Free! x Reader Scenarios

8, 246km [ natsuya x reader ]

I saw your picture on Instagram, and I couldn't help but keep looking for more.

Your legs, the hem of a knee-length skirt, the grass below you.

aesthetic

None of your pictures showed your face. At most, you would include a photo from the back, showing your hair.

It was strange then, to see that you had close to half a million followers. They'd never seen your face, and you'd barely replied to most of the comments.

The followers, it seemed, to be invisible to you.

But I was intrigued, and I guess that's why you were so popular. The longing to see your face, the desire to find out more, the want to just get a message from you. I couldn't help myself then. So I clicked "follow".

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It's been a year since then.

You've actually messaged me a few times.

You'd "liked" some of my posts.

And you'd requested to follow me back.

I'd accepted, of course. But I was confused. You only followed around 10 people, so why follow me? You didn't know me, I barely knew you, and it wasn't even like I was an influencer in any way.

So I'd messaged you, asking why.

And when you replied, I was so happy, so excited. 

It was a new feeling, the non-stop heart-pounding, the quivers of my hands. It wasn't like the nervousness and excitement I felt before a race. It was more...uncontrollable. I couldn't just take a deep breath or focus on something else to forget it. Your reply was stuck, stuck in my mind.

"It's my personal policy to follow back if I find your profile is suitable."

You thought my profile was suitable? There was essentially nothing on it. A few pictures of food, some events I took part in, not even a picture of my face. 

Perhaps that's what attracted you.

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I wasn't sure of what feelings I had for you, it was like an attraction, an urge to know you better. But as our messages became more and more frequent, more and more casual, I started to wonder what relationship I had with you.

I didn't know what you looked like. You didn't know what I looked like either.

I knew your name, and you knew mine. But we never verified if they were our real names, just always addressing each other by what we'd written on our profile.

I knew you like [ fav. food ] and lived in Japan. You were a [grade/level] student and was [age] years old.

You knew I hated shiitake mushrooms and was studying abroad in America.

We knew so little, yet so much about each other.

You would send me pictures of you wearing the skirts you posed in, asking if I liked the photo.

And when I cheekily replied that I liked them so much I'd rather you'd not post them, you didn't upload them, telling me I could have them. My heart fluttered then, and for once, I didn't know how to reply.

When I'd sent you a picture of my face (covering my mouth and nose with a sticker, of course), you'd told me that my amber eyes were beautiful, and my hair was cool. No one had said that before, and reading your message, I'd blushed.

I asked if you could show me your face, and when you said, "okay", I was so glad that I could barely think straight.

You'd covered your eyes, in the photo, but from what I saw, I thought you looked really cute. I liked the shape of your nose and the soft pink hue of your lips.

Was it weird that I liked someone so far away from me, someone I hardly knew? 

8, 246 km. 

Around 12 hours by plane.

I wonder, did you like me in this way too?

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"I'm going back to stay in Japan, do you want to meet up?"

"Sure. I don't mind."

Three days after I arrived back home;

Two years since we'd first met online;

One cafe in the city, 

I met the person I was so hopelessly in love with, face-to-face, for the first time.

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"Hey, I'm Kirishima Natsuya,"

"I'm [name],"

"I think I like you."

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The ending, ugh.

Hope you liked it. I haven't been updating often, sorry, I've had lots of tests the past week. 

Recently quite a few people have followed me, for that, I'm quite glad. I follow back too (if I remember to). Thank you for your support.

Please note that you can request on the Author's Note II page. 

Have a good weekend.