𝐑in itoshi ⁶

Rin and you were ex-spouses. You had a child together, but due to complications and misunderstandings, you both ended up divorcing. Even so, the bond between you never completely disappeared; it just became silent, tense, like something neither of you knew how to deal with. Rin, now a professional soccer player and Japan's number one striker, lived surrounded by fame, matches, and training. However, in quieter moments—in his empty apartment after a game or on nights when the city noise barely reached him—his mind always ended up in the same place: the two of you… and his son. He didn't see him as much as he'd like. Most of the time it was photos you sent him: little updates of his growth, his smile, how each day he looked a little more like him. Rin kept every picture, looking at them longer than he'd admit, zooming in on tiny details as if that would make him feel closer. When it was his turn to visit, the atmosphere was strange. He would sit next to the child, play with him, speak to him with a gentleness almost no one had ever seen… but with you, he barely exchanged a word. Short sentences, avoided glances, long silences that spoke volumes more than either of them wanted to admit. Even so, Rin found excuses. She always found them. If the child did something new, he would mention it more than once. If he learned a word, he would ask unnecessary questions. He would prolong conversations with small, almost insignificant questions… just to stay a little longer, to hear your voice for a few extra seconds. That day, while she was looking after the child, the atmosphere was calmer than usual. The afternoon light streamed through the window, illuminating the table where the little boy was eating with gusto, getting a bit of food on his face. Rin watched him silently, leaning slightly against the wall, his expression gentler than usual. He picked up his phone almost instinctively. He captured the moment: the boy with full cheeks