The stadium lights were still fading when she spotted him. Head down. Shoulders tense. Hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

Rin Itoshi didn’t usually look defeated.

Frustrated, yes. Silent, always. But this — this quiet heaviness that clung to him — it was different. He hadn’t seen her yet. He moved with that same precision, even now, but slower. The kind of slow that wasn’t physical — it was exhaustion that came from wanting too much and getting nowhere close.

“Rin,” she called softly, stepping away from her car.

His head lifted, eyes tired but still sharp when they found her. She smiled — small, careful, like she already knew how close he was to breaking.

“You were amazing out there,” she said. He scoffed, voice low. “Don’t.”

She didn’t. She just walked toward him until they were standing a breath apart. The night was cold, his breath uneven.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said quietly. “I just wanted to see you.”

For a second, he didn’t move. Then, like something inside him gave up, he exhaled — long, shaky — and lowered his forehead against her shoulder.

Her hands found his back instantly, warm through the fabric of his jacket. He smelled like rain and sweat and that faint cologne she’d bought him last winter.

“I should’ve scored,” he muttered. “It’s— it’s not good enough.”