str4ngr

[str4ngr]

______

When Gojo told you his job required privacy, you reassured him that you could handle it. By no means did you interpret that as him lying about your existence. 

“Wha- So you just go with another woman?” Your voice grates on his ears like a dull knife, twisting up the guilty ache in his heart, 

“Baby, I told you—“ 

“You said you’d go alone!”

Gojo huffed in frustration, brows furrowed and eyes clamped shut behind his blindfold. What was the best way to explain this. He knew you had every right to be upset, to be angry, but he wished you could understand.

“It’s not like I wanted to.” He chose, though judging by your expression, it doesn’t seem like he chose well. “I—”

“Just— just stop.” Arguing was pointless, the both of you were grown enough to see that. His eyes lingered on your face as he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

Gojo couldn’t help it, struggling to fight the twitching of his lips; you looked so cute. Sighing again, knowing he shouldn’t tease your sweet pout in a moment like this, he look down, pursing his lips. 

“Honey…” He started, taking a tentative step towards you. Your eyes were glossy with tears, and he struggled to hold back the heartbreak in his expression.

Gojo hated upsetting you—truly, he did. Like a helpless puppy to your affection, he couldn’t stand being anywhere but your good side. 

Being a sorcerer was a line of work that constantly put his life at risk, adding onto the fact that just being Gojo Satoru left him with the biggest target on his head. Although he loved you, he never wanted you to be a part of that. Of the constant paranoia, of the overwhelming burden of responsibility. You were a haven, where being ‘the strongest’ was left behind and he was allowed to be him. 

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, the words died on his tongue. Gojo couldn’t think of a good excuse, a plausible explanation, because you both knew the truth: Gojo didn’t want you to come with him.

______

if you have any other ideas, lmk in the comments or asks please!!

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

whenever the stress became too much, no matter how bad his own was, nanami would always be by your side to support you. when your knees felt wobbly and your head heavy, nanami's comfort was an arm around your waist, a warm blanket around your aching body.

the nights when you would explode, irritated, thoughtlessly angry, the surface of your boiling frustration spilling over---he wouldn't waver. he wouldn't abandon you, give you the space, or otherwise, you needed to cool down, not a peep seeking apology when you let him close.

his hands traced the exhausted shape of your shoulders, the same way you would after he would work over-time. his thumbs rolled the muscles of your shoulders, dragging and pushing out each knot of stress, pulling a relieved sigh from your lungs. his voice brushed against the shell of your ears like the delicate brush of a feather, melting away the jumbled attempts at thoughts in your brain, guiding you to lie down on the bed you don't even remember sitting on.his voice was fluttered through the candle-fragranced air, soothing your tense mind.

you never understood how he did it; how perfectly he did everything to make your life luxury. but never more could you be more grateful. for every argument, for every laugh, every smile, every frown, every part of him that made him, him. for its what made you love nanami, and it's those parts of him that loved you so dearly.

though he said it often, 'i love you,' for nanami kento, was shown best through his actions.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.

[str4ngr]

glass, cherries, and citrus. [sae itoshi]

cw: angst, mostly sae's perspective, drinking, not proofread. notes: two more parts after this! pt.1, pt.2, pt. 3

His breath came out slowly, his eyes trained on the white sphere that danced across the grass. Adjusting to a new team was one thing, but a new life was another. Sae brushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to linger on the forming ache in his chest. With a sigh, he headed to his water bottle, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his nerves. 

Even with over three hours of training, Sae found no way to expel himself of his emotions, his frustration and anger channeled into each kick. Maybe I’m just antsy, he tried to persuade himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel. His cleats pierced the dirt as he stood by the bench. Surely, he could have sat, but the muscles in his thighs were tense with the boiling turmoil building within.

It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since your break-up. By then, Sae had expected all the pathetic and worthless emotions to fade, all but his untouchable depth of passion for football. But he was wrong. Every moment was filled with this sickening unbalance; his whole life felt off-balance. 

The soft fabric of the towel was lazily tossed over his shoulder as he shoved his thoughts away once more with a grunt. 

His new apartment was no more charismatic than a blank wall. Bleak, and frankly unsettling, nothing stood on the tables for decoration, an no pictures were framed. The touches of your soul no longer lingering in the form of playful trinkets. His heart ached at the memory of the crock board that hung in his home—well, no longer—full of an array pictures and receipts from various moments. Moments together. Moments with you.

Sae slammed his fist on the table. There was no room for you. Final. Disregarding the lump in his throat, he roughly set out a white plate just as dreary, dumping on his pre-portioned meal to be microwaved. His fist trembled, the same as his heart. 

You didn’t matter.

He had to keep those words burned into the membrane of every cell in his body. This was for his dream, for his future, for his goal. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let measly things like emotions get in the way. As the microwave table spun behind the glass, Sae moved to gaze out of his window. His mind felt blank yet busy all at once, each thought was moving too quickly to process. His eyes fell from the setting sun to the frame of the building across his new apartment, to the person holding the door open, his mind stopped. Everything stopped. 

You didn’t. Smiling so sweetly at the old lady who hobbled into the entrance that you graciously held open for her, fixing the strap of your purse back onto your shoulder properly. 

Sae felt his heart begin to pound, his breath stuck in his throat. His legs trembled, begging to move, to rush out the door; to you. Yet he can’t. He couldn’t. 

His dream was right at his fingertips, and all of it would fall into place the moment he had it, wouldn’t he? 

Your smile made his lips twitch, almost instinctively attempting to return such a warm expression.

He didn’t need you.

You enter after the elderly lady. The door closes behind you.

He’ll find satisfaction elsewhere. In games, in trophies, in other—No. His nails dug into his palm. No, not someone else. His heart trembled, the door was shut. Your door was shut. It felt like his stomach flipped and Sae lost any appetite he had. No matter how strict he was about his physique, he couldn’t swallow the pill that hid in his plate—the reality right outside his doorstep. 

Finding your way home was easy. It has become a habit, to drop by the flower store after work, help the old man that helped you. Truly, what he offered, a place to sit, wasn’t that dramatic. But, on the nights when sleep was dampened and the delicate skin beneath your eyes began to darken, the soft petals of floral arrangements and their gentle perfume soothed your aching soul. 

It was the only comfort you could find.

The city has grown colder, not only the weather, but your life. Without the warmth of love, your personality lingered and stuck, the old you peeking out on the occasion when you were with friends, but it wasn’t the same. That passionate flame wasn’t the same as the gentle sunlight you felt in friendship. 

Though they were a gift, Sae had never used either the bottle nor the glass until this point. He wasn’t sure if alcohol expired, but it didn’t matter. The amber liquid filled the glass, dancing in reflections of the intricate carvings on the exterior. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminated the too-full cup.

He hadn’t drank since… he couldn’t remember. Long, to put it simply. Sae never wanted to risk being too hung over, too fucked up, too out of it. Yet now he was. Practice tomorrow didn’t matter, nor did his strict morning regimen.

It scorched the back of his throat as he sipped, drawing a dry cough as he slammed the empty glass on his nightstand. Heat chased down his neck, settling like fire in his belly as his hardened gaze settled distantly on the wall. Mind swirling, hatred, regret, longing, love; it was all there, a bleary, mind-breaking mess that only made him pour more into his glass.