Chapter Text
Barou sits on his throne (a flimsy plastic cafeteria chair), listening to the proletarians (yellow highlights guy, princess, the one that’s more annoying than the other ones) talk about nothing important (the strategy should be to pass to him, duh), spooning rice into his mouth like it’s his last meal.
“King,” Isagi dips his head respectfully to Barou before taking a seat next to him.
Barou almost swallows rice down the wrong pipe, his face heating up at the nickname. Yeah, that’s goddamn right he’s the king. Good on Isagi for acknowledging it. “What do you want? I’m eating here.”
“I wanted to talk to you about our upcoming match,” Isagi says through a mouthful of steak.
“What about it? I already told you that I’m going to crush you.”
“That’s fine, but I was wondering if we could also coordinate another chemical reaction, something more like what Bachira and I have.”
Is Barou ever going to tell Isagi that he can be plied with a few kisses on the cheek? Hell no. Isagi’s already got yellow highlights guy climbing him like a tree twenty four seven, Barou isn’t going to let Isagi have the satisfaction of lording his stupid crush over him. Also– he watches Isagi lick his fingers clean of sauce and nearly has a heart palpitation– with how ruthless Isagi gets during games, there’s no doubt in Barou’s mind that if the other striker knew about his crush, then he’d use it to his advantage and force Barou to pass to him, like a fucking snake charmer or something.
“King? Hey, you’re spacing out.” Barou blinks back into reality. Isagi’s frowning, concerned. “You’ve been staring for a while.”
“You need a license to look at other people now?” Barou sneers. So maybe he’s been more mean to Isagi since figuring out that banter verging on bullying counts as flirting in Barou’s fucked up head. The thing about Isagi is this: No one in Barou’s life has ever in their time playing with him had the gall to call him a donkey and an idiot to his face. Except Isagi. Some deeply buried part of Barou had lit up at that, and well, shit, now he’s stuck with the revelation that he’s a bit of a degradee, despite his insistence that Isagi take back the insults. Can’t be losing face as the king after all. Stupid Isagi and his stupid pretty face.
“What do I have to do to get you to play ball with us?” Isagi calls as he sweeps his tray off the table and deposits it neatly in the trash.
“You can’t offer me anything except passes.”
“What kind of passes do you want?” Isagi continues.
“The kind I can score off of.”
“King–” Barou’s heart jumps. “Everyone else has something, surely you have one as well? I can get the other guys to clean up better if that’s what you want.”
“You think that making princess and highlights–”
“Chigiri and Bachira.”
“Clean up better is going to make me pass to you?”
Isagi shrugs good-naturedly. Barou is immune to his charms, he is not whipped for Isagi Yoichi, that would be absolutely stupid. “I dunno. I know you like winning and being punctual and clean, so I thought all those things combined would persuade you.”
“Save it for the field,” Barou says, turning his back on Isagi.
“Wait!”
He can hear the disappointment oozing from Isagi’s voice. Reluctantly he turns back around. Not whipped, he reminds himself. “What?” He makes sure he sounds exasperated and done with this conversation.
“I was uh– hoping we could get to know each other better?” Isagi says.
“Like a date or something?”
Isagi is supposed to take that in stride. Good natured back and forth, bad natured back and forth, shit, even a regular old back and forth between rivals. Instead, Isagi grins. “If that’s what you want it to be!”
Barou feels himself turn bright red. “Shut up,” he mumbles. Then, quietly. “Fine. But you have to score as many as me.”
Isagi blinks, wide eyed at the admission. “Why? I thought you wanted to score–”
“Because!” Barou points at the small screen on the wall of the cafeteria. It proudly displays the goal to prize ratio. One for steak, three for cell phone use, and ten for a day outside of Blue Lock. “If you want a date with me, it’s not gonna be some shitty lunch here in this glorified prison. I’m taking you out, but you have to score as many as I do, because otherwise you’re stuck here, got that? I’m a king, not some fucking cheapo.”
Isagi, to his credit, starts coordinating. “Do you want me to pay?” He offers.
Little viper knows he basically got everything he wanted out of Barou, but there’s no way he’s going to let Isagi pay for his lunch. “No.”
“But–”
“Go with it pipsqueak.” He rolls his eyes, and, against his better judgment, awkwardly pats Isagi on the back. “A king pays for his subjects.”
It’s Isagi’s turn to color. “Oh. Um. Thanks!”
“Yeah yeah, don’t mention it. I’ll be waiting.”
Isagi tugs at Barou’s sleeve, raising an eyebrow. Barou thinks maybe he wants to whisper something into his ear, and foolishly he leans down so that the short little bastard can reach. Warm lips against his cheek, gone as soon as he notices them. “Thanks!” Isagi calls as he saunters out of the room, waving cheerfully to Chigiri and Kunigami, who are snickering behind their open palms at Barou’s stunned expression.
“Shut it!” He yelps.
“Have fun on your daaaate,” Chigiri says, tacking on a sultry whisper of “king,” just to fucking rub it in.