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If there was one word you could describe Isagi, it would be "ambitious". But not glowing and admirably ambitious, more of an “I will step through every enemy and consume all souls” type of ambitious. All of this boils down to the one passion he's had since he was a baby: football. 

Football - it was Isagi's one driving force. He wasn't particularly bright in school, and in truth, he was your basic nice guy in the corner of the class. But the moment he steps onto the field? He was something else entirely. It's as if as soon as he sets foot on the game, some demon from hell consumes his autonomy (Bachira says it's his monster, whatever that means). Like his body was a fueled engine, exhausting every squeeze of life and energy on the field until he'd crash. All in all, once football is brought up, you can't stop Isagi.

It just so happened to be one of those days; Isagi puffed out breaths of warm clouds out into the distance, the tips of his fingers becoming icicles. Sharply, he inhaled the frozen air before his legs sprinted for the ball, which was already catching frost from the weather, and hitting it to the post for what felt like the five hundredth time. 

The blaze was settling down to rest, the shimmers emitting from it now only reached towards the trees, as the moon arose from its slumber, creating mixed hues of warm orange and cold purple. The buildings were quiet now, way past school time, the blue-haired boy completely oblivious to this fact: his own blaze still awake and running, burning through every ounce of energy.

Eyes were transfixed on the ball like his life depended on it so much that, ironically, his well known peripheral vision didn't catch a figure in the corner of it. And so, with nobody in the way, he chased and hit for the post again, and again, and again. Teeth gritted, his sight tunnelled narrower and narrower to the one goal.

From a boy with hopes and dreams in a football club of ten, to a striker of the international team: falling behind, not being able to catch up, was something he couldn't afford.

One more, just one more.

It was when Isagi tilted his head up into the distance that he realised that the sky was really mixing with itself, swirling even.

"Huh.." Did the sky always look like this? His head sagged now, eyes twitching, as a pounding ache set in. His body shivered, nose running. All of a sudden, everything felt bigger: the winter breeze continuously slapping across his face, the noise of distant cars ringing in his ears, the Sun - despite already settling down - too bright as his eyes involuntarily squinted, as his body became hyperaware of every particle brushing his skin.  

He should've probably walked out the field to figure out whatever was wrong with his head. But his mind didn't catch up to his body: legs gave out to the grass, face plummeting along with it, the frost melting onto his skin. 

The unnoticed figure from before appeared before his sight, coming closer and closer, until his vision blurred all together into pure black.

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The first thought that crawled to mind was cold. Every inch of his body felt like ice, body was shivering in hopes he'd get warmer.

Second thought was hard - well, definitely not the rough touch of grass. The back of his head seemed to be laying upon some sort of solid material.

Third was bright; was, until it dimmed again-  was that a sign to keep his eyes closed or open? He decided on the latter, and -- did the Sun just get closer to him? Two Suns, even? 

His pupils attempted to focus on whatever was in front of him, ignoring the prominent pounding in his head. From the mix of yellow and brown, Isagi could recognise from that itself who it was. Bachira.

The "Suns" finally formed into two glimmering yellow orbs shining back at him, his small smile just as bright.

Huh, even in death? Of course you're still in my mind, Bachira.

"You up?" The boy looming over Isagi inched closer, flicking Isagi's forehead.

The shivering boy only flinched in response. 

Oh, so not dead.

Isagi let his body rouse, as if to respond back - I'm up. But before he could sit all the way up, two hands stopped him, gripping onto his shoulder firmly.

It was probably for the best that he did - if he went up any further he'd most likely fall back down and bash his head onto the bench. It seemed like Bachira knew this too, brow furrowing in concern, his gaze scanning Isagi's face, as if he's trying to read him – read him like Isagi can when he's on the field.

Bachira let out a breath that he was seemingly holding for a while, "I should've stopped you sooner. I was contemplating whether to call the hospital!" Though he used his usual playful tone, concern was bubbling through his voice. Isagi, being perceptive as he is, felt a pang in his heart, noticing this. He really made Bachira worried, didn't he?

Before he could even form a word to say back, the brunette straightened back up. 

Bachira peered out into the distance, particularly nowhere in specific, "Welp! No good staying here, for the both of us." His head tilts back to Isagi's face, eyes softening. "Shall we?"

His soft hands held onto the shivering ones naturally, Isagi was- should be used to this now, Bachira was the overly clingy type after all. However, his currently sensitive body gave a jolt in response. The reaction made the other retract back, eyes slightly widened, but he quickly donned his signature grin.

"C'mon!" More cautiously now, Bachira's arms slowly reached under Isagi's, pulling him upright.

Isagi complied, weakly raising his arms, which in return he felt another pair of arms wrapping under his armpits and pulling him off the bench. It was then that the dizziness hit him again, his legs screamed to give out.

But Bachira was not allowing that, as he half-carried, half-pulled him back into the changing rooms.

Unsurprisingly, nobody was around, only echoes of their footsteps bounced off the walls. Isagi couldn't process anything, from Bachira's voice to something warm and puffy wrapping around his upper body (Bachira's jacket - no doubt), and finally being hauled right back outside, through the school gates, into the night.

He was pretty sure Bachira babbled something about his house, but the words blurred together, absentmindedly tugging onto the thick fabric, surrendering his body to his friend's relentless pull. His legs quivered, but still moved to match every step the other boy was doing.

Huh, he's surprised he can even walk this far. Just as the thought crossed his mind, Bachira stopped in his tracks. A shuffle in the brunette's pockets, a clink of keys -  and the swift of warmth washed Isagi's whole body as a welcoming, pure and overwhelming.

Like salvation itself.

The world started to turn upside down, but before gravity could claim him again, Bachira caught him, pulling the sick boy inside.

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The brunette gently led Isagi to the couch, letting him sit down. Which is what he would've done, if Isagi didn't practically collapse onto it as soon as he was inches close enough to do so. Isagi sunk onto the mattress, his eyes about to flutter into slumber, the domestic warmth encouraging to melt into the couch forever, but just when he could, his eyes shot back wide open again-

Wait, where am I!?

It's as if his brain cells finally connected (and which they only connect when it comes to football). He shot up from the quicksand he was making of himself, and spun his head along with darting pupils around to confirm his thoughts: paintings and pictures of Bachira were on the walls - no doubt, he just got dragged into Bachira's house. And for what!? Because he couldn't take care of himself on the field? Gosh, he's pathetic. 

The internalised thought was pushed away before he could spiral further in embarrassment, and like fate could read his mind, Bachira appeared before him, holding two mugs - steam whispered upwards into the comfortable air. It was then that he also realised he hadn't uttered a word to Bachira since he woke up.

Isagi’s body rose up, opening his mouth. 

I'm really sorry for the trouble, Bachira! - the words played from his head.

"Ghurk-!" ....Was all that came out instead.

The apology quickly dissolved into wheezes, not seeming to stop.

"Woah, woah! Quick, drink this!" Ceramic touched Isagi's lips, a bit forcefully as a ‘clink!’ rang through the house, grazing his teeth.  Hot liquid quickly spread through his throat, soothing it. The blue-haired boy took the cup himself, slowly sipping the rest of the tea.

"Aah Yoichi, you really gotta stop scaring me..." Bachira weakly smiled, eyes gazed tenderly upon the other.

Isagi did not pay attention to this; however, too focused on how the tea relaxed his whole body, "Hm?", he seemingly managed to get out.

"Huh? Just keep on drinking, unless you want to lose your voice altogether!"

The mug now empty, Bachira's hand reached out for out, fingers brushing lightly, now settling the ceramic on top of the coffee table. 

Isagi - now feeling slightly more confident that he could at least form a word - decided to speak up, but was beaten by Bachira's own voice coming first.

"Alright. Before going, Bachira Bachira! I'm so sorry for disturbing your house! I'll take my leave!" He flew his hand above his head, imitating a sprout by doing a peace sign, "It's already so late! And my mum isn't over tonight, so the house is all ours!" 

Giggling like a middle school child, he clutched onto Isagi's hand, chanting, "Sleepover.....sleepover..."

"Okay...okay..." Isagi sighed, throat still raspy, "Thank you, Bachira." His lips curved slightly upwards, Bachira always knew how to make him smile after all.

The other boy wooed in response, pulling Isagi up the stairs and into his bedroom. Schoolwork sprawled across the floor, snacks stashed in the corner of his desk, and the iconic dolphin plushie laid on his bed, smiling back at him. It still looks the same as it did last time Isagi visited, and that fact alone made Isagi more comfortable than he already was, like he was home.

"Don't get too comfy yet, we've got to bathe!" the dribbler rummaged through his closet to bring out two towels, "You probably smell from staying in that field all day long anyways, ewww...", playfully pinching his nose. He then dashed off, footsteps echoing further away and into the bathroom.

"Yeah, yeah I'll get to it." was all Isagi managed to get out of him (unless he wanted to throw another coughing fit). Tirelessly, he dragged his aching legs towards the bathroom, in which inside, the tinkles of water started filling up the bath.

Steam flowed through the room: Isagi's body coaxing in the entrancing warmth so much that he didn't notice Bachira, with no sense of privacy, who was already stripped from top to bottom. He turned to Isagi, "C'mon, strip down."

Now that made Isagi jump out of his skin. Did he hear that right? No way he just told him to do that.

The other raised his eyebrow, "Do you not want to shower?" 

Ah, right. Nights like these, where they stayed over, naturally they bathed together. Though, when did this habit start? Isagi wasn't even sure himself. The point is, Isagi looked stupid right now, panicking over nothing.

The striker groggily shuffled his school clothes off his still-ice cold skin. Despite the warmth filling the house, along with the steam of the bath, Isagi felt himself shivering all over again, his skin now bare. 

Bachira, as if he sensed Isagi's shuddering, took no second to waste and grasped onto his hand, both now enveloped into the heat of the bath. The instant warmth equally shocked and relaxed the quivering boy. Bachira began slathering himself in soap and shampoo, childishly blowing bubbles in the process.

Isagi however, was frozen still, his body temperature all over the place. "Ughh.." He sniffled, somewhat in a daze. The groan had Bachira observing at the striker in front of him, Isagi only half-aware of the water sinking onto his body. 

"..." The dribbler eyed him once more, and after a beat, took the shampoo bottle, spilling the contents onto his hand. Isagi then felt soft fingers, doted along his scalp, in which he relished the feeling. The movement was slow, and steady, going up and along his now foamy hair, delicate touches fiddling with the ends of it.

Isagi used this moment to let his eyes droop shut, letting out a breath from his nostrils he didn't know he was holding. They've showered together, sure, but for some reason, the way the other was hovering so close to where his breath tingles his skin, his touch overwhelmed with care, Isagi couldn't help but flush.

A flood of water splashed down his head, bubbles and soap running down his shoulders, "All done." Bachira beamed, admiring his handiwork.

Isagi shakingly brought his arms to his face, wiping off the bubbles covering his eyes. "Thanks." He managed to get out. 

Bachira jumped out of the bath, water trickling down his body, "You can thank me, by staying here tonight." he winked, once again clutching onto Isagi's arms, lifting him up. Droplets of water plopped onto the bath as Isagi stood clumsily, before Bachira caught him for the nth time, covering his wet body with a fluffy towel, imprinted with dots. Once more, Isagi let Bachira lead him out of the bathroom, through the corridors.

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Back into the dribbler's bedroom, Bachira flung the scraps of schoolwork off his bed before Isagi fully settled down. Scurrying through the clumps of clothes, he finally found a pair of loose trousers and a shirt.

"Put these on Isagi!" Isagi whipped his head to the voice, and clothes slapped onto his face was what greeted him.

Freshly washed and clothed, Bachira took out his hair dryer, blowing the air onto Isagi's head. Both were now seated on the brunette's bed, Sun now completely gone from view by the window. Occasional drifts of cars could be heard from the distance, and fingers yet again brushed along Isagi's scalp. His head melted into the feeling like before, was he always like this? Or maybe relishing himself into Bachira's hands was something he never noticed in himself. It's the same clingy Bachira after all, who's all over him, this isn't any different. And yet, he felt himself feeling warm in his stomach and cheeks, as if this is something different, but it isn't really, it's just Bachira.

"Wanna explain what you were doing after school?" Bachira's voice sliced through his thoughts.

Ah, what was he doing after school? 

"Just practicing..." The boy in question thought to himself outloud, too occupied on how Bachira's hands ruffle his hair gently.

"Practice outside...for that long? In the middle of winter?" Bachira eyebrow raised right back, despite Isagi facing away from the other, he felt eyes boring from behind his skin.

Sheepishly, Isagi scratched his cheek, "Okay, yeah you're right. It just didn't hit me how late it was, I guess", and it was true, Isagi really didn't know that the Sun would set down so fast, or that his whole body was slowly icing away. All he could focus on was the field, and the ball in front of him, it was like ecstasy. 

"Aah, what do I expect from you? You've always been like this after all, it's actually quite admirable. Having a passion so strong!" Hair now dry, Bachira dropped the blow dryer elsewhere, however hands still lingered on Isagi's head. "That's how we became friends after all. Football is our life!"

"Mhm." Reminiscing on how the two first met on the field, the first day of the soccer club, always made Isagi smile. Who would he be without Bachira? He made him find a love for football deeper than he could've ever imagined.

"But you always run yourself cold." The hands that were gently brushing Isagi's head now felt more tense, "Isagi, you've got to be more aware of yourself. Seriously, you almost dropped dead there."

Voice now stern, the other took this as a signal to face Bachira, and so slowly, he tilted his head slightly, eyes hovered towards the boy. He wasn't wearing his usual grin, now replaced with a slight frown, brows deep and eyes dimmed in concern. It made Isagi's heart tremble in regret.

"I'm sorry, I just...being the best striker is my one goal. I can't fall behind on that." Isagi tried to reason with Bachira, as well as himself. That dream of becoming the world's best, it seemed unfathomable: classmates giggled silently at his amusement through the thought of it, and as much as he would not change his parents in the world, they just didn't seem to understand him. It was Bachira, always Bachira, who made his impossible, be possible. "And I absolutely cannot lose to Kaiser! He beat me last year in internationals, it won't happen again." His teeth gritted in frustration, anything but losing to Kaiser!

Bubbles of laughter lifted from Bachira, "Kaiser!? You really don't like him huh?" His touch was more in ease now, as he ruffled his hair playfully, "y'know, for how much you talk about him, you might as well date him!"

"What." Now Isagi's head was fully facing Bachira's, eyes dug onto his skull. "Bachira! You're meant to support me in this!" He groaned, forgetting the soreness of his throat.

"Yeah yeah, supporting your wedding! Next time we see him-"

"Forget it!"

He pummelled his face on the pillow, ears turning red.

"Hey hey, take these first at least."

Isagi swished his head up, eyes squinting. Two pills and a bottle of water laid on Bachira's palms, "Take it, for your headache."

Isagi never even mentioned his headache to Bachira, in fact he didn't even realise he had a headache, now noticing the numbness of his head hadn't been going away.

He gently took the offer, pills dropped on his left palm and bottle clutched onto the other. He twisted the cap off with ease and gulped down the pills, his parched throat taking it all in, letting the medicine settle in his body. He plopped onto the bed; thoughts so far gone that it didn't occur to him that the lights were already off, or that the dribbler's blanket was already covering their bodies. Mattress sinking onto his back, two arms slithered around his body, quite comfortably so as the soft fabric of the person’s pajamas engulfed his body…

Wait, what.

His body gave out a nervous jerk: Bachira snuggled close to Isagi, arms tightening around his waist, enough to keep him in place but not too much as to strain him. It was as if his mind became hyperaware of the sudden moment: skin to skin, face to neck, the soft fabric brushing the whole of Isagi’s body. 

His mind was so fixated on Bachira's arms: it left the striker laying, staring up at the ceiling, finding the noises of the swaying trees much more interesting than anything else ; definitely not how his best friend's nose was touching his now flush neck, or how his skin tickled from the said friend’s gentle breathing, or how this whole ordeal was making his whole body flaming from the closeness, hoping that Bachira really, really won't realise he's the cause.

"That fever seems bad huh." 

Thank goodness he didn't realise.

"Seems so." Isagi squeaked out. "I'm still sorry I made you worry so much."

"Hmm. It's alright." Isagi felt the grin plastered on Bachira's face, "after all, you've got me to ground you down."

Ah, so that was it, why Bachira always made his structured puzzle falter into mere segments. Because through all the logic, Bachira was the one who seeped in to look into his heart. Who cared when he forgot to.

And he cared for Bachira too - so, so much.

"You have me too."

The quietness stretched, but it wasn't awkward. Both boys sunk deeper into the mattress and their touches, relishing in each other's now fresh scent.

"You can be the best striker in the world," Bachira murmured, deciding to fill the silence, "but you're always gonna be my best friend too. So take care of yourself, please?"

"Yes, I will."

"You better!"

Isagi couldn't help the small tug curving up from his lips.

Bachira. Whenever it's anything, it's always with him, and when separated, they find their way back to each other. From school days to training sessions, school football team to the internationals, there was no vital moment in his life or now, where Bachira was included. 

Arms tightened around Bachira's body, as Isagi's eyebrows furrowed in thought of him.

“Yoichi..?”

Isagi’s head only dug onto Bachira’s shoulder in response, finding comfort in the cottony fabric of pajamas, as he went deep in thought. 

Whenever something never went as expected, it always included Bachira, but never in a bad way : as if all the puzzle pieces he carefully crafted together couldn't predict him in the mix. Even then, when he intended to be the best by himself, he didn't end up dreaming of that alongside Bachira. Even now, when he expected to strengthen his body in the cold, only now to have heart relaxed with warmth through the heat of his best friend.

And every time, he'd end up embracing it, embracing Bachira, his antics, his love. Because he wouldn't want anyone else in the world, but him….huh. That kinda sounded like a confession, didn’t it?

"Bachira.." he spoke to the ceiling.

"Uh huh?"

"I think I love you, Bachira."

"...."

The boy blinked once, then twice, and softly giggled, "That fever really must be bad."

Isagi's eyes widened, and looked down upon Bachira, only able to see the yellow streaks in the dark night, "Um, yeah."

He squeezed his eyes to welcome the darkness. Get real Yoichi, he's your friend. It's the best it's gonna get. Ignoring the fact he practically got rejected, Isagi greeted slumber (only now realising how exhausted he was). Just before he did however, a softness pressed onto his forehead, a light brush of lips.

"I love you too.”

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Isagi stirred awake – light peeped out of the windows, warmth coated his chest. His head was blurry from the fragmented memories of last night, only reminiscent of the feeling of gentle care throughout.

Also, it could be just him, but the blanket tugging his body felt more heavier than a usual blanket. 

“Hey.” Bachira's morning voice rang out. 

His bleary vision only made out the small smile of lips, along with upturned eyes glowing back at him. That explains it.

“Mffghhh..” Isagi groggily sat up, hair tousled and pajamas creased.

Bachira hopped off the boy (much to Isagi's demise), and shuffled to the edge of the bed, “You feeling better?”

His throat was still aching, and his head was fuzzy, but not unbearably so. In other words: Yes, he is doing better.

Isagi nodded lightly.

“Let's go school then?”

Despite the visible signs of improvement, and that in all honesty he was well enough to go to school, Isagi felt incredibly comfortable in this mattress, and did not want to face the terrors of the cold. And Bachira, he did not wanna waste this opportunity being alone with him. In other words: No, he did not wanna go.

Isagi shook his head.

Bachira fake gasped, “Oooh Isagi, skipping school. That's out of character for you!” 

Body fell and sunk into the mattress, Isagi shuffled the blanket back over his body, curled in a fetal position, “Eugh, it's just too comfy here..” 

“Wow, we even have team practice today too, y'know?” Bachira whistled, casually.

Isagi did not take this information casually, he sprung right back up again, “We do!?” 

A hand flung onto Isagi's chest, pushing him down to gravity's strength, “But we're staying here, aren't we?”

Oh.

Great, now Isagi is stuck between the two most important things of his life: Football, or his best friend.

…However, the boy already knew his response. His strength was Football - but his best friend's ethereal face looking down upon him, bathed in the morning sunlight, made him an utterly weak man.

So of course Isagi breathed out, “Yeah, you're right.”

Satisfied with the response, the other gleamed.

“Hot cocoa and toast?”

“Hot cocoa and toast.”

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Shoulders were pressed against each other, enveloping the smell of fresh breakfast; Isagi couldn't feel any more happier. 

Bachira, mouth stuffed with bread, took Isagi's own toast, flying it towards his face, “Say ahh!”

Isagi protested, “Bachira, I get I'm sick, but this is embarrassing-!" Before he could spit out his words, the food got shoved into his mouth.

“What did you say?” Bachira wipes away the crumbs on his best friend's cheek.

The boy chewed. “Nothing..” he sighed in defeat.

The world had yet to see the best striker, but for now he'd be hidden softly, in the arms of his best friend.