sxuma

[sxuma]

The space between us -- itoshi rin x itoshi sae x sibling fem!reader

notes: You were their whole world yet they left you behind. What could possibly bring them back to you again? cw: Angst-fluff, healing relationship, wholesome -3.5k words-

You used to believe the three of you were unbreakable.

You, Sae, and Rin. The Itoshi siblings. A perfect trio.

The memories felt like something out of someone else's life now. But once, they were the best part of yours. The late nights spent building pillow forts in the living room, whispered secrets during thunderstorms when Sae let you hide under his blanket and Rin pretended he wasn’t scared too, or heated fights over who got the last rice ball or who got to pick the next show on TV. It always ended in laughter. Always. Sae always gave in first, sighing like an old man. Rin would make the dumbest faces, eyes crossed, tongue sticking out just to make you giggle.

And you? You had been the center of it all.

You weren’t just their little sister. You were their sidekick. Their princess. Their biggest fan. You were the bridge between them, the glue, the one they always tried to impress.

Especially when it came to soccer.

They taught you, once. Back when Sae was still home and Rin still looked at him like he hung the stars. You remember the afternoons in the park, the way Rin would roll the ball toward you with exaggerated slowness, grinning as you fumbled to stop it. Sae was way more serious about it, he’d try to correct your posture, gently guide your foot, explain how to kick “with your laces,” whatever that meant. You could barely keep your balance.

They’d both get frustrated, but never at you. Only at each other.

“She’s not doing that because I told her to,” Rin would mutter.

“Well, she should,” Sae would snap. “Because you’re teaching her wrong.”

“I’m not! I’m just trying to make it fun!”

You’d stand there in the middle, clutching the ball, trying not to cry.

But then Rin would sigh dramatically and flop to the grass arms spread wide as Sae would groan like he couldn’t believe he was stuck with two idiots. And you’d laugh, because they were idiots, but they were your idiots.

After every “training session” Sae would take you to the corner store. He always let you pick out whatever candy you wanted. And then he'd buy two extra, every time, without fail. “in case you drop one” he’d say, handing them to you like a secret between the two of you.

They used to be your entire world.

And for a while, you were theirs too.

But things changed.

It wasn’t sudden. It crept in quietly, like a crack in a glass window you didn’t notice until it shattered. One day, you woke up and realized they were speaking to each other less. Another day, you noticed Rin didn’t cheer during Sae’s matches anymore. Then they stopped coming home together. Then they stopped speaking altogether.

Then it was just you. Alone in the middle of two people who once held your hands like you were everything.

They left home, each in their own way. Sae to Spain. Rin to Blue Lock. They said goodbye with quiet voices and soft smiles, telling you to be good, promising to text. And they did. For a while. But the messages turned from real conversations to short replies. From “How was school?” to “Happy birthday.”

They never forgot your birthday. Every year, without fail, there were gifts. Expensive. Neatly wrapped. Rin sent hoodies and plushies with sarcastic notes. Sae sent shoes, gadgets, perfumes you couldn’t pronounce. But it was never them. Never their voices. Never their arms around you. Never their laughter.

-

Your birthday felt like a hollow performance. You used to cry when you were younger, when the gifts arrived without them. Now you just smiled at your cake and told your parents you were grateful.

They didn’t come home anymore.

They didn’t even call.

And still, every weekend, you’d turn on the TV. You’d see them. The whole world saw them. Sae with his cold, perfect passes and impassive face. Rin with that fierce stare and explosive speed. You watched, feeling proud...and unbearably bitter.

You watched them glare at each other on the field. You watched the distance that used to be inches stretch into miles. You watched two people you loved forget how to love each other.

-

You started keeping track of the last time you heard their voices.

It had been nine months.

The day everything fell apart started like any other. You went to school. You smiled when the teacher called on you. You answered politely. You kept your head down.

But someone had posted a video the night before. A slideshow of photos. One was of you and your brothers when you were kids, maybe eight or nine, beaming in your matching jerseys. Sae’s hand on your head. Rin’s arms around your shoulders. It had once been your favorite picture.

Now it was being picked apart in the comments.

“No wonder Rin and Sae don’t talk. Look at the sister LOL.”

“She must be the disappointment.”

“Did they adopt her??”

The whispers at school were louder than usual. The stares longer. Someone knocked your bag off your desk during class. You didn’t even look up to see who. At lunch, a bottle of juice exploded all over your uniform. You stood there, dripping, blinking back tears. No one helped.

You tried to laugh it off. You tried to stay calm. But it built up. And when one of the girls leaned over and whispered, “Do you think they even remember you?” something inside cracked.

You ran. Out of the gates. Down the street. Past the bakery Sae used to take you to when you got good grades.

You didn’t remember unlocking the front door. You didn’t remember kicking off your shoes. All you remembered was the ache in your chest. The horrible, sharp pressure that wouldn’t go away.

The house was quiet.

Your parents wouldn’t be home until late.

You were too dizzy to think. You didn’t know who else to call.

Your thumb hovered over the group chat. The one that hadn’t been active in months. "Itoshi Bros + Lil Sis."

It was probably muted.

You didn’t care.

You pressed the video call button.

And to your shock, Sae picked up.

His face filled the screen. He looked tired, hair slightly tousled, brows furrowed in concern. “Hello?”

Then Rin picked up too. “What the hell?”

You couldn’t speak.

You just sobbed.

Heavy, ugly sobs that cracked through your throat and left you breathless.

Neither of them spoke right away. You heard Rin whisper your name like he hadn’t in years. Sae’s face went stiff.

“What happened?” Sae asked. His voice was low. Controlled.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

You were curled up on the floor of your room, hugging a pillow, your phone clutched in your hand like a lifeline.

“I’m coming home,” Sae said quietly.

You thought he was lying.

But then Rin said, “I’ll be there first.”

You cried harder.

Sae landed that night.

Rin arrived thirty minutes after.

They didn’t knock. They had their keys.

You heard the door open, and for a terrifying second, you wanted to hide.

You heard footsteps. Running.

Rin came in first.

Then Sae.

You weren’t dressed nicely. Your face was blotchy, your eyes red. But they didn’t seem to care.

Rin dropped to his knees beside you. “What the hell happened?”

You broke again.

It came out in stutters. Between sobs. You told them about the bullying. The video. The messages. The juice. The way you felt like everyone hated you for being related to them.

They listened.

They didn’t interrupt.

Not once.

When you finished, your throat was raw. You expected silence. You expected them to leave again, maybe pat your head and say they’d take care of it.

But Sae surprised you.

He sat beside you and pulled you into his chest.

Rin didn’t even hesitate. He curled against your other side, resting his chin on top of your head like he used to when you were five.

“I hate this,” you whispered.

Sae’s arm tightened.

“I hate that you guys don’t talk anymore,” you said, voice trembling. “I hate that we’re not a family anymore. I hate that I’m the only one who seems to miss it.”

“Don’t say that,” Rin said. His voice was quiet.

“I do! I hate watching you fight on TV. You’re my brothers. You were my best friends. Now I don’t even know who you are anymore. I feel like I’m not even part of this family—”

“You are,” Sae said, cutting you off. “You always were.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

Silence.

Then, quietly, you added, “I just… I just want to go back. Just once. Can we just… I know it’s dumb, but can we cuddle? Like when we were kids?”

You expected them to laugh.

But neither did.

Sae sighed softly and stood up, helping you to your feet. Rin followed without a word.

They led you to the living room.

You laid on the couch, squished in the middle. Rin curled around your left side, arm over your waist. Sae took your right, hand resting on your shoulder.

It was cramped. It was awkward.

But you hadn’t felt that safe in years.

-

You woke up to the smell of toast and the sound of footsteps.

The couch was empty.

You blinked, sat up, and looked around.

A note was on the table.

“Be back by lunch. Business to handle.”

You didn’t know what that meant until your phone exploded with messages.

“DID YOUR BROTHERS JUST SHOW UP TO SCHOOL???”

“BRO RIN AND SAE ITOSHI CAME TO OUR CLASS.”

“Did they beat him up? They LOOKED LIKE THEY WERE GONNA.”

You stared at the texts.

Then another one came in. From Sae.

“Handled it. Also switched your school. Private tutoring starts next week. We’ll be home for a while.”

Then Rin sent a photo. A selfie of the three of you from the night before. You were squished and half-asleep in the middle, cheeks puffed from crying.

Rin: “Next time, call sooner, dummy.”

And attached, just beneath it, another photo.

A picture of a soccer ball.

Then a second photo: a pile of candy on the kitchen table.

Sae: “Training starts again today. We’ll go slow this time.”

You cried again.

But this time, it was the good kind.

[sxuma]

Hello!!

You can call me Sxuma ♡ She/Her

I'm currently into Blue Lock, Haikyuu, Demon Slayer, Attack on Titan, and many other anime!

You're very welcome to send in requests, I'll do my best to complete them. However, please note that I do not write smut or any sexual content. I want this blog to be a safe and comfortable space for everyone, including myself.

Please be respectful. No hate or inappropriate comments will be tolerated. Also, do not translate, or copy my work without permission.

Feel free to message me with any questions or concerns! Thank you for being here ♡

-Masterlist-

-Blue lock:

Until the silence breaks - Itoshi rin x fem!reader arranged marriage

When tomorrow never comes -- michael kaiser x fem!reader sick angst

The space between us -- itoshi rin x itoshi sae x sibling fem!reader

[sxuma]

When tomorrow never comes -- michael kaiser x fem!reader

notes: You manage to love michael kaiser, but is the universe on your side? cw: terminal illness, fluff-angst -3k words-

Michael Kaiser was good at a lot of things.

Scoring goals. Stealing headlines. Making defenders crumble under pressure and walking away with a smirk that lit up half the continent. He was all teeth and ego and impossible brilliance, so fast he outran gravity, so sharp he left wounds behind.

He was dazzling. He was chaos. He was built for glory.

And he was nearly impossible to love.

But you did.

You loved him the way people love the stars. Quietly, from a distance, with awe and a touch of fear. Even when he was too much, too loud, too golden for your quiet corners. Even when the world wanted pieces of him, clawing at the edges. You still loved him.

And somehow, somehow, he loved you too.

Your demeanor is what made him fall in love with you after all.

“I should buy you a necklace shaped like my face,” he said one morning, shirtless on the bed, arms stretched and legs spread. “So you never forget I’m a national treasure.”

You rolled your eyes. Laughed. Flicked his forehead like you always did. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he grinned, wrapping an arm around you, dragging you into his orbit like gravity, “here you are. Suffering in silence beside me. Again.”

No one else got to see him like this.

Not his teammates. Not his fans. Not the cameras that worshipped his shadow.

But you?

You saw Michael Kaiser in mismatched socks and wrinkled shirts. You saw him whining for five more minutes of sleep into your shoulder. You saw him curled up on the floor after long flights, eyes fluttering shut before the interviews even aired. You saw him through his mental breakdowns as he remembered his past. You saw the version of him no one else believed existed.

You saw him.

And he saw you.

Bright. Gentle. Steady in a way that calmed his storm. You were his quiet in a world that only ever asked him to be louder.

-

He never questioned why your smile sometimes didn’t reach your eyes. Why you were always “just tired.” Why your hands trembled when you poured tea.

He never asked.

And you never told him.

You didn’t mean to lie. Not at first.

But the season picked up: flights, fans, goals, cities; and you became background noise to a roaring world. He was thriving. You were unraveling.

It started with bruises that didn’t fade. Fevers that clung too long. Fatigue that soaked into your bones. You tried to hide it. You smiled through hospital visits. You tucked away words like “metastatic” and “terminal” behind texts that said “I’m just tired, love.”

“You need to start thinking about palliative care,” the doctor said gently.

You nodded. You didn’t cry.

You were too busy making a plan.

Not for recovery...but for silence.

For how to keep Michael Kaiser from knowing that the love of his life was slipping away. How she is dying.

He bought you matching jackets after a match in Madrid.

“It reminded me of you,” he said. “Because it’s flashy and ridiculous.”

You laughed. Wore it every day after that. Because every time he saw it, he smiled. Every time you wore it, he pulled you in by the zipper and kissed your forehead like it gave him permission to be soft in a world that demanded he be anything but.

-

“Promise you’ll still be here after the World Cup?” he asked one night, breath warm against your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, heartbeat steady beneath your hand.

You didn’t answer right away.

You smiled.

“Of course I will.”

-

But you got worse in October.

The coughs deepened. Your hands shook too hard to hold a pen. Some mornings, just walking to the bathroom felt like climbing a mountain.

Still, you sent him photos. Sent him jokes. Blamed your pale face on bad coffee, your shaking voice on poor Wi-Fi.

And he believed you.

He wanted to believe you.

That made it easier to keep lying.

“I’m coming home next week,” he said over the phone, his voice bright and buzzing with excitement. “They moved the interview. I want to see your stupid face.”

You laughed. Quiet. “You just want to steal my fries again.”

“I miss you, you idiot.”

He did.

God, he did.

He bought something for you. A tiny gold necklace. Your initials engraved on the back. He planned to hide it in your favorite chocolate box. He pictured you rolling your eyes, calling it “tacky,” and wearing it anyway.

But when he got back—

There was a voicemail.

Your voice. Breathy. Soft.

“Hey, Micha. Just in case I miss you, I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for loving me the way you do.”

He called you five times.

No answer.

He called your bestfriend.

Nothing.

He drove straight to your shared apartment. The lights were off. The sink was dry. Your jacket, the bright, flashy one, still hung untouched by the door.

He couldn’t breathe.

He went to the hospital next.

They didn’t let him in.

Not until someone recognized him.

“The boyfriend,” someone whispered.

"The superstar?"

He ran.

But the room was empty.

Not just of you.

Of everything.

Stripped bare.

Your best friend found him outside, sitting on the bench where you used to wait for your rides.

Her eyes were red. Her voice was shaking.

“I’m so sorry,”

“She just texted me. She said she was fine,"

“She didn’t want you to worry.”

His voice broke. “She’s… gone?”

She nodded. Then reached into her pocket and handed him something small. Folded. Tidy.

“She wrote you something.”

He didn’t read it. Not at first. He held it like it might burn him. Like opening it might mean accepting you were really, truly gone.

-

He went to your funeral in silence. No cameras. No sunglasses. Just him, a boy made of gold and grief, sitting in the back pew like he didn’t belong in a world without you in it.

He read your letter that night.

It was dated two weeks before you passed. The ink wavered in places, like your hand had started to give out. It was short. Honest. And quietly devastating.

My Micha, I don’t know how to start this. I’ve rewritten the first line a dozen times, but nothing feels right. Maybe because no part of this is right. None of this should be real. But it is. If you’re reading this… then I didn’t get to say goodbye. And I’m so, so sorry for that. I wanted to. I really did. I tried to hold on. I tried to stay longer. For you. For the future we kept half-joking about. I kept telling myself I'd wait until after your next match, your next flight, your next win. But my body stopped listening to my promises. I never wanted to become your grief. I wanted to be the person you came home to after the stadium lights went dark. I wanted to grow old beside you, argue about stupid things, steal your food, kiss you when your ego got too big. I wanted the boring stuff; grocery shopping, tangled sheets, shared playlists. I wanted every second this life had to offer if it meant I could spend them with you. But life had other plans. And I couldn’t bring myself to ruin your season with the truth. I know that’s not fair. I know I took your choice away. But I saw how happy you were. How alive you looked under those lights. I couldn’t bear to dim that. Not with something as cruel and final as this. You made me feel like I was more than what was happening to me. Like I was someone worth loving even when I didn’t feel real anymore. You never knew it, but you saved me, every day, with your ridiculous laugh, your god-awful flirting, your loud, infuriating, perfect love. You gave me joy in the middle of sorrow. And I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. I need you to do something for me now, even if it’s hard. Keep living. Win every match. Chase every dream. Be loud and selfish and brave the way only you know how to be. And when you miss me, because I know you will, close your eyes. Breathe. I’ll be there. Always. In the crowd, in the silence, in the spaces between goals and dreams. Love with your whole heart. Laugh like I’m still in the room. And when you wear that stupid jacket, pretend it still smells like me, even when it doesn’t. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, Kaiser. My love for you was the easiest truth I ever knew. And I carried it with me until the very last breath. Always yours, —[Name]

He read it five times.

He didn’t cry until the sun rose.

He wore the jacket the next day.

Even though it didn’t smell like you anymore.

He kept playing.

But he stopped celebrating the same way. He pointed to the sky after every goal. Kissed his wrist before every penalty, right over the ink where your initials were tattooed, above his crown tattoo.

The press called it superstition.

He never corrected them.

Because the truth was harder to say out loud:

You weren’t there when he came home.

And tomorrow never came.

[sxuma]

Until the silence breaks - - itoshi rin x fem!reader

notes: You and itoshi Rin get put in an arranged marriage by your parents, what could possibly happen? cw: Slow-burn, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Intimacy, Domestic Realism -4k words-

The signing ceremony felt like a funeral.

The pale cream paper on the table looked like a burial shroud, ironed and pristine, hiding something lifeless beneath its folds. The golden feather pen between your fingers weighed more than it should have; more than gold, more than obligation. It sat heavy and cold in your grip, like a weapon or a verdict.

Across the table, Rin sat stiffly in a tailored black suit, his arms flexing as he crossed them and his jaw set. His icy-blue eyes were fixed on the window beside him, as if he were trying to disappear into the city skyline. Maybe if he looked hard enough, the glass would shatter, and he’d escape through it. His reflection was pale against the glass. Distant. Detached.

The silence dragged. You could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint murmur of your father’s conversation with the officiator just moments before. Now, even those murmurs had dissolved. It was just you, Rin, the paper, and the thunderous, suffocating quiet of two strangers pretending this wasn’t a transaction.

“Name.”

You blinked at the sound of your own name.

It wasn’t Rin. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since the legal consultation two weeks ago. Hadn’t looked at you, either. Hadn’t even acknowledged you in the ride here. He’d sat with his headphones in, staring out the window, arms crossed just like now.

It was your father. He stood behind you, posture straight, his hands clasped behind his back like a man attending a boardroom presentation. His expression was neutral, but his voice betrayed a gentle pressure. Not unkind. Not kind either. Just final.

“Sign it,” he said. “This is for both of your futures.”

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

You looked down at the paper again, as if it might rewrite itself. Your name was printed on the line in soft gray ink, awaiting the flourish of your signature like a tomb awaiting a nameplate. You felt a prickle behind your eyes. You didn’t know if it was anger, or grief, or just fatigue.

you mustn't cry now.

Across from you, Rin tapped his fingers on his bicep. Once. Twice. A slow, rhythmic beat. Cold. Disinterested. Like he was counting seconds until this hell was over.

You signed it.

The pen glided smoothly across the surface, betraying none of the hesitation and slight shaking in your hand.

And just like that, you were married to Itoshi Rin.

-

The first night in your shared apartment was unbearable.

You arrived first, stepping into the sleek, too-clean space with your suitcase dragging behind you like a second shadow. The apartment was spacious, modern, designed for luxury and minimalism, fitting for a renewed world striker, but something about it felt empty. Not just physically, but emotionally.

Rin entered ten minutes later. He didn’t greet you. He didn’t ask about the commute. He didn’t even take off his shoes properly, just kicked them aside, dropped his duffel bag by the wall, and disappeared into the bedroom. No glance. No grunt of acknowledgment.

His cologne lingered as he clicked the door shut behind him, soft but final.

You stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the hall like a fool, your fingers tightening around the handle of your suitcase. You weren’t sure what you were waiting for. Maybe a comment. A scoff. Even an insult. Something human. Something that meant this meant anything to him.

You got nothing.

-

You slept on the couch. Not because there weren’t enough rooms, there were two, generously spaced apart yet you couldn’t bring yourself to walk down that hallway and ask him which one was yours. That felt like crossing a line. Like reaching out for a branch that had already snapped.

The cushions were stiff. The blanket thin. You curled under it and stared up at the ceiling while pale amber streaks from the streetlights outside stretched across it like prison bars.

You didn’t cry. Not really. But you stayed awake most of the night, wide-eyed and hollow, wondering what the hell you had just signed your life into.

You never wanted this. You were pretty sure Rin didn’t either. Your parents met his parents, and somewhere between polite smiles and business talks, they decided the two of you would make a perfect match, mostly because neither of you had ever dated anyone. What can you say? Powerful families have a way of controlling things they don’t understand.

-

Rin was never cruel. But somehow, that made it worse.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t insult. Didn’t even raise his voice. He treated you like a ghost he occasionally had to acknowledge politely, distantly, like you were the stranger seated next to him on a plane. You could feel his presence in the room, but never his attention.

Meals were silent. Mornings, quieter still.

He’d brush past you in the kitchen with all the force of a passing breeze. Light. Cool. Controlled. You started to wonder if he made himself smaller on purpose, so careful in every movement, like he was afraid any ripple might start a conversation.

You wanted to scream at him sometimes. Just to get something out of him. Just to see if the ice ever cracked.

Yell at me, you’d think. Insult me. Snap at me. React.

But Rin never did.

He buried himself in training. Left early, came home late. Changed quietly. Ate quietly. Lived like a ghost in a place you shared. And you, well, you tried.

You cooked. You cleaned. You restocked the pantry. You picked up his hoodie from the back of the couch when he left it there. You folded his laundry.

You didn’t know if it was out of hope or just habit.

Then came the soup.

You made miso soup. Just for yourself. Or that was what you told yourself when you started. But when you poured the broth into the bowl, you did it twice. Two bowls. Side by side on the table. The second one sat there, steaming gently. Unspoken.

You stared at it.

Paused.

Your hand hovered over it, ready to put it away, to hide the hope behind it, but something stopped you.

Rin came in late that evening, hair damp from a shower at the facility. His gym bag hung from one shoulder, and his socks made no sound against the floor. He moved toward the kitchen like always, like you weren’t there.

Then he saw the second bowl.

His eyes flicked from it to you.

“…Did you make that for me?”

His voice was unreadable. Not cold, not sarcastic. Just flat. But not surprised, either. Like he expected it, somehow.

You couldn’t meet his gaze.

“I had extra,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He sat down without another word.

Didn’t say thank you. Didn’t compliment it. But he finished the bowl.

And the next day, your favorite yogurt appeared in the fridge.

You stared at it for a full minute, hand frozen on the fridge door handle.

Then glanced behind you, toward the living room, where Rin sat scrolling through something on his phone like he didn’t just rewrite the laws of your universe.

“Did you buy this?”

“Yeah.”

“For me?”

“You eat it a lot.”

No inflection. No eye contact. But your chest bloomed with reluctant warmth.

That was the beginning.

-

You started arguing after that.

Small things. Dumb things. How he left his dirty socks on the bathroom floor. How you left the light on in the hallway. He’d grumble something. You’d snap back. No apologies. No resolution. But you didn’t stop either.

It was messy. Human. Real.

The silence was broken. Not healed. But cracked.

Then came quieter moments.

He came home one evening, tossed an umbrella at you without looking.

“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” he said.

Or the way you started ordering extra of his protein powder before he ran out. No big gestures. No explanations. Just... effort.

But still, no touching. No accidental brushes of hands. No leaning against the same counter. An invisible wall lingered. Tall and wary. Neither of you were brave, or foolish enough to test it.

-

The Day He Left

You sat on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, screen dark.

Rin stood by the door, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Teal eyes met yours for once, sharp and unreadable. But his shoulders were stiff. His grip too tight.

“Your match,” you said quietly. “You’ll be late.”

He hesitated. His stance shifted. “It’s just two weeks.”

You nodded.

“Right. I'll watch you on TV."

You waited. Just in case he had something else to say. Just in case this was the moment the wall cracked.

He didn’t. And you didn’t ask for more.

“Good luck,” you said, and smiled. Barely.

He lingered a second too long.

Then left.

-

Three Days Later

The call came in the dead of night.

You answered on instinct, voice hoarse, hair tangled, throat raw.

It wasn’t good news.

“She’s not doing well,” the nurse told you. “You should come now.”

The hospital lights were cold. White and too bright. Your mother was already unconscious when you got there.

In the midst of your panic you almost called Rin. Your thumb hovered over his contact, but you didn’t press the button.

He wouldn’t come.

She passed before dawn.

You didn’t cry.

Not in the hospital. Not in the cab. Not even when you walked into the apartment and realized, again, there was no one to ask how you were doing.

So you collapsed. On the bed. In his sweater. Under the blankets. You didn’t move for two days.

-

The match had ended early.

Rin didn’t know why he booked the earliest flight. Didn’t know why he didn’t text you he was coming home. Something gnawed at him the whole way back. Unease.

The apartment felt wrong the moment he stepped inside.

Shoes out of place. Lights off. Air stale. The kitchen sink full. A dish with half-eaten toast on the counter, untouched for days.

He dropped his bag. Called your name once.

No answer.

He walked down the hallway.

The bedroom door creaked open.

You were there, curled beneath the blanket, unmoving, sobs filling the silence. The room was dark, but he could see your shoulders shake. Quiet. Fragile.

His chest tightened.

“…Hey.”

You jolted upright. Wiped your face. Fumbled to sit up, as if guilt had ripped the blanket off your grief.

“You’re—early Rin—I didn’t clean—I’m sorry, I—”

“Stop.”

He crossed the room before he could second guess it.

Your eyes shimmered.

He didn't say a word. Just looking at you as if wanting you to speak.

“I didn’t text you,” you whispered. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

His breath caught. His fingers twitched.

“My mom,” you said, voice cracking. “She died. While you were gone.”

Silence stretched long and aching between you.

Rin didn’t say anything.

He just stepped forward. And pulled you into his arms.

Awkward. Hesitant. But real.

You broke.

The dam snapped and you cried into his shoulder, and he held you like he’d never learned how to do it right, but wanted to try anyway.

“You’re not alone,” he said. “Even if you think you are.”

And after a long moment, as your hands fisted into the back of his shirt—

Rin leaned in closer and whispered,

“You’re someone worth protecting.”