Chapter Text
Rin doesn’t believe in love.
At least, that’s what he’s always told himself. Love is a distraction, an unnecessary burden when his only goal is to surpass his brother and be the best striker in the world. He’s seen what love does to people—it makes them weak, vulnerable, and desperate.
And Rin Itoshi refuses to be any of those things.
But lately, every time he closes his eyes, he sees him.
Hiori Yo, with that quiet presence, that gentle voice, the soft way his gaze lingers when he thinks Rin isn’t looking.
At first, it’s easy to dismiss. A fluke. A passing thought. But then it happens again. And again. And again.
The dreams start subtly—Hiori passing him the ball, their hands brushing in fleeting moments, a quiet moment beneath the stars after a late-night practice. But soon, they become something more. His subconscious betrays him with images that make his chest tighten in ways he doesn’t understand. Hiori standing too close, the warmth of his breath against Rin’s skin. Hiori whispering his name, voice soft, almost reverent.
Rin always wakes up from those dreams feeling restless, his heart pounding against his ribs.
It’s annoying.
It’s distracting.
It’s terrifying.
And yet, no matter how much he tries to shake it off, Hiori lingers like an echo in his mind.
He avoids him, in subtle ways at first—taking a different seat during meetings, focusing harder on practice, finding reasons to leave before Hiori can catch up to him. But somehow, Hiori always finds him anyway.
Like tonight.
The night air is crisp, biting against Rin’s skin as he steps out of the dorms after another late practice. The quiet is comforting, a rare moment of solitude in a place constantly buzzing with energy. He lets out a slow breath, watching the mist form in front of him.
And then he hears it.
Soft, almost distant—someone singing.
He follows the sound without meaning to, drawn in like a moth to a flame.
Hiori is sitting on one of the benches near the field, arms resting over his knees, head tilted back toward the sky. His eyes are half-lidded, lost in thought, and his voice carries through the still night air.
“Late at night when all the world is sleeping,
I stay up and think of you…”
Rin stops in his tracks.
“And I wish on a star,
That somewhere you are thinking of me too…”
Hiori’s voice is soft, almost wistful, and it does something strange to Rin’s chest.
”’Cause I’m dreaming of you tonight,
‘Til tomorrow, I’ll be holding you tight…”
The words linger in the air like a confession Rin isn’t supposed to hear.
Hiori exhales, letting the last note fade into silence before resting his chin on his knees. He doesn’t notice Rin at first.
But Rin notices him.
The way he sings those words so softly, like they mean something. The way he stares at the sky, lost in a world of thoughts Rin will never know.
Something about it unsettles him.
He clears his throat, stepping closer. “Cheesy song.”
Hiori startles slightly but doesn’t look surprised to see him. He just turns his head, smiling faintly.
“Maybe. But doesn’t it sound nice?” His voice is quiet, almost thoughtful. “Dreaming of someone you love?”
Rin’s stomach twists.
His fingers curl into fists, hidden in the fabric of his hoodie.
“Love is pointless,” he says flatly.
Hiori hums, tilting his head.
“You say that,” he murmurs, “but you don’t sound so sure.”
Rin scowls, looking away. His ears burn, and he hates that Hiori can see through him so easily.
The silence stretches between them, heavy and unspoken. The stars above them twinkle against the dark sky, and the cold air carries the last remnants of Hiori’s song, a lingering melody Rin knows will stay in his head longer than he’d like.
And for the first time in his life, Rin wonders what it would be like to dream of someone and wake up not feeling alone.
-
The locker room was a chaotic mess of voices, laughter, and the crinkle of wrappers as chocolates exchanged hands. Some players were boasting about their gifts, others were grumbling about the lack of them, but Hiori stayed quiet, sitting on the bench with his hands curled into fists against his knees.
The small box in his pocket felt like it was burning a hole through his jacket.
It wasn’t big or extravagant—just something simple, neat, understated. Something that wouldn’t immediately expose his feelings. And yet, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to take it out.
“Man, this is insane,” Otoya groaned dramatically from across the room, holding up a handful of heart-shaped candies. “I’m drowning in chocolates here. If I eat all this, my abs are going to disappear.”
Aryu scoffed, flipping his hair. “A true gentleman maintains his figure, regardless of indulgence.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Otoya sighed, tossing a piece into his mouth. “What about you, Karasu? Get anything?”
Karasu leaned back against the lockers, smirking. “Tch, obviously. The ladies can’t resist me.”
Otoya made a gagging noise, but Karasu ignored him, his sharp gaze sliding over to Hiori, who had been silent the entire time.
And that was dangerous.
Because Karasu knew things.
He nudged Hiori’s arm with his elbow. “What about you?”
Hiori tensed. “What about me?”
Karasu’s grin widened. “You’re hiding something.”
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
Hiori sighed, shoulders slumping slightly as he looked away. “It’s nothing.”
Karasu hummed, clearly not convinced. “So you did get something?”
Hiori hesitated before shaking his head. “No.”
Karasu raised an eyebrow. “Then what’s in your pocket?”
Hiori stiffened.
It was just like Karasu to notice the smallest details. He always had a way of seeing things others didn’t, and right now, Hiori wished he would just drop it.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered, gripping the fabric of his jacket as if that could somehow make the box disappear.
Karasu didn’t buy it.
“You got something for someone, didn’t you?” His voice was too smug, too knowing.
Hiori clenched his jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”
Karasu leaned in, voice dropping slightly. “So it is for someone.”
Hiori stayed silent, hoping that would be enough to make Karasu let it go.
It wasn’t.
A slow grin stretched across Karasu’s face. “Wait. Don’t tell me…” His eyes flickered across the room, scanning the players until they landed on him.
Rin Itoshi.
Sitting by his locker, arms crossed, expression blank.
Completely uninterested in the Valentine’s Day chaos around him.
Hiori swallowed.
Karasu’s grin turned sharp. “Oh, this is good.”
“Shut up.”
“You got something for Rin.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Hiori exhaled sharply, turning to glare at Karasu. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care about this stuff.”
Karasu tilted his head. “And you know that because…?”
“Because he’s Rin.” Hiori huffed. “Look at him.”
Rin hadn’t even glanced at anyone, let alone acknowledged the holiday. If anyone had given him chocolates, he had either ignored them or thrown them in his bag without a second thought.
Hiori sighed. “He wouldn’t want it. Especially from me.”
Karasu’s smirk faded slightly.
“You sure about that?”
Hiori’s fingers curled tighter around the box.
No.
He wasn’t sure at all.
But before he could say anything, Rin stood abruptly, grabbing his bag and heading for the exit.
Hiori’s heart kicked against his ribs.
This was it.
If he wanted to give it to him, this was his chance.
His hand twitched.
But his feet stayed planted on the floor.
And all he could do was watch as Rin walked away, disappearing through the door without a second glance.
Karasu clicked his tongue. “You’re really not gonna give it to him?”
Hiori exhaled, tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he slumped forward.
“No.”
And for some reason, that answer hurt more than it should have.
-
The day was colder than Hiori had expected, and despite the lighthearted teasing and chatter about chocolates, his mind couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the small box hidden in his pocket.
It was a relief to escape to the practice field, even if his legs were tired and his mind was heavy. The other players scattered across the area, each consumed by their own thoughts or Valentine’s Day plans, but Hiori remained distant, preferring the solitude.
But there was something about the holiday that pulled at him. It wasn’t the chocolates, the cards, or the laughter that came with it all—it was the idea of it. A kind of feeling that gnawed at him, a feeling he couldn’t quite shake. The feeling he’d been trying to ignore for weeks, for months now.
Rin.
And it was like a cruel joke, really. The universe, in its odd way, had decided that today was the day he had to face that nagging emotion. The day he had to admit, just for a second, that he felt something for Rin that went beyond the simple admiration he’d once believed it was.
He stared at the small box again, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface.
What am I even doing?
He hadn’t meant to buy it. He hadn’t even meant to think about it. But there he was, standing in front of a display of chocolates, hand hovering over each box until his fingers found one that felt right. The one that seemed to whisper a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.
But as soon as he stood up to leave, he second-guessed himself. What if Rin didn’t want it? What if this was a mistake? What if, instead of softening Rin’s hardened exterior, it just made him uncomfortable?
And yet, here he was, holding the damn box in his hand.
You’re not serious about this.
But the more he tried to talk himself out of it, the more the weight of the box felt real. The more it felt like the only thing that made sense.
Karasu’s voice echoed in his mind. You’re not going to give it to him?
The answer seemed clearer now.
No. He wasn’t.
Rin would never appreciate it. Rin didn’t care about Valentine’s Day. Rin didn’t care about things like this.
So why even bother?
But before he could slip away to hide his conflicted thoughts, he saw Rin.
Rin stood by the gates, staring at the field like it held the secrets to the universe. His usual scowl was absent, but his posture was still guarded, arms crossed and body language distant.
And Hiori’s heart did something strange in his chest, something he wasn’t quite ready to label.
Do I actually want to give this to him?
Rin looked almost… alone.
But just as quickly as the thought appeared, it was gone, drowned in the sea of doubt and uncertainty.
No, he doesn’t need me.
Yet his hand clenched around the box.
He stepped forward, heart hammering, but as soon as he did, Rin glanced over.
Hiori froze.
For a second, there was nothing but that quiet moment between them—just two people surrounded by noise and distraction, but with a distance between them that seemed insurmountable.
Rin’s gaze lingered, his expression unreadable. And for the briefest of moments, Hiori felt like he might actually walk over and do it.
He felt like he might take that step forward, extend the box, and show Rin that maybe there was something more.
But no.
He couldn’t.
Not like this.
He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away.
Rin’s eyebrow raised slightly, an almost imperceptible shift in his demeanor, before he turned away without a word.
And just like that, Hiori’s breath caught in his throat.
I didn’t even try.
Hiori stood frozen, the box still burning in his pocket. But Rin was already gone, vanishing into the shadows of the field.
That was it.
Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe he didn’t need to fight this feeling, this ridiculous notion that maybe… just maybe, Rin could see him differently.
But as the day drew to a close and the players began to disperse, Hiori found himself still holding onto that tiny box.
And despite the emptiness gnawing at him, despite the sting of rejection he hadn’t even verbalized, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.
-
The night air is crisp. Cool. Still.
Most of the players have gone to bed, leaving the field eerily quiet. The sound of Hiori’s breath is the only thing that breaks the silence as he steps outside, drawn to the stillness of the open space. He doesn’t know why he’s here—he’s not the type to linger, especially after a long day. But tonight, something calls to him.
And of course, Rin is here too.
Hiori isn’t surprised. Rin always trains late at night, when no one else is around, when he can lose himself in his thoughts, where no one can distract him from his obsession. But tonight, Rin isn’t practicing.
He’s just standing there.
Staring at the sky.
Hiori stands for a moment, watching Rin’s silhouette against the blanket of stars above. The quiet hum of the world around him feels louder somehow. The distance between them feels heavier, and yet, there’s something about this moment that feels… intimate.
Hiori hesitates before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t think you were the type to stargaze.”
Rin doesn’t look at him. His gaze stays fixed on the sky, distant and cold. “I’m not.”
Hiori smiles a little, despite the knot tightening in his chest. Typical. He wasn’t expecting anything different, but something inside him still stirs when Rin answers so simply.
He considers leaving it at that, letting the silence stretch between them like an invisible thread. But something about tonight makes him want to push further, to see if there’s more to this moment, more to Rin than the unapproachable image he’s always tried to maintain.
“So you really don’t believe in love?” The words slip out before he can stop them.
Rin finally turns to face him, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”
Hiori’s heart sinks, and for a brief moment, he regrets asking. But it’s too late to take it back. The question hangs in the air between them, the weight of it heavier than either of them can ignore.
But Rin doesn’t dismiss it. Instead, he crosses his arms and takes a deep breath, clearly considering the question, as if it’s one he’s asked himself more times than he cares to admit. “No,” he finally says, his voice unwavering. “It’s pointless.”
Hiori’s throat tightens, the sting of Rin’s words sharper than he expected. “Why?” he asks, though he already knows the answer—he’s heard it before. But still, he can’t help but want to understand. To understand why someone like Rin, someone so full of potential and strength, could think something so cold, so final.
Rin exhales slowly, looking away. His gaze drops to the ground, the emptiness of the night swallowing his words. “It’s just another thing that distracts people. Makes them weak.”
The words hit Hiori like a punch to the gut. He wants to argue, wants to tell Rin that love is not a weakness. That love is everything—it’s a force that drives you, lifts you when you fall. But something in Rin’s posture, in the tension in his shoulders, stops him.
Hiori stares at him, searching his face for any sign that he’s just repeating something he’s been taught, something he’s never truly felt. “You don’t actually believe that.”
Rin’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his face hardening. He looks away, avoiding Hiori’s gaze, as if doing so will shield him from the truth he doesn’t want to admit. “It’s what I was taught to believe,” he says, his voice distant. Flat.
And suddenly, everything falls into place for Hiori. Rin isn’t speaking from experience—he’s speaking from wounds. From a past filled with unyielding expectations, from a lifetime of being shaped into someone who believes love is something to avoid. It’s not just Rin’s thoughts about love; it’s the echoes of everything he’s been told, everything he’s been forced to accept.
It’s like a mask he wears to protect himself.
Something in Hiori’s chest aches at the realization. He doesn’t know how to fix it, doesn’t know how to undo the damage that’s been done, but he understands now. The coldness in Rin’s words isn’t just a statement—it’s a defense. A shield he’s been holding up to keep the world at bay.
Hiori’s hand instinctively goes to his pocket, his fingers curling around the small box of chocolates still hidden there. He wonders if it would even matter. If giving them to Rin would change anything. But before he can make a decision, Rin turns his back on him, not sparing another glance.
“I’m going to bed,” Rin says, his voice as cold as the night air. Without waiting for a response, he starts to walk away.
And just like that, Rin disappears into the darkness, leaving Hiori alone beneath the vast sky. Hiori remains where he stands, the chocolates still pressed against his palm, the words left unspoken hanging heavily between them. It feels like a goodbye he didn’t get to say.
The silence that follows feels suffocating. Hiori feels the weight of the stars above him and the weight of the box in his hand. He thought maybe, just maybe, he could bridge the gap between them, that this one small gesture might be enough to make Rin see that love didn’t have to be weak. That it didn’t have to be an illusion.
But now, he’s left with nothing but the stars and the emptiness of unspoken words.
He looks at the chocolates one last time, as if trying to decide whether to hold onto them or let them go. But in the end, all he can do is slip them back into his pocket and walk away, wondering if he’ll ever find the courage to say what he really feels.
-
The morning after the Valentine’s Day game, the entire team is still buzzing with energy. Their victory still fresh in their minds, the players are scattered around the locker room, chatting, laughing, and basking in the glow of a hard-earned win. But as the noise dies down, Hiori can’t shake the thought of what happened last night—the way Rin looked at him, the words left unsaid between them.
He finds himself in a quieter corner, his hands fumbling with the edge of his uniform as he tries to distract himself from the overwhelming feeling that something has shifted. It’s as if the moment from the night before lingers in the air, hanging like a thread that’s tugging at him, urging him to figure out what it means.
But before he can get too deep into his thoughts, he hears a voice behind him.
“So,” Rin’s voice is casual, but there’s something underneath it, something Hiori can’t quite place. He doesn’t turn around. “You still haven’t given me the chocolates.”
Hiori freezes. His heart skips a beat at the mention of the chocolates from last night—the chocolates he almost gave Rin, but didn’t. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.
Hiori turns to face him, offering a slight shrug, trying to mask the sudden tension in his chest. “I didn’t think you were the type to want chocolates.”
Rin smirks, the usual cocky expression on his face. “You’d be surprised.”
Hiori stands there for a moment, unsure of what to say. The air between them feels charged, electric, and yet oddly familiar. A mix of discomfort and something else—something unspoken. He’s never been good at reading Rin, never quite understood the depth of the layers behind his guarded exterior. But right now, there’s something different. Something uncharacteristic in the way Rin is standing there, looking at him.
“You don’t have to take them if you don’t want to,” Hiori says, his voice quieter than usual. “But I figured you might like them.”
Rin’s eyes soften, just for a second, before the smirk returns. “I didn’t say I didn’t want them.”
And just like that, the tension breaks. Hiori feels a weight lift off his shoulders, though he’s still unsure of what all of this means.
He reaches into his bag and pulls out the small box, holding it out toward Rin. Rin takes it, his fingers brushing Hiori’s in the exchange. For a brief moment, Hiori’s breath catches in his throat.
But Rin doesn’t say anything. He just looks at the chocolates in his hands, his expression unreadable.
Then, in that familiar way of his, he finally speaks. “Thanks.”
It’s simple, but it means more than any grand declaration could. Hiori nods, his chest tightening slightly as he watches Rin tuck the box into his bag.
And for the first time in a long while, Hiori doesn’t feel like he’s standing on the outside looking in. For a moment, he feels like maybe—just maybe—there’s something more to this.
As the rest of the team gets ready to head out, Hiori can’t help but feel like a shift has taken place. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. He doesn’t know what Rin really feels, or if anything has changed between them. But one thing is certain—this Valentine’s Day, something broke through.
-
—Hiori’s stomach tightens as he enters the house, the familiar scent of his mother’s perfume and the faint smell of dinner lingering in the air. It’s the same scent that’s followed him through his childhood, but tonight, it feels like it’s closing in on him, suffocating him with the weight of expectations.
His mother’s voice calls out from the kitchen, sharp and commanding. “Yo, come here.”
He hesitates for a moment before walking toward her, trying to keep his expression neutral. The last thing he wants is to show any signs of weakness. Not with her. Not with his father, who is sitting at the table, already looking at him with that familiar, disapproving stare.
His father doesn’t speak, but the tension in the air is thick enough to cut through. Hiori knows what this is about. He can feel it coming. The lecture. The questioning. The condemnation.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” His mother’s voice is low, dangerous. “You think you can hide things from us?”
Hiori keeps his eyes down, his fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His mother scoffs, throwing a small object onto the table in front of him. It’s the chocolates—the same ones he had bought for Rin. His heart sinks, the weight of their gaze on him growing heavier.
His father speaks up, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion. “You’re wasting your time, Yo. Do you really think these distractions are going to help you?”
Hiori’s breath hitches, his chest tightening. “They’re just chocolates,” he mutters, the words coming out weaker than he intended. He can already feel the judgment radiating off them.
“They’re not just chocolates,” his mother snaps. “This is what happens when you let yourself get comfortable. When you start thinking there’s more to life than winning. This is what happens when you forget what’s important.”
Hiori bites his lip, the anger bubbling up inside him, but he knows better than to show it. If he shows any emotion now, they’ll only use it against him.
“You’re supposed to be focused,” his father continues, his voice like ice. “Everything you do should be for the goal. Everything should be for Blue Lock.”
Hiori clenches his jaw. “I am focused.”
His mother laughs bitterly. “You’re not. You’re soft, Yo. And that’s what’s going to hold you back. It’s what always holds you back.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He’s used to hearing them, but they never fail to hurt. Not when they come from the two people who were supposed to support him. The two people who had always made it clear that nothing was more important than winning. That nothing, not even feelings, should get in the way of his success.
Hiori’s hands tremble slightly, but he forces himself to remain still. He’s always been able to block it out. To tell himself that this was just how things were. But tonight, it feels different. It feels like something inside him is breaking.
“Do you really think that’s what I want for you?” his father asks, his voice softer now, but still cutting. “To be distracted by meaningless things? To waste your time on feelings that won’t help you win?”
Hiori looks up at his father, his throat tight with emotion. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what you want from me anymore.”
There’s a long silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air. His father’s gaze softens for a brief moment, but it’s quickly replaced with that familiar indifference.
“We want you to be the best,” his mother says, her tone gentler now, but still firm. “And if you want to succeed, you need to let go of these distractions. Stop being so soft.”
Hiori feels a lump form in his throat. He wants to argue. He wants to scream that he doesn’t need to be perfect, that he doesn’t need to be a machine. But the words won’t come. They never do. Not in front of them.
Instead, he picks up the chocolates, his fingers trembling as he puts them back in his bag. He doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t need to. His silence is enough.
As he turns to leave the room, he hears his mother’s voice behind him. “This is why you’ll never be good enough.”
The door closes behind him with a finality that makes his chest ache. He leans against the wall for a moment, his breath shaky as he tries to hold back the tears that threaten to spill. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this—this constant pressure, the feeling that no matter what he does, it’ll never be enough.
But in that moment, he also knows one thing for certain: He’s done pretending that everything is fine. He’s done hiding.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s the first step toward figuring out who he really is.
-
The door to Hiori’s room closes with a soft click behind him, and for a moment, everything is quiet. He stands there for a moment, taking in the dim light that filters in through the cracks in his blinds. The weight of the argument with his parents still clings to him like a heavy fog, making the room feel even smaller.
He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, and makes his way to his bed, dropping down with a tired thud. He reaches for his controller, trying to lose himself in the flickering images on the screen, the rhythm of the game a temporary escape from everything that’s been swirling in his mind.
But it doesn’t work.
No matter how many enemies he takes down or how fast he moves in the game, his thoughts keep returning to Rin. To the look on his face when Hiori handed over the box of chocolates. To the tension between them that hasn’t quite gone away, no matter how much he tries to ignore it.
He grits his teeth, pressing harder on the controller, as if that will make the thoughts go away. But they don’t. The screen blurs in front of him, not from the game, but from the rush of feelings that make it hard to focus.
Hiori stops the game, throwing the controller down onto the bed with a frustrated groan. He sits up, running his fingers through his hair. He’s been avoiding Rin all day, unable to face him after giving him the chocolates. The thought of facing Rin, of dealing with the mess of emotions inside of him, feels like too much.
The argument with his parents still stings—words spoken in anger that weren’t meant to be heard. The expectations, the pressure, the disappointment in their eyes. It all ties together in a way that makes him feel small, like he’s not enough. Like nothing he does will ever be enough.
But Rin…
Rin was the only person who made him feel different. Like he could be more than what others expected. Like he could just be himself.
But love isn’t real.
He tells himself that as a mantra, over and over again. It’s just an illusion. A fleeting distraction. He doesn’t need it. He can’t afford to let it distract him, not when there’s so much at stake. But deep down, there’s a part of him that wants to believe in it. Wants to believe that Rin’s actions, his words—however subtle—mean something.
And yet—
The silence is broken by the familiar ping of his phone. He hesitates for a moment before picking it up, expecting a message from his parents or a teammate. But it’s from Rin.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Hiori’s fingers hover over the screen. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to deal with this. Doesn’t want to confront the emotions that are threatening to break through.
So he types out a response, simple and short, just to end the conversation.
“No, I haven’t.”
But almost immediately, Rin replies.
“Don’t lie.”
Hiori feels the weight of the words, something in him tightening. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know what to say. But the tension builds, heavy in the air.
Then his phone rings. It’s Rin. Hiori swallows, hesitating for a moment longer before answering.
“…Did I do something?” Rin’s voice is softer than usual, almost reluctant.
Hiori’s heart aches at the question. Because it’s not just an ordinary question—it’s the kind of question that means Rin cares, even if it’s not in the way Hiori wants. But it’s enough. It’s enough to make him realize—
He’s never going to stop loving Rin.
No matter how much it hurts.
Hiori’s voice is barely a whisper when he responds. “No… you didn’t do anything.”
The words feel like a lie, even as he says them. Because Rin did something. He always does. Without meaning to, Rin has a way of pulling Hiori in, of making him feel like maybe—just maybe—there’s more to this.
But Hiori knows better. Love isn’t real.
It’s just an illusion.
And yet, as the silence stretches between them, Hiori can’t bring himself to hang up.
Because no matter what he tells himself, no matter how many times he tries to convince himself otherwise, he knows deep down that Rin’s not just an illusion.
He’s real.
And that’s enough to make Hiori realize—he’s never going to stop loving Rin. No matter how much it hurts.