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kitorin · 10 months

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letters to my favourite author.

in which, within the darkest times of your struggles, a secret yet admiring fan is there for you.

a/n. thank you to yumi and ray for the help !

"I wanna be a writer."

It's summer of your final year of primary school, radiant sun sinking into the horizon, vibrant hues of orange bleeding out into the sky. The taste of soda lingers in your mouth, drops of the melted ice block gently plop onto your skin, the cold sensation makes you jolt a bit.

"Really?" Yoichi, the boy who's been by your side since forever piques with fascination. He pauses from eagerly sucking on his popsicle, turning towards you with his azure eyes, interest blazing within them.

You nod, ignoring part of the melted ice block dribbling down your chin. "Miss told me I was really good at it, she said to write everyday, I like stories. I don't want to stop making or reading them when we're adults." The liquid smeared onto your face remains neglected, as your heart begins pounding at your teacher's words.

"This is amazing, you have to keep writing. I want to read so much more."

It's not like the first time you've been complimented, but being called good at a game or sport can't even compare to someone craving more of what you created. There's an indescribable sense of pride heating up in your chest, maybe one day you could even write something, something that has people glued to every word on the page, something that someone couldn't resist putting down; something that's like the books you stay up reading.

You've finally found it, the soccer to your Yoichi, what you want to continue doing for the rest of your life, what you want to dedicate your life to.

"I think it's awesome! Your stories are always read out in class. You could beat Detective Conan!" He's too engrossed in this new found dream of yours, not even noticing the melting ice block in his hand, coating it with sticky syrup.

"Yocchan that'll never happen… All stories are beautiful, it's not like soccer where you have to be 'better'." Despite telling him off, another smile creeps up on your lips, with your best friend's support and teacher's encouragement, this new objective of yours seemed attainable. Either way, you were determined to work hard and persist no matter what.

Yoichi's hand grasps yours, the joyous glint remaining in his eyes. "Doesn't matter, I'll be the best striker and you'll be the best writer! Promise?"

"Promise." And with confident grins scrawled on your expressions, you race home, popsicles long gone and forgotten, melted away in the suffocating heat.

"Y/n, what the fuck is this?"

The cursing and vexation threaded into his voice and tone catch you off guard, a complete juxtaposition of the peaceful atmosphere of the classroom, with now only you and Yoichi there, soaked in the comfortable sunlight. Gold stains the room as cheery exclamations can be heard in the distance, as students rush to their after-school plans.

"What's wrong?" Your lips curve into a frown, scavenging through memories in an attempt to figure out what's wrong. Though you'd been struggling recently, none of those issues translated to your friendship with him. "Did something happen?"

"Oh my fucking god, I'm talking about this crap." He slams a sheet on the closest desk— yours. It's your career path form. You recognise your own handwriting, the occupations "psychology" and "law" written as the main two paths you're interested in.

"What about it?" You're still not sensing the issue here. "It's my future, I'm interested in those paths." There's a puzzled expression as you wonder, why Yoichi was so annoyed at the degrees you might want to study, it's not like you're altering his life.

Your confusion only seemed to amplify his anger. "What the hell happened to writing? Weren't you supposed to become an author?" So this is what this was about.

"It's just a hobby. Other jobs make more money anyways-"

"Fucking hell, since when did you care so much about money?"

You don't. Obviously money matters significantly within one's life, but you're not striving to be filthy rich. Realistically, studying at university would bring a lot more success than writing, at least, not at how you are currently.

"Yocchan— I still need to make a living, I can't make much out of being an author—."

"So? You haven't even tried."

Because it's obvious it'll never work. "Writing isn't a career I can succeed in, I mean, just look at Haru. Someone like them. Or anyone else I know who writes." "Haru"'s a friend of yours, one that you met on the website you frequently post your works, among plenty of other writers you've befriended. They're popular, only being on for a few months and managing to rack up thousands of likes, as well as plenty of followers.

You're over the moon for how well they do, you truly are, but it doesn't and can't stop the envy and insecurity creeping up on you; a fatal disease slowly infecting you, tainting you with overwhelming jealousy.

You can't help it, not even their account makes your achievements look pathetic and insignificant; if Haru were to have an off day and receive less attention on any of their uploads, it'd amount to what you get on a good day, actually, probably even more.

"Oh. My. God. Haru this, Haru that, you don't see me getting upset about Hiori or Kurona everyday do you?" Yoichi scowls, seemingly getting more upset at you and this whole ordeal. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Sports and writing aren't the same. You wouldn't get it." He really wouldn't. In soccer you can practise the same kick over and over again, until it really drills into muscle memory. But when writing, you can't rewrite the same metaphor, or simile, or anything really, then be able to write something beautiful. Repetition can't save an author.

"Fine—, but one thing I understand is having a dream." That day twelve years old you announced your new life goal of becoming an author flits through your mind, and gosh you'd do anything for that oblivion, the oblivion of how harsh reality is, the oblivion that provides innocence the privilege of dreaming freely.

"You don't get it, writing needs talent." Or whatever the hell it is, because no matter how much effort you put in and how much wellbeing you sacrifice, there's always someone doing better; attracting more attention, more compliments and more love.

"And you have it. I know how you and Haru write, you're equally good, actually, your writing's so much more interesting. Talent isn't the fucking issue, it's you and how you're not trying enough"

"You're only saying that because you're too stupid to differentiate." Guilt is quick to stab you in the stomach, and you're already feeling the consequences and hurt of your words, as if they were targeted towards you.

Yoichi only scoffs. "And you're too fucking sad and undisciplined to work hard." And he's wrong. Completely. Yet it's salt to the wound, to be perceived in such an ugly manner by someone so valuable to you. “I have training now. Bye.”

You're mustering a response, wanting to apologise, beg for forgiveness; whilst desperately finding the right words to defend yourself. Yoichi doesn't give you a chance to respond, as he leaves, you notice the frustrated grit of his teeth and how even his footsteps sound livid.

"Yocchan—"

You follow, unsure of what you want to do. You want to cry, but you also want to scream out of rage. You're doing your best to chase him down the corridor, your legs are tempted to give out from the sheer emotional torment the argument was; yet you insist on pushing through the discomfort.

Yoichi's long gone by now, either sprinting home or running to the comfort of his soccer team.

As a sigh of defeat leaves your lips you return to the classroom for your stuff, chewing on the inside of your mouth out of frustration, not caring about the consequences nor the ulcers that'd appear there in a few days.

Fights are normal, they're inevitable in all kinds of relationships. They're not foreign to you and Yoichi considering how you've been friends since diapers, you both put the effort in communicating afterwards, and knew how to properly apologise.

But not once has Yoichi ever sworn at you like that.

It's immature to ignore issues instead of making an attempt to resolve them, but if you keep telling yourself to focus on going home for now, you can deal with your emotions once you were okay physically.

The pencil case returns to your bag, and your books are about until you notice the post-it stuck on it, sky blue with thin writing resembling fish bones.

Hello [username]

I've enjoyed reading your works for a long time now, they're such fascinating pieces that I find myself rereading and staying up late for.

I know I had no right to eavesdrop, however it was not intentional in the slightest. I don't think you and Haru are comparable. They may have more followers but your ideas and there their execution are a lot more beautiful in my eyes. Popularity, followers, and likes don't define you, or anyone.

I can tell you work hard I respect and admire it but take care of yourself. You take priority.

As you finish reading the pale blue post-it, you finally register the sense of dread.

The words are sweet, they're wholesome and what you've needed to hear for so long. Roses of warm comfort bloom within your heart at the sight of someone acknowledging the effort you put in.

But thorns of trepidation remind you that someone knows your online alias; someone at school nonetheless.

Ah.

You're screwed.

Your online presence has always been a secret, for the better. Someone discovering all the love stories you posted online would simply be embarrassing, that's for your follower's eyes and theirs only.

Normally you'd ignore the message, and just pray they don't decide to reveal your identity.

Yet you find the pen in your hand dancing across a piece of paper.

[To the light blue post-it, thank you so much ! It's really appreciated]

Then you don't stop there, pinning it onto the class noticeboard with a push pin. What were you thinking? Or expecting? You weren't exactly sure, and found this trivial attempt at contacting a stranger foolish, yet you still give your message displayed on your board the last hopeful look, before going home.

By the next day, your note was nowhere to be seen. And this time, instead of a post-it, it’s a pale blue envelope, carefully slid between your notebooks.

"And here, with the context of the Egalitarian and feminist era, we can tell…" The teacher's words are drowned by your fascination with the letter, as you carefully open it, ensuring only you get to witness the contents.

Hello again

i'm I'm glad to hear that my words could mean something to you. It's an honour for you to respond, I wasn't expecting anything back. I hope after yesterday you feel better, even if it's the slightest bit.I've been re-reading your stuff a lot recently, especially on the bus, train and before sleeping.

It's oddly weird, I never liked reading. I can't seem to find books that I don't give up on. Even so I never thought I would read romance. I always thought it’d be a bit uncomfortable to read.

I don't have much time since I've been busy, but if you have the time I'd like to receive a letter back. As long as it's from your heart. It's a lot for just a follower to ask. But I find you as interesting as your writing. If you're okay with sending a response can you slip it in the very last locker in our class? It's unused so it works for now.

There's a faint tinge of disappointment at them remaining anonymous, but it's cancelled out by the overwhelming joy tugging your lips into a smile.

Someone likes your writing enough to put the effort into a letter.

You still continue to ignore the teacher, tearing out a page of your English book, eagerly writing a response for whoever this. The now familiar blossom of warmth is back, you could almost start giggling at how exhilarating you found this all.

The pen skims across the torn out page, your reply gradually materialising. The world around you is completely dismissed, right now it's only you and the letter.

It's not until your teacher snaps at you, demanding your attention, earning a quick switch in demeanour; from accumulating excitement to fabricated focus and a feigned interest in classic texts.

Have you made up with Isagi?

Your heart drops at the mention of Yoichi in today’s letter, nails digging into your palm with frustration; because the answer to the question is no.

I'm not trying to intrude, but you should try to if you haven't (it looks like you haven't talked about it yet). Fighting is normal among people, but it's dangerous if you don't do something about it quickly.

With time, it can become irrepairable irreparable. And I don't want you to go through that with someone you care about cherish.

It's been around a week, a week of these note and letter exchanges, slipping them into the empty locker. Lately, you've found yourself patiently waiting for their messages to appear alongside your possessions. They didn’t always write letters, if they didn't have time it was a post-it note instead, either one had you fully engrossed, clinging onto every word written.

I can't really offer advice. It might be a bit scary but anyone can tell you and Isagi care about each other a lot. He looks upset at training. You seem to be the same during class too.

And they're right, ever since that heated exchange of untruthful words in the classroom, Yoichi's been avoiding you. Eyes avoiding yours, opting to eat with his soccer teammates instead, and the absence of time spent together leaves you feeling empty.

So don't beat yourself up about over it. Stress and anger can make you say things you don't mean. I know you'll be able to fix things.

They're right again. You didn't mean to call Yoichi stupid; all the insecurity and doubt had been accumulating recently, internalised with the suppression of expressing yourself, it had gotten to a point you couldn't control it. As a consequence, you unwillingly took it out on Yoichi, he retaliated and the pointless argument left both of you hurt.

A few glances of the classroom inform you that he's not here, either out speaking to someone in a different class or at a meeting for soccer. You ask Bachira, a teammate of Yoichi's.

"Hm? Isagi and Rin had to go do something, it might be about the upcoming game." Bachira pauses for a moment, pondering what exactly it might've been about. "Somethin' about them having to figure out who plays striker, probably." A quick thank you sends him buzzing away, on this way to go bother Kunigami.

After school it is.

Time passes rapidly, as you're preoccupied with selecting a work in progress to continue, brainstorming the potential trajectory of the events. Mechanical pencil rushes over paper, transcribing your thoughts into potential story. It's not until the bell drags you back to reality, as Yoichi calls out to you. Speak of the devil.

"Can we talk? After school and at our usual place?"

You nod "Was going to ask you the same." The convenience of how the two of you always seem to be aligned would've earnt a grin, if only it wasn't for such a serious and uncomfortable topic.

He reciprocates the nod, returning to his desk, as you fail to ignore the creeping dread ensnaring your heart.

You're not quite sure what you're exactly so worried about.

It's either:

a) Possibilities of another argument occurring, with the recent avoidance and discomfort, it’ll be worse than last time. It’s likely, given how tense the atmosphere was yesterday, regret and hurt lingering in the air yet simultaneously suffocating you.

b) The tiny sliver of chance that Yoichi wants to stop being your friend, rather than talk about the argument. Although this outcome is unlikely with how close you are, paranoia couldn't care less about logic and rationality.

c) Being unable to articulate your recent inner turmoil and conflict. Despite your passion for interpreting your thoughts and emotions into fiction, it feels impossible to explain yourself to Yoichi; words getting stuck in your throat and choking on the bitter self doubt.

Maybe it’ll be a combination of the three. Struggles with communication melt into another heated dispute, which would then solidify into a heavy burden within your heart, as Yoichi decides your insecurity is intolerable and disappears from your life.

You shake off the thought, as you make your way to where you’d always hang out with Yoichi; the rooftop. It’s prohibited for all students but with enough messing around you had managed to pick the lock, every break period invested on it was worth it; within the hours spent in school the pale cerulean and cotton like clouds were only for you two, accompanied by the wind playing with your hair.

By the time you arrive, Yoichi’s already there.

You analyse every crevice of his face, searching for any emotion and attempting to map out his thoughts. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, and his arms are crossed, leaning against the fence.

“Yoi-,”

“I’m so sorry.”

And he doesn’t give you the opportunity or time to respond.

“I don’t know what I was saying, I know better than anyone else that you’re always working hard. Heck you probably spend more time writing than anything else. I didn’t mean anything I said last week, ‘m so sorry, I don’t know why but I was angry and took it out on you.”

It almost all comes out as a whine, not the kind with a bratty tone but the kind that an apologetic child would have as they cry. It’s not out of character, he’s always been a bit of a crybaby, especially as a kid, bawling at the slightest jump scare or change in weather. With how much older you are now, you’ve almost forgotten this side of Yoichi, it’s easy to grow used to the sharp tongued and brutal character he now adopts when on field.

“Those are my words… I said everything that day because I was anxious, not because I meant anything.” Relief washes over you and you’ve never relished in it so much. “I’m sorry for taking it out on you…” There’s a slight pout in his cheeks as he pulls you in for a hug.

“You were kind of right though.” Before you can refute he keeps going. “I don’t understand all those weird English techniques, and to be honest I still google a lot of the words you use because they’re too complicated.”

“But even then, I know your writing’s amazing. I was worried. I thought you had given up on it entirely, all because you think Haru’s better. It’s— I don’t want you to give up because you think you’re not good enough—, because you are. Writing to you is like soccer to me, I can’t imagine what it’d be like if either of us quit. But if writing doesn’t make you happy anymore I’ll respect it. Or if you’re not aiming to do it professionally.”

As kind as his words were, it doesn’t loosen the grip insecurity has on you. It doesn’t change how others have so much of what you want; Paragraphs of praise instead of the short, brief and shallow compliments, popularity; As Haru hit impressive milestones you were wondering why some of your works got so neglected. Everytime you hear him make some sort of self-deprecating comment, crescents of frustration being dug into your palms; because he’ll always have people waiting for his posts, typing out long paragraphs eulogising everything he writes. It doesn’t exactly matter how much he doubts himself, people will shower him in praise either way. It seems a bit hateful, but it can't be helped with how you'd do anything to receive even a fraction of the love he gets.

You have someone like that, remember? The letters come to mind, they’re a foreign yet comforting presence.

Writing is such a significant component of you, yet it leaves you feeling so empty at times. But even if there’s one person; someone who only knows you by your writing and willing to support you purely based on that.

Someone, is better than no one.

Although Yoichi’s been supporting you from the day you started writing, that's a different story, Yoichi has your friendship, the creator of the letters doesn’t.

“You’re worrying over nothing.” It’s far from nothing. There’s still uncertainty in the confidence of your work, you’ll probably never eliminate the grasp of jealousy asphyxiating you each time you notice the difference in feedback and attention in comparison to your friends. Maybe it’d be better for you to quit, to move on from that silly little dream you declared to follow as a kid, and accept that some dreams will always remain as dreams. “I’m still passionate about it, but I’m interested in other things too.”

“I understand,” His pout is replaced by a grin. “Whatever you choose to pick ‘m always here for you, ‘kay?

Tell him. Tell him how the sight of your friends’ success leaves you and your heart thirsty for the same love and attention they receive regularly. Tell him—

“Of course you are, you’re my best friend.” —instead comes out. “You always will be.” You’ll tell him another day. Probably.

Tick. Tock.

The clock in the kitchen reminds of you every passing second, as you're quietly bringing and preparing a drink for the night. You quickly re-read today's letter, getting ready to write out a response

I know you already told me that you and Isagi made up, but has the topic of the argument gotten better?

It might be a bit invasive to ask about it, but I'm worried. I'm an athlete, and I know it's different to being a writer. But what I do understand is what it's like for someone to seem so much better and out of reach. There's a lot of doubt and you start to question why you're even trying.

I can't guarantee results, but I like revisiting my favourite parts of my sport. It helps remember why you started. Sometimes we care too much about others' opinions and forget who we are.

When and why did you start writing? What's your favourite part of it? What made you love it so much? (There's no need to feel obligated to answer these. They've just helped me a lot and I hope they can help you too.)

Please remember you're enough. You always have and will be. You're more than enough.

Drawing in a sharp breath, you stare at those words, relishing in the soothing solace of their kindness. Unknowingly you've craved that saccharine emotion for so long, despite not asking for it or expressing the struggles burdening you.

Before you know it, your pen's gliding across the page, you're engrossed in completing a response, expressing your gratitude for his goodwill.

To be honest, I'd love to become an author. I love the idea of having a book. The thought of having my words printed with a cover, and bought and enjoyed by others brings me indescribable joy. But I'm scared. It's a risky career for anyone, but I'm scared it'll be like my presence online; almost non-existent.

You blink a couple of times. Conveying your thoughts wasn't even that hard, yet you struggled so much to tell anyone else, not even being able to muster an attempt.

But your subtle confusion evaporates, as you continue the letter, everything else disappears, including your worries. While the hours pass, it's just you, the letters and your racing heart.

xx / xx / 23

Your recent work was compelling. The confession was my favourite part, I enjoyed how it wasn't perfect. It's unrealistic and gets boring when they're perfect. I know that's the purpose of fiction but a bit of realism is appreciated. You always achieve the right balance, something that seems impossible to happen, yet believable and not weirdly convenient. I had a lot of fun reading it on my way to school this morning, thank you.

A letter from this morning, a couple of hours after posting.

xx / xx / 23

Training was a bit longer than usual, but I wanted to say good luck for our upcoming exam. I hope maths isn't too bad for you. The topics we're going over seemed tricky… You'll be fine though, you're always studying hard when you're supposed to.

Before the maths exam from the other day, the one that everyone was panicking over.

xx / xx / 23

This is for you. You mentioned craving it last night. Hope you enjoy it.

The day after you posted on a whim "I feel like royal milk tea and idfk why."

The notes, both the latest one and a few from the past days are enough to earn a verbal reaction from you, "Oh my god— I adore them so much." Beaming, you re-read the notes a couple of times, savouring their feedback and sincerity. A few were carried around, while the rest remained safe either at home or in your locker.

Yoichi pauses from sipping on his drink. "They're still writing to you? You really are popular." He shuffles a bit closer, "Wow, they even went far as getting a drink for you. It's already been a few months."

"They already read my recent post too." You're already writing back, depicting your appreciation for their feedback. "That was quick though, I posted it before leaving the house and they had already written a response by the time I got to class."

"Hm." Yoichi hums a bit, gazing up at the sky and swallowing a piece of his onigiri. "How'd they find out it was you, only I know your username, you don't use your real name as your alias, and you're not public about writing as a whole. I can't guess anyone on our team, but that's the only clue we have, right?"

You nod, "They're also in our class." Too many questions and no answers. "I should ask them in my response."

He pulls out his phone, opening the notes app and typing the only two clues you have. "Right, but making a guess should be fun. It's a bit like all those general ability tests our parents made us practice, no? C'mon we'll figure something out if we work together."

"Why not." You recall everyone in your class. "Soccer team and in our class, aside from you there's Bachira, Kunigami, Yukimiya, Reo, Rin, Otoya and Chigiri."

"Well first we can eliminate—"

"Bachira." To his amusement you finish this sentence.

"Yup, I don't think he's physically capable of reading, or writing legibly. Besides, he'd be straightforward about it. If it was him everyone would've found your account by now." So that limits the possibilities to six people.

"Kunigami doesn't seem into reading either."

"He isn't, if he's not at soccer training he's either at the gym, eating or sleeping. There's no way it's Otoya, he only talks to people he wants to date, and does it straightforwardly " You'd question what kind of person would behave like that, but for now you'll save it for another day.

"Reo studies and reads a lot, doesn't he?" That would explain how they rectified any errors.

"Business and economics related books mainly, but he reads fiction too. He could've gotten his dad to pay someone to find you. Something like that."

"…" The soccer team was certainly a unique group.

"It's definitely possible it's him. But he would've been extra about it, I mean he's the heir of the Mikage Corp, 'course he'd do something extravagant as a fan. Who else again?"

"Rin, and Yukimiya, oh and Chigiri."

"100% Yukimiya. I guarantee you. If not, then Chigiri." Yoichi, then that's not a 100% guarantee, but you keep that thought to yourself.

"I thought Yukimiya would hate reading, since he said art strains his eyes."

"He reads as a hobby. So does Chigiri. Rin only likes horror, all your works are romance."

"Can't you just ask?" As fun as attempting to deduce who the fan was, your curiosity couldn't be contained.

Yoichi shrugs. "It'd be awkward if we're wrong. You'd rather not risk someone else finding your account."

"Wonderful point." You glance at your phone and notice the time, break's about to end. "Let's get out of here, before we get caught."

"I don't wanna go to maths… Not on a Monday afternoon please—" Those were his last words before you dragged him back to class.

"Wait, where's my phone?"

It's finally Friday, the conclusion of the week and the long awaited weekend. You had just left the school to go out for dinner with Yoichi and Bachira, until you realised its absence from its usual pocket in your bag.

"You must've left it in the classroom." Yoichi asks, "Bachira and I can wait here for you. Or I can go run up to get it for you."

"No it's fine, the place is nearby anyways. I'll meet you there."

Either of them don't get the opportunity to protest, rushing back into the building and up the stairs. How inconvenient of you to lose your phone, especially on the one day you're dying to leave immediately.

You finally arrive at your classroom, but there's someone already there, hood concealing their face, despite it being summer.

And they're at your desk.

"What the hell—" You waste no time, sprinting to your desk and grasping their hood, pulling it off and exposing their face, whilst having a grip on their wrist.

A shocked gasp leaves their lips; your name, but instead of your real one it's the one you use online. Is he—?

Adorned with captivating and noticeable eye lashes, alluring, deep beryl eyes stare right back at yours. Accompanying them on the pale canvas of his skin were faint pink and glossy lips. His teal hair's a bit messy, almost covering his eyes and contrasting the soft rose dusted on his cheeks

He's ethereal.

"Itoshi…Rin?"

The silence is loud, neither of you knowing what to say.

With the release of his wrist, you decide to break the silence.

"You're the one who's been writing letters to me?" Now that you've registered the surprise and who he is, you notice the sky blue envelope in his other hand, confirming your suspicions.

"Guess I got caught."

"Wait, that doesn't make sense—? I never told you about my account."

"I know you didn't." He responds verbally, voice hoarse and raspy. "I recognised your writing style after seeing sir show the class your writing."

That was from a year ago. "You knew me from that?"

"And some intuition. Whenever you made a post rambling about something at school, it matched up with whatever was happening here. So I took the risk and wrote that note." You're still in disbelief, Itoshi Rin, popular with his seemingly permanent stoicism, wrote all those affectionate words.

"To be honest, I know it would've been better to approach you normally. But I'm not—." He pauses, before continuing, roughly stuffing the envelope in his pocket. "I'm not like Yukimiya or Karasu, I can't express myself well through words and I was a bit worried." That explained his anonymity.

"Every time I read whatever you write, letter or not, I love it. A lot. I found your writing through a mis-click and I don't regret anything, your works are so addictive." There it is again, the sweet, warm words that sooth your scars and hurt.

"I like you, a lot. Though I can't say for sure if I love you, but I know I am with your writing. I want to talk about how much I cherish you and your hard work, instead of expressing it through a letter. I like the expression you make when you're focused, or how you smile while eating your favourite foods." Sunlight drenches the two of you in warmth, colouring the classroom gold.

The sun isn't the only reason why you feel so hot.

It's so infatuating, despite him not being a close friend at all. The way he speaks of you and your writing so highly. Your heart's pounding against your chest, begging for more of him.

"I don't want us to be just writer and fan. I want to grow close to you, and eventually end up as lovers." Rin's face is a bright red with embarrassment, averting his gaze from you. "Gosh, your writing is almost as pretty as you."

It almost feels like a dream, to finally feel some reassurance of your insecurities, even if Rin had been sending you letters and notes for the past few months. Something tells you to be a bit daring. "May I?" Your fingers reach up to his face.

It catches him off guard, and the flustered expression on his face is adorable as he nods. His hair's soft, as you brush it away from his eyes.

"Rin, I'd love that. You've been my lighthouse, I've felt so lost recently and those words you left me saved me." You're already regretting using a metaphor in regular conversation, but it's what you do best, even if it is embarrassing to say it verbally. "If it weren't for you, I think I would've quit writing entirely."

It was completely unfamiliar to you, for someone to praise you with that much effort, to finally have a source of comfort that seems to understand the relentless storm of self doubt; yet you can't imagine things without Rin anymore.

What has this boy done to you.

"It was my intention to prevent that." Despite him maintaining his calm and cold tone, he's still blushing heavily. "I'll be your lighthouse for as long as you'll allow me to then."

You joke around a bit, amused at his words. "I guess you'll be by my side forever then."

"That'd be ideal, sweetheart."

He relishes the growing blush on your face, chuckling at leaving you speechless and flustered.

"I can't believe you out of all people would do that. Why the hell would you gaslight me?"

"Listen, I didn't gaslight you."

"Lies, Isagi Yoichi, you're the reason my phone went missing that day." His lips curve into a delighted grin, as he helps you carry the heavy boxes.

"I was setting you up with the love of your life."

"You also knew the letters were his. You tried to convince me it was Yukimiya or Chigiri." Books are placed onto the shelf.

"I was trying to surprise you, I can't believe you didn't notice that. Didn't you find it weird how we spoke about the argument the same day the letter mentioned it, and after Rin spoke to me? Dude you ditched Bachira and I for him—" More books now. "You've grown up so much though— I can't believe you've publishing a book and you're in university already."

"You're literally the same age as me."

"I was born a few months earlier."

"Yet I'm taller." The faux offense on his expression is priceless.

Before he retaliates, you're called out to by a few people.

"y/n!" It's Reo, followed by the rest of his team, most you recognise, Nagi, Chigiri, and Yukimiya.

"Long time no see!" Violet hair tied up and with his expensive outfit, he looks like he's going to a business conference rather than meeting up with an old classmate. "Congratulations, it's doing really well already. You should've told me you've been writing since high school, I would've loved proofreading for you."

"Thanks, but aren't you guys busy with training?" Rin mentioned a few important and upcoming games.

"I have my priorities. I really loved the fireworks chapter—"

"124-136." Nagi butts in.

"Hm?"

"The page numbers. If it was really your favourite you would've recognised them." Not even you, the author remember that. "You're a fake fan Reo."

"Congratulations." Ignoring Nagi doubting Reo's 'loyalty' as a fan, Chigiri approaches you with a smile, a copy of your book in hand. "Mind signing my copy?"

With a thanks and a nod, your pen (Yoichi insisted on you keeping it at all times) glides along the cover, producing your autograph.

"Someone's popular." A familiar and raspy voice comments—, it's Rin. "Sorry for being late, Coach was being annoying. Did I miss anything?" Similarly to Reo, he's overdressed for the situation, covered in designer brands.

Chigiri scoffs. "You never apologise for being late to practise."

"Shut up princess." The nickname makes Chigiri chuckle, joining whatever chaos Reo started, muttering a comment about love birds under his breath.

"Rin, you already know you didn't have to come— Yoichi and I were only helping Anri restock."

His arms wrap around you from behind, head resting on your shoulder. "I'd rather be with you than train." Rin's hair tickles your cheek as he places a kiss on it. "I knew you could do it." Pride is laced with his voice, almost as if he was talking about one of his soccer games.

"It's thanks to you."

"Bullshit. You're the one who took the initiative to send your manuscript, you're the one who spent hours working on it, you're the one who didn't give up. My support can't compare."

A lot of things come to mind. The initial letters and notes, which became him bringing your favourite foods and drinks during your all your writing sessions. Rin was always there, ensuring you never overworked yourself, proofreading every word and providing his input and feedback. He even went as far as utilising his and his team's fame to assist with the promotion.

"It still meant the world to me. And it still does." Despite it being a regular way of him being affectionate, it still manages to make your face heat up, probably colouring them pink by now.

Though it's been years, there's still a bit of uncertainty. Even with a published book, it's scary knowing that it's out there for criticism.

"You're going to be okay." Rin, as always, notices the change in mood, hand caressing yours. "I'm always going to be by your side."

"I know just— it's so weird." It's surreal how you went from contemplating giving up writing to signing something you wrote from scratch. "I'll probably have to make alt accounts just in case of hate comments."

"Don't think you have to worry about that, Reo already sued some people. Pretty sure Isagi and Nagi stay up fighting people online. So don't worry about anything happening, we're all here to support you, you're my favourite and I love you." He concludes his speech with a peck on the lips, ignoring everyone who recognises him. "Let's get out of here."

"Wait, aren't we having dinner with everyone?"

"Change of plans, I only want to spend my money on you." Rin's already walking out the store, holding you hand. "You said you wanted to try Kobe beef, no?"

"Fine— you win." A high school reunion will have to wait for another day.

From milk tea to infamous and expensive beef, it's sweet how he things have changed yet have still remained heart warming, just like how he went from fan to lover.

tagging : @yuzurins

#I HAD TO GET IT OUT OF THE WAY #now i can focus on school #unless i hyperfixate on another wip #bllk x y/n #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #fluff #blue lock x male reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #itoshi rin #bllk itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x male reader #itoshi rin x gn!reader

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