Chapter Text
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“It’s fine.”
Reo’s hands are shaking.
“Nagi, listen.”
Reo’s hands never shake. They’re never still, either, but Nagi has only ever seen them move with precise, unadulterated confidence. Reo gestures in complete movements, from start to finish. These tremors, these half-actions, are novel against Nagi’s skin.
“It’s going to be alright.”
Reo’s hands say otherwise.
“You got enough goals in the previous matches—”
Reo’s not smiling. Nagi wishes he would smile.
“—you’re enough.”
Enough. It’s a very different modifier to genius.
“This will be enough.”
It has to be enough, Reo doesn’t say. Nagi hears it anyway.
But enough is not enough. Reo did not like Nagi, did not want Nagi, did not choose Nagi for being enough—he chose Nagi for being a genius, a talent, a treasure. If Nagi cannot retain that title—
“Nagi.”
Reo isn’t supposed to sound like that. Reo shouldn’t sound like that.
“Are you listening?”
Pained. That’s the word for Reo’s voice. It’s pained.
He’s hurting, and it’s Nagi’s fault. Again, again, again, it’s Nagi’s fault.
Last time, he had too much time and too little to say. Now, he has far too much to say and far too little time. It feels a bit cruel.
But he tries anyway.
“Reo.”
He tries, even though it’s too late, even though it won’t be enough.
“I had fun.”
He needs Reo to know it. He couldn’t say it last time, but maybe now, maybe when it’s too late, he can fix it.
“Nagi—”
Reo’s expression does something odd when he tries to speak, crumpling where it should curve, drooping where it should beam. Nagi again wishes he would smile again instead. Maybe his weak words can fix this.
“Playing with you,” Nagi tries. No, that wasn’t right. “Being with you—it wasn’t a pain.”
Another crumple, another droop. It’s not working.
“I know. Nagi, I know, but this isn’t the end—”
Reo’s not getting it.
“I had fun.”
Reo closes his eyes.
“It was fun,” Nagi finally admits. “Playing soccer with you and—” His voice, quiet as it already is, falters. “—and being with you.”
Reo rests his forehead against Nagi’s. From so close, Nagi can hear the rapid, shallow rise and fall of his breaths.
“Nagi.”
Oh, Nagi will miss this, won’t he? The way Reo holds his name on his tongue, like he’s something valuable, like he’s something meaningful, like he’s something to be treasured. Nagi has always wondered what it would sound like against his lips, but now, he will only have the memory of its phantom embrace.
“Don’t say these things—don’t talk like this, we’re not done.”
Reo, Reo, Reo, beautiful, optimistic Reo—this desperation and hurt and fear don’t deserve to twist at his voice.
“We… we made a promise, didn’t we?”
There’s that smile Nagi so fervently wished for, but it’s wrong, all wrong. It’s the wrong curve, the wrong smile, the wrong joy, and Nagi cannot help but tear his gaze away.
They made a promise, but the wrong promise.
Stay with me until the end, Nagi had told Reo, and he’d thought the end was self-explanatory. It was only too late he had realized what Reo intended as their end.
But in hindsight, it’s to be expected. Reo has been entirely forthright with why he’s wanted Nagi, why he’s ever wanted Nagi. If anything, it is Nagi who has been reticent in sharing his own desires—
—but at its essence, it is simple.
Nagi likes Reo, and Reo likes soccer.
And that, alone, until now, has been enough. It’s been enough because Nagi has been enough, more than enough—a genius, a treasure, a tool unique enough to still be wanted for a goal that stands barely outside their reach. Nagi is wanted because he is useful—
—but if Nagi can’t play soccer—
Will you find someone else to become the best in the world with?
“No.”
It takes Nagi a blink to register Reo’s voice breaking through his thoughts. It takes another blink to register the hand Reo offers to him. Nagi doesn’t especially think he deserves even this kindness, but he takes Reo’s hand anyway. Reo’s grip is tight, safe, secure.
“Nagi, you made it. Of course you’ve made it. How would you not?”
I’m sorry, Nagi thinks.
“You’re Seishiro Nagi. You’re…”
I’m sorry, Reo, Nagi thinks.
“You’re a treasure, Nagi.”
He used to be Reo’s.
“The world isn’t going to forget you this easily.”
Would Reo?
“You are this team.”
I don’t want to lose you.
“Nagi, you are this team.”
I don’t want to leave you.
“Manshine City doesn’t exist without you—”
I don’t want this.
“—how can you think anything otherwise?”
I’m sorry.
“Nagi.”
Reo, I’m sorry—
“Please—”
And it is this—the fragile, brittle edge to Reo’s voice coupled with a squeeze to Nagi’s hand—that finally brings Nagi back.
“Talk to me.”
Ah, Nagi thinks.
“Say something—”
I’m being a pain, Nagi realizes.
Nagi looks up. Whatever Reo sees on his face—
“Nagi,” Reo whispers. “Please.”
Reo doesn’t say please. Reo takes what he wants and gets what he wants, and—
“A-ah, Chigirin~! You got sixth!”
—will he want Nagi, after this?
Nagi’s gaze drifts to the monitor. Reo’s name proudly stands at seventh. Something warm glows in Nagi’s chest.
Of course, he thinks. You’re amazing, Reo.
He doesn’t bother to face the monitor any longer. Instead, he searches Reo’s face. He searches Reo’s face as miscellaneous cheers and surprised yells fill into the field behind and around them. He searches Reo’s face as triumphant victors leave the court. He searches Reo’s face to commit every curve, corner, crevice to memory. He searches Reo’s face until he understands.
He squeezes Reo’s hand one last time. Reo’s grip on Nagi’s hand has loosened. Without Reo noticing, he slips his hand out. He takes a step back.
“Sorry.”
It’s all he can offer now.
“I’m sorry, Reo.”
It’s too much and too little all at the same time.
Nagi can see it—the exact moment Reo understands, too.
Sorry will not be enough because Nagi is not enough.
Because Nagi likes Reo, and Reo likes soccer—
—but if Nagi can’t play soccer—