Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The shrill buzz of an alarm shattered the early morning silence, vibrating against the surface of Isagi’s nightstand. He groaned, fumbling to silence it before the sound could burrow any deeper into his half-asleep brain. With a sigh, he rubbed at his eyes, the faint sting of exhaustion refusing to fade.

One of the downsides of being a professional soccer player was the unforgiving schedule. Early mornings, endless training, and an ever-present demand to be at his peak—it all blended into a routine Isagi loved and resented in equal measure. He squinted at the bolded numbers on his phone: 5:00 AM .

"Why does Kunigami always have to be right?" he muttered, dragging himself out of bed. His muscles protested every movement, aching from the grueling workout he’d had with Kunigami the night before. The offseason was supposed to be a time to breathe, to let his body and mind recover, but Kunigami had insisted they keep, in Kunigami’s words, “grinding”.

Isagi stretched, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension there. Kunigami was intense—relentless, really. The guy lived and breathed the gym. While Isagi prided himself on discipline and routines, Kunigami’s version of “no days off” made him look like a slacker in comparison.

Stumbling into the bathroom, Isagi splashed cold water on his face, the icy sting jolting him awake. He stared at his reflection for a moment, shaking off the irritation. Today wasn’t about soccer, or Kunigami’s grating perfectionism. Today was about something far more important.

He had plans with Bachira.

The thought alone brought a smile to his face, small and private, as if even the mirror couldn’t know.

Both of their teams—Bastard München and Barcha—were on break, meaning they were finally back in Japan at the same time. Isagi had texted Bachira last night, asking if he wanted to go for a morning jog. The reply had come almost instantly: “YES!!!” followed by an enthusiastic string of emojis. That was Bachira for you, unfiltered and unapologetically himself.

As Isagi threw on his workout gear, he let his thoughts drift. Meeting Bachira back in Blue Lock had been a turning point, not just in his soccer career, but in his life. They clicked instantly, a connection that felt natural and effortless. Headlines often praised their on-field chemistry, but what mattered to Isagi was how easily they’d become inseparable off the field too.

That’s why it had been so hard when they went their separate ways during the NEO Egoist League. Bachira had chosen Barcha, a team that matched his wild, unpredictable style, while Isagi had stayed true to his calculated nature and joined Bastard München to play under Noel Noa. It made sense—they both wanted to grow, to challenge themselves, but it hadn’t made the distance between them any easier to bear.

At first, Isagi had wondered if he should have followed Bachira. But the thought of relying on him too much gnawed at Isagi’s pride. How could he become the world’s best striker if he couldn’t thrive without his best friend by his side? So, he stayed, determined to carve his own path.

And it worked. Both of them had risen to stardom, achieving everything they’d dreamed of and more. Still, the endless grind of the professional leagues left little time for the things that mattered most. Like seeing Bachira.

Isagi tugged his shoes on, guilt curling in his chest. He hadn’t made as much effort as he could have. The truth was, even when he had opportunities to visit or call more often, something held him back. Not laziness, not even exhaustion—something much harder to admit.

A crush.

Isagi stood, staring blankly at his reflection again, the word echoing in his mind. A crush on his best friend.

It sounded ridiculous, even to himself. Twenty-two years old, one of the top strikers in the world, and here he was, acting like some lovesick teenager. Every time he thought about spending more time with Bachira, he’d hesitate, overthinking every little detail. Did his texts seem too eager? Was he being too clingy? Would Bachira notice the way his heart raced whenever they were close?

Today was a rare exception though. One where he’d let himself enjoy Bachira’s company without overanalyzing it. After all, it wasn’t every day their schedules aligned like this. He could spend the morning with Bachira, maybe laugh at one of his ridiculous jokes, and just… be. No pressures, no expectations. Just them.

To clarify, Isagi isn't dumb. He can tell when someone is attractive and when he finds interest in someone. 

From the moment they met, Isagi knew Bachira was attractive. Who wouldn’t think that he was attractive? He was barely taller than Isagi when they first met, but Isagi had grown to be around two inches taller than him now. Bachira had a tanner complexion, with golden, honey eyes that Isagi constantly found himself lost in. He technically had a girl’s haircut, a bob-cut with bangs, but it totally fit him. His hair had a slight wave to it, and he had yellow under lights that contrasted his black hair. He was the walking image of a bee personified, but Isagi loved it.

Isagi loved when he wore earrings, he loved his unique sense of style that was perfectly and utterly Bachira, and (on the dirtier side of Isagi’s mind), Isagi loved Bachira’s legs. Isagi sort of had a thing for thighs, and Bachira’s made his mouth water. His legs were strong and athletic, but they were also agile and quick. Most importantly though, Isagi loved Bachira . Between every flaw and every quirk, Isagi was completely head over heels for his best friend.

Unfortunately, that was the problem. Isagi had only come to the realization that he had a thing for Bachira earlier this year. 

When he was eighteen, Isagi was busy having flings and casual hookups with random girls while simply acknowledging that his friend was attractive. When he was nineteen, Isagi had stopped dating after Bastard started to take up more and more of his time, and Isagi discovered he never actually found interest in his past casualties. When he was twenty, Isagi started to feel a flutter in his chest whenever Bachira touched him. But that was completely normal, right?

Wrong. At the old age of twenty-two, Isagi finally pieced the puzzle together. He was into Bachira, his best friend, and he was never going to stop. Isagi knew everything about Bachira, he knew every facial expression by heart, he knew what his words truly meant, he even knew Bachira’s routine like it was his own. Isagi knew that he , himself, had fallen in love.

The real problem wasn’t Isagi discovering his feelings, but that he couldn’t bear to mention them to Bachira. Isagi would never dare to throw away their friendship just for some silly feelings. And in all honesty, Isagi was content with his crush. Sure he wanted more, but sometimes more was a risky move to make, and risk was something Isagi only took in soccer. Besides, their careers took up almost every aspect of their life.

When they were around twenty, they’d go out at night to clubs and hang out with other friends. Some skeptical reporters made articles about how touchy they would get, but neither of them had ever brought it up. Hell, Isagi isn’t even sure if Bachira knew about those articles. 

As they grew older though, they stopped hanging out late at night completely. Isagi grew to be fine with it though, because his team’s practice takes up his entire evening. Bachira’s schedule also grew busier, and well, they both needed to maintain a good sleep schedule. They had no time for clubs, partying, or hanging out when they were in close proximity because half of the time it was during the offseason, when they really had to be taking care of themselves. 

Isagi snaps himself out of his thoughts. He had a tendency for his thoughts to spiral when thinking about Bachira, and if he didn’t catch himself, he could and would spend up to hours just thinking about him.

Isagi grabs a drawstring bag, and checks his phone on the way out of his apartment. He was surprisingly leaving earlier than he had anticipated.

Perfect, he thinks. Isagi always loved a nice walk in the morning when the city was quiet and peaceful.

A slight breeze hits him on the way out. It was spring, and the heat gradually increased throughout the day, so the breeze was welcomed. In fact, Isagi never particularly minded the cold. He actually preferred it over the humid heat of summertime. Bachira preferred warmer weather though, so Isagi had tolerated it. He’d give up all chilly weather and move into the blazing heat if Bachira would ask him to.

The early rays of dawn stretched out over the city, and little traffic was active. Isagi took his time walking, eventually kicking a pebble with his foot. He smiled, it reminded him of playing soccer with Bachira back when they were seventeen in Blue Lock.

Somehow, everything leads back to Bachira. It was like Bachira had met Isagi, climbed into his brain, made a home, and permanently moved in. Every thought, one way or another, would lead to Bachira. Isagi sometimes couldn’t help himself, Bachira was too perfect.

And while Isagi would never consider himself a poet, he could and would, write poems about Bachira for all of eternity. Bachira was a walking poem, he was pure sunshine, a buzzing bumble bee, a cute cat, the definition of perfect. 

Isagi arrives at a bakery, a small building made of white bricks. It was fairly cozy, with strings of lights hanging around the outside. Plants were potted everywhere, and a certain yellow flower caught his eye. It was a himawari, and Isagi slyly plucked the flower off of its stem, pocketing it in his bag for Bachira.

He takes a quick glance around to make sure no one witnessed his flower crime, and he nods his head pleased by the fact that nobody was even outside. Usually the bakery was bustling with customers, but Isagi had lucked out today.

He opens the door and enters inside, a bell ringing as he does so.

A cashier turns around from behind the counter and smiles at him, “The usual, sir?”

Isagi nods his head, and smiles bashfully. He chooses to ignore the slight blush creeping upon his face from embarrassment. 

He may (or may not) had been to this bakery multiple times after Bachira had commented on how much he loved their pastries. It definitely didn't help that this particular cashier always seemed to be present when he ordered the same items he always did- two matcha swiss rolls and a taiyaki. 

Isagi had originally bought the matcha swiss roll for himself and the taiyaki for Bachira, (the cake’s fish design was silly and fun, so Isagi knew Bachira would enjoy it), but Bachira had begged him for a bite of his matcha roll. So, like the good friend he was, Isagi resorted to buying two of the rolls. (Even if they were expensive and drained his wallet a bit.)

The cashier hands a brown paper bag over to Isagi with the treats after he pays. Isagi offers another smile towards the cashier, and the bell rings again as he leaves.

Isagi ventures forward until he arrives at a local city park. He walks past the main gate where some older women are stretching for what appears to be a fitness class. An upbeat pop song is playing and they smile warmly at Isagi as he goes to sit on a bench.

Isagi awkwardly smiles and waves. He sits down on the bench and places the bag beside him and then proceeds to wait patiently for Bachira’s arrival.

Bachira is late (based on their agreed time to meet up), but not by much- only a minute or two. One of their friends, Barou, despised tardiness, but Isagi finds it almost endearing how Bachira always seems to be late to everything, (even if he wishes Bachira could be better with time). Bachira was never punctual in Blue Lock either, and Isagi was always making sure he wasn’t tardy to a meal, particularly breakfast . 

In reality, maybe Isagi just found that his tardiness was endearing because he found Bachira as a person endearing.

Bachira rushes through the park’s entrance, catching some attention. Isagi notices he’s holding a tray of two juices. He’s slightly out of breath, his hair is frazzled, and his shirt is slightly wrinkled. 

He looks over towards Isagi, and runs over before slowing down when the juice almost spills out of the cups.

“Careful there!” Isagi teases while walking over to assist him.

Bachira rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Good morning to you too.”

Isagi smiles and takes the juice from him to sit down on the bench. He fixes Bachira’s shirt and smooths down his hair out of pure reflex. (It totally wasn’t like Isagi had been doing this everyday at some point. For years on end. Besides, it was a very normal friend-thing to do!)

Bachira beams at him, “Thanks! Sorry I was late, I slept in again.”

“Of course you did,” Isagi playfully punches him, even if he knew that Bachira was only late for grabbing them both juice unannounced. “Anyways, I got us those pastries from that bakery.”

Bachira’s eyes sparkle in delight and Isagi’s heart grows warm. He hands the bag over to Bachira, who greedily digs in.

He opens his mouth, half full with food, and exclaims, “Thanks, Yoichi! I love this place’s food!”

Isagi smiles, and he goes to say something risky- something like, “I love you”, but he stops himself, and mentally scolds his brain for the intrusive thought. 

Instead he replies, “Wait, I got you something else, too.”

He pulls out his drawstring bag, and gently lifts up the flower. He inches closer, and without thinking, Isagi gently pushes Bachira’s hair back and places the flower behind his ear. Bachira stands frozen, the slightest tint of pink dusting his cheeks. Isagi smiled to himself, it looked good.

Then, Isagi realizes what he just did, and he jumps back. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean too-“

Bachira lifts his finger to Isagi’s lips, “It’s fine, Yoichi! I love himawaris! They’re my favorite flower.”

Isagi sighs in relief, that was good he supposed. Although, he really had to be more careful. He didn’t want to weird out or make Bachira uncomfortable.

Bachira then smiled mischievously, “Hey, I’m gonna pretend I’m posing for a magazine! Rate my poses!”

Isagi laughs. Just leave it to Bachira to come up with something as silly as that, to help Isagi forget about whatever the hell he just did. He nods his head, and Bachira starts posing.

Bachira does a little jump in the air, happy pose and Isagi rates it a seven out of ten. Next, he does a classic kiss blow pose and Isagi rates it an eight out of ten. Lastly, Bachira does a cheeky wink and smiles rather seductively. Automatic ten out of ten, and Isagi really hopes his face isn’t turning red.

Bachira laughs and claps his hands, “We should do that game more often! It was fun!”

Isagi hums in agreement, “Yeah, that’d be nice. But, we do have to get started on this run.”

Bachira groans, “Ugh- really? Do we have to?”

Isagi chuckles in response, “Yes we have to,” He pats Bachira’s shoulder. “Come on, it’ll be done before you know it.”

Bachira huffs, “Fine. Only because you got me a matcha roll and taiyaki!”

Isagi rolls his eyes playfully, “Yeah, because you would always eat my matcha roll if you didn’t get your own.”

Bachira sticks out his tongue and begins running off. Isagi laughs shamelessly and chases after Bachira.

While this run held no value to Isagi, he still made somewhat of an effort to do well. He didn’t want to completely waste the opportunity to get better, and Bachira wouldn’t want to either.

About twenty minutes into the run, Bachira had started collecting leaves and small rocks. Isagi had learned that Bachira enjoyed picking up objects like that while he was out, so he never questioned it and observed as Bachira would lean down to pick up a new addition for his collection.

When they had finally finished their run, Bachira tapped Isagi on the shoulder and exclaimed, “Look, there’s a cat over there! I’m going to name him Whiskers.”

Isagi laughs, “ Whiskers? That’s an interesting name.”

“It’s because he has a lot of whiskers! See, look! You can basically count them all!”

Isagi inspects the cat more from his position, and Bachira was in fact telling the truth. Isagi smiles, “I see it. You’re always so observant, Meguru.”

Bachira beams in return, “Thanks, Yoichi! But, I have to disagree. You’re like ten times more observant than me.”

They continued to chatter back and forth. Well, actually, Bachira was the one mostly talking. He would change topics constantly, going from the cat he saw, to an art show he wants to take his mom to, to how he and Isagi should go see a new movie that came out. Isagi would interject when he felt it to be necessary, but other than that he let Bachira’s mouth run free. He enjoyed hearing his voice, and it helped him to develop the idea of going out for lunch.

“You want to go check out this new restaurant I saw?” Isagi asked Bachira, as they began to stretch their tired muscles. 

“Yeah, what’s it called?” Bachira answered in response.

“I’m not sure, but I know what it looks like!”

Bachira laughs, “Alright, lead the way!”

Isagi does as told, and they walk out of the building. Isagi takes them down the sidewalk, and Bachira points out every detail.

“ Ooh, look at that picture!”

“Did you see that bird just now?!”

“I need to go thrifting soon.”

“I’m so hungry, Yoichi!”

Isagi laughs at the last statement, “Lucky for you then, because we’re here!”

Bachira sighs dramatically in relief, “Thank God, I was going to go crazy.” He then tacts on, “Oh, I also got us tickets for that movie I mentioned! It’s showing in like two hours.”

Isagi secretly jumped for joy after hearing that. The day was shaping up to be a total Bachira-Isagi day, and Isagi was loving it.

Isagi nods his head and replies nonchalantly, “Sounds good to me.”

They walk into the restaurant, and a hostess greets them.

“Table for two?”

Isagi nods his head, and she leads them to a small table on the exterior. It was perfect for Bachira though, because he got to peer out the window and busy himself with the scenery.

They sit down into their chairs, and the hostess hands them two menus. Isagi takes it acceptingly, even though he knew what he wanted. He had seen a video of the restaurant's nikujaga , and the stew had left Isagi’s mouth watering and his stomach grumbling.

Bachira looked over the menu curiously, taking each choice into consideration.

“Do you know what you’re getting?” He looked up and asked Isagi.

“Yeah, I saw a video of their nikujaga. It looked really good.” Isagi says.

Bachira nods his head slightly, “That’s not very sweet though.”

Isagi laughs, “You’re right, it’s not. But, it’s probably better for me to lay off the sweet stuff after the pastries.”

Bachira rolls his eyes, “You always eat like you have to stay in pristine shape. It’s okay to indulge your sweet tooth, Yoichi!”

“Yeah? Not everyone has a super fast metabolism! You’re just blessed you haven’t gained fifty pounds from the amount of desserts you eat. And also- we both have to stay in shape!”

Bachira sticks his tongue out again, “Someone’s jealous!”

Isagi simply laughs, and their hostess comes back with two cups of water. She smiles at them, “Are you two ready to order yet?”

Isagi glances over towards Bachira, who sets his menu down and replies, “Yes, we are!” He nods towards Isagi, “He’ll order first.”

The hostess pulls out a notepad, and waits for Isagi to order.

“I’ll have the nikujaga, please.”

She nods her head, and turns to Bachira, “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll take the takoyaki, please! Could you make the sauce extra sweet?”

The hostess smiles, “Of course.” 

She gathers their menus, and leaves. Isagi bursts into laughter, “Seriously? Did you pick that out just to spite me?”

Bachira crossed his arms, “No, of course not! Octopus balls are very yummy! I just like the sauce to be extra sweet.”

“Sure.” Isagi sarcastically replies.

Bachira snorts in retaliation, “What? It’s true! You can try one when it comes out!”

Isagi shifts in his seat, “I like takoyaki too, silly. I just think that someone wanted to make a point.”

Bachira leans back in his chair, “Nope! No points to prove. Nada!”

Isagi hums, “Alright. But, you should try to eat a little more healthily. I don’t need you getting sick or anything.”

“Always so caring,” Bachira sighs softly. “Thanks Yoichi, but I’ll be fine! I’m really active.”

Isagi would not doubt that at all. Despite Bachira’s huge sweet tooth, he does manage to stay in shape and keep healthy. It’s a bit concerning that Isagi never questioned it, and just as he’s about to ask, their food comes out.

Bachira beams, “This smells so good!”

He uses a chopstick to pick up one of the octopus balls, and dumps it onto Isagi’s napkin.

“Here, eat it!”

Isagi obliges, and tastes it. He had to admit, it was pretty good. It didn’t help his case that the sauce was actually ten times better being sweeter than it was savory. Bachira eyes him knowingly, and Isagi just rolls his eyes and bashfully looks down at his stew.

Bachira, not too secretly, takes a spoon and tries some of Isagi’s nikujaga. He taps his chin, like he’s a food critic assessing it.

“This is good, but not sweet enough to my liking. Definitely up your alley, though.” Bachira concludes.

“Pft! I don’t think anything I eat would be sweet enough to your liking, even if I tried. You might as well be the king of sweets!”

Bachira laughs loudly, “Wait! I see it! Just imagine me on billboards and commercials!” Bachira clears his throat and speaks in a terrible commercial impersonation, “Bachira Meguru- King of Sweets! Buy your merch now before it sells out in stores worldwide!”

Isagi spits out his nikujaga back into the bowl as he laughs. Bachira joins him, and the sounds of their joy bounce off the restaurant walls. Isagi catches a few looks from the other diners, but he couldn’t care less. He was happy. He always was with Bachira. 

Isagi wipes a stray tear from his eye, “You have horrible impressions. I’d kill to see you play charades now.”

Bachira chuckles, “I do not! I’ll have you know I’m amazing at charades. Besides, those commercial voices are so hard to recreate. You just have to be born with the voice naturally!”

Isagi nods his head in agreement, “Yeah, I get what you’re saying. But seriously, never, and I mean never, get a job in voice acting!”

Bachira scoffs, “Just for that, I’ll get one! Then I’ll prove you wrong and become super famous.”

Isagi pretends to look astounded, "Wait, but you can’t! What would I do without my dearest friend? I would suffer alone with nobody to play soccer with! Not to mention that Barcha would completely suck!”

Bachira reaches over the table and smacks Isagi’s hand while laughing. “Stop! Fine, I won’t leave you to play alone. Not yet, at least.”

“Wow, how very kind of you!” Isagi sarcastically replies.

Bachira flips him off, and they both burst into laughter again. 

Eventually, after more bursts of laughter and conversation, they finish their food. Isagi insists on paying the bill, much to Bachira’s dismay, and they leave the restaurant.

“That place was really good, Yoichi. We should go back sometime.”

Isagi nods in agreement. “Hey, I wonder what time it is?”

Bachira shrugs and pulls out his phone. He gasps and looks over at Isagi.

“What?”

“We’re an hour late!”

Isagi’s jaw drops and he grabs Bachira’s phone. Sure enough, they were an hour over the showing time. Isagi gets ready to go do something else, but Bachira stops him.

“I have an idea! Let’s race! Loser has to buy a dessert!”

Isagi goes to interject, but Bachira’s already off. Frantically, Isagi sprints after him trying to catch up.

In the end, Bachira won. It wasn’t surprising, he had a head start and he was just quick in general. Isagi stands trying to catch his breath as Bachira puts his hands on his knees trying to do the same. 

“Looks like you’re buying!” He looks up, and smiles at Isagi.

In response, Isagi pushes him over, and he dramatically falls on the ground. “Oh shut up, you cheated! Besides, you would’ve made me do the paying anyway.”

Bachira raises his hands, “Guilty as charged!”

Isagi sighs, and pulls Bachira up to his feet. “Let’s head inside.”

The moment they get to their cinema room, the both of them get a variety of dirty looks. Bachira holds in his snickers, and Isagi tunes them out. They didn’t understand. If any of them knew Bachira like Isagi did, they’d lose track of time with him, too.

The rest of the day flies by, and it’s time to say their goodbyes and head home. Isagi decides to  walk Bachira to the train station. He waits until Bachira gets onto the train, and then he walks himself back to his apartment.

The sun was beginning to set later each day, but it was still setting pretty early for summer. Isagi opens his door, and throws his bag on the floor. He thinks of the flower he got Bachira- and oh shit. Isagi hadn’t realized that Bachira wore the himawari in his hair the entire day! 

A blush appears on Isagi’s face and he runs a hand through his hair. Did Bachira really like it that much? If so, Isagi would start bringing him flowers daily. But, what if he was just wearing it to be nice? 

Isagi sighed, he wouldn’t bring anymore flowers unless Bachira would ask; just to remain safe.

He undresses from his sweaty, athletic clothes, and changes into Bastard's practice uniform. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a practice jersey with shorts.

While Isagi was technically on offseason, some of the Bastard players in Japan had agreed to get together for some light training and play.

Much to his dismay though, Kaiser and Ness were a part of the practice group too. The assholes had decided to stay in Japan for “the experience” during their break, but Isagi knew it was just to annoy the shit out of him.

Isagi leaves his apartment, and a sleek black car pulls in front of his building. Isagi steps forward and opens the door to get in.

“Hey, Reo,” Isagi greets his friend. He turns to the other occupant of the car (and Reo’s boyfriend.) “What’s up, Nagi.”

Reo replies, “Hey Isagi.” and Nagi gives a curt nod of his head. Isagi rolls his eyes as Nagi buries his face back into whatever video game he was playing on his phone.

Reo and Nagi were both other players from Blue Lock, and they were both friends with Isagi.

To be honest, he had no idea why they were picking him up, other than the fact that they had offered to because it was by their date location and they wanted to say hi. 

Isagi wouldn’t turn the offer down, though. He enjoyed seeing Nagi and Reo, and it was one of few times that they could be around him peacefully, and not while he was screaming on a soccer field. 

The car ride is quiet with small bits of chatter here and there, as Isagi assumed it would be, and after twenty minutes they finally arrive at the turf field for Isagi’s practice.

The field was secluded in the outskirts of the city and was hidden behind towering trees and other plant life.

Reo pulls into the parking lot. “Here, Isagi. Have fun, and don’t let Kaiser piss you off. Nagi and I have seen your famous screaming matches.”

Isagi laughs awkwardly, “I’ll try not to. Thanks for the ride.”

Reo hums in response, and Isagi exits the car. He walks at a fairly slow pace, dreading the fact that he has to interact with Kaiser and Ness after such a good day.

He reaches the field, and barely has time to do anything before an infuriating voice speaks.

“Yoichi, I was hoping you’d call out sick today.”

Isagi turns bitterly to Kaiser, and refrains from creating another headline along the lines of, “Star Player of Bastard Munchen Punches Teammate!”

Isagi grimaces, “I’m surprised you didn’t, Kaiser. You look awful, are you sure you don’t want to head home?”

Ness snorts, his voice dripping with venom. “What’s the matter, Yoichi? Michael’s got your spot, and now he’s got your looks, too. Don’t tell me you’re jealous. How about you just quit and go run off with…what was his name again?”

Ness glances at Kaiser who finishes for him with a smirk, “Bachira Meguru.”

As soon as Kaiser drops Bachira’s name, Isagi feels a strange tightness in his chest. It’s an odd mix of frustration and something else he doesn’t want to face right now. His mind flashes to the flower he bought for Bachira, the way he had worn it in his hair all day. But then the moment is gone, replaced by the familiar bitterness of Kaiser and Ness’s taunts. He pushes the feeling down, forcing himself to focus on the practice ahead.

Isagi glares at them. He never felt the need to keep his personal life private from his teammates, in fact, Bachira had actually hung out with the team a couple of times. However, Kaiser and Ness took it upon themselves, like the annoying shits they were, to research Isagi’s life, and they had discovered Bachira’s importance to him.

Ness laughs, “Yes, that’s the name. I was out walking in the city and I saw the two of you eating at that new restaurant, Rolling Rice.”

Isagi rolls his eyes, trying to find the positive. At least Ness knew the restaurant’s name, so now Isagi could find it without relying on his memory of how it looked liked.

Kaiser steps closer, his smirk widening as he looks Isagi up and down. “You’ve really gone soft, huh? All it took was one pretty face to get you distracted. I bet you can’t even focus on soccer now, can you? All you're thinking about is Meguru.”

Ness adds, voice dripping with mock sympathy, “Maybe you should just quit and go be a couple with him. Couldn’t hurt to take a break from all this stress.”

Isagi bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping. He’d heard worse, sure, but something about hearing Bachira’s name in the same sentence as those two idiots made his blood boil. He clenched his fists, but instead of throwing a punch, he took a deep breath, reminding himself that giving in to Kaiser’s bait wasn’t worth it.

Isagi folds his arms, his voice laced with irritation. “You two seriously need to get a life. Stop obsessing over my personal life and focus on your deteriorating careers.”

Kaiser chuckles, a lazy smirk curling at his lips. “Oh, Yoichi! Don’t be so cruel! Alexis is just complimenting you on your horrid attempt to win someone over.”

Ness grins wickedly. “Michael’s right. Stop being such a—”

Ness’s sentence is cut off by the sharp sound of Kunigami clapping his hands loudly. The abrupt noise silences the group, and all eyes turn to him.

“Good evening, guys.” Kunigami’s voice is calm but firm, his posture straight as he surveys the group. “I know a lot of us aren’t here because it’s the offseason, but we’re doing ourselves a favor by putting in some extra work. Let’s keep the arguing to a minimum, okay?” He glances pointedly at Isagi and Kaiser with the last part.

Isagi grumbles an almost inaudible, “Yeah, fine,” though the annoyance is still apparent in his tone. Kaiser, on the other hand, just smirks back, clearly not bothered by Kunigami’s subtle reprimand.

Kunigami gives a satisfied nod and moves to set up cones on the field for the next drill. With the tension slightly diffused, the others begin to scatter, but Isagi can feel the residual frustration building up in his chest.

 With Kunigami no longer paying attention and in listening distance, Kaiser turns back to Isagi.

“This will be fun, won’t it be Yoichi? Although, I must say, you look atrocious right now. It’s like your attractiveness is based on how good at soccer you are!”

“Hop off, Kaiser,” Isagi growls. “You better bring your all tonight, otherwise I’ll finish as the winner in everything we do and you’ll look like the idiot asshole you are.”

Kaiser grins widely, “Sounds like a deal. If I win though, which I will, I’m going to have a little talk with Meguru about how stupidly obsessed you are with him.”

Isagi’s scowl deepens, the words he wants to say bubbling up but refusing to escape as he locks eyes with Kaiser. “You couldn’t even win if I played with my eyes glued shut,” he retorts, his tone sharp and biting. “And I’m not sure what your obsession with Bachira is, but just know, you’ll never get to meet him.”

The challenge hangs in the air for a moment, charged and thick with tension, but before Kaiser can even open his mouth to reply, Isagi turns on his heel. His footsteps are quick and heavy, fueled by the anger that’s simmering beneath the surface.

Without another word, he walks away, his mind racing with a mix of frustration and confusion. Kaiser and Ness… they didn’t know anything about him or Bachira. And yet, they were so quick to mock something they didn’t understand, something he wasn’t even sure how to define himself. 

He grabs a ball from the side, pushing all of his focus into it. He dribbles it forcefully, taking out his frustration with each precise movement—running it across the field, weaving in and out, his mind trying to keep pace with his body. “Focus on the game,” he tells himself. “Forget about them.”

But even as he runs, he can’t help but think of Bachira. The way he smiled at him today, the way he wore that sunflower in his hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Isagi hadn’t meant for it to be anything serious, just a casual gesture. Yet seeing Bachira wear it all day… It made him wonder. Had Bachira liked it that much? Did he feel the same way?

Isagi huffs, frustrated with himself. He kicks the ball harder, the sound of it echoing across the field. “Focus, Yoichi,” he mutters to himself. “Don’t let those assholes get to you.”

But it’s hard. Kaiser and Ness know exactly how to get under his skin. And now, after everything that happened today, he can’t help but feel like he's walking a fine line between his friendships and something more; something he hasn’t fully figured out.

The practice session stretches on, and Isagi can barely concentrate. He can’t stop thinking about the next time he’ll see Bachira. That’s all he really wants right now—to see him again, to clear his head, to maybe find out what all of this means and where it will take him.

As the session wraps up and the rest of the players head to the sidelines to catch their breath, Isagi feels a strange emptiness settle in. The game had always been his escape, his one true focus. But now, he’s not so sure.

All he knows is that he’s got to figure out what to do with the thoughts of Bachira floating around in his head.

Chapter Text

The rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks filled the space around him as Bachira leaned against the window, his gaze wandering to the cityscape rushing past. The outside world blurred into streaks of light and shadow, but Bachira wasn’t paying much attention to it. His mind was still lingering on the day he’d just spent with Isagi.

He absently reached up, fingers brushing against the flower tucked behind his ear—the himawari Isagi had handed him earlier. It had been a simple gesture, but it had stuck with him, like the way a catchy song gets stuck in your head.

It was funny, really. Isagi always did little things like that; getting little gifts, walking him to the station, saying things like, “You should eat healthier.” Bachira wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he knew it made him feel warm in a way he didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t the kind of warmth he got from scoring a goal or hearing the crowd cheer his name. It was different. Quieter. Softer.

Bachira fiddled with the flower again, a small smile tugging at his lips. Isagi was always so serious, even about the smallest things. The way he scolded him about his diet, the way he looked exasperated when Bachira teased him—it was all so… Isagi. And that was why Bachira loved being around him.

Not love -love, of course. That was weird . Bachira didn’t do love like other people did. It wasn’t something he felt—or at least, not in the way Isagi probably thought about it. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Isagi made him laugh. Made him feel seen. Made him feel like it was okay to just be himself, himawari and all.

The train’s brakes squealed as it pulled into the next station, jolting Bachira out of his thoughts. He looked down at the flower again, twirling it between his fingers. Maybe he should give Isagi a thank-you gift next time they meet. Something small, like a keychain or a bag of his favorite candy. Yeah, that sounded good.

As the train started moving again, Bachira placed the flower in the bag he had brought along with him. He leaned back in his seat and let his head rest against the cool glass of the window. The warmth of the day still lingered barely, and he let it wash over him like the gentle hum of the train.

__________

The train doors hiss open, and Bachira steps onto the platform, stretching his arms above his head as the cool night air greets him. The station is quiet at this hour, with only a few other commuters around. Bachira hums a tune to himself as he makes his way through the familiar streets leading to his apartment, his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets.

By the time he reaches the building, he’s already fishing for his keys, jingling them absentmindedly as he climbs the stairs. His door creaks slightly as it swings open, revealing the chaos that is Bachira’s home.

The apartment is a mishmash of color and clutter. Posters of famous soccer players and abstract art pieces are tacked haphazardly onto the walls. An overflowing laundry basket sits in the corner, a soccer ball perched precariously on top of the pile. The coffee table is buried under a mix of empty snack bags, unopened mail, and a sketchbook with pencil shavings scattered across it.

Kicking off his sneakers, Bachira tosses his bag onto a nearby chair, ignoring the way it almost tips over dangerously before settling. He grabs a can of soda from the fridge, the cool metal refreshing against his palm as he flops onto the couch, sinking into its worn cushions.

The flower Isagi had given him peeks out from his bag, its petals slightly bent from being jostled around. Bachira picks it up, straightening it with careful fingers before setting it on the coffee table. The bright yellow looks almost out of place amidst the chaos, but Bachira smiles at it anyway.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his messages. The group chat is still buzzing with plans for the Blue Lock reunion party, but Bachira doesn’t feel like chiming in just yet. His thumb hovers over Isagi’s name in his contacts.

Should I thank him again? he wonders, staring at the blank message screen. The thought makes him pause. He’s not the type to overthink these things, but something about the gesture—about Isagi, makes him feel different.

With a shrug, he locks his phone and tosses it aside. “Eh, I’ll see him soon enough,” he mutters to himself, reaching for the TV remote instead.

Soon, the apartment is filled with the sounds of his favorite show: a chaotic, over-the-top comedy that matches his energy perfectly. Bachira laughs at a particularly ridiculous scene, his feet bouncing rhythmically against the edge of the couch.

But even as he loses himself in the antics on the screen, his mind drifts back to Isagi. The way he blushed earlier, how his eyes softened when he handed over the sunflower. Bachira doesn’t understand why those moments stick with him, why they feel so warm and significant.

He shakes his head, grinning to himself. “You’re weird, Yoichi,” he says, more to the flower than to anyone else.

The night wears on, and the cluttered apartment grows quieter, save for the occasional chuckle from Bachira. At some point, he grows bored, so Bachira decides the best decision is to call his friend- not Isagi. 

Bachira’s fingers hovered over his phone screen, the glow illuminating his face in the dimly lit apartment. He scrolled idly through his contacts, his thumb circling over Chigiri’s name. A half-eaten bag of chips balanced precariously on his lap, and the TV droned on in the background, forgotten.

With a grin, he tapped the call button. It only took a couple of rings before the line connected.

“Bachira?” Chigiri’s voice came through, smooth but tinged with curiosity. “You okay? It’s kinda late.”

“Chigiri!!” Bachira sang into the receiver, flopping onto his side on the couch. The chips spilled, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Guess what?”

There was a brief pause, followed by Chigiri’s amused sigh. “What, Bachira?”

“Yoichi gave me a himawari today. Like, a real one. Isn’t that funny?”

Another pause. This one felt heavier, as if Chigiri was carefully choosing his next words. “A himawari? Why?"

“I dunno!” Bachira chuckled, spinning the empty chip bag like a toy. “He said something about me liking bright things. Do you think that’s true?”

Chigiri’s laugh was soft but warm. “Yeah, I think that’s true. But… Bachira, do you know why he gave you a flower?”

Bachira hummed, kicking his legs in the air like a child. “I guess because he likes me? I mean, we’re best friends, right? I’d give him a flower too, but I don’t think he’d wear it in his hair like I did.”

Chigiri didn’t respond right away, and Bachira could practically hear the gears turning in his friend’s head.

“Bachira,” Chigiri finally said, his tone careful but firm, “I don’t think he gave you that flower just because you’re his friend."

Bachira frowned, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Chigiri hesitated, then pushed on. “Have you ever thought about how Isagi might feel about you? Like, more than just friends?”

The question hung in the air, and for once, Bachira didn’t have a quick response. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, his brows furrowed in thought.

“I mean,” Chigiri continued, filling the silence, “he walked you to the station, gave you a flower, and you said he looked kinda nervous doing it, right? That’s not just…regular friendly stuff.”

Bachira sat up, his legs crossed and his free hand gesturing animatedly even though Chigiri couldn’t see him. “But Yoichi’s always nice to me! He’s nice to everybody. That’s just who he is.”

“Not like this, though,” Chigiri countered gently. “Look, I’m not saying he’s definitely in love with you or something. But, maybe think about it? Try to pay attention to how he acts around you compared to others.”

Bachira was quiet again, his gaze drifting to the sunflower on the coffee table. “Even if he does feel that way,” he said slowly, “I don’t…I don’t think I’d understand it. You know how I am, Chigri. I don’t really get that stuff.”

Chigiri’s voice softened. “I know. And that’s okay. But if it turns out he does have feelings for you, you should talk to him about it. You don’t have to change who you are, but being honest with each other is important.”

Bachira nodded, even though Chigiri couldn’t see him. “Yeah… I guess you’re right. But what if I mess it up?”

“You won’t,” Chigiri said confidently. “You’re Bachira Meguru. You’ve never been afraid to be yourself, and that’s what people love about you. Just keep being honest, and everything will work out.”

A comfortable silence settled for a moment before Chigiri spoke again. “Oh, by the way, did you get the invite for the Blue Lock reunion party?”

Bachira perked up, his grin returning. “Oh yeah! It’s next week, right? Everyone’s in the off-season, so they’re all gonna be there.”

“Exactly,” Chigiri replied. “It should be fun. But, Bachira, if Isagi is there, you might want to pay attention to how he acts around you. This could be a good chance to figure things out.”

Bachira tilted his head, considering. “Hmm, maybe. I’m mostly just excited to see everyone again. I bet Reo will bring Nagi and spoil him the whole time.”

Chigiri chuckled. “Of course. But keep your eyes open, okay? And don’t do anything too crazy.”

Bachira gasped in mock offense. "Me? Crazy? Never!”

“Uh-huh,” Chigiri replied dryly. “Just try not to embarrass Isagi too much.”

Bachira laughed, the sound bright and carefree. “No promises!”

The call ended shortly after, but Chigiri’s words lingered in Bachira’s mind. He glanced at the time on his phone, and decided that he needed to get out of his apartment and into some fresh air. 

Bachira tugged a hoodie over his head, the oversized fabric swallowing his frame as he slipped into a pair of well-worn sneakers. He grabbed his soccer ball from where it sat by the door, its surface scuffed from years of use, and stepped outside. The cool night air greeted him, brisk and crisp, stinging his cheeks just enough to make him feel alive.

The city lights blinked and glimmered in the distance, a kaleidoscope of colors against the inky sky. He bounced the ball lightly with his foot as he walked, the rhythmic tapping against the pavement echoing softly in the stillness. The night was quiet, but not silent—cars hummed faintly in the distance, and the occasional bark of a dog punctuated the calm.

Bachira loved moments like this. The world always felt softer at night, like it was taking a deep breath after the chaos of the day. It was his time to let his thoughts wander without interruption, to drift wherever his mind wanted to take him.

The park wasn’t far from his apartment, just a few blocks away, and when he reached it, he found it exactly how he liked it: empty. The streetlights cast long, golden beams across the grass, their glow making the dew shimmer like tiny stars. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and fallen leaves, a grounding scent that reminded him of home.

He kicked the ball ahead of him, chasing after it with a burst of energy that made his hoodie flap behind him. His movements were loose and playful, a sharp contrast to the precision he brought to the field during games. Out here, there was no strategy, no opponent, no pressure—just him and the ball.

He dribbled in tight circles, weaving between imaginary defenders, his feet moving with a rhythm that felt more like dancing than playing. The ball was his partner, following his every move as if it had a mind of its own.

As he played, his thoughts drifted back to earlier that day, to the way Isagi had looked at him when he noticed the flower tucked into his hair. Bachira hadn’t thought much of it when he’d slipped the flower behind his ear. It was just something fun, something that felt right in the moment. But Isagi’s reaction…

There’d been something in his eyes, something soft and almost nervous. It wasn’t the look Isagi usually gave him on the field, where determination and focus burned like a flame. This was different, quieter, like he was holding onto a secret.

Bachira’s juggling faltered, and the ball slipped away from him. He chased after it with a grin, scooping it up and tucking it under his arm. He walked toward the swings at the edge of the park, his thoughts swirling like leaves caught in the wind.

Why did Isagi’s small gestures stick with him so much? The flower, the walk to the station, the way he always seemed to listen so intently—it all made Bachira feel warm in a way he couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t like the excitement he would normally feel. It was always softer, quieter, like the glow of the streetlights that painted the park.

He plopped down onto a swing, letting the ball roll gently to the ground. The chains creaked softly as he began to sway, the motion calming and familiar. He tilted his head back, staring up at the stars scattered across the sky like freckles.

His thoughts wandered to the call he’d had with Chigiri. His friend’s words played on a loop in his mind, nudging at something he couldn’t quite grasp.

"You don’t have to understand it all at once. Just let yourself feel it."

Bachira let out a soft laugh, the sound swallowed by the night. Letting himself feel things had never been a problem. If anything, he felt too much sometimes. But this? This thing with Isagi? It felt different.

He swung back and forth lazily, the cool breeze brushing against his face. He thought about the upcoming Blue Lock reunion party that Chigiri had mentioned. A flicker of excitement stirred in his chest at the idea of seeing everyone again. Blue Lock had been chaotic, sure, but it had also been a place where he felt truly understood, where he met people who saw the world as he did—bright, competitive, and brimming with possibility.

Still, the idea of being around so many intense personalities again was daunting. Everyone had grown since their time in Blue Lock, but some things never changed. And there was the matter of Isagi. Would he act differently around Bachira at the party? The thought sent a strange flutter through his chest, though he wasn’t sure if it was from anticipation or nerves.

Bachira shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. The party was a problem for another day. Right now, all he wanted was to enjoy the quiet.

He hopped off the swing and picked up the ball, bouncing it on his knee a few times before setting it on the ground. He dribbled aimlessly across the field, the sound of the ball against the grass grounding him.

The night wrapped around him like a blanket, the stars above winking down as if they knew something he didn’t. For now, that was enough.

__________

The sunlight filtered through the half-closed blinds in Bachira’s apartment, drawing golden lines across the cluttered space. Posters of famous soccer players and abstract paintings covered the walls, while mismatched piles of clean and dirty clothes fought for dominance on the floor. His favorite pair of neon green cleats sat abandoned by the door, one tipped over.

Bachira rolled over in bed, rubbing his eyes and squinting at the bright light. “Ugh, too early,” he muttered, glancing at the clock. It was already past nine, but mornings weren’t exactly his strong suit.

With a dramatic yawn, he kicked off the covers and shuffled to the kitchen. Grabbing the first thing he saw, a half-eaten bag of chips, he munched on a few before tossing the bag aside and pulling out his phone.

A notification from Chigiri caught his eye:

“Good morning! Don’t forget about the reunion. I better not see you show up in mismatched socks.”

Bachira’s lips curved into a mischievous grin. He quickly typed back:

“What if I do it just to make you mad?”

His phone buzzed almost instantly, "Don’t test me, Meguru.”

Laughing to himself, he set the phone down and changed into his favorite training clothes—a bright yellow shirt and shorts that had definitely seen better days. He glanced at himself in the mirror, running a hand through his messy hair. “Perfect,” he declared, grabbing his soccer ball and heading out the door.

One thing about Bachira, is that no matter the time or the place; he would always find a way to play soccer. Even with being in his offseason, Bachira had always ended up back at the field with his ball in hand.

The walk to the park was peaceful, the streets still waking up. The air was crisp and cool, with just a hint of warmth from the rising sun. Birds chirped from the trees lining the sidewalks, and a gentle breeze ruffled his hair as he bounced the soccer ball on his knee.

When he arrived at the park, the wide-open field called to him. Dropping the ball onto the grass, he rolled it under his foot, savoring the familiar weight and texture.

“Alright, monster,” he said aloud, his tone playful yet challenging. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He launched into drills, weaving the ball between a makeshift obstacle course he’d created with stray sticks and cones. His movements were fluid and instinctive, honed by years of practice and an innate love for the game.

But as he played, his thoughts kept circling back to yesterday. To Isagi.

The memory of Isagi’s warm smile and the himawari tucked into his hair made Bachira pause, the ball rolling to a stop at his feet.

“Why did he do that?” he murmured, staring at the ground. Was it just a casual gesture? Or did it mean something more?

Shaking his head, he kicked the ball hard into the net, the force of the strike reverberating through his body. “Stop overthinking, Meguru,” he muttered.

__________

After an hour of intense practice, Bachira decided to reward himself with a trip to the market. The lively atmosphere hit him as soon as he stepped onto the cobblestone street. Vendors called out their wares, their voices competing with the bold conversations and the occasional bark of a dog. The air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, roasted chestnuts, and sizzling skewers.

Bachira wandered through the stalls, his eyes darting from one colorful display to the next. He stopped at a food stand, pointing enthusiastically at the skewers.

“Three of these, please!” he said, fishing out a crumpled bill from his pocket.

The vendor handed him the skewers, and Bachira bit into one immediately, humming in satisfaction as the smoky flavor filled his mouth. He strolled further into the market, munching happily and occasionally stopping to inspect something that caught his eye.

At a flower stall, he paused, his gaze lingering on a bouquet of himawaris. His fingers hovered over one of the blooms before he shook his head, chuckling softly to himself.

“Getting sentimental, Meguru?” he muttered, turning away.

Just as he reached for a jar of honey at another stall, a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“You’re as loud as ever.”

Bachira froze, the jar slipping from his fingers and landing back on the stall with a soft thud. Turning slowly, he found himself face-to-face with Itoshi Rin. The striker stood a few feet away, arms crossed and a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Rin-chan!” Bachira exclaimed, his face lighting up. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you actually enjoy markets.”

Rin raised an eyebrow, holding up a neatly organized basket. “Groceries. Unlike you, I don’t survive on junk food and chaos.”

Bachira peeked into the basket, his grin widening. “Eggs, bread, vegetables… wow, Rin-chan, you really are a domestic guy. Are you sure this isn’t for a cooking show?”

Rin rolled his eyes. “And you’re still as annoying as ever.”

“Part of my charm,” Bachira quipped, popping the last piece of skewer into his mouth.

Rin’s expression softened, almost unnoticeable. “Are you going to the reunion?”

“Of course!” Bachira said enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t miss it. Everyone’s gonna be there, right? Even you.”

“I was invited,” Rin replied simply.

“Well, you better show up, Rin-chan,” Bachira teased, leaning closer. “I mean, how else will I get to make fun of you?”

Rin smirked faintly but didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze lingered on Bachira for a moment, as if weighing his next words. Finally, he glanced at his watch. “I should go.”

“Already? You’re no fun!” Bachira called after him.

Rin paused, turning back briefly. “See you at the reunion, Meguru. Try not to embarrass yourself too much.”

Bachira watched him disappear into the crowd, a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Rin’s words and the look in his eyes felt… off , though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

As he made his way home, the market’s vibrant energy gradually faded, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The reunion loomed on the horizon, promising chaos, laughter, and maybe some clarity about the feelings that had been tugging at him since yesterday.

For now, though, all he could do was wait.

The evening air had grown cooler by the time Bachira reached his apartment, his arms laden with a mismatched collection of groceries and trinkets from the market. The vibrant energy of the day had settled into a calm hum, the distant sound of traffic blending with the occasional chirp of cicadas.

Juggling the bags, he nudged open his apartment door with his shoulder, stepping into his small but lively living space. The scent of citrus air freshener mingled with something slightly sweet—probably an old candy wrapper left on the coffee table. 

“Home sweet chaos,” Bachira muttered with a grin, kicking the door shut behind him. He set the bags down on the kitchen counter, pausing to survey his purchases. Fresh vegetables he didn’t entirely know how to cook, a bag of his favorite melon-flavored candies, and a new soccer keychain shaped like a tiny golden boot—all reminders of his whimsical approach to life.

As he unpacked, he found himself moving with more care than usual, his mind wandering back to Rin’s unexpected appearance at the market. Itoshi Rin was the kind of person who carried an intensity that lingered even after he was gone. The cryptic way he had spoken about the upcoming reunion echoed in Bachira’s head, raising questions he couldn’t quite answer.

“Do you always have to be so weird, Rin?” he mused aloud, placing a carton of eggs into the fridge. Yet, it wasn’t just Rin who occupied his thoughts. Bachira’s hand hovered over a small himawari magnet he’d picked up at one of the stalls—a quiet nod to Isagi. He didn’t even need the magnet, but something about it had drawn him in, the bright yellow petals reminding him of the flower Isagi had given him the day before.

Setting the magnet on the fridge, he let out a long sigh, the sound filling the otherwise quiet apartment. His thoughts drifted unbidden to Isagi’s face, the way his cheeks had turned pink when Bachira had complimented the flower.

“Why are you so nice, Yoichi?” Bachira asked the empty room.

Bachira flopped onto his couch, letting the soft cushions engulf him as he stared at the ceiling. The past two days had been packed with small but meaningful interactions—Isagi’s thoughtful gesture, Chigiri’s call, the lively market, and Rin’s words. Each moment seemed to tug at a different part of him, leaving him with a strange sense of fullness and yearning all at once.

His gaze fell on his phone lying on the coffee table. For a brief moment, he thought about texting Isagi, maybe sending a picture of the magnet or even just a quick “ Hey .” But he hesitated, his fingers hovering above the screen. What would he even say?

Instead, he opened a casual game on his phone, the colorful graphics and playful music filling the silence. It was a distraction, albeit a flimsy one. As he swiped at the screen, his mind kept circling back to the same questions: Why had Isagi gone out of his way to walk him to the train station? Why did Rin seem so... interested ?

As the evening wore on, Bachira found himself growing restless. The reunion party was in less than a week, its promise of seeing old teammates both exciting and nerve-wracking. Part of him was eager to reconnect, to relive the camaraderie of their Blue Lock days. But another part—the part that didn’t quite understand the complexities of attraction or why people acted the way they did—felt uneasy.

“People are so weird,” he muttered, picking up the himawari magnet again and twirling it between his fingers.

Yet, even as he said it, a smile crept onto his face. Weird wasn’t so bad. After all, Isagi was weird in the best possible way.

Bachira sat up abruptly, the magnet slipping from his fingers and landing with a soft clink on the coffee table. The stillness of his apartment was starting to get to him. He wasn’t used to this much quiet—he thrived on movement, noise, and the unpredictable chaos of life.

“I need to do something,” he declared to himself, standing up and stretching his arms above his head.

His gaze flicked to his cleats resting by the door. A familiar itch began to stir in his chest—the urge to feel the ball at his feet, to let the rhythm of soccer drown out the noise in his head. Grabbing his cleats and a ball, he decided to head to the nearby park. The sun was still setting, casting the world in shades of orange and pink, and the thought of an empty field under the twilight sky felt oddly appealing.

The park was alive with the soft noises of evening. A group of joggers made their rounds on the path, their synchronized footfalls blending with the distant chatter of families packing up picnics. The faint scent of freshly cut grass lingered in the air, and the fading sunlight bathed the field in a warm, golden glow.

Bachira dropped his bag at the edge of the field and slipped on his cleats. The ball felt light and familiar under his touch as he began to dribble, weaving it back and forth with practiced ease. The world seemed to fall away with each step, his focus narrowing to the sound of the ball skimming the ground and the way it responded to his movements.

The field wasn’t completely empty—off to the side, a father was teaching his young son how to kick a soccer ball. Bachira’s gaze lingered on them for a moment, a pang of nostalgia flickering in his chest. He thought about his own childhood, the hours spent playing soccer with his mom, the joy they’d shared.

Shaking off the memory, he focused on his practice. He set up an obstacle course with a few cones he’d found near the sidelines, pushing himself to dribble through them with increasing speed. The setting sun cast long shadows across the field, and the vibrant colors of the sky seemed to mirror the energy building inside him.

As he paused near the goalpost to catch his breath, Bachira let his gaze drift to the horizon. The sky was a canvas of deepening colors—fiery orange fading into soft purples and blues. It was beautiful, but it also made him feel strangely small, like he was just one tiny piece of a much bigger picture.

“Yoichi would probably say something dramatic about how sunsets are like soccer games or whatever,” Bachira mused aloud, chuckling at the thought.

He leaned against the goalpost, resting his foot on the ball. Despite his attempts to stay in the moment, his thoughts kept circling back to Isagi.

“Why do I keep thinking about this?” he muttered, kicking the ball lightly. “It’s just Yoichi being Yoichi.”

The sound of footsteps crunching on gravel pulled Bachira from his thoughts. Turning toward the noise, he blinked in surprise at the familiar figure stepping onto the field.

Itoshi Rin.

Bachira tilted his head, watching as Rin approached, his movements deliberate, his sharp gaze scanning the field. The dusk light softened Rin’s usually intense expression, casting a soft glow over his sharp features. Dressed casually in a hoodie and sneakers, Rin looked unassuming, yet his presence carried the quiet authority of someone who didn’t need to demand attention to command it.

“Rin!” Bachira called out, his voice breaking the stillness. “What brings you here?”

Rin stopped a few feet away, his hands tucked into his pockets. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Bachira grinned, spinning the ball under his foot. “Needed to burn off some energy. You?”

Rin’s gaze flicked to the ball, then back to Bachira. “Felt like getting some air. Saw the field.”

“Perfect timing, then,” Bachira said, his grin widening. He nudged the ball toward Rin with a gentle pass. “Wanna play?”

Rin hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, trapping the ball under his foot with practiced ease. What began as casual passes quickly escalated into a full-fledged one-on-one.

Bachira played with his usual unpredictable flair, weaving the ball with near-impossible precision, his laughter echoing across the field. Rin, in contrast, was calculated, every movement deliberate and efficient. Their styles clashed and complemented each other in equal measure, creating a rhythm that felt almost choreographed.

As they played, the world seemed to shrink around them. The sounds of the park faded, leaving only the thud of the ball and their labored breaths. The field, bathed in the amber light of the setting sun, became their entire universe.

Finally, Bachira managed to slip past Rin, sending the ball soaring into the net with a triumphant cheer. He spun around, his hands on his hips, grinning at Rin.

“Admit it,” he teased, “I’m good.”

Rin walked over, his breathing steady despite the exertion. “You’re annoying,” he replied, though there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Bachira flopped onto the grass with a laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Rin sat down a few feet away, his posture relaxed as he stretched his legs out in front of him. For a while, neither of them spoke, their gazes fixed on the horizon. The sky was now  a canvas of purples and golds, the sun dipping low- almost gone.

“You’re still the same,” Rin said eventually, his voice quiet.

Bachira glanced at him, tilting his head. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t changed,” Rin continued, his tone carrying a hint of something Bachira couldn’t quite place. “You play like it’s the only thing that matters. Like it’s the only thing keeping you moving.”

Bachira stared at him for a moment before looking back at the sky. “Soccer’s always been that for me. It’s... my everything , you know?”

Rin nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “Yeah. I get that.”

Something in Rin’s voice made Bachira sit up, turning to face him fully. “What about you? Do you still feel that way?”

Rin hesitated, the question hanging in the air between them. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But... It's different now. The more you play, the more you realize it’s not just about the game. It’s about the people in it.”

Bachira’s expression softened, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re getting sentimental, Rin.”

Rin scoffed, though his lips quivered into the faintest of smiles. “Don’t get used to it.”

As the stars began to peek out from the darkening sky, Rin broke the silence again.

“You said you were coming to the reunion, right?”

Bachira blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. “Yeah, I said so at the market. Why?”

Rin shrugged, his gaze fixed on the twinkling sky. “Just making sure.”

“Why do you care?” Bachira asked, leaning back on his hands.

Rin was quiet for a long moment before speaking. “Because... I think it’s important. For all of us. To remember where we started, what we went through together.”

Bachira studied him, sensing the weight behind his words. “You’re not just talking about soccer, are you?”

Rin didn’t answer directly, but the look in his eyes was enough. Bachira felt a flicker of something in his chest—an odd mix of nostalgia and understanding.

As they walked off the field together, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the path, Bachira found himself glancing at Rin more than once. There was something different about him tonight, something almost vulnerable.

“You know,” Bachira said, breaking the silence, “you’re not as scary as you pretend to be.”

Rin shot him a sideways look. “Don’t push it.”

Bachira laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I mean it. You’re kind of nice when you’re not trying to kill someone on the field.”

Rin shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re weird,” Bachira countered with a grin.

As they parted ways, Bachira watched Rin walk into the night, his figure silhouetted against the glow of the streetlights. Despite the lingering questions in his mind, he felt a strange sense of comfort.

“Rin,” he murmured to himself, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not so bad.”

Back in his apartment later that evening, Bachira flopped onto his couch, the faint hum of the city outside serving as background noise to his swirling thoughts. He stared at the himawari, now carefully tucked into a small glass jar on his coffee table. The petals had started to curl slightly at the edges, but it still carried the warmth of Isagi’s gesture.

His mind replayed the days—Isagi’s smile, their shared moments, and Rin’s unexpected words on the field. A sense of restlessness crept in, a longing he couldn’t quite name.

Grabbing his phone, he opened the chat with Isagi, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wanted to say something, to share some part of his day, but the words felt stuck. With a sigh, he closed the app and set the phone down.

Bachira leaned back, gazing at the ceiling as a soft laugh escaped him. “Why does everything feel so complicated?"

Yet, even amidst the questions and uncertainties, there was one thought that brought a small, genuine smile to his face.

“I wonder what he’s thinking right now.”

Chapter Text

Isagi lay sprawled on the couch in his apartment, one arm draped over his eyes to block out the soft glow of the TV. It was playing a soccer highlights reel he’d put on for background noise, but he wasn’t paying attention to it. He’d lost track of how long he’d been lying there, his thoughts circling endlessly like a carousel he couldn’t step off.

The clock on the microwave in his modest kitchen blinked 10:47 PM. Too late to do anything productive, too early to sleep. Not that sleep was an option—not with the way his mind refused to quiet down.

The remnants of his dinner, a takeout container from his favorite ramen place, sat discarded on the coffee table next to his phone. Isagi reached for the phone absentmindedly, unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. A notification from Kunigami about tomorrow’s training? Updates from Bastard München? Or maybe a message from him ?

His thumb hesitated over the messaging app before veering to his photo gallery instead. The action felt almost automatic now, a path his mind and body had memorized. He scrolled past countless pictures of soccer games, training sessions, and tactical diagrams until he landed on a small folder labeled “Blue Lock.”

Most of the photos were chaotic snapshots of their time at the infamous facility—group selfies with goofy grins, candid shots of players mid-yell, and blurry images from their late-night hangouts.

But one photo stood out among the rest. Isagi’s thumb hovered over it before he opened it, and there he was—Bachira, with that infuriatingly carefree smile plastered across his face, his hair wild and unkempt, and a dandelion tucked neatly behind his ear.

The picture wasn’t even new. Bachira had sent it to him months ago during one of their nightly texting marathons. He’d claimed it was a spur-of-the-moment selfie while out exploring Barcelona, but Isagi had saved it without thinking twice.

He stared at the photo now, his lips twitching into an involuntary smile. “What are you even doing to me, Meguru?” he muttered under his breath.

He set the phone down, leaning back into the couch and rubbing the back of his neck. His feelings for Bachira weren’t new—they’d been a constant, nagging presence in his life for years. But that day…that day had been different.

It wasn’t just the jog they’d shared that morning or the way Bachira had playfully teased him. It wasn’t even the flower Bachira had proudly worn in his hair all day. It was something deeper, something Isagi couldn’t quite name but felt in every fiber of his being.

He groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Get a grip, Yoichi,” he scolded himself.

The problem was, Bachira made getting a grip impossible. Every little thing he did seemed designed to get under Isagi’s skin—in the best and worst ways.

And then there was the upcoming Blue Lock reunion. The thought of it sent a jolt of excitement and anxiety through him. It had been years since they’d all been together like that, and the idea of seeing Bachira in that setting was incredible.

Isagi shook his head, trying to dispel the thought. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

His gaze drifted to his phone again. Maybe he could text Bachira, just to check in? Something casual, like asking if he got home safe or if he was looking forward to the reunion…

But then what? Would he just end up staring at the screen, waiting for a reply that might never come?

Isagi sighed and turned his phone face down on the table. He’d already texted Bachira enough for one day. Any more, and it might seem suspicious—or worse, clingy .

The highlights reel on the TV changed to a commercial break, the sudden shift in sound pulling Isagi out of his thoughts. He looked around his apartment, the small space feeling more cramped than usual.

The place was neat, meticulously organized in a way that mirrored his on-field precision. His cleats were lined up by the door, his gym bag packed and ready for tomorrow’s training session with Kunigami. Even the books on his shelf were arranged by height, their spines perfectly aligned.

It was nothing like Bachira’s apartment, Isagi realized with a pang of fondness. Bachira’s place was chaotic incarnate, a reflection of the man himself; bright, messy, and unapologetically full of life.

The memory of their last video call surfaced, Bachira’s face lit up by the glow of his computer screen as he gave Isagi a tour of his new apartment. Soccer posters plastered the walls, mismatched furniture filled the space, and snacks were scattered everywhere.

“Home sweet home!” Bachira had declared with a laugh, spinning the camera around to show the clutter.

Isagi had rolled his eyes at the time, but now, sitting in his own sterile apartment, he found himself wishing for that kind of warmth and spontaneity.

He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, plunging the room into silence. The quiet was heavy, amplifying the thoughts swirling in his mind.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the blank screen. “I wonder what you’re thinking right now,” he murmured.

The words hung in the air, unanswered, as Isagi let his thoughts drift back to Bachira.

He pictured him walking through the streets of Barcelona, that goofy grin plastered across his face as he explored his favorite spots. He imagined him back at home in Japan, sprawled on his couch or bouncing a soccer ball off the walls of his apartment.

What was Bachira thinking about right now?

Was he thinking about Isagi?

The thought made Isagi’s chest tighten, a mix of hope and doubt swirling within him.

He shook his head, trying to clear the feeling. Tomorrow would be better, he told himself. Tomorrow, he’d train hard, focus on soccer, and push these thoughts aside.

But as he stood and made his way to his bedroom, he couldn’t shake the image of Bachira’s smile from his mind.

__________

The faint hum of sunlight peeked through Isagi’s curtains, painting streaks of gold on his bedroom wall. The soft chirping of birds was almost drowned out by the rhythmic ticking of his clock. 6:30 AM. Late for some, early for others—but for Isagi, it was the perfect moment to start the day.

Not that he felt ready.

His legs still ached from yesterday’s solo drills, but that wasn’t what was keeping him rooted to the edge of his bed. Isagi leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, and stared blankly at the floor.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Bachira?

He groaned, rubbing at his face as if the motion would erase the unwelcome memories of yesterday. The flower tucked behind Bachira’s ear, the way his laughter lit up the entire morning jog, the way his eyes sparkled with something Isagi couldn’t name but desperately wanted to understand.

“Stop it, Yoichi,” he muttered, standing up abruptly. His sudden movement made the ache in his legs flare, but he ignored it. “You have training. Focus.”

He shuffled to his dresser, pulling out his workout gear with the same efficiency he brought to every task. Kunigami was waiting for him at the field in half an hour, and the last thing Isagi wanted was to show up late. Kunigami was a perfectionist when it came to punctuality.

Dressed and armed with a protein bar he grabbed on his way out, Isagi stepped into the crisp morning air. The slight chill felt refreshing against his skin as he made his way to the local park where they always trained.

Kunigami was already there, of course, dressed in his usual sleeveless training shirt and joggers, stretching on the sidelines. His bright orange hair glinted under the rising sun, and his expression was as serious as ever.

“You’re cutting it close,” Kunigami said without looking up.

“Good morning to you too,” Isagi replied, tossing his bag to the side and starting his stretches.

Kunigami let out a low chuckle, but it was short-lived. “We’re doing intervals today. You good to go?”

“Of course.”

The warm-up was routine; light jogging, dynamic stretches, some basic dribbling drills. Isagi tried to focus on each movement, tried to immerse himself in the rhythm of the session, but it was like his brain refused to cooperate.

The worst part was how obvious it was.

“You’re off today,” Kunigami said after a particularly lackluster pass from Isagi.

“I’m fine,” Isagi replied quickly, resetting his stance.

Kunigami raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. They moved on to shooting drills, and for a brief moment, Isagi found his groove again. The sharp thwack of the ball connecting with his cleats, the satisfying sight of it hitting the top corner of the goal. I was enough to clear his head, at least temporarily.

“Better,” Kunigami said approvingly.

But it didn’t last.

As they transitioned into simulated game scenarios, Isagi’s mind started to wander again. He caught glimpses of Bachira’s grin in the flicker of sunlight off the goalpost, and heard the echo of his laugh in the distant chatter of other park goers.

“Isagi."

Kunigami’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Huh?”

Kunigami crossed his arms, his gaze sharp. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Isagi lied, forcing a laugh. “Just…tired, I guess.”

Kunigami didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he reached for his water bottle, taking a long sip before speaking again.

“By the way,” he said casually, “are you going to the Blue Lock reunion thing?”

Isagi froze, the ball at his feet forgotten.

“The what?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“The reunion. Raichi’s been going on about it in the group chat,” Kunigami said. “Figured you’d know, considering…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Isagi could hear the unspoken words loud and clear. Considering Bachira would probably be there.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Isagi said, kicking the ball back to Kunigami a little harder than necessary.

Kunigami caught it easily, his expression unreadable. “You should go. Might be fun.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

They fell into silence after that, the only sounds being the thud of the ball and the crunch of gravel underfoot. Isagi tried to lose himself in the game again, but his thoughts kept circling back to Kunigami’s words.

The reunion. Bachira.

What was he supposed to do?

Kunigami glanced at Isagi as they wrapped up their session, wiping the sweat from his brow with the edge of his shirt. “You’re distracted,” he commented bluntly.

“I said I’m fine,” Isagi replied, though his tone lacked the usual conviction.

Kunigami didn’t push, but his expression said enough. Isagi could practically feel the judgment radiating off him, and it only made his unease grow.

As they packed up their gear, Kunigami stretched out his shoulders and gave Isagi a sidelong glance. “You know,” he started, his tone unusually light, “it’s okay to admit when something’s bothering you. Or someone,"

Isagi froze mid-motion, his bag strap dangling from his hand. “What are you talking about?”

Kunigami shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Just saying. If there’s something, or someone, on your mind, it’s better to deal with it than let it mess with your game.”

Isagi wanted to deny it, to brush off the implication, but the knowing look in Kunigami’s eyes stopped him.

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered, avoiding Kunigami’s gaze.

Kunigami let out a soft chuckle. “Good. See you around, Isagi.”

As Kunigami jogged off, Isagi stood there for a moment, the weight of his teammate’s words settling heavily on his shoulders.

He knew Kunigami was right. He needed to deal with whatever was going on in his head before it started affecting him on the field. But how? How was he supposed to confront something he couldn’t even fully understand?

Shaking his head, Isagi started walking home. The streets were alive with the late morning bustle of people going about their day, but Isagi barely registered it. His thoughts were too loud.

When he finally reached his apartment, the familiar sight of his neatly organized space brought him a fleeting sense of comfort. He set his bag down by the door and headed to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

As he leaned against the counter, his phone buzzed on the table.

A message from Bachira.

Bachira: Morning! :) Did you survive Kunigami’s torture session?

Isagi couldn’t help but smile at the message, even as his chest tightened. He stared at the screen for a moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

What could he even say?

Isagi: Barely. He’s a machine.

The reply came almost instantly.

Bachira: LOL. Told you he’d go hard. You should’ve come jogging with me instead. I saw a dog wearing a little hat this morning. It was awesome!

Isagi laughed under his breath, the mental image of Bachira’s delight at such a simple thing bringing a warmth he couldn’t explain.

Isagi: Sounds like I missed out.

Bachira: You totally did! Anyway, what are you doing now?

Isagi hesitated. What was he doing now? Avoiding his feelings? Pretending everything was fine?

Isagi: Just relaxing. What about you?

Bachira: Same! Wanna call later? I can tell you all about the dog.

Isagi: Sure.

The conversation ended there, but the warmth lingered. Isagi set his phone down and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

How was it so easy for Bachira to make him feel like this?

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Maybe Kunigami was right. Maybe he needed to confront this head-on. But that was easier said than done, especially when the person causing all these feelings was Bachira.

And then there was the reunion.

If he went, he’d see Bachira. There’d be no hiding behind screens or texts. Just the two of them, face to face, surrounded by their old teammates.

The thought made his chest tighten, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it forever.

Isagi glanced at his phone again, Bachira’s name still glowing on the screen.

“I’ll figure it out,” he muttered to himself.

For now, all he could do was take it one step at a time.

Isagi leaned against the counter, staring at the last message on his phone screen. Bachira’s cheerful tone practically radiated through the text, as if he were sitting across from Isagi and grinning at him. It was Bachira’s talent; making even the most mundane conversation feel vibrant and alive.

But now, that same energy left Isagi with a hollow feeling in his chest. It wasn’t bad, exactly. Just complicated.

He took a long sip of water, setting the bottle down with more force than he intended. “Why does this feel so hard?” he muttered to himself.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been close to Bachira before. They’d been inseparable at Blue Lock, playing together, eating meals side by side, even crashing in the same room during training camps. Back then, his feelings had been simpler: friendship, admiration, and a shared goal. But somewhere along the way, something shifted.

Was it during that one goal celebration when Bachira had thrown an arm around him, their grins matching like they were the only two people on the field? Or maybe it was in the quiet moments, like when they’d sit on the bench after practice, sharing bottles of water and talking about everything and nothing.

Isagi groaned and ran a hand down his face. He wasn’t going to figure this out by standing in his kitchen and overthinking it.

The thought of calling Bachira later made his heart pound. An embarrassing reaction, really. It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked a million times before. But there was something about hearing his voice that made it harder to ignore everything he was feeling.

He glanced at the clock. Noon. Plenty of time before their call, which gave him ample opportunity to distract himself.

Or so he thought.

After a quick shower and a failed attempt at catching up on a few shows, Isagi found himself back on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. The silence in the apartment felt louder than usual, his thoughts filling every quiet moment.

His phone buzzed again, startling him. For a brief, ridiculous second, he thought it might be Bachira. But it wasn’t.

Kunigami: Don’t slack off tomorrow. Gym at 6. Be ready.

Isagi rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at his lips. Of course Kunigami wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily.

His thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to respond, when another notification popped up; a group message from Blue Lock Alumni.

Isagi’s stomach flipped as he opened the chat. The messages were chaotic, as always, a mix of plans, jokes, and the occasional argument.

Reo: Is everyone confirmed for Saturday?

Nagi: If you drag me out of bed for this, it better be worth it.

Barou: Stop whining. You’re coming.

Chigiri: Reo, where’s the venue again?

Reo: Private spot downtown. Super exclusive. Of course, I got us in.

Gagamaru: I’ll bring snacks.

Isagi chuckled, scrolling through the barrage of messages. It had been years since their Blue Lock days, but some things never changed. Even through the screen, their personalities shone through.

But then his chest tightened when he saw a message from Bachira.

Bachira: Can’t wait to see everyone!!! Especially you, Yoichi <3

Isagi’s face heated as he read the words. He knew Bachira was just being playful, he always was, but it still made his heart race. He quickly exited the chat, tossing his phone onto the couch as if that would stop the relentless tide of emotions.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, pressing his palms to his face.

The reunion was in a few days. He had time to prepare himself, to figure out what he wanted to say or do. But the more he thought about it, the less certain he felt.

Was he really ready to see Bachira again?

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of half-hearted attempts at productivity. Isagi cleaned his already spotless apartment, went for a jog around the neighborhood, and even tried cooking something new, though it ended in a mild disaster.

By the time evening rolled around, he was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His phone sat on the coffee table, taunting him.

The clock ticked closer to their agreed-upon time for the call, and Isagi felt his nerves build. It was ridiculous. It was just Bachira. But somehow, that fact made it even harder.

When his phone finally buzzed with Bachira’s incoming call, he took a deep breath before answering.

“Yo, Yoichi!” Bachira’s voice was as bright and cheerful as ever.

“Hey, Meguru,” Isagi replied, his tone steady despite the flurry of emotions threatening to take over.

“What took you so long? I was about to think you’d ditched me for Kunigami,” Bachira teased, his laughter infectious.

“Like I’d ever do that,” Isagi shot back, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself.

For the next hour, they talked about everything and nothing. Bachira recounted his morning jog in vivid detail, complete with an overly enthusiastic description of the dog in the hat. Isagi found himself laughing more than he had in days, the weight in his chest momentarily lifting.

But as the call went on, there were moments of quiet, too comfortable silences that felt heavier than they should.

“So,” Bachira said after a pause, his tone soft. “Are you coming to the reunion?”

“Yeah,” Isagi replied, his throat suddenly dry. “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Bachira said, and Isagi could hear the smile in his voice. “It’ll be fun. Just like old times.”

Just like old times.

Isagi wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe he could go to the reunion, see Bachira, and pretend everything was the same. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “Just like old times.”

As they said their goodbyes and the call ended, Isagi sat in the silence of his apartment, his thoughts swirling.

The reunion was coming.

And with it, a chance to finally confront everything he’d been avoiding.

__________

Five days have since passed.

The sun filtered through the thin curtains in Isagi’s apartment, casting long shadows across the floor. It was well into the afternoon when his phone buzzed on the counter. He reached over glancing at the screen to see a message from Reo in the group chat:

Reo: Reminder: Reunion party tomorrow night! Don’t flake, losers.

Isagi chuckled to himself. Reo’s over-the-top enthusiasm was as familiar as it was endearing. The party had been planned for weeks, and despite his initial hesitations, Isagi found himself actually looking forward to it now.

“Tomorrow already, huh?” he muttered, locking his phone and leaning back against the counter.

The idea of seeing everyone again felt like stepping into a time machine. It had been years since Blue Lock ended, but those intense months had left a permanent mark on all of them. The group chat, although active, couldn’t replicate the chaos and camaraderie of their time together. And then, of course, there was Bachira.

Isagi’s thoughts wandered to him, as they often did. It wasn’t just the anticipation of seeing everyone. It was seeing him. Their last conversation replayed in his head, the way Bachira’s laughter always seemed to linger even after the call ended.

Shaking himself from the daze, Isagi turned his attention to the mundane task of getting ready.

His apartment was a sure reflection of his organized mind; neat, minimalistic, and structured. Even so, he found himself dusting surfaces and rearranging objects, almost compulsively.

It wasn’t like anyone was coming over, but the act of cleaning felt grounding. He put away his training gear, folded scattered jerseys, and stacked his soccer magazines neatly on the coffee table. 

The act of tidying gave his thoughts space to roam. Blue Lock had been a turning point, not just in his career but in his life. It had been grueling, sometimes demoralizing, but it had also been exhilarating. More than anything, it had been where he met people who changed him. People like Bachira.

Isagi’s gaze lingered on the framed photo sitting on his bookshelf. It was from their first official match in Blue Lock, with everyone crowded together in an uncoordinated victory pose. He remembered the electric feeling of that win, the way Bachira had grabbed him around the shoulders and laughed like the world had stopped just for them.

The memory brought a small smile to Isagi’s face, but it quickly faded into a wistful sigh. So much had changed since then.

Isagi then moved onto his next important task of the day; choosing an outfit for the reunion.

Isagi opened his closet, staring at the neatly hung clothes. For someone who usually threw on whatever was clean, he found himself oddly indecisive.

“What even counts as reunion party attire?” he asked aloud, pulling out a plain black sweater. Too simple. He grabbed a button-up shirt next but quickly discarded it. Too formal.

The process felt ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop himself. There was a part of him—one he wasn’t ready to admit out loud—that wanted to look good. Not for the group. Not for anyone else. Just for Bachira.

After cycling through half his wardrobe, he settled on a casual yet stylish combination: a navy sweater layered over a white shirt, paired with dark jeans. It struck the balance between effort and ease, which felt just right.

He checked his reflection in the mirror, smoothing down his hair. For a moment, he imagined what Bachira’s reaction might be. A playful comment? An exaggerated compliment? The thought brought a small smile to his face.

As the evening light began to dim, Isagi sank onto the couch, scrolling through old photos on his phone. He stumbled across one from the early days of Blue Lock. It was a group picture—grainy and chaotic, with everyone mid-laugh or making ridiculous faces.

His gaze lingered on Bachira, who had his arm slung over Isagi’s shoulder, grinning like he’d won the lottery. It was so quintessentially Bachira: unfiltered, carefree, and brimming with life.

“Some things never change,” Isagi muttered, saving the photo to his favorites.

The reunion party wasn’t just about reliving the past—it was about seeing how far they’d all come. Blue Lock had been a crucible, forging them into the players they were today. But it had also been a bond, one that couldn’t be broken no matter how much time passed.

A part of him felt nervous, though. The dynamic had shifted since those days. Success, fame, and distance between teams had inevitably created gaps. Would the party feel the same as those nights in Blue Lock’s dorms?

And what about Bachira? Isagi couldn’t shake the lingering uncertainty about their friendship. It was as strong as ever, but his feelings complicated things in ways he didn’t know how to address.

The clock slowly ticked closer to evening, and Isagi decided to wind down. He prepared a light dinner, keeping it simple but nutritious–a habit ingrained from years of professional training.

After eating, he settled into his bed, wanting to get a good night’s sleep. 

Tomorrow promised chaos. A room filled with laughter, teasing, and probably more than a few competitive sparks. But tonight, Isagi let himself savor the quiet anticipation.

__________

The soft hum of chatter filled the air as former Blue Lock players gathered in the expansive, modern event hall. The reunion, an event arranged during the offseason to reconnect, was abuzz with laughter, teasing, and nostalgic stories. Tables lined the sides of the room, adorned with minimalist centerpieces, while a small bar in the corner served drinks and snacks. The venue, with its sleek decor and panoramic windows overlooking the city skyline, was as competitive as the guests it hosted.

Isagi stepped inside, his breath hitching momentarily as he surveyed the crowd. Faces from years ago mingled freely with the more recent acquaintances made in the professional leagues. Kunigami was engaged in a lively debate with Raichi near the drinks table, while Nagi and Reo lounged on the plush couches, looking utterly at home. Chigiri, vibrant as ever, was weaving through the crowd with ease, his laugh carrying above the din.

"Yo, Isagi!" A familiar voice called out.

Turning, he saw Naruhaya approaching with a grin, a glass in hand. They exchanged a quick handshake and a few words, but Isagi’s mind wasn’t fully there. His eyes flitted across the room, searching for the one person he wanted to see the most.

And then he spotted him.

Bachira stood near the bar, deep in conversation with Hiori. His outfit—unexpectedly bold and effortlessly stylish—drew Isagi’s attention immediately. A dark, tailored jacket with intricate embroidery caught the light with every movement, paired with slim black pants and a pop of color from a sunflower pin affixed to the lapel. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he hadn’t tried too hard, but it worked.

Isagi’s heart stuttered in his chest. There was something magnetic about Bachira tonight, something that made it hard to look away.

“Looking for someone?” Naruhaya teased, nudging Isagi lightly.

“Huh? No, just…checking out the crowd,” Isagi replied, forcing a casual tone as he rubbed the back of his neck.

But as much as he tried to focus on the broader scene, his gaze kept drifting back to Bachira. He wasn’t sure if it was the outfit, the way Bachira moved through the crowd, or simply the fact that it had been too long since they’d seen each other, but something about tonight felt different.

Bachira caught his eye then, his face breaking into a grin as he waved enthusiastically. Isagi found himself smiling back, his feet already moving toward him.

“Yoichi!” Bachira greeted warmly, his voice cutting through the din of the party. He closed the gap between them in a few quick strides, arms outstretched as though ready to pull Isagi into one of his infamous hugs. But he stopped short, instead giving a playful tap to Isagi’s chest. “You’re late! I thought you ditched me.”

“I’m not late,” Isagi protested, though his voice lacked conviction as he took in the sight of Bachira up close. The sunflower pin caught the light, the embroidered jacket somehow both flashy and understated, and his mischievous grin as radiant as ever. “You’re just early.

“Pft, whatever you say,” Bachira replied with a smirk, rocking back on his heels. His eyes sparkled with the kind of excitement Isagi had only ever seen on the soccer field. “Come on, you’ve got to see what Reo brought. He’s been showing off some ridiculously expensive wine or something.”

Before Isagi could reply, Bachira grabbed his wrist, pulling him through the crowd. His touch was fleeting but warm, leaving a lingering buzz that Isagi tried to shake off as they weaved between familiar faces. He exchanged quick hellos with Nagi, Kunigami, and Chigiri along the way, their brief comments blending into the background as Bachira remained his primary focus.

As they reached the bar, Bachira was intercepted by none other than Rin Itoshi.

“Bachira,” Rin said, his voice low but unmistakably cutting through the ambient noise. He held a glass in one hand, his sharp teal eyes locked on Bachira in a way that made Isagi tense instinctively.

“Rin-chan!” Bachira greeted, unbothered as he turned to face the taller striker. His smile didn’t waver, though there was a slight tilt to his head, curiosity in his expression. “Didn’t think you’d show up after our talk. You’re not exactly the ‘reunion’ type.”

“I had my reasons,” Rin replied smoothly, his tone carrying a rare warmth. For anyone else, it would have seemed neutral, but Isagi could tell Rin’s attempts at charm when he saw them, and it was aimed directly at Bachira.

Rin’s gaze shifted briefly to Isagi, and something unreadable flickered across his face before he turned back to Bachira. “You’ve been keeping busy, I see. Always the life of the party.”

Bachira laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Someone’s got to make it fun, right? Don’t tell me you’re here to mope in a corner.”

Rin smirked. “Not tonight.” He gestured toward the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

Isagi clenched his fists at his sides, the exchange prickling under his skin. Rin’s tone, his body language—it was subtle, but unmistakable to Isagi, who had spent years reading between the lines on and off the field. Rin was flirting.

Bachira, oblivious as ever, simply shrugged. “Sure! But nothing too fancy. I don’t trust anything with ingredients I can’t pronounce.”

Rin chuckled lightly and stepped toward the bar, leaving Isagi standing next to Bachira, his jaw clenched tight.

“Yoichi, you okay?” Bachira asked, leaning closer, his brow furrowing slightly in concern.

Isagi forced a smile, willing himself to relax. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thirsty.”

Bachira didn’t press further, already distracted as he eyed the other players mingling across the room. Isagi’s gaze, however, followed Rin as he returned with two glasses, offering one to Bachira. The exchange felt almost intimate, and Isagi’s chest tightened.

“I’m heading outside for some air,” Isagi muttered, excusing himself before the simmering frustration in his chest could boil over.

Isagi stepped out onto the balcony, the cool evening air a welcome contrast to the stuffy warmth inside. He gripped the railing tightly, his knuckles whitening as he tried to steady his thoughts. The party behind him was lively, voices and laughter spilling through the slightly ajar glass door, but all he could focus on was Rin.

Of all people, why did it have to be Rin?

The glass door slid open, and Isagi didn’t need to turn to know who had followed him. The distinct sound of polished shoes on tile and the controlled rhythm of Rin’s footsteps were unmistakable.

“You always make such a scene,” Rin remarked, his voice calm but laced with the usual Itoshi arrogance. He came to a stop a few feet away, folding his arms and leaning against the railing.

Isagi exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to stay composed. “I could say the same about you.”

Rin smirked faintly, turning his gaze to the city skyline. The lights of the venue and city surrounding them twinkled like stars, casting an ambient glow over the scene. “If you’re upset about the drink, you should just say so.”

Isagi turned to face Rin fully, his jaw tight. “I’m not upset about the drink.”

“Then what is it?” Rin asked, feigning innocence. His expression, however, betrayed a flicker of amusement.

“Cut the act, Rin,” Isagi snapped, his voice low but firm. “I know what you’re doing.”

Rin’s smirk widened just slightly, his sharp eyes locking onto Isagi’s. “And what exactly am I doing?”

“You know,” Isagi shot back, stepping closer, the space between them charged with tension. “You’ve been eyeing him all night, going out of your way to get his attention. Why?”

Rin didn’t flinch under Isagi’s intensity. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if considering the accusation. “You’re protective of him. I get that.”

“Protective has nothing to do with it,” Isagi growled.

“Really?” Rin’s tone was cool, almost amused, but there was a sharpness in his eyes. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re more than just protective. It looks like you’re jealous.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Isagi’s fists clenched at his sides, his mind racing for a retort, but nothing came.

Rin leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to make the moment feel heavier. “If you don’t want competition, you should make your move, Isagi. But until then…” He straightened, his smirk returning. “You can’t blame me for seeing an opportunity.”

Isagi stared at Rin, his pulse thundering in his ears. “This isn’t a game, Rin.”

“Everything’s a game,” Rin replied, stepping back toward the door. “You should know that better than anyone.”

Before Isagi could respond, Rin turned and disappeared back into the party, leaving Isagi alone on the balcony, his emotions swirling in a storm of frustration and doubt.

Isagi stayed rooted to the balcony, gripping the railing as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. The conversation with Rin left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being goaded into something he wasn’t ready to confront.

A ripple of laughter drifted through the glass door, light and carefree, and Isagi immediately recognized the voice. Bachira.

Against his better judgment, Isagi stepped back into the party, weaving through the throng of Blue Lock alumni and their plus-ones. The sound of Bachira’s voice grew louder, and soon Isagi found him near the refreshment table, surrounded by a small group.

Bachira’s bright outfit stood out even more now, illuminated by the overhead lights. The sharp contrast of vibrant colors paired with his unique style made him the center of attention, as he always seemed to be.

But it wasn’t just the outfit. Bachira’s laugh was infectious, his energy magnetic. He gestured animatedly, recounting some story from their Blue Lock days that had his audience—including Chigiri and Reo—doubled over in laughter.

Isagi couldn’t help but smile, his earlier tension softening as he watched. He stood at a distance, unnoticed, content to just observe for a moment. This was Bachira at his core: effortless, warm, and unapologetically himself.

As if sensing his gaze, Bachira turned, his golden eyes lighting up when they locked with Isagi’s.

“Yoichi!” Bachira’s voice cut through the chatter, and he waved enthusiastically.

The group turned to look at Isagi, but he only had eyes for Bachira. Slowly, he made his way over, his heartbeat quickening with every step.

“You’ve been hiding!” Bachira accused playfully when Isagi reached him, hands on his hips like he was scolding a child.

“I wasn’t hiding,” Isagi replied, his voice softer than he intended.

Bachira tilted his head, his mischievous grin softening into something gentler. “You okay? You look like you’ve been thinking too hard.”

Isagi chuckled lightly, scratching the back of his neck. “Just taking it all in.”

Bachira studied him for a moment, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something more genuine. Then, as if sensing Isagi needed a distraction, Bachira grabbed his arm.

“C’mon, Yoichi! You have to try these weird little pastries Reo found. They’re so good!”

Before Isagi could protest, Bachira tugged him toward the table, his hand warm and firm around Isagi’s wrist. It was such a simple gesture, but it made Isagi’s chest tighten all the same.

As Bachira chatted about the pastries and the party, Isagi found himself relaxing. For a brief moment, it was just the two of them, the noise of the party fading into the background.

And though Rin’s words still lingered in the back of his mind, Isagi decided to push them aside for now. Bachira was here, by his side, and that was enough.

Chapter Text

Bachira sank into the soft mattress of his bed, his legs stretched out and toes wiggling against the warm fabric. The reunion was over, but its events lingered in his mind, overlapping like the layers of a messy watercolor painting. He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all.

It had been a good night—a great one, even. He’d seen so many familiar faces, shared laughs, and stuffed his face with way too many shrimp skewers. The party was exactly the kind of thing he thrived in: energy buzzing, conversation flowing, and people flitting around like moths to a flame.

But now, in the stillness of his apartment, something gnawed at him.

His fingers absently traced the sheet’s soft fabric on the bed as his mind circled back to a moment that seemed burned into his memory: the way Isagi had looked at him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t caught people staring at him before. Bachira had always had a knack for dressing to stand out, and tonight had been no exception. He’d picked his outfit with care, something bold and playful that matched his personality—a jacket in shades of light brown and yellow, paired with black jeans, and his favorite sneakers. The compliments had been nice, sure, but Isagi’s reaction had felt... different.

When their eyes had met, there had been a flicker of something in Isagi’s gaze—something warm, almost reverent, like Bachira was a puzzle piece that fit perfectly into his world. It made Bachira’s chest feel funny, like there was a tiny spark flickering inside, trying to catch fire.

At the time, he’d laughed it off, throwing an arm around Isagi and teasing him. “Don’t stare too hard, Yoichi, or you’ll miss the party!” But now, hours later, the memory had lodged itself firmly in his mind, refusing to budge.

Was it all in his head?

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Thinking too much about stuff like this wasn’t usually his style. He liked to go with the flow, let life take him where it wanted. But lately, when it came to Isagi, the flow felt like it was dragging him somewhere he didn’t understand.

And then there was Rin.

Bachira groaned, flopping sideways onto the comforting bed and burying his face in a throw pillow. Rin had been… something tonight. Usually, the guy was sharp-edged and even a little aloof, but at the party, he’d been different. He’d smiled more, cracked a few jokes—even complimented Bachira’s outfit with that rare smirk of his.

“Didn’t know you cleaned up so well, Bachira,” Rin had said, his tone teasing but soft.

Bachira had grinned back, of course, firing off some playful remark. But now, the memory made him pause. There had been a moment in the kitchen, when their hands had brushed reaching for a drink. Rin’s fingers had lingered just a fraction longer than normal, his gaze steady in a way that made Bachira’s stomach flip.

He didn’t know what to make of it.

Rin was just Rin; intense, competitive, sometimes a little too serious. Whatever had been in the air tonight was probably nothing. A one-off. No big deal. Right?

His thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his phone.

Bachira grabbed it lazily, expecting some group chat nonsense, but his heart skipped a beat when he saw the name on the screen: Isagi Yoichi.

Isagi: Did you make it home okay?

A smile tugged at Bachira’s lips. His heart did that weird fluttery thing again, but he ignored it, quickly typing back a response.

Bachira: Yup! Bed time now. U should be resting too, mister pro athlete 😛

The reply came almost instantly.

Isagi: I could say the same to you. What did you think of the party?

Bachira hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. What did he think? It was fun, sure, but also a little overwhelming. And then there was all the weirdness . But how could he sum that up in a text?

Bachira: Fun!! Lots of food. But also, everyone’s so serious now. Did you notice? Like we’re not all a bunch of chaotic physcos anymore lol.

He hit send, hoping the humor would mask the deeper thoughts he wasn’t ready to put into words. Isagi’s response took a little longer this time, but when it came, it was simple.

Isagi: Yeah. But some things don’t change.

Bachira stared at the message, his lips twitching into a small smile. He didn’t need to ask what Isagi meant. He knew. Their bond was still the same, no matter how much time passed or how different their lives became. And that was enough.

For now.

He set the phone down and leaned back into the mattress, closing his eyes. The warmth in his chest lingered, even as his thoughts grew quieter.

“Still don’t know what you’re thinking, Isagi,” he murmured to the empty room. “But I guess that’s part of the fun.”

Somewhere outside, the city hummed with life, but inside his little apartment, it was just Bachira, the faint buzz of his thoughts, and the warmth of a connection that never quite faded.

__________

The idea to meet up for coffee had been Chigiri’s, as most sensible plans were. He’d called Bachira early in the morning, his voice groggy but determined.

“Are you free today?” Chigiri asked, wasting no time on pleasantries.

Bachira, sprawled out on his bed with an arm draped lazily over his eyes, perked up instantly. “Depends. Are you taking me out?”

Chigiri sighed, but Bachira could hear the fondness in it. “Sure, if it means you’ll get out of bed. There’s this café I’ve been wanting to try. Meet me there at ten?”

“Deal!” Bachira chirped, already mentally cataloging which one of his outfits would be best for the occasion.

By the time he arrived at the café, Bachira was buzzing with his usual energy. He’d shown up five minutes late but with a box of macarons from a nearby bakery as a peace offering. Chigiri, ever punctual, had already claimed a spot by the window, scrolling idly on his phone as he waited.

The café was tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was one of those places that didn’t take itself too seriously—a mix of mismatched chairs, colorful walls, and a chalkboard menu scrawled with playful doodles.

He pushed the door open, the jingling of a tiny bell announcing his arrival. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wrapped around him as he scanned the room. Spotting Chigiri already seated at a corner table, he grinned wide and made his way over, his dolphin-themed hoodie and sweatpants drawing a few amused glances from other diners.

“You’re late,” Chigiri said, glancing up from his phone. His tone was teasing, not annoyed, and he gestured to the latte in front of him. “I already ordered. Figured you’d want your usual.”

“Aw, you know me so well!” Bachira slid into the chair opposite him, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned forward. “Thanks, Hiyo-chan.”

Chigiri rolled his eyes at the nickname but didn’t protest. “So, how are you feeling after last night?”

Bachira’s grin faltered, replaced by a thoughtful tilt of his head. He reached for his coffee, taking a sip before answering. “Weird, I guess? It was fun seeing everyone again, but... I dunno. It felt different this time.”

“Different how?”

“Well,” Bachira began, swirling his cup lazily, “Yoichi was acting kinda strange. Rin, too. And there was this tension—like everyone had something they weren’t saying.”

Chigiri smirked. “That’s because they probably did. Let me guess—Rin was being Rin, and Isagi looked like he was ready to explode every time Rin so much as glanced in your direction?”

Bachira’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

“Because it’s obvious.” Chigiri leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Isagi’s got it bad for you, and Rin’s the kind of guy who enjoys pushing buttons. Put those two together, and you’ve got a recipe for drama.”

Bachira blinked, his expression somewhere between confusion and amusement. “Got it bad for me? Like...what do you mean?”

Chigiri stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether Bachira was genuinely clueless or just pretending. Finally, he sighed and leaned forward. “I mean Isagi likes you. Not in the let’s go play soccer together way. In the he can’t stop looking at you when you’re not paying attention way.”

Bachira’s brow furrowed as he processed Chigiri’s words. “But that doesn’t make sense. Yoichi’s my best friend. We’re just...us, you know?”

“And what exactly is just us?" Chigiri pressed, his tone gentle but firm.

Bachira opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to answer. He thought back to the reunion—Isagi’s lingering gazes, the way he’d seemed to tense whenever Rin got too close. Was there really more to it than friendship?

“I mean, I like Yoichi,” Bachira said finally, his voice quieter. “He’s my favorite person. But I don’t think about people like...like that. You know?”

Chigiri nodded, his expression softening. “Yeah, I get it. You’ve always been a little different when it comes to stuff like this. But just because you don’t feel the same way doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be aware of what’s going on.”

Bachira frowned, tracing patterns on the side of his cup. “I don’t want things to get weird between us.”

“They won’t,” Chigiri assured him. “Not if you handle it the right way. Just... be honest. If Isagi says or does something that feels off, talk to him about it. He’s not the type to hold a grudge.”

Bachira nodded slowly, though he still looked a bit unsure. “You’re pretty smart, huh, Hiyo-chan?”

“Obviously,” Chigiri replied, smirking. “Someone’s gotta keep you grounded.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics for a while; updates on Chigiri’s training, Bachira’s latest painting project, and the café’s bizarre dessert specials. But eventually, the topic circled back to the reunion.

“Oh, by the way,” Chigiri said, stirring the last of his coffee. “You know they’re planning another Blue Lock party, right?”

Bachira’s eyes lit up. “Another one? When?”

“Not sure yet, but soon. Apparently, Egoist Japan wants to do some kind of showcase thing during the offseason, and they’re thinking of tying it in with a big reunion event. They figured that it would be good for publicity, even though we literally just had a reunion.”

“That sounds awesome!” Bachira beamed, practically bouncing in his seat. “We should all play a match together again. Just like old times!”

Chigiri chuckled. “You really miss it, huh?”

“Of course I do!” Bachira said, his enthusiasm infectious. “Blue Lock was the best time of my life. It’s where I met all of you guys.”

Chigiri’s smile softened. “Yeah, it was something special, wasn’t it?”

Bachira nodded, his gaze drifting out the window. “I wonder if Yoichi will be there.”

“He will,” Chigiri said confidently. “He wouldn’t miss it. Especially if he knows you’re going.”

Bachira laughed, but there was a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

The two friends sat in comfortable silence for a moment, their empty cups between them. For all the chaos that seemed to follow Bachira wherever he went, this was a rare moment of calm—a reminder of the unshakeable bonds he’d formed during his time at Blue Lock.

And as they left the café, Chigiri couldn’t help but think that no matter how oblivious Bachira might be, he’d eventually figure things out. After all, if there was one thing Bachira was good at, it was finding the truth in the chaos.

__________

The soft light of the sun filtered through the curtains in Bachira’s apartment. They cast long, warm rays across his room, making the mood scream productivity . It was the perfect time to paint. He hadn’t planned on spending the day in front of his easel—it just sort of happened. After his chat with Chigiri over coffee, the restless energy that had been simmering inside him demanded release, and there was no better outlet for him than art.

Bachira stretched, his arms reaching toward the ceiling as he let out a groan that somehow turned into a giggle. He glanced toward the corner of his living room where his easel stood, surrounded by an explosion of art supplies: tubes of acrylic paint, jars of brushes, and sheets of half-finished sketches. The sight made him smile. It was messy, chaotic even, but that was how he liked it—how he thrived.

The world of soccer might have been his stage, but painting? That was for him.

He wandered over to the easel and picked up a clean canvas, his fingers brushing against its smooth surface. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the blank expanse. What should he paint today? His mind, always a kaleidoscope of thoughts, turned to Chigiri’s words from earlier.

"You know, maybe it’s time you really think about what you want."

Bachira chuckled softly, shaking his head. Thinking wasn’t really his strong suit—he preferred doing. But something about the conversation lingered, like a faint echo he couldn’t quite ignore.

He grabbed a palette and began squeezing paint onto it. Vivid yellows, deep blues, fiery oranges, and soft greens. His choices were instinctive, driven by emotion rather than logic. Painting had always been that way for him. It wasn’t about precision or perfection; it was about feeling.

As he worked, his mind drifted back to when he first picked up a paintbrush.

He was eight years old, sitting at the dining table in his childhood home. His mother was across from him, her own easel set up as she worked on a vibrant, swirling masterpiece. Bachira had always been fascinated by her art. She had this way of turning blank canvases into entire worlds, and he wanted to be just like her.

“Want to try?” she had asked one day, sliding a small canvas across the table to him.

His eyes lit up as he nodded enthusiastically. “What should I paint?”

“Anything you want,” she replied, smiling. “There’s no right or wrong in art, Meguru. Just paint what you feel.”

He remembered how awkward the brush had felt in his tiny hand, how the colors had mixed chaotically on the canvas, creating a mess rather than a picture. But his mother hadn’t laughed or corrected him. Instead, she had praised his use of color and encouraged him to keep going.

Painting became their thing. Whenever life felt heavy or confusing, his mother would pull out their art supplies, and they’d lose themselves in colors and shapes. It was her way of teaching him that emotions weren’t something to fear or suppress; they were something to embrace and express.

Bachira smiled at the memory, his brush gliding across the canvas in sweeping strokes. He could still hear his mother’s voice in his head, soft and reassuring. “Paint what you feel.”

And right now? He felt conflicted.

The canvas slowly came to life; a swirling blend of yellows and blues that melded into greens, reminiscent of a soccer field under a golden sunrise. But the painting wasn’t about soccer. Not entirely, at least.

He thought about Isagi.

The warmth of their morning jog, the way Isagi’s presence always made him feel grounded yet electrified at the same time. Bachira couldn’t quite put it into words, but there was something about Isagi that stuck with him, like the lingering taste of something sweet.

His brush dipped into the orange paint next, adding fiery streaks to the sky he’d created. He wondered what Isagi was doing right now. Probably training, knowing him. Isagi was so disciplined, so focused—it was one of the things Bachira admired most about him.

But Chigiri’s words kept poking at him. “Do you think he feels the same way you do?”

The brush paused mid-stroke. Bachira tilted his head, staring at the canvas. Did Isagi feel the same? Bachira wasn’t even sure what he felt to begin with. It wasn’t attraction—not in the way Chigiri described. But there was a bond, a connection that went beyond words.

He dipped his brush into a deep blue, adding shadows to the edges of the canvas.

And then there was Rin.

Bachira let out a short laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Rin was a mystery, all sharp edges and unreadable expressions. The way he’d flirted with him at the reunion had caught Bachira off guard, though he wasn’t entirely sure it had been flirting. Rin was hard to read, after all. But it left an impression.

His hand moved faster now, the brush creating jagged lines of dark green and blue. The painting was taking a more chaotic turn, reflecting the swirl of emotions inside him.

As the afternoon wore on, Bachira lost himself in the rhythm of painting. His thoughts flowed freely, each stroke of the brush carrying a piece of his inner turmoil. By the time he stepped back to look at the finished piece, he felt lighter.

The canvas was a whirlwind of color; a vibrant, messy reflection of his state of mind. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest.

He set the brush down and wiped his hands on his jeans, smearing paint across the fabric. His phone buzzed on the table nearby, pulling him out of his thoughts. He walked over and picked it up, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Isagi’s name on the screen.

Isagi: Yo, you free tomorrow morning? Thinking of hitting the field.

Bachira smiled, his fingers hovering over the keyboard before he typed back a quick reply.

Bachira: Always free for you, Yo-chan. See you then!

He set the phone down and glanced back at the painting.

Whatever tomorrow brought, Bachira was ready for it.

__________

The gas station glowed softly against the inky blackness of the night, the hum of its fluorescent lights barely audible over the occasional whoosh of a passing car. Bachira trudged through the parking lot, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets. The night air was cool and carried a faint scent of rain, the kind of weather that always made him feel a little restless.

He hadn’t planned on coming here, not really. But after spending most of the evening painting and mulling over his conversation with Chigiri, he’d felt the need to get out and clear his head. The gas station, with its flickering "Open 24 Hours" sign and rows of vending machines, seemed as good a destination as any.

As he approached the glass doors, the jingle of a bell caught his attention. Someone was stepping out—a tall figure, familiar in its stoic posture and deliberate movements.

“Rin?” Bachira called out, stopping in his tracks.

Itoshi Rin froze mid-step, turning his head slowly toward the voice. His sharp teal eyes met Bachira’s, and for a moment, his expression was as unreadable as ever. Then, with a slight nod, he acknowledged him.

“Bachira.”

Bachira grinned, jogging the last few steps to meet him. “Fancy seeing you here! Late night snack run?”

Rin held up a small plastic bag containing a water bottle and a pack of plain crackers. His expression didn’t change. “Something like that. What are you doing here?”

Bachira shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “I needed to stretch my legs. Thought I’d grab something while I was out.”

They fell into step together, drifting toward the vending machines on the side of the building. Bachira leaned against one, his arms crossed casually.

“So,” he said, tilting his head. “What’s on your mind, Rin-chan? You don’t seem like the type to wander around without a reason.”

Rin glanced at him, his face neutral but his eyes sharp. “Nothing in particular.”

Bachira hummed, unconvinced. “Oh, come on. Even you have to admit this is kind of random. You don’t seem like the ‘midnight stroll’ kind of guy.”

Rin didn’t respond immediately, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle and taking a measured sip. The silence stretched, but Bachira didn’t mind. He was used to Rin’s slower pace in conversations.

“Are you hanging out with anyone tomorrow?” Rin asked abruptly, his tone casual but his gaze pointed.

Bachira blinked at the unexpected question. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yoichi and I are meeting up.”

Rin’s grip on his water bottle tightened ever so slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yep!” Bachira’s grin widened, oblivious to the subtle shift in Rin’s demeanor. “We’re training in the morning, and then hopefully grabbing breakfast afterwards. It’s been ages since we’ve had the chance to just chill, you know? I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Do you always look forward to seeing him that much?” Rin asked, his voice even but carrying a faint edge.

Bachira blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah? He’s my best friend. Of course I do.”

Rin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I see.”

“Wait, are you jealous or something?” Bachira teased, laughing lightly.

Rin’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know! You’re acting a little weird about it,” Bachira said with a shrug.

“I’m not acting weird,” Rin said firmly.

“Sure, sure,” Bachira said, waving him off. “But, y’know, if you’re feeling left out, you can always come hang out with us too.”

Rin raised an eyebrow. “You’d invite me to spend time with the two of you?”

“Why not?” Bachira said, grinning. “You’re fun in your own Rin-way.”

Rin looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed. “You’re too casual about everything.”

“Maybe! But life’s more fun that way,” Bachira said cheerfully.

They stood in silence for a moment, the cool night air settling around them.

“You spend a lot of time with him,” Rin said suddenly, his tone quieter now.

Bachira frowned slightly, confused. “With Yoichi? Well, yeah. We’re best friends. We’ve been close since Blue Lock.”

“You talk about him a lot,” Rin pointed out.

Bachira tilted his head. “What’s wrong with that? I talk about Chigiri a lot too. You don’t seem to mind when it’s him.”

Rin didn’t reply immediately, his jaw tightening. “It’s different."

“Different how?” Bachira asked, genuinely puzzled.

Rin shook his head, taking a step back. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Bachira reached out, grabbing Rin’s sleeve lightly. “Hey, come on. What’s up with you tonight?”

Rin glanced down at his sleeve, then back at Bachira. His expression softened just enough to reveal a hint of vulnerability. “Forget it, Bachira. It’s nothing.”

Bachira frowned, but he let go. “Man, you’re hard to figure out sometimes.”

Rin gave a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “And you’re too easy to read.”

“Maybe that’s why we make such a good team,” Bachira said with a wink.

Rin didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, almost like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

As Rin turned to leave, Bachira called after him, “Hey, Rin?”

He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? It’s nice running into you like this.”

Rin’s expression softened further, just for a moment. “Yeah. See you around, Meguru.”

Bachira watched him go, a mix of curiosity and concern swirling in his chest. Rin was definitely acting strange tonight, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Still, as he grabbed a pack of gum and made his way home, he couldn’t shake the feeling that their conversation had meant something more than Rin was letting on.

__________

The world around Bachira was strange, shifting between vivid clarity and hazy surrealism. He stood in the middle of a soccer field that stretched endlessly into the horizon. The grass beneath his feet felt alive, each blade swaying gently as though breathing in unison. Above, the sky wasn’t blue—it was an explosion of color, swirling shades of orange, purple, and gold bleeding into one another like spilled paint on a canvas.

At one end of the field, Isagi stood tall, his Bastard München jersey catching the ethereal light of the swirling sky. His expression was sharp, determined, and somehow distant. At the opposite end stood Rin, silent and unreadable as always, his PGX crest gleaming like a badge of authority. Bachira stood between them, clutching a soccer ball that seemed to hum faintly in his hands, its surface warm and pulsating like a heartbeat.

“Meguru,” Isagi’s voice broke the silence, firm yet pleading. “Pass it to me. You know I’ll score.”

“No,” Rin’s voice followed, cold yet strangely enticing. “Here. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Bachira’s grip on the ball tightened as he looked between them. The field stretched longer, wider, making the distance between the three of them feel overwhelming. The ball in his hands grew heavier, the pulsing louder, until it was all he could hear.

“I...” he started, his voice catching in his throat.

The ground beneath him trembled as the weight of the ball became unbearable. He opened his hands, and it fell to the ground with a loud thud. It rolled away, coming to a stop exactly in the middle of the field before splitting into two halves. From the cracked sphere, golden vines sprouted, twisting and growing until they formed a glowing sunflower in full bloom.

The field dissolved into darkness, leaving Bachira suspended in a sea of stars. He reached out instinctively, fingers grasping at the sunflower, but it remained just out of reach. A whisper brushed against his ear, too faint to understand, and then—

He woke with a gasp, his chest heaving as though he’d been running.

The room was dark, bathed in the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the window. Bachira sat up, pressing a hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. He blinked a few times, disoriented, the vivid images of the dream still imprinted on his mind.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered to himself, raking a hand through his hair.

His phone sat on the nightstand, its screen lighting up faintly as a notification came in. The time read 2:13 a.m. Sleep was out of the question now; the dream had left him too restless.

With a sigh, he picked up the phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the familiar name: “Mama.” His thumb hovered over the call button for a moment before he pressed it.

The line rang twice before her warm, familiar voice answered. “Meguru? It’s late. Is everything alright?”

“Hi, Mom,” he said softly, his voice still thick with sleep. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just...needed to talk.”

“At this hour?” she teased lightly, though her tone carried no annoyance. “What’s on your mind, my boy?”

Bachira hesitated, unsure of where to start. “I had a weird dream,” he admitted, leaning back against the headboard.

“Oh? Tell me about it,” she encouraged, her voice tinged with curiosity.

He closed his eyes, trying to piece together the fragments of the dream. “It was a soccer field, but it wasn’t normal. The sky was... weird, and Yoichi and Rin were there. They both wanted me to pass the ball to them, but I couldn’t decide. Then the ball turned into a himawari.”

“A sunflower?” she repeated, her interest clearly piqued.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It felt important. Like it meant something, but I don’t know what.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line as his mother considered his words. “Dreams can be strange like that,” she said finally. “They don’t always make sense, but they often reflect what’s on our minds.”

Bachira frowned, staring at the patterns of moonlight on the ceiling. “What do you think it means?”

“Maybe it’s about choices,” she offered gently. “You’ve always been someone who follows their instincts, Meguru. But sometimes, too many options can make you hesitate.”

He thought about that, the words settling in his chest like a weight. “It’s not just the dream,” he admitted after a moment. “I feel... I don’t know. Stuck , maybe? Like I’m trying to figure something out, but I don’t even know what it is.”

Her voice softened, taking on the soothing tone she always used when he was a child. “You’ve always been a free spirit, my boy. It’s normal to feel lost sometimes. The important thing is to keep moving, to keep exploring. You’ll find your way.”

Bachira smiled faintly, her words like a balm to his restless mind. “You always know what to say, Mom.”

She laughed softly, a sound that never failed to make him feel at ease. “That’s what mothers are for. Now, try to get some rest. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice lighter. “Thanks, Mama. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Meguru.”

As the call ended, Bachira sat quietly in the dark, the dream replaying in his mind. The sunflower, the soccer field, the voices of Isagi and Rin—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

He lay back down, pulling the blanket up to his chin, and stared at the ceiling. The image of the glowing sunflower lingered in his thoughts, a quiet reminder of something he couldn’t yet name. But as he drifted into an uneasy sleep, he couldn’t help but feel that he was on the brink of understanding.

__________

Bachira woke up rather slowly to an obnoxious, on-going alarm. He turned it off with the pace of a tortoise, and stretched lazily, his arms and legs sprawling across the bed, and let out a contented sigh.

The dream from last night still lingered faintly in his mind, like the echo of a half-forgotten melody. He couldn’t quite grasp its meaning, but the image of the sunflower persisted, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest.

Rolling onto his side, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and squinted at the screen. The clock read 7:57 a.m, and a text from Isagi waited for him.

Isagi: Morning! Don’t forget, we’re meeting at the park at 9:30.

Bachira grinned, his heart doing a little flip. Isagi’s punctuality was both impressive and a little amusing—he couldn’t imagine the guy ever being late for anything. Quickly typing out a reply, he sent a playful:

Bachira: As if I’d forget! I’ll be there, don’t worry~

Satisfied, he tossed the phone back onto the bed and hopped out from under the covers. His first stop was the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and splashed cold water onto his face. The icy sensation jolted him fully awake, and he stared at his reflection in the mirror, his damp hair sticking up in odd directions.

“Looking good, Meguru,” he said to himself with a wink, striking a ridiculous pose.

After a quick shower, he padded back into his room, his feet sinking into the soft rug by his bed. His wardrobe was a chaotic mix of bright colors and comfortable basics, reflecting his free-spirited personality. He rifled through the hangers, pulling out a few options before settling on a loose, bright yellow t-shirt top and a pair of black athletic shorts.

“Perfect,” he muttered, admiring his choice in the mirror. The yellow brought out the warmth in his skin, and he figured it might even catch Isagi’s attention—not that he’d admit to wanting that.

Next came his soccer gear. He grabbed his cleats from the corner of the room, the soles scuffed and worn from countless hours of practice. He held them up, inspecting them with a critical eye. They’d probably seen better days, but they were reliable, and he wasn’t ready to part with them just yet.

As he laced them up, his mind wandered to the day ahead. He hadn’t seen Isagi in person since the reunion party, and even then, their interactions had been brief and fleeting. Today would be different. Just the two of them, playing soccer, like old times.

The thought made him smile, though there was a strange flutter of nervousness in his chest. Why was he nervous? It was just Isagi—his best friend, his monster companion. They’d been through so much together. But still, something about seeing him again felt significant.

He shook the thought away, focusing instead on packing his bag. He tossed in a water bottle, a small towel, and an extra pair of socks—just in case. Then, as an afterthought, he grabbed a sketchpad and a handful of colored pencils from his desk. You never know when inspiration might strike.

Before heading out, he made a quick detour to the kitchen. His mom had sent a message to him just as he opened the fridge.

Yuu: Trust your instincts. Don’t forget to eat breakfast. Love, Mama.

He smiled, and put his phone away. Breakfast was simple. Just a slice of toast with honey and a banana, but it was enough to keep him energized until he and Isagi inevitably (hopefully) grabbed food together after their practice.

By the time he stepped outside, the morning air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of city life. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the mostly empty streets. Bachira adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and started walking toward the park, his excitement building with each step.

The streets were quiet, the only sounds were the occasional chirping of birds and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Bachira let his mind wander as he walked, his thoughts drifting back to Isagi. He wondered what kind of mood he’d be in today, focused and competitive, or relaxed and playful? Either way, Bachira knew they’d have a great time.

As he approached the park, the soccer field came into view, its perfectly trimmed grass glistening with morning dew. The sight brought a surge of nostalgia, and Bachira couldn’t help but break into a jog, eager to get started.

Today was going to be fun. He could feel it in his bones.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight peeked through the cracks in Isagi’s blinds, and he woke up slowly. He squinted against the brightness, rolling over to check his phone. 7:45 AM.

“Crap, I overslept,” he muttered, though the thought lacked urgency. Normally, he’d be up hours earlier for training, but training today was different. Today, it was with Bachira.

The events of the reunion replayed in his mind like an unskippable highlight reel. Bachira’s laugh, the way his outfit seemed to draw everyone’s attention—and Rin. Isagi’s stomach tightened at the memory of Rin’s bold, unashamed flirting. The casual touches, the sly smirk… How could Bachira not notice?

Isagi exhaled sharply, sitting up in bed. “Get a grip, Yoichi. It’s not like he’s dating Rin.”

Still, the jealousy gnawed at him, unrelenting. It wasn’t just the way Rin had acted—it was how natural it all seemed. Rin, confident and composed, never hesitating to make his intentions clear. Meanwhile, Isagi had barely managed a coherent compliment all night. When he mustered the courage to say something, it always came out awkward or overly calculated.

He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it further. “Why does this have to be so complicated?” he whispered to himself. 

Dragging himself out of bed, Isagi made his way to the bathroom. The cold water he splashed on his face did little to shake the nerves buzzing in his chest. He stared at his reflection, trying to psych himself up.

“It’s just soccer,” he said. “You’ve played with him a million times. What’s different about today?”

But he knew the answer. Everything was different now. Because somewhere along the line, he’d stopped seeing Bachira as just his best friend. And that shift—as thrilling as it was terrifying—had changed the way he saw every interaction between them.

After dressing in his usual athletic gear, Isagi made his way to the kitchen. He absentmindedly toasted some bread while checking his phone. No new messages from Bachira. Not that he expected any—Bachira wasn’t exactly a morning texter. Still, a tiny pang of disappointment bloomed in his chest.

He opened their last conversation and scrolled up to Bachira’s enthusiastic “YES!!!” from nights before. It was so typical of him, full of energy and exclamation marks. Isagi couldn’t help but smile.

The toast popped up, startling him out of his thoughts. He grabbed it, munching absentmindedly as he debated what to say when he saw Bachira. Should he bring up Rin? Ask if anything was going on between them? The thought made him cringe. Subtlety wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but he’d have to try. 

After finishing his breakfast, Isagi grabbed his gear and headed out. The crisp morning air was refreshing, cutting through the remnants of sleepiness. As he walked to the station, he rehearsed possible conversations in his head.

“Hey, about last night…” No, too direct. 

“So, uh, Rin was… being Rin, huh?” Better, but still awkward.

He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. Maybe he should just focus on the game. Soccer was the one thing he was sure about, the one thing he could do without second-guessing every move. Maybe if he could just focus on playing, the rest would fall into place. 

The train ride was uneventful, giving Isagi too much time to think. He tried to distract himself by people-watching, but his thoughts always drifted back to Bachira. How would he look today? Would he show up in one of his eccentric outfits, or something more casual? Either way, Isagi was sure he’d look amazing. He always did.

By the time he arrived at the field, his heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with excitement. The sight of Bachira’s familiar silhouette waiting for him only made it worse. Bachira’s back was turned, and he was juggling a ball effortlessly, his movements fluid and mesmerizing.

Isagi took a deep breath, forcing a smile onto his face. “Yo, Meguru!” he called out, waving.

Bachira turned, his face lighting up in that infectious grin Isagi had missed so much. “Hi, Yoichi! Took you long enough.”

Isagi jogged over, his nerves momentarily forgotten in the warmth of Bachira’s greeting. “You’re early for once,” he teased.

Bachira laughed, tossing the ball toward him. “Had to make sure you didn’t ditch me.”

Isagi caught the ball, his smile softening. “I wouldn’t dare.”

The sun had fully risen by the time Isagi and Bachira settled into their warm-up routine at the empty soccer field. The grass, damp from morning dew, glistened under the soft light. The air was still cool, carrying the faint, earthy scent of springtime and fresh morning. It was quiet, save for the repeating sound of their shoes against the turf as they jogged side by side.

Isagi found comfort in the simplicity of their warm-up. There was something soothing about the way Bachira matched his pace without hesitation, his carefree energy muted but still palpable. It was as if they were in sync without needing to say a word. Isagi felt his earlier nerves begin to leave, replaced by a sense of ease he only ever seemed to find when Bachira was around.

“You’re quiet today,” Bachira finally said, breaking the silence. His tone was light, teasing, but there was a curious glint in his golden eyes when he turned to look at Isagi. “Thinking about your next big move, Yo-chan?”

Isagi chuckled, shaking his head. “Just enjoying the morning,” he replied. “And trying to keep up with you.”

Bachira grinned, his pace quickening just a little. “Better not slack off, or I’ll leave you in the dust!”

They finished their jog and moved to stretching, settling on the edge of the field. Isagi stretched his legs, leaning forward to touch his toes while sneaking a glance at Bachira, who was doing the same. The morning sun casted a warm glow on Bachira’s features, highlighting his unkempt hair and the faint flush on his cheeks from their jog. Isagi’s chest tightened, a familiar ache settling there. He quickly looked away, focusing on his stretch.

“So,” Isagi began, keeping his tone casual, “What were you up to last night?”

Bachira sat up straight, tilting his head as if trying to remember. “Hmm…nothing much, really. Oh! I did run into Rin at a gas station, though.”

Isagi froze mid-stretch, his hands hovering just above his sneakers. “Rin?” he echoed, trying to keep his voice neutral. 

Bachira nodded, his expression brightening as he recounted the encounter. “Yeah! I was grabbing some snacks, and he just showed up. It was kind of funny. He’s so serious, even when he’s just buying water or whatever. We talked a bit. He’s still Rin, I guess.”

Isagi straightened, his heart beating a little faster. “What did you talk about?”

Bachira shrugged, completely unaware of the growing tension in Isagi’s chest. “Nothing important. Just soccer stuff. He’s been training a lot, even during the offseason. Typical Rin, right?”

Isagi forced a laugh, but the knot of jealousy in his stomach tightened. The idea of Rin casually running into Bachira, talking to him, being near him—it gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t ignore. 

“Did he say anything else?” Isagi pressed, his tone still light but his eyes searching Bachira’s face.

Bachira blinked, tilting his head in thought. “Not really. Why? Are you jealous or something?”

The question caught Isagi off guard, and his face heated. “What? No!” he exclaimed, a little too quickly. He tried to play it off with a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Just curious. That’s all.”

Bachira’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, but he didn’t push the subject. Instead, he flopped onto his back, spreading his arms out as he stared up at the sky. “Rin’s intense, but he’s not so bad once you get past the whole brooding thing. Still, I think I’d rather be here with you than training with him. You’re more fun.”

Isagi’s heart skipped a beat at the casual remark. He tried to tamp down the warmth spreading through his chest, focusing instead on adjusting his shoelaces. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re here too,” he said quietly.

Bachira turned his head to look at him, his expression softening. “You okay, Yoichi? You seem different today.”

Isagi hesitated, the urge to spill everything bubbling up inside him. But he couldn’t. Not now. Instead, he mustered a smile and shook his head. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Bachira didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go, sitting up and clapping his hands together. “Alright! Enough stretching. Let’s see if you can keep up with me on the field, Yo-chan!”

Isagi laughed, the sound genuine this time. “You’re on.”

As they moved onto drills, the lingering tension in Isagi’s chest eased, replaced by the familiarness of their practice. But even as he focused on the ball, Rin’s name lingered in the back of his mind, a quiet reminder of the unspoken feelings he still didn’t know how to handle.

The field was quiet except for the soft thuds of the ball bouncing between Isagi and Bachira. Their warm-up had naturally transitioned into passing drills—a simple back-and-forth that required no thought, allowing them to ease into the rhythm of the game and their connection.

“You’re still quick with your passes, Yoichi,” Bachira said with a grin, flicking the ball effortlessly back to him with the outside of his foot. “But don’t get cocky… I’ve been practicing my tricks.”

Isagi caught the ball on the inside of his foot, taking a moment to admire how natural Bachira looked out here. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the field and painting streaks of light across Bachira’s unruly hair. 

“Don’t hold back, then,” Isagi challenged, sending the ball his way with a sharp pass. “I’m not afraid of your little tricks. 

Bachira’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that!” He trapped the ball with his foot, rolled it forward, and suddenly executed a rainbow flick, launching it over his head and darting past Isagi with a burst of speed.

Isagi turned swiftly, his reflexes honed from years of practice. He intercepted Bachira’s path, forcing him to slow down and shift his strategy. Bachira didn’t hesitate—he twisted his body with the kind of fluidity that made it seem like he wasn’t bound by the same rules of balance and gravity as everyone else.

“You’re not bad,” Bachira teased, trying to dart past him again. “For a guy who’s all brains and no flair.”

“Says the guy who’s all flair and no finishing,” Isagi shot back, managing to steal the ball with a well-timed tackle. He couldn’t stop the triumphant grin that spread across his face as he began dribbling toward the makeshift goal they’d set up.

Bachira laughed, chasing after him. “Oh, that’s it! You’re going down!" 

They spent the next half hour immersed in a mix of drills and playful one-on-one matches. The banter came easily, punctuated by bursts of laughter and overexaggerated displays of frustration whenever one of them got the better of the other. It felt like old times; Blue Lock days when everything was simpler, even in the midst of their intense competition.

But beneath the surface of their solidarity, Isagi couldn’t stop the occasional pang of jealousy that flared whenever he thought about Rin. The casual mention of their gas station encounter earlier still lingered in his mind, and now, as they paused for water, he decided to prod a little further.

“So,” Isagi began, trying to keep his tone light, “Do you and Rin talk often?”

Bachira, who was tilting his head back to gulp from his water bottle, paused mid-sip. He lowered the bottle and looked at Isagi, blinking as if surprised by the question.

“Not really,” he said. “I mean, we run into each other sometimes. Like last night. Why?”

“No reason,” Isagi said quickly, cursing himself for sounding so defensive. He turned his focus back to the ball at his feet, nudging it idly as he spoke. “Just curious, I guess. You seemed pretty comfortable around him at the reunion."

Bachira tilted his head, his expression unreadable for a moment before breaking into a smile. “Rin’s Rin,” he said with a shrug. “He’s kinda intense, but I think he’s just lonely. So I don’t mind chatting with him when he’s around.”

Lonely? Isagi wasn’t sure he’d ever thought about Rin that way before. The guy always gave off an air of superiority, like he didn’t need anyone else. But hearing Bachira’s perspective—the kindness in his voice as he spoke about Rin—only made Isagi’s chest tighten further.

“You’re too nice to people,” Isagi muttered, kicking the ball toward Bachira.

“Maybe.” Bachira trapped the ball with his foot and gave Isagi a thoughtful look. “But you’re nicer than you think, Yoichi. You just don’t always show it.”

The comment caught Isagi off guard, and he didn’t know how to respond. Instead, he gestured for Bachira to start another round of drills, grateful for the distraction.

As the session continued, their movements became more synchronized. Isagi couldn’t help but marvel at how easily they worked together, even after all this time apart. It was like their connection on the field had never faded. Every pass, every run, every shot felt like a perfectly timed dance, and for a while, Isagi let himself forget about everything else.

When the sun finally began to dip below the horizon, and long shadows streamed across the field, they called it a day. Both of them were sweaty and out of breath, but their smiles were wide as they walked off the field together.

“Thanks for today,” Bachira said, slinging an arm around Isagi’s shoulders. “I needed that.”

Isagi glanced at him, and for a moment, the weight of his feelings threatened to bubble to the surface. But he swallowed them down, managing a smile of his own. “Anytime,” he said.

And he meant it. Even if it hurt sometimes, he’d always be there for Bachira.

__________ 

Isagi wiped the sweat from his forehead as another Bastard München practice match came to a halt. His breath was ragged, and his legs burned, but the ache in his chest wasn’t from physical exertion. Across the field, Kaiser sauntered toward him with his signature smirk plastered on his face, emitting an air of irritating cockiness that Isagi wanted nothing more than to wipe off.

“Yo, Yoichi,” Kaiser called out, twirling the ball on his finger like it was second nature. “You’re still stuck chasing after me, huh? Thought you’d have learned something by now.”

Isagi clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe steadily. “I’m not chasing you. I’m trying to surpass you.”

Kaiser laughed, the sound grating on Isagi’s nerves. “Surpass me? Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?” He tilted his head mockingly. “Face it, you’ll always be a step behind. That’s why you’re running circles while I score goals." 

Isagi bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping back. Kaiser thrived on reactions, and giving him one only fueled the fire.

“You know,” Kaiser continued, his voice taking on a taunting edge, “I saw your buddy Bachira’s latest highlight reel. Kid’s got flair, I’ll give him that. Makes you wonder, though. Is he still carrying that crush on you, or has Rin stolen his attention now?”

Isagi’s stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”

Kaiser’s smirk widened, sensing he’d hit a nerve. “Oh, come on. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Bachira’s all smiles and sparkles when he talks about you. But from what I hear, Rin’s been getting pretty cozy with him lately.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “You’d better watch out, or Rin might just snatch him away.”

“That’s enough,” Isagi snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. His heart raced, a mix of anger and something uncomfortably close to jealousy bubbling up. Kaiser had no right to talk about Bachira like that.

“Oh, did I hit a sore spot?” Kaiser teased, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, Yoichi. I’m just trying to help. Wouldn’t want you to lose your little muse, now would we?”

Isagi turned on his heel, walking away before he said something he’d regret. The sound of Kaiser’s laughter followed him, grating against his decision. His mind raced, swirling with thoughts of Bachira, Rin, and the infuriating possibility that Kaiser might not be entirely wrong.

After the little interaction, Isagi found himself on a bench near the training grounds, scrolling through his phone in an attempt to distract himself. His thoughts kept circling back to Kaiser’s words, no matter how much he tried to push them away.

“Isagi,” a familiar voice drawled, breaking through his haze. He looked up to see Nagi approaching, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his usual sluggish state in full display. “What’s with the storm cloud over your head? Kaiser got to you again?”

Isagi let out a frustrated sigh. “What else is new?”

Nagi plopped down beside him, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “You’ve gotta stop letting that guy get under your skin. He’s like a mosquito. Annoying, but not worth the effort to swat.”

“Easy for you to say,” Isagi muttered. “You’re not on the same team as him.”

“True,” Nagi admitted, leaning back against the bench. “But you’re not doing yourself any favors by letting him rile you up. What’d he say this time?”

Isagi hesitated, debating how much to share. Finally, he relented. “He made some comments about Bachira. And Rin.”

Nagi raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Bachira and Rin, huh? That’s a weird combo.”

Isagi frowned. “He was implying...I don’t know. That Rin might be trying to get closer to Bachira or something.”

Nagi let out a low whistle. “Jealous, are we?”

Isagi stiffened. “That’s not—I mean—”

“Relax, Isagi,” Nagi said, cutting him off with a lazy wave of his hand. “It’s not a bad thing. Just means that you care.”

Isagi stared down at his hands, the tension in his shoulders refusing to dissipate. “It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing ever is,” Nagi said with a shrug. “But you’re overthinking it. Bachira’s not the type to be swayed by someone like Rin.”

Isagi glanced at Nagi, surprised by the insight. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Nagi said simply. “He’s like a wild card. He does what he wants, when he wants. You’re the only one who’s ever been able to really keep up with him. That’s gotta count for something.”

A small smile tugged at Isagi’s lips, despite the lingering doubt. “Thanks, Nagi.”

“Don’t mention it,” Nagi said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Just don’t let Kaiser mess with your head. He’s not worth the headache.”

Isagi nodded, the weight on his chest feeling slightly lighter. As much as Kaiser’s words had stung, Nagi’s perspective was a welcome reminder of the bond he shared with Bachira. Maybe, just maybe, that bond was stronger than any of Kaiser’s taunts.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation hanging between them. Finally, Isagi broke it. "How about you and Reo? You two seem solid."

Nagi glanced at him, a flicker of surprise in his usually impassive eyes. "Yeah, we’re good."

"Just good?" Isagi pressed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Better than good, I guess," Nagi said, scratching his cheek awkwardly. "He’s always looking out for me. Helps me focus, keeps me grounded."

"Sounds like he’s a big deal to you," Isagi noted. 

Nagi gave a small nod. "He is. Don’t always get what he’s thinking, but he makes things easier."

Isagi felt a pang of envy, though it wasn’t unpleasant. "So, you think relationships are about balance?"

"Yeah," Nagi said simply. "He gets me to care about stuff more. And I make him slow down sometimes. It works." 

Isagi considered this, his thoughts drifting to Bachira. Could they find that same balance? He wanted to believe it was possible. "Thanks again, Nagi."

Nagi shrugged. "No problem. Just don’t overthink it."

After a couple of moments of more casual talk, Nagi stood up from the bench and stretched lazily. “I’m heading out. Reo’s probably waiting for me to show up late again.” He gave a small wave. “See you around, Isagi.”

“Yeah, see you,” Isagi replied, offering a faint smile.

Nagi wandered off, and Isagi took a deep breath, ready to follow suit. The weight of his earlier conversation still lingered in his chest, mingling with the leftover sting from Kaiser’s taunts. Just as he turned to leave; however, a familiar voice sliced through the quiet.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the genius striker himself,” Kaiser drawled, with Ness standing close beside him.

Isagi stopped mid-step, his entire body tensing. His shoulders squared as he turned to face them, already bracing for whatever game Kaiser had in mind, whilst trying to keep Nagi’s words in mind. “What do you want, Kaiser?”

“What, no ‘hello’? That’s rude,” Kaiser said, smirking as he stepped closer, his every movement deliberate and oozing with confidence.

Ness chuckled, the sound light but carrying an undertone of smugness. “Relax, Yoichi. We’re just here for a chat.”

Isagi crossed his arms, his voice clipped. “I’m not interested.”

“Oh, but you will be,” Kaiser said smoothly, his smirk widening. “Alexis and I were just reminiscing about your little reunion earlier. You know, that cozy little gathering with all your old friends.”

Isagi’s jaw tightened. “What about it?”

Kaiser’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Just thinking how nice it must’ve been to see Bachira again. He’s quite the vibrant individual, isn’t he?”

“Vibrant?” Ness repeated, a sly grin spreading across his face. “That’s one way to put it. Bold, carefree, impossible to ignore.”

Isagi’s stomach twisted at their words, his mind flashing to the way Bachira had smiled at the reunion—so open, so warm, so... magnetic.

“He really does have a knack for making an impression,” Kaiser continued, his tone dripping with fake admiration. “That outfit? Absolute perfection. It’s almost like he wanted all eyes on him.”

Ness nodded, his tone just as smug. “I mean, who wouldn’t notice? The jacket, the earrings—he’s got that kind of look that turns heads without even trying. Bet it made you proud, huh, Yoichi?”

Isagi’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” Kaiser said with a shrug, though his smirk never wavered. “Just an observation. You two must’ve looked like quite the pair, standing next to each other. Or maybe he outshone you a little? Hard not to, with someone like him." 

Isagi’s throat tightened, the jealousy bubbling just beneath his skin. He forced himself to keep his tone steady. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“Don’t I?” Kaiser said, feigning surprise. “I mean, come on, Yoichi. Someone like Bachira isn’t exactly subtle. He’s the kind of guy who draws attention without even trying. And Rin’s noticed, hasn’t he? They’ve been spending some time together, right, Alexis?" 

“Oh, definitely,” Ness chimed in, his grin sharp. “Rin’s got an eye for talent, on and off the field. Guess he saw something in Bachira that caught his interest.”

Isagi’s breathing grew heavier, the mention of Rin sending another jolt of jealousy through him. He could picture it too clearly—Rin’s smirk, Bachira’s easy laugh, the two of them standing closer than they should. 

“You should keep an eye on that,” Kaiser added, his tone mockingly concerned. “Rin’s no amateur when it comes to competition. If he’s got his sights set on Bachira, well... let’s just say you’ve got some serious competition, Yoichi.”

Isagi’s fists curled tighter, his knuckles white. He took a step forward, his voice low and steady. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Oh, come on,” Kaiser called after him, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “I’m just trying to help. Wouldn’t want to see you heartbroken or anything. Bachira’s a wild card, after all. Who knows where he’ll end up?”

Isagi stopped in his tracks, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. He didn’t turn around, didn’t give Kaiser the satisfaction of a response.

Ness chuckled softly. “Touchy, isn’t he?”

Kaiser’s smirk widened. “Oh, definitely. But that’s what makes it fun.”

Isagi forced himself to move, his footsteps heavy as he walked away. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anger and frustration swirling with something deeper, something rawer. Kaiser’s words replayed in his mind, each one like a needle pricking at his insecurities.

As he sped up his pace, the cool air hit his face, but it did little to calm the storm inside him. His thoughts were a tangled mess of anger, jealousy, and an unshakable image of Bachira—smiling, carefree, and completely unaware of the chaos he’d left in Isagi’s heart.

__________

 Isagi sat at his kitchen table, his phone resting in front of him as he stared at the screen. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. He hesitated for a moment before finally picking up his phone and dialing Bachira’s number. The call rang twice before a familiar, cheerful voice answered.

"Yoichi! What’s up?" Bachira’s tone was bright, almost infectious. 

"Hey, Bachira," Isagi said, leaning back in his chair. "Not much. Just... thought I’d check in."

"Check in? You make it sound so official," Bachira teased, a light laugh following his words. "You don’t usually call. Something on your mind?"

Isagi hesitated, unsure how to start. "Well, Chigiri mentioned something about another party. Well, I guess a publicity event.  He said you were going?"

"Oh, yeah!" Bachira replied, his excitement evident even through the phone. "He told me about it during coffee the other day. It’s gonna be fun, right? A chance to see everyone for the second time!"

"Yeah," Isagi said, his voice soft. The thought of it brought a mix of anticipation and dread. He couldn’t shake the image of Rin and Bachira talking at the last gathering. "So, you’re definitely going, then?"

"Of course!" Bachira said, as if there were no other option. "Are you?"

"I haven’t decided yet," Isagi admitted. "It depends."

"Depends on what?" Bachira asked, his tone curious but not pressing.

Isagi rubbed the back of his neck. "I don’t know. If it’ll be worth it."

Bachira hummed thoughtfully. "I think it will be. I mean, it’s not like we get to see everyone all the time anymore. Plus, it’s always fun to catch up and see how much we’ve all changed."

"Yeah," Isagi said again, his voice distant. His mind wandered to the image of Bachira laughing with Rin at the last reunion, the ease of their interaction making something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

"You’re thinking too much again, aren’t you?" Bachira asked suddenly, breaking Isagi’s train of thought.

"What? No," Isagi said quickly, though he knew it wasn’t convincing.

"Liar," Bachira teased. "You always get that tone when you’re overthinking."

Isagi couldn’t help but chuckle, though it was tinged with self-consciousness. "You’re too good at reading me."

"That’s what best friends are for, right?" Bachira said, his voice warm. "Don’t stress too much about the party. Just come and have fun."

"I’ll think about it," Isagi said, his tone softening. "Thanks, Megs."

"Anytime," Bachira replied. "Oh, and Yoichi?"

"Yeah?"

"Don’t let Kaiser get to you," Bachira said, his voice uncharacteristically serious for a moment. "You’re better than that." 

Isagi felt a lump in his throat at the unexpected encouragement, and from the knowing fact that Nagi or Reo had definitely told Bachira about the earlier encounter at practice. "Thanks. I’ll try."

"Good," Bachira said, his cheerful tone returning. "Anyway, I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you at the event, yeah?"

"Yeah," Isagi said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "See you then."

As the call ended, Isagi set his phone down and leaned back in his chair, his thoughts still swirling. Bachira’s words lingered in his mind, a mix of comfort and confusion. The next reunion suddenly felt a lot closer—and a lot more complicated.

__________

Isagi shoved his phone into his pocket, his chest still buzzing from his conversation with Bachira. The warmth of their easy exchange was quickly overshadowed by a lingering unease—a shadow that had Rin’s name written all over it. Isagi’s stomach churned as he thought about their last reunion. Rin’s casual way of pulling Bachira closer, his smirk that seemed aimed directly at Isagi—it all played on repeat in his mind constantly; never ending.

He pushed himself off of his kitchen chair, pacing around the small kitchen of his apartment. It wasn’t like he wanted to care about Rin’s presence in Bachira’s life. Rin had always been sharp-edged and remote, and their rivalry on the field rarely translated into anything personal. But this was clashing. Bachira wasn’t just another player. He was the one person who’d seen Isagi’s heart laid bare in their shared passion for soccer, the one person who made Isagi feel understood. And now, Rin was muscling in, intentionally or not.

Isagi’s fists clenched as he grabbed his jacket and keys. He couldn’t sit with this feeling any longer. Without fully deciding where he was going, he found himself outside, walking briskly in the direction of the park. It was late, the streets nearly empty save for the occasional car or passerby. The crisp air bit at his cheeks, but it wasn’t enough to cool the fire burning in his chest.

By the time he reached the park, his steps slowed, his mind still a chaotic swirl. 

And that’s when he saw him.

Rin was standing under one of the tall lamps near the fountain, his posture as composed and intimidating as ever. His phone glowed in his hand, and for a moment, Isagi thought about turning back. But then Rin looked up, his piercing gaze locking onto Isagi as if he’d sensed him coming all along.

"What do you want?" Rin asked, his voice sharp, cutting through the stillness.

Isagi straightened, forcing himself to meet Rin’s stare. "We need to talk."

Rin’s brow arched, a flicker of amusement passing over his face. "About what?"

"About Meg-Bachira," Isagi said, the words heavier than he expected.

Rin tilted his head, slipping his phone into his pocket. "What about him?"

Isagi stepped closer, his heart pounding. "I don’t know what your deal is, but whatever you’re doing—flirting with him, trying to get closer—it needs to stop."

A slow smirk spread across Rin’s face, one that made Isagi’s blood boil. "Flirting? Is that what you think this is?"

"Don’t play dumb," Isagi snapped, his voice rising. "You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re trying to mess with me, and you’re using Bachira to do it." 

Rin’s expression darkened, the amusement fading as he took a step toward Isagi. "You give yourself too much credit. Not everything’s about you, Isagi."

"Then what is it about?" Isagi demanded, his voice cracking slightly. "Why do you care so much about being around him?"

For a moment, Rin didn’t answer. His gaze flickered, a rare crack in his impenetrable exterior. "Because he’s him," he said finally, his voice quieter but no less intense. "He’s not like everyone else."

The admission hit Isagi like a punch to the gut. Of course Bachira was “him”—that’s what made him so special. But hearing Rin say it, hearing the genuine undertone in his voice, made Isagi’s jealousy flare white-hot.

"And what?" Isagi shot back, his voice laced with bitterness. "You think you understand him better than I do?"

Rin’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "Maybe I do."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Isagi felt his nails digging into his palms, his frustration boiling over. "You don’t get it," he said, his voice trembling. "You don’t know what it’s like to have someone like him by your side, to feel like you can’t breathe without them. You’re just—"

"Just what?" Rin interrupted, his tone icy. "Say it."

"You’re just trying to win," Isagi accused, his voice rising again. "This isn’t about Bachira—it’s about proving you’re better than me."

Rin’s silence was deafening. For a moment, Isagi thought he’d struck a nerve. But then Rin took another step forward, closing the distance between them. "You think you’re the only one who feels that way about him?" Rin asked, his voice low, dangerous. "You think you’re the only one who sees how bright he is?" 

Isagi’s breath caught, his anger faltering as Rin’s words sank in. There was something raw in Rin’s tone, something that mirrored the ache in Isagi’s own chest. It was unnerving, seeing a part of himself reflected in someone he’d always seen as an adversary.

"I don’t care about your games," Isagi said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. "Bachira deserves better than to be caught in the middle of whatever this is."

"Then maybe you should stop standing in his way," Rin said, his words like a slap. "If you care so much, let him decide who he wants to be around."

The challenge was clear, and it left Isagi reeling. He wanted to argue, to push back, but the weight of Rin’s gaze and the truth in his words held him back. Instead, he turned away, his fists clenched at his sides as he tried to steady his breathing.

"This isn’t over," Isagi said over his shoulder, his voice tight.

"It never is," Rin replied, his tone cold but laced with something that almost sounded like regret.

As Isagi walked away, the fire in his chest burned hotter than ever. Rin’s words echoed in his mind, stirring a storm of emotions he couldn’t quite untangle. He didn’t know what the next reunion would bring, but one thing was certain—this rivalry was far from over.

As Isagi headed home, flashes of the past flooded his mind. He remembered the first time he and Bachira had truly connected on the field, how Bachira’s unorthodox style had pushed him to think differently, to be better. He also remembered how Rin had always seemed untouchable, a rival who existed on a plane Isagi could only aspire to reach. Now, the lines were blurred, and it was infuriating.

By the time he reached his apartment, he was exhausted, but sleep felt impossible. His mind was too full—of Rin’s sharp words, of Bachira’s easy laughter, of the weight of everything left unsaid. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he stared at his phone, resisting the urge to text Bachira again. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh and flopped back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling as the night stretched on endlessly.

Chapter Text

Bachira's nerves awoke him. It was late morning, around ten, and Bachira was desperate for some food.

He slowly shuffled out of bed and made his way into his colorful kitchen.

He stretched his arms overhead, his body still buzzing with the remnants of a vivid dream he couldn’t quite remember. With a yawn, he shuffled to the refrigerator, pulling it open to inspect its less than impressive contents.

"Eggs it is," he murmured, grabbing a cartoon that looked suspiciously old. He sniffed the eggshell, shrugged, and set it on the counter. "If it doesn’t smell bad; it’s probably fine."

He turned on the stove, the faint click click click of the burner igniting filling the silence. As he reached for a frying pan, his thoughts wandered to the day ahead. The Blue Lock reunion was always a mixed bag for him—a whirlwind of familiar faces, shared laughter, and the occasional unexpected drama. 

Obviously there would be unknown faces as well. Apparently, or according to Chigiri from when he shared more information about the reunion, the publicity part of the event was going to be fans coming in and getting autographs. Talk about the approaching chaos Bachira would soon face!

And although he didn’t mind the chaos, there was something odd about this one. Maybe it was the way Isagi had sounded on the phone last week, his voice laced with a tension Bachira couldn’t quite place. Or maybe it was the memory of Rin at the gas station, his sharp words and piercing gaze lingering in Bachira’s mind like a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve.

Crack. 

Bachira stared down at the egg yolk dripping onto the counter instead of into the pan.

"Oops," he muttered, grabbing a paper towel to wipe up the mess. He cracked another egg, this time successfully, and watched it sizzle in the pan. Cooking wasn’t exactly his forte. In fact, it was more like a game of trial and error, with more errors than he cared to admit. Still, there was something soothing about the routine of it, even if the end result was often questionable.

As the egg whites bubbled, his mind drifted back to Isagi. He’d sounded excited about the reunion but also… guarded? Bachira couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Isagi was usually so straightforward, wearing his heart on his sleeve when it came to soccer and their friendship. But lately, there had been an edge to him, a quiet intensity that made Bachira feel like he was missing something important.

"Maybe he’s just stressed," Bachira said aloud, flipping the egg with a spatula and wincing as it tore down the middle. He frowned at the pan, poking at the uneven edges. "I’d probably be stressed too if I had Kaiser breathing down my neck all the time."

The thought of Kaiser made him chuckle. That guy was a character , always stirring up trouble and making everything about himself. Bachira didn’t particularly mind him, but he could see how someone like Isagi would find him insufferable. Still, Kaiser wasn’t the one Bachira was worried about. But more so Rin because, well, he was a whole different story.

The memory of Rin’s expression at the gas station surfaced unbidden, and Bachira paused, the spatula hovering over the pan. There had been something in Rin’s eyes that night, something that didn’t quite match his words. Jealousy? Frustration? Bachira wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Rin’s presence had a way of making him feel… seen. Not in the same way Isagi did, with his warm smiles and unspoken understanding, but in a way that was sharper, more deliberate. It was uncomforting and (somehow) oddly comforting all at once.

The egg hissed in the pan, snapping him out of his thoughts. He slid it onto a plate and reached for a slice of bread, tossing it into the toaster. As he waited, he drummed his fingers on the counter, his gaze drifting to the small potted plant on the windowsill. It was a gift from Reo and Nagi, who’d claimed it was impossible to kill. So far, Bachira had managed to keep it alive, though it looked a little droopy around the edges.

He then thought about Chigiri’s words during their coffee chat more than a few days ago, the way his friend had casually mentioned the reunion party and Isagi in the same breath. "You should talk to him," Chigiri had said, his tone light but pointed. "Really talk to him."

Bachira frowned, pulling the toast from the toaster and slathering it with butter. Talking wasn’t the problem. He and Isagi talked all the time. But lately, their conversations felt like they were skimming the surface of something deeper, something neither of them was willing to confront. Bachira didn’t know how to fix that, but he wanted to. Isagi was his best friend, the one person who made him feel like he could be his truest, weirdest self. Losing that connection wasn’t an option.

He carried his plate to the table and sat down, taking a bite of his toast and grimacing at the slightly burnt edges. "Not my best work," he muttered, washing it down with a sip of water. His phone buzzed on the table, and he glanced at the screen, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Isagi’s name. It was just a text, a simple reminder about the reunion time and location, but it was enough to make Bachira smile.

"I’ll be there," he typed back, adding a smiley face for good measure. He set the phone down and leaned back in his chair, his gaze wandering to the window. The city outside was already alive with the hum of traffic and distant chatter. The day felt full of possibilities, and for the first time in a while, Bachira felt a flicker of excitement that wasn’t dainted with uncertainty.

He quickly finished his breakfast; scraping the last bits of egg off his plate and rinsing it in the sink. As he dried his hands, he glanced at his reflection in the window, his messy hair and sleepy eyes staring back at him. "Guess I should make myself look presentable," he said with a grin, running a hand through his hair.

The thought of the reunion filled him with a mix of anticipation and nerves. He didn’t know what the day would bring, but one thing was for sure—it wouldn’t be boring . And as much as he tried to focus on the excitement, a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder what Rin and Isagi would say when they saw each other. More importantly, what they’d say to him.

His mind buzzed with the to-do list for the day. The event wasn’t until the afternoon, but he didn’t want to leave everything until the last minute. Besides, Bachira wasn’t exactly known for his punctuality.

As he wandered toward his bedroom, still mentally debating whether to wear something casual or bold, his doorbell buzzed sharply. He froze mid-step, tilting his head. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Who’s crashing my morning?” he muttered, walking over to the door.

When he swung it open, Reo stood on the other side, a bag slung over his shoulder and an easy grin on his face.

“Yo,” Reo greeted, brushing past Bachira like he owned the place.

“Good morning to you too,” Bachira said, raising a brow as Reo tossed his bag onto the couch. “Didn’t know I invited you.”

“You didn’t. But, you love surprises,” Reo shot back, flopping onto the couch.

Bachira blinked, only for the bell to buzz again. He turned to see Chigiri standing there, holding a coffee cup in one hand and a garment bag in the other.

“Don’t tell me you invited yourself too,” Bachira said, stepping aside.

Chigiri breezed in with an amused smile. “You’re not exactly hard to track down. Reo texted me.”

“I didn’t text him to come here, though!” Bachira exclaimed, shutting the door.

“Yeah, but you didn’t say no,” Reo jutted in, smirking.

Bachira sighed, rubbing his temple. “I was gonna get ready alone, you know. Quiet, reflective morning, all that.”

“Boring,” Reo said, kicking his legs up onto the coffee table. “You’re not that guy, Bachira. We’re here to make sure you show up looking good. Can’t have you embarrassing us at the event.”

“Because my outfit is your biggest concern?” Bachira deadpanned.

“Obviously,” Chigiri said, unzipping the garment bag to reveal an array of neatly pressed shirts. “I brought options. You’re welcome.”

Bachira groaned, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “You two are impossible.”

__________

Bachira leaned against the arm of the couch, arms crossed as he watched Reo dig through his bag. The player pulled out a sleek bottle of cologne and set it on the coffee table like he was unveiling treasure.

“This,” Reo declared, “is your secret weapon for today. It’s subtle but classy.”

Bachira sniffed dramatically. “Smells like money.”

“That’s the idea,” Reo said with a smirk. “If you’re going to a big event, you might as well smell like you own the room.”

Chigiri rolled his eyes as he neatly arranged the shirts from his garment bag. “Ignore him. The real key is the outfit. Confidence starts with looking good.”

Bachira eyed the array of shirts, his nose wrinkling. “They’re all so…fancy. Do I really need to dress up? It’s just autographs and stuff.”

“You’re representing your team,” Chigiri said, picking up a crisp white shirt and holding it against Bachira’s frame. “You can’t just roll in looking like you slept in your uniform.”

“I didn’t say I’d wear my uniform,” Bachira protested, though his gaze darted to the brightly colored hoodie he’d left draped over a chair. “But this feels like overkill.”

“Let’s compromise,” Reo chimed in, grabbing a patterned button-up from the pile. “This one’s fun, just like you. Pair it with jeans, and you’re set.”

Bachira took the shirt reluctantly, holding it up. “I don’t know…”

“You’ll thank us later,” Chigiri said, taking the shirt back and tossing it onto the couch. “Go shower first. You’re not trying that on while you still smell like breakfast.”

“Bossy,” Bachira muttered, but he headed toward the bathroom anyway.

As the sound of running water filled the apartment, Reo leaned back against the couch, glancing at Chigiri. “Think he’s nervous about today?”

Chigiri shrugged. “Probably a little. Big events like this can be overwhelming, even for someone like him.”

Reo frowned thoughtfully. “He hides it well, but I think he’s got a lot on his mind lately.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Chigiri said, folding his arms. “We all have our own stuff going on. The difference is, Bachira actually talks about it when it bubbles over.”

“True,” Reo said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You think he’s nervous about seeing anyone specific?”

Chigiri raised a brow. “Like who?”

Reo smirked, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “I heard a rumor that Rin’s going to be there.”

Chigiri’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened. “And?”

“And…” Reo drawled, “last time Rin and Bachira were in the same room, people couldn’t stop talking about how close they seemed.”

Chigiri snorted. “You’re reading too much into it. Bachira’s just like that. He gets along with everyone.”

“Maybe,” Reo said, though his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced. He tapped a finger against the edge of the coffee table. “But it wasn’t just the usual Bachira friendliness. Rin looked different around him. Not as closed off. Like he actually wanted to be there. You don’t see that every day.”

Chigiri frowned slightly. “Rin’s not exactly an open book. That could mean anything.”

“It could,” Reo admitted. “But there’s more. You remember that charity match a few months ago? Bachira and Rin spent almost the entire afterparty talking to each other. People noticed.”

Chigiri tilted his head. “Talking about what?”

“Who knows? Soccer, life, whatever,” Reo said with a shrug. “The point is, they seemed…natural together. Comfortable in a way that stood out.” He paused, his gaze turning curious. “You’re closer to Bachira than me. Has he ever mentioned Rin to you?”

“Not in any way that’s different from anyone else,” Chigiri said carefully, though a flicker of thought crossed his face. “But now that you bring it up, he did seem thoughtful when Rin’s name came up the other day.”

“Thoughtful, huh?” Reo’s smirk widened. “See? There’s something there.”

“Or you’re just bored and looking for drama,” Chigiri countered, though his tone lacked bite. “Bachira’s not exactly subtle about his feelings. If there’s anything going on, it’ll come out sooner or later.”

“Guess we’ll see,” Reo said lightly, leaning back with an air of satisfaction.

When Bachira emerged from the bathroom, his hair still damp and a towel slung around his neck, he found the two of them locked in some kind of silent debate.

“What’s with the serious faces?” Bachira asked, rubbing the towel through his hair. “You look like you’re plotting something.”

“Nothing,” Reo said innocently, though Chigiri shot him a warning look.

Bachira narrowed his eyes but didn’t press. “Alright, let’s get this over with. What do I have to wear?”

Chigiri handed him the patterned shirt and a pair of dark jeans Reo had pulled from his bag. “Try these. And don’t complain—they’re comfortable.”

Bachira sighed dramatically as he took the clothes, but he couldn’t help the warmth spreading in his chest. Annoying as they were, Reo and Chigiri’s presence grounded him in a way he hadn’t expected.

__________

Bachira stood in front of the mirror, smoothing out the patterned shirt once more. The collar felt a little too stiff, and he kept tugging at it as though it were uncomfortable, but Reo was right: he did look good. He caught his reflection for a moment, running his hands through his damp hair, before looking back at the others. "Alright, I guess it’s not that bad."

"See? I told you," Reo said smugly, crossing his arms. He had already changed into his own outfit, and it was very much Reo . His usual sleek, fitted black pants complemented a crisp, tailored white shirt that hugged his chest just the right way. Over it, he had thrown on a black leather jacket, adding a touch of casual chic. He seemed ready to step straight into a photoshoot, his confidence as effortless as ever.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a genius," Bachira teased, rolling his eyes as he grabbed a pair of sneakers from his closet.

Reo shot him a wink. "I know I am. You're welcome."

Chigiri, who had been quietly observing the two of them, finally straightened his own outfit. He had chosen a more understated look, but still exudes effortless style. His dark jeans contrasted with a pale gray shirt, which was topped off with a tailored beige blazer. His shoes were simple but elegant, his usual brand of practical fashion with a touch of sophistication. It wasn’t flashy, but Chigiri had always been the type who could wear anything and still look like he’d just stepped off the runway.

“You two need to stop trying to look like you belong on magazine covers,” Bachira teased, catching sight of Chigiri’s crisp ensemble. “Chigiri, you’re going for the ‘ I look rich, but I’m actually just a soccer player ’ vibe. Is that what’s happening?”

Chigiri’s lips twitched. “You’re just jealous you don’t look as effortlessly chic as I do.”

“Oh please,” Bachira laughed, “you look like you’re going to a board meeting, not an autograph session.”

“I could pull off both,” Chigiri shot back without missing a beat, adjusting his sleeves as he smirked. “I could sign autographs and close a deal in one go.”

Reo chuckled from where he was inspecting his watch, his usual amused expression plastered on his face. “Well, if you’re going to close deals and make everyone’s eyes follow you, you might as well be the one who gets the most attention today. That’s definitely going to be me.”

“Uh huh, sure, Reo,” Bachira quipped, giving him a skeptical look. “You’re the one who acts like you’re auditioning for a runway show every time you step outside. A little more subtlety wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, please,” Reo said, unfazed, “subtlety is for the weak. The world’s a stage, and I’m here to steal the spotlight. I’m not going to sit in the background.”

“I’m definitely not sitting in the background,” Chigiri muttered, turning toward the full-length mirror. He checked his reflection one more time, adjusting the way his blazer fit around his shoulders. “But I’ll tell you one thing, don’t let Isagi see you two acting like this, or he might try to upstage you both. He’s been getting a little too ‘ look at me ’ lately, don’t you think?”

Bachira’s face lit up, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “I think someone’s jealous.”

Chigiri rolled his eyes. “I’m not jealous. But it’s obvious he’s been getting a little full of himself. Especially after that last game. He’s starting to get that ‘ I’m the star ’ energy.” He raised an eyebrow, adding with a teasing tone, “Wouldn’t you agree, Reo?”

Reo snorted. “I’m not the one who’s going to get dragged into his drama. But sure, Isagi’s definitely been acting a little more… important. The way he looks at you sometimes, Bachira? It’s practically a soap opera in the making.”

Bachira chuckled, tossing a glance at Chigiri. “What’s up with you two? You sound like you’ve been watching too many romance movies.”

“You’re not wrong,” Reo said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I’m just saying, if things go the way I think they might, Isagi might need some lessons on keeping his cool. You know, not acting like a lovesick puppy.”

Bachira’s laughter filled the room. “I don’t know if I’d call him a puppy. But he’s definitely been acting weird around me. I mean, I don’t get it, right? He’s always been all over the place with his feelings, but lately, it’s like there’s something more.”

Chigiri narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything immediately. “He’s your best friend, right?”

Bachira hesitated, his eyes shifting toward the floor for a moment. “Yeah, he is. But it’s… complicated. Sometimes, I don’t know if it’s just the rivalry or something else.”

“Oh, it’s definitely something else,” Reo said with a mischievous smile. “He’s got the hots for you, Bachira. And that little rivalry is just his way of coping with it.”

Chigiri cleared his throat, his voice cool. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. But you two are definitely acting… differently around each other.”

“Well, that’s because he doesn’t get it,” Bachira retorted, shrugging. “I don’t know if he’s confused or what, but he keeps giving me these looks. I don’t know what to think.”

“Okay, okay,” Reo said, walking over and clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go ahead and add ‘ Isagi is in love with you’ to our running list of things Bachira doesn’t get. I’m telling you, man—he’s just waiting for you to figure it out. I’m sure he thinks you’re the one who doesn’t get it.”

Chigiri folded his arms, watching them both with a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation. “You two are ridiculous. And speaking of complicated relationships, what about Rin?”

Bachira’s eyes widened, and he let out an exaggerated gasp. “What about Rin? He’s not even—”

Reo smirked, cutting him off. “I’m just saying, Bachira, we all saw how Rin looked at you during that last charity match. If you ask me, he’s trying to get your attention in the most obvious way possible.”

Chigiri nodded. “He’s been acting strange lately. Not that I’d expect Rin to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he’s been paying a lot more attention to you than usual.”

Bachira looked between the two of them, mouth slightly agape. “You guys are reading way too much into this. Rin and I are just—well, I mean, we’re friends, right?”

Reo raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure. Friends with benefits?"

“Shut up!” Bachira blurted, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink as he scrambled for an excuse. “We’re not like that. We just—well, he’s been kind of cool lately. But that doesn’t mean—”

Chigiri snorted, clearly enjoying Bachira’s discomfort. “Oh, now you’re embarrassed? Bachira, you know it’s obvious when someone’s into you. You don’t not notice that, even if you’re as clueless as you seem to be.”

Reo added with a wink, “And Rin’s got that ‘I’m totally in control’ vibe. You know, the kind that makes you feel like he’s got a secret agenda?”

Bachira groaned, tossing his hands up. “Okay, okay, I get it. Rin might like me. But that doesn’t mean anything. We’re just messing around.”

“You can say that all you want, but deep down you know it’s true,” Reo said, the grin on his face widening. “Trust me, I’ve got an eye for these things.”

Chigiri laughed softly. “You definitely do. But just wait. The real question is: when are you going to admit that you like Nagi?”

Reo froze for a second, blinking rapidly. “What? Nagi? What are you talking about?”

Chigiri raised a brow. “Oh, come on. You’ve been dropping hints all over the place. You practically sparkle when his name comes up.”

Reo sputtered, a rare flustered expression crossing his face. “I do not sparkle ,” he muttered, then grinned again. “But maybe I’ve noticed he’s been getting better at that stuff. You know, he’s—”

“You’re blushing!” Chigiri teased. “I knew it.”

Reo shot Chigiri a playful glare, clearly flustered but trying to regain his composure. “I’m not blushing,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, though the slight pink tinge on his cheeks gave him away. “Nagi’s just...a little different , that’s all. It’s not like—”

“Right,” Chigiri teased, crossing his arms with a knowing smile. “ Different . Just admit it. You’re totally into him.”

Bachira snickered, watching Reo flail for words. “I didn’t think Reo could be caught off guard, but here we are.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” Reo groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I’m not here to discuss my love life.”

Chigiri raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression still amused. “Fine, fine. We’ll leave you to your secrets with Nagi. But don’t try to change the subject. I know the truth.”

Reo shot him a pointed look but didn’t respond. Instead, he gave a dramatic sigh and checked the time on his watch. “Alright, we’ve been standing around here long enough. Let’s go. We’re going to be late for this event if we don’t hurry.”

Bachira, who had been holding his sneakers in one hand, suddenly stopped. He frowned, glancing between Chigiri and Reo. “So, about this thing... Am I really the one who’s going to get the most attention today?"

Reo’s face softened slightly, though his usual smirk was still present. “You’re kidding, right? Everyone loves you, Bachira. You’re magnetic. Just don’t let Isagi see you looking this good or he might start getting jealous.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already jealous,” Bachira grumbled, sitting down to slip his shoes on. “He’s been acting all intense lately. It’s like he’s trying to prove something.”

“Well, that’s nothing new,” Chigiri said, rolling his eyes. “Isagi’s always trying to prove something. But recently? He’s been going overboard.”

Bachira looked up at him curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

Chigiri gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know. It’s like he’s overcompensating for something. Maybe he’s worried that you’re not taking him seriously, or maybe... he feels like he’s losing his place with you?”

“Losing his place with me?” Bachira echoed, his heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean by that?”

Reo, who had been fiddling with his cologne bottle again, looked over at Chigiri with a raised brow. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Isagi’s been weirdly competitive with you lately. Almost like- no, he definitely wants you to be more than a ‘teammate’.”

Bachira froze mid-step, the words sinking in. “More than just a teammate?”

“Well, think about it,” Reo said with a grin. “He’s always had a thing for you. But now? It’s like he’s actively trying to get your attention. And let’s not even talk about how he reacts when Rin’s around. It’s like he thinks Rin’s going to swoop in and steal you away or something.”

Bachira blinked rapidly, feeling a mix of confusion and realization bubble up inside him. “Yoichi’s been acting like that? I mean... I guess I noticed he gets a little... odd sometimes. But it never occurred to me that it was something like that.”

“Bachira,” Reo said, his tone softer now, “you’re not completely oblivious, are you? Isagi’s been in love with you for a while. You’ve probably just been too caught up in your own head to notice.”

“I’m not...” Bachira trailed off, suddenly feeling like his entire world had shifted. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

Chigiri shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and mild disbelief. “Are you really just figuring this out now? You’re such a mess sometimes, Bachira.”

“I’m not a mess!” Bachira shot back, though he felt his face flush a little. “It’s just... complicated, okay?”

Reo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s complicated. When isn’t it? But I’m telling you, man, Isagi is so obvious . It’s painful to watch sometimes.”

Bachira could feel his pulse quicken. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it. “I... I guess I just don’t understand it. I mean, I care about Yoichi, but—”

“But what?” Chigiri pressed softly, leaning forward slightly. “But you don’t get how someone can feel that way about you?”

Bachira looked away, scratching his head as he struggled to put his feelings into words. “I don’t know. It’s just hard to imagine him thinking of me like that. He’s so... intense, and he has these moments when he’s so serious. I don’t know how to even respond to that.”

Reo gave him a knowing look. “It’s easy. Just stop being a scared little puppy about it. Isagi’s not going to bite you. If anything, he’ll probably fall all over himself trying to prove he’s worthy of your attention.”

“I don’t know if I want to deal with that,” Bachira muttered, his heart pounding in his chest. “It just seems like so much work.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Chigiri said casually. “You always do. But the real question is... what are you going to do when Rin tries to take your attention for himself today?”

Bachira laughed nervously, running his fingers through his hair. “Rin? He’s not going to try anything. He’s just... he’s just being his usual, intense self. He’s not really interested, right?”

Reo raised a brow, his grin widening. “You’ve never seen Rin act like that before? Trust me, that man’s got a whole lot more interest in you than he lets on. But he’s just as confusing as you are. Neither of you are good at this whole... relationship thing.”

Chigiri snorted. “Yeah, that’s an understatement.”

Bachira felt a strange mixture of tension and excitement in his chest. His mind was racing, trying to process everything Reo and Chigiri were saying. Was Isagi really in love with him? Did Rin feel the same way? And how was he supposed to navigate all of this when he still didn’t understand his own feelings?

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Bachira admitted, his voice quiet as he slipped his sneakers on. “But I guess we’ll see, right?”

“Definitely,” Reo said with a wink, giving him a playful shove. “Just remember, if you ever need advice on how to handle it all, I’m your guy.”

“Same,” Chigiri added, adjusting his blazer one last time. “But I’m way better at giving the right advice. Trust me on that.”

Bachira stood up, brushing off his clothes and adjusting his shirt, trying to muster some confidence. “Alright. Let’s go then. Time to face the music.”

__________

The event space was a bustling sea of fans, flashing cameras, and the low hum of chatter. Bachira’s eyes scanned the room as he walked in alongside Reo and Chigiri. It was already a whirlwind of activity, and the sheer amount of people packed in was enough to make his head spin. He wasn’t used to this level of attention, but the nervous flutter in his chest had almost faded, replaced with a strange sense of excitement.

“Welcome to the chaos,” Chigiri said with a smirk, eyes darting around the venue. “This is just the calm before the storm.”

Reo chuckled. “If this is calm, I’d hate to see what the storm looks like.”

They followed a staff member through the maze of tables and booths, eventually stopping at a small corner where a sign reading "Bastard München" hung over a decorated table. It wasn’t too far from the entrance, but it was tucked away just enough to give them some breathing room—at least for now.

As they were directed to their respective booths, a familiar voice cut through the noise, smooth and self-assured, like a perfectly honed weapon.

“Ah, you’re here,” Ego’s voice rang out, and Bachira immediately recognized the cool tone. It was unmistakable.

Ego stood at the front of the Manshine booth, already dressed in his usual flawless suit. His hair was slicked back, his glasses perched just so on his nose, and he had that signature smile—equal parts mysterious and calculating.

“Good to see you all in one piece,” Ego said, his eyes flicking over the trio as they gathered at the booth. “I trust you’re prepared for a long day?”

“Prepared?” Reo scoffed. “As prepared as we can be to sign autographs and have people swarm us for a few hours. What else can we do?”

Ego’s smile twitched. “Stay on your best behavior and make sure to look like you enjoy it. The fans will notice the smallest change in your mood.”

Bachira gave a half-hearted salute. “Got it! Smile and sign, no problem!”

“I’m counting on you,” Ego said, his expression turning businesslike as he turned to address the staff. “Everyone else should be here soon. Keep it professional.”

Reo raised a brow. “Professional? That’s a joke coming from you, Ego.”

Ego didn’t acknowledge the comment, simply giving them a quick nod before walking away. His sharp heels clicked against the floor as he moved off to check in on another booth, leaving the trio behind.

As soon as Ego was out of earshot, Bachira sighed dramatically. “Man, he never changes. Always the same.”

Reo snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Ego’s probably the only guy who could walk through a fire and still look like he’s attending a board meeting.”

Chigiri chuckled, crossing his arms. “He’s got an air about him that says, ‘ I’m better than everyone here, ’ and somehow, no one even questions it.”

Bachira mimicked Ego’s stiff posture, throwing his chin up with exaggerated arrogance. “I am Ego. The world revolves around me. Do your best to look busy while I supervise.”

Reo burst out laughing. “You do a terrible Ego impression, Bachira.”

“Hey! I thought it was good,” Bachira protested with a grin, sitting up straight. “I could totally pull off that vibe if I tried.”

Chigiri raised an eyebrow. “You? Stiff and formal? That’s hard to imagine.”

“Oh, come on! I can totally do it!” Bachira leaned back in his chair with a smug look. “Just wait. I’m going to show Ego how it’s done. I'll walk around like I own the place. Gotta keep the fans in check, right?”

Reo snickered. “Yeah, go for it. But just know, if you start acting like that, people might start running the other direction.”

“Come on, I can do it!” Bachira said confidently, even though his playful grin showed he wasn’t entirely serious. “But seriously, that guy never changes. You'd think by now he'd loosen up a bit.”

Chigiri leaned in, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You think he’s always like that because he wants to control everything?”

“Definitely,” Reo said, picking at a stray thread on his jacket. “He’s always been about maintaining order, no matter the cost. That’s what makes him so good at what he does, but it also makes him impossible to deal with.”

Bachira snorted. “You think we could get him to crack today? Like... get him to laugh or something?”

“Doubt it,” Chigiri said, his lips curving into a slight smile. “Ego’s about as likely to crack as a stone statue. He’d rather stare you down until you break first.”

Reo leaned forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But wouldn’t it be funny to see him try to pretend to have fun? I mean, the guy doesn’t even know what fun is. It’d be hilarious if he got caught off guard for once.”

Bachira grinned. “I think we could make that happen. I bet if we just... keep him on his toes , we could get him to laugh.”

Chigiri and Reo exchanged a knowing glance, both seeming to come to the same conclusion. They were about to make this a much more entertaining day than Ego anticipated.

Before they could elaborate further, a group of fans started to form at the booth, their faces lighting up as they saw the trio sitting at their table. The hum of excitement from the fans washed over them, and Bachira quickly straightened up, suddenly aware of the responsibility of being in the spotlight.

"Alright, no more jokes," Bachira said with a wide grin, trying to shake off his nerves. "Let’s give the people what they want!"

The buzz of the event settled into a rhythm as the fans began to swarm their favorite players. Bachira stood up, stretching his arms and getting ready for what he knew would be a long but rewarding day. Reo and Chigiri gave him a quick wave before Bachira headed to his own booth- under the Barcha sign. He walked to his area, his eyes scanning the crowd, and found that Otoya’s booth was directly next to his.

“Looks like we’re neighbors!” Bachira grinned as he waved at Otoya, who was setting up his booth with a casual air, almost like he was too cool for all the fuss.

Otoya looked up from his papers and shot him a smirk. “Well, well, if it isn’t Bachira. You surviving the chaos yet?”

“Surviving?” Bachira raised an eyebrow as he adjusted the chair at his booth. “I’m thriving! I’m about to make this whole thing fun .”

“Fun?” Otoya chuckled, his voice light and teasing. “You sure you’re not just here for the attention? I know you’re a fan of all that spotlight .”

“Hey! It’s a two-way street,” Bachira shot back playfully. “I give the fans what they want, and they give me love. It's a win-win, right?”

Otoya chuckled again, leaning back in his chair. “Guess I’ll let you have your fun. Just don’t start acting like you own the place, alright?”

“I own everything," Bachira said with a wink, striking a dramatic pose that made Otoya roll his eyes.

The first wave of fans began approaching, each holding merch, jerseys, or photo cards in their hands, eager to get an autograph. Bachira shifted into fan mode , offering his trademark grin and signing whatever was handed to him. He made small talk with the fans, smiling brightly and trying his best to make everyone feel special.

“So, you guys really like my moves, huh?” Bachira asked one fan, giving them a thumbs-up before scribbling his signature on the photo. “Well, just keep watching, because I’ve got even better stuff coming soon.”

The fan giggled, blushing slightly. “I love your energy! You’re such a cool guy!”

Bachira beamed. “That’s the goal! Gotta keep it fun.”

Across the table, Otoya was signing a few autographs of his own, leaning over to chat with one of the fans who seemed to be a bit too shy. Bachira glanced over at Otoya for a moment and gave him a thumbs up, acknowledging how effortlessly Otoya seemed to be handling it. Otoya just shrugged and returned the gesture.

But as Bachira continued to sign, his eyes couldn’t help but drift over to the section where the Bastard team was stationed, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone in particular.

He found himself glancing in the direction of Isagi’s booth every so often, where Isagi was seated, signing autographs and engaging with fans. It was hard to ignore the way Isagi’s gaze seemed to flicker in his direction every so often, almost like he was trying to avoid looking too long. Bachira grinned to himself, a small tug in his chest when he caught Isagi’s eye.

Isagi... do you really mean that look, Bachira thought to himself, trying to keep his own smile in check.

He caught a glimpse of Rin, who was seated a few booths over, his signature dark jacket giving him an air of aloof coolness. Rin’s eyes, however, weren’t fixed on the fans, not entirely. Instead, Bachira caught Rin sneaking a glance in his direction, and when their eyes briefly met, Rin quickly looked away.

Bachira couldn't help but laugh softly to himself. 

He turned back to the fans approaching his booth, a little more energized now, his thoughts still lingering on the brief eye contact with Isagi and Rin.

“Thank you! I’ll sign that right now,” he said cheerfully to a fan who handed him a photo of him and his teammates on the field. He scribbled his autograph with exaggerated flourish, making sure it looked just as special as he felt in the moment.

“Bachira, can I get a picture?” another fan asked, holding up their phone.

“Of course!” Bachira grinned, posing playfully. “Make sure to get my best side.”

As the fan snapped a few shots, Bachira felt a sudden wave of awareness pass over him. He noticed that Otoya was looking at him, his lips curling into a small smile. Bachira narrowed his eyes, realizing that Otoya had caught on to his distraction.

“What’s up, Otoya?” Bachira asked, tilting his head toward him.

Otoya raised an eyebrow, his voice low and teasing. “Just noticed you keep glancing over at the other booth. Is there something going on with you and Isagi, or...?”

Bachira chuckled nervously, but he didn’t hide the grin that tugged at his lips. “What are you talking about? I’m just... keeping an eye on the competition. You know how it is.”

Otoya didn’t seem convinced. “Uh-huh. Sure. ‘Competition,’ ” he said, with a mocking tone. “You keep making those ‘just friends’ faces, and Isagi might just end up more confused than ever.”

Bachira shot him a playful glare. “That’s none of your business, Otoya. Besides, you know I’m just messing with him.”

“Right, messing with him,” Otoya said with a smirk. “That’s what they all say.”

Bachira laughed again, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll mess with him how I want. Besides, Rin’s been giving me some funny looks, too. You notice that?”

Otoya’s expression shifted slightly. “Rin?” He glanced over at Rin’s booth for a moment before turning back to Bachira with an almost knowing look. “I noticed. He’s been watching you a lot. More than usual.”

Bachira felt a small jolt of surprise, though he tried to hide it. “Rin’s always watching me,” he said with a shrug, trying to play it cool. But there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he scanned the area again, just to see if Rin was still looking in his direction.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Otoya replied, amusement lacing his voice. “But if Rin starts giving you those looks, you might want to pay closer attention. People might be noticing.”

“People like you?” Bachira shot back teasingly.

Otoya grinned, unbothered. “Exactly like me.”

As the event continued, Bachira couldn’t help but steal another glance toward Isagi’s booth. He noticed Isagi was still looking his way, though he quickly looked away when Bachira’s gaze met his.

What’s going on with him? Bachira wondered. Yoichi... are you trying to hide something?

He signed another autograph, his hand moving mechanically, but his eyes flickered over to Isagi’s booth again, just in time to catch the briefest glimpse of the man looking in his direction. Isagi quickly turned his head, as though trying to avoid being noticed. The familiar tightness in Bachira’s chest returned, the one that had been growing ever since that day at the station.

What’s going on with you, Yoichi?

“Bachira!” A voice broke through his thoughts, and he blinked, turning to the fan who had been waving at him for attention. She was holding a jersey out toward him, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Sorry about that!” Bachira grinned brightly, quickly taking the jersey and scribbling his signature. “There’s a lot going on here, huh?”

The fan laughed, nodding. “You’re my favorite! I hope you guys win the next match!”

Bachira handed the signed jersey back with a wink. “We’ll do our best! Thanks for the support!” He gave the fan a wave as she walked away, but his eyes shifted again, almost involuntarily, back to Isagi’s booth.

This time, Isagi’s eyes were definitely locked on him, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Bachira couldn’t help but smirk, raising an eyebrow. Isagi’s gaze faltered, and he quickly turned back to his own booth, clearly flustered.

Bachira couldn’t help but laugh softly to himself. So, you’re not as good at hiding it as you think, huh, Yoichi?

The sound of a voice next to him pulled him from his thoughts once more.

“So, are you gonna talk to him or not?” Otoya’s voice was casual, but there was a sly edge to it, like he was enjoying the situation more than he was letting on.

Bachira glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Talk to who?”

Otoya grinned, leaning forward slightly. “Isagi, of course. You’ve been glancing at him like he’s some kind of snack. Just go over and say hi. It’s not rocket science.”

Bachira snorted, shaking his head. “It’s not that easy, Otoya. You don’t know the whole situation.”

“Oh?” Otoya raised an eyebrow. “And what’s the situation, then? Don’t tell me there’s something more than you just messing with him. I thought you were good at making things fun.”

“I am good at making things fun,” Bachira said, though there was a slight pause in his voice. “But... it’s complicated.”

Otoya gave him a pointed look. “Complicated? With Isagi? Please. You two are practically giving off electricity over there. It’s hard to miss.”

Bachira opened his mouth to retort, but the words got stuck in his throat. He glanced back at Isagi’s booth again, noting the subtle tension in Isagi’s posture, like he was trying to appear casual but was failing.

Otoya, clearly seeing the way Bachira’s thoughts were going, smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Maybe you should just go for it. See where it leads. You never know, right?”

Before Bachira could answer, a fan approached his booth again, handing over a framed photo of Bachira mid-action during a match.

“Could you sign this for me?” the fan asked eagerly, his voice filled with admiration.

“Of course!” Bachira replied with his usual charm, grinning brightly. “This one’s one of my best plays, right? You’ve got good taste!” He signed the photo, adding a little doodle of a soccer ball beside his name. “There you go! Keep supporting Barcha!”

As the fan left, Bachira turned his attention back to Otoya, who was still giving him a knowing look.

“You should stop watching me like that,” Bachira said with a grin, trying to brush off the sudden wave of nerves Otoya’s words had sparked. “It’s creeping me out.”

Otoya just chuckled. “I’m not the one who’s clearly distracted by someone else.”

Bachira groaned, slumping back in his chair. “This is why I don’t talk to you about things. You just make everything weirder.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Otoya continued, leaning over toward Bachira’s booth, “you can’t keep playing the ‘I’m just messing with him ’ card forever. Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to face whatever it is you’re really feeling. And you’re way too good at hiding it, even from yourself.”

Bachira frowned, his mind wandering back to the lingering looks between him and Isagi. He hadn’t fully admitted it to himself, but Otoya had a point. There was something there—something deeper than just their usual banter. Something he didn’t fully understand .

Before he could respond, more fans came up, and this time, it was a small group of younger kids, all clutching soccer balls.

“Bachira! You’re my favorite player! Can you sign these?” one of the kids asked, beaming up at him with wide eyes.

“Of course!” Bachira smiled warmly, quickly signing the balls with his signature flair. “Keep practicing, okay? You’ll be as good as me one day—maybe even better!”

As he finished up, he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. Rin, who had been silently signing autographs at his booth, was staring in Bachira’s direction again. Bachira caught his gaze for a moment, and Rin didn’t look away this time. The air between them was thick with something unspoken. Bachira couldn’t quite place it—whether it was tension, curiosity, or maybe a little bit of both.

Bachira smiled mischievously. Rin, what’s going on in that head of yours?

__________

The fan interaction continued to flow smoothly, but Bachira’s attention remained divided. Every few moments, he caught a glance from either Isagi or Rin, and with each glance, his heart seemed to beat a little faster.

He was caught in the middle of something—something complicated, and messy, and yet... exciting.

Bachira was starting to lose count of how many autographs he’d signed. His wrist was starting to ache, but he kept smiling—this was what he was here for, after all. He loved the fans, loved seeing their excitement. But there was still something tugging at him, something that kept pulling his attention away from the task at hand. He shrugged it off, and busied himself with another fan.

The fans slowly trickled out, one by one, leaving behind only the lingering hum of chatter and the rustle of programs and jerseys. The booth area, once filled with the excited buzz of autograph hunters, began to quiet down, and the Barcha duo took a collective sigh of relief.

Otoya chuckled from his booth. “You’re gonna need a new hand, considering how many times you wrote your name today.” He leaned forward, his arms crossed, the smirk on his face evident even from across the space. “Though I did see some of those kids practically begging for your autograph. Think you’ve got a few future fans hooked.”

Bachira shot him a playful wink. “Of course! Who wouldn’t love me?” He tossed his pen aside, fully relaxed now that the hectic rush of the event had slowed to a crawl. “You’ve got to be as charismatic as me to make it, right?”

“Oh, definitely. There’s no competition,” Otoya said dryly, his smile curling as he gave a mock salute.

Chigiri and Reo slowly approached the duo, and Bachira rolled his eyes playfully at them.

“At least you’re not getting mobbed by kids with ridiculous requests like I was,” Chigiri grumbled lightly. “Some of them wanted me to sign their soccer balls with ‘ please don’t trip next time. ’”

Bachira burst out laughing, throwing his head back. “What? That’s rude! I hope you told them you were too busy being fabulous to listen to their critiques.”

“Ha. I did. And then I told them I wouldn’t trip again until I felt like it,” Chigiri said, the hint of a smirk on his face.

Reo, who had been quietly sipping a bottle of water, leaned over and quipped, “Ah, so you’re saying you do trip, but only when it’s on your terms?”

“Exactly,” Chigiri responded with a deadpan expression, locking eyes with Reo.

Otoya laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. “You guys really do make this whole ‘celebrity’ thing look effortless. But hey, now that it’s quieting down, we can actually catch a breath.”

The sudden calmness settled over the booth area, and it was as though a switch had been flipped. No more fans rushing up, no more pens flying across programs. Just the sound of the occasional quiet voice from the staff members behind the scenes and the soft shuffle of chairs as the players leaned back and relaxed.

Bachira stretched his arms again, letting out a slow exhale. “You know, I kind of like this quiet part. The rush is fun, but it’s nice to just... breathe for a minute.”

“Agreed,” Reo said, nodding as he slouched back in his seat, his arms behind his head. “Honestly, I thought the event would be more exhausting. But now that the rush is over, I’m kind of enjoying the peace.”

Chigiri raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re just getting old,” he teased, though his own posture was laid-back as he looked out at the slowly emptying booth area. “But yeah, it’s nice to just sit here for a minute without having to worry about being swarmed.”

Otoya shook his head, grinning. “No way. It’s just that we’re all more used to the noise. But after an hour of nonstop, it’s kind of nice to hear your own thoughts again.”

Bachira, who had been quietly considering his next move, suddenly perked up, an idea lighting up his face. “You know what? Since it’s so quiet and we’ve got a minute, I’ve got an idea. You guys—how about we ask for each other’s autographs?”

The group turned to him with curious expressions. Otoya was the first to speak, his voice dripping with amusement. “Are you serious? You want us to get autographs from each other?”

“Why not?” Bachira shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “We’re all here. And I think I’d love to have a collection of autographs from my friends. You guys are all famous, right? I want a little something to remind me of the day.”

Chigiri leaned forward, eyeing Bachira skeptically. “Wait, you really want mine? I’m just gonna write, 'To Bachira, the best teammate,'  or something.”

“I’ll take it!” Bachira grinned, his tone playful. “That’s more meaningful than half the things I’ve signed today!”

Reo raised an eyebrow but didn’t hesitate. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll sign a damn picture of me looking all fancy for you. But you better frame it or something, or else I’ll be offended.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll hang it right above my bed,” Bachira teased, earning an exaggerated eye roll from Reo.

“Alright, alright. But you’re making me feel like I’m the one signing for a fan,” Otoya said, glancing at his own pile of items waiting to be signed. “How about you, Bachira? You sure you want to collect autographs from us?”

Bachira nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely! You guys are my team. Who else would I want autographs from? Just imagine—when we’re all super famous and I’ve got signatures from each of you. It’ll be like a collection of the greatest players ever!”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Otoya said, still smiling as he grabbed a marker from his booth. “If we ever get mega famous, I expect a framed picture of me to be hanging in your room.”

Chigiri let out a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe I’m going along with this. But fine. If we’re doing this, I’m only writing something cheesy on yours. That’s what you get.”

Bachira held out his hands as though receiving a gift, and the trio each signed something for him; a program, a soccer ball, a poster, something that would be an enduring reminder of this strange, quiet moment.

After a few minutes, the signatures were collected, and the group settled back into their seats, satisfied with the moment they’d shared. Bachira smiled down at the items in his hands, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the autographs themselves. It was the comfort of his teammates, of this group of people he’d come to trust.

“I think I’m gonna stop and get some more autographs.” Bachira said suddenly.

Everyone nods their heads, and he walks off in search of Kunigami.

He made his way toward Kunigami's booth, the tall forward now standing with two lingering fans, laughing over something. Bachira, ever the social butterfly, slid in effortlessly, a bright smile on his face. Kunigami spotted him almost immediately.

“Hey, Bachira,” Kunigami said, his voice booming with his usual enthusiasm. “Are you done already? Don’t tell me you finished all the autographs already.”

“Nah, just getting started on my rounds,” Bachira replied, feigning an exaggerated wink. “But, I wanted to get your autograph. For shits and giggles.”

Kunigami raised a brow but was already grabbing the nearest marker. He scrawled his signature with ease on the poster Bachira had brought, then looked up with a playful smirk. “You’re lucky I’m such a nice guy. You’ll be telling people I’m your favorite, right?”

“You wish!” Bachira laughed. “But I’ll definitely show this off. Thanks, Kunigami.”

“Anytime, man. See you later!” Kunigami waved him off, returning to his group.

Bachira waved back, his smile lingering as he made his way to Nagi's booth, which was now quiet with the lack of fans. He spotted Nagi, standing with his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, clearly not very invested in the event anymore. The contrast to his usual cool, laid-back vibe was always amusing to Bachira.

“Nagi!” Bachira called as he approached, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

Nagi looked up, blinking lazily. “Bachira? You’re still around?” His tone was light, almost amused. “What, no more fans for you?”

Bachira waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m just collecting autographs now. You know, for my own little collection. Got Kunigami's, now I need yours.”

“Always so extra,” Nagi muttered, but there was no real irritation in his voice. He grabbed a pen and signed the poster with one effortless stroke. “Don’t get all weird about it. I’ll be on my way soon.”

Bachira took the signed poster, shaking his head at Nagi’s laid-back attitude. “You're lucky you’re so good at this. But thanks. Seriously.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Nagi said with a lazy wave. “Now go get the real autographs. You know, the important ones.”

“Sure, sure.” Bachira smirked. “But first, I’m off to get the real treat.”

He stood up straight and made his way toward Rin's booth, his heart fluttering a little in anticipation. 

As he approached, Rin’s sharp eyes met his from across the room. The faintest of smirks tugged at the corner of Rin's lips, and Bachira swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. What was it with Rin’s gaze that always managed to throw him off balance?

Rin leaned against his booth casually, his arms crossed, eyes following Bachira’s every move. The air around them seemed to change when Bachira drew closer—he couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was almost like the space between them felt charged.

Bachira cleared his throat as he neared Rin. “You know, you’re up next on my autograph list,” he said with a grin, trying to keep his voice light, though the words felt a little heavier than he’d intended.

Rin raised a brow, the smirk never leaving his face. “Oh? You’re getting autographs from us, huh?” His voice was quiet but filled with an undercurrent of something unspoken. “I noticed you going around to everyone. Was wondering if you’d come up to me.”

“It was a random idea, alright?” Bachira said, though he couldn’t help but feel a little flustered under Rin’s gaze. “But don’t worry. I definitely would’ve come up to you.”

“Is that so?” Rin leaned down slightly, his voice a little lower now, teasing in a way that made Bachira’s pulse quicken. “I’m honored .”

Bachira extended the poster toward Rin, trying to ignore the tension in the air. “Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll make this one look extra special.”

Rin chuckled softly as he took the pen. His movements were deliberate as he signed his name, each stroke seemingly stretching the moment out longer than it needed to be. His eyes never left Bachira’s face, and there was something in the way Rin looked at him now—something more intense than the usual teasing.

As Rin finished signing, he glanced up with a sly grin, eyes glinting. “There you go. You’ve got my autograph. Don’t lose it.”

Bachira took the signed poster, his fingers brushing against Rin’s hand for a split second. The contact sent a spark through him, making his breath catch. It was only a moment, but it felt electric.

“Thanks, Rin-chan,” Bachira said, his voice quieter than usual. He had every intention of leaving, but there was something about the way Rin was standing there, so close, that made his feet feel like they were glued to the ground.

Without warning, Rin leaned down slightly, his face hovering just inches from Bachira’s. For a split second, Bachira’s brain went blank. And then—

Rin’s lips brushed softly against Bachira’s own, a kiss that sent shockwaves through his body. It was so unexpected, that it left Bachira short-circuiting. Somewhere in the pause of time, Bachira’s body had reacted rather than his mind, and he found himself returning the kiss.

And maybe it was the rush of adrenaline or paranoia, but Bachira swears he hears a collective gasp. Or maybe this entire kiss is a trick of his mind?

Rin pulled away softly and straightened up, eyes still locked on Bachira’s.

Bachira stood frozen, his thoughts scrambling. His heart raced, and his mind couldn’t quite process what had just happened. He’d always been used to Rin’s sharp edges, his teasing, but this—this was different. Bachira faltered, caught somewhere between confusion and something else entirely.

He cleared his throat, the words caught in his chest. “Rin… what was that?”

Rin didn’t answer right away. Instead, he simply gave Bachira a knowing look. A look that spoke volumes without saying anything at all. “Just making sure you know what I mean,” he said softly, his smirk returning with that familiar edge.

Bachira’s heart raced as he stood there, still caught in the whirl of emotions from that kiss. He barely registered Rin’s teasing look fading into the background. All he could think about was the flash of Isagi’s face in his mind. Isagi. His friend. His… everything , if he was being honest with himself. And now, after everything that had happened, after the confusion, the jealousy, the moments that were left unspoken, this...this kiss from Rin, had just thrown everything into true chaos.

He whipped his head around, his eyes scanning the room desperately. His heart sank further when he didn’t see Isagi in the crowd. The pit in his stomach widened. Was he here? Did he see that? Was he—

“Bachira?”

The voice was sharp, but it wasn’t Isagi’s. It was Chigiri’s. Bachira turned, eyes wide with panic. Chigiri was standing near Otoya, his arms crossed as he looked at Bachira with an expression that seemed to say he knew something was up.

Chigiri gave him a pointed nod, his eyes flicking toward one of the exit doors. Bachira didn’t need any more prompting. His pulse pounding in his ears, he turned on his heel and bolted toward the door without a second thought. He didn’t even spare a glance back, his mind too wrapped in the frantic need to find Isagi.

Oh no.

Bachira’s thoughts spiraled as his footsteps echoed through the hallway. What if Isagi had seen that? What if Rin had done it on purpose, to mess with him, to make things even more complicated than they already were? He couldn’t even begin to process what was happening between him and Rin—let alone whatever feelings Isagi might have for him.

The door swung open with a soft thud as Bachira hurried into the corridor. His chest tightened as he jogged through the empty hall, his breathing ragged and uneven. He had to find Isagi.

And luckily for him, Isagi was already staring right at Bachira. His eyes holding emotions Bachira had not seen before.

Bachira’s heart pounded in his chest as he approached Isagi. The hallway had been eerily silent, the sounds of the event a distant hum in the background. He was sure he had to say something, anything, but his thoughts were scrambled, and the words didn’t seem to come.

Isagi, on the other hand, didn’t wait for Bachira to speak first. His eyes flickered up, locking onto Bachira’s with an intensity that took him by surprise.

“Meguru,” Isagi said, his voice low, almost like he was forcing the words out. “What was that ? With Rin. Just now. What was that?”

Bachira froze. His body stiffened as Isagi’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. His mind scrambled for a response, but no words came. The kiss, Rin’s smirk, the way his heart had raced—all of it flashed in his mind like an overwhelming tide, drowning him in confusion.

“I…” Bachira stammered, his throat tightening. He opened his mouth again, but no coherent sentence escaped. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling into tight fists.

Isagi’s gaze hardened. “You don’t even have an answer, do you?”

Bachira swallowed, the silence between them suffocating. His chest tightened, and he struggled to make sense of his own emotions. How could he explain this? How could he explain what was going on inside him when he barely understood it himself?

“I…” Bachira repeated, but his voice trailed off, lost in the stillness. His heart pounded harder, an anxious thrum that drowned out everything else.

Isagi’s frustration was blinding, his shoulders tensing as he took a step forward. “So that’s it? You’re just going to stand there like you don’t even care? What was that kiss, Meguru? Are you just messing with me? Playing games with me?”

Bachira flinched at the harshness in his tone, but he couldn’t form the words to defend himself. The words felt like they were locked in his throat, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel, didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

“I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing, Yoichi,” Bachira finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands trembled, and he ran them through his messy hair in frustration. “I don’t get it. I don’t get what I’m feeling, and I don’t know what’s happening.”

Isagi’s expression shifted, his frustration turning into something more raw. “How long were you planning on pretending you didn’t know? You don’t get it? You’ve been acting like you’re oblivious to everything! To how I feel, to how we feel—how I’ve felt for you this entire time.”

Bachira’s heart skipped a beat, his chest tightening painfully at Isagi’s words. The air felt thick, suffocating, and he couldn’t breathe through the weight of it. He wanted to apologize, wanted to explain, but no words came. He just stood there, trapped in the storm of emotions swirling between them.

Isagi’s voice broke the stillness again, low but sharp. “You know, I thought maybe you didn’t understand. But after everything—after everything we’ve been through together—I thought I made it clear. I thought you knew how I felt.”

Bachira’s breath caught. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. “Yoichi, I…” He tried to speak, but his voice faltered once more. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, trying to find the words to explain—anything, everything. He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out.

Isagi’s eyes darkened as he continued, his frustration laced with the vulnerability of everything he’d been holding in. “I’ve been trying to show you, Meguru. All this time, I’ve been trying to get closer, trying to make you understand, trying to let you know that I—” He cut himself off, his voice growing strained, “That I love you.”

Bachira’s stomach flipped at the words. The truth of them hit him like a sudden punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and dazed. His mind spun, struggling to grasp the enormity of what Isagi had just confessed.

“I love you, Meguru,” Isagi repeated, his tone a little quieter this time, but no less intense. “I’ve always loved you. And it hurts, it really hurts, to see you so... lost. To see you not understand. To see you kiss Rin and not even know what it means to me. To us .”

Bachira’s chest tightened as Isagi’s words hit him harder than he could have imagined. His heart raced, but this time, it wasn’t excitement or confusion—it was pain. A sharp, stinging pain that made his insides twist.

“I…” Bachira started again, his voice breaking. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, Yoichi. I don’t get it. I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Isagi’s expression hardened. “How can you not understand? How can you not see that everything I’ve done, everything I’ve said—it’s all been for you. I’ve been there for you. I’ve always been there for you, Meguru.”

Bachira shook his head, his hands shaking as he fidgeted with them, attempting to ease the nerves. “It’s not that simple for me, Yoichi. I don’t get it. I don’t get love the way you do. I don’t—” He faltered, his mind struggling to find the words to explain something he had never been able to fully grasp. “I don’t feel things the way you do. I don’t know how to... I don’t know how to love like that.”

Isagi’s brows furrowed, his face full of confusion. “What are you saying? That you don’t love me?”

Bachira looked away, his chest heavy with the weight of the words he couldn’t say. “I—I don’t know. I don’t even know what love is, Yoichi.” He looked up at Isagi, his eyes filled with desperation. “I don’t know what it feels like. I don’t know how to give it back to you. I don’t know how to be what you want me to be.”

Isagi’s gaze softened for a moment, but it quickly turned to frustration. He stepped forward, his voice quiet but filled with a kind of pain Bachira had never heard before. “You don’t have to ‘ give it back ’ to me, Meguru. You don’t have to be anything. I just... I just want you to be with me . To be open to me. To see me.”

Bachira shook his head again, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I don’t know how to do that! I don’t know what you want from me!” His voice cracked, the emotion spilling over, raw and unfiltered.

Isagi’s eyes flashed, and he took a step back, his posture tense. “Then maybe we shouldn’t talk about this anymore. Maybe I’m just wasting my time.”

Bachira’s chest constricted. “No, Yoichi, I’m—”

But Isagi was already shaking his head, cutting him off before Bachira could finish. “I’m done. I can’t do this if you’re not going to even try. I thought... I thought maybe you’d understand. But I guess I was wrong.” His voice trembled slightly, but he quickly masked it with a cold, almost detached expression. “We shouldn’t talk anymore, Bachira .”

The finality in Isagi’s voice hit Bachira like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a question. It was a decision, one that left no room for negotiation, no space for explanation. Isagi’s back was already turned, his footsteps echoing down the hallway before Bachira could say anything else.

Bachira stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to move. His mind was spinning, his chest heavy, and his heart ached with a kind of emptiness that he didn’t understand.

He should go after him. He should say something, anything, to fix this. But he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. His mind was too clouded, too full of confusion and guilt. He couldn’t keep up with everything. He couldn’t understand what was happening. He couldn’t make sense of his own feelings.

For a long moment, Bachira just stood there in the silence, the weight of Isagi’s rejection crushing him, paralyzing him. Then, slowly, he turned, his legs heavy as he walked back toward the waiting room.

When he entered, the remaining activity of the event seemed distant, muffled. The room felt smaller, suffocating, as though everything was closing in on him. He didn’t notice when Rin approached him, his presence a quiet contrast to everything around them. He didn’t notice when Rin’s arms wrapped around him in a soft, comforting embrace, pulling him close.

It wasn’t until Rin’s voice broke the silence, gentle and calm, that Bachira realized just how much he needed this moment.

“You okay?” Rin asked, his voice low, full of concern. But Bachira couldn’t answer. The tears were already falling, quietly at first, as they streaked down his cheeks unnoticed.

Rin didn’t say anything else. He just held Bachira, letting him lean into the embrace, his body trembling with the weight of everything he hadn’t been able to say, everything he hadn’t been able to process.

And then, like a dam breaking, Bachira’s tears came harder. He cried quietly in Rin’s arms, the overwhelming rush of emotions breaking free in waves. His chest heaved with sobs, and for the first time in a long while, he let himself feel the grief, the confusion, the guilt. He didn’t understand what had just happened—didn’t know what he was supposed to do now—but for this moment, he allowed himself to break.

Rin didn’t speak again. He just held him, steady and warm, letting Bachira cry.

__________

At some point, Bachira had cried himself to exhaustion.

Rin, despite Chigiri and Reo offering to take Bachira back to his apartment, insisted that he would just take Bachira back to his place.

__________

At some point, Bachira had woken up in Rin’s bed, with Rin scrolling idly on his phone.

He was confused at first, but once everything had come flooding back into his brain, Bachira’s tears were evident once more.

__________

And at some point, the comforting hug Rin had offered, turned into Bachira and him roughly making out.

Why ? He doesn’t know.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, the confusion- or the anger. Most likely a mix of all, but the anger seemed to be the most presentable emotion at the time.

And whether it was anger at Isagi, Rin, or himself- Bachira didn’t know.

He was simply angry. 

Angry that Isagi hadn’t given him a chance to explain, angry that Rin had kissed him in front of everyone, angry that he couldn’t understand whatever the fuck he was feeling. Angry that he was being an outcast again, different, a weirdo.

__________

At some point, the world had faded. And all Bachira could feel were the hot streams of tears flowing down his face as he angrily kissed Rin- as he chased for something, for anything.

At some point, everything went wrong.

Chapter Text

“F.C. Barcha’s Shining Star is Dating PGX’s Famous Striker!”

“Bachira Meguru and Itoshi Rin Caught on Double Date with Shidou Ryusei and Itoshi Sae!”

“Bachira Meguru Confirms the Rumors are TRUE!!”

It had been a year since Isagi had seen the dozens of tabloid articles about Bachira’s relationship with Rin, yet it still hurt all the same.

Of course, there were other headlines that hurt too, such as:

“Isagi Yoichi and Bachira Meguru Unfollow Each Other!”

“Former Best Friends Turned Enemies?”

“Behind the Scenes of the Famous Duo Fallout!”

These were just a few of the many, many articles and speculations written about the catastrophe that was Isagi, Bachira, and Rin. He hated that word—catastrophe. As if the entirety of their history, their connection, could be boiled down to something as hollow and sensationalized as a PR nightmare.

Isagi scrolled mindlessly through his phone, his thumb hovering over a photo. It was an old picture of him and Bachira, taken during their Blue Lock days. They stood shoulder to shoulder, arms slung around each other like the world revolved around their shared axis. And, back then, it did.

He stared at the photo for a moment too long, his stomach twisting into knots. Then, before the ache in his chest could deepen, he locked the screen and tossed his phone onto the couch beside him.

The articles had gotten one thing right: they didn’t follow each other anymore. Somewhere in the haze of hurt feelings and misunderstandings, the simple act of severing social media ties had felt monumental. As if hitting “unfollow” was the final confirmation that their friendship was unsalvageable.

But it wasn’t just the articles or the headlines. It was the silence that came after. No calls. No messages. No casual comments or teasing jabs during matches. Nothing but the ever-widening chasm between them.

The world, of course, had capitalized on the drama. Analysts dissected their interactions—or lack thereof—during games. Fans speculated about what had happened, each new theory more absurd than the last. Some claimed Isagi had been jealous of Bachira’s rising stardom. Others insisted Rin had orchestrated the entire fallout to drive a wedge between them.

And then there were the comments. Isagi had made the mistake of reading them once.

“Isagi was holding Bachira back anyway. He’s better off with Rin.”

“It’s so obvious Isagi had a crush on him and couldn’t handle Bachira moving on.”

“Rin and Bachira are way more iconic together. Isagi should stay in his lane.”

Those words had burned. Not because they were entirely true, but because they weren’t entirely false either.

He clenched his fists, threw his phone on the ground, and leaned back against the couch as the memories came rushing in—of the fight, of the things he’d said, of the way Bachira had looked at him. Hurt. Confused. Maybe even scared . Isagi had replayed that moment a thousand times in his head, searching for ways he could have handled it differently. Searching for ways he could have undone the damage.

But no amount of self-recrimination could change the past. Bachira was with Rin now, and Isagi was...here. Alone, with nothing but the echoes of what used to be.

Tonight was one of those nights—a night where Isagi would practically drink himself to exhaustion and scroll through old photos of him and Bachira.

He regretted the decision to throw his phone on the ground, as his mind screamed at him to look at more pictures. With a sigh, he bent down to retrieve it, but his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor.

For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. “You’re pathetic, Yoichi,” he muttered to himself. “Get up. He doesn’t care.”

The words stung, but they rang with an uncomfortable truth. Using every ounce of strength he had, Isagi pushed himself off the floor and onto his knees. He caught his reflection in the nearby mirror, and his heart sank.

He looked awful. His hair was a mess, unwashed and tangled. His clothes; a stained sweatshirt and wrinkled sweatpants, were far from the sharp, professional attire he usually wore. Dark circles clung to his eyes, and the redness in them betrayed how often he’d been crying lately.

It had been a year since the fight, and yes, Isagi had been counting.

He dragged himself back onto the couch and rested his head in his hands. His life had unraveled slowly but surely since that day. One bad decision had led to another, and now he was here—isolated, miserable, and drowning in his own regrets.

A sharp knock on the door pulled him from his spiral. Isagi froze, his heart pounding. He wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not at this hour. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, but the knocking came again, more insistent this time.

With a groan, he shuffled to the door, his steps heavy and reluctant. When he opened it, he blinked in surprise.

”Kunigami?”

Kunigami stood there, his broad shoulders taking up most of the doorway. He was still dressed in his training gear, though his expression was far softer than usual.

“Isagi,” Kunigami greeted, his tone calm but firm. “You missed practice today. Again. Figured I’d check on you.”

Isagi winced, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, though the words sounded hollow even to him.

Kunigami’s sharp eyes scanned Isagi from head to toe, his frown deepening. “You don’t look fine.” Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Isagi groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair as Kunigami glanced around the apartment. His gaze landed on the cluttered coffee table, the half-empty bottle of whiskey, and the pile of crumpled tissues.

Kunigami crossed his arms. “This is bad, Isagi.”

“No kidding,” Isagi muttered, sinking back onto the couch.

Kunigami pulled a chair from the kitchen and sat across from him, his gaze steady and unyielding. “What’s going on?”

Isagi hesitated, his jaw tightening. For a moment, he considered brushing it off, but the weight of Kunigami’s presence made him falter. “It’s...it’s Bachira,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kunigami didn’t react right away, giving him space to continue.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” Isagi confessed, his fists clenching. “About everything that happened. The fight. The way we ended things. And now he’s with Rin.” His voice cracked. “I see the photos, the headlines...and I just...I can’t.”

Kunigami exhaled slowly, his expression softening. “Isagi,” he said gently, “I get it. I do. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s been a year.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Isagi snapped, his voice rising. “You think I haven’t been trying to move on? Every time I think I’m okay, it all comes rushing back. The fight, the way I messed up, the way he looked at me…”

Kunigami didn’t flinch at Isagi’s outburst. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re punishing yourself for something that’s already done. And yeah, maybe you messed up. But wallowing in this isn’t going to fix it.”

Isagi’s shoulders slumped, his anger deflating as quickly as it had come. “I don’t know how to fix it,” he admitted.

Kunigami’s voice softened. “Maybe you can’t. Maybe it’s not about fixing it, Isagi. Maybe it’s about figuring out how to move forward, even if it hurts.”

Isagi stared at him, the weight of those words settling in his chest. Moving forward felt impossible, but unfortunately- it might just be the only choice he had left.

Kunigami sat there for a moment, waiting for Isagi to say something. When the silence stretched too long, he let out a soft sigh and moved to leave.

“I’m not as strong as you think I am,” Isagi murmured suddenly, his voice trembling, almost breaking.

Kunigami froze mid-step, turning back to look at him.

“I can’t just… let it go,” Isagi continued, his gaze fixed on the floor, his hands clenching and unclenching. “It’s not that simple. It feels like I’m stuck, like no matter what I do, I’ll never get out of this hole I’ve dug myself into.”

Kunigami’s expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt. He let Isagi spill the words he’d been holding in.

“It’s not just about the fight,” Isagi said, his voice rising slightly, as if the words were clawing their way out of him. “It’s about everything. Him. Me. Rin. All of it. I don’t know how to be okay with it, and I don’t know if I even want to be. It’s like if I let myself move on, it’ll mean that everything we had didn’t matter.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “And the worst part? I know he’s happy now. He has Rin, and they look so perfect together, and I hate it, Kunigami. I hate that it’s not me, and I hate myself for hating it. I should want him to be happy. I should. But I don’t.”

Kunigami stepped closer, his movements slow, careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. “Isagi,” he started, his voice steady but laced with concern, “it’s okay to feel this way. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

Isagi shook his head slowly, his hands gripping the fabric of his sweatpants. “No, it’s not okay. I’m pathetic. I’m here, drinking and wallowing while he’s out there living his life. What does that say about me?”

Kunigami didn’t flinch at the harsh self-recrimination. “It says you’re human,” he said firmly. “You’re allowed to hurt, Isagi. You’re allowed to feel everything you’re feeling. But you’ve got to stop punishing yourself for it. That’s not what this is about.”

Isagi looked up at him, his eyes bloodshot and glassy. “Then what is it about? Because all I feel is this emptiness. Like I lost a part of myself, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back.”

Kunigami’s jaw tightened, his gaze steady. “It’s about learning to live with the hurt without letting it define you. It’s not about getting back to who you were—it’s about figuring out who you’re going to be now.”

Isagi let out a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping further. The weight of Kunigami’s words pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting.

“But what if I can’t?" Isagi whispered, his voice barely audible. “What if this is it for me?”

Kunigami’s expression darkened, his brows furrowing in frustration. “You can,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “You can, Isagi. But you have to want to. And right now, it doesn’t seem like you do.”

Isagi flinched, the truth in Kunigami’s words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. He didn’t respond, didn’t argue, because what was the point? Kunigami was right.

Kunigami sighed again, softer this time, and reached out to place a hand on Isagi’s shoulder. “I know it feels impossible now. But you can’t let it destroy you. You owe it to yourself to try.”

Isagi didn’t look up, his gaze still fixed on the floor. Kunigami’s hand lingered for a moment before he stepped back, giving Isagi space.

“Take care of yourself, Isagi,” Kunigami said quietly before turning and walking out the door.

The silence that followed was deafening. Isagi sat there, his head bowed, his fists clenched, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger, regret, and sorrow.

He glanced at the mirror again, at the wreck of a person staring back at him. He wanted to believe Kunigami’s words, to hold onto even a shred of hope, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he grabbed the bottle from the table, pouring another glass and letting the burn of the alcohol drown out the ache in his chest.

If this was rock bottom, then maybe it was where he belonged. 

Kunigami had been gone for no more than two minutes, and when the door creaked open again, this time, it was Hiori who walked in. His usual nonchalant demeanor seemed a little more quiet as he took in Isagi's hunched form, the empty bottles scattered around him, the dim lighting—everything about him screamed exhaustion.

"Isagi," Hiori greeted quietly, his eyes scanning Isagi’s defeated posture. "Ya good?"

Isagi didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gave a noncommittal grunt, too tired to pretend he was fine. Hiori was the last person he wanted to talk to right now.

"I'm fine," Isagi muttered after a long pause, his voice hoarse, and his eyes still glued to the floor. "Just tired."

Hiori sat across from him, not making a move to challenge the words. He knew Isagi well enough to understand that it was easier for him to keep everything bottled up. But even Hiori, with his calm nature, couldn’t ignore how much worse things seemed for Isagi recently. The cracks in his usual exterior were getting bigger.

"Yeah? That’s not what I’m seeing," Hiori said, his voice quieter now. "Doesn’t look like just ‘tired,' man."

Isagi clenched his fists, fingers tightening around the fabric of his pants. His breath quickened for a moment, fighting off the frustration that welled up at the very thought of talking about anything. His mind screamed at him to shut it down, but Hiori’s voice kept cutting through the fog, softer but persistent.

“Isagi,” Hiori started again, not giving up. “Ya don’t have to pretend around me, ya know. I get it. This isn’t who ya are. It’s been like this for... how long now?”

“ Stop ,” Isagi snapped, his voice harsh, the bitterness slipping out before he could stop it. “I’m fine, okay? You don’t need to check up on me.”

Hiori raised an eyebrow but said nothing for a moment. He just watched Isagi, his face unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Isagi, it’s okay to not be okay, right? Ya don’t always have to pretend like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Isagi’s lip curled in a half-hearted attempt at a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s too late for that now.”

“Yer not gonna fix this all in one night, man,” Hiori said, his tone a little more firm now. “But ya can start by not running away from it.”

Isagi chuckled bitterly, the sound rough, empty. "You think I can fix any of this?" His gaze dropped to the floor again, and he felt the weight of the room pressing down on him. "I fucked everything up, Hiori. And now he’s with Rin. And I’m here. Alone. Still clinging to a dumb hope that doesn’t even make sense."

The words fell from his lips like they were nothing; just a reflection of the ache that had been building for so long. He didn’t look up as he spoke, unable to face the reality of what he was saying. It was easier to keep his gaze down, to keep from seeing Hiori's pity. Hiori didn't need to know how deeply Isagi had fallen into his spiral.

"Isagi..." Hiori began, his voice low, almost hesitant. But Isagi cut him off before he could continue.

“Don’t say it,” Isagi muttered, barely above a whisper. “I know what you’re gonna say. It’s fine. I get it. I’ve been stuck in this mess for a year, and I’m still here. I’ll just keep pretending I’m fine. It’s easier that way.”

Hiori didn’t respond for a while, his eyes not leaving Isagi’s hunched form. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken words. Finally, Hiori spoke, his tone quiet but unyielding.

“Maybe it’s easier, but it’s not better. Yer still carrying this weight, Isagi. And ya don’t have to.”

Isagi laughed—low and bitter. “You think I haven’t tried? What’s the point, Hiori? What’s the point of letting it go when it won’t make a difference? Bachira’s not gonna come back. He’s with Rin. He’s happy. And I’m stuck in the past, too broken to move forward.”

Hiori’s gaze softened, but the pity was there. "I’m not saying ya can fix everything in one go. I’m just saying ya don’t have to keep pretending like ya don’t feel it."

Isagi’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stared at the floor, biting back the ache that threatened to spill over. He wasn’t ready for comfort. He didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t fix any of this. He was too far gone.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel anymore,” Isagi muttered, more to himself than to Hiori. “I don’t know what’s real. And I don’t know if I ever will.”

Hiori sat back, his expression unchanged. There was nothing more he could say. He could tell that Isagi wasn’t ready to hear it, not yet. He wasn’t ready to accept anything that could ease his pain.

Hiori rose from his seat, walking to the door slowly. “If ya need anything, Isagi, I’m here.”

Isagi didn’t respond, just staring at the floor, his mind swirling in a blur of exhaustion, regret, and loneliness.

Hiori left, and the door clicked shut behind him, leaving Isagi alone with the familiar ache in his chest. The quiet returned to the apartment, but it didn’t bring peace. It only made the silence feel heavier.

And Isagi... Isagi was still there, still stuck in that place, wishing for something he believed he could never have again.

__________

Isagi’s hand trembled as he held his phone, the screen casting an almost eerie glow on his face in the dim light of the living room. The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of his refrigerator, but it felt as though the silence weighed down on him, amplifying the emptiness inside. The alcohol in his system had dulled the pain for a while, but now, in the quiet aftermath, the ache was returning stronger than ever.

He stared at the video of Bachira, his chest tightening as he watched the laughing face of his former best friend. It was so… familiar. So alive with energy. Bachira had always been so vibrant, so full of life. So different from Isagi in so many ways, but that’s what had drawn him in, hadn’t it? They’d been opposites in the best way possible. Isagi had always admired Bachira’s carefree attitude, his ability to live in the moment, to embrace life as it came. But now, that same carefree energy felt like a distant memory—one that belonged to a time that felt like another life.

A life that Isagi couldn’t quite reach anymore.

Bachira was happy now, he thought. With Rin. A small, painful voice inside him whispered that he had no right to even feel this way. Rin had taken his place, taken everything that he once shared with Bachira.

The memories started flooding in—flashbacks to the moments they’d shared: their late-night conversations, the quiet walks after practice, the way Bachira’s laughter had been the brightest part of every day. Even the moments when they fought, when Bachira would argue playfully with him or challenge him on something small, were precious to him. They had been inseparable once. And now, it felt like the world had ripped them apart without any warning.

Isagi’s hand clenched into a fist.

Why had he let it all slip away? Why had he let his feelings go unspoken, allowing jealousy and confusion to cloud everything? He had been so sure that he could handle it, but the truth was, he hadn’t been prepared for the fallout. For losing Bachira. For the sudden shift in their relationship.

He had told himself that he didn’t care, that he’d be fine, that it was just part of growing up. But deep down, Isagi knew that wasn’t true.

The wound still hadn’t healed.

And that’s when his thumb hovered over the screen, his heart racing.

“Hey Chigiri… how’s Bachira doing? Is he happy? With Rin… is he okay?”

The words felt like they came from someone else, someone he didn’t recognize. But they were his, and they felt so raw and unfiltered that Isagi almost couldn’t believe he’d written them. His breath caught in his throat as he read them back. This was ridiculous. How could he be asking Chigiri these things? What was he expecting to hear?

For a moment, he considered deleting the message. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t the kind of person who clung to the past. He didn’t need to know. But the truth was, he did need to know. And his heart was telling him that no matter how painful it was, this was the only way forward.

Was Bachira okay? Was he actually happy with Rin?

That was what Isagi truly wanted to know.

Without thinking, he pressed send.

Seconds passed. Then a minute. The phone screen seemed to mock him as it sat silent in his hand. But finally, it buzzed. Chigiri’s reply came almost too quickly, as if he had been waiting for Isagi to reach out.

“Come to this address,"  the text read. “There’s a place we can talk. I’ll meet you there.”

Isagi stared at the message, his mind racing. Talk? What was Chigiri suggesting? Was he expecting some kind of reconciliation, or was this just another form of closure—one that Isagi wasn’t sure he was ready for?

He wanted to ask Chigiri more, to know what exactly this meeting was supposed to mean, but the words didn’t come. Instead, his finger hovered over the screen, poised to send another message. But nothing came.

Isagi let out a breath and tossed his phone onto the couch, running his hands through his messy hair. He stood up and walked across the room, pacing in agitation. What was this? What was he doing?

The alcohol still buzzed in his system, but it no longer provided the numbness it had earlier. Now, it only heightened his feelings, bringing the gnawing ache back to the forefront.

His body ached. His soul ached.

What the hell was I even hoping for?

Isagi felt the familiar sting in his chest. He didn’t know if he was looking for answers, or if he just wanted to escape from his own thoughts, from his own broken heart. Bachira was gone, with Rin. He had no right to ask questions, to expect anything.

But Chigiri’s message was like a lifeline—one that he hadn’t been able to reach for until now. The fact that Chigiri was willing to meet him, to talk , meant something. Didn’t it?

But what could they possibly talk about? Bachira was with Rin now. Isagi was on the outside, looking in. How could he ever explain what had happened, what had gone so horribly wrong between them? He wasn’t sure he even understood it himself.

Yet, some small part of him whispered that maybe this was his chance. Maybe Chigiri could help him understand. Help him find some closure, even if it hurts. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

I have to go, Isagi thought to himself, his voice filled with resolve, even as a storm of emotions swirled inside him.

He didn’t even know what he was hoping for, but he needed to see it through. He needed to face whatever it was that had torn them apart.

He grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch, threw it on, and stepped out the door without looking back.

The walk to the restaurant was long, the streets of Germany dark and quiet at this late hour. Isagi had no idea where he was going. The address Chigiri had sent was foreign to him, a place he’d never been before. The city felt alien, as if it weren’t even his own, but merely a backdrop to his endless cycle of regret and confusion.

Each step felt heavier than the last. The weight of everything pressing down on him—the memory of Bachira, the way he’d kissed Rin earlier, the way he’d left without looking back.

What am I even doing?

But still, he pressed on. The pain was familiar now, like an old friend who never left, no matter how hard he tried to shut it out. The memories of Bachira’s laugh, of their shared moments—those things haunted him, even as he walked through the streets of this foreign city.

When he finally arrived at the restaurant, it was quieter than he had expected. The lights outside were dim, and the small sign on the door gave no indication of what was inside.

Isagi hesitated before stepping inside, feeling the cold night air still clinging to him like a weight on his shoulders. His footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he entered, the faint hum of distant conversations barely reaching him.

It didn’t take long for Chigiri to find him. His presence was unmistakable, bright, sharp, a contrast to Isagi’s muted, broken energy.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Chigiri said, his voice light but with an undertone that hinted at something more serious. “But I’m glad you did.”

Isagi stood still for a moment, unsure of how to respond. His heart raced, and the words he wanted to say seemed to get caught in his throat.

“I didn’t know what to expect,” Isagi finally muttered, feeling the weight of everything between them. “But... I had to come.”

Chigiri smiled slightly, though there was a quiet sadness in his eyes. “Let’s sit down. We’ll talk.”

And with that, Isagi finally allowed himself to sit down across from Chigiri, his thoughts a jumble of confusion and longing. He didn’t know what this conversation would bring, but he knew it needed to happen.

__________

Isagi leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the table. He hadn’t touched his drink, and the silence between him and Chigiri felt like a suffocating weight. Every word he wanted to say felt inadequate, tangled in a mess of emotions he couldn’t quite untangle.

Chigiri hadn’t said anything for a while. He was just watching him—quiet, patient, but there was a heaviness in his gaze. Isagi could feel it, the unspoken knowledge that Chigiri knew more than he was letting on.

“Kunigami told me,” Chigiri said softly, breaking the silence. His voice wasn’t accusing, but it carried the understanding of someone who had seen the damage up close.

Isagi’s heart sank. He had known Chigiri and Kunigami were close, but hearing that Kunigami had shared what was going on with him was a blow. He should have expected it, but somehow, it still felt like a betrayal—except he wasn’t angry. He was too numb to feel anything but shame.

“I didn’t want you to know,” Isagi muttered, not meeting Chigiri’s eyes. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I don’t want pity, Chigiri. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“I’m not here to pity you, Isagi,” Chigiri said, his voice steady but not unkind. “I’m here because you’re my friend, and because Kunigami’s worried about you. We’re all worried about you. You’re not okay.”

Isagi’s chest tightened at the words. He had known it for a while. The hollow feeling inside him, the constant ache, the way everything seemed dimmer since the fight with Bachira—he had known it wasn’t normal. But hearing it out loud made it real. Made it undeniable.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Isagi whispered, his voice breaking. “It’s like... I can’t breathe. I keep thinking about him. I keep thinking about Bachira. It’s like I can’t... move on. Like I’m stuck, you know?”

Chigiri nodded slowly, his gaze softening as he leaned forward a little. “Yeah. I get it, Isagi. I’ve seen you like this before. You’re not stuck, though. You’re just... stuck in the past. You’re holding on to things you can’t control.”

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” Isagi said, his voice desperate. “How is he doing with Rin? Is he happy? Is he okay? Does he... think about me?” He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. “I can’t move on. I can’t forget. And I don’t know how to stop, Chigiri. I don’t know how to just... let go.”

Chigiri’s eyes darkened slightly, his expression pained. “I can’t tell you what Bachira’s feeling, Isagi. But I know he hasn’t forgotten you, either. It’s not that simple. You two have a history. And... I think you’re both struggling with that, in different ways. But it’s not about what he feels, or what Rin’s doing, or what you think he’s doing. It’s about you, Isagi.”

“Me?” Isagi’s voice was incredulous. “What do you mean, me? I don’t even know who I am anymore. It’s like... I don’t have anything. Bachira was... everything. And now I’m just... alone. I don’t know how to be myself without him.”

Chigiri’s face softened, a hint of sympathy behind his eyes. “That’s the thing, though, Isagi. You’re not supposed to find yourself in someone else. You have to find yourself on your own. I know it hurts. I know it’s hard. But... you can’t keep thinking your life starts and ends with Bachira. You have to be more than that.”

Isagi clenched his fists, trying to push the rising frustration down. “It’s not that simple. You don’t understand.”

“I do understand,” Chigiri said quietly. “I’m not asking you to forget Bachira. I know you can’t. And I’m not asking you to just move on overnight. That’s not how healing works. But you’ve been carrying this weight for so long, and it’s like you’re letting it consume you. You’re not giving yourself the space to breathe, to figure out who you are now, without him.”

Isagi’s breathing grew shallow, his chest tight. “I don’t know who I am without him, Chigiri. He was always there. Even when we fought, even when we argued, I knew... I knew he’d be there. And now... I don’t have that anymore. I’m just... lost.”

Chigiri’s voice softened, his tone carrying a quiet understanding. “I’m not saying you have to figure everything out all at once, Isagi. But you can’t keep holding on to the past. You can’t keep thinking that everything will magically go back to how it was. You need to take the time to heal, to rediscover yourself. You need to find your own way.”

Isagi swallowed, his throat tight with emotion. “I don’t know how," he whispered. “I don’t know where to start.”

Chigiri sat back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. “Start by letting yourself feel what you’re feeling. Stop pretending it doesn’t hurt. Stop pretending you’re okay. I know you’re not. And that’s okay. You can grieve, Isagi. It’s okay to feel broken.”

Isagi’s eyes welled up, and he quickly wiped them away, angry at himself for showing any weakness. But it was hard to fight it when Chigiri was looking at him like that—like he saw all the cracks, all the shattered pieces of him, and wasn’t judging him for it.

“I don’t know if I can handle this,” Isagi said, his voice raw. “I don’t know how to get through this. I don’t know how to keep going without him.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Chigiri replied, his voice firm but kind. “I’m here for you, and Kunigami’s here for you, too. We’re your friends, Isagi. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself.”

Isagi looked at Chigiri, his chest aching with the weight of his words. He wanted to believe him. He wanted to feel like he could trust that the pain would eventually fade, but it felt so impossible. The thought of facing a future without Bachira felt like a cruel joke.

“I don’t know if I can move on,” Isagi whispered, his voice breaking. “What if I can’t? What if I’m never the same again?”

Chigiri reached across the table, placing a hand on his arm, his touch gentle. “You won’t be the same, Isagi. But that doesn’t mean you won’t be okay. You’ll find your way, even if it’s hard. You’ll figure it out. And I’ll be here, and Kunigami will be here. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Isagi looked down at his hands, trying to steady his breathing. The lump in his throat refused to go away. “I’m scared,” he admitted, the words barely a whisper. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to fix this. That I’ll never be okay again.”

“I get that,” Chigiri said quietly. “But I’m telling you, you don’t have to fix everything right now. Just take it one step at a time. One day at a time.”

Isagi nodded, though the ache in his chest didn’t go away. He wanted to believe Chigiri, wanted to hold on to the hope that things would get better eventually. But right now, all he felt was the deep, gnawing pain of missing Bachira, of not knowing how to fix what had been broken between them.

“Thank you,” Isagi said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Chigiri.”

Chigiri smiled faintly, his hand still resting on Isagi’s arm. “You don’t have to thank me. Just take care of yourself. And remember, you’re not alone in this.”

Isagi nodded, his heart heavy but oddly comforted by Chigiri’s words. He still didn’t know how to move forward, or if he ever would. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could try.

__________

After his conversation with Chigiri, Isagi had returned to his apartment, the emptiness of the room settling in once again. The dull silence of the place reflected his inner turmoil. He sat in the same spot, staring at the dark corners, his phone still in his hand. He hadn’t reached out to anyone since Chigiri, and the phone lay heavy on his palm, like a reminder of how disconnected he felt from the world.

The weight of the silence pressed down on him, almost suffocating. His head was full of conflicting thoughts. He had tried to ignore them, to pretend like he could keep pushing forward, but the cracks in his heart were beginning to show.

Chigiri’s words still echoed in his ears. 

It was hard. He felt trapped in a loop of self-pity and anger, yet somewhere deep down, a part of him knew Chigiri was right. Isagi had spent so much time running from his feelings, hoping the sadness would just fade. But here he was, still reeling from the past and unable to move forward.

In the dead of night, when the weight of the day had finally drained him of all energy, Isagi stood up. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He walked into his kitchen, stared blankly at the counters.

He hadn’t cooked a proper meal in weeks. When had he last felt like eating?

The impulse to do something—anything—flashed in his mind.

He had once enjoyed cooking. His mother used to say it was a form of therapy. Maybe, it could be for him too. Maybe cooking could take his mind off things, distract him from the ache in his chest.

Isagi didn’t even know what he was making, just that he needed to do something. He grabbed a random pan and set it on the stove. Then, he pulled out whatever ingredients were in the fridge—some old vegetables, leftover rice, eggs.

He didn’t follow any recipe, just throwing things together in a random attempt to create something edible. He stirred, chopped, and tried to get into the rhythm of it, hoping it would calm his thoughts.

But with every stir, his mind kept drifting back to Bachira. The kiss. The silence. The distance. How far apart they had grown in such a short amount of time. Isagi could still feel Bachira’s presence, like a shadow that followed him everywhere.

The eggs sizzled in the pan, but Isagi didn’t notice. His hands were shaking slightly as he cracked another egg into the mix. His thoughts were a mess.

What if he had done something differently? What if he hadn’t let his jealousy and pride get in the way?

But there was no use. The past couldn’t be undone. It was too late.

The faint aroma of the food began to fill the kitchen, cutting through the fog of his thoughts. Isagi’s stomach growled, reminding him that, for all his emotional weight, he was still just a person. A person who needed to eat, to live, to survive.

He finally finished the meal, though it was far from perfect. It wasn’t fancy, but it was something.

Sitting down at his small kitchen table, Isagi took a hesitant bite. The taste was bland, lacking flavor. But it was a step. It was something he could control, something he could focus on. For the first time in a long while, the sadness didn’t completely swallow him whole.

This is stupid. Why am I even doing this?

His inner voice was loud, harsh. But it didn’t matter. For once, he wasn’t sitting in his own self-pity. He was doing something. Even if it was small, it was a shift. A tiny act of defiance against the overwhelming sadness.

After finishing his meal, he leaned back in his chair, looking at the mess he’d created. A small laugh escaped his lips. He’d probably burnt half of it, but it didn’t matter. The laughter was hollow, but it was a start. A break from the constant cycle of thinking about Bachira, about the fight, about everything he couldn’t control.

The phone buzzed in his pocket. He hesitated before pulling it out, his finger trembling as he unlocked the screen.

A message from Chigiri.

“Hey, are you still alive? You text me when you got back home, so I was getting worried. I know you’re probably not in the best place right now after our talk, but don’t just hide away forever. You deserve better than that.”

Isagi swallowed. His chest tightened.

He’d been hoping that Chigiri would just let him be, that the message would be some distraction from the spiral he was in. But there it was—another reminder that he wasn’t alone. Chigiri was still reaching out. Trying to pull him out of the pit he’d dug himself into.

Isagi sighed, his finger hovering over the keyboard. He wanted to respond, to tell Chigiri everything that had been weighing on him. But he couldn’t bring himself to type the words. Instead, he simply wrote back, “Thanks for checking on me.”

In the silence that followed, Isagi let himself fall back into his thoughts. What was he even doing? Was this cooking really going to help? Was it enough to fix him, to fill the void inside him? Would anything ever fill the emptiness?

He picked up his phone again, scanning through the messages, not really reading any of them. His finger hovered over Bachira’s name. His thumb brushed against it. He hesitated.

He could send something. Anything.

“Hey, are you alright?”

That was all it would take, right?

But the hesitation was unbearable. It felt wrong, like he wasn’t allowed to reach out anymore. Bachira had moved on, and Isagi didn’t have the right to pull him back.

He dropped the phone on the table.

I can’t do this. I can’t keep doing this to myself.

He stood up abruptly and walked over to the couch. Isagi sat down, exhausted. The room felt heavy once again. The loneliness settled back in, but now there was a new undercurrent to it—something softer.

Not all was lost, was it?

He wasn’t sure, but Isagi didn’t feel completely defeated. Just a little… less empty. A tiny spark of hope, however fleeting, was enough to keep him from drowning.

He wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to heal, but maybe, just maybe, he was starting to do something for himself. Even if it was just cooking a bad meal.

Chapter Text

Bachira stretched his arms above his head, the soft afternoon light filtering through his window as he exhaled slowly. Spain’s warmth wrapped around him, a comforting presence, yet no matter how golden the skies were or how lovely the city sounded outside, there was always something missing.

It had been a strange year; full of tears, change, and unexpected turns. His relationship with Rin had grown deeper, something solid and familiar in the chaos of his life. He enjoyed Rin’s company, the quiet way he listened, the moments when his dry humor caught Bachira off guard. It was nice. He was happy. Or at least, he should have been.

But beneath that happiness was something else. Something he didn’t quite understand. A hollowness, an emptiness that lingered even when he was at his happiest. It wasn’t Rin’s fault, nor was it anything Bachira could put into words. It was just… there. A constant, nagging feeling he couldn’t shake.

Then, there was Isagi.

His chest tightened at the thought. It was impossible to think about the past year without thinking about him. The fight. The way Isagi had looked at him, eyes filled with something raw and unspoken. The weight of the words that had shattered everything between them.

"We shouldn’t talk anymore."

Bachira squeezed his eyes shut, but the memory stayed. The way Isagi’s voice had trembled, not with hesitation, but with finality. The hurt, the anger, the utter frustration in his gaze. Bachira had never wanted things to end like that, had never meant for things to escalate so badly. But when it happened, when the fight unfolded in a mess of words too sharp to take back, he’d froze.

"Bachira, stop pretending," Isagi had said, voice sharp, cutting through him like a blade. "You know what this is about. You just don’t want to admit it."

Bachira didn't know how to respond. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to admit.

He wanted to believe he’d moved on. He had Rin now. He had someone who cared about him, who reached for him without hesitation. And yet, no matter how much time passed, there was always a part of him stuck in that moment, reliving the words, the look in Isagi’s eyes, the crushing weight of everything left unsaid.

Would they ever be able to fix things? Or was that part of his life over for good?

Bachira shook his head, exhaling sharply as if that would push the thoughts away. Enough. There was no point in dwelling on the past. It had been a year. He had Rin. His life wasn’t bad . He was playing soccer, traveling the world, and spending time with someone who genuinely cared about him.

He should be happy. He was happy.

But then why did it feel like something was missing?

With a forced smile, he rolled his shoulders and moved to his easel, dragging a brush through thick strokes of blue. The canvas before him was already chaotic; a swirl of bright, contrasting colors, but something about it still felt incomplete. Just like every other piece he had started lately.

His fingers tensed around the brush.

"You know what this is about."

Bachira’s grip tightened before he abruptly dropped the brush onto the table, ignoring the smudge of paint that now streaked his fingers. He wasn’t thinking about that. He refused to.

Instead, he busied himself with getting ready for training. He changed into his practice gear, grabbed his cleats, and left the apartment without another glance at his unfinished painting.

Training was easier. His body knew the motions. He let muscle memory take over, let the rhythm of movement drown out everything else. He ran drills, focused on his footwork, and pushed himself harder than usual. The other Barcha players, (specifically Otoya),  gave him questioning glances, but he ignored them.

The moment he stopped moving, he would start thinking. And he didn’t want to think.

By the time Bachira finished, sweat dripped from his brow, and his muscles ached from overuse. But even as he showered, as he walked through the city, as he returned home, that strange, hollow feeling didn’t leave him.

It was still there when he unlocked his door and froze.

Because sitting casually on his couch, arms crossed with his usual unreadable expression, was Rin .

Bachira blinked. “...Rin?"

Rin glanced up. “Took you long enough.”

Bachira stared. What the hell was going on?

“You’re in Spain?” he asked dumbly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Clearly.” Rin arched a brow, unimpressed. “Didn’t feel like telling you in advance.”

Bachira huffed a laugh, shaking off the lingering heaviness in his chest. “I just saw you like…a few weeks ago. What, you missed me that much?”

Rin didn’t answer immediately, and instead held his gaze for a second too long before looking away. “I had time.”

Bachira’s grin softened. “And you decided to spend it flying all the way here? Aw, Rin-chan, I didn’t know you were so sentimental.”

“Shut up.” Rin scowled, but there was no real bite to it.

Bachira set his bag down and flopped onto the couch beside him, nudging his knee against Rin’s. “So, what’s the occasion?”

Rin leaned back against the cushions, his expression unreadable. “You haven’t been answering my messages.”

Bachira faltered. “What?”

“For the past week.” Rin glanced at him. “And Shidou said you seemed off when he talked to you last.”

Bachira clicked his tongue. “Traitor.”

Rin ignored that. “So, what’s going on?”

Bachira hesitated. “Nothing. Just been busy.”

Rin didn’t look convinced. He narrowed his eyes slightly, scanning Bachira’s face like he was reading between the lines. “You’re lying .”

Bachira grinned, leaning into the couch. “What gave me away? Was it my completely convincing performance?”

“Meguru.”

He sighed. “Rin, seriously. I’m fine.”

Rin exhaled through his nose, clearly not buying it. But he didn’t press further. Instead, he stood up abruptly. “Come on.”

Bachira blinked. “Huh?”

“We’re cooking dinner.”

Bachira snorted. “Since when do you cook?”

“Since you clearly haven’t been taking care of yourself.” Rin shot him a look. “And I’m not ordering takeout, so get up.”

Bachira groaned dramatically but pushed himself off the couch. “Alright, alright. But don’t blame me if we burn the kitchen down.”

Rin rolled his eyes and made his way to the kitchen. Bachira followed, a little amused and a little grateful. Maybe he had been isolating himself more than he realized. Maybe Rin was right to be concerned.

Maybe this was exactly what he needed.

The kitchen was a mess. There was flour on the counter, chopped vegetables scattered in half-prepared bowls, and Rin looked increasingly irritated by the second.

“Meguru, I said, slice the peppers, not butcher them.”

“I’m giving them character!” Bachira grinned, holding up the uneven pieces. “They’re beautiful.”

Rin pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re actually hopeless.”

Bachira laughed, tossing a pepper slice at Rin, who dodged it effortlessly. “Come on, admit it. You’re having fun .”

“I’m suffering.” Rin retorted.

“You love suffering. That’s why you play soccer.”

Rin shot him a glare, but Bachira could see the corner of his mouth twitch.

By the time they finally got the food cooked, the kitchen looked like it had survived a small war. But when they sat down and actually ate, Bachira found himself enjoying the quiet moments between them, the casual way Rin muttered complaints while eating, the way he still cut his food with precision, like everything had to be perfect. It was familiar. It was comfortable.

But the emptiness was still there.

Bachira hated that he felt it even now, with Rin right in front of him.

After dinner, they settled onto the couch to watch a horror movie. Rin, as expected, was completely unphased by anything on screen. Bachira, on the other hand, enjoyed every jump scare, laughing at the absurdity of the special effects and teasing Rin whenever he refused to react.

“You’re no fun,” Bachira complained, tossing popcorn at him.

“I don’t scare easily,” Rin replied flatly, catching the popcorn midair and eating it.

“You do have a weak spot, though.” Bachira grinned mischievously.

Rin shot him a wary glance. “No, I don’t.”

“Uh-huh. I remember when we watched that other movie—”

“That didn’t happen.”

Bachira cackled. “So defensive! That means I’m right.”

Rin rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

Bachira grinned, leaning back into the couch. “But I’m your idiot.”

Rin didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he glanced at Bachira, something unreadable in his expression. Bachira felt it; that weight between them, that quiet understanding they never really talked about.

He had Rin. He cared about Rin. But there was something Rin could never reach inside him, something that still felt out of place.

And he hated that he was starting to realize what it was.

That night, after Rin had fallen asleep, Bachira lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Without thinking, he reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts.

His finger hovered over a name he hadn’t touched in a year.

Isagi.

He clenched his jaw and pulled back, switching instead to another contact.

He pressed the call button.

After a few rings, a groggy voice answered. “Bachira? It’s late as hell, what do you want?”

Bachira exhaled, gripping the phone tighter. “Shidou...do you ever feel like something’s missing?”

There was a pause. Then, a low chuckle. “Oh, this is definitely about Isagi.”

Bachira’s heart skipped a beat, or two, or even three. "...No, it’s not.”

Shidou hummed, unconvinced. “Sure, bee-boy. Keep telling yourself that.”

Bachira’s grip tightened around the phone. He wanted to argue. But deep down, he knew Shidou wasn’t wrong.

And for the first time, he realized it too.

Maybe...he missed Isagi.

__________

Bachira walked beside Rin through the bustling mall, his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets as he took in the sights around them. The air was filled with the chatter of shoppers, the occasional sound of children laughing, and the faint hum of background music filtering through the speakers. The atmosphere was quite lively.

Rin was carrying a small bag from a high-end sports store, having just bought some new training gear. He glanced over at Bachira, noticing an off-expression. "Hey, you good? You’re weirdly quiet today."

Bachira blinked, shaking himself from a cloudy mind. "Huh? Oh, yeah! Just thinking."

Rin raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "About what?"

"Nothing important," Bachira said quickly, flashing him a grin. "Besides, isn’t it my job to be the weird one?" He nudged Rin playfully.

Rin rolled his eyes but let a small smirk slip. "Yeah, but you’re usually weird in a loud way."

Bachira chuckled. "Guess I’m keeping you on your toes then."

They continued walking, stopping briefly at a small accessories store where Bachira picked up a set of keychains shaped like little soccer cleats. He turned to Rin, holding up two; one in yellow, and the other in blue. "Match with me?"

Rin snorted. "That’s stupid."

"That’s a yes!" Bachira grinned, ignoring Rin’s unimpressed expression and heading to the cashier. He attached the yellow cleat to Rin’s bag without asking, and Rin didn’t bother taking it off.

They wandered a bit more before Rin decided he wanted coffee, so they headed toward a café near the center of the mall. Bachira was mid-sipping his caramel frappuccino when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Chigiri’s name flashing on the screen.

"Hey, gonna take this real quick," Bachira told Rin, already stepping away.

Rin sighed. "Just don’t get lost."

Bachira grinned. "No promises!"

Bachira ducked into the nearest restroom for a quieter background, and leaned against the sink as he answered. "Chigirin! What’s up?"

"Hey," Chigiri’s voice came through, calm as ever. "Are you free to talk for a minute?"

"Kinda? I’m out with Rin, but what’s up?"

There was a small pause, then Chigiri sighed. "I had dinner with Isagi."

Bachira’s whole body stiffened, and without thinking, he blurted, " WHAT ?!"

His voice echoed off the bathroom walls, drawing the attention of a man washing his hands at the sink. Bachira gave him a sheepish grin before lowering his voice. "Wait, wait, wait. You had dinner with Isagi? Like, my Isagi?"

"He’s not just yours, dumbass," Chigiri replied, unimpressed. "But yeah. We talked."

Bachira swallowed, his fingers tightening around his phone. " Why ? I mean–what did you guys even talk about?"

"You, mostly."

Bachira’s breath hitched. "Me?"  

"He misses you," Chigiri answered plainly. "I know you don’t wanna hear this, but he’s been struggling. Rensuke told me a bit about how he’s been doing, and when I saw him, it was obvious."

Bachira bit his lip, suddenly feeling like the walls of the restroom were closing in on him. "I don’t get it. He’s the one who said we shouldn’t talk anymore. He’s the one who walked away."

"You really don’t get it?" Chigiri sighed again, and Bachira could practically hear him shaking his head. "Bachira, you’re happy with Rin, right?"

The question caught him off guard. "What? Of course , I—" He hesitated.

Chigiri waited.

"I mean, yeah. Rin’s great," Bachira said, but the words felt hollow. "We have fun together. We laugh. He’s... there."

"But?"

Bachira frowned. "I don’t know, Chigirin. I feel like something’s missing, but I don’t know what."

Chigiri was silent for a moment before speaking again, his voice softer. "Bachira, when I talked to Isagi, he wasn’t just sad. He was lost. You leaving his life wrecked him, just like losing him has been affecting you. You just don’t wanna admit it."

Bachira’s chest tightened. "That’s not—"

"It is," Chigiri interrupted. "You’re trying to be happy, but something’s holding you back. Maybe it’s time to stop running from it."

Bachira pressed his free hand against his forehead, exhaling sharply. "Chigiri... I don’t know what to do."

"I figured," Chigiri murmured. "That’s why I’m sending you something."

A notification popped up on Bachira’s phone, a message from Chigiri containing an address.

"What’s this?"

"A restaurant in Germany," Chigiri said simply. "Meet me there. We’ll talk."

Bachira stared at the address, his heart pounding. " Germany ..." His mind raced. He was supposed to stay in Spain with Rin. He had plans. He was fine. Right?

But the emptiness inside him whispered otherwise.

Chigiri’s voice softened again. "Just think about it, Bachira. That’s all I’m asking."

Bachira let out a shaky breath. "Okay."

As he hung up, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hands trembled slightly, and his heart felt heavier than before. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

He took a deep breath, forced a smile onto his face, and walked back out to Rin, pretending nothing had changed. But deep down, he knew something had.

__________

The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows over the bustling shoppers as Bachira returned to Rin. The late afternoon had an edge, the warmth in the air slowly decreasing. Rin had suggested they head back to their place after a long day out, but Bachira was determined to stretch the moment. The mall still had an energy that felt comforting to him, a sense of simple normalcy that he found soothing.

But Rin was already growing restless , his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings with a familiar intensity. Bachira didn’t mind at first. He was used to Rin’s occasional grumbling, his dismissive attitude toward things that didn’t hold his attention. What bothered him more was the way Rin seemed to close in on him more often, standing too close when they passed through crowds or tugging at his sleeve when he lingered too long at a stall.

He’d caught the way Rin’s gaze narrowed when a man behind the counter had smiled a little too brightly at him, the sharpness of it biting into the warmth of Bachira’s usual cheerful demeanor. He had laughed it off, at first, thinking it was nothing; Rin was just in a bad mood, as usual.

But it kept happening.

As they walked past an antique store, Bachira paused to look at a display of figurines in the window, his hand resting against the cool glass. He liked the way they were arranged—every little figure frozen in place as if they were part of a larger story. He felt a gentle pull at his sleeve, but before he could turn to ask what was wrong, Rin was standing next to him, his body pressing in uncomfortably close.

“Let’s go,” Rin muttered, his voice clipped. Bachira could feel the tension in his posture, the way his arm hovered near Bachira’s as if preparing to pull him along.

“But I’m just looking,” Bachira replied, his tone light, trying to brush off the sudden irritation creeping into the air.

Rin’s eyes darkened as he glanced at Bachira’s hand, which was still resting lightly on the window. “You’re wasting time on pointless stuff again. We don’t have all day.”

Bachira frowned, his amusement slipping as he met Rin’s gaze. “It’s not pointless. I just enjoy looking at things, Rin.”

“I know what you like.” Rin’s voice dropped to a near growl, the edge in it unmistakable. “You always get too friendly with random people. Why are you talking to everyone like they’re your best friend? Stop wasting time on them.”

The words stung. Sharper than Bachira expected. He knew Rin was jealous —he knew it, deep down, but this felt different. This felt like something more than just annoyance. This felt like an accusation, like Rin didn’t trust him.

Bachira opened his mouth to say something, but Rin was already walking ahead, his steps purposeful, clearly expecting Bachira to follow.

He felt a rush of frustration, but he kept it in check. He wasn’t about to make a scene, not here, not now. But the thought lingered, gnawing at him. Something was off. Something was wrong.

He caught up with Rin easily, but he didn’t say anything, just letting the silence hang between them like a thick, uncomfortable fog.

__________

They stopped at a small café on the corner after leaving the mall. The bell above the door chimed as they entered. Rin immediately found a seat at the farthest table, and Bachira followed him, his mood souring with each step. He had wanted to enjoy this, to have a quiet evening with Rin, but everything felt strained now.

The café was quiet, cozy, with a warm glow that made the harshness of the outside world feel distant. Bachira sat across from Rin, absently stirring his drink, his mind wandering back to the comment that still hung in the air between them. “You always get too friendly with random people,” Rin had said. What did that even mean ? Was Rin mad at him for just talking to people? For being friendly ?

He thought back to the man at the stall. He had just been polite, just talking to the person who worked there like anyone would. But was that so wrong? Was he wrong for being nice to strangers?

“Meguru.”

The edge in Rin’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to find Rin’s eyes locked on him, his expression unreadable. It made Bachira uneasy. He could feel the weight of Rin’s gaze, a pressure that seemed to press down on him with every passing second.

“I’m not here to babysit you, you know,” Rin muttered, his hand curling around his cup with a possessiveness that didn’t go unnoticed. “If you want to run off and talk to every person you meet, fine. But don’t waste my time doing it."

Bachira’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t tell if Rin was talking about the café or something bigger. Something unspoken between them.

“I wasn’t wasting your time, Rin,” Bachira said quietly, his voice almost too soft. “I was just talking to someone. That’s all.”

Rin didn’t respond right away. He just stared at Bachira, his eyes dark, his jaw tense. The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable. Bachira felt like he couldn’t breathe. The weight of Rin’s words continuously pushing down on him.

But then, it came—something sharp and something cutting.

“If you care so much about Isagi," Rin began, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “Why don’t you go running back to him instead of constantly draining my time?”

Bachira froze.

It felt like a punch to the gut, a rush of heat flooding his face. His heart skipped a beat, a cold, tight knot of frustration and anger wrapping itself around his chest.

“What did you say?” Bachira’s voice cracked, the words coming out sharper than he intended. He didn’t even know why he was upset, not at first. But something in Rin’s tone, the way he said it, made his blood boil. It was too much.

Rin’s frown deepened, almost as if he were daring Bachira to react. “You heard me. If you miss him so much, why don’t you go back to him? Maybe you can hold hands and play soccer together, since that’s all you seem to care about.”

Bachira’s hands tightened around his cup, his knuckles turning white. "Stop it," he spat, his voice low but filled with a kind of fury he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Don’t bring Isagi into this.”

Rin’s expression didn’t change. He just leaned back in his chair, his eyes cold, watching Bachira with an almost analytical detachment. “I’m just telling you what I see. You care more about him than you do about me. That’s the truth, right?"

Bachira’s chest heaved with the sudden rush of emotion. His heart raced, his hands trembling as he set his cup down with a clink. His jaw tightened, and he found himself standing before he even realized what he was doing.

“I said stop it!” Bachira shouted, the words flying out of him before he could stop them. The anger had been building inside of him all evening, but now it came rushing out in a single, raw burst. “You think I don’t care about you? You think I don’t care about us?"

Rin’s eyes widened for a moment, caught off guard by the outburst. But then, his face hardened, and his voice dropped to a dangerous calm.

“Meguru—”

“No!” Bachira cut him off, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You’ve been acting like this for days, and I’m not going to just let you control me anymore! I’m not your toy, Rin!”

The words echoed in the small café, and for a moment, it felt like the world had gone quiet. Bachira stood there, chest heaving, his face flushed with frustration and anger. He could feel the heat of Rin’s gaze burning into him, but he didn’t care anymore. Not now.

Without another word, Bachira turned on his heel and stormed out of the café, his heart pounding in his ears. He could hear Rin calling after him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not after everything that had been said.

He needed space. He needed to think.

Bachira’s breath came in ragged gasps as he stormed through the streets, his footsteps echoing in the quiet night air. His heart was racing, his chest tight with anger, confusion, and a twinge of something else he couldn’t quite place. He didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t care. He just needed to get away from Rin, from the suffocating tension that had been building between them all night.

The city felt too big, too open. Bachira couldn’t escape the feeling that Rin’s words were still ringing in his ears, the bite of them sharp and unrelenting. “ If you care so much about Isagi, why don’t you go running back to him?”

Was it true? Did he care about Isagi more than Rin? Was that why everything with Rin felt so heavy, like it was suffocating him? He tried to push the thought away, tried to focus on the sound of his footsteps against the pavement, but it wouldn’t go away. It kept eating at him, gnawing at him, making his head spin.

No, he thought, shaking his head. I don’t care about Isagi like that. I can’t.

But there it was again. “ Why don’t you go running back to him? ” The words slid into his mind like a poison, and no matter how hard he tried to push them away, they kept coming back.

He needed to clear his head. He needed to be alone.

Bachira finally slowed his pace, his breath catching as he finally made it back to his apartment.

It was then that he heard it, a soft voice calling his name from behind him.

"Meguru."

Bachira didn’t turn around. He knew who it was without having to look. The voice was unmistakable.

“Go away, Rin,” he said, his voice thick with frustration. “Just… leave me alone.”

There was a long pause, and Bachira could feel Rin standing behind him, just out of reach. He didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to face him. Not yet. Not after everything that had been said.

“Meguru,” Rin said again, softer this time, almost pleading. “Please. Just let me talk to you.”

Bachira let out a shaky breath, but he didn’t respond. He wasn’t ready to hear anything Rin had to say. Not right now. Not after everything that had happened.

“I’m sorry,” Rin continued, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was just… I was frustrated, okay? I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Bachira’s fists clenched at his sides. “You don’t get it, Rin. You don’t get it.”

Rin didn’t respond right away, and then, suddenly, Bachira felt Rin’s presence much closer. Before he could process it, Rin stepped forward, cupping his face gently, his fingers brushing against his skin in a way that made Bachira’s heart skip a beat.

“Rin—”

The words died in Bachira’s throat as Rin leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss. At first, it was soft, almost tentative, but then Rin deepened it, pulling Bachira closer, hands finding the back of his neck and guiding him. The force of the kiss was enough to stop Bachira’s protests, his body suddenly feeling too heavy to move. His mind was a mess of confusion, frustration, and something else entirely; a pull that he couldn’t deny, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

The kiss was heated and urgent, and it told him everything Rin hadn’t said. Rin’s lips pressed against his in a way that demanded response, and Bachira’s body, without thinking, leaned into it, his hands finding Rin’s chest. He was still angry, still hurt, but all of it faded, overshadowed by the intensity of the moment. It felt like everything had led to this point—this clash of emotions, this need for something more than just words.

Bachira’s breath caught as Rin’s hands slid down his back, pulling him even closer, his body flushing against Bachira’s. He felt the heat of Rin’s skin through their clothes, the electricity between them crackling in the space that had once been filled with tension. His head spun, his thoughts disjointed, but somehow, he didn’t care anymore.

Bachira let out a quiet breath as Rin pulled away just enough to look at him, their faces mere inches apart. Rin’s eyes were dark, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just stood there, locked in this silent understanding.

“I don’t want to lose you, Meguru,” Rin murmured, his voice low, almost raw. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just… I don’t know how to handle it.”

Bachira swallowed, his mind still reeling. It was all so overwhelming, the intensity of the kiss, the feelings stirring within him, the closeness of Rin’s body against his own. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. Everything felt so complicated, but in that moment, it was all so simple .

Rin’s hands moved again, guiding Bachira toward a nearby doorway, his lips finding Bachira’s once more. It wasn’t slow this time. It was desperate, hungry, as if they both needed something to break the tension that had been building for days.

Bachira let himself be guided, the frustration of earlier mixing with the heat of desire. Rin’s mouth trailed down to his neck, lips pressing against his skin, and Bachira felt his body reacting despite himself. It was all happening too fast, but he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to.

The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, tangled in the emotions they had been too afraid to face. Neither of them spoke again; words were unnecessary.

The next morning, Bachira woke with a groggy, disoriented feeling. His head throbbed, not from alcohol, but from the whirlwind of emotions, the hazy memories of the night before. His thoughts were still clouded, too many things left unsaid, too many questions left unanswered.

He turned over, eyes fluttering open to the quiet morning light. It took him a moment to realize where he was.

The bed beside him was empty.

Bachira’s heart skipped a beat. He sat up, the blanket sliding off his body as his bare feet hit the floor. The memories of the night before rushed back in full force—the kiss, the heat, the way everything had just… happened.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts, but it felt impossible.

He didn’t know what this meant. He didn’t know if he was ready to deal with the consequences of what had just occurred. All he knew was that everything between him and Rin had shifted. What had been suffocating only a few hours ago now felt like a strange mix of relief and fear.

He had let his walls down, but was that the right choice? Was this just another mess he had gotten himself into, or was it something more?

Bachira sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers curling around the edge of the blankets, trying to calm the racing thoughts in his head. His heart was still thudding loudly, like it had been since the moment he and Rin had crossed that line. He didn’t know what to make of it all—the kiss, the urgency, the way Rin had held him so tightly, as if he never wanted to let go.

What does this even mean?

His mind was a whirlwind of confusion, but beneath it all, there was something that felt unsettlingly clear. He wasn’t sure what he had expected after everything that had happened between them, but he hadn’t expected it to be so complicated.

The silence in the room stretched out, and Bachira finally stood up, making his way toward the window. The city below was waking up, the soft hum of life beginning to stir. It all seemed so distant, so irrelevant compared to the chaos inside him. He needed to figure this out.

He couldn’t avoid it forever. The truth was staring him in the face, and he couldn’t escape it.

Just as he was about to close his eyes and take a deep breath, he heard the door to the bedroom creak open. Rin stepped in, his posture stiff, but there was a subtle wariness in his movements. His gaze flicked to Bachira, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick, heavy with unspoken words—a recurring theme between them.

Bachira turned to face him, his chest tightening. He was still processing everything, still trying to make sense of the night before.

Rin seemed to hesitate, his eyes scanning Bachira’s face for any hint of what he was thinking. “Hey… you okay?” Rin asked, his voice tentative, the rough edge it usually carried softened. It was almost… gentle.

Bachira didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just stared at Rin, trying to gauge what he was feeling. Was it guilt? Or was Rin just trying to piece together the aftermath like him?

“I…” Bachira started, his voice unsteady. He wasn’t sure how to put everything into words. What had happened last night was impossible to ignore, but he didn’t know where to go from here.

Rin stepped closer, the tension between them still thick. “I’m sorry, Meg. I shouldn’t have said those things to you last night. It was selfish. I just don’t know how to deal with my feelings sometimes, and I—I pushed you.”

Bachira flinched at the words, but the sting of Rin’s apology didn’t land the way it should have. In fact, it only made Bachira feel more conflicted. “It’s not just about what you said…” He paused, taking a breath, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s about everything, Rin. The way you act sometimes. You—” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He didn’t want to say it out loud.

The weight of their relationship was too much, too heavy, but it was also more than just that. Was this really all just… pressure?

Rin’s hand reached out then, almost as if instinctively, his fingers brushing against Bachira’s arm. The touch was gentle, and it surprised Bachira how much it affected him. “I know I’ve been… possessive,” Rin admitted quietly. “I didn’t mean to be. It’s just I’ve never felt like this before. Not for anyone . And with you, it’s different. I don’t know how to handle it.”

Bachira’s heart twisted at his words, but there was a part of him that wanted to pull away, to get out of this situation before it could drown him. The way Rin was looking at him, though; there was so much vulnerability in his eyes, a side of Rin he didn’t often see.

Is this what he really wants?

Before Bachira could think any further, Rin leaned in, his lips brushing against his forehead in a tender kiss. The gentle gesture sent an unexpected shiver down Bachira’s spine, making him freeze for a moment.

"I care about you," Rin whispered, his voice low. "I don’t want to mess this up."

Bachira closed his eyes, letting the quiet moment linger for a few beats. His heart thudded, each beat echoing in his chest, trying to process what was happening.

He wasn’t sure where to go from here, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t ignore this. Not anymore. No matter how complicated it was, no matter how much it hurt. His feelings for Rin had only grown since the first moment they had met, and even now, despite everything that had happened, he couldn’t let go. But that didn’t mean it was simple.

Bachira opened his eyes, meeting Rin’s gaze. “I don’t know what this is, Rin. But… I’m not ready to walk away.”

Rin gave a small, almost relieved smile, stepping closer again. He cupped Bachira’s face in his hands, and this time, there was no hesitation in the way their lips met. This kiss was slower, more deliberate, a connection that spoke more than words ever could. It wasn’t filled with anger or frustration anymore. It was just them, in the moment.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. 

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless. Rin’s thumb traced Bachira’s jawline gently, his eyes searching Bachira’s face. “You’re not alone, okay? I’m here. I’ll try harder. Just don’t push me away.”

Bachira swallowed, nodding slightly, but there was still a knot in his chest. As much as he wanted to believe Rin, as much as he wanted to fall into this, he knew that it wasn’t that simple. They had a lot to work through—too much, maybe.

“I’m not going anywhere, Rin,” Bachira said softly. “But… I need time. Time to figure this out. Time to figure out what this is.”

Rin nodded, his expression serious. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

Bachira let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, but there was still a lingering doubt in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure what the future held, but he knew one thing: he was finally facing the truth, no matter how painful it was.

__________

The day after their conversation, Bachira found himself standing at the entrance of the airport, the weight of the world on his shoulders. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets and the warm air at his skin as he stared out at the crowd of travelers, all moving with purpose. He was supposed to be focused on the journey ahead, but all he could think about was the tangled mess of feelings in his chest. Feelings that he didn’t know how to untangle.

After his conversation with Rin, Bachira knew that he couldn’t stay in Spain for much longer. The place was full of too many reminders—of Rin, of everything that had happened with Isagi, of the things he couldn’t understand yet. 

And there was only one person who could help him clear his mind.

Chigiri.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Bachira pulled it out, seeing a message from Chigiri that simply read, "When are you coming?" Bachira smiled softly at the message, a small but comforting reassurance that, even when he didn’t have all the answers, he wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready for what lay ahead, but he knew he needed to talk to Chigiri. Bachira recalled back to their phone call and how Chigiri had invited him to meet up at a restaurant. And while this was originally supposed to be a two day thing, Bachira had convinced Chigiri and Kunigami to let him crash at their apartment for a few days. (Because, fortunately , Chigiri was on a short team break with his team, and was staying with Kunigami the entire time.)

Bachira typed a quick reply: "I’m on my way."

The words left him with a strange feeling, almost like a weight being lifted, but there was still a long road ahead.

As he walked toward the check-in counter, his thoughts wandered to Germany. To Chigiri. To the conversations they’d have, the way Chigiri always knew just what to say, even when the answers weren’t easy.

Bachira inhaled deeply, the smell of coffee from a nearby kiosk cutting through the quiet tension. Maybe talking to Chigiri will help me understand all of this, he thought. I just need some clarity. Maybe he’ll have the answers.

The flight was long, and Bachira spent most of it staring out the window, the clouds stretching endlessly beneath him. He thought about Rin, about Isagi, and the space between them. He thought about how things had gotten so complicated. Maybe talking to Chigiri isn’t the solution, but it’s the only thing I can think of right now. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the soft hum of the plane’s engine lull him into a kind of peacefulness, even if just for a short while.

As the plane began its descent into Germany, Bachira felt a sense of anticipation wash over him. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew one thing for sure: he was about to take the first step toward figuring out what came next.

__________

The airport in Germany was bustling with the usual chaos of travelers, but for Bachira, everything felt muted. The noise, the rushing people, the advertisements in foreign languages—it all blended together in the background as he pushed his way through the crowd, his mind focused solely on one thing: finding Chigiri.

Chigiri had agreed to meet him outside the terminal, and when Bachira spotted his familiar red hair in the sea of people, a sense of relief washed over him. Chigiri stood with his hands in his pockets, looking as calm and collected as ever. But when their eyes met, Chigiri’s lips curled into a grin, and Bachira couldn’t help but smile back, even if the weight of everything was still pressed on his chest.

“Bachira!” Chigiri called out, waving as he walked toward him.

Bachira jogged up to him, his suitcase rolling behind him. “Yo, Chigiri. It’s been a while!” he said, his voice lighter than it had felt in days.

“Yeah, man. Glad you finally made it. You’ve been sounding very stressed lately,” Chigiri clapped him on the shoulder. “Sure you don’t want the name of my old therapist?” He joked.

Bachira let out a light laugh at the joke, but then hesitated for a moment before nodding, though the tension in his shoulders told a different story. “I’ll be fine,” he said, forcing a small smile. “Just need to talk. I’ve been thinking a lot.”

Chigiri raised an eyebrow but didn’t press him for details. “Well, let’s get out of here, yeah? You’re probably tired from the flight. I’ll take you to Rensuke’s place where I’ve been  staying.”

They made their way to Chigiri’s car, the conversation flowing easily between them despite the underlying heaviness in Bachira’s mind. But the moment they got into the car and Chigiri started driving, the tension between them grew thicker. Chigiri’s eyes flicked to Bachira briefly, as if sensing something wasn’t quite right.

“Hey, if you’re ready to talk, you can tell me anything,” Chigiri said, his tone soft but firm. “I’m not gonna judge you, I just—”

“I know,” Bachira interrupted, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I just don’t know what to say, Chigirin. Everything’s messed up. I thought I understood what was going on, but now… it’s like I’m caught in the middle of something I can’t even understand.”

Chigiri glanced at him again, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded. “Want to start from the beginning?”

Bachira ran a hand through his hair, a small sigh escaping his lips. “I don’t know if I can. It’s been—it’s been complicated. I don’t even know where to start. There’s Rin, and then there’s Isagi, and everything just feels tangled up. I don’t get it. I don’t know what I feel. It’s like there’s this constant pressure, and I can’t make sense of it.”

Chigiri stayed silent, letting Bachira speak. The car hummed quietly in the background, and Bachira could hear the wind outside as it ruffled the trees. He was grateful for the quiet, even if it was just for a moment.

Finally, Chigiri spoke, his voice calm and steady. “I can tell that whatever’s going on, it’s messing with your head. But the first thing you need to do, Bachira, is stop trying to figure it all out right now. You can’t solve everything in one go. You’re already juggling so much, and adding more to the mix won’t help.”

Bachira looked out the window, his thoughts swirling. He’s right, he thought. I can’t solve this all at once. But it feels like I should have some kind of answer, right?

“What if I don’t know what I even want?” Bachira asked quietly, more to himself than to Chigiri. “Like… how do I even know if I’m doing the right thing?”

Chigiri’s eyes softened as he glanced at Bachira for a moment. “Sometimes, it’s not about knowing what you want right away. It’s about understanding that you’re allowed to take time with it. You don’t need to have everything figured out in a day or even a week. You don’t owe anyone an answer right now, especially if it’s about how you feel.”

Bachira’s chest tightened as he processed Chigiri’s words. His heart felt lighter, but it was still weighed down by everything that had happened. “It’s just… everything’s so complicated . I care about both of them. Rin, he’s been different. And Isagi, he doesn’t make it easy either. There’s so much between us that’s left unsaid.”

“I know,” Chigiri said, his tone reassuring. “But the thing is, Bachira, you have to figure out how you feel first, before anything else. You can’t let their actions and words drown out what you’re trying to understand about yourself.”

Bachira nodded slowly. The car made a few more turns as they drove through the quiet streets, but the city felt distant now. He didn’t need to rush. He didn’t need to have the answers right away.

For now, he just needed to talk with Chigiri.

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.

Chapter Text

Bachira’s feet move on their own, but his mind stays stuck in place.

His heart pounds, too fast, too loud. Each step feels wrong, like he shouldn’t be walking away, like he should turn back and— no . He swallows hard, tightening his fists in his pockets. His fingers feel cold, and his whole body is caught somewhere between trembling and shutting down.

The echo of Isagi’s last words cling to his skin, wrapping around him like a second layer of sweat. Isagi’s voice was frustrated and desperate, and it still rings in Bachira’s ears, threading through the pounding in his head.

"Why are you running?"

Bachira doesn’t know. Or maybe he does, but knowing wouldn’t make it any easier to stop.

His chest is tight, a twisting pressure right in the center that won’t go away no matter how deep he breathes. He shakes out his hands, but they still tremble at his sides. He shouldn’t be like this. He’s never been like this. Feelings have always been easy; loud, messy, unfiltered. They’ve never tangled up inside him like this before, never felt too big for his own body.

Bachira’s steps slow down. He presses a palm to his chest, like he can physically shove the feeling down and smooth it out. He wishes he could. He wishes things could go back to being simple, to being easy.

But they won’t.

Because he can’t stop thinking about the way Isagi looked at him, eyes burning, full of something so raw it made Bachira's throat close up. He can’t stop hearing the way his name– Meguru , sounded coming from Isagi’s lips, how much weight it carried, how much he wasn’t ready to bear.

This isn’t like him. Running. Avoiding. He doesn’t even know what he’s avoiding—Isagi? His own feelings? Whatever it is that’s clawing at his ribs, making his breath shallow and his pulse unsteady?

His fingers twitch. 

How did he even end up here?

Bachira exhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second before looking up again.

Bachira’s mind drifts, as it often does when he’s alone, to the conversation he had with Chigiri a few days ago. The words replay in his head, clearer now, sharper with the weight of what’s happening. They echo in the quiet of Germany’s city, a rhythm he can’t escape, lingering like an unfinished thought.

“Love doesn’t always make sense, but you know when something feels right—or when it feels wrong.”

Chigiri had said it with that thoughtful look in his eyes, his voice steady, like he was trying to explain something Bachira couldn’t quite grasp. There had been a certain calmness to his words, like he’d already figured it out. Maybe he had. Maybe Chigiri understood things that Bachira just couldn’t yet. But those words stayed with him long after the conversation ended. Maybe it was because, deep down, Bachira already knew that something about his relationship with Rin felt different.

At the time, he hadn’t fully understood it. He thought he was happy. Rin had been there for him, in his own quiet way, in the moments when no one else was. He had thought that was enough. But when Bachira tries to picture it, tries to pinpoint why his chest aches at the thought of Rin, he can’t find an answer. He can’t place the discomfort. Is it because of the way Rin looks at him sometimes; possessive and almost calculating, like he’s trying to see inside Bachira’s soul and control it? Or is it because, despite all of Rin’s efforts, Bachira still feels a hollowness inside? A pull toward something— or someone —else?

The thought is unsettling. Bachira tries to ignore it, but it keeps resurfacing. Every time he’s alone, it’s there, like a whisper in his mind. And no matter how much he tries to push it away, it’s impossible to forget.

His fingers twitch in his pockets again, seeking some form of comfort, but finding nothing. He stares ahead, eyes unfocused, seeing nothing in particular. The memories of Rin’s quiet smiles, his possessive comments, blur together now. They don’t hold the same warmth they once did. They’re just distant echoes in a room that’s slowly growing too small for Bachira to fit. The space between them feels like it’s stretching, pulling apart, and Bachira is standing at the edge, unsure of how to cross back to the place they once stood together.

But then, unexpectedly, Isagi’s face crashes into his thoughts. His voice. His eyes. Full of something Bachira couldn’t name—something that had shaken him to his core. He had never been prepared for the way Isagi made him feel. He hadn’t thought it was possible to feel this way about someone, to experience this strange, magnetic pull toward another person. Let alone Isagi. He had been so focused on keeping things simple, on pushing away anything that didn’t fit into his neat little understanding of the world. But now... no , not now. Everything had been different for a long time. Bachira just simply had the unfortunate luck of only understanding that now.

Bachira hadn’t been ready for this. He hadn’t been ready for Isagi’s quiet determination, his unexpected kindness, or the way his presence had managed to slowly work its way into Bachira’s life without him even realizing. And yet, here he was, consumed by thoughts of Isagi with every step he took.

Is this what Chigiri meant?

For the first time, Bachira wonders if this is it. If what he’s feeling isn’t just a fleeting connection, a simple passing moment. If what he feels for Isagi could be more than that. Could it be... love ? Or is it something else entirely?

The weight of the question sits heavily on his chest. He can’t answer it—not yet. He’s not sure if he’s ready to. But what he does know is that with every passing day, he can’t shake the feeling that Isagi is becoming more than just a fleeting thought. Isagi is, and always has been, something important.

Bachira’s hand tightens around the fabric of his pants as he mutters to himself under his breath, “Damn it.” His voice is low, frustrated, as if saying it out loud will make it clearer. But the words don’t change anything. They don’t bring him any closer to understanding why his heart aches when he thinks about Isagi, why the thought of him feels like it’s pulling him in a direction he’s not sure he wants to go.

Maybe he doesn’t need to figure it all out right now. Maybe he can’t. But the one thing Bachira knows for sure is that running away, avoiding the truth, avoiding Isagi—isn’t the answer. Not anymore. The walls he’s built around himself feel like they’re crumbling, and he can’t pretend they’re not. He’s spent too long hiding, convincing himself that he had everything figured out when the truth is that he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen, or what any of this means. 

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that avoiding Isagi only pushes him further away from something he isn’t ready to face; something that might change everything. His heart knows the answer, even if his mind is still trying to catch up.

Bachira stands up, the resolve slowly building inside him, and a single thought repeats in his mind like a mantra: I can’t keep running.

It’s time to stop. To stop pretending that everything is fine when it’s not. To stop pretending that what he feels for Isagi doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to understand it right now, but he can’t ignore it either. The truth is staring him in the face, and for the first time, Bachira feels like he’s ready to confront it.

So, with one last deep breath, he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks forward. One step at a time, toward whatever happens next.

__________

The day prior to when Bachira had seen Isagi in person for the first time in over a year, Bachira had broken up with Rin. 

Bachira’s thumb hovered over the screen of his phone, his heart pounding again as he stared at Rin’s name. The thought of actually calling him feels surreal. It’s like standing on the edge of something, looking down into the unknown, feeling the pressure of gravity but unable to move. He swallows hard, the weight of everything that led him to this moment pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

His mind replays Chigiri’s sacred words once more: “Love doesn’t always make sense, but you know when something feels right—or when it feels wrong.” The words echo in his mind, clearer now, sharper with the weight of what’s happening. He can’t ignore them any longer. They feel like a warning, but also a truth that he’s too afraid to fully accept.

This relationship feels wrong. The thought comes unbidden, but it’s clear, undeniable. He should have known sooner, should have trusted that sinking feeling in his gut. But he ignored it. He ignored the moments when Rin’s touches had felt too possessive, his comments too sharp, too ruling. When Rin insisted on making decisions for both of them, when his jealousy crept into their time together like an unwanted shadow. Bachira thought it was normal. He thought that was love, or at least what he understood of it. But now, standing at the edge, he can’t shake the feeling that it’s just suffocating.

Taking a deep breath, he presses the call button. The sound of the ringing in his ear feels like it’s dragging on forever, stretching the space between them. It’s as if the seconds themselves are holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. When Rin answers, his voice is cold, distant.

“What’s up?”

Rin’s tone is flat, detached, and for a moment, Bachira wonders if he already knows what’s coming. Maybe Rin saw this coming. Maybe he knew before Bachira did, before he even dared to admit it to himself. He’s always been so perceptive, so in control of his emotions. Or maybe he’s just as tired of it all as Bachira is.

“I… I need to talk,” Bachira’s voice feels shaky, unsure. His fingers tighten around the phone as he tries to steady himself, but his words betray him. “Rin… I think we should end things.”

The silence on the other end is deafening. Bachira waits for a response, but none comes. The seconds stretch, and he realizes how little he’s heard from Rin in the past few weeks. No reassurances. No attempts to convince him otherwise. Just silence, like Rin’s already checked out emotionally, as if he expected this. He thought they were still in sync, still moving together, even if Bachira decided to take a break in Germany with Chigiri. But now the chasm between them feels vast, irreparable.

“Okay,” Rin says at last, his voice as cold as the wind in winter, so devoid of emotion that it feels like a punch to the gut. It’s as if he’s already moved on, as if his heart had already stopped caring long before Bachira had realized his own feelings had shifted. It stings in a way Bachira wasn’t prepared for. “I guess that’s it then.”

Bachira exhales sharply, not sure if he’s relieved or crushed. He opens his mouth to say more, but his words come out in a jagged rush, slipping out before he can control them. “I just… I don’t think it’s working. I don’t feel right with you anymore. I don’t think I ever really did.”

The confession stings, but the weight lifting from his chest is undeniable. For a moment, he thinks he might be able to breathe again. The words he’s said are heavy, but they’re the truth. It feels like the air is clearer now that he’s finally said it out loud. But Rin doesn’t respond. His silence presses in, heavy and suffocating. Bachira feels like he’s drowning in it.

Finally, Rin repeats his earlier words, his voice colder than before, almost distant. “Okay. I guess that’s it then.” His words are clipped, final, like he’s already moving on from the conversation, from the relationship. Bachira feels his stomach twist with guilt, but it’s not the kind of guilt he expected. He thought he’d feel relief, but this is not how he imagined it. He wanted to feel free, but instead, the guilt churned inside him, heavy and unsettling. Had he hurt Rin? Did Rin even care?

Before Bachira can say anything else, Rin’s voice cuts in again, sharper now, like he’s forcing the words out. “You know, you were always too friendly. Always getting too close to people. Always making me feel like I was never enough.”

The words cut deep, sharper than any of his previous remarks. Bachira’s heart stutters in his chest, the truth of it all crashing in on him. He always knew Rin could be possessive, but hearing it so bluntly, hearing it like it’s his fault—it hurts more than he expected. And there’s that word again, enough . Bachira’s chest tightens. It’s always been like this, hasn’t it? Rin, expecting more from him, wanting more from him than he was ever able to give.

“Rin… I—” Bachira starts, but the words catch in his throat.

"Don't," Rin interrupts, his voice frighteningly low, almost dangerous. “Don’t try to apologize. You’re always making things harder than they need to be.” His tone is bitter, and for a moment, Bachira can almost feel the weight of the tension through the phone. “You were always too much for me. Too much for anyone."

Bachira swallows hard, trying to steady himself. His chest aches, his stomach twists in knots. “I’m sorry,” he says, though it feels like an empty apology, one that doesn’t even feel like his own. He doesn’t know why he says it, but it feels like the only thing left to say.

But Rin doesn’t offer any comfort. Instead, there’s a brief, emotionless “Goodbye,” and then the call ends.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Bachira lowers the phone, staring at the screen, his mind spinning with everything he’s just done. He’s free now. He knows he is. But the guilt hangs in the air like smoke, and he doesn’t know if he can breathe through it. His chest feels hollow again, like something’s missing. Like he’s forgotten something, but he doesn’t know what. He thinks of Rin’s cold words, the things he said about Bachira being too close to people, about always being friendly. And for the first time, Bachira really hears them—too friendly, too close. The way Rin had always kept him on a leash, always wanted more, always demanded control. He can still feel the weight of it on his shoulders, how it had made his skin crawl at times.

But even knowing that, knowing it was wrong, Bachira can’t shake the small part of him that feels torn. Did he really want to hurt Rin? Did he want to be the one to make him feel like he wasn’t enough? Bachira never wanted to make anyone feel small, but at that moment, it feels inevitable. Rin has always been the one to make Bachira feel like he wasn’t allowed to be more than just what Rin wanted.

He exhales, shaking his head, as if trying to push the thoughts away. No. He made the right choice. He knows that now.

But the emptiness lingers. It’s still there, like a shadow he can’t shake. And that’s when it hits him: he’s been feeling empty for so long, but he never noticed. He never realized how much of it had to do with him and Rin, how much he’d been suppressing in order to maintain the peace. Was he ever really happy?

Bachira takes a deep breath, looking around the room as if searching for something to fill the void. He’s free, he knows that now, but it doesn’t feel like the victory he imagined. It doesn’t feel like the weight lifting off his chest that he had hoped for. There’s no rush of relief. Instead, there’s just a numbness, like something important has been lost, and he’s not sure how to get it back.

He thinks of Isagi, his mind drifting to the last time they spoke as friends, before the fight. Before Rin. The way his heart had raced when they were close. Maybe it’s him—maybe that’s what’s been missing all along. But Bachira isn’t sure yet. He isn’t sure of anything anymore. He’s not sure if he’s ready for whatever this new feeling is, but one thing is certain: he can’t go back.

But for now, all he can do is wait. Wait for the emptiness to subside, wait for the answers to come. He’s done what he needed to do, and now, he has to face the silence.

__________

So, that’s how Bachira ended up being tricked(?) by Chigiri to go out for dinner, only to see Isagi. And then run out the restaurant—leading him to now, the present. 

Bachira drags himself through the front door of the apartment, the weight of everything still hanging heavily on him. His steps are slow, reluctant, like he’s dragging something behind him that he can’t quite shake. The apartment is quiet, too quiet, and for a moment, he thinks maybe he’s alone.

But then he hears the sound of Kunigami in the kitchen, moving about, the familiar clink of plates and the soft hum of music in the background. Bachira stands there for a moment, debating whether to go in, whether to pretend that nothing’s wrong or face whatever weight is pressing on him.

Before he can decide, Kunigami’s voice calls out from the kitchen, cutting through his hesitation.

“You’re back late,” Kunigami says, his tone casual but carrying an undercurrent of something else. He’s noticed. It’s impossible to miss, the way Bachira’s shoulders are slumped, the way his usually vibrant energy has been replaced with a noticeable exhaustion.

Bachira doesn’t answer right away. He drops his bag by the door and takes a few slow steps into the living room, running his hand through his hair. The familiar, comforting space feels suffocating now. The walls are closing in.

Kunigami doesn’t press. He just watches, waiting. After a beat, he sets down whatever he’s doing in the kitchen and steps into the living room, his gaze steady, searching.

“You good?” Kunigami asks, his voice quiet but unrelenting, as though he’s offering Bachira the space to say something without the pressure of forcing it out.

Bachira hesitates, glancing at him, but quickly looks away, his gaze unfocused. “Yeah, just tired,” he mutters, a half-truth. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not yet. The fight with Isagi, the break-up with Rin. It feels like too much to say out loud. Too much to unravel. He’d rather bury it for a while, let it settle in his chest.

But Kunigami doesn’t look convinced. He doesn’t push, but he doesn’t let it go either. The silence stretches between them, thick and heavy, until Kunigami speaks again, more softly this time.

“You know… if you want to talk, I’m here.”

Bachira’s throat tightens. The words feel like a crack in the dam he’s been holding up, and for a moment, he feels the weight of everything pressing down on him. He wants to brush it off, pretend like he’s okay, but the pressure inside him is unbearable.

“I…” Bachira swallows, his hands trembling again, and finally he meets Kunigami’s gaze. “I think I made a mistake.”

The words feel strange, almost foreign. He hasn’t said them out loud, not even to himself, but they’re there, sitting in his chest, and he can’t keep them locked away anymore.

Kunigami’s expression softens. He doesn’t say anything right away, just stands there, giving Bachira the space to breathe, to let the weight of his admission settle.

“About Rin?” Kunigami asks gently, his voice barely above a whisper, as though treading carefully.

Bachira nods, but it feels like a part of him wants to explain further, wants to say more—but the words catch in his throat. He can’t exactly put into words what’s happening inside him. He’s not sure if he should.

“I… thought I was happy with him,” Bachira admits, his voice barely a murmur. “But it wasn’t real. Not like I thought.” He drags a hand across his face, frustrated with himself. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Kunigami doesn’t rush him, just watches him quietly, his brow furrowed slightly. Finally, after a beat, he speaks, his tone calm, knowing.

“You didn’t do anything wrong by feeling that way,” Kunigami says softly, his words steady and grounded. “People change. Feelings change.” He shrugs. “Sometimes, it’s just not right. And that’s okay.”

Bachira’s eyes flicker to Kunigami, and for a moment, it feels like there’s a flicker of understanding between them. Like Kunigami really gets it.

“Thanks,” Bachira’s voice cracks slightly, and he quickly clears his throat. “I just… didn’t expect it to feel like this. I thought I was supposed to want things to work out with Rin, but I don’t. And now… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Kunigami’s response is simple, but it feels like the weight of a thousand unspoken words. He places a hand on Bachira’s shoulder, a grounding presence.

“You’ll figure it out,” Kunigami says, his voice steady. “Take it one step at a time. No need to rush. You’re not alone in this, okay?”

Bachira nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. It’s not much, but it’s enough. For the first time in hours, he feels like he can breathe again, just a little bit.

__________

Bachira stares at his phone screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. The words that keep running through his mind feel clumsy, distant, and not at all right. He opens the message app and tries to type, but each word he types feels like it doesn’t fully capture the gravity of what he’s feeling.

The screen lights up in front of him, and his heart thuds loudly in his chest, each beat more erratic than the last. He takes a shaky breath, his fingers trembling as he types the first message.

“Sorry for disappearing... I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly. Hope you're doing alright.”

Bachira stares at the text. It feels like it’s too formal, too detached; like he’s sending a message to someone he barely knows. It’s not the way he feels, but it’s all he can come up with. He wants to fix this, to make it right, but his mind is clouded. What if this only makes things worse? What if he says the wrong thing? He wishes there was a manual for moments like this.

He stares at the message longer, his chest sinking with every passing second. He taps the backspace key, deleting the entire text. The pressure in his chest only grows heavier.

What was he even thinking? Isagi; he doesn’t even know how to put it into words. They fought. It was bad. Really bad. But what was worse is that Isagi tried to fix it. He tried to talk to Bachira and Bachira ran away. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look in Isagi’s eyes—the raw pain, the confusion. Bachira never wanted to hurt him, not in a million years. And yet, here he was, unsure how to fix it.

He lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. The apartment is too quiet with Kunigami in bed and Chigiri still out, probably with Isagi. There’s nothing but his thoughts, his swirling emotions, and the overwhelming feeling of regret. But he still has to reach out.

After a few minutes, he starts typing again. His fingers hover nervously over the keys, but he forces himself to type.

“I’m sorry for running, for everything. I know I shouldn’t have just left, but I couldn’t stay. Hope you’re okay.”

It’s still awkward, still feels wrong, but it’s honest. He presses send before his thoughts can drown him in doubt.

Bachira sets the phone down beside him, trying to distract himself by staring at the wall, but his mind is running a mile a minute. What if Isagi doesn’t respond? What if he hates him? What if it’s all too much?

A few seconds feel like an eternity, and then the bubble pops up.

“I’m glad you reached out. I’ve been worried, honestly. It wasn’t easy, but I get it. Just don’t leave again, okay?”

Relief washes over Bachira in a flood, but there’s something else there too. A tightness in his chest, a mixture of guilt and warmth. It’s not perfect—he wasn’t expecting it to be—but it’s a start. Isagi’s words aren’t angry or cold. They’re warm, even a little hopeful. He hasn’t given up on him, not entirely. Bachira swallows hard, his throat dry.

Before he can process it, his phone buzzes again.

“Can we talk? Can you call me?”

Bachira stares at the message, the weight of it sinking in. Isagi wants to talk. His heart skips a beat, and anxiety crawls up his spine. He can’t deny that he’s afraid. What if talking makes everything worse? What if there’s no coming back from this?

His thumb hovers over the screen, torn. But he knows. He can’t run anymore. He can’t keep avoiding this, not if he ever wants to fix it.

“Yeah, okay. Call me.”

Bachira presses send before he can second-guess himself, placing the phone down on the table. He tries to calm his racing heartbeat, but it’s impossible. His thoughts swirl, and all he can think about is how much he wants to make this right. Isagi deserves that, even if Bachira doesn’t fully understand what he’s feeling or what he’s supposed to say.

The screen flickers, the call incoming. Bachira picks it up on the first ring, his heart hammering in his chest. He swallows hard, taking a shaky breath before answering.

“Hello?” His voice sounds small, fragile. He can barely recognize it.

“Bachira,” Isagi’s voice comes through the speaker, slightly slurred like he had been drinking but laced with concern. It pulls at Bachira’s heart, making it ache. “Are you... alright?”

Bachira laughs, but it sounds hollow. It’s forced, like a mask he’s trying to wear even though it doesn’t fit. “I’m fine,” he says, but even as the words leave his mouth, he knows they’re not true.

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that feels like it stretches for hours. Bachira knows Isagi isn’t buying it. He knows he never could.

“Bachira,” Isagi says again, his voice soft but firm, cutting through the distance between them. “You’re not fine. I can tell.”

Bachira presses his phone tighter to his ear, his grip shaking. He doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t know how to. But the truth is, he has to. This is it. There’s no more running.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Bachira admits, his voice barely a whisper, like it’s being pulled out of him against his will. “I just… I couldn’t stay. And now I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel.”

Isagi doesn’t answer immediately. The silence feels heavier now, almost suffocating. Bachira can hear Isagi’s breathing, steady and calm, like he’s waiting for Bachira to continue.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Isagi asks gently, his voice almost tentative.

Bachira winces, a pang of discomfort running through him. Talking about it feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, and Bachira doesn’t know if he’s ready to fall. But he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll never have a chance to fix anything.

“I don’t know what to say,” Bachira admits, his voice cracking slightly. He feels exposed. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Isagi. I just… I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry."

“Bachira…” Isagi’s voice softens further, almost too soft, and Bachira can hear the sadness there. “I just want to understand. I want us to be okay again.”

The words hit Bachira like a wave. He’s heard those words before, and he’s always thought he understood what they meant. But right now, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with them. His heart is torn. He wants that too, so badly, but it feels impossible, like a dream just out of reach.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Bachira admits, his voice barely audible now.

There’s a long silence. The weight of the conversation presses down on him, suffocating him. He wishes he could just run away again, that it would all go away. But it won’t. Not this time.

“I don’t know either,” Isagi says quietly, and Bachira can hear the frustration in his voice. “But we have to talk. We can’t just keep avoiding this.”

Bachira runs a hand through his hair, trying to quiet the storm of thoughts in his head. He knows Isagi is right. They can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening. They can’t keep pretending everything is fine when it’s not.

“You’re right,” Bachira says, his voice small. “We can’t.”

Another long silence. It feels like everything is on the edge of breaking, and Bachira isn’t sure he can hold it together much longer.

“Do you want to meet up?” Isagi asks suddenly, his voice hesitant but hopeful. “Chigiri mentioned something about a town nearby having some sort of festival tomorrow.”

Bachira hesitates. Meeting up means facing everything—the hurt, the confusion, the mess of emotions.

Bachira also knows it’s the only way forward.

“Yeah,” Bachira answers, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think we need to.”

“Okay,” Isagi responds softly, the relief clear in his voice. “Let’s… let’s figure this out.”

Bachira exhales slowly, feeling the tension begin to loosen, just a little. It’s not a fix, not by any means, but it’s a start. Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day.

Chapter Text

The festival grounds were buzzing with life, the air thick with the scent of grilled meats, fried foods, and the distinct malty aroma of beer. Laughter and conversation filled the space, blending into the distant sound of live music playing from one of the many tents. A crisp October breeze carried the scent of autumn, rustling through the crowds, but the warmth of the festival lights and the press of bodies kept the chill at bay.

Isagi tugged at the collar of his jacket, adjusting it as he scanned the crowd. Despite the vibrant setting, a weight sat in his chest. This was supposed to be a long-overdue chance to reconnect, a chance to get Bachira back. Yet, the uncertainty of how the night would unfold made his stomach twist.

Then, he spotted Bachira weaving through the sea of people, his golden eyes bright even under the dim evening lights. He was dressed comfortably—a slightly oversized sweater hanging loosely over his frame, paired with dark jeans and scuffed sneakers. His hair was slightly tousled, and despite the crisp air, he still had a radiant energy to him; yet it seemed to be dimmed.

"Hey, Isagi." Bachira greeted, his usual grin nowhere to be found as he lifted a hand in a weak wave.

Isagi felt his heartbeat stutter, an all-too-familiar reaction whenever he saw Bachira. He swallowed it down, forcing a small, easy smile as Bachira stopped in front of him.

"Took you long enough," Isagi teased, testing the waters.

Bachira sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "There's a lot of people. And they're not very friendly like Spain’s citizens. Sorry."

Isagi regretted testing the waters immediately. He gave an awkward smile, "Yeah, sorry about that. C’mon, let’s go explore."

Oktoberfest in Munich was nothing like what he was used to back home. The sheer scale of it all was overwhelming—the towering tents illuminated by golden lights, the rows upon rows of wooden stalls selling everything from pretzels the size of his face to intricately crafted trinkets. The occasional burst of cheers erupted from drinking games happening at the long communal tables. Somewhere in the distance, an oompah band played a lively tune, the brassy notes cutting through the crisp evening air.

But despite the energy, despite the warmth of the festival, there was a weight on Isagi’s chest that refused to lift.

His gaze flickered to Bachira walking beside him.

Bachira should’ve fit in perfectly here, among the chaos and celebration. He had always been the type to thrive in lively environments, his energy matching the wild rhythm of the world around him. But tonight, he was… different. His usual springy steps were more subdued, his golden eyes not quite as bright as they flicked from stall to stall. 

Bachira looked good—Isagi could admit that. The autumn setting suited him in a way Isagi couldn’t quite put into words. Maybe it was the way the warm festival lights reflected in his hair, or the way the chilled air added a pinkish hue to his cheeks. Maybe it was just that Isagi hadn’t been this close to him in a long time, and the realization was settling too deeply in his bones.

Still, something about Bachira’s demeanor made Isagi’s stomach twist.

The weight of their unfinished phone conversation loomed over them, heavy and unspoken. This was his chance to fix things—to finally talk to Bachira about everything that had been left unsaid. But as much as he had prepared himself for this moment, as much as he had gone over the words in his head, he still had no idea where to start.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” Isagi finally said, trying to keep his voice light, casual. He wasn’t sure why he said it; it wasn’t like he had expected Bachira to stand him up, but some part of him still couldn’t believe they were here, walking side by side like this.

Bachira hummed, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “Didn’t think I would either.”

That wasn’t exactly comforting.

Isagi exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing ahead as they weaved through the crowd. It felt strange, being here with Bachira again, but with so much space between them. They had been inseparable once, and now, even walking side by side, it felt like there was a canyon between them.

He was determined to close that gap tonight. Somehow.

Oktoberfest surrounded them in a blur of golden lights and laughter, the air thick with the rich scent of grilled sausages and roasted nuts. Music played from a nearby tent, lively and boisterous, and the chilly October air nipped at their exposed skin. People bustled past in warm coats, their breath fogging as they laughed and clinked beer steins together. The festival was alive, pulsing with energy, but for Isagi, all of it faded into background noise.

Isagi sat at a wooden picnic table beneath the glow of string lights, a large stein of beer in his hands, fingers curled around the cool metal handle. Across from him, Bachira mirrored his posture, staring down at his own drink, swirling the liquid absentmindedly. They had chosen a quieter area of the festival, away from the most crowded tents but still within the heartbeat of Oktoberfest.

The silence between them was thick. Neither spoke, both waiting for the other to make the first move. The difficulty of everything hung between them, almost tangible. Isagi’s heart pounded as he forced himself to look at Bachira, studying the way the warm light caught in his dark hair. His usual brightness was so very dimmed, his shoulders a little more hunched, his fingers tapping against the glass in a slow, almost restless rhythm. Even in the golden glow of the festival, there was something distant about him, as if he was physically here but mentally somewhere far away.

Isagi inhaled sharply and finally broke the silence once more. “I—uh.” He cursed himself for fumbling, for not knowing where to start despite running through this conversation in his head a hundred times. He exhaled and tried again. “I need to say I’m sorry.”

Bachira’s fingers stilled. His gaze lifted, locking onto Isagi’s with a quiet intensity.

Isagi clenched his jaw and pushed forward. “For how I acted. For what I said. For…everything.” He swallowed. “I was jealous.” The word burned in his throat, but it felt good to finally say it out loud. “I didn’t get it. You and Rin. I didn’t understand how you were thinking, and I let that frustration turn into anger. But it wasn’t just anger. It was—” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “It hurt."

Bachira didn’t speak right away. He just held Isagi’s gaze, unreadable in a way that made Isagi’s stomach twist. The silence stretched, but Isagi didn’t dare interrupt it. He’d said his part, now it was Bachira’s turn, whenever he was ready.

After what felt like an eternity, Bachira exhaled through his nose and spoke. “I ran away.”

Isagi blinked. “What?”

“I ran away,” Bachira repeated, voice quieter this time. His grip tightened around his beer stein. “I didn’t know what to say back then, so I just left. I avoided you. I thought it’d be easier.”

Isagi’s chest ached. He knew Bachira had avoided him, but hearing it admitted out loud made it more real. “Was it easier?” he asked, voice softer now.

Bachira let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Not really.” He looked down at his beer. “It just made everything worse.”

Isagi nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It did.”

Bachira sighed and took a long sip of his drink. “I guess I owe you an apology, too.”

Isagi shook his head. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Bachira cut in, finally looking back up at him. “You were honest just now, so I should be too. I should’ve talked to you instead of running away. I should’ve tried to understand things from your perspective instead of pretending they didn’t matter.”

Isagi studied him, the way his expression was open but his eyes held something heavier beneath the surface. “We’re talking now,” he said after a moment. “That’s what matters.”

Bachira didn’t respond right away, but he nodded, just slightly. Then he lifted his stein and took another sip, as if signaling that the hard part of the conversation was over—at least for now.

Isagi followed suit, lifting his own drink, the taste of beer settling on his tongue as the sounds of Oktoberfest came back into focus around them.

A breeze passed through, rustling the edges of their jackets, and Bachira shivered slightly. Isagi noticed the motion, the way Bachira hunched in further as if trying to bury himself in the warmth of his coat. It felt strange seeing him like this—more reserved, more hesitant.

Bachira glanced at him then, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile but not a frown either. “It’s weird, huh?”

“What is?”

“Us, sitting here, actually talking after all that time.”

Isagi let out a slow breath, the condensation visible in the cool air. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It is.”

There was another pause before Bachira spoke again, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his stein. “You know, I wasn’t trying to make you mad.”

Isagi gave a dry laugh. “Didn’t feel like that at the time.”

“I know,” Bachira said, quieter now. “I just… I was figuring things out, but I didn’t know how to explain it to you.”

Isagi’s brows furrowed. He had spent so long being angry that he never really considered how confused Bachira might have been too. “Figuring out what?” he asked, his voice careful.

Bachira’s gaze dropped back to his drink. He gave a small shrug. “A lot of things.” He took another sip, longer this time, and when he set the stein down, he didn’t say anything else.

Isagi watched him closely, noting the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched against the glass. He wanted to press for more, but something in Bachira’s posture told him to wait. To let the conversation breathe.

So, he let it go. For now.

Silence stretched between them. The noise of the festival fades into the background, muffled by the weight of their conversation. Bachira takes another sip of his beer, and then another. Isagi watches him carefully, noticing the way his shoulders start to relax, the way the tension in his jaw slowly eases.

Isagi glances at Bachira from the corner of his eye. He can see the subtle signs of the alcohol affecting him, his movements a little slower, his expression softer, less guarded. It’s not just the alcohol, though. Isagi knows that.

After a while, they start walking again. Bachira doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t push Isagi away either. That’s something, at least. Isagi takes that as a sign, a small victory in a night that feels like it’s been full of invisible battles.

They pass by a game booth, one of those classic ring toss stands with rows of stuffed animals hanging from the top. Bachira slows down, his eyes catching on a plush dolphin among the prizes. It’s one of those simple, cheerful things, the kind of toy that’s meant to make people smile, to remind them of happier times.

Bachira doesn’t say anything, but Isagi notices the way his gaze lingers on it, how his fingers twitch slightly at his side. The dolphin seems to be calling to him in some way, though Isagi isn’t sure why. Bachira’s always been unpredictable, always hiding parts of himself that he doesn't show to just anyone.

"Want one?" Isagi asks, his voice cutting through the quiet. He can’t help it. There’s something about Bachira tonight that feels like it needs some cheering up.

Bachira shrugs, a nonchalant gesture that doesn’t quite match the subtle hint of longing in his eyes. “Dunno. Think you can win it?”

Isagi scoffs. "Obviously. Watch and learn.”

Bachira gives him a lopsided smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s the kind of smile that feels like a mask, something he’s putting on to keep the world from seeing what’s beneath. “Go on, then.”

Isagi chuckles softly, stepping up to the booth. He pays for a round of the game, the booth attendant handing him a set of rings. He lines them up with care, narrowing his focus, tuning out the bustling festival around him. The crowd, the music, the laughter. All of it fades away as he zeroes in on the bottles in front of him.

With careful precision, Isagi throws the first ring. It lands perfectly around the neck of a bottle. He doesn’t celebrate; instead, he just focuses, throwing the second ring with the same intensity. It lands again, and the sound of the ring clicking into place feels like a small victory, a relief that courses through him.

By the third ring, he hears Bachira snort beside him, the sound of amusement breaking through the tension.

“Show off,” Bachira mutters, but there’s a little more warmth in his voice now, the faintest trace of humor that reminds Isagi of the Bachira he knows—quick with a joke, always ready to laugh.

Isagi grins, his confidence growing. “Damn right I am.” He throws the final ring, and it lands cleanly. The booth attendant hands him the plush dolphin with a smile, and Isagi turns, holding it out with a flourish.

“For you,” he says, offering the toy like a trophy.

Bachira blinks, surprised. He looks at the dolphin, then at Isagi, and back at the dolphin again. His eyes soften, just for a moment, before he hides it behind a quick smirk. “What, seriously ?”

Isagi just shrugs. “You stared at it like you wanted it.”

Bachira hesitates for a heartbeat, then takes the dolphin from Isagi’s hands. He holds it carefully, like it’s something fragile, unsure what to do with it for a moment. Then, with a small huff of laughter, he tucks the stuffed toy under his arm, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, voice almost lost in the sea of festival noise. His tone is soft, barely above a whisper.

Isagi doesn’t reply, just watches as Bachira takes another sip of his beer, the moment hanging between them like a delicate thread. For a second, he wonders if that was the right thing to do, if giving Bachira the dolphin actually meant anything. But then he sees the way Bachira’s eyes glint, the faintest spark of something that might be gratitude, or maybe just something else. Either way, it feels like a small win.

They keep walking, the stuffed dolphin nestled securely against Bachira’s side. The toy seems to fit him somehow, like it belongs there in his arms, even if Isagi doesn’t fully know why.

The festival lights glow warmly against the deep blue of the October sky, casting a golden hue over the bustling streets of Munich. The crisp autumn air casts cool breezes. Isagi walks beside Bachira, glancing at him every now and then, trying to gauge his mood. Bachira has been drinking steadily since they arrived, his expression unreadable, his usual vibrancy dulled by something heavier.

They find themselves at another quieter corner of the festival, near a long wooden bench overlooking a series of game stalls. Bachira plops down first, stretching his arms out before slumping back, sighing loudly. Isagi hesitates before sitting beside him, nursing his own beer, though he’s barely taken more than a few sips.

The silence that stretches between them is heavier than before. Neither of them speaks right away, as if waiting for the other to say something, anything, to break the tension. But the words don’t come, not yet.

"So," Bachira finally says, his voice a little softer than usual, his eyes distant as he stares ahead at the lights in the distance. “How’s life with Kaiser?”

Isagi scoffs, shaking his head. “Oh, you know. The usual. Every day’s a battle to not strangle him.”

Bachira snickers, taking another swig of his beer. “That bad?”

Isagi exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Worse. He’s an ass, but he’s a talented ass. And that makes him insufferable. He acts like he’s untouchable, like he’s the only star on the team.” His grip tightens around the glass in his hand. “And Ness doesn’t help. He feeds into Kaiser’s ego, and it’s like I have to fight twice as hard to prove I belong in that field.”

Bachira watches him for a moment before smirking. “But you’re still the best, right?”

Isagi lets out a short laugh. “Damn right I am.”

Bachira hums in approval, swirling his beer in his mug. “Otoya’s kinda similar, you know. Always slipping through people, acting like nothing ever really bothers him. It’s kind of annoying.”

Isagi raises an eyebrow. “I thought you two got along?”

“We do,” Bachira admits, though there’s a trace of something darker in his tone. “But sometimes it’s like talking to a shadow. He doesn’t take anything seriously unless it’s on the field. Off it? He’s just coasting. No real connections, no real care about anything. He keeps people at arm’s length, and I don’t think he even notices he does it.”

Isagi frowns. “That sounds lonely.”

Bachira shrugs, his gaze distant. “Maybe. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.”

A beat of silence passes between them, the sounds of laughter and festival games filling the space. Isagi studies Bachira’s face, the way his fingers tap lightly against his mug, the slight furrow in his brow. He’s been drinking a lot, more than usual, and there’s something in his voice that feels heavier than just casual conversation.

Bachira exhales sharply and chuckles. “Rin hated him, though.”

Isagi stiffens at the mention of Rin, carefully schooling his expression into something neutral. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” Bachira leans back, rubbing at the rim of his mug. “Said he was too unpredictable, that he wasn’t reliable as a teammate.” He snorts. “Like Rin’s any better.”

There’s a pause, and then, almost too casually, Bachira mutters, “We broke up, you know.”

Isagi blinks, his grip tightening slightly around his glass. “Oh.” He keeps his tone even, calm. “I… didn’t know.”

Bachira shrugs again, though there’s something weary in his posture. “Yeah. It wasn’t working. Or maybe it never really did, and I just didn’t see it.” He lifts his drink, staring at the liquid before taking another sip. “Either way, it’s over now.”

Isagi stays quiet for a moment, nodding slowly. He wants to ask more, to pry into the details, but he knows that’s not what Bachira needs right now. Instead, he offers a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

Bachira glances at him, something unreadable in his gaze, before offering a small smile. “Thanks.”

Inside, Isagi is practically bursting with relief. He already knew about the breakup, but hearing it from Bachira himself, having confirmation that Rin is no longer in the picture, it sends a thrill through him. He tamps it down quickly, forcing himself to stay present, to not let his emotions show too much. Bachira doesn’t need that right now.

They sit in silence for a while, the festival noise humming around them. Eventually, Bachira nudges Isagi with his elbow, his grin returning, though slightly hazy now. “You’re not gonna give me a ‘ told you so ’?”

Isagi snorts. “Nah. Not my style.”

Bachira laughs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Isagi shakes his head, watching as Bachira finishes the last of his beer, his movements slower, more relaxed. He’s definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol now.

“Alright,” Bachira says, standing up and stretching, wobbling slightly. “Enough depressing talk. Let’s go find something fun to do.”

Isagi watches him for a moment before standing as well. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

With that, they wander back into the crowd, the conversation lingering between them, unspoken thoughts hanging in the chilly October air.

By now, Bachira is clearly drunk—his words are a little slurred, his body language looser, and his typical energetic vibe has come back slightly under the influence. He’s actually smiling and laughing now, but there’s something unguarded about him tonight, something softer that Isagi can't quite place. The alcohol is doing its job, making Bachira’s usual confidence seem a little more fragile, a little more exposed.

They walk side by side through the carnival, past the bright lights of the food stalls, the laughter of the crowds, and the cacophony of games and music. Bachira is stumbling slightly, leaning on Isagi for balance in a way he wouldn’t if he were sober, his hand occasionally brushing against Isagi’s arm. Each time it happens, Isagi can’t help but notice it, the heat of Bachira’s touch lingering on his skin.

“You good?” Isagi asks, glancing over at Bachira, whose grin is a little too wide, eyes a bit too glassy. “You’re not about to fall over, are you?”

Bachira laughs, though it’s more of a breathy exhale than a full-on burst of his usual infectious joy. “Nah, I’m fine. Just a little dizzy, I guess,” he mutters, then tilts his head back dramatically. “But it’s fun, isn’t it? All these lights, the music, the people. Everything’s just... happy tonight.”

Isagi can’t help but laugh a little, though there’s a tinge of something else in his chest. “I think you’ve had a little too much fun. You’re starting to sound like a poet.”

Bachira grins and pokes Isagi in the ribs, causing him to flinch. “Maybe I am a poet. Have you ever thought about that?”

“Not really,” Isagi replies with a smirk. “But I think the carnival lights have gone to your head.”

“Maybe,” Bachira says, his voice softening as he looks at the Ferris wheel ahead. It looms in the distance, a giant spinning light show in the night sky. “Maybe I’m just feeling good tonight. You know?”

Isagi’s eyes linger on him for a moment, a sense of pride rushing him at that statement. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he says quietly, almost to himself. But Bachira doesn’t seem to hear, already turning his attention back to the Ferris wheel, eyes wide like a child.

“Let’s go ride it! It’ll be perfect. We can just float up there, away from all this noise, yeah?” Bachira’s voice is almost a whisper, but there’s a fire in his eyes.

Isagi hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

They walk together toward the Ferris wheel, and as they wait in line, Isagi can’t help but notice how close Bachira is standing to him, how his breath smells faintly of alcohol and popcorn, and how his hand brushes against Isagi’s occasionally. It’s casual, unthinking, but it still sends a ripple through Isagi’s chest every time.

The operator signals them to board, and they step into the car. It’s small, enclosed, with large windows on all sides that offer an incredible view of the carnival lights and the sprawling city below. The car creaks slightly as the door shuts behind them, and the slow ascent begins. The ride starts gently, lifting them higher and higher into the cool night air.

For a few moments, neither of them says anything. The quiet of the Ferris wheel is a stark contrast to the noise of the festival below, and Isagi can feel the calm seep into his bones. He glances at Bachira, whose face is pressed against the glass, eyes half-closed, looking out over the illuminated scene below them.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Bachira says softly, his voice filled with awe. “All the lights, the people... It’s like the whole world is glowing .”

Isagi glances at Bachira, unsure how to respond. There’s something in the way he’s speaking, something soft and vulnerable that doesn’t fit with the usual attitude Bachira has been giving him. For a moment, Isagi considers asking if everything’s okay, but he hesitates. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment, whatever it is. Not when Bachira seems so... peaceful .

Instead, he just nods, offering a soft smile. “Yeah, it is.”

The Ferris wheel creaks gently as it slowly climbs higher into the night sky, its bright lights flashing in the distance. Bachira’s laughter from earlier has faded, his voice now soft and slurred from the alcohol. He’s sitting beside Isagi, leaning slightly into the cushioned seat, eyes drifting lazily over the sights of the festival below.

Isagi looks back over at him, a common action he’s been doing, and quietly observes the way Bachira’s gaze flits across the scene, unsteady but peaceful. His energy has been replaced by a kind of stillness, an almost dreamy quality to his movements. Isagi wonders, not for the first time tonight, what’s really going on in Bachira’s mind. But before he can ask, Bachira shifts, and their eyes meet.

The silence hangs between them, not uncomfortable but heavy in its own way. Isagi feels like there’s something unsaid, something that hasn’t been addressed all evening, but he doesn’t know how to voice it without breaking the fragile moment they’ve created.

Bachira’s lips curve into a faint, drunken smile. “You know, Isagi…” he starts, his words slurring ever so slightly. “You really are different.”

Isagi tilts his head, uncertain of what Bachira means. “Different how?”

Bachira doesn’t answer right away, his eyes turning back to the festival below, the lights casting a golden glow on his face. “You’re not like Rin. Not like anyone, really.”

The words hang in the air, and for a brief moment, Isagi feels a pang in his chest, something tight and aching. He forces himself to breathe, to steady his thoughts. He doesn't want to read too much into it—he’s not sure what it means either, and yet it stirs something in him that he’s been trying to ignore all evening.

Before he can respond, Bachira shifts again, this time moving a little closer. His shoulder brushes against Isagi’s, a simple, unconscious movement, but it feels like it carries weight. Something unspoken, something fragile.

Isagi looks down at his lap, his hand curling around the edge of his seat, trying to distract himself from the way his heart is starting to race. He knows Bachira is drunk, and knows that this closeness might not mean anything at all in the morning.

But for now, it means the entire world to Isagi.

They fall into another stretch of silence, the gentle hum of the Ferris wheel’s mechanism the only sound between them. Bachira yawns, the motion slow and exaggerated, before leaning his head against the window, his cheek pressed to the cool glass. Isagi watches him, half-aware of how close they are. Bachira’s breath fogs up the window, his eyes half-lidded and glazed over. It’s so abundantly clear now; he’s had more than enough to drink, and the fatigue from the evening is finally catching up to him.

Isagi shifts slightly, not wanting to disturb him, but the weight of the moment settles around them like a quiet, invisible presence.

Without thinking, Bachira’s hand brushes against Isagi’s, the touch almost accidental at first. But then, Bachira’s fingers curl slightly, the tips grazing against Isagi’s palm. The contact is so subtle, so brief, that Isagi isn’t sure if it’s intentional or just a drunken slip. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets the warmth of Bachira’s hand linger against his.

Bachira’s head falls forward slightly, his breath evening out as he starts to drift off. Isagi shifts closer, careful not to disturb him, but his gaze never leaves Bachira’s face. His features are soft, relaxed now, the tension of the night slowly melting away. Isagi wonders when he became so attuned to Bachira’s moods, to every little shift in his expression, the way his body language speaks volumes without a single word.

And just like that, Bachira’s body sags, the gentle rise and fall of his chest becoming steadier as he falls into a light, drunken sleep. His head tips to the side, coming to rest on Isagi’s shoulder with a soft thud. The contact is sudden, but it feels oddly natural, as though it’s something that’s always been meant to happen.

Isagi freezes for a moment, feeling the weight of Bachira’s head on his shoulder, the warmth of him spreading through the thin fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what this means , but it feels strangely comforting. Almost like a reassurance, something to ground him in the midst of all the uncertainty between them.

He can’t help but smile faintly, the corners of his mouth turning up at the absurdity of the situation. Here they are, together in this moment, so close and yet so far apart in their understanding of each other. Bachira is asleep, oblivious to the way Isagi’s heart beats a little faster in his chest.

For a few minutes, Isagi just sits there, letting the quiet stretch out around them. He can feel the warmth of Bachira’s body against him, and can hear the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing. And in this small, suspended moment, it’s like everything else fades away; the noise of the festival, the complexities of their relationship, the unspoken feelings that still linger between them.

It’s just the two of them, suspended in the air, alone together in a quiet, fleeting moment.

But eventually, the Ferris wheel begins to slow, the ride coming to an end. Isagi nudges Bachira gently, but the movement only makes Bachira shift slightly before he settles back into sleep, his head still resting on Isagi’s shoulder. Isagi stifles a small chuckle, gently lifting Bachira’s arm from his lap before standing up carefully, keeping his hand on Bachira’s back to steady him as they exit the ride.

By the time they reach the ground, Bachira is barely awake, his eyes basically shut and unfocused as he leans heavily against Isagi for support. They make their way to the exit of the Ferris wheel ride, and Isagi glances down at Bachira with a faint smile.

“You alright?” Isagi asks quietly, his voice barely louder than the soft hum of the festival in the distance.

Bachira blinks slowly, as if processing the question, before nodding. “Yeah. Just a little dizzy, that’s all,” he slurs. His hand finds Isagi’s arm, gripping it lightly as he tries to steady himself.

Isagi leads him away from the Ferris wheel, steering him toward the quieter side of the festival. The cool night air feels sharp against his skin, but it’s a welcome contrast to the warmth of the ride. As they walk, Bachira’s grip on him tightens, his steps less steady than before.

Isagi looks back down at him, his heart thumping a little faster. He doesn’t know what’s happening, doesn’t know what any of this means, but he can’t deny the way it feels right to be there with Bachira. To be this close, to offer him support in the way that only he can.

They don’t speak as they walk, but Isagi can feel the weight of Bachira’s body against him, the way his breath warms his side. It’s an odd feeling, this mix of confusion and something else. Something warmer, gentler, and equally uncertain.

As they approach the car, Isagi helps Bachira into the passenger seat, making sure he’s comfortable before sliding into the driver’s seat himself. The engine hums to life, and they begin the drive back to Isagi’s apartment. Bachira is quieter now, his eyelids fluttering as he drifts in and out of sleep.

Every so often, Bachira murmurs something unintelligible, his voice a soft slur that barely registers as words. Isagi glances over at him, watching the way his head lolls gently against the window, his breath steady and deep.

He’s asleep again.

Isagi’s eyes linger on him for a moment, studying his peaceful face. He’s not sure how to feel about all of this. But as he drives, the steady rhythm of the road beneath him, the hum of the engine, it all feels oddly comforting.

Bachira is here, next to him. And truth be told, that’s all Isagi’s ever really wanted.

When they arrive at Isagi’s apartment, he parks the car carefully and turns off the engine. He glances at Bachira, still sound asleep in the passenger seat, a faint smile curling on his lips. Gently, he shakes Bachira’s shoulder.

“Hey, we’re here.”

Bachira stirs, blinking up at Isagi with bleary eyes. “Huh? Oh yeah. Thanks, Isagi.”

Isagi chuckles softly, helping Bachira out of the car and guiding him inside. The apartment feels quieter now, the world outside still, with only the soft rustle of trees and the distant hum of city noise filling the air.

Bachira sways slightly, still half-asleep, and Isagi chuckles under his breath. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Bachira grumbles, not fully coherent, but he lets Isagi guide him to the bedroom and help him onto the bed. As soon as his head hits the pillow, Bachira’s eyes close again, and he’s out like a light.

Isagi sits beside him, watching him for a while. There’s something peaceful about the way Bachira sleeps, his features soft and unguarded. For a moment, Isagi lets himself linger there, the weight of the night finally settling in his bones.

And as he sits beside Bachira, he thinks, just for a moment; things aren’t as complicated as they seem.

Chapter Text

Bachira wakes up with a pounding headache. His mouth is dry and tastes vaguely of sugar and regret. His body feels heavy, it being weighed down by sleep and the lingering haze of the festival’s alcohol. 

The first thing he notices; however, isn’t the hangover. It’s the stuffed dolphin sitting right next to him, its little stitched-on smile pointed directly at his face.

For a second, he just blinks at it, brain still sluggish. Then, the memory slots back into place: Isagi, standing in front of that stupid festival booth, determined to win it for him. The warmth in his chest last night wasn’t just from the alcohol.

He doesn’t move right away. Instead, he stares at the plush toy and lets his fingers press into its soft fabric, as if grounding himself in the tangible proof of the night before.

Rin never won him anything.

The thought appears out of nowhere. Sudden. Unbidden. Bachira frowns at the ceiling, his head still throbbing, but that thought refuses to go away. Rin never tried to win him something at a festival. He never dragged Bachira to some dumb game just because he wanted to see him happy. Rin was steady, definitely reliable in his own way, but he wasn’t fun .

And now Rin is gone.

That realization doesn’t bring the sharp sting of loss Bachira expected. It’s there, in the edge of his mind, but it isn’t overwhelming. If anything, there’s a strange sense of relief sitting in its place. Like the absence of something heavy he had long since grown used to carrying.

It makes him feel guilty for a moment. Shouldn’t breakups feel worse than this? Shouldn’t he be curled up, wondering where things went wrong, missing the way Rin used to hold him? But the truth is, Bachira barely remembers the last time Rin held him just to hold him. Their affection always had a purpose; pulling him close after a fight, gripping his wrist when he was being “too much” in public, a possessive hand on his shoulder when Isagi was nearby during events.

And now, here he is, alone in Isagi’s apartment, waking up to a dolphin plush that Isagi won for him simply because he wanted to make him smile .

A long breath leaves him, something in his chest settling rather than breaking.

The smell of food draws Bachira out of bed. His body protests as he sits up, his limbs are very stiff, but he pushes through it. He’s pretty sure he made a mess of himself last night, stumbling around and falling asleep on Isagi’s shoulder in the Ferris wheel. The memory makes heat creep up his neck, but it’s not embarrassment that lingers. 

When he makes his way to the living room, Isagi is already on the couch, scrolling through his phone with a sports drink in his left hand. There’s food on the coffee table; some toast, eggs, and rice. Simple, but it smells good.

“You’re alive,” Isagi says without looking up, his voice still a little hoarse from sleep.

“Barely,” Bachira groans, plopping down on the couch next to him. He reaches for the toast, taking a slow bite before muttering, “Did you make this?”

Isagi snorts. “Hell no. I ordered it. You think I trust myself to cook when there’s a hungover idiot in my house?”

Bachira hums, chewing thoughtfully. It’s quiet for a moment, the only sound coming from the TV playing in the background. It’s some random news channel neither of them are actually paying attention to.

Then, Isagi shifts beside him. “So…” He hesitates, and Bachira can feel the weight behind that pause. “How are you feeling? Y’know. About… everything.”

Bachira knows what he means. He could deflect, make a joke, brush it off. But right now, for some unknown reason, he doesn’t want to.

“Weird,” he admits instead, staring at his half-eaten toast. “Like, I should feel worse, right? But I don’t.”

Isagi doesn’t immediately respond, just nods as if urging him to continue.

“I keep thinking about it,” Bachira goes on, voice quieter now. “About Rin. About how we were together for so long, and yet… I don’t miss him the way I thought I would.”

Isagi exhales through his mouth, setting his drink down. “Maybe that’s because, deep down, you already knew it wasn’t working.”

Bachira looks at him then, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. It’s strange; how Isagi always manages to put things into words that Bachira struggles to grasp.

“Maybe,” he murmurs.

Later, after the food is gone and their conversation drifts into easier topics, Isagi shifts on the couch. “Wanna watch a movie or something? Might help distract you.”

Bachira tilts his head, considering. He’s not sure he needs distracting; if anything, he feels better than he has in a long time. But he won’t say no to spending more time with Isagi.

“Yeah, okay.”

Isagi grabs the remote, flipping through options before settling on something familiar, something they used to watch back before everything came crashing down; when they were younger and dumber. Bachira doesn’t even register what movie it is at first, too focused on the way Isagi just plops down next to him again like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It is natural. And yet, Bachira notices the way their arms almost touch. The way Isagi exhales softly, shifting to get comfortable. The way warmth radiates from his body, close but not too close.

It’s nothing new.

But for some reason, now, it feels different.

Bachira doesn’t move away. In fact, maybe, he leans in a little. Just enough to feel that warmth a little more.

Eventually, the movie becomes background noise. Bachira’s eyelids grow heavy again, the exhaustion of the night before creeping up on him. Before he fully realizes it, his head lolls to the side—straight onto Isagi’s shoulder.

Isagi stiffens. Just for a second. Then, slowly, he relaxes.

He doesn’t wake Bachira up. He doesn’t shift away.

Instead, he lets him stay.

__________

When the movie ends, Isagi gives a slight nudge to Bachira’s shoulder to wake him up.

It works, and slowly Bachira begins to blink open his eyes. He brings a hand up and pushes back his bangs that are sticking to his forehead uncomfortably. 

Isagi slowly shifts off the couch, almost nervously, and looks down at Bachira.

“Do you want to go for a jog? It might clear your head up a bit.”

Bachira hesitates. Sure, it’d be nice, but he was literally just sleeping. Nevertheless, it sounds appealing after the amount of alcohol and emotions that had flooded his body mercilessly. 

“Sure, but don’t expect me to be able to keep up. I’m a little out of it.” Bachira laughs quietly. It meant to be a more upbeat joke, but it’s clear the tone came out more depressingly if Isagi’s sudden shift in emotion was anything to go by.

Isagi lends a pair of athletic shorts and shirt to Bachira. They’re a little big, (why did Bachira never realize Isagi had a major growth spurt after Blue Lock?), but Bachira throws them on anyway.

They smell like Isagi’s detergent, and Bachira lifts the shirt up to his nose and takes a deep inhale. Then he realizes what he’s doing.

Bachira drops the shirt, and it flutters back down to his chest. He’s undoubtedly flustered, even if Isagi didn’t see it happen.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Meguru?” Bachira asks himself angrily. “Get your shit together.”

A quiet knock on the door startles him.

“You good, Bachira? Do they fit okay?”

“Yeah,” Bachira calls back. He decides to test his boundaries a bit, “Didn’t know you had such a growth spurt, Isagi. I remember back when we were the same height!”

This joke comes out right, and Isagi’s soft chuckle causes something to warm in Bachira’s heart. He missed that sound, especially when he was the cause of it.

__________

The jog had started casually, an easy pace with no real destination other than the sense of freedom that came from moving. 

The rhythm of their steps echoed in the quiet evening as they ran side by side; the city’s fading noise replaced by the sound of their breathing and the pound of their shoes against the pavement.

 Isagi’s voice occasionally cut through the quiet, commenting about something he noticed, but Bachira wasn’t fully listening. His mind was elsewhere, caught in the strange, silent shift that had been hanging in the air ever since they’d settled onto the couch.

He wasn’t used to this kind of quiet between them. Not anymore, at least. But it felt like that even when they were alone, there had always been a shared connection. Something natural. 

But now, for some reason, there was a layer of tension neither of them were bothering to address. It was there in the way Bachira caught Isagi glancing at him; his eyes were always so curious and thoughtful. It was in the way their conversation seemed to trail off, leaving spaces between words that felt heavier than they should.

Bachira ran beside Isagi, matching his pace but not quite feeling present in the moment. His legs were moving on autopilot, and his mind was churning through the thoughts he’d been trying to ignore. Thoughts about how the air felt lighter without Rin around, thoughts about how he hadn’t expected the breakup to feel like a strange kind of freedom.

He glanced sideways at Isagi, catching him glancing back with a look that felt like a mix of concern and curiosity. Bachira had been avoiding eye contact more after the movie. 

But right now, for some reason, he didn’t want to keep avoiding it.

“Bet I could beat you to the park,” Bachira teased, his voice drifting through the cool air between them. His tone held a challenge he threw out casually. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of racing felt like something he could get lost in. It was easier to focus on the distance ahead than on the unsettling stillness that kept lingering between them.

Isagi’s lips curled into that familiar, competitive smirk. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he replied. “I’m in top form today. You won’t stand a chance.”

The words, though playful, shifted something in Bachira. There it was— that energy. The familiar sense of rivalry that had always existed between them. It wasn’t like the strange, tentative silence that had followed them while they jogged. It was easy. So easy. It was the dynamic they both understood.

Bachira’s feet found more speed without thinking, and he surged forward, taking off with a burst of energy. He heard Isagi laughing behind him, the sound of it like music that pulled him further into the moment. His heart raced as he pushed harder, but there was something more to the feeling than just a competitive streak. He tried not to think too hard about it, focusing only on the finish line of the park, which was rapidly approaching.

As they neared the park entrance, Bachira stole a glance over his shoulder to see Isagi still trailing behind, though his expression was more focused than it had been a second ago. Isagi’s eyes were locked on him.

He had a look that Bachira couldn’t quite figure out. There was something deeper behind it. Something that was different than what a childish race could cause.

Bachira’s chest tightened unexpectedly. He didn’t have time to sort through it before they reached the park, but that feeling didn’t leave him. It clung to him, as if it were a quiet hum in the back of his mind.

When they slowed to a walk upon entering the park, Bachira took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weird knot in his chest. 

The park was calm at this hour. The trees swayed ever so gently in the breeze, and the grass was soft beneath his shoes. He didn’t know why he was so distracted by it all, but something about the evening felt different.

“So,” Isagi began, breaking the silence, “What now?”

Bachira didn’t answer right away. His eyes were already drifting toward the swings at the far end of the park. They were simple, worn-down swings, swaying in the wind. The exact kind he’d go on as a kid, when he wasn’t playing soccer of course.

The sight of them stirred something in him. A distant memory, a feeling of nostalgia he didn’t want to overthink. He hadn’t been on a swing in forever, not since he was younger. Not since before everything had gotten so complicated.

Without thinking, he started walking toward them, his legs almost moving of their own accord. There was a magnetic pull, like something instinctive, something deep inside him that simply wanted to feel . Feel the wind, feel the swing under him, feel something he hadn’t been able to grasp lately.

Isagi followed him without question, his footsteps quiet behind him. When they reached the swings, Bachira just stood there for a moment, his fingers brushing against the cold metal chains. The sound of the chains creaking in the wind was oddly comforting. It reminded him of simpler times.

“Come on,” Bachira said, his voice playful but quieter than usual. He glanced back at Isagi, the challenge in his eyes returning, though it wasn’t as sharp as before. There was something softer there, more vulnerable. “Push me.”

Isagi blinked, clearly caught off guard by the request. His eyes flicked from Bachira to the swing and back to Bachira again, his lips parting as if to say something, but then he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he stepped closer to the swing, standing behind it.

Bachira slid onto the seat, his legs instinctively stretching out as he gripped the chains, his palms cold against the metal. He looked over his shoulder at Isagi, who was still hovering, unsure of what to do. The space between them felt different now. It was charged, even in its quietness.

“Come on, Isagi,” Bachira urged softly, his voice still a bit playful. “Just push me.”

For a moment, Isagi hesitated, his gaze flickering over Bachira’s face. It was like he was deciding whether he should do it or not. And Bachira, for reasons he couldn’t explain, wanted him to. He wanted the closeness, the contact, the simple sensation of being pushed, of being touched in a way he hadn’t needed until now.

Then, without saying another word, Isagi moved closer. He placed his hands on Bachira’s back, the pressure light but steady. Bachira felt the touch immediately, a rush of warmth spreading through him, making his breath hitch for a moment. The touch was brief but it lingered, both a comfort and a spark.

Bachira’s heart stuttered for a second, his grip on the chains tightening as he leaned forward. His thoughts were clouded and he couldn’t focus on anything but the way Isagi’s hands felt on his back, the warmth that radiated from him, the quiet breath he could barely feel against the back of his neck.

The swing creaked slightly as Isagi gave a gentle push, his hands sliding off Bachira’s back but not quite pulling away completely. Bachira’s heart raced, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe as the swing began to move. The feeling of it; rising higher and higher, the wind brushing against his skin. It felt good , but it was the closeness that made it feel different. The subtle change in the air between them, the way Bachira could almost feel the pull of Isagi’s presence.

__________

The walk back from the park feels different. It was slower, more deliberate. The air between them feels heavier now, charged with something new. Bachira isn’t sure what it is exactly, but he can feel it, like an invisible thread connecting them, pulling them closer without either of them saying a word. The sun has started to dip lower in the sky, casting the world in that golden hue that always seems to make everything feel more intimate.

Bachira walks beside Isagi, and he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence. Normally, his mind would be racing with a thousand thoughts, but as of now? His mind is surprisingly quiet. His heart; however, is a different story. It thumps a little faster than usual.

The park they’ve just left behind is emptier now. Fewer kids, fewer couples wandering hand-in-hand. It’s just them, the quiet hum of the city in the distance, and the occasional chirp of birds. The stillness feels sacred in a way, like they’re in their own world.

Bachira steals a glance at Isagi, catching the way the light falls on his profile; how his jawline is sharp in the fading light, how a little strand of hair falls over his forehead, and how he’s always a little more focused than an average person, even in moments like this. Bachira doesn’t know why he’s paying so much attention to Isagi, but it feels right somehow. His gaze lingers for a beat longer than necessary.

“Thanks for pushing me,” Bachira says, breaking the silence, his voice light but carrying a hint of sincerity that even he wasn’t expecting. He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly a little insecure of himself. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Thought you’d tease me some more.”

Isagi laughs, but it’s a soft, real laugh. Not teasing, not mocking; just pure amusement. “I don’t tease that much,” he says with a grin, though his eyes are still forward, focused on the path. It’s the kind of laugh that feels like a small bridge between them, closing the distance, smoothing over any tension that had started to build.

Bachira bites his lip, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’m just surprised. I didn’t expect you to actually—” He pauses for a moment, unsure of how to finish the sentence. It’s weird how his tongue is suddenly tied and twisted. He wasn’t this nervous just moments ago, when he was swinging higher than he thought possible, feeling the rush of wind and adrenaline.

“Push you?” Isagi finishes for him, glancing at him with a little smirk. “You make it sound like I gave you some crazy thrill ride.”

This tease doesn’t land like they usually do. There’s something in the way Isagi’s eyes meet his, something that feels like it’s more than just a playful joke. It’s a look of understanding, a recognition of what’s been happening between them all along. Something Isagi’s known and something Bachira might just be figuring out .

Bachira feels a shift in the air around them, but he doesn’t know how to explain it. Instead, he presses on. “Yeah, well. You didn’t just push me,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You made me feel— I don’t know… safe?"

Isagi’s eyes flicker to him, a subtle shift in his expression, and for a moment, Bachira wonders if he said too much.

 It’s not the kind of thing he’d normally admit to anyone, besides his mother, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. He’s not exactly sure what he means. Maybe safe like he felt when he was a kid, or safe like he felt in that fleeting moment on the swing when Isagi’s hand was on his back, a light touch, but still clearly there.

“I didn’t think that was my job,” Isagi replies with a soft chuckle, but there’s something vulnerable in his voice. “But I’m glad I made you feel that way.”

Bachira looks at him, his breath catching for a second. 

The sincerity in Isagi’s voice hits him harder than he expected. There’s no boldness here, no attempt to brush it off. It’s just real. And that hits harder than anything else.

“You did,"  Bachira says, his voice quieter, as if the words have weight now; weight that presses down on his tongue as he speaks. The truth of it settles in his chest, something he’s never really been able to say before.

They fall into another moment of silence. It’s comfortable. Bachira can feel the warmth of Isagi beside him, and it feels natural, like the space between them has shifted into something that doesn’t need to be explained. Something that doesn’t need to be rushed.

The path ahead feels endless, but Bachira doesn’t mind. It’s just them, walking side by side, the quietness between them isn’t heavy, but instead it’s  rich with something unsaid. It’s the kind of quiet that isn’t unpleasant. It’s soft, like the promises his mother would whisper to him as a child.

As they continue to walk, Bachira can’t help but wonder why everything feels different. Why the walk feels more intimate than it should. 

He wonders if it’s because of the swing ride, or because of the way Isagi’s shoulder brushes his ever so slightly, or maybe because Bachira’s thoughts keep circling back to how right everything feels?

“So,” Isagi starts again, his voice snapping Bachira out from his spiraling thoughts. He hesitates for a second, and it’s as if he’s carefully choosing his words. “What do you think? About all this between us?”

Bachira freezes, his steps faltering for a moment as his heart skips a beat. The question hangs in the air between them, and Bachira knows he has no idea on how to answer.

It’s not that he doesn’t have feelings for Isagi. It’s that he’s not sure what those feelings even are yet. Not exactly. He thought he understood his feelings with Rin, but was he wrong the whole time?

Yet, despite all of it, Bachira knows he wants more of this. More of these moments. More Isagi.

“I think–” Bachira states slowly, trying to find the right words for his emotions, “I think I like being with you like this.”

Isagi’s gaze flickers to him again. His lips curve into a soft, unreadable smile. “Yeah? Me too.” His voice is quieter now, but there’s a warmth to it that makes Bachira’s chest tighten in the best way.

For the first time in a long while, Bachira feels like he’s not chasing something he can never have. He’s not pretending to understand what love is, what he’s supposed to feel, or how he’s supposed to feel. He’s just here, walking beside Isagi, and for some reason, it’s more than enough for him. 

Bachira and Isagi walk back to Isagi’s apartment, their footsteps soft against the dimmed city noise. 

It feels like the world has shifted in some subtle way.

As they approach the door to the apartment, Isagi glances over at Bachira. He doesn’t say anything, just offers a quiet smile, and Bachira smiles back, feeling way lighter than he did earlier.

The apartment feels warm when they step inside, the kind of warmth that feels like home. Isagi tosses his keys on the counter, and Bachira heads to the couch, plopping down in a lazy sprawl. 

He reaches for his phone and finds a message from Chigiri.

“So, how are things going? Is everything okay with you and Isagi?”

Bachira grins, his thumb hovering over the screen for a second as he thinks about how best to reply. He types quickly.

“Yeah, I’m good. Spent the night at his place after the festival. Gonna stay again tonight. Just needed some space to think.”

He presses send and leans back into the cushions. Isagi takes a seat next to him, his body still warm from the walk, and reaches for the remote to flick through a movie selection.

"Another movie?" Isagi asks, glancing over at Bachira, his voice soft but laced with a tinge of curiosity. 

Bachira grins, stretching out. "Only if it’s a comedy."

"Of course," Isagi mutters, rolling his eyes playfully, but he puts on the movie anyway.

They settle into the couch and the TV flickers on, the bright light shining into the dark room. 

Bachira leans his head back, content to be here, content to be with Isagi. They don't need to talk. Just being together feels good.

The atmosphere is comforting in its familiarity; until the knock on the door breaks the calm.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Bachira looks over at Isagi, raising a brow. "Are you expecting someone?"

Isagi frowns, but shakes his head. "Nope, not that I know of."

Bachira’s stomach tightens, a strange unease crawling up his spine. He can’t shake the feeling that something is off. Something’s going to happen.

"Who could it be?" Bachira asks, though his voice carries his anxiety. Something in his gut, no–more like his monster ; is telling him that whoever is on the other side of that door isn’t just there for a casual chat.

Isagi stands up slowly, his gaze flicking from the door to Bachira. “I’ll get it,” he mutters, and Bachira stays seated, the strain of tension never fading.

The door swings open, and Rin steps inside without hesitation. His gaze immediately locks onto Isagi. His expression is tight, and he looks ready to snap.

"Rin?" Isagi says, his voice uncertain, but there’s a definite tone of warning in his tone. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Rin doesn’t answer. His lips curl into a sneer and his eyes are full of something dark, something sharp. He takes a step forward, the anger practically radiating off him. "You’re still playing these games, huh, Isagi?" His voice is low and it’s dangerous. "Thought you could just keep fucking around with Meguru like this?"

The burst of tension spreads throughout the air, and Bachira finds it hard to breathe. He watches, with wide eyes, as Rin’s words grow sharper and more venomous.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Isagi shoots back, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. "I haven’t done anything to him. This is because you can’t handle that—”

"Stop pretending," Rin interrupts, his voice rising higher. "I know exactly what’s going on. You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t see how close you two are getting?"

The words hit harder than expected, and Isagi steps forward, his frustration clearly boiling over. "I’m not trying to steal anything from you, Rin! I’m not playing some fucking game!"

But Rin doesn’t listen. His jaw visibly clenches,and his hands ball into fists. "You think you're so much better than me, don’t you? You think you deserve him more than I do?"

Bachira feels a pang in his chest at the words, like a knife is twisting in his heart.. This isn’t just about him anymore. It’s about them, too. It’s about Rin and Isagi who are both caught in this same situation because Bachira couldn’t figure his own shit out.

The argument reaches a boiling point, and suddenly, Rin’s fists fly. It happens so fast, too fast. 

Rin’s punch connects with Isagi’s shoulder with such force that it knocks him back a step. 

Isagi was caught off guard, but he didn't waste any time. He immediately retaliates, and throws a punch of his own that Rin dodges effortlessly before countering with a harsh shove.

Bachira’s heart races as the fight escalates. The insults keep flying, each one incredibly hurtful. 

Isagi’s face hardens, and his movements become more deliberate, but there’s a new shift now; something unstable, like the calm before a raging storm. Rin’s blows are fast, his aggression growing as Isagi meets him with equal force.

The physical fight is messy. It’s just two people at their limit, each trying to get the upper hand, and neither are willing to back down. 

Rin lands another punch to Isagi’s chest, pushing him back into the couch. Isagi’s breath comes in sharp, quick gasps as he struggles to regain his footing.

"Meguru!" Isagi shouts, trying to break free from the disaster.

Bachira snaps out of his shock with his heart racing. This isn’t how either of them should be acting right now. Not because of him, at least.

Without thinking much, he charges forward, and grabs Rin by the shoulders and pulls him away from Isagi, keeping his grip strong.

"Enough!" Bachira shouts, his voice clearly tinged with desperation. He pulls Rin back, trying to stop the fight, but Rin is stronger than he looks, and still obviously seething with rage. 

Rin struggles, but Bachira doesn’t let go. His hands grip harder, and his pulse hammers in his ears as he drags Rin away, making sure to keep the distance between him and Isagi.

"Rin!" Bachira yells again, his voice cracking slightly. "Stop! Please just stop. This isn’t going to help anything."

Rin’s breath is erratic, his chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. His eyes are wide with anger, but underneath all the fury, Bachira can see it clearly; the hurt. The raw, painful expression that makes his stomach churn violently. Bachira firsthandley sees just how much pain Rin is hiding, and it hits him harder than anything else.

Rin’s glare softens for a split second,and  his eyes flicker with something vulnerable, but they harden again, shutting down any trace of emotion. 

He pulls away from Bachira’s grip, taking a step back, his fists still clenched at his sides. “I’m done,” Rin mutters, his voice low. "This is over."

And just like that, Rin turns and walks out, leaving a heavy silence behind him.

Bachira stands frozen, his mind racing with untamable thoughts, and his chest tight with emotions he doesn’t know how to sort out. 

He watches as Rin disappears out the door, the finality of it sinking in. The air feels thick and suffocating, and for a moment, Bachira isn’t sure whether to feel angry, hurt, or to feel anything at all.

Isagi steps up beside him, his expression unclear. "Are you okay?"

Bachira doesn’t answer immediately. He just stares at the door. The weight of everything that’s just happened and that’s been happening crashing down on him like a wave. There’s so much left unsaid and undone, and he can feel it in his bones.

“I don’t know,” Bachira says honestly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The silence lingers, thick and heavy. And as Bachira finally turns away, the emotions swirling inside him are more confusing than ever.

Chapter Text

“You play like you’re looking for someone.”

Bachira’s smile wavered, his foot stilling over the ball. For the first time since Rin had claimed him, stolen him really, his face turned serious.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t shoot back a flirty quip or ask what Rin had meant.

He just looked up at Rin with wide, startled eyes.

“That won’t make my heart dance.”

Rin said it plainly, turning his back before the silence between them could stretch too long. But as he walked away from the training room, he didn’t hear footsteps—until they came rushing to catch up behind him.

Bachira.

He always followed, didn’t he?

When the doors opened to the hallway, Rin stopped in his tracks.

Leaning against the wall like he belonged there, arms crossed and determined as ever, was Isagi Yoichi.

“Yo, Bachira. Been a while.”

Rin’s jaw clenched.

“Isagi?”

The name left his mouth like a curse.

Of course. Of course he would show up now. His timing was always inconveniently perfect.

Isagi stood up straight, eyes flicking over to Rin with a smirk.

“Like I said,” he said coolly, “I’ve come to steal you back.”

Rin’s teeth grit. The gall of this guy. He always talked like it was a game—like hearts were just prizes to win and take home.

Typically, Rin would’ve scoffed. Maybe rolled his eyes and walked off. But today?

Today, every part of this was pissing him off.

He had told Bachira his soccer wouldn’t make his heart dance.

So why had his heart fluttered the entire training session?

Why did Isagi’s voice set him on edge?

And why, despite everything, did Rin understand Bachira? –

__________

Rin once looked for someone in soccer too.

He remembers it clearly.

Watching Sae from the sidelines, clinging to the metal fences of the training fields with wide eyes and a thudding heart. He wasn’t just admiring his big brother—he was watching a god in motion.

He remembers the exact moment it all started. He had been playing with toys near the field when something, some feral instinct, kicked in. He ran across the grass, ignoring the yells, and kicked the ball straight into the net.

The other boys shouted at him, angry and confused.

But Sae had crouched in front of him, eyes alight with something Rin would chase for years– awe .

“Play soccer with me,” Sae had said.

From that moment, Rin had no other dream.

Their soccer was built on a shared world. Rin followed Sae like a shadow, and together they became unstoppable. Every game was another page in their perfect story. They didn’t lose. They didn’t need to. It wasn’t even a real outcome in their minds.

Then Sae left for Spain.

Rin stayed behind. Trained harder. Practiced longer. He would catch up. He would meet Sae again on a world stage and they’d chase the dream together—Sae as the number one striker, and Rin right behind him.

But when Sae returned, he was different.

His eyes were empty. His passion was gone entirely.

“You be number one,” he had told Rin flatly, as if it didn’t mean anything.

It crushed him.

He had begged for answers. Demanded to know what changed.

It ended in a match. One-on-one.

Sae won.

Rin cried; not because he lost, but because the dream was over. He told Sae he couldn’t play without him.

Sae's reply was like a blade to the chest: "You're a pain in the ass. A useless soccer player."

They didn’t see each other again until the U-20 match.

But before that?

Loneliness.

Anger.

Reconstruction.

Rin had always played for someone else. Every goal, every pass, every drop of sweat; it had all been for Sae.

He didn’t know how to play alone.

But he learned. Through cold winters, silent nights, hours of drills that blurred into each other. He started meditating, not to find peace, but to keep himself from tearing apart.

By the time Blue Lock came around, Rin was different.

Sharp. Disciplined. Self-contained.

And then there was Bachira.

His soccer wasn’t based on destruction like Rin’s. It was messy and chaotic and bright. But Rin recognized it all the same.

Bachira was looking for someone, too.

Only, he hadn’t turned to ice like Rin had. He still smiled. Still joked. Still held out his hand like he believed people wouldn’t leave him behind.

That’s what drew Rin in. What mesmerized him.

He didn’t just see himself in Bachira’s soccer. He saw the version of himself that might’ve been—if things had gone differently.

And now?

Now Isagi was back, moving in to steal him.

Like Rin hadn’t already bled for this.

Like Rin didn’t understand.

The memory fades like steam on glass.

Rin blinked, and suddenly he was back in the present—the pressure still coiled tight in his chest, rage and confusion mixing until it made his skin itch.

Bachira’s voice still echoed in his head. "Stop! Please just stop. This isn’t going to help anything."

Of course he thought that. Of course he didn’t understand what Rin was trying to protect; what he thought they had.

The door slammed behind him as he stormed out of Isagi’s apartment, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, phone left buzzing somewhere on his hotel’s couch. He didn’t care anymore. He just needed to go do something.

The cold evening air bit at his face, but maybe it wasn’t really cold–maybe his heart just felt cold. Either way, he didn’t slow down. His shoes hit the pavement hard, like they could beat out the thoughts pounding in his head. His fists clenched inside his pockets.

Everything about that visit had spiraled.

From seeing Isagi, to Bachira’s hurt, and worst of all—his own reaction. Rin didn’t know what to do with this version of himself. The one who was losing control.

After ten minutes of walking, he found himself outside a half-empty café tucked between two apartment buildings. A kind of place he didn’t usually go, unless Bachira took him.

He walked in, his head down, and stepped up to the counter.

“One black coffee,” he muttered.

No milk. No sugar. Just something bitter to match the taste in his mouth.

The barista gave him a cautious glance before nodding. Rin tapped his fingers against the counter, impatient. He didn’t even want the coffee. He just needed something to do with his hands. He needed somewhere to sit that wasn’t echoing with Bachira’s voice.

The cup was placed in front of him with a soft clink. Rin grabbed it, turned around, and nearly walked into someone standing just behind him.

“Rin?”

Rin blinked.

Hiori.

The other boy looked surprised, though not in the exaggerated way most people did when running into him. His expression was thoughtful. Calm. Like he had already put half the pieces together before Rin even spoke.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Hiori said, stepping to the side so Rin could pass. “You okay?”

Rin scoffed under his breath and took a sip of his coffee— it was hot and bitter and almost scalding.

“What do you think?”

Hiori nodded once, like that was the answer he expected.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

Rin hesitated.

He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want someone else’s insight or sympathy or judgment.

But Hiori didn’t push. He just stood there with a cup of tea in his hand, waiting.

Rin sighed. Then jerked his head toward the corner table.

“Whatever.”

They sat.

The silence was easy for a while. Rin stared into his cup like it held all the answers he didn’t have, and Hiori just sipped quietly beside him, eyes occasionally flicking his way.

Then:

“You fought with him,” Hiori said softly.

It wasn’t a question.

Rin’s jaw tensed.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only because I’ve seen that look on your face before.” Hiori’s voice was careful, not prying. “You had the same one after the U-20 match.”

Rin didn’t respond.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Because Hiori was right. And that was the worst part.

Hiori sipped from his mug, gaze flicking between Rin and the quiet street outside the window. 

“So,” Hiori finally said, voice calm again, “You gonna tell me what happened to where you’re brooding like a tragic protagonist?”

Rin didn’t look at him. “Not brooding.”

“Right. Just sitting in a cafe, drinking black coffee, staring into the void like it insulted your family.”

Rin’s jaw flexed. “…It’s complicated.”

Hiori gave a soft hum, resting his chin on his hand. “You say that a lot. Try me anyway.”

Rin hesitated, thumb tracing the rim of his cup. His voice was low when he finally spoke. “That night at the first reunion. When I gave Bachira that drink.”

Hiori raised an eyebrow. “You mean when you walked in, made a beeline for him, and nearly started a pissing contest with Isagi?”

Rin’s lips twitched; half amusement, half irritation. “You saw that?”

“Everyone saw that, Rin. You might’ve thought you were being subtle, but…” Hiori leaned back. “You don’t do subtle things very well when it comes to him.”

A long pause passed between them. Then, quietly, Rin said, “I don’t even know why I did it.”

Hiori blinked. “Gave him the drink?”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know.” Rin exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing at the steam rising from his cup. “It was like I walked in, saw him smiling like that, and I just reacted. Like some part of me decided to test something before I could think it through.”

Hiori tilted his head, watching him closely. “Test what?”

Rin didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was a little rougher. “Isagi.”

Hiori stayed quiet, letting Rin keep going.

“I knew what I was doing. I saw how Isagi looked at him. Hell, I’ve known for years . But seeing them in the same space again—I don’t know.” He looked out the window now, avoiding Hiori’s gaze. “I wanted to shake the foundation a little. Just to see what cracked first.”

“That’s messed up,” Hiori said bluntly, but not to be mean.

Rin gave a humorless smirk. “Yeah. I know.”

Another beat of silence.

“And?” Hiori prompted. “Did you get what you wanted?”

“No.” Rin’s fingers tightened slightly around the cup. “All I did was make him mad. And confuse Bachira.”

Hiori watched him for a second. “So it wasn’t about Bachira at all?”

“It was,” Rin said quickly. “But not just about him. It was about everything. About Isagi acting like he had some unspoken claim. About me not knowing what I wanted until it was right in front of me.” His voice dropped. “He was just standing there. Laughing. And I wanted to be part of it.”

There was a pause. Then Rin added, softer, “I don’t get why it mattered so much.”

Hiori leaned forward slightly, voice gentler now. “Maybe it mattered because you wanted something for yourself for once. Not for the game. Not for your legacy. Just for you.”

Rin blinked, eyes flicking up to meet Hiori’s. He didn’t say anything, but the quiet that followed wasn’t heavy anymore.

“Have you ever talked to Bachira about that?” Hiori asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Rin’s jaw tightened again. “Because he wouldn’t understand. Or maybe he would. That might be worse.”

Hiori gave a faint smile. “Maybe he doesn’t have to understand it all. Maybe he just needs you to be honest.”

Rin looked away again, brows drawn. “Honest with him, or with myself?”

Hiori took another sip, then stood. “Both.”

Rin sat quietly, lost in thought, staring at his half-finished coffee. The words from that one night, where he saw Bachira at the gas station, started to come back to him. The casual teasing, the subtle pressure he put on Bachira, all of it flashed through his mind. He had wanted to say more, wanted to explain himself, but something always held him back. Even now, as he reflected on it, he couldn’t quite piece together why it mattered so much.

“Bachira’s so easy-going,” Rin muttered, almost to himself, his fingers tapping against the side of his cup. “He doesn’t take things seriously. He never does, not like I do.”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s like—like he’s got everything figured out, but I can’t even understand what’s happening in my own head when I see him laugh with Isagi.”

There was a bitter edge to his voice. Rin was keenly aware of how his words came out, but Hiori didn’t flinch.

“So, it’s still about Isagi, then?” Hiori asked, his tone gentle but pointed.

Rin didn’t look up. “I don’t know. Maybe it always has been. But it’s more than just him, it’s everything. The way Bachira looks at him, the way he’s so at ease with everyone. And me?” He exhaled sharply. “I just… I’m not sure what I’m even supposed to feel.”

Hiori remained silent for a moment, his eyes studying Rin’s face. “You think Bachira’s got it easy, huh? That he’s always so carefree.”

Rin nodded, even though he wasn’t sure if that was the full truth. “Yeah. He never seems to care. He’s always smiling, always—”

“—always pretending,” Hiori interrupted, his voice soft. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Rin blinked, surprised by the shift in Hiori’s tone. “What do you mean?”

“Bachira might seem like he’s always happy, like he’s not burdened by anything, but that’s not it. Not entirely.” Hiori’s gaze softened. “Maybe he’s hiding something too. Maybe he’s as lost as you are.”

Rin clenched his fists, his chest tight. “I don’t know how to fix it, Hiori. I don’t know if I even want to. Every time I try to get closer, I screw it up.”

“You’ve been running around in circles, Rin,” Hiori said, his voice firm. “You’re so afraid of getting hurt that you’ve built up walls, and now you’re the one stuck behind them. Not Bachira.”

Rin's throat tightened. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew Hiori was right. He had been pushing Bachira away, even when he craved something more; something that wasn’t just based on competition or control. Something genuine.

“I don’t know how to do this, Hiori,” Rin murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to be real with him.”

Hiori sat back in his chair, nodding slowly. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. Just start by being honest with yourself first. You can’t expect him to understand if you can’t even admit what you’re feeling.”

Rin stared at his cup, his mind racing. Bachira had always been a mystery to him. But now, with the weight of his own emotions pressing down on him, Rin wasn’t sure he could keep pretending anymore.

Hiori stood up, the chair screeching against the floor. “Well, I’ll leave you alone now. But text me, okay? If you want to talk, we can meet up here again tomorrow.”

Rin nodded slightly, and Hiori’s silhouette moved out of the cafe.

The silence felt heavier now, like it was pressing against him. Every word Hiori had said lingered in the air, a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying. He had never been good at opening up, but with Hiori, there was something that felt different. He could almost feel the pull to let his guard down, but he wasn’t sure if he could.

Rin stood, sliding a hand through his hair, and turned toward the door. The night had deepened, the streets outside quiet except for the occasional hum of passing cars. He took a deep breath, as if trying to force the weight of the conversation from his shoulders, but it didn’t leave. It stayed with him as he walked out into the cool night.

The walk back to his hotel was uneventful, the city lights casting long shadows across the streets. His mind drifted back to Bachira; his hurt eyes, the way he had looked at Rin after he had pried him off of Isagi. It had been visible, almost too visible, but Rin had felt it all the same. The way Bachira was always at ease, always okay, and then he looked like that . It made Rin feel like he was the one with the problem, like he was the one who didn’t have it all figured out.

Rin stared out ahead to the scenery of Germany. He hated how much he cared, hated how it felt like his thoughts always circled back to Bachira. 

Arriving at the hotel, Rin made his way inside, his footsteps echoing through the quiet lobby. It was late, and the front desk was unmanned. He slid his key card into the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor.

The ride up was slow, the hum of the elevator the only sound. He rubbed his eyes, trying to stave off the growing sense of exhaustion from the emotional conversation with Hiori. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into his bed and forget everything, but the thoughts wouldn’t stop.

The doors slid open, and Rin stepped into the hallway, the plush carpet beneath his feet a contrast to the tension still knotting his chest. He passed the door to his room and lingered there for a moment, hand on the handle, before pushing it open.

The hotel room was simple, though more luxurious than what he usually preferred. He tossed his bag onto the bed and stood there for a moment, taking in the sterile, empty space. The lights from the city outside filtered through the curtains, casting a faint glow across the room. His phone laid like a prize on the couch, and he moved to pick it up.

Rin’s fingers hovered over his phone. His thumb hesitated over the screen as he stared at Bachira’s name, willing himself to do something, to send a message, anything. But he didn’t. He put the phone down instead, sinking onto the edge of the couch.

There it was again; the feeling he couldn’t shake. The frustration. The loneliness. The longing. He was so close to something completely real with Bachira, but it felt like he was always on the verge of breaking through, only to be stopped short by his own walls.

Rin leaned back against the cushion, closing his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to just feel —the confusion, the vulnerability, the raw edges of his thoughts.

Rin was being impulsive when he decided to come to Germany. He and Bachira had their fight back in Spain when Rin had visited. Then Bachira ran off to Germany to see Chigiri, only to end up in the clutches of no other than Isagi fucking Yoichi.

When Bachira broke up with Rin, he wasn’t surprised. He knew something would happen, and there was always the lingering feeling during the relationship that Bachira didn’t know how to feel about it–about Rin.

Still, it hurt. But Rin wouldn’t show it. He had grown wiser since the first time he was abandoned, and it hurts to say that the break up had felt all too similar to the field with the snow.

Rin felt so utterly out of touch with emotions, and he had no idea how to handle the call when Bachira’s name flashed across his screen. He decided to go with a simple detached tone. 

Bachira’s voice was shaky and it almost made Rin’s heart crumble had he not known what was about to happen. He stayed silent as Bachira started to talk.

When Bachira pulled the bomb on him, it felt unreal. He tried to contain his emotions–his anger. He didn’t want to blow up on Bachira, but this moment kept bringing him back to his past and he hated it.

So when Bachira apologized, Rin lost it. He kept his voice low and insulted Bachira–he knew it would hurt. It was his intention. He wanted Bachira to get cut just like him. They were always cut together, always lonely, always weird. Maybe Rin wanted to keep it like that; have Bachira crawl back to him because of the cut.

Bachira replied with another weak apology. Rin hung up.

Without thinking, his fingers quickly dialed Isagi’s number. He needed to do something. He couldn’t let Isagi use this as an advantage—couldn’t let him swoop in on Bachira now. He hated the thought of it, the idea that someone like Isagi could worm his way into Bachira’s life so easily. Rin could feel the fury rising in him again as Isagi’s voice came through the line, full of that damn “I’m better than you” tone that always made Rin want to puke.

When Rin told him about the break up, Isagi had the audacity to apologize even though he was probably jumping for joy. The thought made Rin want to hurl Isagi and himself off a thirty foot building.

Rin decided to do the only thing he could think of at the moment; be possessive, and have hope that the dream will come back–something he should’ve learned to stop doing, but he couldn’t help it. 

He had repeated that Bachira was his and that he’d kill Isagi if he got close to him. God, did Rin wish he got some more punches in earlier. 

Rin had ended the call by letting Isagi know that he knew Bachira was in Germany. Isagi definitely knew already, and Rin was hoping to slow down any advances from happening.

Rin threw the phone down on the bed, his heart pounding. The only thing that made sense to him right now was that he had to go to Germany. He had to make sure Isagi didn’t pull anything. He had to confront Bachira, face-to-face, not over the phone. He couldn’t let this go, couldn’t let Bachira slip further away from him.

Rin had gone to Kunigami’s apartment, where he knew Chigiri was staying from Bachira before he left.

While the two didn’t budge at first about Bachira’s location, Chigiri eventually sighed and gave in.

“Look, he’s going to be pissed at me for this but, he’s been with Isagi. We made them meet up.”

“Yeah. Isagi was seriously depressed.” Kunigami chimed in, and Rin couldn’t help but feel good at that.

Still, Rin’s heart remained still, and his jaw tightened. “Where are they now?”

“They went to a festival last night. They should be at Isagi’s apartment,” Chigiri’s face grows stern. “But you go there to talk stuff out, yeah? Don’t be a dick head and mess stuff up.”

Rin was going to do that, originally. But when he saw Isagi’s face looking a little too happy, it suddenly looked a little too punchable for Rin. And, well–Rin isn’t good at controlling his emotions, at least in his eyes. 

At some point in the night, Rin stopped thinking and finally fell into a restless sleep. But his dreams did nothing to help. They were filled with flashes of Bachira’s beautiful smile, that strange weightless feeling he brought, and the looming shadow of Isagi’s frustrating, unshakable presence. When Rin woke up, the ache in his chest hadn’t gone away.

He knew he needed to talk to someone. Again.

He grabbed his phone and shot Hiori a text. Just one word:"Cafe." 

By the time Hiori walked in, carrying a matcha latte in one hand and rubbing sleep from his eyes with the other, Rin was already seated with another black coffee. His second that morning. Maybe third. He couldn’t remember anymore.

“So,” Hiori said, sliding into the seat across from him. “I’m guessing last night didn’t go well?”

If he was referring to the dark circles under Rin’s eyes, he could’ve been a little more subtle about it.

Rin didn’t answer right away. He stared into his cup like it held some kind of answer. Then he shrugged. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.”

“Well,” Hiori said, already sipping his drink, “What do you need to get off your chest?”

Rin sighed and looked up at him, brow furrowed. “Everything? Nothing? I don’t even know. This feels too familiar. Something like this happened a couple of years ago, and back then, I figured it out on my own. But I don’t think it worked that well.”

Hiori tilted his head. “Are you talking about your brother?”

Rin hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Hiori said gently, “I think everyone knows that didn’t work out so well. And if I had to guess, you’re still carrying some of that around.”

Rin’s jaw tightened. “The fact that it feels similar makes it worse. With Sae, it was like I was chasing something I never had. But with Bachira I thought I did have something. I thought he’d understand what it felt like to be abandoned. And then maybe—maybe he wouldn’t abandon me too.”

Hiori took a slow sip of his matcha, his expression unreadable. Then, after a pause: “I don’t think he tried to abandon you.”

“Doesn’t feel that way,” Rin muttered.

“I think he gets the loneliness. I’ve talked to Reo and Chigiri here and there—at reunions, sometimes over text. They get worried about him. And honestly?” Hiori looked Rin square in the eyes. “I’ve seen it too. Sometimes when I talk to Bachira, it’s like… there’s something underneath all that joy. Like he’s covering something up. Isagi sees it too.”

At the mention of Isagi, Rin clenched his fists, his shoulders tensing. “Of course Isagi does.”

Hiori sighed. “You know, when you kissed Bachira like that at the fan-signing? You really fucked things up.”

“I know.” Rin’s voice was flat, unflinching.

“Isagi spiraled after that. He was already a mess after your fight, but that kiss? It was like you pushed him off a cliff. Kunigami and I had to constantly check in on him. Drag him out of the house. He wouldn’t talk to anyone for days.”

"And?" Rin bit out, sharper than he meant to.

Hiori didn’t flinch. “And you need to understand the role Isagi played in Bachira’s life. You talk about loneliness like it’s yours alone. But Rin, Isagi was the first person who broke through Bachira’s loneliness. Not you. You might be his first boyfriend, yeah. But let’s be honest—Bachira probably doesn’t even see it that way. He probably thinks you’re just best friends who kiss sometimes.”

Rin blinked. The thought stung. It felt childish and cruel, but it also rang true.

“Well, that would explain why he gets mad at me for caring about him,” Rin said bitterly.

Hiori raised an eyebrow. “Explain?”

“People get too close to him, and he gets too close to others. I get scared something’s going to happen to him, so I pull him in closer, try to keep him safe. I act protective, I guess. But he always pushes back. He gets angry. And then I get angry, and I say things I don’t mean.”

He looked away. “That’s what started our big fight. The one that made him come here in the first place.”

Hiori ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Rin. I don’t think you were protecting him . I think you were protecting yourself.”

Rin froze.

“You were afraid. Afraid of losing him. Afraid of being alone again. Afraid that if he got too close to someone else, especially Isagi , you’d be left behind. Because deep down, you’ve always believed that Bachira and Isagi were going to find their way back to each other. So you started pulling Bachira away from everything and everyone; except it wasn’t love. It was fear.”

Rin’s heart dropped. He didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

“And Bachira? He’s not someone who can be owned,  Rin. He’s wild, free. You can’t put a leash on someone like that and expect them to stay. You tried to love him, but you also tried to trap him. And that— that’s what pushed him away.”

Rin’s throat was dry. He swallowed, the truth settling in like a weight across his chest.

“I never thought of it like that.”

“I’m not surprised.” Hiori smiled, not unkindly. “You’ve always been better at analyzing soccer than people.”

Rin let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just exhaustion.

Hiori leaned forward, tapping the side of his cup. “Alright. Let’s talk about the kiss. At the reunion. Because yeah, that wasn’t great either.”

Rin doesn’t look up. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

“You don’t say.”

“It wasn’t,” Rin’s voice cracks, low and sharp. “It wasn’t meant to be some grand statement. I just… I don’t know. I saw them talking. Isagi looked smug. Bachira was laughing. And I just—”

“You wanted to stake a claim,” Hiori says. “You were scared.”

Rin finally lifts his eyes. “It felt like I was losing him. Like if I didn’t do something, Isagi would take him away.”

Hiori nods. “So, you did the one thing Bachira wasn’t ready for, in front of everyone.”

Rin winces. “I didn’t even ask him if it was okay. He looked so surprised. Not angry, just stunned. And then Isagi ran off and Bachira…he ran after him. After him . Not me.”

“Because you forced a moment he wasn’t prepared to process,” Hiori replies. “Think about it. Bachira is aromantic. He’s still figuring out what feelings even mean . And you tossed him into something so intimate, so public, and so pointed;  in the middle of all that tension with Isagi.”

“I know,” Rin mutters. “I know. But I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted him to look at me like he used to look at Isagi.”

Hiori looks at him carefully. “That kiss wasn’t about Bachira. It was about proving something to Isagi.”

Rin doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to.

“And when Bachira came back to you,” Hiori continues, “Crying and overwhelmed, you thought it meant you’d won. That you had finally kept him.”

Rin looks away, jaw tightening.

“But you didn’t win, Rin. You just caught someone who had no idea what was happening to him.”

Silence.

“I carried him home,” Rin finally says, voice barely a whisper. “He didn’t say much. Just curled into me like he was trying to disappear. And I kept thinking— this is enough. Even if it’s not the way I want it to be, this is enough. ”

Hiori exhales slowly, setting his matcha down. “And now?”

“It’s not enough,” Rin admits. “It never was. Because he’s not really mine . He never was. And maybe he never wanted to be.”

Hiori folds his hands in front of him, elbows on the table, eyes steady and unwavering. “You’re right,” he says. “He never wanted to be owned . That’s not what love is.”

Rin huffs, bitter. “Then what the hell is love?”

Hiori lets that sit for a moment. “Love is seeing someone clearly, and not trying to change them into what makes you feel safest. It’s not about keeping them. It’s about holding space for them; even when they need to leave, even when they choose someone else.”

Rin’s jaw tenses. “So I’m just supposed to let him run back to Isagi?”

“You’re supposed to love him without turning your fear into a leash,” Hiori says, voice gentler now. “You say you cared. But most of what you did came from your own pain. Your own need to feel secure.”

Rin’s throat tightens. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“I know you didn’t,” Hiori replies. “But you did. You didn’t ask him if the kiss was okay. You didn’t check how he felt being touched like that, especially in front of everyone. You didn’t think about him at that moment. You thought about keeping him from Isagi.”

Rin’s voice is quiet. “It wasn’t fair.”

“To anyone,” Hiori agrees. “But especially not to Bachira. You can’t protect someone and ignore who they are at the same time.”

Rin leans back in his chair, exhausted. “So what now? What am I even supposed to do? Apologize? Let him go? Tell him I still love him and hope he doesn’t hate me for all the ways I messed up?”

“You tell him the truth,” Hiori says simply. “That you loved him the only way you knew how. And that you’re trying to learn better now.”

Rin’s eyes sting. He blinks rapidly, refusing to let the emotion fall out of him here, in a quiet café with warm lights and judgment-free advice.

“And you prepare yourself,” Hiori adds softly, “for the possibility that he doesn’t come back to you.”

Rin nods slowly, a sharp pain blooming somewhere in his chest. “I don’t know if I can watch him choose Isagi again.”

Hiori sighs. “Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t. But you owe it to yourself, and to him, to stop loving him like a battle you need to win.”

Rin covers his face with his hands for a long moment, breathing deeply through his fingers.

“…I really fucked up, didn’t I.”

“Yeah,” Hiori says. “But you’re here now. That has to mean something.”

__________

They step outside the café into the soft chill of late morning. Rin runs a hand through his hair, still chewing on everything they just talked about.

“Want to walk for a bit?” Hiori asks, adjusting his coat and  the remainder of his matcha in hand. “You’ve been sitting in your head too long.”

Rin considers it, then shrugs. “Yeah. Sure.”

They start down a quiet side street, shoes brushing against fallen leaves. It’s peaceful. A welcome contrast to the thoughts still twisting inside Rin.

Hiori walks beside him, not saying anything at first. He’s always been good at that; knowing when silence is more comforting than words.

“I thought being with him would make the loneliness stop,” Rin mutters eventually. “And for a while, it did. But only when he looked at me.”

Hiori glances over, letting Rin talk.

“I think I convinced myself that if I just loved him hard enough, it would work. That I’d be enough to make him understand. Or stay.”

They pass a park, quiet at this hour. A kid kicks a soccer ball against a wall in the distance, and Rin’s gaze lingers.

“I remember how he used to smile at me,” he continues, voice lower. “Like I was something warm. Something safe. And I kept chasing that smile. I kept thinking if I could just hold onto it, he’d choose me.”

“You were in love,” Hiori says softly.

“Maybe. Or maybe I was in love with the idea that he needed me.”

Rin stops walking for a moment. “But he didn’t. Not like that. He didn’t know what needing someone meant. And I kept pushing it onto him, wanting him to say it back, wanting him to feel it back. He didn’t.”

Hiori stays still beside him. “You ever think maybe he did? Just not in the way you expected.”

Rin’s jaw clenches, his breath visible in the air. “I know he cared. But I wanted him to care in my language. And he didn’t speak it.”

There’s a pause. Hiori looks out across the park, thoughtful.

“I think he was still trying to learn,” he says. “And maybe it hurt more because he was learning it with you, but not for you.”

That hits harder than Rin expects.

They start walking again. A breeze sweeps past them, tugging at Rin’s hair.

“He said I was too much sometimes. Too harsh. Too possessive. And I’d get mad because I didn’t understand how you’re supposed to not hold tight to someone when you’ve already lost so much.”

“You weren’t protecting him,” Hiori reminds again quietly. “You were trying to protect yourself.”

Rin doesn’t argue. He just walks.

After a while, Hiori adds, almost absently, “You’ve always been kind of like that. Since the U-20 match.”

Rin blinks. “What?”

“You push people away before they can walk off on their own,” Hiori continues. “I noticed it back then.”

Rin turns slightly to look at him, brow raised. “You were watching me that long?”

Hiori doesn’t look at him. He just shrugs, like it’s nothing. “I know more than I let on.”

Rin’s stomach twists. But not in that sharp, aching way he’s used to.

In a way that feels seen.

“Why?” he asks, slower now. “Why were you paying attention?”

Hiori finally glances at him. “Maybe I saw something in you back then. Something worth paying attention to.”

Rin doesn’t have a response for that. But he doesn’t look away.

They keep walking. Their arms brush once, then again. Neither of them steps aside.

And maybe for the first time in a long while, Rin isn’t chasing someone who’s drifting away.

He’s walking beside someone who’s been steady all along.

__________

Rin sat on the edge of the hotel bed, phone charging on the nightstand, hair still damp from his shower.

The room was quiet. Still. He could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant hum of cars outside, but inside it was just him and his thoughts.

He stared down at his hands.

Hiori’s words echoed louder than they should have.

“Maybe I saw something in you back then. Something worth paying attention to.”

Rin wasn’t used to being seen like that. Not in a way that felt patient. Unspoken. Earnest.

He thought back to the walk; how Hiori’s steps had matched his without trying. How he hadn’t filled every silence, just let them breathe. How he never flinched when Rin admitted things he hadn’t even said out loud to himself before.

He had always known that his relationship with Bachira had been wild, chaotic, and almost desperate. He hadn’t wanted to face what it said about him. That maybe he’d wanted to be needed more than he wanted to be loved.

With Bachira, it was always a chase. An ache. Something bright just out of reach. And even when he held him, there was still a flicker of doubt, of something not fully returned.

But today, with Hiori, Rin hadn’t needed to reach. He’d just been.

And Hiori had stayed. Had looked at him like he wasn’t hard to be around, like he wasn’t too much. Like maybe Rin wasn’t just some dark spiral of anger and control and fear, but a person who could be understood.

That unsettled him. Not because it felt wrong.

But because it didn’t.

He leaned back against the bedframe and stared up at the ceiling.

When was the last time someone had just wanted to understand him?

When was the last time he let someone try?

He had always told himself that Bachira was the one thing he wanted. The one person he could never lose. And yet, with every memory of their time together, every laugh, every kiss, every fight, he couldn’t ignore the sharp edge of anxiety that had come with it. The way he’d constantly been on guard. Always afraid of something slipping away.

He didn’t feel that with Hiori.

He wasn’t in love with him— not yet.

But, Rin realized maybe love wasn’t supposed to feel like drowning.

Maybe it could feel like steady waves lapping against the shore. Like a hand quietly offered, without demand. Like two people walking side by side.

Maybe it could feel like Hiori.

Rin shut his eyes.

He still missed Bachira. That wasn’t going to vanish overnight. But Rin knows that he wasn’t meant to be Bachira’s destiny and Bachira wasn’t his. 

Rin sighs. There’s only one thing left to do:

He needs to talk to Bachira tomorrow.

__________

Rin stood outside Kunigami’s apartment, hands jammed in the pockets of his hoodie, a sharp breeze tugging at his sleeves. The sky was a dull gray, like it hadn’t made up its mind whether to rain or not. Fitting, Rin thought. He hadn’t made up his mind about anything either, only that he had to do this .

When Kunigami opened the door, he looked mildly surprised, then a little concerned. “Rin?”

“Hey,” Rin said flatly, stepping in before Kunigami could ask too much. “Is Chigiri here?”

“Yeah, he’s making tea.” Kunigami stepped aside. “You okay?”

“No.”

“Cool,” Kunigami replied. “Glad we’re doing this the emotionally healthy way.”

Chigiri poked his head out from the kitchen. “Wow. Is the Itoshi Rin gracing me with his presence?”

“Shut up.”

Chigiri grinned and handed Rin a cup of something warm. “It’s jasmine. Ren said it helps with stress.”

Kunigami raised a brow. “I said it’s all we had.”

The small joke made Rin snort quietly into his tea. It helped, more than he’d admit. The apartment smelled like laundry and instant ramen–most likely from Chigiri. Nevertheless, it was safe, and familiar.

“So,” Chigiri said as he sat on the couch, curling his legs beneath him. “What’s the occasion?”

Rin stared at his reflection in the tea. “I want to talk to Bachira.”

Chigiri blinked. Kunigami’s eyebrows rose. Rin didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

“You want to apologize?” Kunigami asked gently.

“I want to talk,” Rin repeated, voice low. “He deserves that much.”

Chigiri studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You’re serious.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

Kunigami leaned back, arms crossed. “You know where he is?”

“No.”

“Thought so.” Kunigami sighed. “He’s been keeping low. But Hyoma might have an idea.”

Chigiri tapped his lip. “He mentioned something about the art supply store by the park last time we talked. He goes there a lot lately. Maybe we try there first?”

Rin nodded. “Then let’s go.”

Chigiri glanced at Kunigami, who gave a subtle shrug. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Chigiri asked.

“No,” Rin admitted, finishing the last sip of tea. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

They left the apartment in a quiet trio, shoes scuffing against the pavement as they made their way toward the art district.

Rin didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. The city buzzed around them with cars rushing by, bikes slicing through narrow alleys, voices blending into ambient chatter. But for Rin, it all faded into white noise.

He was too focused.

Too aware of every beat of his heart and how it quickened the closer they got.

“Do you know what you’re going to say?” Chigiri asked softly, breaking the silence.

Rin shook his head. “Not really.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Kunigami said. “Just speak from the gut.”

Rin’s gut was a mess.

The art store wasn’t far away now. Chigiri slowed as they approached, scanning the windows.

“There,” he said, pointing toward the corner where a burst of yellow and black caught the light.

Bachira.

His back was turned, standing near the entrance, sketchpad tucked under one arm and a small bag of paints in the other. He was talking to the clerk through the doorway, his wild hair bouncing slightly with every nod.

Rin’s chest went tight.

Chigiri and Kunigami stepped back instinctively, giving him space.

“You got this,” Chigiri said, voice gentle. “We’ll come back if you need us”

Rin hesitated. The wind picked up, ruffling his hoodie and tugging at the edge of his resolve.

But then Bachira laughed at something the clerk said, a soft, genuine sound Rin hadn’t heard in weeks; and that was it.

His feet moved before his mind could catch up.

“Bachira,” he called.

His head turned. His smile faltered slightly when he saw Rin, but he didn’t run. Didn’t retreat.

That was something.

Rin stopped a few steps away, unsure of what to do with his hands, his voice, his face. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, casting a soft light on them both.

“Can we talk?”

Bachira blinked, then nodded.

“Okay.”

Bachira’s eyes met his when Rin didn’t answer right away, curious but unreadable.

Rin didn’t move yet.

He just stood there, looking at him.

God, he’d missed that face. The warmth in it, the way Bachira always looked so alive even when doing something as simple as buying paint. There was a softness to him that Rin could never replicate, no matter how hard he tried. Something untouchable.

It hit him all at once. How long he’d been trying to hold onto that spark. How desperate he’d been to keep it close, to keep it from drifting.

But sparks weren’t meant to be caged. They flickered out when you tried to trap them. Rin had learned that the hard way.

And now, standing here, seeing Bachira again, he didn’t feel anger. Or jealousy. Or even sorrow.

He felt tired.

And lighter.

Like some part of him had already let go. Maybe not completely. Maybe not in a way that would ever stop the occasional ache. But enough.

He wasn’t standing here to ask for anything back.

He was here because he owed it to Bachira. And maybe, he owed it to himself, too.

He thought of Hiori. His support. The long walks. The way Hiori looked at him without flinching.

The way he made Rin feel seen, not like he was chasing something unreachable.

Maybe it wasn’t a spark. Not like Bachira. But it was something. And maybe, just maybe, it didn’t need to explode to feel real.

Rin took a breath.

Then another.

This was it.

He looked at Bachira again, and for the first time in a long while, he saw him not as something he had to protect or win, but as someone he had once loved, deeply , but could now face without breaking.

Rin opened his mouth.

“…Thanks for waiting.”

Bachira gives a small nod at Rin’s words. “Of course. You asked me to.”

His voice is soft; no accusation, no expectation. Just a fact.

Rin rubs the back of his neck, looking down for a moment before lifting his gaze again. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should,” Bachira admits, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “But I figured it was time.”

Rin nods slowly, exhaling through his nose. “I’m not here to fight. Or ask for anything. I just wanted to talk.”

“Okay,” Bachira says. “We can talk.”

They walk toward a bench nearby without needing to say it. It’s instinctual, the kind of easy coordination that comes from years of knowing each other, even if everything else had fallen apart.

Once they sit, silence stretches between them, not uncomfortable, just full of everything unsaid.

Rin breaks it first.

“I’ve been thinking a lot. About us. About what happened.” He pauses. “I realized that I didn’t see you clearly. I saw what I wanted you to be.”

Bachira doesn’t say anything right away, but he listens.

“I wanted you to need me. I thought if I was close enough, if I held on tight enough, maybe I could protect you from feeling alone,” Rin laughs under his breath, almost bitter. “But really, I was just afraid of being the one left behind again.”

Bachira turns to look at him, eyes a little wide. “Rin…”

“I know now,” Rin continues, voice quieter. “That I was trying to fill a hole I didn’t want to admit existed. And I didn’t care if I was hurting you by doing it.”

Bachira’s expression softens. “I never wanted to hurt you either. I just… I didn’t know what I was feeling. Everything with you felt new. And confusing. I didn’t know how to tell you I was scared too."

Rin glances over, and for the first time in what feels like years, they really look at each other without defense, without anger. Just honesty.

“Maybe we were trying to love each other in the only ways we knew how,” Bachira says. “Even if they didn’t match.”

Rin nods, a small smile pulling at his lips despite the ache in his chest. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The quiet settles again, lighter this time. Rin watches as Bachira fidgets with a loose thread on his sleeve, his brows drawn, like he’s still working through the weight of everything they’ve said.

After a moment, Rin speaks again, voice low.

“Do you still think about him? About Isagi?”

Bachira stills.

He doesn’t answer right away, and Rin doesn’t rush him. The question hangs between them like a floating lilypad on still water.

Eventually, Bachira looks out past the bench, toward the trees and the sun filtering through their leaves.

“I do,” he says softly. “I didn’t know what I was feeling back then. I think I was too scared to feel it or name it. But now, when I think about him, about us, I miss it all. A lot. And I think I always have after I lost it.”

He swallows, voice barely above a whisper now. “It feels different when I think about him. Warm. Sharp sometimes. But good.” He turns slightly, eyes searching Rin’s face. “Is that… love ?”

Rin exhales slowly and looks at the sky. The ache is still there, but it's changed. Softer. “Yeah,” he says. “It sounds like it.”

Bachira’s expression shifts; something like guilt flickering behind his eyes. “I’m sorry, Rin. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t want to be someone who—”

“You weren’t,” Rin interrupts, shaking his head. “You were someone I loved. And I’m glad I did. Even if it didn’t work.”

Bachira’s lips tremble into a sad smile, and his eyes glossy. “You’re sure?”

Rin nods. “Yeah. Because…”

He trails off for a moment, then lets the words come naturally.

“Because Hiori has been here. Through all of this. Quiet, patient. Kind in ways I never noticed before.” Rin’s voice softens, almost wondering aloud. “And when I talk to him, when I look at him—it’s not the same kind of fire I felt with you. But it’s something steady."

Bachira’s eyes light up, truly this time, and a wide, relieved grin spreads across his face. “Hiori, huh? I always thought he liked you.”

Rin huffs a laugh, low and disbelieving. “He’s been watching me since the U-20 match, apparently.”

“I knew it,” Bachira grins, and then without hesitation, he wraps his arms around Rin and pulls him into a tight hug.

Rin freezes for a second, caught off guard.

Then he melts.

His arms circle around Bachira’s back, holding him close. His chest tightens, and he bites back the emotion rising in his throat. But a few stray tears escaped anyway, caught by Bachira’s shoulder.

It’s not regret anymore. It’s just goodbye.

They stay like that for a moment. Two people who tried, who failed, but who still care.

When they part, it’s with a gentle kind of fondness.

Around them, the world seems to breathe. The wind shifts through the trees, rustling their branches. The sun filters golden through the leaves. Everything feels still, like the world knows something important has passed between them.

Rin looks out toward the horizon, heart heavy but open.

Maybe this wasn’t the ending he once wanted.

But maybe it was the right one.

Chapter Text

When Bachira and Rin parted from each other, Bachira couldn’t help but to cry. The tears streamed down his face, hot and full of emotions–both good and bad.

​​He really hadn’t expected Rin to seek him out after the fight. Not after all that yelling. Not after all that silence. The wound between them had felt too raw, too jagged, and far too final. Rin wasn’t the type to chase, and Bachira wasn’t exactly eager to face Rin again either. Especially not after storming into Isagi’s apartment, voice shaking with emotion, and going head-to-head with Isagi, a former Blue Lock player, maybe even a former friend. Both Bachira and Rin were both too proud, too stubborn, and too scared to discuss everything/

Yesterday had been chaotic. Ugly and delivering all at once. He still remembers the way Isagi looked at him, wide-eyed, hurt, and frustrated. And Rin, standing there like a storm about to break, equally angry and wounded.

But after their talk, Bachira can now admit it; he understands why Rin did what he did.

Why he kissed him in public, why he clung so tightly, why his words sounded so much like desperation disguised as control.

Maybe Rin had been trying to hold onto something that was never his to keep.

Maybe Bachira had let him.

And maybe, this whole tangled mess was Bachira’s fault in some underlying way. He had spent the last year lost in his own brain, trying to dissect feelings he’d never had a name for. Trying to understand how love worked, how people fit into each other’s lives, what it meant to give your heart to someone when you didn’t even know how to locate it inside of yourself.

It should’ve been simple, right? But nothing ever is, not when you're trying to translate a language you’ve never learned.

And Bachira, despite his charm and freedom, just could not grasp the most basic thing everyone else in the world seemed to understand without even trying.

What it meant to love. To be loved. To choose.

And the aftermath of that confusion had spilled into everything: his friendships, his team, his hobbies, and his joy.

So perhaps Rin’s desperation wasn’t the only thing that made everything fall apart.

Bachira’s uncertainty did too. After all, love is a simple concept, right?

Wait, no.

Love is far from simple. Love is as sweet as warm, gooey, chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. Love is as kind as a stranger holding open a door for you, even though you’re far away. Love is as sad as the death of your favorite character. Love is as angry as the sky during a thunderstorm. Love is as confusing as life is. Love is far, far from simple. It’s complex, it’s moldable, it’s absolute beauty and ugliness all mixed together like two paints on one of his mother’s canvasses.

And as much as love has hurt him, Bachira is only grateful for everything he’s been through. Rin may have not worked out, but they tried. They loved each other in the ways they knew how to, they learned about each other on a deeper level, and most importantly—they cared. Because, what is any emotion a human has without care? You have to care about something to be sad, to be angry, to be disgusted, to be happy; most importantly, you have to care about something to love. And Bachira knows they loved each other. Despite his trials and errors with assessing feelings, he knows better now, and he knows that what they had wasn’t fake, it was just with the wrong person. Bachira likes to think that, in some way or world, he and Rin are platonic soulmates. Destined to meet, and destined to grow together. 

The tears start slowing by now, trickling down his face like a drizzle of rain rather than a downpour, and he stands by the bus stop. He figured he’ll take the bus down to this little market by Isagi’s apartment, and then he’ll walk back from there. Isagi only knows that he went out to look at some acrylic paint colors, but then Rin came and found him. That’ll be a fun story to tell.

The bus eventually makes its way, slowly and creakily, but it stops at the station and opens its doors. Bachira climbs aboard, and thankfully, the bus is all but empty.

“The next stop is the local market.” The driver informs him as he goes to sit down. Bachira gives a slight smile and nods his head. The bus engines start back up again, and the window calls Bachira’s name.

He stares outside and watches as everything passes by. Shades of green, grey, brown, blue, black, white, and more from nature and buildings blend together into murkiness. The only thing Bachira can focus his eyes on are the people. There are tons of people who live in just one city, in just one country. To think of all the different lives they’ve had, that they’ll lead. It gives Bachira a strange feeling in his chest and his gut. It’s comforting, but almost barf-inducing. Nostalgia mixed with excitement and grief. He thinks back into his memories and remembers Chigiri telling him once that this emotion is called sonder.

Sonder. What a weird word, right? The fact that so many humans, around the world, have felt this feeling so much and for so long that they decided to make a name for it. Bachira observes everyone he can. A little girl holding an ice cream, hand in hand with her mother. Two teenage boys, one with a skateboard, are coming out of a coffee shop. Bachira notices a pretty girl inside staring at the boy without a skateboard. A family of three is talking to a father holding a newborn baby. An older man is taking a jog with his dog. 

There are so many lives out there that it just makes Bachira’s worries and fears seem so insignificant. Like there’s nothing to be scared about. The past, present, and future all embrace each other, and Bachira, at the same time. Death and life work together. Up and down, left and right, side to side. Everything moves and breathes and lives together— and god is it all so beautiful.

There’s really no other word Bachira can conjure to describe this. He feels almost… enlightened. Like he’s found the meaning of life without even trying. Well, that may be a stretch, but Bachira’s found something . And that’s good enough for now. 

Bachira’s mind continues to race. The thoughts tumbling over each other in chaotic, colorful swirls; memories, what-ifs, and maybes chasing one another like children playing soccer. His heart beats in pace with the pulse of possibility, a new rhythm awakened. It flutters wildly, not out of fear, but from the quiet, exhilarating promise of something real blooming at last.

There’s a lightness in his chest, like wings unfurling. For so long, he didn’t realize how heavy he’d felt—how tightly the uncertainty had wrapped around his ribs. But now, something has shifted. Now, his steps feel light with something airy. Every movement, every breath, every tiny sensation feels brighter and softer all at once. He is not just moving forward, he’s running toward something, and it feels right.

The bus hisses to a halt at the market stop, and Bachira rises without hesitation. He hops off with a feeling of motivation, his eyes scanning the familiar layout of the market. The warm scents of baked bread and citrus waft from nearby stalls and the sounds of city life blur into a comforting backdrop. It’s all the same, and yet everything feels different.

He walks down the little stone pathway that leads to the familiar apartment building. Each step sounds like a countdown in his head, an exciting nerve rattling in his bones. His gaze softens as the building comes into view.

Isagi’s apartment.

Isagi’s home.

Home.

Isagi’s sitting on the couch when Bachira steps inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The TV hums quietly in the background, forgotten. Isagi looks up almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting—hoping—for this exact moment.

Their eyes meet.

Those ocean-blue eyes, so very achingly familiar, widen for the briefest second before softening, melting really, with something tender and something raw. It’s not just relief or joy. It's knowing. It’s welcome. His lips curve upward, slow and unguarded, into that precious, lopsided smile Bachira has seen a thousand times.

Bachira doesn’t think. He doesn’t have to.

His feet move before his mind can catch up, and in two quick strides, he’s across the room. He drops his bag somewhere on the floor, maybe not so gently, and closes the last bit of distance between them in a breath.

Then he’s there, in Isagi’s space, in Isagi’s world. Without hesitation, without fear, he leans in and wraps his arms around him, his chest pressing against Isagi’s, his hands sliding over familiar shoulders, and pulls him into a kiss.

A kiss that’s filled with everything. A kiss that’s filled with the good and the bad, the happiness and despair, the sweetness and sourness, the beautiful and the ugly, the life and the death, the yin and the yang, the love and the heartbreak. 

Bachira never wants to part. He wraps his arms around Isagi’s neck and falls down on top of him on the sofa. He pushes his head down further, forces his lips to say everything he’s been afraid of, or never knew how to say. Eventually, Isagi has to pry Bachira’s lips off of his, and they sit there, eyes staring into the other set while their gasps for air fill the silence. 

“I—” Isagi starts out. “I don’t even know what to say. I think I understand, but some words might help me understand a bit better.”

Bachira lets out a soft, playful laugh, the sound curling into the evening air like the remnants of a dream. “I saw Rin at the store,” he says, eyes flickering with something gentle and faraway. “We talked. And… it wasn’t weird. Not like I thought it might be. We’re friends—I think we’re probably platonic soulmates, if that’s even a real thing.” He laughs again, but quieter this time, like he’s still testing out the words.

“He’s starting something with Hiori,” Bachira continues. “I could see it in the way he talked about him. The way he let himself talk about him. It’s different now. Softer. Like maybe he’s starting to believe he deserves good things.”

Bachira pauses, curling his fingers into the edge of his sleeve. “And I thought. A lot. About everything. About Rin, and me, and you, and the space between it all. I think I understand now, Yoichi. All of it.” He lifts his gaze to meet Isagi’s, and there’s no confusion left in it. Only clarity. “It finally makes sense.”

More silence. Not heavy or tense, but warm. It’s the kind of quiet that only exists between people who have unraveled their hearts in front of each other. The quietness dances softly between them, nudging at their sleeves, like even the air wants to be gentle here.

A smile slowly curves onto one face—tender, a little wistful, but real. It’s the kind of smile that carries entire conversations, filled with memories of what was and the acceptance of what is. On the other face, eyes brim with softness, not tears, but something close. The kind of softness that says, I see you. I always have.

In that moment, time feels suspended. Not frozen, but held. A breath between chapters. A mixture of love and longing lingers in the air. Love, not the kind that demands to be held onto, but the kind that exists in spite of letting go. Longing, not to return to the past, but to honor it. To feel it one last time before moving forward.

“I love you,” Bachira breathes out. “I love you, Yoichi.”

_________

The sun filters through sage-colored curtains, casting a glow over Isagi’s face. He blinks his eyes open slowly and allows his mind to register the reality of waking up to a glorious life. 

His brain suddenly processes the feeling of another body radiating warmth onto his own, and a hand clutching onto his right bicep. Isagi shifts his head to the side, and the view that greets him melts his heart. He smiles dopily, pressing a kiss onto the forehead of his boyfriend.

Oh yeah, Isagi forgot to mention, but a lot has happened in the past two years. For starters, he’s finally with the love of his life—and today, well today Isagi is planning on proposing. After all, the majority of the friend group has settled down and is currently settling down into marriages, families, and the next part of their lives. Despite being only twenty-five, Isagi can’t help but to feel a little bit behind everyone else. It wasn’t like him to not be in first place, setting the pace and watching everyone struggle to catch up.

Isagi feels his bicep being released from the clasp around it, and the next thing he knows, he’s staring right into golden, honey eyes. He smiles once more.

Bachira, brain still not fully awake yet, attempts to smile affectionately back, but ultimately ends up looking like a confused, but happy, newborn kitten. It makes Isagi let out a small laugh.

“What?” Bachira yawns, a hint of curiosity and playfulness in his tone.

“Nothing,” Isagi replies. “Just thinking about how cute you are.”

A light jab to the side is what Isagi receives, but he doesn’t care. Instead, he shifts out of bed slowly, and then picks up Bachira. The latter doesn’t mind, seeing as this has been their routine for what feels like forever, and the two head into the bathroom to start their morning off with a shower.

Isagi turns the water on hot, and steam begins to fill the bathroom.

“Showers this warm always remind me of Spain.” Bachira says dreamily, stepping into the shower.

Isagi steps in after him, shutting the glass door behind him. “Yeah? We can take a cold one tonight so I can show you how Germany's winters were.”

“Oh trust me, I know,” Bachira giggles. “At least we both agreed we can vacation there. Besides, I like Japan. It’s also nice how everyone from Blue Lock moved back here too. I like all of us being on the same team again.”

Ah yes, that was another thing, over the course of time, the former Japanese players began to retire, from age and from not being good enough to fit the standard anymore. This shift led to the Blue Lockers all returning to their home country, and playing together once more like the old days. 

“Yeah,” Isagi agrees. “I do too.”

After the water starts to lose its heat, they step out of the shower, change, tidy themselves up, and move to the next plans of their day—brunch with Kunigami and Chigiri.

When everyone moved back, Bachira had always made sure they were seeing the newly married couple once a week. Once more, it’s become a staple in their routine, and brunch has become a favorable Sunday activity.

By the time they get to the agreed-upon coffee shop, Kunigami and Chigiri are already sitting at a table and waiting for them. Chigiri waves them over, and Bachira enthusiastically replies.

“How’s my favorite couple doing?” Chigiri asks Bachira.

Kunigami turns to Isagi at the same time and asks, “Did you see the game last night?”

This was how their hangouts usually went. Chigiri and Bachira liked to gossip and talk about things Isagi and Kunigami had no interest in. Then, Kunigami and Isagi would talk about the sports and gym workouts, to which Bachira and Chigiri would yell at them to take a break. Nonetheless, they still all talked to each other, and they still all acted like teenagers. Sometimes. 

After a couple of minutes, Bachira taps on Isagi’s shoulder. “We’re going to go order some food and drinks. I’m guessing you want the usual?”

“Yeah, and I want some of that strawberry stuff you get,” Isagi says, then takes a glance at Kunigami. “We’re going to go to the bathroom real quick, though.”

Bachira gives a thumbs up, and then he’s up and off dragging Chigiri with him towards the counter. Kunigami and Isagi watch until they get there, and then Kunigami practically lifts Isagi up.

“Hey!” Isagi whisper-yells, eyes darting nervously down the hallway. “You’re going to make this look suspicious!”

Kunigami shrugs, broad shoulders unapologetically casual. “Oops, sorry,” he says, though his tone betrays a complete lack of remorse.

They shuffle hurriedly toward the bathroom, both trying to appear casual and not at all like they’re part of an elaborate scheme involving sunflowers, a surprise proposal, and the potential emotional unraveling of the one and only Bachira Meguru.

Once inside, Isagi lets out a long, shaky breath—one he didn’t realize he’d been holding until now. The echo of the door clicking shut behind them seems to ground him.

“God,” he mutters, pressing a hand to his chest. “I feel like I’m about to commit a crime.”

Kunigami smirks, and leans back against the sink with his arms folded. “Well, you are about to ask someone to legally be with you for the rest of your lives. That’s gotta count for something.”

Isagi shoots him a look but can’t help the crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“So,” Kunigami says, more serious now, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re proposing today, right?”

Isagi exhales again, this time softer. He looks down at the tile floor for a beat, then back up, nodding. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

A rare, almost soft look crosses Kunigami’s face. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Isagi’s just about to ask what’s going on in that thick skull of his when Kunigami finally adds, “I’m still shocked you asked Rin to be a part of it.”

Isagi laughs, the sound dry and fond. “I’m still shocked we became friends.”

“That makes the two of us.”

“But, he’s a good guy. Weirdly dependable,” Isagi says, rubbing the back of his neck. “And he really loves Meguru too—in his own way. I figured it’d mean something to him to help. And maybe one day I’ll be helping him propose to Hiori.”

Kunigami snorts, arms still crossed. “I seriously don’t think Rin would ever propose. Hiori would definitely have to do the asking. Rin would probably just glare at him until he figured it out.”

Isagi chuckles, ready to respond, but the wooden bathroom door creaks open with a slow, dramatic groan.

They both freeze like deer caught in headlights.

“Shit,” Isagi whispers.

Please not Meguru, please not Meguru.

But instead, in walks Nagi, looking exactly as unbothered as always, a bag of chips half-crushed in one hand.

“Oh,” Isagi says, visibly relaxing. “It’s just you.”

“Reo told me to come in here,” Nagi says flatly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to crash a bathroom conspiracy meeting.

Isagi furrows his brow. “Why?”

“So he could gossip with Chigiri and Bachira.” Nagi crunches on a chip.

Kunigami groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “I seriously feel like Hyouma’s my wife and not my husband sometimes.”

There’s a beat of silence before both Nagi and Isagi give small, quiet nods of agreement. Neither of them dares to say it out loud, though—not unless they’re actively hoping to be smacked upside the head by their respective lovers.

“Anyway,” Nagi says, after another crunch. “So, you guys are talking about the proposal?”

“Yeah, we are,” Kunigami answers for him, his voice dropping to a hushed tone again, as if the walls themselves might be listening.  “Reo’s photographer is still coming, right?”

“Yup,” Isagi says.

“Yes,” Nagi says at the exact same time.

The synchronization makes them all pause. They exchange glances.

“Gross,” Kunigami mutters.

“Romantic,” Nagi deadpans.

Isagi just shakes his head, amusement softening the anxious coil still knotted in his stomach. There’s something about this weird group, these ridiculous friends, that somehow makes the stress feel worth it. This whole thing, this whole life , feels like it’s finally falling into place.

“I miss Reo,” Nagi deadpans, staring at the wall like it personally offended him. “Can we go back now?”

Kunigami snorts. “You’ve been away from him for fifteen minutes.”

“Too long,” Nagi replies, completely serious.

Isagi chuckles, clapping him on the back. “Yeah, sure. Let’s get back before he starts sending a search party.”

The trio makes their way out of the bathroom and through the hallway. As they round the corner, the state of their table comes into view—half-filled drinks, plates in various states of devouring, and of course, their chaotic little circle of friends.

Bachira’s eyes light up the moment he spots Isagi, and in an instant, he’s up on his knees on the cushioned bench, arms waving like he’s trying to hail a plane.

“Yoichi!” he calls with a grin that’s brighter than the overhead lights. “Come here, come here—sit!”

Isagi barely gets a word out before Bachira grabs his wrist and yanks him down beside him, all but bouncing in place.

“Here, eat this!” Bachira announces, wielding a fork like a knight with a tiny golden sword.

The next thing Isagi knows, something sweet is shoved into his mouth. He blinks, startled, but chews obediently, the tangy flavor flooding his senses.

“Mmm,” He raises an eyebrow, surprised. “What is that?”

“A piece of the baked Okinawa pineapple cake!” Bachira chirps, proud and delighted, like he made it himself. “They had samples, so I asked for six. I ate five.”

“Of course you did,” Kunigami mutters fondly as he retakes his seat, Nagi flopping down beside him with all the grace of a tired cat.

“It’s good,” Isagi says, licking a smear of fruit glaze from the corner of his lip as he finally settles into the booth. He leans toward Reo, who’s busy swirling something neon orange in his cocktail glass. “How are you?”

“Good, thanks for asking!” Reo beams, all charm and enthusiasm, practically glowing in his crisp purple-colored blazer. “I was just telling Bachira how the six of us need to go down to England at some point. Me and Chigiri want to revisit, but you guys should definitely come!”

Bachira spins slightly on the bench to face them all, elbows on the table. “I told them we can go to Spain then, too!” he adds eagerly. “We can do a double trip!”

“Spain and England?” Isagi laughs. “Ambitious.”

Reo shrugs, his grin smug. “We’re almost all married. We do ambitious things now.”

“Yeah, like buying a mansion and installing a water fountain in the kitchen,” Nagi mutters.

“It’s not in the kitchen anymore,” Reo says, completely unbothered. “I moved it. It’s in the gaming room now. Better vibes.”

Bachira gasps. “Wait—can you do that?”

“You can when you’re rich and impulsive,” Reo answers with a wink.

The group falls into a steady conversation; easy, teasing, warm. Reo goes off on a rant about the mansion’s absurd square footage and the indoor koi pond that Nagi fell in once and nearly fell into twice more. Chigiri jumps in with dry commentary about shared closet space and marriage reality vs. aesthetic expectations. Kunigami occasionally interjects with a low, rumbling laugh or a one-liner that makes Chigiri roll his eyes but lean into him anyway.

And Bachira? He practically glows the whole time, pressing his thigh to Isagi’s, fingers occasionally playing with the hem of Isagi’s sleeve, like he just needs to touch him to stay grounded in the moment. Isagi lets him. More than that—he lives for it.

The hours stretch on. Time feels slower when you’re with people who’ve seen you fall, grow, and rise again. There’s no need to rush anything anymore.

Eventually, though, the restaurant starts to wind down. Waiters and waitresses begin clearing plates, the volume dips, and people glance at their phones or watches.

“I should head out,” Bachira says, stretching dramatically with a little groan. “I promised Rin I’d go with him to that weird bookstore he likes.”

Isagi raises a brow. “The one with the fake owl by the register?”

“That’s the one!” Bachira says cheerfully.

Nagi eyes him. “You’re brave.”

“I’m immune to Rin’s scary aura,” Bachira grins. “I’ve got friendship armor.”

Everyone begins shifting to stand, collecting phones, slinging jackets over arms. There are hugs, handshakes, back pats. And then the goodbyes are obviously drawn out, loud, and full of warmth.

But as Bachira steps out ahead, chatting with Chigiri about owls and bookstores, Isagi lingers behind. He catches the briefest moment, Kunigami giving him a quick thumbs-up, Chigiri mouthing, “Good luck!” when Bachira isn’t paying attention, Reo whispering “We’ll be there waiting!” , and Nagi—well, Nagi just gives a small nod and shoves another cookie into his hoodie pocket.

Isagi’s heart hammers once against his ribs, sharp and exciting. It’s happening.

Soon.

The plan is in motion. His future path is waiting. And so is the person he’s going to spend the rest of his life with.

_________

The car hums quietly as it glides through the city, streetlights painting shifting gold patterns across the windshield. Bachira hums along with the soft song playing through the speakers, one leg bouncing lazily while his fingers absently fiddle with the hem of his oversized hoodie.

Suddenly, a soft ping breaks the ambient peace.

Bachira perks up, grabbing his phone from the cupholder. “Oh!” he gasps, the sound filled with delight and surprise. “Rin just asked if you wanted to come!”

He twists in his seat, eyes wide with excitement, practically radiating excitement. “Yoichi, please ! You have to come! Rin’s never asked you to go to anything! This means he’s evolving, Yoichi!”

Isagi glances at him, trying to keep his face neutral, but in his head, he's grinning like an idiot.

( Nice , he thinks. Rin’s following the plan. Which means he’s not secretly still in love with Bachira and plotting to murder me in some candlelit garden full of sunflowers. )

“You know what?” Isagi says, feigning a little uncertainty. “I think I will go. It’ll be nice…I hope.”

Bachira squeals, actually squeals, and throws himself sideways, planting a loud kiss on Isagi’s cheek.

“You won’t regret it!” he beams, quickly typing a reply back to Rin. “He said yes! Prepare your soul!” he mutters dramatically to his screen.

The rest of the ride is filled with Bachira bouncing in place and telling Isagi what kind of horror themes Rin is currently obsessed with, something about ghost children and faceless brides. While Isagi nods along, his hands tighten on the steering wheel. The nerves are starting to creep in now.

By the time they reach the old bookstore tucked into a quiet corner of the city, Rin is there, leaning against the wall outside the shop, dressed in black from head to toe, hands in his pockets, and looking like he’s ready to either pick a fight or drop a hardcore rock album.

Bachira is out of the car before it fully stops, rushing up to Rin with a giant grin and arms wide.

“Rin!”

Rin barely flinches as Bachira crashes into him, but Isagi, still behind the wheel, watches closely. He catches it, the flicker of fondness, the way Rin's posture subtly shifts from guarded to open, how his shoulders lose their tension as he melts, just slightly, into the embrace.

Bachira pulls away after several long seconds, beaming, and Isagi takes his chance to step out. He gives Rin a thumbs-up behind Bachira’s back, his eyes sharp.

Rin, ever the stoic actor, gives the barest of nods in return. Plan: still in motion. Target: still oblivious.

“So,” Bachira chirps, bouncing on his heels, “What horror book are you thinking this time? Gonna go full ghost nun or more demon clown?”

Rin exhales slowly, like he's been preparing for this next part all day. “Actually, I was thinking we could go somewhere else tonight.”

“Oh?” Bachira blinks, tilting his head like a curious cat. “That’s cool! Where to?”

“I didn’t want you to go straight there, though,” Rin adds, almost too casually.

Bachira stops bouncing. His brows furrow slightly as he leans in, genuinely confused. “Why not? What’s there?”

Oh no.

Rin. Rin, think fast, Isagi screams internally, palms sweating. Don’t say anything suspicious. Don’t mention the candles. Or the flowers. Or the freaking string lights.

Rin doesn't miss a beat. “It’s a beautiful place,” he says smoothly. “I want to surprise you.”

There’s a pause. Bachira blinks again, mouth opening like he’s about to question it further, but then he breaks into a dazzling smile.

“Ooooh. That’s romantic,” he says, totally buying it. “Alright! Lead the way, Mr. Mysterious!”

Isagi exhales, shoulders relaxing as if he’s just dodged a sniper bullet.

Rin shrugs and gestures down the street. “Follow me.”

As the three of them start walking, Isagi lets himself drift just a step behind, his gaze drifting between Bachira’s wild curls bouncing with every step and Rin’s straight-backed stride. The evening air is cool and crisp, and his heart thuds louder with every footstep.

The next hour, or less, is going to change everything.

And if Rin manages to keep his poker face in place, if the lights are strung and the path is clear—then soon, very soon, Bachira’s going to see it.

And Isagi’s going to ask the biggest question of his life.

After several quiet minutes of walking, their steps muffled by the soft grass and gravel path, Rin reaches out and places a hand on Bachira’s shoulder.

“We’re almost there,” Rin states, voice calm but serious. “But I really want it to be a surprise.”

Bachira halts, brows lifting in amused suspicion. “Okay? That’s not ominous at all.”

Rin ignores the tone and pulls something from his back pocket.

A blindfold.

Bachira’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, we’re going there with this surprise.”

Rin raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to see it or not?”

Bachira lets out a delighted laugh. “This has got to be amazing if you’re asking me to trust you this much. Alright, alright—gimme that.” He takes the blindfold and, without hesitation, slides it over his eyes. “If I die, I’m blaming you in the afterlife.”

Rin mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “You’re not dying.” Then, with practiced calm, he turns and subtly signals Isagi.

Isagi catches the motion. His heart pounds, but he nods once, steadies himself, and quietly jogs toward the prepared clearing.

The garden glows in the dim light, gently lit by an array of soft lanterns and lights strung from tree branches. Hundreds of sunflowers line the garden path and burst like golden fireworks in a wide circle around the center clearing. At its heart, a small pedestal cradles a velvet box. Petals scatter like confetti across the grass. The air smells faintly of sun and citrus.

Reo’s photographers, strategically placed, click their lenses into focus. The rest of their close group, tucked behind bushes and planters and trees, clutches their phones, screens dimmed, fingers hovering over shutter buttons. Chigiri squeezes Kunigami’s hand. Nagi props his chin on Reo’s shoulder. Sae and Shidou (who surprisingly came even though they were on vacation) lean together silently, eyes focused.

Hiori crouches behind a potted tree and whispers to Isagi as he approaches. “You ready, man? Don’t choke.”

Isagi exhales shakily. “I’d never forgive myself if I did.”

“I remember how depressed you got over him, you were insufferable ,” Hiori teases with a small smirk. “Don’t blow it.”

Isagi lets out a quiet laugh, grateful for the lightness in the moment. His hands tremble slightly as he adjusts the collar of his button-down shirt and takes his place in the center of the garden clearing, where the path widens into a sunflower-lined circle.

A single himawari rests in his palm, swaying slightly with the breeze.

And then—

“Rin! How much longer? I wanna see ! This blindfold’s itchy!” Bachira’s voice carries from around the bend.

The world freezes.

Everyone ducks. Phones tilt into position. The photographers raise their cameras in unison.

Rin sighs softly. “Just a little further. I’ll guide you.”

Bachira lets out a small groan but doesn’t resist as Rin gently takes his arm and leads him forward, step by step, down the garden path.

Each step feels like thunder to Isagi. The wind has gone still. The lights flicker slightly. And then:

Two feet away.

Rin stops him. “Okay,” he says quietly. “You ready?”

“Yes!” Bachira practically vibrates in place. “Let me see! I’m dying!”

Rin doesn’t answer. He just reaches up, slowly and carefully, and slips the blindfold off Bachira’s eyes.

It feels like the whole world is holding its breath.

For a second, Bachira squints against the change in light. Then his gaze focuses. Blinks once. Twice.

And Isagi watches as it happens.

The way Bachira’s eyes soften. The confusion that blooms into understanding. The understanding that melts into wonder. And then, into love.

Bachira doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks around slowly, taking in the golden colors of sunflowers, the glow of the lights, the gentle hush of the evening around them. His gaze finally lands on Isagi.

Isagi, standing there, a sunflower in one hand, the other slightly trembling by his side, eyes wide with quiet, devoted hope.

Bachira’s lips part.

“You…” he whispers, voice full of awe. “You did all this?”

Isagi breathes in. “I did.”

He smiles, shaky, but real.

“For you.”

Bachira doesn’t move. Not at first. His eyes are wide, lips still parted in wonder. The sunflowers sway gently in the warm breeze, but the world still feels completely still.

Isagi takes one step forward, then another, until he’s standing directly in front of Bachira. He carefully holds the himawari out between them.

“For you,” he repeats, voice quiet, but steady.

Bachira slowly takes the flower, eyes not leaving Isagi’s for a second.

There’s a pause. A hush of wind. A beat in time that seems to stretch endlessly.

Then Isagi slowly drops to one knee.

Gasps echo faintly from the bushes.

Bachira freezes, staring down at him, sunflower trembling in his grip.

Isagi opens the small velvet box tucked inside his jacket. Inside rests a simple but elegant ring, gold band, delicate sunflower engraving. Underplayed, but something deeply personal.

Isagi looks up, eyes glimmering.

And then he begins.

“I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you,” he says. “Back then…in Blue Lock, I just wanted to win. That was all I knew. Victory, ego, becoming the best striker in the world. That was my whole identity. You were this…weird, wild, unpredictable force who smiled too much and passed to me when you could’ve scored.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “You annoyed the hell out of me at first when I couldn’t figure you out.”

A ripple of laughter emerges from somewhere in the bushes.

“But then, you became the only one I could play freely with. The only one who made the field feel like a canvas instead of a battlefield. You were the only person who looked at me like I wasn’t just a rival or a stepping stone, but a partner. Hell, you even called me partner all the time.”

Isagi’s voice cracks slightly, but he keeps going.

“Even after we left Blue Lock, when we were on different teams, when our paths only crossed during matches or training camps, you still felt like home to me. I didn’t know it at the time, but I missed you. Every day. In every win, every loss, every goal—something was missing. You. And when we fought, it hit me even harder.”

He pauses. Bachira’s eyes are shimmering now, lips also now closed and pressed tight.

“When we finally reconnected, when we talked again, when we laughed again—I realized I never stopped carrying you with me. I still don’t.”

Isagi closes his eyes briefly, searching for the words.

“I love you, Meguru. I love your weirdness, your warmth, your ridiculous energy. I love the way you dance down the pitch like it’s a dream, the way you draw in people with your joy. I love the way you never hide who you are, even when the world doesn’t understand you. I love your art. I love your heart. I love your soul”

He opens his eyes again.

“I know love is, or was, complicated for you. I know what it means, what it doesn’t mean. But I want you to know that I love you in a way that asks for nothing in return. I don’t need you to say the same words back, or to feel the exact same way. I just want to walk beside you. I want to build something with you. I want to keep showing up for you. Every day. In every way.”

His voice lowers again, almost trying to keep these next words secret from everyone else.

“I want to be there when you burn your eggs in the morning, or when you decide to repaint the apartment at two in the morning. I want to be there when you laugh until you cry, and when you’re scared and you don’t know why. I want to hold your hand when we’re old and achy, and still kicking soccer balls around in the backyard like idiots.”

He swallows.

“Bachira Meguru, will you marry me?”

For a long moment, Bachira doesn’t say anything.

His fingers tighten around the sunflower, his bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. The sunset glows around them, casting a golden warmth over the scene, and yet all Isagi can see is the way Bachira’s eyes have begun to glisten.

Then, softly, so softly he’s barely audible—Bachira lets out a shaky laugh.

“You’re such an idiot,” he says, smiling as tears start to slip down his cheeks. “You’re the biggest, dumbest idiot I’ve ever met.”

Isagi laughs through the nerves and wetness in his own eyes. “Is that a yes?”

But Bachira shakes his head, not in refusal—more like he’s overwhelmed.

“I’m getting there, just—just give me a second, Yoichi.” His voice wavers. “You didn’t even give me time to breathe, you dramatic jerk…”

He wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve and takes a shaky breath in.

“I used to think I couldn’t love anyone,” he says, this time louder, clearer. “Not like that. Not the way other people talked about it. I thought something was wrong with me. That maybe I wasn’t meant for romance. That maybe I was too weird, too much, too hard to love.”

He looks at Isagi, and his voice softens with wonder.

“But then you showed up. Again and again and again. You left, yeah, but then you came back. You didn’t try to fix me. You never asked me to be anything but myself. And little by little… you made space for something to grow inside me.”

His hand reaches out, trembling, and rests gently on Isagi’s cheek.

“I didn’t recognize it at first,” he admits, smiling through the tears. “I thought it was comfort, or happiness, or just the way I always felt good around you. But then I realized, every time you smiled at me, I wanted to keep seeing it. Every time we played together, I didn’t care if I scored. I just wanted to be beside you. And when we were apart, I missed you like a piece of me went quiet.”

He leans in closer, forehead resting against Isagi’s.

“I understand it now. I really do. I love you, Yoichi. I love you so much it makes my chest feel too small for all of it.”

Isagi’s eyes close, and a tear slips down his cheek.

“You made love make sense to me. You made me feel safe in it. You made me want it.”

Bachira smiles, watery and radiant, as he drops to his knees in front of Isagi. They’re both kneeling now, face to face, surrounded by sunflowers and the sound of barely contained sniffles from hidden friends.

“So yeah,” Bachira says, laughter bubbling through his tears. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

He throws his arms around Isagi’s neck and pulls him into the fiercest, warmest hug imaginable.

“You idiot,” he murmurs into his shoulder. “You’re mine forever now. I hope you know that.”

“It’s all I ever wanted.” Isagi answers.

_________

The morning after Isagi’s proposal, he barely had time to yawn or brush his teeth before Bachira was dragging him out of bed, eyes sparkling with purpose.

“Wedding planning starts today, Yoichi!” Bachira announced triumphantly, climbing onto the bed in oversized shorts and a hoodie that was definitely not his own. “We’re getting married, and you’ve waited eight years for this, me two years, so I’m not wasting another second!”

“Meguru, it’s seven in the morning right now,” Isagi groans, face buried in a pillow.

“Exactly! We’re already behind!”

Despite his protests, Isagi let himself be herded to the kitchen for a chaotic breakfast of undercooked pancakes and orange juice that somehow ended up tasting like mint. And before he knew it, they were sitting side by side on the couch, laptops open, looking up wedding themes with increasingly opposing ideas.

“I want whimsy!” Bachira insisted, tapping his laptop and spinning it around to show Isagi a Pinterest board filled with flower canopies, floating lanterns, wild dancing, and possibly a llama. Yes, just a regular llama with no purpose.

“I just don’t want our wedding to feel like a circus,” Isagi muttered, turning his screen around to show a board full of soft white florals, calligraphy signs, and elegant table settings with pops of yellow sunflowers. “What about something like this? Clean and classic.”

Bachira blinked at him. “You mean boring.”

“It’s not boring—it’s romantic!”

“I can’t be both romantic and whimsical. Have you even met me?”

Their bickering only lasted ten minutes before they both came to the same conclusion: this was a job for a rich, married friend with wedding experience and an emergency speed-dial to a planner.

That’s how they found themselves back at Reo and Nagi’s estate—well, technically mansion—sitting in a room bigger than their entire apartment, with Reo bouncing with excitement and Nagi lying horizontally across a fainting couch like some ancient Egyptian prince.

Reo clapped his hands once. “Alright, boys. You want a wedding that’s classic and whimsical, yes? Theme being sunflowers and the ocean.”

Isagi blinked. “The ocean?”

Bachira gave him a pointed look. “You can’t just pull a sunflower proposal and expect the entire wedding to be sunflowers. Your eyes are ocean-colored, and you know how obsessed I am with the sea.”

“But sunflowers don’t grow in the ocean.”

“Have you heard of metaphors, Yoichi?”

Isagi chuckled, and for a moment just looked at him, ready to try to blend both their worlds into something cohesive and unforgettable.

“Okay, okay,” Isagi laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Ocean-himawari wedding it is. I don’t even know what that means, but we’ll figure it out.”

Bachira beamed. “That’s the spirit!”

Reo grinned and pulled out his phone. “I’m emailing my wedding planner. She’s legendary. Helped me and Nagi throw the most gorgeous wedding. Well, you were there, so you should know. Anyways, she’ll love this concept.”

“She helped you move a live swan inside the reception hall,” Nagi mumbled without opening his eyes.

“And it was majestic ,” Reo countered.

As Isagi and Bachira stood to leave, Isagi giving a polite bow, and Bachira squeezing Reo in a borderline tackle hug, they passed the grand entrance where the unnecessary fountain now flowed proudly in the entrance.

“Wasn’t that fountain supposed to be in the gaming room?” Isagi asked.

Reo smiled. “I had it moved. It felt more welcoming this way.”

Later that night, as Bachira was curled up on the couch sketching what appeared to be an octopus-shark mixed creature wearing a tuxedo, Isagi’s phone buzzed.

The caller ID read: Ms. Kato – Wedding Planner 

Isagi’s eyes widened. “Meguru! Sit down and put the sketchpad away, this is the call.”

Bachira tossed his pencil in the air and did a front roll across the couch cushions before sitting upright like a student on the first day of school. “I’m ready.”

Isagi answered, voice a touch nervous. “Hello?”

“Good evening,” came a sleek, confident voice on the other end. “This is Ms. Kato. Reo tells me you’re in need of a miracle.”

Isagi swallowed. “Something like that.”

“Excellent,” she replied. “Tell me everything.”

“Let’s begin,” Ms. Kato’s voice was crisp, like the opening of a soda can. “Reo told me this wedding is a blend of classic elegance and, and I quote, ‘chaotic sunflower sea nonsense.’”

Bachira clapped with joy. “That’s us!”

Isagi pinched the bridge of his nose, already anticipating the chaos. “Yes, uh…I guess we’re hoping for a balance of both. Something that feels like the two of us. I want it to be meaningful, beautiful, and organized. Bachira wants it to feel like a dream exploded into reality.”

“I’m hearing ‘pastel’ and ‘purpose,’” Ms. Kato said smoothly. “Talk to me about colors. Do you have a palette in mind?”

“Pastel yellow,” Isagi said immediately. “To match the sunflowers.”

“Pastel blue too!” Bachira added. “Like the sky meeting the ocean! A soft blue. Light and airy!”

Ms. Kato hummed. “A gentle pastel palette of sunflower yellow and sky-ocean blue. Classic and whimsical. I see the vision. We’ll balance them with neutrals, soft whites and sandy taupes, to avoid sensory overload.”

Isagi looked at Bachira, impressed. “She gets it.”

“Next,” Ms. Kato continued. “Floral arrangements. I assume sunflowers?”

“Yes, everywhere!” Bachira chirped. “At every table, around the aisle, maybe even hanging from the ceiling like a field in the sky!”

“I’ll work with a floral designer on installation concepts,” She said. “We can do sunflower centerpieces, some smaller arrangements in pale yellow roses and baby’s breath to soften the effect. Light blue linens on each table?”

“Yes!” Bachira said. “With golden cutlery. Like sunshine against the sea!”

Isagi chuckled. “And maybe white china, to keep it clean.”

“Lovely,” Ms. Kato replied. “Now, the reception meal. Sit-down dinner or buffet?”

Bachira didn’t even hesitate. “Buffet. I want everyone to eat a lot . Laughing, talking, running around. I want it to feel alive.”

“And I’d love seafood,” Isagi added. “Grilled fish, sushi, shrimp cocktail, scallops, and maybe a yakisoba corner for fun.”

Ms. Kato was silent for a moment, typing rapidly. “We’ll work with a seafood-forward menu, beautifully presented, with one or two comfort dishes snuck in for character. The buffet will wrap around the ballroom edge, keeping the central floor open for guests to mingle. Speaking of guests—how many?”

“Close friends, family…and pretty much the entire Blue Lock roster,” Isagi said.

“Oh!” Bachira perked up. “You think Reo will mind if we seat Shidou next to Charles? They’ll either kiss or start a food fight.”

“They’ll do both, ” Isagi muttered.

“Don’t worry, I’m well-versed in football. We’ll have a seating strategy. Who absolutely must be seated near you?”

“Our main group,” Bachira said. “Chigiri, Reo, Rin, Kunigami, Nagi, Hiori…and maybe Barou but at a distance. Oh, and Kaiser for emotional chaos.”

Isagi chose to ignore the Kaiser part and added, “We want them near us, not just as guests, but as family. Maybe set up a special area for speeches. Hiori did say he might write something.”

“Understood. I’ll plan a raised platform for speeches, and keep the tables close enough to feel intimate, but spacious for comfort. Any themes beyond colors?”

Isagi looked at Bachira, unsure.

Bachira grinned and said, “Joy. That’s our theme. Bright, honest joy. Like the kind you feel when you win a game you didn’t think you could, or when someone holds your hand for the first time and doesn’t let go.”

Isagi turned pink.

“…Well said,” Ms. Kato murmured. “I’ll begin drafting the layout and will have a preliminary concept document ready within three days. You’ll receive an email from my assistant tonight to book a visual consultation.”

As the call ended, Bachira turned to Isagi and flopped into his lap, eyes shining. “It’s happening. This is real. We’re getting married, Yoichi.”

Isagi ran a hand through Bachira’s hair. “Yeah. And it’s going to be absolutely perfect. ”

_________

Two weeks before the wedding now remain.

The tailor shop smells like mahogany and clean linen, and the air buzzes with soft classical music that feels far too elegant for Bachira’s personality. He kept poking at the mannequin nearest him, pretending to have a sword fight with the measuring tape draped around its neck.

“Meguru,” Isagi groaned, adjusting the buttons on his vest. “Can you stop bullying the mannequins?”

“They started it,” Bachira said, absolutely unapologetic. He looked over and whistled. “Damn, Yoichi. That suit is illegal. You can’t look that hot or I’ll cry at our wedding for reasons other than love.”

Isagi rolled his eyes, cheeks slightly flushed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You chose me. You knew what you were getting into.”

Bachira stepped forward as the tailor fussed with the hem of his pants. He was in a slate blue suit. His tie was a paler yellow, and the vest had a hidden sunflower-print lining that he made them add for “personality”.

“You look…” Isagi trailed off, smiling. “You look like a sunflower prince.”

Bachira beamed. “That’s the vibe! Okay, now we match. You’re ocean royalty and I’m the flower boy who you kidnapped my heart on a boat. Or something.”

They posed together in front of the mirror, laughing as Isagi tried to get a serious photo and Bachira kept striking strange model poses. Eventually, they got one perfect shot: Isagi smiling softly, arm around Bachira’s shoulder, and Bachira leaning into him with a rare, genuine stillness in his expression.

“Okay,” Bachira said, pulling off his suit jacket. “Now that we’ve confirmed we’re hot, what’s next?”

“Honeymoon,” Isagi replied, checking his notes. “We need to decide where we’re going before the planner locks the flight options.”

Bachira leaned in dramatically. “So where are we disappearing to as newlyweds? Somewhere magical? Somewhere wild? Somewhere with, like, wild dolphins we can adopt as children?”

“I was thinking Hawaii,” Isagi said. “Or Santorini.”

Bachira tapped his chin. “Mmm. Hawaii is good. Ocean. Surf. Turtles. Very us. Plus, you in beachwear? Delicious.”

Isagi covered his face. “Can you please take one conversation seriously?”

“I am serious. I’m very committed to beach-Yoichi.”

“This will all pay off when I get to see your thighs.” Isagi jokes as he dodges one of Bachira’s chops on the head.

After an hour of looking through honeymoon packages, they settled on a villa in Maui, right next to the ocean with private beach access, a hot tub, and two weeks of no obligations.

“Okay, now let’s tell the chaos group chat about the bachelor party,” Bachira said gleefully, grabbing Isagi’s phone and opening their infamous group chat.

Why Are We Lowkey Old Now

Bachira:
guess what!!! bachelor party is AFTER the wedding and honeymoon 🎉🎉🎉

Isagi:
We’re heading to America. Vegas and maybe L.A. 

Hiori:
After?? That’s suspicious. What are you hiding

Reo 💸:
AMERICA?? Oh I’m planning everything. Say goodbye to your dignity. Say hello to matching glittery suits. You can be gay loud and proud over there.

Chigiri:
I’m not getting arrested. This is my disclaimer.

Kunigami:
Don’t worry, I’ll keep the chaos under control. Probably. Hopefully.

Nagi 💤:
do i have to pack?

Rin:
Are you sure? You don’t want to die in Reo’s glitter suits after just being married.

Reo 💸:
Hey!

Bachira:
thank you everyone for your support 💛 we will return from our honeymoon stronger, hotter, and slightly tanner before we fly out to vegas, so im not scared of dying quite yet rinrin!!!!

Isagi:
Also, no strippers.

Reo 💸:
You say that now.

Later that day, in the evening, the living room was a mess of pastel papers, cardstock swatches, gold-trimmed envelopes, scattered pens, and empty cups of drinks. A soft lo-fi playlist hummed from the speaker in the corner.

Bachira lay on his stomach, feet kicking in the air like a kid, rifling through the sample set Reo had sent over in a sleek gold box. Isagi sat cross-legged beside him, sipping from a water bottle and watching with an amused expression as Bachira tossed samples into dramatically labeled piles: “too boring,” “too fancy,” “what is this font,” and “possibly perfect.”

“This one has sunflowers,” Bachira said, holding up a card with a bold yellow design, “But it also has a cartoon dove on the top corner, and I feel like that’s trying too hard to say ‘peace and love’ when we already radiate that energy naturally.”

Isagi huffed a laugh. “Are you rating wedding invitations like sports cards?”

“Yes. But emotionally.” Bachira sat up and leaned toward him, waving a new sample. “This one has potential! Look—it’s light blue, soft texture, gold script, and sunflowers that don’t look like they were drawn by a corporate AI!”

Isagi reached for it, brushing Bachira’s fingers as he took the card. He studied it carefully. “It’s nice. Elegant. Warm.”

“And whimsical,” Bachira added, raising his eyebrows. “You see the tiny wave pattern behind the script? It’s the ocean! And the border is sunflowers. It’s both of us.”

Isagi’s heart did a small somersault.

He hadn’t realized how much this part would mean to him. Not just the aesthetics or the planning, but the act of sitting here with Bachira, sifting through these pieces of paper like they were choosing how to announce the beginning of forever.

“You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” Isagi said quietly, fingers tracing the edge of the card. “The ocean for me. Sunflowers for you.”

“Well…yeah.” Bachira nudged him with his shoulder. “I want the world to know it’s our wedding. Not just a pretty event. It should feel like us. Loud and quiet, soft and intense, wild and gentle. Like we balance each other.”

Isagi turned, searching his eyes. “You’re so much better at this love stuff than you think, Meguru.”

Bachira blinked, surprised, then gave a soft laugh. “I think it’s just easier when it’s you.”

A beat passed between them.

Isagi reached forward, gently setting the invitation card between them. “Let’s use this one.”

“Really?” Bachira’s eyes sparkled.

“Yeah. It’s perfect. Not too formal. Not too silly. Just us.”

Bachira picked up the card again, cradling it in both hands like it was precious. “We should write a message inside. Something cute. Something very us.”

Isagi leaned back, thoughtful. “What about something simple? Like, ‘ Come celebrate the best mistake we ever made when we met each other at seventeen.’ ”

Bachira laughed, a warm, round sound. “Too bleh. What if we wrote ‘We’re finally doing the thing, please show up in nice clothes. Love, Yoichi and Meguru.’ ”

“Reo would die.”

“Exactly.”

They bantered over phrasing for a while, trading scribbles back and forth on scrap paper. 

Eventually, they settled on:

Come join us for a day of love, laughing, and poor dancing. Yoichi & Bachira are getting married. Sunflowers and waves, sun and moon, forever and always.

When the message was written, the invitation laying flat on the table between them, they both just stared at it in silence.

“We’re really doing this,” Bachira said softly. “Like for real. No more maybe, no more one day, no more waiting.”

Isagi slid closer to him, their legs touching. “I’ve been sure about you since the day you offered me your weird little monster as a friendship badge.”

“And I’ve been sure about you since I got drunk at a festival in Germany,” Bachira said, jokingly, but teary-eyed and smiling. “That’s how I knew.”

They leaned into each other. No big declarations. No dramatic music swelling in the background. Just the weight of a thousand shared memories pressed gently between them as they sat on the living room floor, surrounded by scraps of paper and their future.

“Let’s send them out tomorrow,” Isagi murmured.

“Yeah,” Bachira agreed, wiping his cheek with his sleeve. “Let’s tell the world we’re in love.”

_________

Sunflowers and waves, sun and moon, forever and always.

The morning of the wedding day broke into hues of pale gold, the sky brushed in soft pastel blues and buttery yellows—like the world itself had taken a hint from their invitations. It was the kind of day that carried warmth in its breeze, the scent of blooming flowers in the air, and the buzz of something magical on the horizon.

Everything felt unreal, and yet more real than anything either of them had ever experienced.

Isagi stood in front of a full-length mirror, his fingers twitching as he buttoned the soft shirt beneath his suit jacket. The fabric was lighter and more breathable than he expected, with a faint yellow color. After all, Isagi would wear a yellow suit for Bachira with a blue tie, and Bachira would wear a blue suit for Isagi with a yellow tie.

He turned to the side, adjusting his sleeve cuffs. He could hear Kunigami and Hiori bickering playfully outside the room over who got the better groomsman tie, and then the bickering stopped to ask if Reo actually cried over the table decor.

But none of it reached him fully. His thoughts were only on one person.

A soft knock interrupted his spiral. “Yo, it’s me,” came Nagi’s voice. “He’s almost ready. Just so you know.”

“Thanks,” Isagi said, his voice low. “I’m, uh—I’m good. I’m okay.”

“You’re about to marry your favorite person, you better be more than okay,” Nagi, surprisingly, teased gently through the door before walking off.

Isagi smiled, his chest already full.

Meanwhile, in a different room filled with soft giggles and camera flashes, Bachira was being helped into his suit by Chigiri, who was secretly judging the clashing colors, but nevertheless understood why it looked that way. Reo stood behind them, gently adjusting the sunflower brooch pinned at the chest of Bachira’s blue-colored jacket.

“I feel like a dessert,” Bachira said, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like honey and blueberries.”

“You look radiant,” Reo said with a grin. “And expensive.”

“I still can’t believe this is real.” Bachira turned, his eyes shining. “Like, I’m getting married. To Yoichi . Today. In front of everyone.”

“You deserve all of it, Bachira,” Reo said softly, squeezing his shoulder.

Bachira bit his lip, trying not to cry. “I’m not gonna cry yet, I’m saving that for when I see him.”

The wedding venue was tucked in the rural beach side of Japan, overlooking the ocean. The waves crashing softly below the cliffside, singing their own eternal vows. The ceremony took place in a wide open garden, where sunflowers bloomed in every direction, leaning into the sunlight like old friends.

Rows of white chairs with light blue sashes lined on both sides of the aisle, and at every guest’s seat was a pale yellow envelope with a hand-drawn cartoon of Bachira and Isagi holding hands, which Bachira had insisted on. Light blue tablecloths billowed under the wind in the reception area nearby, already adorned with sunflower centerpieces and gold-rimmed glasses. They decided the ballroom theme wasn’t exactly the kind of open space they wanted. 

At the center of the altar was an arch made entirely of sunflowers and white roses, twined with navy ribbon. The sea glimmered behind it, a living backdrop of blue, endless and deep.

Everyone they loved was already seated; Rin in a sharp black suit and refusing to smile, Hiori holding a camcorder despite being a groomsman, Reo dramatically dabbing at his eyes, and Nagi mouthing “I’m tired,” to Kunigami.

The music began.

Isagi stood beneath the altar, his hands clasped tight, breath caught in his throat.

And then he saw him.

Bachira stepped into view, walking with slow, steady steps. His hair was pulled back loosely, a himawari tucked behind one ear. His eyes were wide, shimmering. And when he looked up and met Isagi’s gaze, he smiled—the kind of smile that broke and built worlds.

Time fractured for a second.

Isagi’s throat closed, and all he could think was: I’ve loved him since as long as I can remember. And I’ll love him until I can’t anymore. Longer than that, even.

Bachira reached the altar, and Isagi took his hand without a word. Neither noticed the crowd, the gasps, the soft sound of Rin whispering “Finally,” or Reo sniffing even more.

It was just them now.

Two boys who grew up chasing a ball and ended up chasing each other instead.

The officiant smiled gently as the hush settled around the garden, the waves below quieting too.

“Isagi Yoichi,” He said first. “You may say your vows.”

Isagi turned to face Bachira fully, holding both of his hands now. He exhaled shakily, eyes already glassy. But he didn’t look away. Not once.

“Bachira Meguru,” He began softly, voice trembling slightly. “You’ve always been the brightest part of my life. Since we were seventeen, you’ve been chaos and comfort, laughter and light. The sunlight on my worst days, and the spark that made me want to be more.”

He blinked fast, and a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I understood back then that I liked you, but I didn’t know whether to call it love or not. But every time you smiled at me, every time you passed me the ball or reached for my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world—I felt it. And I realized that it was love. It’s always been love.”

Bachira let out a quiet breath, lips trembling.

“You helped me grow into someone who could dream beyond just soccer. You taught me how to feel deeply, how to embrace joy, how to stay . I left, and yet you came back. You forgave me.”

He squeezed Bachira’s hands.

“I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I want to be your teammate in everything. Not just on the field, but in love, in life, in every small, messy, wonderful moment we get. I promise to protect you, to challenge you, to listen to you, to hold you when you cry and cheer when you fly. I promise to love you, loudly, quietly, endlessly.”

A soft sound broke from Bachira, a half-laugh, half-sob.

“I promise to never stop choosing you.”

The officiant nodded gently. “And now, Bachira Meguru. Your vows.”

Bachira was already crying, the tears dripping down his cheeks, but his smile—his smile was dazzling. He reached up to swipe his eyes and took a shaky breath, never breaking eye contact.

“I used to think I didn’t understand love,” He said quietly. “I used to think it was something other people felt. Something far away from me. I’d see it, but I didn’t feel it. I thought I was broken sometimes because of that.”

He laughed through his tears, and Isagi held his breath.

“But then you happened.”

The wind stirred between them like it was listening.

“You didn’t force me to feel it. You didn’t ask me to change. You just stood beside me. When we faltered, we came back together at the end of it. And when you smiled at me like I was special, when you would pass me the ball without hesitation, when you walked me to the train station like I was your home, when you won me prizes and reconnected with me, I started to feel it.”

He gripped Isagi’s hands tighter.

“I didn’t fall in love with you like crashing into a wave. I bloomed into it. Like a himawari turning toward the sun; again, and again, and again.”

Isagi’s jaw trembled.

“You gave me love in a language I could understand. You gave me patience, laughter, late-night ramen runs, stupid arguments over pineapple on pizza, and quiet mornings filled with coffee and sleepy smiles. You let me be myself, even when I was scared of being too much. And now, I get to be yours.”

A soft breeze lifted the sunflower petals around them.

“I promise to love you fiercely, even when it’s hard. I promise to always root for you, to grow beside you, to paint the weird corners of our home and dance with you in the kitchen when you least expect it. I promise to follow you through every season, through every win and every loss, through every storm and every sunrise.”

His voice wavered.

“I understand love now. Because I found it. In you.”

Isagi was crying openly, and he wasn’t alone. Rin blinked rapidly, Chigiri had a hand pressed to his chest, and Reo was in full sobbing mode. Even Nagi quietly looked away like the sun was too bright.

“I love you, Isagi Yoichi. With everything I have. And I will for the rest of my life.”

Silence fell.

And then, a gust of wind swept through the aisle, fluttering the sunflower petals into the air as if the world itself was applauding.

The officiant wiped his own eyes. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husbands. You may kiss.”

Isagi didn’t wait. He pulled Bachira into his arms and kissed him like it was the first goal of his life; sweet and fierce and a little desperate. Bachira kissed him back with a smile between their lips and his fingers tangled in Isagi’s hair.

They broke apart to the sound of thunderous applause, petals dancing around their feet.

And then they laughed. Together.

Because they’d made it. Finally, after all this time.

Isagi and Bachira walked into the reception hand in hand, the sun setting behind them in glowing hues. Their guests erupted into cheers and applause as the newlyweds shared a laughing kiss and were immediately dragged onto the dance floor by Reo.

“Come on! First dance!” he grinned, snapping his fingers dramatically. “You lovebirds don’t get to rest yet!”

The lights dimmed slightly, and the song, “Die with a Smile” played. Isagi held Bachira gently, forehead resting against his as they swayed together.

“I can’t believe we’re married,” Bachira whispered, eyes shining.

“I can,” Isagi murmured. “I’ve been dreaming of this forever.”

They danced slowly, wrapped in each other’s arms, occasionally laughing as their noses bumped or when Bachira did a silly spin just to make Isagi grin.

As the song ended, the crowd applauded—though not before Shidou yelled, “Kiss again! Encore!” which made Sae elbow him hard in the ribs.

Guests then made their way to the buffet, which was absolutely stacked with fresh seafood; grilled scallops, buttered lobster, sushi, shrimp skewers, and a few vegetarian options for Yukimiya and Aryu, who praised the elegant plating.

Reo clinked his glass for a toast. “To the most chaotic couple I know, Isagi and Bachira! May your love be as strong as your shot accuracy and as ridiculous as Bachira’s dance moves!”

Everyone laughed, especially when Nagi lazily raised his wine glass with a quiet, “Congrats. You better last forever—I hate repeat weddings.”

Chigiri gave a heartfelt speech about growing up as teenagers into adults with Bachira, watching him find love, and getting to see him “smile like the whole damn world just said yes.”

Kunigami added, “You two are weird as hell, but it works. Like Bachira’s argument for pineapple on pizza. Questionable, but somehow right.”

Hiori stood with Rin, gently coaxed into speaking. “I’ve never seen Rin tolerate anyone for longer than five minutes, until he met Bachira. And I’ve never seen Isagi look at someone like they were his whole world until this guy came along. That’s love, I think.”

Rin didn’t speak, but he put a hand on Hiori’s shoulder and raised his glass.

Bachira cried. Isagi wiped his tears with a napkin folded into a sunflower shape.

As the music picked up and the dancing started, the pairings quickly formed around the dance floor:

Reo and Nagi were already stealing the spotlight with synchronized steps that Reo probably paid a choreographer to teach them. Nagi was half-hearted but looked ridiculously cool with every lazy, half-hearted spin.

Rin and Hiori swayed gently off to the side, Rin uncharacteristically relaxed, even letting Hiori pull him into a slow dance during a fast song. “You’re dancing like a grandpa.” Hiori teased. Rin just said, “Still better than Bachira’s moves.”

Chigiri and Kunigami were on the floor longer than anyone. Chigiri looked like he belonged on stage, and Kunigami was just happy to match his energy, even if his moves looked more like warm-up drills and stiff workout exercises.

Shidou and Sae were absolute chaos. Shidou breakdanced at one point. Sae nearly left the venue. But they somehow made it work. Sae even allowed himself a brief, rare smile when Shidou dragged him into a tango.

Karasu and Otoya turned the dance floor into their own flirting arena. Competitive dance battle? Check. Pulling Barou into it to watch him fumble and lose something? Double check.

Kaiser and Ness (who were, to everyone’s surprise, invited) were near the champagne table, Kaiser smugly sipping wine while Ness draped himself over his arm, whispering dramatic commentary about everyone. “That’s their third kiss,” Ness whispered about Karasu and Otoya. “Rookies.”

Aryu began to cry over how “aesthetically gorgeous” the lighting was, and Yukimiya wandered table to table, giving little gifts he'd brought for everyone with his money—custom cologne samples from one of the fragrance shops he modeled for in sunflower-shaped vials.

On the contrary, Charles challenged Gagamaru to see who could eat the most shrimp in one sitting. They tied. Somehow.

The stars were out, the party still alive, but the noise had softened. Isagi and Bachira stood off to the side, watching their friends laugh, dance, and be loud and ridiculous.

“Did we do okay?” Bachira asked softly, leaning on Isagi’s shoulder.

“You mean the wedding?”

“Yeah.”

Isagi looked out at the people gathered in celebration of them—those who had grown with them, played with them, hurt with them, and now loved with them.

He turned back to Bachira, brushing a curl away from his face.

“We did perfect.”

Bachira smiled, kissed him softly, and said, “I can’t wait for the honeymoon.”

Isagi laughed. “You just want to go to the States so you can eat cereal with marshmallows every day.”

“Obviously. I earned that right.”

They fall into silence. The ocean is still softly moving, and the stars twinkling as if they pulled the strings of fate to bring them to this. Despite all of the hardships they endured, they came out on top. They’ll continue to come out on top.

Isagi looks at Bachira. The man he loves so dearly. Bachira turns to look at him back. 

“I was thinking,” Bachira breathes out. “This feels kind of like an ending.”

“Yeah?” Isagi says quietly.

Bachira inches closer. “But at the same time, it’s only the beginning.”

Isagi smiles. “I think you’re right.”

He cups Bachira’s face in his hand, and they lean into each other. No one is watching them, they’re all caught up in their own fun. They smile against each other’s lips. This moment was for them and only them.

So, to begin the next chapter of their life, they must end this one with a kiss.