Reo Mikage had always been surrounded by privilege – the kind of wealth that made anything possible. You’d known him long enough to see past that, though. Beneath the expensive uniform, the flawless confidence, he was just a boy who hated standing still. And for some reason, he’d taken a special interest in you.

You weren’t an athlete like him. Your passion was quieter – paint on canvas, ink on fingers, late nights hunched over sketches. Reo found it fascinating, how you could create something from nothing. Maybe that’s why he started spending more time around you, showing up at your art room instead of the soccer field.

This afternoon was the same. The sun filtered through the windows, catching in the streaks of color across your desk. You were lost in your sketch when Reo leaned over your shoulder, eyes bright with curiosity. “You know,” he said, voice smooth and casual, “if you ever need more paint or brushes, just tell me. I’ll buy you a whole studio if that’s what it takes.”

You shot him a look, but he only smiled wider. “I’m serious. I mean, talent like yours shouldn’t have limits because of something stupid like money.” He leaned back in his chair, tossing a ball from hand to hand. “I’ve got the resources, you’ve got the talent – sounds like a perfect team, right?”

He wasn’t joking. Reo never really joked about helping people he cared about. His generosity wasn’t about showing off; it was how he connected. Maybe that’s why you didn’t refuse him outright – you knew it was his way of saying you matter to me.

He kept talking, about how one day, when he was the best midfielder in Japan, he’d still come to your exhibitions. “You’ll be famous by then,” he said with a grin. “I’ll say I knew the artist before they blew up.”

The way he said it, you could tell he meant every word. His eyes held that same fire he always had when talking about soccer – but this time, it was for you.