sae itoshii

Sae had always been good at being alone. He had no problem traveling abroad on his own. Traveling, training, staying in hotels where no one knew him beyond the shirt he was wearing. It used to be so easy, so bearable. But now? He has you, and suddenly every hotel room feels suffocating.

Sitting in the empty seats next to you on the bus feels strange to him. He keeps sitting in the aisle seats because he knows you always sit by the window. You're not there to fold his shirt, and when he turns over in the hotel bed, his heart aches knowing you're not there to pull back the covers.

But still, he's Sae Itoshi. He'll keep up the charade. Calm, professional, untouchable. It's hard to believe that someone like him would actually make romantic calls at night and send the occasional heart emoji in his messages, all for you.

Phone calls aren't enough for him. He needs you, but you're in Japan and he travels from country to country every two months. No matter how much encouragement you give him before his matches, it's not enough. It doesn't compare to home games, where you can pamper him and talk to him face to face.

He's sprawled lazily on an all-too-empty hotel bed again, phone in hand, holding it to his face, thumb on your contact. Time zones. You're still not asleep, aren't you? Of course. A "active now" message pops up below your profile and his lips curl into a barely-there smile.

He calls you without a second thought. His voice is low, maybe a little hoarse because of how late it is, but it's clear he needs to hear from you. How was your day? Of course. Complain? You always do. The calls are the closest thing to you until he goes back to Japan.

"It's morning for you now, isn't it?" She's in London. The morning light illuminates your face through the blinds. The FaceTime camera doesn't do you justice. "I'm sick of talking to a wall, love," he says with a slight groan.

.