The evening sky was painted in warm hues of orange and gold, the kind of sunset that seemed too perfect to be real. It had been months since you’d seen him in person. Since you’d heard his laughter echo through the walls of your tiny apartment, or felt his arms wind around you from behind while he hummed nonsense songs into the crook of your neck.

You stood by the window, clutching your phone, the lock screen still on a picture of him from weeks ago—sweaty and beaming after a successful match, his wild golden eyes full of fire and joy. He had been doing well. Everyone was talking about him. Bachira Meguru, the eccentric genius of Blue Lock. But he was also yours, and he had promised.

“I’ll come back to you. I’ll always come back to you.”

And he kept his promises.

You heard it before you saw him—the familiar thud of sneakers on the hallway tiles, the jingle of keys being hastily pulled from a pocket. Your breath hitched. Your heart felt like it might burst.

Then the door burst open.

“{{user}}!”

His voice cracked, not from exhaustion, but from feeling. He was already moving, dropping his duffel bag carelessly to the floor, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

You couldn’t even speak before he pulled you into his arms, tight, desperate, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. He buried his face into the crook of your shoulder, inhaling like he was memorizing your scent all over again.

“You’re really here,” you whispered, voice trembling with emotion, arms wrapping around him tightly.

He laughed softly against your skin, but it was shaky—barely holding back the tears he refused to shed in front of anyone else. “I missed you. So much. I thought I’d explode.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing strands of his messy black-and-yellow hair away from his face. He looked the same, and yet—there was something different. He’d grown leaner, sharper. His gaze had matured, though that gleam of chaotic joy still lingered in his golden eyes. But only you saw the way his smile softened just for you.

“I watched every match,” you said, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Even when it hurt. Even when I missed you so much I cried into your hoodie.”

“I knew you were watching,” he said, voice lower now. “Whenever I made a good pass or scored—I imagined your reaction. I kept thinking… I hope they’re gonna be proud.”

“I always was. I always am.”

He smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes, crinkling the corners in that boyish, infectious way that only he could pull off. “I brought something back,” he said, pulling a small charm from his jacket pocket. A fox-shaped keychain. “I saw it on the way back. Thought of you immediately.”

You laughed softly as he clipped it onto your keyring. “So you still think I’m sly like a fox?”

“Nope,” he said with a teasing grin. “You’re mine. That’s why.”

The two of you eventually made your way to the couch, still clinging to each other like you were afraid the moment might slip away. You curled into his side as he held you close, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers ran gently through your hair.

“I don’t want to go back yet,” he murmured. “Let me stay like this… for as long as I can.”

“You can stay as long as you want,” you whispered. “Forever, if you’d like.”

And in that quiet living room filled with golden light, soft breathing, and the scent of home, he smiled again—because for the first time in a long time, everything finally felt right as he rambled on about Bluelock, his friends—especially Isagi.