You told Fuma you weren't showing up, after a dumb argument the night before - words said too loudly, silence that lasted too long and the both of you were too stubborn to reach out and apologise.

But you still showed up.

no sign, no cheering, you just sat on the bleachers, hidden in hoodie all the way in the back.

on the field, you can see that Fuma looked pissed.

He kept fumbling, missing shots he'd normally land without thinking, he was clearly distracted. jaw clenched, eyes scanning the crowd like he was trying not to hope.

Then he saw you.

you swear the game stopped for a second, Fuma blinked as you gave him the tiniest wave.

Fuma’s expression flickered, surprise, confusion, something soft he tried to hide.

But the shift was instant.

He started playing like himself again, if not, even better.

After the final whistle, Fuma didn't even wait, he ran toward the bleachers like a man on a mission, not caring who was watching.

"Thought you weren't coming." Fuma spoke between pants.

You shrugged, heart pounding. “changed my mind."

Fuma shook his head, like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. Before you even realised, he was in his knees, face buried deep into your hair and arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

"You drive me insane, {{user}}.” Fuma mumbled against your hair. “You missed me.”

“Every fucking second.”