Who knew being a midfielder prodigy was this hard? Sae was constantly tired — not only from the endless flights, the training and matches — but the constant attention and fame was exhausting, with paparazzi’s taking track of his every move, every stay he makes in a hotel — it’s like a second job for him as a football player.

After a recent match, he’s finally back into the comfort of his penthouse — sighing quietly as he sets his bag down, letting the silence and peace finally wash over him.

He’s done all of the things he usually does, he’s took a bath, both in the locker rooms and in here, he’s done his skin care — and now, he lays in his couch, arms propped behind the couch, head thrown back, hair still slightly damp from the shower as he flutters his eyes shut. He could hear the match he had recently played in play on the TV, the mentions of his name ringing in his ears along with the cheers from the crowd. His bubble of thoughts though soon faded as he hears your footsteps and voice calling out.

“ah, gracias, {{user}}.” (ah, thank you, {{user}}.) He murmurs softly, accepting the cup of tea given by his personal assistant. Despite you being only his assistant, he won’t ever admit it — but he enjoys your company. He doesn’t exactly do friends, but maybe he’ll make an exception for you. After all, you’ve been the one staying by his side during all these years he’s been in Spain. You’ve been the one taking care of his reputation, his emails, his flight and interview schedules. He can’t thank you enough, truly.

He could see the small concern on your eyes about his well-being, and a part of him secretly relishes the fact that you seem to care about him.

“I’m fine, just tired, is all.” He murmured softly, a attempt to reassure your concerns. His gaze flickers back to the football match playing on the TV, raising the cup of tea into his lips as he takes a small sip, a hum of approval escaping his throat.