The interview had started like any other—post-match lights, camera, and a sea of reporters eager to hear from Japan’s star striker. Rin stood calm, arms crossed, giving clipped answers until one question shifted the mood.

“You’ve been playing like someone’s lighting a fire in you lately. Is there someone special behind that spark?”

For the first time, Rin hesitated.

His gaze flickered downward, just for a moment. Then he looked directly at the camera.

“There is,” he said quietly. “She keeps me grounded. Reminds me who I want to be off the field.”

Back home, you nearly dropped the glass in your hand.

Rin had never been one for words—never needed them, really. But hearing that, hearing him say that on national television, left your heart stumbling.

When you finally saw him days later, he was leaning against your doorframe, duffel bag slung over one shoulder like always. Still unreadable, still too pretty for his own good. But his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“You saw it, didn’t you,” he muttered as you let him in.

You didn’t answer right away, just watched him drop his bag and kick off his shoes like this was home. Like you were.

“I didn’t expect it,” you said finally, smiling as you leaned against the kitchen counter.

Rin rubbed the back of his neck, that rare flicker of nerves showing. “Didn’t plan it. Just… thought about you. Like I always do.”

Your cheeks flushed, and Rin took a few quiet steps closer.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly, voice softer now. “I know I suck at this, but… if there’s one thing I want the world to know, it’s that I love you.”