mouth went dry.

“What the hell is going on?” he managed, the words a low growl.

Shidou didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at him, eyes fixed on the table like the phone tethered his whole body. Knuckles white around the device, jaw clenched so tight it might crack.

Rin’s nails dug crescents into his own palms.

Shidou muttered something into the receiver, low enough Rin couldn’t catch it. Then another pause, his breathing uneven. “…No, don’t move. I’m serious. I’ll be there. Just… wait.”

The edge of desperation in his voice cut deeper than anything else.

Rin shut his mouth again, breath stuck in his throat. For once, he didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

This was raw, uncontrolled panic Rin was witnessing.

This was someone clinging to Sae like he was the only thing keeping them upright.

And that terrified Rin more than he wanted to admit.