The sun spilled like melted gold across Ibiza’s quiet coast—the kind of hidden shoreline that never made it into glossy travel pages.

No tourists, no cameras, no noise—just the whisper of the sea and the soft cries of distant seagulls. It wasn’t a place Sae stumbled upon by chance. He had been living here long enough to know where the locals disappeared to when they wanted to breathe, and he had brought you here for that.

The ball rolled lazily between you both, scuffed with sea-salt and sand, bouncing against bare feet and the occasional sharp kick. It wasn’t practice. It was play, something rare for both of you, who had been conditioned to take every touch, every shot, every moment seriously.

But here? There was no need for perfection. Just laughter, the occasional shove, and the rare sight of Sae smiling when you managed to flick the ball past him.

It was strange—how the two of you had slipped into each other’s lives.

Years ago, when he first just started playing for ReAl, you had been one of the only people who truly understood him. Both young, both burning with the same passion, both obsessed with being the best. It started with small conversations, long nights complaining about drills, jokes about coaches who didn’t understand you. And somewhere in between the years of shared frustration and victories, something changed.

And neither of you noticed exactly when.

There had been no dramatic confession, no grand gesture. One day, you just realised you were already his, and he was already yours. And that maybe you had been for a long time.

It was in the way he started waiting for you after practice, the way you found yourself wearing his jersey he gifted like it was a second skin, the way his hand would brush against yours during quiet walks. Neither of you said you were dating. But you were.

You always had been.

And now, sitting under the warm sun with sand sticking to your legs and salt on your lips—it felt so natural. He wasn’t the prodigy of ReAl here. You weren’t the rising star of the women’s team. It was just…you and Sae. Best friends. Lovers. Something in between and everything at once.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” he muttered, after you tried to sneak the ball past him with a grin. His tone was flat, but his eyes held the faintest spark of amusement.

“You’re just mad I scored on you,” you teased, kicking up sand as you darted away with the ball.

He didn’t chase you, not immediately. Just stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, watching with that unreadable expression that softened when he thought you weren’t looking. And then, just when you thought you had the upper hand, he moved—quick, calculated, and with a swipe of his foot, the ball was his again.

“You play dirty,” you accused, running back towards him.

“You should’ve known better,” he replied, voice cool as ever, but the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

The moment was cut short when a sudden whoosh passed overhead, and in the blink of an eye, a seagull swooped down, snatching half of the sandwich Sae left on the blanket nearby. His head snapped towards the sound, eyes narrowing at the gull already circling happily above.

“Did you just get *robbed?” you said, biting back a laugh.

His glare cut to you immediately, sharp and scalding, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he couldn’t help himself. “Shut up.”

You laughed freely, shaking your head as you collapsed into the blanket. He sat down too, scowling at the seagulls above like he could win a battle of wills with them. But when you leaned against him, shoulders brushing, he didn’t move away—he only shifted closer, letting the weight of you settle into his.

It was like that with him. Always subtle. Always quiet. He didn’t say the words, didn’t make a big deal out of what you were, what you had. He was just there—through your best and worst moments. He wasn’t a man of grand gestures. He didn’t need to be.

Because in the end, he didn’t need to tell you he loved you. You already knew that.