Chapter Text
Isagi blinks awake slowly, his mind still caught in the haze between dreams and reality. But the moment his thoughts settle, the weight in his chest is there, heavy and suffocating. Another morning. Another day without Bachira.
He doesn’t move at first. The air in his apartment feels thick, pressing down on him, making his limbs feel heavier than they should be. His bed is warm, the sheets twisted around his legs from a restless night, but he feels cold inside. He should get up; he has things to do, training to attend, but for a long moment, he just lies there, staring at the ceiling.
Bachira’s voice echoes in his mind. The way he used to laugh, the playful teasing, the effortless way he fit into Isagi’s life like he belonged there–like the last piece of a puzzle. It was easy back then. Back when Isagi didn’t think too hard about what it all meant. Back when he didn’t realize just how much Bachira had filled the empty spaces inside him.
But now? Now all he feels is hollow.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. He glances at it but doesn’t move to check. The screen lights up with a notification; Hiori. Probably asking if he’s okay. Another one pops up from his coach, likely a reminder about today’s team meeting. Isagi exhales and lets the phone go dark again. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with it right now.
He runs a hand over his face and forces himself to sit up. His body feels like it's moving through water as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting the cool floor. The apartment is silent except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Usually, he’d have something playing; music, a podcast, anything to fill the quiet—but today, the silence feels fitting.
Dragging himself to the bathroom, he turns the faucet on and splashes cold water onto his face. It shocks his system for a brief second, but the heaviness lingers. He grips the edges of the sink, staring at his reflection. He looks awful. Dark circles under his eyes, his hair sticking out in different directions, his expression completely devoid of life.
“You’re pathetic,” he mutters to himself. “I thought you said you were going to get over him.”
The words sting, but he doesn’t deny them. He feels pathetic. Weak. Lost.
He can’t keep doing this.
His gaze drops to his hands—calloused, strong, built for soccer. Built for something more than wallowing in self-pity. He needs to move. Needs to do something, anything, to pull himself out of this spiral before it eats him alive.
Maybe if he trains, alone, he’ll feel better.
He throws on a hoodie and joggers, barely registering the motions as he moves through his apartment. His body operates on autopilot—grabbing his cleats, stuffing a water bottle into his bag, slipping his phone into his pocket without checking the notifications piling up. If he thinks too much, he’ll talk himself out of it, and the last thing he wants is to spend another day drowning in his own thoughts.
The morning air is crisp when he steps outside, the chill biting at his exposed skin. He tugs his hoodie tighter around himself as he makes his way to the small park near his apartment. It’s not an official training ground, just a simple field with a single, worn-out goalpost, but it’s quiet. Empty. No distractions.
This is what Isagi needs.
When he arrives, he takes a moment to just stand there, staring at the field. The grass is damp with morning dew, the air thick with the scent of earth and the faintest hint of rain. He drops his bag onto the sidelines and stretches, rolling his shoulders, bouncing on his toes, trying to wake himself up.
But the exhaustion isn’t physical. It’s mental, and it’s something that training alone might not fix.
Still, he has to try.
Isagi sets up a ball at the edge of the penalty box, rolling it under his foot before stepping back. His muscles tense as he lines up the shot, his body moving through the familiar mechanics like second nature. He exhales sharply, swings his leg back, and—
The ball sails wide, missing the goal entirely.
His brows furrow. He must’ve miscalculated the angle. He jogs over, retrieves the ball, and sets it up again. This time, he focuses. Tightens his core. Adjusts his stance. When he kicks—
The shot is off. Again.
Frustration coils in his chest. He grabs the ball with more force than necessary and resets. Another shot. Missed. Another. Missed.
He grits his teeth, wiping his sleeve across his forehead despite the cold air. His heart pounds, his breath comes faster, but it’s not from exertion. It’s anger. At himself. At the way his body refuses to cooperate. At the way his mind won’t stop replaying memories of Bachira, distracting him, taunting him, making him feel like he’s unraveling.
“Come on,” he mutters. “Focus.”
Another shot. This time, the ball clips the post and bounces out. He swears under his breath. His chest tightens. He doesn’t know why this is happening—why his body feels disconnected, why he can’t even do something as simple as kick a goddamn ball.
He picks up the ball again, gripping it so hard his knuckles turn white. His vision blurs for a second, his breathing uneven. He tells himself it’s just frustration. Just exhaustion. Just—
He blinks rapidly. His eyes sting.
No.
No, he’s not—Isagi is not crying.
But the next shot is even worse, and suddenly, something inside him snaps.
Isagi stumbles forward, hands bracing against his knees, head hanging low as a sharp, broken breath forces its way out of him. His whole body trembles. His chest is too tight. His throat burns. He tries to inhale, but it comes out jagged and uneven. The field around him warps at the edges of his vision, and before he can stop himself—
A choked, breathless sob escapes him.
He clenches his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut. His hands curl into fists against his thighs, nails biting into his skin. He doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t. But the ache in his chest is unbearable, and the more he tries to push it down, the harder it fights to rise to the surface.
It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. He’s standing in the middle of an empty field, breaking down over someone who isn’t even here.
But it hurts.
God, it hurts.
He presses the heel of his palm against his eyes, trying to will the tears away, but they slip past his defenses anyway, hot against his chilled skin. His breathing is ragged, the quiet morning now filled with the sound of his own breaking.
And then, finally, after what feels like forever, the words slip out.
Soft. Hoarse. Barely above a whisper.
“…I love him.”
The moment they leave his mouth, Isagi freezes. His breath catches. His heart stutters in his chest.
But it’s the truth, isn’t it?
He loves Bachira. He loves him so much it’s tearing him apart.
He sinks down to the ground, legs folding underneath him, hands still trembling as he grips the fabric of his joggers. The realization crashes over him, leaving him winded. All this time—he’s been fighting it, denying it, refusing to name it after Rin. But it was always there, wasn’t it? Always lurking beneath the surface, waiting for him to acknowledge it.
And now, there’s no taking it back.
Isagi loves Bachira.
And he might have lost him forever.
__________
Isagi’s apartment is constricting. The walls seem to close in around him as he steps inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft thud. The place is quiet. His shoes click against the floor as he moves, but he feels like a ghost in his own home, his thoughts louder than anything else.
He drops his bag onto the couch, pacing back and forth in frustration. His body aches from the emotional exhaustion. Everything feels off, out of place. His mind can’t seem to find rest, bouncing between memories of Bachira and the bitter, gnawing realization that he loves him.
Isagi’s hands run through his hair, tugging at the strands. His chest tightens with every thought of Bachira, of how he should have told him sooner. But he didn’t. And now, he’s not sure if there’s any way to fix it.
He exhales sharply, leaning against the back of the couch and staring at his phone. It sits on the coffee table in front of him, mocking him with its stillness. He should reach out. But the fear— that fear—of seeing Bachira’s name and knowing he’s probably with Rin keeps him frozen in place. Just as he’s about to grab the phone and throw himself into the mess, it buzzes.
A notification.
Isagi picks it up quickly, but it’s not a message from Bachira. The name on the screen freezes his blood.
Rin.
His thumb hovers over the screen, but he hesitates. The last time they spoke, things had been, well, tense. Rin had been cold, distant, his usual smug demeanor replaced with a sharp, biting edge. Isagi hadn’t expected to hear from him again so soon.
He swipes to answer before he can talk himself out of it.
“Isagi,” Rin’s voice greets him, smooth but laced with something dangerous. Cold.
Isagi’s pulse quickens, but he keeps his voice steady. “Rin.”
A long silence stretches between them, and for a moment, Isagi wonders if Rin’s just calling to check in(?), maybe to throw some insults his way. But then, Rin speaks again; his words calm, eerily calm.
“Meguru and I… we broke up,” Rin says, his tone low, almost detached.
Isagi’s breath hitches. It’s not like he didn’t expect it—hell, he almost saw it coming, but hearing it from Rin, in that cold, matter-of-fact way, sends a pang of hope through his chest.
He forces himself to swallow the lump in his throat. “I—I’m sorry to hear that.”
Rin chuckles darkly. “Don’t be. You think I care about your ‘sorry’? No. But here’s the thing, Isagi…” Rin’s voice tightens, each word calculated and chilling. “I don’t want you anywhere near him. He’s mine, you hear me? He’s mine."
A silence falls again, the weight of Rin’s words sinking deep into Isagi’s bones.
Isagi’s voice falters slightly, but he keeps himself steady, trying to push through the unease creeping up his spine. “What are you talking about?”
“Simple.” Rin’s voice hardens. “If you even think about trying to make a move on him, I’ll kill you. Understand?”
Isagi’s blood runs cold, his stomach dropping at the casual venom in Rin’s words. But it’s not just the threat that shakes him—it’s the underlying certainty in Rin’s tone, the conviction that he will do it if Isagi steps out of line. Rin’s anger doesn’t need to be loud to be terrifying.
Before Isagi can respond, Rin continues, his voice almost too quiet, as though savoring the moment.
“And for the record,” Rin says, the edge of smugness creeping into his tone, “Meguru’s in Germany right now, with Chigiri. So don’t bother making any plans to follow him. I’m the one who’s going to be by his side.”
The revelation is a gut punch, a twist of the knife that Isagi wasn’t prepared for. He stares at the phone, his heart hammering in his chest.
Germany? With Chigiri?
It doesn’t make sense. Why? Isagi was just with Chigiri. What’s going on between them?
But Rin doesn’t wait for Isagi to process the words.
“I’ll say it again, Isagi,” Rin’s voice is sharp now, colder than ever, “Stay the hell away from him.”
The line goes dead.
Isagi stands there, staring at his phone, his fingers trembling slightly as the screen fades to black.
Bachira is in Germany. With Chigiri.
His heart sinks into his stomach. The realization hits him like a freight train. What does this mean for Bachira? For them? For him?
The threat hangs in the air, suffocating him. Rin’s words echo in his mind— If you try to move onto Bachira, I’ll kill you.
Isagi’s thoughts spiral, his chest tightening with a surge of hope and the makings of a plan–
But Rin had been clear.
He owns Bachira now.
And Isagi? He’s nothing but a spectator in a game that’s already been decided.
The phone rests heavily in Isagi’s palm, its screen black and lifeless. He can still hear Rin’s words in his head—each one cutting deeper than the last.
He’s mine. If you try to move onto him, I’ll kill you.
The weight of it suffocates Isagi as if he were drowning in an ocean. His heart is a jumble of emotions, all twisted and knotted—anger, sadness, fear. Fear, not just for himself, but for Bachira. For what he could be walking into.
Isagi knows Rin isn’t just spouting empty threats. He knows better than anyone that Rin’s anger isn’t something to ignore. And the thought of Bachira—Bachira, who doesn’t understand love, who’s so easily swayed by the people around him—being caught in the middle of this twisted game, it breaks him.
What should Isagi do?
He couldn’t stand the thought of doing nothing. But what could he even do? Rin’s control over Bachira was suffocating, and every time Isagi tried to get closer, Rin’s shadow loomed over him, pushing him back.
And now Bachira was in Germany— with Chigiri.
The words echo through Isagi’s mind like a drumbeat. With Chigiri.
Was there something happening? The way Rin had said it so casually—was that what he meant? Isagi feels a new wave of jealousy surge through him, hot and bitter.
He presses his fingers to his temples, trying to clear his thoughts. But they’re a tangled mess—Bachira, Rin, Chigiri. He can’t think straight. Everything’s spinning out of control, and he can’t even pinpoint where it started.
His mind drifts to the park—the field, the empty goal. The place where he’d broken down earlier. The place where he’d realized that he loved Bachira. Loves him. And now it felt like he was losing him all over again.
Isagi stands up abruptly, the sudden motion jolting him out of his thoughts. He needs to do something. Anything. Sitting here, stewing in his own self-doubt, isn’t going to get him anywhere.
He walks over to the door, grabbing his jacket.
No more sitting idly by.
Isagi’s feet pound the pavement as he jogs through the quiet streets, his mind still tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration. He doesn’t know where he’s going—just that he needs to move, needs to burn off some of the restless energy coursing through him.
His breaths come heavy and uneven, but with every step, the gnawing feeling in his chest begins to dull, just a little. The rhythm of his feet hitting the ground is oddly soothing, grounding him as he tries to push everything else out of his mind.
But no matter how fast he runs, no matter how hard he pushes himself, he can’t outrun the truth. Bachira is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.
Rin’s words echo in his mind again, and he feels a hot flare of anger. How dare Rin—how dare he think he can control Bachira like that? Like a prize to be claimed and fought over. Bachira wasn’t some toy to be tossed around.
The anger fuels his movements, his legs pushing harder, faster. The more he runs, the more the weight in his chest starts to lessen. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it gives him something to focus on, something he can control.
Finally, he slows, panting heavily. He’s at the park again, the same place where he had collapsed earlier, where everything had unraveled. The goalposts stand in front of him, silent and unmoving.
Isagi stands still for a long moment, looking at the empty field. The silence is deafening, but it’s all he can handle right now. He lowers his head and places his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
Bachira had always been so full of life, so carefree. Isagi had never realized how much he’d come to depend on him, how much he needed him.
But now... now he feels like he’s drifting away from him. The connection he’d felt, the bond they’d shared, was slipping through his fingers like sand. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop it.
Isagi breathes deeply, shaking his head as the frustration builds again. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep letting Bachira slip away, can’t keep letting Rin control everything.
But what can he do? Rin’s threat lingers in his mind, a constant reminder of the consequences. And Bachira… Bachira wouldn’t want him to fight for him. Would he?
The thoughts whirl in his mind, overwhelming him. He clenches his fists and takes a deep breath, letting the anger simmer just beneath the surface. If he’s going to do something— anything —he needs to make a plan. He can’t just run after Bachira blindly. He has to be strategic. He has to find a way to break free from Rin’s grip, without falling apart in the process.
As Isagi stands there, his gaze fixed on the goal, a thought flashes through his mind—Bachira is in the same city as Isagi. Right now.
Isagi’s chest tightens at the thought. That’s his opportunity. Maybe this is the push he needs to get Bachira. Maybe, it’s time to take control of his own fate.
His eyes harden as the decision settles in his chest. He takes one last look at the empty field, his breath steadying as his resolve strengthens. He can’t keep running from this.
It’s time to move forward. Time to find Bachira, no matter what it takes.
Isagi stands there in the stillness, the weight of Rin’s threat pressing against his ribs, suffocating him. But even as it gnaws at him, there’s something else rising within him; a quiet defiance. He can’t let fear dictate his actions anymore. The frustration, the anger, it’s all mixing together, feeding into something stronger.
I won’t back down. Not now.
Rin may have tried to stake his claim on Bachira, but Isagi won’t accept it. Bachira deserves better than being trapped in a game of control, manipulated and suffocated.
He’s with Chigiri.
It’s the spark he needs, the confirmation that he can still act. If Bachira’s with Chigiri, then that’s where he’ll go. He doesn’t know what he’ll find when he gets there. But he knows one thing: he won’t lose Bachira. Not to Rin, not to anyone .
Isagi’s mind runs through the possibilities—he could just show up, confront Bachira. But what if Bachira isn’t ready to see him? What if... what if he’s moved on completely ?
The uncertainty lingers, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on that. Not now. He’s been running, both from his emotions and from the truth, for too long.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Isagi grabs his phone and sends a quick message to Hiori, after all he had never answered his message from the morning.
“I’m going to find Bachira. I’ll explain later.”
He hits send before he can second-guess himself. His heart pounds in his chest, the sound of it drowning out the noise of the city around him.
Isagi doesn’t know what’s waiting for him, what kind of reception he’ll get from Bachira, or how their first meeting will go after everything that’s happened—but he knows he needs to try. He can’t just sit here anymore, letting Rin’s control crush everything he’s been feeling.
His footsteps are steady as he walks through the city, heart pounding. The quiet hum is a backdrop to the chaos inside his head, but it’s also grounding him. He can’t think too much about what’s waiting for him, about the emotions that will come crashing down once he sees Bachira again.
He’s never been more certain of anything in his life.
__________
Isagi stood in the middle of his room, phone in hand. His mind raced, every thought tangled in a mess of words he couldn’t quite piece together. He had to do this. He needed to do this.
But how should he go about it?
Isagi hadn’t quite come up with a plan, after all, the sudden rush of adrenaline and determination cut off his logical thinking.
His eyes were set on Chigiri’s contact. The unknown made Isagi pause, but the urgency burning in his chest was stronger. He had to fix this. He had to figure out where he stood with Bachira— how he stood with him.
With a deep breath, Isagi finally tapped on the screen and started typing, feeling each word a little more painful than the last:
“Hey, can you meet up?”
He stared at the message for a long moment before adding another line.
“I need to talk.”
He cursed under his breath at how cold it sounded. How... detached. But that was the best he could do. He wasn’t sure how to even start explaining the mess he’d made, let alone how to untangle the emotions that kept rising within him.
A ping from his phone interrupted his thoughts.
“With Bachira?” Chigiri’s message appeared almost immediately. “Because we’re together right now.”
Isagi froze, his heart stumbling over itself. Would Chgiri be willing to have Bachira meet up with him?
“Yeah, I know. That’s exactly why I need to talk.”
The message was direct, but it left something unsaid, some unspoken tension that would hopefully persuade Chigiri.
There was a pause. Then, Chigiri’s reply popped up.
“Well, well, looks like someone’s got some confidence now. I’m used to hearing you complain about how much of a mess you are, but now you’re going for it?”
Isagi smiled bitterly, his thumb hovering over the screen as he thought about his next response. “I need to fix things. And I’m not letting this go.”
Another pause from Chigiri. Then a single, clipped message:
“Fine, I’ll bring him to the same restaurant we ate at. But you better make this worth it.”
A small chuckle escaped Isagi’s lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He typed out a quick “Thanks” and stood up from his desk, pacing the room, his thoughts swirling.
__________
When Isagi arrived at the restaurant, the cool evening air did little to calm his racing thoughts. He glanced up at the sign, taking a moment to steady himself before entering. His heart was pounding in his chest—not out of excitement, but something else. Anxiety? Regret? He didn’t know anymore.
He spotted Chigiri immediately—leaning casually against a table in the back corner of the restaurant, his eyes gleaming with that teasing glint. Bachira, sitting across from him, seemed the opposite: tense, a bit too still for comfort, his eyes darting nervously around the room.
Isagi’s gaze locked with Bachira’s for a brief moment, and something heavy passed between them—a silence, thick with everything they hadn’t said to each other. Bachira quickly looked away, his fingers tapping nervously against his glass.
Chigiri, as always, seemed unaffected by the weight of the situation. His voice rang out with a casual, “Yo!” waving him over with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Bachira stiffened at the sound of Isagi’s name, his gaze flickering up again, meeting Isagi’s. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Isagi, still standing a few feet away, could feel the tension between them—the unspoken questions hanging in the air like a thick fog. Why was Bachira acting like this? Was it because of Rin scaring him? Or was it just Isagi’s presence?
He hesitated for a second before walking over to the table, his heart hammering in his chest. Bachira looked up again, but this time, there was something guarded in his eyes. Hesitation . The kind of hesitation that spoke volumes, far more than any words could.
As Isagi pulled out the chair to sit across from them, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of their silence.
“Hey,” Isagi started, his voice unsteady. “I didn’t know if you’d be here, but...” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. He had no script for this. No rehearsed lines. “But I had to see you.”
Bachira didn’t respond at first. Instead, he shifted in his seat, glancing briefly at Chigiri. The words hung in the air for a beat longer before Bachira spoke—his voice quieter than usual.
“I didn’t expect you to show up.”
Isagi felt his heart tighten at the words, but he nodded, trying to meet Bachira’s gaze. “I know things have been... off between us, and I—”
Bachira cut him off before he could continue. “You don’t have to say it.” His voice was soft, but the edge in it was impossible to ignore. “I know.”
The words stung more than Isagi anticipated. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, he just sat there, feeling the weight of every unfinished conversation between them.
Chigiri, clearly sensing the awkwardness, leaned back in his seat with a smirk. “I’ll leave you two to talk,” he said, voice light, but his eyes betrayed a hint of concern. “You need to sort this out.”
Isagi watched as Chigiri stood and moved towards the exit. Bachira’s eyes followed him for a moment before he stood as well, his movements jerky, like he was unsure of what to do.
“I’ll be outside,” Bachira said, his voice still too quiet, almost like he was speaking to himself.
But before Isagi could say anything, Bachira was already turning and walking toward the door. The air in the room felt dense, heavy with words neither of them knew how to say.
Isagi’s feet moved on their own. He didn’t even think about it, he just followed Bachira, his heart pounding louder with every step.
“Bachira!” he called out, his voice coming out more desperate than he intended.
Bachira froze at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. His body tensed, shoulders stiffening like he was bracing himself for something he couldn’t control.
Isagi approached him cautiously, each step feeling like a challenge. “Why are you running?” he asked, trying to catch his breath. “We need to talk. Please.”
Bachira didn’t look back at him. “I don’t know what you want from me, Yoi- Isagi.”
The words struck like a physical blow. Especially how quickly Bachira refrained from using Isagi’s first name. It was the last thing Isagi wanted to hear. His stomach twisted painfully as he stepped closer, reaching out instinctively, his hand closing around Bachira’s wrist.
“Wait,” he said urgently. “Please, I need to fix this. We need to talk.”
Bachira flinched, trying to pull his wrist out of Isagi’s grip, but Isagi didn’t let go.
“No.” Isagi’s voice cracked with the emotion that had been building up for days. “I’m not going to let you walk away without saying something.”
Bachira jerked his arm again, his voice trembling as he spoke. “Why do you care so much now?” His eyes were wide, like he didn’t even recognize the person standing in front of him. “You never used to. You were fine just leaving things behind.”
Isagi’s throat tightened. “I wasn’t fine. I don’t know how to make this right, but I’m trying. Please.”
Bachira shook his head, a look of disbelief in his eyes. “I don’t understand.” His voice cracked as he said it, and for the first time, Isagi saw the pain written across his face. But it wasn’t enough. Bachira still pulled away from him, taking another step back.
“I... I can’t do this,” Bachira whispered, his voice barely audible over the quiet night. He turned his back to Isagi, his steps hesitant but quick, and Isagi was left standing there, helpless.
“No, wait, Bachira! Fuck– Meguru !” Isagi shouted after him. But it was no use. Bachira didn’t stop.
Isagi watched Bachira’s retreating figure for what felt like an eternity. The words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat, and the weight of everything unsaid felt unbearable.
He heard Chigiri’s voice behind him, soft and careful. “I’m sorry, Isagi.”
The simple apology hit harder than he expected. He slowly turned around to face Chigiri, whose eyes were filled with understanding.
Isagi didn’t say anything in return. He just nodded slowly, his throat tight. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on him, and there was no escaping it.
Chigiri didn’t say anything more. He just gave a small, sympathetic nod before turning and walking away, leaving Isagi standing in the quiet, empty street.
The world felt a little darker now.
Isagi let out a breath, his shoulders slumping as he stared into the night, the silence hanging between them.
The night was still as the tension lingered, and Bachira’s departure left a bitter aftertaste. He didn’t know where to go from here, but he knew he had to face what he had done.
The weight of Isagi’s silence weighed on both of them.