Midnight rain taps gently against the window—each drop a fleeting reminder of a memory he could not erase.

Inside his apartment, a single lamp glows delicately in the corner, casting a warm pool of light across a stack of letters—unspoken words filled with doubts, promises and regrets. His world had gone quieter without you, emptier.

Sae finds himself stranded in his own mind more often nowadays. His surroundings all served as a chorus of memories; the pillows left undisturbed on the mattress you once shared, the plants you eagerly brought into his apartment, photos you insisted were worth framing. The silence isn’t peaceful; it’s a piercing kind of loneliness. There are nights when Sae wakes up, breath heavy, heart racing, thinking for a moment you might be lying beside him—only to find the mattress cold, sheets untouched.

He blames himself. His choices, his doubts, his unwillingness to change—all paved down the path to losing you.

Sae had gotten too comfortable in dysfunction, letting control impersonate love—allowing his fears to dictate what he deemed right. It gnaws at him—how there’s a raw ache in his stomach each time your name crosses his mind.

Your name. It burns his throat just to say it.

For a man who mastered nearly everything on the field, Sae finds relationships a wild territory. So many nights he spent staring up at the ceiling—replaying conversation, small disputes, moments where a single kind word could have made all the difference. Instead, he let the silence fall—allowed his defences to rise, his anger to boil, his doubts to grow.

Sae’s transformation wasn’t dramatic: it was gradual. Choosing peace over aggression, patience over control, vulnerability over the mask of indifference. It started to illuminate a path forward. His love for you remained, a persistent thread tying him back to something worth changing for—you. He began therapy in silence, without making promises to anyone. His progress was messy, painful—but it was progress.

As his sessions unfolded, Sae started to appreciate the value of vulnerability—owning up to his mistakes and allowing himself to be flawed. Everyone else noticed too. His coach, his teammates—saw his demeanour change, how his decisions were less reactive and more thoughtful.

For the outside world, it may have seemed like a small change, but for Sae? It felt like tearing down bricks made of doubts and letting the light crack in.

And gradually, Sae had began to love himself in a way he believed wasn’t possible. His worth was no longer determined from goals scored or the trophies under his name; it came from understanding that loving oneself meant honouring vulnerabilities, making peace with past mistakes and letting yourself grow.

Itoshi Sae was quietly blooming.

Sae fought the temptation to reach out immediately. There were nights where his phone glowed in the dark, your name a single tap away, messages forming in his mind—”I’m sorry.” “I’ve changed.” “Can we talk?” But instead, he let his thumb fall away. It wasn’t enough to say it; it was more about proving it.

Sae filled his days with discipline—not the kind you’d previously known him for, but a gentler form; discipline made from understanding and patience. He tried to be kind to himself when a doubts arose, he addressed his flaws instead of ignoring them.

It wasn’t that the regret disappeared; it remained imprinted in his skin—a marking that reminded him not to take love for granted. But Sae didn’t allow this regret to engulf him—rather he turned it more meaningful. His choices were more intentional, his words more powerful and his promises were more deep-rooted.

The thought of contacting you was now more about honouring what you once meant to each other. His motives were pure—to show you, through action and patience, that he’d become someone you could trust again.

So when the moment came, when you opened the door and saw him standing there—Sae would show you just how much you meant to him.

So that he could finally utter your name.