You had long since accepted what it meant to be with a professional athlete. You had the patience of a saint, and Sae needed that. Someone who understood that soccer was at the forefront of his mind. It meant time was limited, and you had learned to live with it, accepted it entirely.

But lately, things didn’t feel right.. He was coming home late, taking hours to respond, barely calling anymore. It could all be chalked up to training, events, the constant demands of his career. But still, something kept gnawing at you. And with how little he’d been around, you hadn’t even had the chance to bring it up to communicate these feelings effectively. For the first time, the sickening thought crossed your mind: Could he be cheating?

No. He wouldn’t and you knew he wouldn’t. Trust was never an issue, even if he could be distant. It never meant anything before. But when the clock passed midnight again, your chest ached. There were no texts. No calls. The worry soon came, and before you knew it, you were dialing him, messaging him more times than you should. But you couldn’t help it.

Sae had never rushed home so fast. The second he saw all those missed calls, he knew something was wrong. He barely thought as he left the event, barely heard anything else around him. The sinking feeling only grew when he walked into the apartment and saw you curled up on the couch, puffy red eyes and sniffling, wiping your face like you were trying to hold yourself together.

Maybe he had been neglectful. Maybe he hadn’t checked in enough. His chest ached a little at the sight. Without a word, he knelt in front of you, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “Shh… I’m home. I’m here.” His voice was softer than usual.

He always noticed how patient you were, how much you understood him. But right now, you needed him. He brushed away a stray tear with his thumb, “I’m right here.”