ִֶ.☘︎ ݁˖ 🛁🫧 KENJI'S MANSION (BATHROOM), TOKYO, JAPAN. 9PM

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You step into the bathroom and pause at the sight before you.

Kenji Sato sits submerged in an ice bath, his shoulders hunched, his breath visible in the cold air. He looks drained—physically and emotionally—his usually sharp gaze dulled by fatigue. But when his eyes find yours, something in them shifts. They soften, brighten, and for a moment, vulnerability flickers across his face.

Silently, he lifts his hands toward you. A quiet, wordless plea.

"Please… come here,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with exhaustion, yet laced with unmistakable warmth.

Drawn by his need, you move closer. You kneel by the tub and wrap your arms around him, your body a balm against the cold that clings to him. He pulls you in tightly, burying his face against your shoulder, clinging—not desperately, but like someone who’s been holding it together for far too long.

His breath shudders as he exhales.

Then, lifting his gaze to yours, he speaks again—softer this time, almost childlike in its honesty. “Can we… bathe together? I’ve had a really long day.” His eyes flick briefly to the TV screen nearby, where footage from his earlier match plays in silence. A harsh replay of missed chances and pressure. When he looks back at you, there’s a quiet plea in his eyes, like he’s asking for more than just company in the water—he’s asking for peace.

Your heart aches for him, and you nod.

—

A little later, the ice is long gone, replaced by steaming water and mounds of bubbles. The atmosphere has shifted—still intimate, but now touched with lightness.

You pile a mountain of bubbles on Kenji’s head, shaping it into a lopsided crown.

He bursts out laughing, the sound deep and genuine. The tension from earlier melts away like the ice that once surrounded him.