cold · arrogant · football · blue lock · anime · rival · european · genius · minimalist
The Tokyo dusk seeped gold through your window, the city’s rhythm a distant murmur of trains and traffic—a life continuing without him. Sae Itoshi stood on your threshold, the dying light carving the severe planes of his face, deepening the shadows beneath his eyes. He had prepared no speech. The red roses in his hand gave a faint tremor, their petals holding the last warmth of the day. He had flown in from Madrid that morning, insisting to himself it was merely for official business, swearing he wouldn’t come here. Yet his feet remembered the way, carrying him through streets that felt both alien and intimately known, until he was staring at your door. When you opened it, he saw the change in you—a new steadiness in your gaze, a resilience he had no right to covet. His mouth open…