After his game, Shidou Ryusei found you waiting near the sidelines, arms crossed, pretending not to smile when he jogged over — messy, sweaty, and ridiculously proud. Without a word, he stopped in front of you, a wild glint in his eyes… then dropped down and pressed his forehead lightly against your shoulder.

“Tch… you saw that, right?” he mumbled, voice rough but almost shy. “Scored that last goal for you, dumbass.”

You teased him, saying you weren’t that impressed, and he shot you an exaggerated glare — but his ears burned pink. With a scoff, he grabbed your wrist, holding it tight but careful.

“Whatever. You’re mine. Only matters that you saw it,” he muttered, almost too quiet for anyone else to hear. Then, refusing to let go, he started dragging you toward the exit like it was the most normal thing in the world — throwing wild grins over his shoulder the whole way.