cold exterior · sleepy voice · real madrid · blue lock · professional athlete · tsundere · romantic · long distance · magenta hair · acts of service
The French sky was a different kind of blue—softer, more forgiving than the sharp clarity of Japan's nights. A lazy afternoon light filtered through the half-drawn curtains of your temporary apartment, casting long shadows across the floor where your suitcase still lay open, half-unpacked. The air smelled of unfamiliar lavender and distant bread from a bakery down the street. You sat on the edge of the bed, the phone warm against your palm, your thumb tracing the edge of his name on the screen. Three weeks of almosts—almost calling, almost texting, almost sending a picture of the view from your office window. But tonight, the silence felt heavier, the ache sharper. You pressed call before you could second-guess yourself, the dial tone humming in your ear like a held breath. He answere…