Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sitting on the bench, Rin felt nothing.

The field was empty now. Everyone had already gone fortunately for Rin that included Isagi. He had shoved him away, hard. God, he hated him. Always showing up at the worst times, like some self-appointed savior. Acting like he understood, like he could fix everything just by being there. Like this was something that could be fixed.

Now, Rin sat alone, waiting for the team buses to arrive. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to pretend. He just wanted to go home and disappear into the silence.

Eventually, he stood up. The plastic bench creaked under his weight, too loud in the quiet. He moved slowly, like his limbs were weighed down, each step an effort. Unzipping his bag felt like a task that required too much thought, too much energy. Even changing clothes was too much. Too much of everything.

He dragged himself to the showers, not because he wanted to, but because it was what came next.

Rin let the water scald his skin. The hotter, the better. Every sting reminded him that he was still here, still in this body, still stuck in a world that asked too much of him. The steam clouded everything, but it couldn’t hide the tears. They slipped out quietly, mingling with the spray. He didn’t sob. He didn’t have the strength for that. He just stood there, letting the water burn and the emptiness spread.

He leaned his forehead against the cold tile wall and stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, like he had to remind himself to keep his eyes open. Keep breathing. Keep existing.

He felt hollow.

Maybe I really am as naïve as Sae says.

That last conversation with his brother had sunk its teeth into him, and the wounds hadn't closed. Even after everything, some small, stupid part of him still held onto hope— hope that Sae might one day see him, really see him, and say "You did it. You’re enough."

But Sae never would. Rin was starting to realize that. And it hurt more than anything else ever could.

Back on the field, he could bury it beneath anger and adrenaline. But now, alone, stripped down and vulnerable, all he felt was shame. Shame that he wasn’t enough. Shame that he kept trying.

Why did Isagi always win? Why was his goal the one that mattered? Rin had scored too, so why didn’t that mean anything?

He dried off in silence, wiping his face with the towel like he could erase the tears. He didn’t want to cry anymore. Didn’t want to feel anything.

He pulled on the Blue Lock fleece, deliberately avoiding the mirror. He couldn’t look at himself. Couldn’t bear to see his brother’s face staring back. People always said they looked alike and right now, Rin hated that. If he saw Sae in himself, he’d break.

Before leaving, he checked the locker room one last time, scanning for anything he might’ve forgotten. He didn’t want to come back and be forced to speak to anyone. Didn’t want to exist in this space that made him feel so small. He left, quietly, without looking back.

The Neo Egoist League arc was over. Just like that. And Rin Itoshi had lost again to… Isagi

The walls of his dorm felt too close, too loud, too silent, all at once. He sat on his bed, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. Everyone else was still out celebrating or pretending they had something to smile about. Rin? He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe right. The loss clung to him like filth he couldn’t wash off.

His jaw clenched as tears welled again, uninvited. He blinked hard and fast trying to hold them back, furious at himself for not being able to. No. Not here. Not now. He’d already embarrassed himself on the pitch, and he wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him crumble again. Especially not his roommates if they walked in.

Rin stood up, slow like his body had grown heavier with defeat. He grabbed his yoga mat and headphones, trying to distract himself. Anything, but as soon as he lay down, stretching out, all he could feel was the weight pressing down on his chest. The feeling of failure, and that fucking smug grin of Isagi's flashing behind his eyes.

Would he ever be free of that bastard?

His breathing turned shallow. Sae had definitely watched the match. Rin could picture his brother’s face, always so bored and indifferent. Not even disappointment, just… nothing. That look that said, "You're not even worth reacting to."

Why am I still trying?

It was like chasing a ghost. His brother was gone, had been for years. Rin didn’t know when he’d vanished, maybe sometime between Spain and their last conversation, but all Rin knew was that the brother he used to idolize was dead.

And the worst part? Rin would give anything to bring him back.

His soul, if that were a real currency. In every story, every game, the soul was the most precious thing someone could offer. Rin knew, deep down, where the truth scraped raw he would trade it. Gladly, all just to see that version of Sae again. The one who smiled like they were in it together. Not this stranger that was wearing his brother’s face.

A knock at the door broke his spiral, he ignored it. Another knock, he stayed silent, still balancing on his forearms, upside down like the world made more sense that way. The only thing keeping him upright was spite.

He didn’t have the energy for visitors. He barely had energy to exist.

When the door creaked open, Rin didn’t even bother flipping over. Just stared ahead, dead-eyed, letting the blood rush to his head. A pair of familiar honey-brown eyes peeked in a mirthful and curious glint in them.

“Ugh, what the hell,” Rin muttered, finally collapsing with a thud onto his mat.

Of course it was Loki.

“Oops,” Loki said, not sounding sorry at all. His grin was as annoying as ever, teasing but soft, like he was in on a joke Rin didn’t care to hear.

“What do you want?” Rin groaned, not even trying to hide his exhaustion.

Loki offered a hand. Rin batted it away and got up himself.

“Come with me,” Loki said, still smiling. Always fucking smiling.

Rin blinked at him. He didn’t have it in him to argue today. The resistance that normally flared up around Loki, around anyone for that fact, his walls, it just wasn’t there. He didn’t want to fight. Didn’t want anything.

He nodded once, numb and silent. That alone seemed to startle Loki more than anything he could’ve said. The surprise flickered in his expression before he quickly masked it with a casual shrug.

They walked in silence. Rin didn’t react to Loki’s attempts at small talk. He never did, but today wasn’t just his usual brooding. Today, he was hollowed out.

Eventually, they stood in front of a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” Rin stared at the sign like it might bite, watched in confusion as Loki just stepped through it.

“We’re not allowed in there,” Rin said flatly.

“Yup,” Loki replied, looking back with that same calm grin.

Rin frowned, “Technically, you’re not my coach anymore, so I don’t need to follow you.”

“Technically, no,” Loki agreed. “You coming?”

“Why?” Rin’s voice cracked, dry and threadbare like it might collapse mid-sentence.

Loki didn’t answer, just tilted his head toward the dark stairwell beyond the door, and Rin… followed. Not because he trusted him, nor because he wanted to, but because he was tired. So tired, and maybe, just maybe if he kept walking, he wouldn’t feel quite so much, or anything at all.

Sometimes, he envied the ocean. It always felt like something bigger than him, the waves looked deep, vast, and unbothered. Angry or calm, the ocean was always in control. Rin wanted that. Wanted to sink into it and never come up again. Let it swallow him, cradle him like no one had in years. Let it use what was left of him to feed its depths. At least then he’d be useful. To someone. To something.

A sudden gust of wind shook him out of his head and that’s when rin notices they were… on the roof?

He looked around, blinking. High above everything, the wind tugged at his clothes. The air was cold, but he didn’t feel it. He hadn’t felt anything in hours.

“Finally decided to throw me off a building?” Rin asked, voice deadpan.

Loki laughed, it sounded so loud and clear, Loki his laugh, was always something Rin found strange, “You’re dramatic, you know that?”

If only, Rin thought. If you knew what I’d let happen, maybe you’d be afraid.

While Rin hadn’t moved a muscle since comping up to the roof, Loki however was walking across the rooftop and jumped onto a ledge and then turned, offering Rin a hand up.

Rin scoffed and ignored it, climbed himself. They sat in silence, watching the horizon burn orange under a fading sky. The city below glowed gently. It was quiet here.

“If we fall, we’re not insured,” Rin said after a long silence. “I’m blaming you.”

Loki chuckled and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper and a pen.

“I, Loki Julian, accept full financial and legal responsibility in case we tragically perish while stargazing,” he wrote in English. Then again in French. He signed both.

Rin stared at him blankly, “You’re an idiot.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Loki said with a grin, folding the note and tucking it into his hoodie, “But you laughed. Well kind of.”

“I didn’t.”

“Sure.”

After a long stretch of silence, the only sounds were the wind threading through their hair, tugging gently at their clothes, and rustling the nearby tree branches, but even with nothing said, it didn’t feel awkward.

Rin had wanted to be alone, just sitting in his room in silence. That’s what he’d told himself, but Rin was self-aware enough to know when he was lying to himself, because he knew, all he’d ever wanted was to be understood. To be guided. To be supported. All he really craved was a hand like his brother’s messing up his hair, tossing an arm around his shoulder, shielding him with that easy, confident grin Sae used to wear when they were kids.

Back then, no one could touch Rin. No one dared hit him or mess with him, because Sae wouldn’t allow it.

How ironic that Sae had now become that person.

His words had cut deeper than any blow Rin had ever received. Not even Shidou’s fists or kicks could compare to the hollow devastation of hearing his own brother dismiss him and praise Isagi in front of him. Say that Isagi might be the one to save Japanese football. And the worst part? It didn’t even sound that far-fetched anymore.

Isagi had improved at a terrifying pace. From 299th to standing shoulder to shoulder with Rin at the top. It was maddening, it was unfair.

It was so cruel.

And the worst of it all was that Sae was right. Rin could almost cry. Almost. He didn’t though. He refused to, not with Loki sitting next to him. The guy wasn’t even looking at him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t notice. So Rin swallowed it down, tightened his jaw, put on his big boy mask and kept it together.

He barely noticed the hand in front of him until it wiggled a little, shaking softly to pull him out of his spiral.

Rin glanced over, brow slightly furrowed.

Loki tilted his head, “Want one?”

In his hand were cookies of all things.

“…What?” Rin mumbled, caught somewhere between disbelief and confusion.

First Loki had dragged him up to the roof without asking, and now he was offering him cookies?

Is he… okay?

Unbothered, Loki tore open the pack and took a bite. “They’re orange and chocolate. My favorite combo.”

Rin stared. It felt too surreal. Without waiting for an answer, Loki reached out and placed one in Rin’s hand, “Here. Try it. They’re called Lu Pim’s Orange.”

Rin stared at the cookie for a second, then at Loki, who was now turned back toward the view, as if nothing had happened.

And Rin… didn’t fight it. He didn’t have it in him. Not tonight. Just for tonight, he’d stop pretending. He’d give himself a break. Let the storm inside him rest. Because right now, everything felt grey, it felt flat and numb. Like everyone else was still moving forward and he was stuck, being empty, nothing but a shell.

The coarse rooftop under his fingertips grounded him. The wind was so cold Loki even shivered beside him, it was strange how Rin barely felt it, even though he was only wearing a shirt.

He looked back at the cookie. Small, round, with chocolate coating the top and the word PIM’s carved into it.

He took a bite. The biscuit was soft. The orange tang burst through the dark chocolate in a surprising way, rich and bitter-sweet.

“…It’s good,” he muttered. His voice sounded distant, weaker than usual.

He hated how honest it was.

“I’ve liked them since I was a kid,” Loki said casually, setting the open pack between them. “They’re kind of my guilty pleasure.”

Rin didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away either. A strange thought flickered through his mind. “Do you… just have them stored up here?”

Loki’s grin was answer enough, “No comment.”

“Weirdo,” Rin said flatly, “How often are you even up here that you have snacks stocked?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Yeah, right. And Ego hasn’t noticed?”

“I mean, he probably has. Ego knows everything. But hey, I haven’t been confronted yet, so I’m rolling with it.”

Rin didn’t dignify that with a response. Just shot him a flat look. Loki laughed, slightly embarrassed.

“Okay, okay,” he lifted his hands in surrender, “I have more if those aren’t your thing. I, uh… kind of need to eat them before I leave tomorrow.”

Rin raised a brow, “How many are we talking?”

Loki said nothing. He stood, walked to the corner of the rooftop, and pulled an old rag aside revealing a box. A whole box, filled with all kinds of snacks.

Rin just blinked. Waiting for some sort of punchline to this joke, because there was no way any of this was real, nothing was making sense.

Loki looked sheepish, “I got homesick, alright? Don’t judge. I missed my snacks.”

“…I didn’t say anything,” Rin replied with a shrug.

“Yeah, well. Your eyes did.”

Loki set the box down between them and popped it open. Inside, it was filled with neatly packed cookies and snacks some Rin recognized, most he didn’t.

“This one’s Petit Beurre,” Loki said, pulling out a rectangular biscuit wrapped in red and white foil. “You’re supposed to dip it in tea, but I just eat them plain. Old habit.”

Rin said nothing, just watched.

Loki rummaged through the box again, “These are Prince cookies. Chocolate-filled. Kind of overhyped, but they’re addicting. Mascot’s a bit much, though.” He glanced at Rin with a half-smirk, but it went unreturned.

He didn’t seem bothered.

“And BNs. The smiley face ones. You’ve probably seen them in memes or something. I don’t know. I like the strawberry ones.”

Rin remained unmoved, still seated with his hands loosely resting on the concrete. He wasn’t really registering the names, or the cookies. Just the steady rhythm of Loki’s voice, the box between them, the quiet view below. It didn’t matter. None of it did.

Loki took a bite of one and leaned back against the wall, chewing slowly. Rin followed suit out of reflex more than anything, picking a cookie at random. He bit into it without thinking. Orange and chocolate again. It barely registered.

For a while, there was only silence and the sound of their chewing, and the occasional crinkle of plastic.

Then Loki spoke, casually, there he went again with his small talk, “So… you got any plans for the future?”

Rin didn’t look at him. Tried his best not to show any reaction at all, forced his face to stay blank and unreadable.

He left it hanging in the air. Loki didn’t push. He didn’t clarify, didn’t say what team, what league, what country. Just left the question there like it was the most normal thing in the world. Something you ask when you’re watching the skyline and sharing snacks at 2 a.m.

They sat in near silence, the only sounds now the soft crinkle of wrappers and the occasional quiet snap of a cookie breaking in half. Time moved slowly. The kind of slow that wrapped around your shoulders and made you forget things like how tired you were, or how much your chest ached.

It was fully dark now. The sky stretched endlessly above them, peppered with faint stars. Not many at all, barely enough to notice, just enough to make you stop and look.

At some point, Loki had shifted closer. Not touching, but close enough that Rin could sense his presence clearer. Just a few centimeters between them now. Rin didn’t say anything about it. Would have in normal circumstances but for today he’d let it slide, if he was being honest with himself he could admit that he didn’t mind it as much as he probably should.

He’d never admit it out loud, but something about Loki’s presence was strangely grounding. Soothing in a way that didn’t ask anything of him. He didn’t know what it was exactly, maybe the quiet way he moved, or how he didn’t talk unless he had something worth saying, but it made it easier to breathe.

Loki tilted his head back, eyes tracing the stars, “I like the sky,” he said, almost to himself, “It’s so big it makes everything feel... smaller.”

Rin followed his gaze. The stars shimmered faintly behind thin clouds.

“I used to want to be an astronaut,” Loki added, voice low. “Fly out there. See the Earth from far away. I thought that would be the coolest thing in the world.”

He gave a small laugh, “I guess I ended up chasing a different kind of impossible.”

Rin let the silence stretch before responding, “I liked the ocean,” he said quietly, “…Still do.”

Loki glanced over, curious.

“I used to dream about being a marine biologist. Just swimming around, cataloguing fish or... whatever they do.”

“That’s kind of unexpected,” Loki said, a soft smile in his voice.

Rin shrugged, “It’s not something I’ll do. Not in this lifetime, anyway.”

He didn’t sound bitter about it. Just... tired. Like he had already come to terms with the idea that his life was running on tracks he never got to choose.

they fell into silence again. The night breeze had softened, as though it had tired itself out. Loki leaned back on his palms, looking almost at ease like they weren’t just two teenagers buckling under the weight of expectations. For a moment, it felt like they could simply exist as normal teens. Rin wasn’t sure he wanted the illusion to end.

Rin glanced at him sideways, “Why did you bring me up here?”

Loki didn’t answer immediately. He was still staring up, eyes distant, the same little smile on his lips.

When he did speak, it was with that casual gentleness again. The one that felt like it wasn’t really trying to change anything, just exist alongside you.

“I thought you were funny,” he said, “Wanted to hang out before we all go our separate ways.”

Rin looked at him for a moment, unreadable then turned back toward the sky. He didn’t believe him, not even for a second, not entirely. It felt too simple. Too light for the weight of what was inside his chest.

“Liar,” he muttered under his breath.

Loki let out a quiet laugh, not arguing.

Rin didn’t push it. Didn’t really want to know the real reason. Maybe it was enough, just for now, to sit still and look at the stars with someone who didn’t ask him to be anything other than what he was in this moment.

The silence had stretched again. Not really awkward, just… long. The kind of silence you fall into when neither of you has the strength to keep speaking, but neither of you wants to leave just yet either.

Eventually, Loki pulled his legs in and sat upright again, brushing cookie crumbs from his hoodie. He looked sideways, voice light, as if asking something completely ordinary.

“Hey… can I get your number?”

Rin didn’t answer. He turned to look at Loki, eyes half-shadowed by his lashes. There was no outburst. No glare. No snarky comment coming from Rin. Then, quietly, still not saying a word, Rin stood up. He brushed off his pants, shoved his hands in his pockets, and without a single word, walked toward the rooftop exit. The door clicked softly behind him.

Loki stayed seated.

Didn’t chase after him.

Didn’t call out.

Only muttered into the wind, voice low but still carrying just far enough:

“See you next season… whether you decide to join PXG or not.”

Rin didn’t stop walking. He made it to his room in a haze, shoes kicked off with little care, hands moving on their own as he changed into the first comfortable clothes he could find. The soft cotton of his shirt felt colder than usual, or maybe it was just him.

He collapsed into bed. Face down. Arms sprawled. And if his eyes stung… if he let the tears well up until they blurred the ceiling he couldn’t even see. Well… his roommates were already asleep.

There was no one to judge him. No one to see him fall apart.

And if he was lucky, maybe by morning it’d all go back to feeling like nothing. Just another quiet night. Just another set of problems to ignore.

Breakfast was cold before Rin even touched it.

He sat at the table, elbows tucked in, staring down at a plate of food he didn’t remember asking for. His mother said something about the weather. His father nodded.

Rin didn’t speak.

He wasn’t angry. Just… detached. Dull, like a radio turned down low. He took a bite. The texture was wrong, felt too mushy, too soft on his tongue. It stuck to his mouth. He forced himself to chew, then forced himself to swallow. One bite at a time. That was all he could manage.

The fork scraped the plate too loudly. His teeth ached with every sound. He finished the meal mechanically, like he was performing for someone even though no one was watching him. He cleared his plate, washed it with water so hot it numbed his fingertips. He didn’t flinch.

His parents didn’t notice anything.

They didn’t ask how the NEL had gone. They didn’t comment on the way his body moved slow, like his limbs had grown heavier overnight. They didn’t ask why he hadn’t unpacked. Why his shoulders slouched. Why he hadn’t looked them in the eye once.

They were quiet, like always. It’s not like they were cruel. Just… occupied.

And Rin… he preferred that, didn’t he? He liked being left alone.

Didn’t he?

Upstairs, he made it to the edge of his room before he doubled over and bolted to the bathroom. The food came up in violent waves, stinging his throat and nose. His hands shook as he gripped the cold porcelain.

When it was over, he sat there for a long time, forehead pressed to the edge of the toilet, chest heaving.

He didn’t know if he felt better or worse. Just emptier.

He brushed his teeth slowly, staring at his reflection like he didn’t recognize the boy in the mirror. His eyes looked flat, hollow. Like something behind them had been turned off.

His bedroom was dark when he stepped in. He’d kept the blackout curtains drawn since the day he returned.

It was cleaner than most teenage rooms. Trophies lined one shelf in exact height order, each one polished, none touched in months. His gaming setup glowed faint blue in standby, casting a shadow across his wall of horror movie posters.

He had a whole collection of games, DVDs, books. Titles about monsters, haunted houses, psychological thrillers. He used to say it helped him sleep better to feel scared. Lately, he didn’t feel scared of anything.

Just… nothing.

On his nightstand was the only warm thing in the room: a photo. Him and Sae. Rin was maybe five in it, clinging to his brother’s side, missing a tooth and beaming with all the joy he hadn’t felt in years.

He turned it face-down again.

Then he sat at his desk. Booted up a game. Played for ten minutes. Turned it off. The sound was too loud, the screen too bright. He tried to watch a movie, but his eyes unfocused halfway through and he realized he hadn’t been following the plot.

Everything was too much and not enough.

He lay down. closed his eyes.

Told himself he’d get up for an evening run. Keep in shape. Keep doing something, but when he next opened his eyes, it was 1:12 p.m. the next day.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

His mouth tasted like copper. His head hurt. His stomach was churning, but not from hunger. Just nausea and guilt and something else he couldn’t name, didn’t even understand it all he knew was that it numbing his mind.

You’re already giving up, he told himself. Lazy. Weak. You’ll fall behind, and it’ll be your fault.

He sat up. His body ached like he’d run a marathon. There were dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t cried, but he looked like he had.

He grabbed his phone. Put it down.

Opened his curtains. Closed them two minutes later. The light hurt.

He sat in bed, back against the wall, staring into space. Hours passed. He only noticed because the room shifted from dull gray to black.

He hadn’t moved.

He forgot to eat. His stomach didn’t remind him until the next morning.

He ate. Threw it up.

When his mother knocked to tell him lunch was ready, he didn’t answer. Just sat there, still in the same hoodie, still wearing yesterday’s socks. He meant to shower. Meant to brush his teeth. Meant to do something.

He just… didn’t.

What’s wrong with me? he thought.

But the thought didn’t come with panic. It didn’t come with urgency. It just floated in his mind like the dust in the room unsettled, unimportant, and inevitable.

He curled up under the covers again, hiding from the sun and the noise and the world. If he stayed still enough, maybe it would all pass.

Maybe he’d pass too.

Lying in bed, Rin stared blankly at the ceiling, the room dim and suffocating with the curtains still drawn. The stale air clung to his skin. He hadn’t opened a window in days.

His phone buzzed once on his nightstand.

He ignored it.

It buzzed again. Then again. A fourth time.

With a grunt, he rolled over, the weight of his body heavier than it should be, and grabbed the phone. It was a message from Bachira. Something stupid like:
“Come hang out! Everyone’s back in town! It'll be fun :D”

Rin didn’t even respond. Of course he didn’t. What part of him ever gave off the impression he wanted to be surrounded by people and especially them?

He turned off the screen.

Then it lit up again. A picture, this time. At first glance, it was everything he expected: Bachira with his usual idiots, someone holding a bottle of soda too close to the camera, laughter frozen in time. He was about to swipe it away, irritation bubbling in his gut.

Until he noticed the background.

His chest tightened. There, clear as day… his brother.

Sae was standing at the edge of the group, dressed casually. Talking. Not to Bachira. Not to Reo or Nagi.

But to Shidou.

Rin sat up, a jolt of disbelief shooting through his body like lightning. He stared at the photo, heart thudding in his ears. That couldn’t be right. Why would Sae talk to Shidou?

What could they possibly have in common?

What the hell would they talk about?

He zoomed in like it would make the picture lie. Like it would erase that sick grin from Shidou’s face or the relaxed tilt of Sae’s shoulders. Like it would undo the fact that no one told him Sae was even back in Japan.

Not his parents.

Not that smug bastard of a brother.

No one.

Rin’s breath hitched. His fingers trembled. His mouth went dry.

He threw the phone across the room, it hit the wall with a hollow crack and clattered to the floor. The sound echoed like a gunshot. His breathing picked up, sharp and shallow, like each inhale barely made it to his lungs.

His hands dug into his sheets, twisting the fabric.

Why didn’t Sae tell me? Why him? Why Shidou of all people?

His heart pounded violently, each beat slamming against his chest like it was trying to escape. A cold sweat broke out across his neck and back. He wiped his palms on his pants, but they were already damp. His arms were shaking.

His chest hurt.

Not metaphorically but literally. A dull, crushing pressure pushed down on him. His vision blurred. His skin prickled, tingled. His fingertips felt numb. Too hot. Too cold. He couldn’t tell.

“I—I can’t—breathe.”

He stood up too fast and staggered back, the room spinning. The trophies on his shelf blurred into a smear of gold and glass. The horror posters warped like they were watching him. Laughing.

His legs gave out. He collapsed to his knees, gasping like the air itself was refusing to enter his lungs. His head screamed with static. His throat closed up.

You’re dying, a voice inside him whispered.

He clawed at his chest, curled in on himself on the floor, jaw clenched so tight it ached. A sob tore out of him without warning, high and raw and helpless.

Another one followed.

Then another.

It was too much. Everything was too much. His brother. The photo. The silence. The loneliness that bloomed like rot in his chest.

He pressed his forehead to the floor, trying to ground himself, but even that felt unreal. Like he wasn’t in his own body anymore. Like he was watching from above, trapped in a glass tank, screaming without sound.

Rin didn’t know how long he stayed like that just trying to breathe.

Ten minutes? Maybe it had been an hour?

Time didn’t exist anymore.

Eventually, the panic dulled, but it didn’t leave. It sank deeper, into his bones, into the pit of his stomach where the self-loathing had already made a home.

He got up slowly, dragging his body like it weighed twice as much. His shirt clung to him with cold sweat. He didn’t look in the mirror. He couldn’t.

Back in bed, he curled on his side and pulled the blanket over his head.

The picture of him and Sae as kids still sat on his nightstand, untouched.

He didn’t turn it over this time. He just closed his eyes, throat raw, head pounding. And hoped to forget.

Rin didn’t know what day it was. Not anymore. He had stopped checking. The curtains in his room had stayed shut for what, a week now? Maybe more?

He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he hadn’t left his bed in what felt like forever. Hadn’t spoken to anyone. Hadn’t eaten anything proper. Just stale crackers at some point, water when he remembered.

The world moved outside his room. But not in here.

In here, time sat still. In the safety of his room the time felt thick and suffocating.

All he’d managed to do was lie in bed and let World Cup matches replays run in the background, videos Ego had sent as “recommended viewing,” whatever that meant. Rin tried to watch. Sometimes, but nothing registered. The plays blurred and the passes dissolved.

He felt empty. Numb. Like something had turned off inside him and he didn’t know how to switch it back on.

His phone still lay on the floor. Right where it had landed after he threw it.

The image was seared into his memory. Sae, his brotherin , Japan. Standing with Shidou of all people. Talking. Laughing, maybe. Standing close.

Rin had cried when he saw it.

He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t want to.

But something inside him had broken open, and the tears came hard and fast. He thought he’d cried himself dry that night. Thought nothing else could come out.

But now, days later, the tears were gone, and what was left was worse: apathy.

Nothing mattered.

Not food. Not football. Not texts from Bachira, not match footage, not even the fact that Ego had given them the whole month off.

What day even is it? Rin thought. He didn’t know. And he didn’t care. Until, eventually nature called and he no longer could ignore his body’s needs.

Fuck. I need to pee.

It was the first thought that truly registered in hours, maybe days.

He pushed himself out of bed. His joints ached. Muscles stiff. He didn’t glance in the mirror as he passed the bathroom he couldn’t handle seeing what he looked like.

On the way back to his room, throat dry, he decided to grab a water bottle from the kitchen.

And that’s when he saw it.

A small box. Sitting by the front door. A package. His name was on it. He stared at it for a long moment before crouching slowly and picking it up.He hadn’t ordered anything. Hadn’t told anyone to send anything.

He climbed the stairs holding it gingerly, confused.

Back in his room, he sat on the edge of the bed, reached into the drawer for a small box cutter, and carefully sliced it open.

Inside were cookies Neatly packed and carefully sealed. Something about them tugged at a memory buried in the fog.

Rin blinked, then blinked again, searching his memories to try and remember where he’s seen these cookies before. He knew these cookies.

French grocery store cookies. Not particularly fancy. Just… oddly comforting. Subtle in their sweetness. Soft in the middle.

He remembered the rooftop. The night air was cold and sharp. The hum of the facility far below was barely audible up there. The stars had been faint, but present.

Loki had sat beside him, their shoulders not quite touching, their legs swinging over the edge.

He had been quiet that night, not like usual. A little distant. And then out of nowhere, he'd pulled out a plastic bag of snacks and held it out to Rin without explanation.

Rin had hesitated. But Loki nudged it closer.

"I had these shipped in from home," Loki had said, his voice quieter than usual, like the night had stripped away his usual theatrical grin. "Got homesick. Don’t tell anyone."

Rin had taken one, reluctantly. Then another. And then a third, without even realizing it. He’d liked them. One specific kind in particular. A soft, chocolate-dipped shortbread with sea salt flakes. He never said so. Barely even reacted.

But Loki must’ve noticed.

Back in the present, Rin stared at the package in his lap. There was a folded note sitting on top, written on plain white paper in curling, confident handwriting.

He opened it slowly, fingers trembling.

I know you don’t have these here, and since you liked them so much, I wanted to give some to you.
P.S. These aren’t from that night so no worries. Cross my heart 🙏🏿

Sincerely, Loki Julian.

Rin stared at the handwriting. For a moment, everything stilled. The fog didn’t clear, but something pierced through it soft and warm and painful in a completely different way.

He blinked.

And blinked again.

A single tear slipped down his cheek.

He didn’t cry like before. No shaking sobs. Just quiet, stinging warmth in his chest and eyes that wouldn’t stop watering.

He’d thought there was nothing left in him to feel, yet somehow, this—this tiny act of remembering. It reached him. Rin hated how the gesture touched him.

He took one of the cookies with shaking hands and bit into it.

Still good.

Still soft in the middle, still sweet.

Still the same.

Still something just for him.

Rin woke up to voices echoing faintly through the thin walls. One of them, unmistakably, was Sae.

His blood ran cold. His body tensed beneath the covers. For a moment, he didn’t move barely even breathed. He waited, heart in his throat, as if the noise would go away if he stayed still enough.

But it didn’t.

“Is Rin still sleeping?” Sae’s voice carried just enough to reach his room.

“Who knows what he does with his life. I haven’t seen him walk out of there for a while,” his mother replied, tone flat, unaffected, “Is he still alive?”

“Of course,” she answered with a light scoff. “I see the food leave, and the dishes get cleaned. Eventually.”

“Is he sick?”

There was a pause, “I don’t think so, no. He just refuses to leave the room.”

“He really has let go of himself… how lukewarm.” Sae’s voice again sounded quiet and clipped.

Rin stared at the ceiling, something tight forming in his throat. Like a balloon filling with hot air, stretching until it might pop.

His hands reached for his phone instinctively. The screen stayed black. He’d never charged it since that night.

Dragging himself upright, Rin plugged it in. The brightness stung his eyes. He squinted until the charging icon appeared 0%. A fitting number.

He could still hear their conversation downstairs, muffled now. They were talking about him like he was a lost pet. Like he was something disappointing.

Like he was embarrassing.

And maybe he was.

Rin turned his head toward the mirror on the wall and caught sight of himself.

He stared.

Then stared harder.

His hoodie sagged on his shoulders. Not in the effortless, cool kind of way. In the empty kind of way. His collarbone looked sharper than usual, skin pale with a yellow-grey tinge. His cheeks were hollowed. His eyes were ringed in deep, dark circles. Like he hadn’t slept in days even though all he’d been doing was sleeping. Not the restful kind. The kind that just happens. Like passing out. Escapism is what he saw it being called when he was mindlessly scrolling on reddit.

His hair was greasy, pushed back in strange clumps like it had tried to curl and given up. His breath tasted stale. He didn’t remember the last time he brushed his teeth. Disgust clawed its way up his spine.

He looked at himself and wanted to rip his reflection down from the wall. What the hell happened to me?

And now Sae was here. Sae, who had always been composed. Focused. Admired. Perfect.

Rin’s chest tightened. He couldn’t let his brother see him like this.

Couldn’t let him look at him.

He didn’t know if it was shame or panic or just survival instinct, but he moved fast. He dug through a pile of clothes. Found sweatpants. A clean pair of underwear. A hoodie that didn’t smell too bad. The shower could wait. Everything else could wait.

He checked his phone. 45%. Good enough.

He slipped it into his pocket, grabbed his keys, then cracked the window open and shoved a book into the frame to keep it from closing behind him.

He hadn’t done this in years. Not since middle school, but his body remembered the rhythm. One leg out, grip the ledge, lean forward, and jump

He landed a little awkwardly on the grass but caught himself, breath caught in his throat.

The sky was dim. Nearly 6 p.m., but the sun had already begun to set. The wind felt cold on his skin way sharper than he remembered it to be.

He didn’t know where he was going. All he knew was that he couldn’t stay here. Just the thought of sitting at the same dinner table as Sae made bile rise in his throat.

So he walked.

Fast with no destination in mind. The further he got from the house, the more he could breathe. Sort of.

The house didn’t feel like home.

Hasn’t felt like home in a long time.

Rin sat between jagged rocks at the shore, his knees pulled to his chest, arms draped lazily around them. The sea whispered all around him, waves licking at stone, splashing against the curve of his shoes. The breeze curled into his hoodie, salt-tinged and cold against his skin.

Fresh air. God.

He didn't remember the last time he'd felt it. It hit like a drug too pure, too sudden. His lungs burned a little with the clarity of it, and for the first time in weeks, something in his chest cracked open and it felt like he could finally breathe again.

He stared at the water, watching it ripple in spirals, brushing against the rocks and swirling around his ankles. Slowly, he dipped one hand down and let his fingers trail along the surface, then sink beneath it. The water welcomed him without resistance.

He flicked his fingers, splashing it softly.

It felt clean, too clean.

He didn’t even know what part of town this was. His mind had gone on autopilot hours ago, dragging him from familiar streets, slipping past all the old hiding places Sae might remember. A defense mechanism, maybe. Now, he was here at some forgotten strip of coastline where the rocks bit into his thighs and the wind hummed like it wanted to say something.

He wasn’t scared. He had his phone. He could always GPS his way back if he needed to, but he didn’t want to. Not yet at least.

He sat there for a long time. The sky shifted from dusk to bruised purple to full black. Stars blinked above him, and still, Rin didn’t move. He didn’t notice how high the tide had gotten until a wave kissed the hem of his sweatpants.

A low vibration buzzed in his pocket.

Rin blinked and finally pulled out his phone. His other hand remained in the water, still trailing, still half-submerged like it belonged there.

Sae.

Rin let it ring until the sound stopped.

Then it started again. He winced. The vibration rattled against his skull like it was scraping his brain. He hit decline, switched on Do Not Disturb, and tossed the phone into the dry space between two rocks.

He sighed and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His eyes tracked the glint of moonlight across the water. It shimmered like glass.

Something dark curled up inside him. It looked so easy.

so easy to just…walk in. Let the waves carry you. Let the cold take over. Let yourself dissolve.

No one would even know for a while. Not right away.

He shook his head once hard but the thought lingered.

His phone buzzed again, softly this time. A new message on the lock screen. The name was a string of numbers, foreign-looking.

+33 xxxx xx xx xx

Hello Rin, this is Loki. I just wanted to ask if you had received my gift?

Rin blinked.

How the fuck did Loki get his number?

He checked the date.

A week ago.

Another glance at the calendar made his stomach twist, he'd been rotting in bed for almost three weeks.

Three fucking weeks.

He suddenly felt hollow. It clawed through his ribs like hunger but meaner.

+88 xxxx xx xx xx

Yes. How did you get my number?

The response came almost instantly.

+33 xxxx xx xx xx

I might have maybe saved my number in your phone and texted myself a message so I’d have your number 🤷🏿‍♂️

+88 xxxx xx xx xx

That must’ve been before you asked for my number, right?

+33 xxxx xx xx xx

...Maybe?

+88 xxxx xx xx xx

Then why even bother asking, you weirdo?

+33 xxxx xx xx xx

Consent is sexy 😅

+88 xxxx xx xx xx

What consent? You put your number in my phone without my permission.

+33 xxxx xx xx xx

To be fair, why don’t you have a lock on your phone? That’s on you.

+88 xxxx xx xx xx

Why would I?

+33 xxxx xx xx xx

Why wouldn't you?

Rin exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. Almost. He wiped his wet hand on his sweatpants and leaned back on his palms, letting the wind wash over him again.

The water looked calmer now. Or maybe he did.

Still, something in him ached to walk into it. Not to die. Not really.

Just… disappear. For a little while. Become something weightless and quiet. Something no one had expectations for.

He wouldn't do it.

But he understood now why people thought about it.

Rin felt the pull again.

That unbearable urge, not to die, not really. Just to disappear. To let himself be unmade quietly, gently, like the tide sweeping away a footprint. There was no drama in it. No theatrics. Just peace. A slow unraveling.

He knew he wasn’t enough. Had always known. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he pushed he would always fall short of the version of himself people wanted. A failure. A disappointment. A shadow cast by someone else's light.

So what was the point?

The waves lapped at his calves as he sat between the rocks, arms limp at his sides, head tipped forward like the strings had finally snapped. The ocean didn’t judge him. Didn’t demand. It just was. Vast. Endless in it’s waves and so honest.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the salt and silence. No one had ever held him like the ocean did.

A low growl from his stomach broke through the stillness, and Rin winced. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten. Couldn’t remember the last time he had. The idea of food felt absurd. Heavy as if it was too much effort.

What time is it even?

He fumbled for his phone, pulling it out with fingers like stone. 2:34 at night? In the morning?

Who fucking cared.

Another rumble. He ignored it.

Instead of standing, he laid down where he sat, head dipping just enough for the cold water to brush through his hair. His scalp tingled, blood rushing downward, and dizziness bloomed behind his eyes. He didn’t move. The sensation was grounding it almost like floating.

Like dissolving.

A trembling hand reached sideways, fingertips dipping into the wet sand beneath the water. He dug at it idly, like a child building castles no one would see. The moon hung overhead, pouring silver across the waves, and Rin stared upward, lashes wet, chest hollowed out.

Silence.

Perfect, absolute silence.

It had felt like an eternity since Rin felt something like… peace.

He rolled onto his stomach, chin nestled against damp arms. His hair clung to his skin in sticky strands. The cold water had plastered it across his cheek, down his neck, and tiny drops slid along his jawline, disappearing into his hoodie.

He didn’t wipe them away instead he leaned forward, just enough to see his reflection ripple in the dark water. The moon made a halo around it. For a second, he almost didn’t recognize himself.

Sae.

His own face—no, his brother’s stared back at him, perfect and cruel. He looked too much like him. Like a ghost. Rin felt nausea twist in his gut. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Something about it gripped him.

Held him in his place. He felt his throat tighten, heat prickling behind his eyes. That face had haunted him since he was a child, a benchmark that’s how he felt, like mirror of him. It was a curse.

And now it was staring up at him from the ocean like it belonged there.

Like it was calling him.

Rin remembered the stories he used to read, tales of pirates who never dared gaze into the sea after sundown. They said the ocean had a will of its own. A hunger. A voice that called so irresistibly that by the time you followed it, you’d only realize the danger when it was already too late.

And Rin heard it now.

It didn’t speak in words, no it didn’t need to. It sang in silence. In the reflection that shifted with the waves until Rin no longer saw himself, nor Sae. Just something else. A beautiful blurred and unknowable shadow stared back at him, its smile was so gentle. Rin wanted to approach it.

The ocean was the only thing that hadn’t discarded him. That hadn’t told him he wasn’t enough.

Of course he wanted to go to it.

Of course he wanted to belong to something.

He stood slowly, joints stiff and legs trembling from starvation and disuse. His hoodie clung to him, heavy with damp. He swayed on his feet, but the water steadied him, licked at his ankles like it was welcoming him back.

Just a break. Just a moment of rest.

He took a step forward.

And then suddenly arms, rough and warm, wrapped around his torso and yanked.

Rin stumbled back, slamming into solid flesh and the scrape of wet clothes. He twisted in confusion, in anger. His trance shattered like glass, the calm in his veins replaced with cold panic and sudden fury.

“What—?” he started, breath catching.

“What were you about to do?”

A older man stood in front of him now. His eyes were wide with a kind of quiet horror, his breath ragged, pants soaked up to the knee where he'd trudged into the sea after Rin. His grip didn’t loosen.

Rin blinked at him, dazed. The world spun just a little. His legs felt weak.

“I—” His voice cracked, throat raw. “Nothing. I wasn’t—”

The lie caught in his mouth. He didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

The man shook his head, expression tight, “Don’t lie to me, kid. You were going in.”

Rin didn’t answer. His head turned back toward the water, as if drawn to it, and something inside him trembled at the distance he'd crossed. How close he’d come.

He felt cold now. Not the good kind. Not the soothing kind.

He felt empty.

And in that emptiness, one awful truth rang louder than anything else. He hadn’t even realized what he was about to do.

Like he’d already made peace with the idea that as long as he kept breathing, he’d be a disappointment. That love wasn’t something he’d get to have. That his existence was always a problem to solve, a failure to correct.

But the ocean… the ocean had asked for nothing. Had held him softly. It was the only thing that hadn’t pushed him away.

And he had almost given himself to it.

The man’s grip softened. “Come on,” he said, voice gentler now, “Let’s get you warm.”

Rin didn’t move.

Not for a long time.

But then, like something cracked open, like something deep inside him took its first breath. He nodded and let himself be led away.

The tea shop stood at the edge of the shore road, half swallowed by ivy and time. The wooden sign above the entrance had no name, just a faintly carved symbol of steam curling from a cup. The sliding door creaked like a tired whisper as the old man gently nudged Rin forward.

“Come,” he said, not unkindly. “You look like you could use something warm in your chest.”

Rin stood unmoving for a moment, dripping water onto the steps. His clothes clung to him, heavy and cold, but his heart was heavier. He followed in silence, bare feet brushing against the aged wood, and the scent of roasted tea leaves and old cedar filled his nose. It reminded him of something. Or someone. But he couldn’t place what.

The inside of the shop was small, almost like a room that had been forgotten by time and remembered only by the people who needed it most. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling beams, their light soft and amber. Shelves with small, delicate teacups lined the walls. There was a single low table near a fogged window, and the man motioned for him to sit.

Still dazed, Rin lowered himself to the cushion like a marionette without strings.

The old man disappeared behind a curtain and returned a moment later with a tray, placing it on the table without a word. “Tea or chocolate milk?” he asked, not looking at Rin, as if it were the most normal question in the world.

Rin blinked, throat raw. “...Tea,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

A nod. The man poured carefully into a thin porcelain cup, the steam curling upward like breath from a sleeping animal. He slid it across the table, then sat across from him with a groan of old knees and age.

Rin stared down at the cup for a long time before he bowed slightly, awkwardly. “...Thank you.”

He lifted it to his lips with both hands, like it might steady him. The warmth spread through his chest, surprising him. It was bitter, then soft. Smooth. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since something had tasted... real.

The shop was silent, save for the faint wind outside and the hum of something simmering on a stove.

Rin stayed quiet. He kept his eyes fixed on the cup, watching the tea ripple gently with each trembling movement of his hands. He didn’t want to look up. Couldn’t.

He was afraid of what the man would see. What he himself might see reflected in the old man’s eyes. Disgust? Pity? Recognition?

So he stared at the tea like it might give him answers, or make him disappear again. He wasn't sure what scared him more that the man had pulled him back from the edge... or that no one else ever had.

The man didn't speak. He just sat there, patient and still, as if waiting for a storm to pass.

And Rin, for the first time in years, didn’t feel like he had to talk. The silence wasn’t suffocating. It didn’t press on him like guilt. It was... gentle. Quiet like the ocean had been, just before it tried to take him.

He swallowed hard. Something inside his chest ached, like something small was trying to breathe again after being buried alive.

Still, he kept his eyes down. Still scared. Still holding the cup like it might shatter.

But the tea didn’t judge him. And neither did the man.

Not yet.

The tea had cooled slightly in Rin’s hands, but he still held it like it was anchoring him to this world.

For a while, they said nothing. Just the quiet sounds of old wood settling and the distant call of waves beyond the window. The old man watched the boy carefully, without prying eyes—just presence, steady as stone.

“You’re too young to be this quiet,” the man finally said, voice low, warm like the tea between them. “That kind of silence doesn’t grow overnight.”

Rin’s shoulders stiffened. He didn’t look up. He hated how easily those words slid under his skin. “...I just like quiet places.”

The man hummed. “Nothing wrong with quiet. But the kind you carry in your chest—” he tapped his sternum lightly “—that’s the kind that can drown you, even on dry land.”

Rin’s grip on the cup tightened. His jaw clenched.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, maybe too quickly. “I just needed air.”

The man gave a quiet chuckle, but not unkindly. “Funny. I’ve heard those exact words from boys with soaked shoes and shaking hands before.”

Rin froze. His eyes flicked up, wide for just a moment before dropping again. “I didn’t... I wasn’t going to—”

“You don’t have to say it,” the man cut in gently, setting his own tea down with care, “But I need you to know something.”

Rin didn’t move. His breath had started to come faster, shallow.

“You matter,” the man said, not forcefully just like it was a truth as old as the shop around them. “Not because of what you’ve done, or failed to do. Not because of who loves you or doesn’t. Just because you're here. Breathing. That’s enough.”

“I didn’t ask you to say that,” Rin snapped, sharper than intended. “This doesn’t concern you.”

The silence that followed felt deafening. Rin’s face twisted in shame almost immediately. “...Sorry,” he muttered, barely audible. “I didn’t mean—”

But the old man only lifted his cup again, as if nothing had happened. “S’alright,” he said calmly, blowing on his tea. “Pain lashes out when it’s cornered. I’m not so fragile that I’d take it personally.”

Rin stared at him. His throat ached. Something behind his ribs tightened painfully, and his vision blurred for half a second.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been kind without asking something in return.

The old man didn’t push. He just sipped his tea, eyes half-lidded, like this was any other evening, any other broken soul wandering in from the shore.

“You don’t have to believe me now,” the man said after a pause. “But you owe it to yourself to find something—anything that reminds you what it feels like to want to stay.”

Rin blinked. His fingers trembled around the ceramic.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he whispered. And for the first time, he sounded... young.

The man offered him the smallest of smiles. “Start with finishing your tea.”

The tea sat quietly between them, the air carrying the faint scent of roasted leaves and sea salt.

“I’ve owned this shop for almost thirty-four years,” the old man said suddenly, his voice soft, conversational.

Rin glanced up, startled a little by the break in silence.

“Opened it when I was twenty-six,” the man continued, staring distantly at the old wood shelves and paper walls. “I’d been working some grey, corporate job. Tired of fluorescent lights and tight collars and pretending I liked small talk. One day I walked out, bought this space with the little I had, and never looked back.”

Rin blinked. “You’ve never regretted it?”

The man smiled gently. “Not even once.”

There was a pause before the man looked at him again. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Rin murmured, holding his cup like it would steady him.

The man’s eyes softened. “I had a daughter around your age. Once.”

Rin hesitated. “Does she… does she work here too?”

The man gave a small, wistful smile and shook his head. “No. She passed away.”

Rin’s face faltered. “...I’m sorry for prying.”

“No need,” the man said easily. “You didn’t mean any harm.” He took another sip of tea before tilting his head. “So, tell me, why aren’t you home? It’s Thursday. Shouldn’t you be asleep, school tomorrow and all?”

“I don’t go to school,” Rin replied quietly. “I play football.”

“Ah,” the man hummed. “Does it have anything to do with that football project?”

Rin looked up, surprised he knew about it. “Yeah… it does.”

The man didn’t press. He only stood slowly, walked across the tatami floor, and slid open the paper door. A soft breeze rolled in, bringing the sound of the ocean and the scent of salt.

“Come,” he said, waving Rin over. “The view is worth it.”

Rin hesitated, then followed. They stood in silence for a moment, watching moonlight ripple across the water, white lines chasing the sand.

“You see the ocean?” the old man asked. “It never stops moving. Sometimes calm, sometimes violent, sometimes cruel. But it never asks for permission to keep being what it is.”

Rin frowned slightly. “I don’t get it.”

The man just smiled. “You will. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not for a while. But you will.”

There was another pause before the man asked gently, “What’s been weighing on your heart, boy?”

Rin stayed silent. The waves filled the space between them.

“Sometimes just saying it out loud can help,” the man said, his tone never pressuring. “Might feel less heavy, once it’s out of your chest.”

Rin stared at the horizon, the glow of the beach lights flickering on the waves. This man—this stranger had been more gentle than anyone he could remember. He didn’t know why he trusted him. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe the world was cruel and laughing at him. But he was so tired of being alone.

The man pulled out a cigarette and lit it with steady fingers. He offered the pack to Rin.

“I can’t,” Rin said hoarsely, “Not healthy. I need my body for football.”

The man shrugged and placed one on the table beside them anyway. “In case you change your mind.” Then he lit his own and blew smoke slowly into the breeze.

The seabreeze touched their faces. Rin closed his eyes and finally spoke.

“What would you do,” he began quietly, “if the only person who’s ever loved you left to chase their dreams? And when they failed and came back, they looked you in the eye and told you that you don’t belong anymore in that dream, like you were never part of it to begin with?”

The man didn’t answer. Just listened.

Rin’s voice cracked, “Even though he promised— he promised that we’d do it together. That we’d become the best in Japan. And now—now I feel like I have to prove something all the time. But no matter what I do… it’s never enough.”

His breathing started to quicken. “And then there’s this other guy. Objectively, I’m better. But my brother, he looks at him and says he has what it takes. Not me. Not us. Like everything we built meant nothing.”

Rin’s words were starting to tumble, one after the other. “And then I see them—smiling, laughing like I was never part of their world. And I’m just lying in bed, wasting away, watching everyone else rise, and I can’t bring myself to care anymore because… because it was never even my dream to begin with. It was ours. And now—now I don’t know what I’m even fighting for.”

His chest heaved, panic rising like a tide. “I’m just—so alone and—”

He didn’t notice the man move. Didn’t realize he was spiraling until he felt a steady arm wrap gently around his shoulder, anchoring him again.

“Breathe,” the man said softly, “You’re alright. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

Tears streamed down Rin’s face before he could stop them. His throat burned, chest tight. And without thinking—without even understanding why—he turned into the man’s side and clung to him.

The man let him. Said nothing. Just rubbed slow circles into his back, patient and calm, like he’d done this before.

“You’re not broken,” he murmured into Rin’s hair. “You’re just hurt.”

Rin gripped his sleeve, breath hitching.

“And you will be okay. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for a while. But you will be.”

And for the first time in years, Rin believed someone.

Even if just for a second.

Rin’s shoulders shook. His voice came out in broken pieces, like glass grinding against his throat.

“He told me to get lost…” he whispered. “Said I wasn’t necessary in his life anymore.”

The words hung heavy between them, too cruel to belong to someone who once promised him the world.

“I don’t want to play if it’s not with him,” Rin said, each word trembling. “He wanted to become the best striker in the world, and that was never meant for me—but I didn’t care. I was okay with being second. If he was first, I was okay with that. I swear.”

He pressed his fists into his eyes, trying to stop the flood. But it kept coming. The pain was rooted too deep.

“And now—now I’m here. I don’t know how much you know, but… I have offers. From Real Madrid and PSG. Me. I ended up first in the whole Blue Lock race.” He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, bitter and hollow. “So why? Why am I still not enough?”

He looked up at the man with eyes red and glassy, desperate for an answer he knew the old man couldn’t possibly have. “Is it my mindset? Is there something wrong with me? Because I—I just want to fix us. I want my brother back. But he doesn’t want me anymore.”

His voice cracked again, quieter now.

“And I just keep thinking… maybe everyone would be happier if I just disappeared from their lives.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the man’s arm around him tightened.

It wasn’t a squeeze of pity. It wasn’t a gesture of polite sympathy.

It was firm. Steady. As if to say

The man didn’t speak right away. He let the silence stretch just long enough to wrap around Rin like a blanket.

And then, softly—gently, with a warmth that felt like it could weather any storm—he said:

“You are not disposable.”

Rin shivered.

“You are not a mistake. Or a burden. Or something to be cut away just because someone else couldn’t see your worth.” He pulled back slightly to meet Rin’s eyes, his voice steady but kind. “Your brother’s blindness isn’t your fault.”

Rin opened his mouth, but no words came. The man continued.

“You could be standing on top of the world, gold at your feet, and it still wouldn’t matter, because what you wanted wasn’t the spotlight. It was him. The dream wasn’t football. The dream was doing it together.”

Rin looked away, tears welling again.

“And when someone you love tells you that you no longer have a place beside them,” the man said softly, “it breaks something. I know. I’ve lived long enough to see it in others… and to feel it myself.”

He reached up, brushing Rin’s hair back gently. “But you being hurt doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means you’re human.”

The wind rolled in again from the ocean. The tea inside had long since gone cold, forgotten. But the warmth in the man’s voice stayed.

“And Rin,” the man said, his voice quieter now, “you may not believe it tonight… but one day, you’ll realize this pain didn’t make you smaller. It made you stronger. Not for your brother. Not for the world. For you.”

Rin clutched his sleeve tighter.

“I just don’t know how to keep going like this.”

“You don’t have to know,” the man said, squeezing his shoulder. “You just have to take the next step. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s just waking up tomorrow.”

Rin closed his eyes.

And for the first time in what felt like forever… He let someone else carry the weight with him.

The world quieted again, the storm inside Rin slowly ebbing as the waves rolled in and out below. The night sky had begun to fade, stars softening into a pale blue as the first hints of dawn kissed the horizon.

They didn’t talk much after that.

The old man didn’t pry or push. He just sat beside Rin in silence, the two of them leaning slightly against the open window frame, their shoulders barely touching. The scent of salt in the air, the rhythmic hush of the ocean, and the occasional rustle of the tea shop’s old wooden walls became a lullaby of their own.

At some point, the man offered Rin a warm blanket. Rin didn’t protest. He draped it around his shoulders and sank deeper into the quiet.

It was… peaceful. Not the loud kind that tried to fix everything. But the gentle kind. The kind that just was.

And for Rin, that was more than enough.

When the horizon finally began to glow with the soft amber of sunrise, the old man stirred. He stood slowly, stretching his arms with a quiet groan, joints popping like old wood. Then he turned back to Rin, his expression calm and kind.

“You don’t have to say anything,” the man said gently. “But if you ever want tea again or just to sit in silence like this, I’m here. This place… it’s open to you. Always.”

Rin looked at him.

He didn’t smile. Not really. But something in his face softened. He gave a quiet, small nod, as if anything more would break whatever delicate peace had settled around them.

The old man smiled anyway, as if that single gesture meant the world.

They stayed there a little longer, the sun rising slow and steady, brushing gold across the water. The sea breeze was cool against their skin. The world, for once, asked for nothing from Rin. And Rin… didn’t try to give anything back.

He just existed. He just breathed.

Rin returned to the house the same way he had left it, silently, through his bedroom window, cloaked in darkness. The night air still clung to his skin, heavy and damp, but his body was running on borrowed fumes. Every bone ached, his head buzzed faintly, and yet, before he could collapse, he needed a shower. He swung one leg over the ledge and landed inside his room with the quiet precision of habit.

But the moment his feet hit the floor, his entire body tensed. Sitting on his bed, arms crossed, eyes unreadable and yet brimming with something volatile, was Sae.

The indifference on Sae’s face was a mask, but the sharp burning in his narrowed eyes betrayed him.

“Where have you been?” Sae asked, voice sharp like cracked ice.

Rin froze in place, muscles tightening, “What’s it to you?” he muttered, brushing past him.

But Sae was quicker. He reached out, grabbing Rin’s arm with a firm grip that made Rin flinch.

“You can’t just run from this,” Sae said. “And why the hell are you so thin? Have you even been eating?”

“Mind your business,” Rin snapped, yanking his arm free with more force than grace. He grabbed a fresh change of clothes and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Water roared to life. Steam began to curl upward, fogging the mirror, a welcome veil he didn’t dare disturb. He refused to look at himself. He couldn’t bear to see the bones that jutted out at wrong angles, or the hollowness in his cheeks. He had been doing so well a small run, a tiny step forward, but then Sae had to open his mouth. The golden brother, the self-righteous, flawless star… Pretending to care now?

Control. That’s all it ever was with Sae. Not care. Not concern. Just control.

The water hit his back, scalding. It stung, but he welcomed the burn.

By the time he stepped out, the air was thick and warm. Rin avoided the mirror again, towel slung low on his hips. He drifted like a ghost. He dressed quickly, slipped his phone into the charger, and pulled on his headphones like armor. Soft music poured in, drowning out the world. “R.I.P. 2 My Youth” by The Neighbourhood filled the hollow parts of his chest.

Eight more days. That was all he had. Eight days to fix everything. To fix himself.

Something shifted in him.

He threw open the windows, letting the late morning air rush in. The stale scent of his room was replaced by the crisp, clean scent of wind and far-off leaves. He stripped the bed, throwing the old sheets into a basket along with his dirty clothes. As the washing machine hummed to life, he wiped down every surface, tossed out empty bottles and plates, and vacuumed every corner of his room.

He doused himself in deodorant, added a splash of cologne, and then nearly asphyxiated after spraying so much air freshener around the room. At least now it smelled vaguely human, better than the rotting-corpse stench that had clung to it before.

When he finished, he slid into a cross-legged position on the floor, letting his headphones guide him into yoga. The first stretch pulled at his spine, his hips, his legs and something loosened. He missed this. The ache, the sweat, the control over his body. It was like remembering how to breathe.

The hour-long run that followed was effortless. His legs moved like they remembered who he used to be. But by the time he blinked and looked up, he realized he had run back to that place. The small shop with the kind-eyed man.

He turned to leave, embarrassed, but the old man had already seen him.

“Good morning, kid,” the man called out from the doorway, smiling. “Back again?”

“Good morning… sorry, if I’m overstepping,” Rin mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

“No worries, you're not ,” the man chuckled. “Got any plans today?”

Rin shook his head slowly, unsure of what was happening.

“Well then,” the man said, opening the door wider, “Fridays are always the busiest. How about giving me a hand?”

Rin nodded, unsure why his chest suddenly felt warm.

“Before you start — have you eaten already?” the man asked, peering at him knowingly.

Rin hesitated, lips parting. He wanted to lie. But the man had been nothing but kind to him, and the lie caught in his throat.

“Not yet,” he admitted quietly.

“That’s what I thought,” the man said, patting his shoulder. “Sit. I’ll make you something.”

Before Rin could argue, there was food in front of him. A warm plate, a cup of tea, and a second chair pulled out across from him. The man sat, watching him with gentle patience.

Rin didn’t realize how ravenous he was until he took the first bite. His hands shook slightly as he ate.

“Take your time,” the man said. “No rush. When was the last time you had a real meal?”

Rin didn’t answer at first. But the older man didn’t look away his silence was soft, but persistent.

“I… I don’t know,” Rin whispered. “Can’t remember.”

The man sighed, not in frustration but in something like grief. “It’s alright, kid. But you need to start taking better care of yourself.”

Rin nodded, caught off guard by how much the words meant to him.

That day became something else entirely.

And then… it became routine.

Morning yoga. A run. Helping out at the shop. Tea and food with the old man. Another run in the evening. Rinse and repeat. The man insisted on paying Rin, but he refused, money wasn’t the point. So the man made sure Rin was fed. Breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner if Rin stuck around. He didn’t push. He didn’t pry. Just gave Rin space to be human.

Rin’s body filled out. His skin didn’t look so pale anymore. His energy returned. He even started training again not for anyone else, but because he wanted to.

It didn’t feel so empty anymore. Not so lonely. But then, like life always does, it threw in the unpredictable.

Rin was about to head out for his morning run when his mother called from the kitchen.

“Sweetie! Dinner’s here tonight, okay? Sae’s friend is coming over.”

Rin paused at the front door, “Huh? He has friends?”

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, Not that I can talk, my only friend’s a sixty-something year-old tea shop owner.

His mom gave him a look sharp enough to cut glass.

Rin raised both hands, “Alright, alright, I’ll be there.”

Later, at the shop, Rin mentioned it while drying cups.

“Uncle, I can’t stay too long today. Got dinner plans.”

“Oh?” the old man said with a teasing glint. “Any young ladies involved?”

Rin flushed, waving his hand. “No! Just my brother’s weird guest or whatever.”

“Ah, I see,” the man said knowingly, “Though I didn’t think your brother had the patience for people.”

Rin snorted. “Yeah, same. He barely tolerates me, and I'm his brother. Honestly, I’m shocked.”

The man gave him a look, “What did I say about using humor to cope?”

Rin’s grin faded a little, “Right, right. But I can’t just be sad all the time either.”

When dinner time neared, Rin went for a short run to clear his head. He showered, dressed in something neat, he didn’t want to give his mother a reason to scold him.

The doorbell rang just as he descended the stairs. He saw Sae heading to the door, heard his calm, polite tone of greeting.

Then he saw who stepped inside. The time had stopped.

What the fuck…?

Of all people. Of all the goddamn people in the world… Sae had invited Shidou.

Rin’s jaw clenched. His chest felt like it cracked in half. He said nothing. He turned, walked calmly to the sink, and began washing his hands like nothing had happened. His mother called for help setting the table. Rin nodded, expression blank.

Dinner was quiet at first. The clink of dishes. The occasional word passed between Sae and their parents. The soft murmur of conversation. Shidou, ever comfortable, talked just enough to keep things from falling into silence.

Weirdly he wasn’t acting as loud as Rin knew him to behave. He sat there with the ease of someone who had already been here before. Not just in this house, in this space. This place Rin had spent years carving out for himself.

Sae didn’t say much, but when he did, it was in that same flat composed voice, devoid of any sort of emotion. “We trained together during the break. He’s efficient.”

“That’s a surprise,” Rin’s father said. “He seems a little... high-energy.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sae replied. “He gets results.”

Shidou laughed softly, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

I hope you die.

Their mother chuckled, setting a dish closer to Shidou’s side, “Well, we’re glad to have you over, Ryusei-kun. You’re welcome anytime.”

Rin stared down at his plate. Every part of the meal had been carefully prepared, a warm, home-cooked dish. It should have tasted good, delicious even. But on his tongue, everything was wrong.

Rice tasted like paste. Fish like rubber. The vegetables turned to bitter water the second they hit his tongue.

He didn’t speak. Not until his mother nudged him, gently, “Rin, you’re being so quiet today.”

He didn’t look up, “I’m eating.”

Shidou tilted his head just enough to look over, “Still a little sharp around the edges, huh? That’s our Rin.”

Our.

Rin kept chewing. He didn’t look up. Not when Shidou spoke. Not when Sae acknowledged him with a brief glance and then looked away like there was nothing else to say.

There was something about it all, the flow of conversation, the way their parents took to Shidou, the way Sae didn’t object, that made Rin feel like he was outside of it all.

Like he had already been quietly replaced.

That kind of familiarity, the passing mentions, the absence of tension between Sae and Shidou, it could only come from time. Not one training session. Not a handshake. It came from something that had been growing for weeks, maybe longer.

When?

How long?

Why didn’t anyone tell him?

He thought of every fight they’d had. Every time Shidou shoved him, mocked him, spat something vile right in his face. And now he was here. Sitting between Rin’s parents. Talking to Sae like they were teammates. Equals.

Sae. The same brother who used to pull him behind his legs when strangers got too close. The same brother who once cut off friends for speaking poorly of Rin. Who used to care.

Or maybe that was a version Rin invented. A memory he’d wanted to be true. Because the man sitting across the table now wasn’t protecting him. He wasn’t even lookingat him.

And it hurt.

God, it hurt so much.

But Rin didn’t say a word.

He didn’t flinch when Shidou caught his eye and smirked. He didn’t react when their mother laughed at something Shidou said. He didn’t wince when their father asked Shidou if he was staying the night.

He just ate.

Even though every bite tasted like wet paper.

He sat upright.

Even though his spine was tired and his neck begged to drop.

He said nothing.

Even though every cell in his chest was screaming.

Because if he broke, if he showed even a crack they’d see. And worse, they might pity him. And Rin would not be pittied.

So he kept his composure and kept on eating. Kept on existing in the corner of a table he used to be the center of.

His dignity was the only thing left in this house that still belonged to him.

After dinner, Rin robotically helped his mom clear the table. He didn’t argue when she handed him dishes or asked him to rinse the plates. He just nodded, cleaned and dried them, went through the motions because it was easier than thinking. Easier than feeling and dealing with those emotions.

The clink of ceramic on porcelain felt a thousand decibels too loud.

He left Sae and Shidou behind in the living room. They were on the couch now, low voices mingling like a private frequency Rin couldn’t tune into. Something intimate in the way they spoke, as if they shared a language he didn’t — couldn’t understand.

Rin paused at the base of the stairs and looked back.

Just once.

Shidou’s arm curled around Sae’s shoulders, casual and careless. Sae didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift. He just batted it away like it was routine like they did this all the time.

Like Rin wasn’t even in the goddamn room.

That was enough.

That was the confirmation. The nail in the coffin. Everything Rin had tried not to believe, not to see, was right there out in the open, like it had always been that way. Like he was the one trespassing.

He wasn’t important anymore.

Maybe he never had been.

The moment he turned, it hit him a wave of nausea, sharp and sudden like a punch to the stomach. The air felt colder, thinner. His skin broke out in goosebumps that hurt. He stumbled upstairs like a marionette with frayed strings, legs too long and foreign under him. The lights overhead were too bright, too sharp the white of them slicing his vision into static.

He barely made it to the bathroom. The second the door shut behind him, his knees buckled and he was on the floor, hunched over the toilet. Vomit tore out of him rice, soup, acid, air. His stomach clenched again and again until there was nothing left but dry heaving and spit. He choked on every breath, chest spasming, his throat raw.

He slammed his palm against the tile. Again. Again. The pain gave him something to hold onto.

But it wouldn’t stop. His breath wouldn’t come right. It kept catching, glitching. The panic built like a scream trying to claw its way out of his ribcage. He couldn’t focus. The walls were too tight. His lungs were too small. His head buzzed with static and all his muscles locked one giant knot of tension strung too tight to breathe.

He pressed his forehead to the cold tile and gasped like he was drowning.

This wasn’t happening again.

Not again.

His reflection in the mirror looked wrong. Eyes glassy and red. Cheeks blotched. His lips moved but made no sound.

“I was doing better,” he rasped. “I was—fuck—I was better.”

But the tile didn’t care. The silence didn’t care.

And neither did Sae.

Rin stayed like that, convulsing in fits of shallow, jagged breaths until the edges of his vision blurred and his fingertips tingled. Cold sweat soaked his shirt, clung to his spine. His legs trembled violently. His hands were ice. His heart beat like it wanted to break free of his chest and run without him.

He didn’t shower. Didn’t speak. Just dragged himself upright with all the grace of a corpse.

He threw on sweatpants and a hoodie not even checking if they matched. Shoved his battered cleats on. Grabbed his football. His wallet. Opened the window. Wedged a book in the frame.

And then he ran.

Through the suburban dark. Past flickering streetlights. Past fences and gardens and sleeping dogs. His cleats scraped and clicked against the pavement so loud in the quiet of the night, but he didn’t stop. He ran like his body was trying to outrun his mind.

You won’t ruin me again.

He bit it between his teeth. Again. Again. A mantra. A promise to himself.

I don’t care anymore.

It that was a lie, because his chest was still cracking. His hands were still shaking. And he was still ruining himself, piece by piece.

He hit the public field like a missile. Rin didn’t bother to stretch, he just shot the just ball down and started playing. The lights overhead buzzed, one flickering erratically like it couldn’t decide whether to live or die.

He played like he was trying to destroy the ground. Kicked until his shins screamed. Dribbled until his knees collapsed. Shot until his muscles locked up and his lungs burned.

He didn’t care. Couldn’t afford to care.

His hoodie stuck to him, soaked through. His breath came in gasps, rough and high, like a dog left out in the heat.

He collapsed eventually, body twitching in the grass, shoes caked in mud, eyes locked on a sky that felt way too big.

But the hollowness still sat in him. A black hole. A crater with no bottom. So he got up and walked to the 7/11 .

He looked like hell. Dirt-streaked pants. Sweat-drenched hair. Socks halfway down his calves. His brain felt sharp-edged now, jittery, like someone had scraped it raw and left the nerves exposed.

He bought two cans of energy drink and a protein bar, all impulsively. He stopped in his track when he saw them. Packs of cigarettes lined the shelf behind the counter they were white with bold red lettering that read Winston on them. He stared at them for exactly three seconds before making up his mind. Fuck it. At the register, the clerk didn’t bother asking for his age or checking his ID. He just slipped the pack into a bag and handed it over, and Rin left the store without a word

Each step toward the beach felt final. The night smelled of salt and distant gasoline. Wind tugged at his hoodie, cold and humid. The sky above him was ink-black and trembling with faint stars.

He found a spot where the stretch of sand where the waves curled in close, where it felt like they were whispering to him.

He sat and lit the cigarette with shaking fingers. His first drag made him cough so violently he doubled over. His lungs spasmed, his throat scorched.

He lit it again.

Tried again.

And this time… it stayed.

The smoke was awful. So bitter and chemical it clawed down his throat like punishment, but it stilled something in him quieted the tremor in his hands, softened the tightness in his chest.

And that’s when it hit him.

This is it.

The point of no return.

He’d stepped across the line the one he swore he never would. Sae would hate this.

If he ever found out, he wouldn’t yell. Wouldn’t cry. He’d just go quiet. Look at Rin like he didn’t recognize him anymore and probably be disappointed.

He should stop. Should throw it in the sand. Should walk away, he didn’t though, instead Rin took another drag … and another.

Each one chipped something off his soul and still he didn’t stop.

Because he didn’t know how. Because something inside him had snapped, and now all he could do was move jittery and cracked open and glowing from the inside like a live wire.

His thoughts started racing. Things he could do, places to run, maybe fly somewhere, maybe dye his hair, maybe break into the gym and train until sunrise. The world felt huge and glittering, like maybe it mattered again like he could claw his way back to something real if he just moved faster.

But then it shifted.

All at once.

His heart slowed. His head got heavy. The energy drained like a plug had been pulled in his chest.

And all that was left was ash.

The crash came hard. He stared out at the black ocean, cigarette burning low between his fingers, salt stinging his eyes.

The water glimmered silver under the moonlight. It smelled like rust and nostalgia. The waves licked his feet, cold and endless.

He curled his arms around his knees, “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know who it was for, maybe Sae, maybe it was to himself, some younger version of him that believed there’d be a future.

Here on the sand, with the sky cracked wide and the sea breathing like something alive the quiet finally felt honest.

The cigarette trembled between his fingers as the wind picked up. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there. The second one was already half ash. The burn in his throat had dulled to something tolerable, familiar, even. He didn’t like the taste, but he liked what it did to him. The static sting it gave his mind to buzz against.

At least it made him feel something.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t move at first.

It buzzed again.

Rin sighed, exhaling smoke through his nose.

Another buzz. Seems like the person trying to contact him was annoyingly persistent. He flicked ash into the sand and finally dug it out.

Unknown Number. French country code.

Weird.

He glanced at the screen while taking another drag, not expecting anything meaningful a scam call or spam. Maybe Ego sending him another unhinged all-caps monologue about the grit.

That was his assumption until he read what the message said

+33 xxxx xx xx xx

Hello, Rin.
I hope I'm not bothering you too much, it's almost my cousin's birthday, he'll turn 8 and you’re his favourite from Blue Lock. Would it be possible for you to record a video where you wish him a happy birthday? I can totally understand if I’m asking too much and you don’t want to.

Rin blinked.

Loki?

He read the message again just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. But no, it was definitely him. Rin didn’t get him. He was a good player as much as he hated to admit it, and not the worst person Rin had ever met, which was saying something. But he was unpredictable. Like a stray cat that brought you a mouse and stared at you like it did you a favour.

Rin still didn’t understand why Loki had brought him up to the rooftop once after practice and shared some weird French snack with him. Just casually broke it in half and handed it over, as if that was a thing people did. Then after the NEL ended, Loki kept sending more. Sometimes with a note. Just occasional deliveries of sugar-coated pastries and crumbly chocolate bars to Rin’s locker like it was normal.

Now this?

Rin stared at the message for a long moment. Took one last drag and let the cigarette burn down between his fingers. Then, with a tired sigh, he started typing.

+88 xxxx xx xx xx

What's his name?

Short and direct just as he liked it to be. Maybe a bit hostile but Loki should know better than to expect any form of kindness from him, at least it a no.

The response came fast. It was a bit weird of fast Loki replied to messages.

+33 xxxx xx xx xx

His name is Jules! Jules with an “s.” His parents are annoying but he’s a good kid, promise. He tries to copy your haircut and ends up looking like a sea urchin.

Rin huffed. That wasn’t funny, technically. But… okay. Maybe it was a little bit funny.

He looked at the message again and felt something weird tug behind his ribs. Jules. Eight years old. Trying to copy his hair. That felt… surreal. Someone that young looking up to him, thinking he was worth imitating.

Rin crushed the cigarette into the sand and typed again.

+88 xxxx xx xx xx

Alright. I’ll record it later.

He hovered for a second, then added:

When's his birthday?

Loki replied instantly.

+33 xxxx xx xx xx

Next Tuesday! I’ll give him the video that morning so he can scream about it at school. But only if you say “Jules,” otherwise he’ll tell me I got scammed and cry. Dramatic little shit.

+88 xxxx xx xx xx

You’re kind of annoying, you know that?

+33 xxxx xx xx xx

So I’ve been told

Rin rolled his eyes. Could practically hear the grin behind that message. He should’ve been pissed. Instead, he found himself… exhaling. Like some part of him unclenched. The numbness was still there, dull and heavy, but Loki’s messages sparked something through it. A faint static that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

The guy was weird.

Nice, maybe, but definitely odd.

He wouldn’t say that out loud. Not even under torture. Not even if Loki held a gun to his head and made him recite it in four languages.

Rin opened the camera app. Stared at himself for a second. His hair was a mess. Hoodie half-zipped. Sand and ash on his knees. He looked like he’d been hit by a truck.

He’d clean up first. Record it after training tomorrow. but he would record it.

Maybe, for once in his life, Rin just wanted to be the reason someone smiled. He was so tired of being the reason they looked disappointed.