Chapter Text
…
The sweet spring air, spiced with the thrill of sport and high spirits drifted through the streets, gently tousling our hairstrands. Around us, the park leaves and streetlights seemed to take turns flickering, mimicking the shimmer of the moon above.
Huuu… I breathed slowly, feeling surprisingly calm despite everything. My ‘patient’ for the night was silent, seemingly lost in the scenery. We had slipped out of the stadium through a side exit, neither of us having the slightest desire to run into teammates or staff. Dressed in low-profile athletic gear and caps, we moved quickly, keeping our heads down to avoid drawing eyes.
I had only agreed to walk him home, but he had pushed instead for a quiet stroll before he headed back to his hotel. He promised this would be the last time he’d disrupt my peace, the last time he’d pull a stunt like this. Honestly, a selfish part of me didn't mind. I wanted to dissect him, to study Bunny under a microscope so I could read him perfectly on the pitch.
Call it cruel, cold, or whatever you want. I had to laugh at those kinds of labels. What did any of that matter to me? My only goal was securing my spot as the best midfielder in the world. If that rabbit fell behind because I found someone better to push me, so be it. It was obvious he struggled to keep up with the pace at times.
But again, not my problem, not my business.
We took a short walk through the many winding alleyways of Barcelona. The city was alive and glowing, the local bars still buzzing with talks about the penalty and tourists enjoying the warm Spanish night.
Bunny abruptly stopped in front of a tacky souvenir shop, obviously a total tourist trap, but he didn't seem to care. He wore a black cap with a cartoonish rabbit mascot pulled low, partially shadowing his bland stare as he scanned the cheap trinkets. I stopped a few paces back, still questioning my own sanity for being here.
-”It looks like you.”
He held up a small pendant featuring a scowling ginger cat, offering it to me with the same casual gesture he'd used with my bracelet earlier. I hit him with the blankest, most deadpan look I could muster. He just grinned, completely unfazed, and set it back down. I turned and started walking again, pointedly staring at the stone walls to avoid eye contact with passants. He then fell into step beside me on the narrow sidewalk.
As our two easily distinguishable silhouettes wandered around the shuttered shopfronts, his quiet voice interrupted through the short silence:
-”Is this soothing?”
-”Not really.” I replied flatly.
-”So, what does soothe you?”
He asked after a brief pause as I could feel his eyes tracking my profile, though I was more focused on deciding whether to turn left or right.
-”None of your business.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pout, apparently deciding not to push his luck. But just as I made up my mind to turn right, he sneaked left, moving a bit too fast down a tight alleyway. I felt a sudden urge to just take off without a word. Haa... I let out a loud sigh, and followed him anyway, picking up my pace as he seemed drawn toward something in the shadows ahead.
The sound of children’s voices bounced off the cold stone walls. It didn't take me long to realize that this two-bit clown was heading straight toward a group of kids kicking a football in front of a small jersey shop.
Is he trying to get recognized, or was he just born brainless? Before I could even process his recklessness, I noticed the jerseys the kids were wearing: Lavinho’s, mine, and Bunny’s. Great... They were fans.
Without warning, that suicidal striker swiped the ball from the smallest kid, spun it through a quick sequence of tricks, and flicked it to a boy on his right. I braced myself for them to lose their minds, but instead, I heard my own name being shouted and utterly butchered through their thick Spanish accents.
They were too young to ask for photos. Instead, they just started playing with Bunny. I watched in silence, completely ignoring the pile of questions they threw our way. Only that moron bothered to answer. I didn't have the energy for his circus.
But as he switched sides, he sent a floating pass directly to me. My foot moved on instinct, trapping the ball with a silent touch. Instead of playing along, I launched the ball to the far end of the alley, infuriating the kids who scrambled to go fetch it.
Bunny gave me a look of surprise thoroughly interrupted as I grabbed his collar and yanked him into an even tighter, darker side street. The only illumination came from the faint glow of shops at either end of the passage. I was sick of him getting comfortable with me.
-”You can be really mean when you want to be.”
I kept moving, ignoring both his faint smile and the remark. But just as I brushed past him, I felt a light tug on my sleeve. I opened my mouth to tell him to back off, but he spoke first:
”Wait. I don't feel so good.”
My gut told me he was faking it to mess with me, but the memory of how he’d acted earlier flashed in my mind. I stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow.
He pulled me gently toward a stone doorstep, sitting down and leaning back. He rested his head against the frame, closing his eyes as he faced the sky. I kept quiet and sat down beside him, scanning both ends of the dark alley to make sure we were still alone.
I then shot a quick glance at his arm. The wound was hidden beneath his sleeve and bandages, not bleeding through. When I looked back up at his face, he was already watching me, his eyes clouded with perhaps..genuine exhaustion and nausea.
His voice was nothing more than a murmur, blending with the comforting whistle of the wind:
-”I’m cold.”
-”Too bad.”
He clutched his gym bag against his chest like a warm cushion, while mine sat untouched by my feet. He looked pathetic. You’d never guess he was a professional athlete; more like a homeless guy or a crackhead on the side of the road...
I let out a loud huff at my own thoughts. At this point, I couldn't tell if he was the one driving me crazy, or if I was just doing it to myself.
-”You too?”
I met his gaze, my brow furrowing... ‘You too’? Oh. He thought I was shivering, maybe. But anyway, I didn't quite understand how he could be cold in such a comfortable spanish warmth.
-”I’m not.”
I looked away, only to hear the rustle of clothing fabric. Before I could react, the uncomfortable warmth of his sports jacket was draped over my shoulders.
I turned back to him, my expression frowning bitter. He flashed that same, irritatingly triumphant grin. I wanted to stuff the jacket down his throat.
With a loud groan of frustration, I ripped the jacket off and threw it right back into his lap.
-”Oh. That's nice of you.”
He murmured, his grin widening slightly as I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.
This guy was so painfully fucking unfunny.
I decided to steer the conversation toward a more interesting topic, reminding myself that I was supposed to be playing the role of his therapist or something tonight...
-”How long have you been inflicting this on yourself?”
I met his gaze again. His eyes seemed slightly unfocused.
-”Since I was twelve, probably.”
That was young. I let the thought hang in the air, not caring if he noticed me getting lost in thoughts. Back when we were at the Re Al youth team, the rumors about his past were always floating around the locker room. Stories about him being an orphan. Stories about his skin serving as a canvas for forced marks.
I gave a slow nod for the first time:
-”So you weren't just a problem for everyone else; you had your own issues too. I guess being an asshole isn't just built into your DNA.”
I rested my chin on my arm, propping it against my knees. When I finally broke eye contact, he moved too, letting his head rest lower against his gym bag.
-”Those were the consequences, I assume.” He said, his voice taking on a more twisted edge: “When you're hurting, you want to make sure everyone else hurts, too. Especially when some little prince who doesn't even speak your language looks down on you.”
-”That doesn't excuse the way you acted back then.
-”Not at all…” He gave a faint shrug. “I've always been too sensitive. ‘Hard to change that.”
My mouth twisted in a slight grimace at the word ‘sensitive’. Still, I forced myself to stick to the plan. Every piece of data on him was a potential advantage on the pitch.
-”You insisted that self-harm doesn’t affect your game. But today, you were well below your usual standard. Explain that.”
He silently sighed, rubbing his face against the fabric of his bag; he looked entirely unthreatening, just like a bunn-
-”I didn’t lie to you. When I’m on the field, I only think about the match. But the second the whistle blows, I remember that I’m not just a footballer. I’m a person.”
He paused as his cheeks creepily rose, his voice dropping to that specific dead tone:
”It makes me wanna die.”
I kept my eyes fixed on the uneven paving stones of the dark alley, letting the silence go on before slowly turning my head to look at him:
-”Then why keep living?” I couldn't manage to sound empathetic. “You could just walk away from all of it if it's such a burden. But you don’t.” I whispered: “I wonder why…”
-”I…”
His voice faded. A full minute passed in a solid silence. The only sounds left were the distant footsteps of strangers blocks away and the clicking of windows closing above us as the city went to sleep.
He went back to burying his face against his gym bag, a bit too much for my liking. I stood there watching him, my annoyance growing by the second. Trying to choose my words carefully rather than speaking impulsively like I usually do, I tilted my head, attempting to read whatever expression he was hiding.
-”Don't want to answer?”
His arms were wrapped tightly around his bag, practically trembling from the force he was using. A moment later, I caught the sound of his breathing that had grown quite too loud for someone who was supposed to be a world-class athlete.
I kept the rest of my words stuck in my throat. It was probably best to let him deal with whatever drama he was spinning. But the more tense he got, the more I wondered if I’d actually pushed him past his limit.
...I couldn't just stand there doing nothing I guess. I tugged at his collar and moved my face close, close enough that, even if he tried to look away, he could feel my eyes scrutinizing him.
”What's the matter with you? Are you having a panic attack, or what?”
He neatly squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his uneven breathing. His right hand was trembling noticeably against the fabric of his bag. Was he in pain? Had the wound reopened? I tried to gently pull back his sleeve to get a better look, but he yanked it away..moving so fast it made it crystal clear I had absolutely no right to see even the bandage.
I frowned. Just an hour ago, he’d had no trouble showing me his fresh wounds. Why the sudden dramatic shift now?
”Hey. Look at me when I'm talking to you.”
He nodded frantically. It was as if that habit of ours, that dynamic between us, was the only thing capable of pulling him back to reality. Deciding to use that to my advantage, I leaned in closer as my voice murmured into its usual flat yet competitive tone:
”Come on, Bunny. The supposed, fraudulent future of Spanish football isn't allowed to fall apart in a dark alley... The best midfielder in the world is telling you to snap out of it.”
I gave his collar multiple shakes, treating him more like a stubborn teammate who had lost his focus on the pitch than a rival.
Slowly, that familiar little smile crept back onto his face. Even so, he didn't look at me directly; he gripped his right wrist and shifted it to the side, ensuring I had no chance of catching a proper glimpse.
We remained silent in the quiet alleyway until he finally spoke, his words taking me off guard:
-”Do you want me to die?”
Huh? I couldn't suppress my surprise in time when he looked me straight in the eye, the unsettling color of his irises seeming entirely detached from the darkness of reality.
I took a slow breath and leaned my head back against the doorframe.
-”I don't want anyone dead.”
-”And if I died?”
His unpredictable moods were starting to seriously test my patience. Did he think I was as twisted as he was? I’d never thought about things like that before. My hatred didn't extend to suffering or death. I knew exactly where to draw the line between the intensity of football and real life; he clearly didn't.
-”I don't get where you're going with this. Drop it.”
Nod. Nod. Nod. All he gave me was a series of nods, turning his head to scan both ends of the street as if suddenly remembering that we were sitting out in the open where anyone could recognize us.
That was when I noticed the rhythmic trembling traveling through his shoulders. I wondered what was the true cause of it...
”And put your jacket on properly. You're shivering.”
-”I'm not shivering because of the cold.”
That made sense, I suppose..considering the spring air wasn't cold. Not at all, actually.
He dropped his jacket to the side, sliding his right hand completely beneath the fabric while his left hand adjusted the drape of the material, keeping himself guarded.
I raised an eyebrow, finally catching his gaze. My voice remained entirely unimpressed:
-”Is that a regular symptom of yours?”
He gave a faint smile. Up close, he seemed as stable as unstable; his voice was perfectly calm, and his eyes had an unsettling ability to remain unreadable, despite the clear trembling through his skin.
-”Normally, I don't get ‘symptoms’.” He rested his left arm on his gym bag, his fingers playfully tapping against the metal zipper. “Normally, the pain makes me feel good. It’s a pain that brings me closer to myself. It makes me forget everything that troubles me.”
He pressed his lips into a tight line, turning his attention back to the paving stones..which really weren't all that interesting. I stood over him, not finding the right way to show sympathy.
Finally, he found the breath to go on:
”But tonight... I don't really know what came over me. When the blood started flowing, I didn't like the pain. I hated the shapes of my open wounds. I just didn't want to see them anymore. I regretted it all.”
-”What was different from usual?”
I asked the question bluntly, honestly more annoyed that his usual routine had been disrupted enough to involve me than focused on the fact that he’d been inflicting this to himself in a stadium restroom.
-”The reason.” He whispered softly, and peacefully.
I turned the thought over in my mind for a split second. It couldn't have been about me..no. I certainly hoped not.
Keeping my voice as detached as possible, I asked softly:
-”Me?”
I hadn't caught my breath like that in a long time. Involuntarily, I found myself praying that I truly had absolutely nothing to do with whatever was going on in his head.
-”Um…”
He stammered, hesitating between answers. Normally, Bunny was just like me; he never filtered whatever crossed his mind. This hesitation was proof enough.
-”No, don't say anything.” I interrupted, letting out an exhausted sigh… “I don't want to hear it.”
He still wouldn't look at me, keeping his eyes fixed on the scuffed ground or darting off to the dark corner of the alley. But finally, he forced his words out of his throat:
-”It's the first time I've regretted hurting myself.”
His confession was brief and quiet, but it was fair enough for me. Even though some might have felt uncomfortable in such an atmosphere, a strange kind of stillness settled between us.
Right now, he didn't look like my rival, or some mediatic persona hyped by club higher-ups. The bitter impression I usually had of him hadn't vanished, but it was effectively being set aside for the moment.
”Sorry.”
I turned my head, raising an eyebrow as he continued:
”Seeing signs of self-harm isn't something anyone should have to witness... That’s not the sort of thing you usually do, genius.”
I wasn't sure why he was trying to strike that half-sad, half-joking tone, but I wasn't going to let him slide:
-”I’ve got a strong stomach. Besides, do you only regret it because I’m the ‘reason’?“
I asked flatly. I still didn't entirely understand how his issues had suddenly become my fault, though his earlier comment about ‘guilt taking the wheel’ gave me a few clues. But sorrowful guys like him were total enigmas, some complex puzzles I didn't have the time or patience to solve.
-”It must be. I... Didn't want you to see me like this. I still don't.” His jaw tightened against a forced smile. “I'm ashamed. I regret it.”
-”Is that why you're hiding your right wrist so pathetically?”
He nodded slowly, that faint smile finally fading completely...
-”I'm still not used to that feeling.” He whispered, before forcing a wider, empty grin: “Bear with me, please.”
-”Whatever you say.” I muttered, looking away.
…
It was midnight. The faint glow of my screen illuminated a bunch of unread messages from my manager, all of which I’d brushed off with short replies. Bunny, on the other hand, hadn’t glanced at his phone once all night. He just sat there, his head against his bag as he quietly watched me. In the darkness, his red-rimmed eyes stood out far more than the blue light of my device.
Our conversation had recently trailed off. He, who had wanted to let me get used to... Whatever was going on with him, he seemed perfectly content just gazing at me replay match highlights on loop. It hadn't even been his best performance, but as usual, he’d still managed to get the entire stadium chanting his name.
With sleepiness, he lifted his head and shifted an inch closer to me. I gave him a bored, questioning look, but he broke the silence anyway, his voice as low as it had been:
-”Let me rest on your shoulder.”
-”You're pushing your luck, shitty striker. Therapists don't usually offer that kind of charity.”
-”Let me buy into the lie that you don't completely loathe my touch.”
-”I don't let anyone touch me. You aren't special.” I stared at him, deadpan.
-”Can a patient be special?”
-”Being deaf on purpose?”
Bunny stifled a laugh, lightly brushing the brim of his cap against my shoulder; I barely felt it through the fabric of my sleeve. Sensing no immediate reaction, he grew bolder, carefully easing the weight of his head down until it rested fully against me. He was deliberate about it, as if trying to make himself feel as light as possible.
It felt completely surreal that a guy standing at 1.91 meters could feel like a feather. I let out a breath, knowing a vein had likely popped out on my face, clearly betraying my irritation. If real therapists had to put up with this during every session, they definitely needed their own professional help.
-”Sae…” He began softly. “Do you actually consider yourself a kind person?”
-”Given the amount of nonsense I tolerate from you, yes.”
Another quiet laugh escaped him, his mood visibly lifting. Without thinking, I glanced down toward his right wrist, trying to catch a glimpse of it. But he kept it strictly hidden beneath his jacket, his every movement being calculated despite what one could think.
Giving up, I closed my eyes and focused on clearing my head. I needed to block everything out. Forget everything. Leave it all behind. I meditated.
Sleep caught up to me faster than expected. When I finally snapped my eyes open, I felt an unfamiliar pressure and heat. My hair brushed against an uncommon fabric as I realized someone was steadying me, one hand softly resting against the side of my head.
Bunny was looking down at me with a mocking grin. I must have blacked out for a quick second.
-”My touch made you so sleepy you started tipping over.” He teased shamelessly: “You're pretty suicidal when you're barely conscious.”
I quietly yawned, straightening my posture immediately and not giving him a single glance.
-”Don't talk nonsense.”
Apparently deciding he hadn’t tested my patience enough, he slumped forward against my back, burying his face in the crook of my neck. He didn't have the nerve to actually wrap his arms around my waist, letting them hang limply against mine instead.
”You-”
-”Is our session over yet?” He interrupted with his muffled voice.
I blinked slowly against the sudden glare of the golden streetlights ahead. His large frame and the sudden warmth were uncomfortable. I hated every bit of that physical contact; the only part of him I could actually tolerate was his unfiltered honesty.
At least he didn't beat around the bush.
-”Yeah, it's over.” I said coldly. “In fact, extra charges apply if you plan on extending the session, you moron.”
-”What's the currency?”
-”Leaving me alone.”
With a loud sigh, I pulled away and stepped out ahead of him. But Bunny wasn't taking the hint. He walked right beside me, completely unfazed:
-”My hotel isn't even in this direction, little prince.”
Ah. Right. I had been the one who had suggested walking him back. I spun on my heel with a bored expression, silently signaling for him to lead the way through my cold teal eyes.
-”You're quite the opportunist.”
He let out a smug chuckle, adjusting his cap as he pulled out his phone to check the map. A flood of missed notifications, texts, and calls lit up his lock screen, but he completely ignored them. Instead, his eyes focused between the closed storefronts and my equally closed-off expression.
The narrow alleyways finally gave way to a wider plaza, immersed in the same atmosphere we’d stepped into earlier. Barcelona was a city that came alive at night. Eventually, the rhythm among us two became soothing; usually, I didn't really take the time to savor my walks.
If my entire life didn't revolve around football, maybe I’d find some genuine peace in walks like this.
The route to his hotel was supposed to take twenty minutes, but we’d already spent five just extricating ourselves from the crowded sidewalks and shadowy corners. We walked at an easy pace, letting the ambient noise of bars and late-night passersby replace any of our voices.
-”I’m afraid I don’t know what my future holds once football is no longer part of my life.”
I took a moment to both process his words and turn toward him.
-”What. Does your life revolve entirely around football?”
-”Yours does too, doesn't it?”
-”You're not wrong.” I admitted casually. “But why bring this up now?”
-”I never really thought about the future until tonight.”
I stayed quiet for a few seconds. It was a fair point, and a classic dilemma for players at our level: how to balance focus on the present without completely blinding yourself to what comes after.
-”My goal is to live a life completely free of hassle. Maybe keep an eye on the next generation of talent while I take it easy. But that’s only after I’ve become the best midfielder in the world. Until then, I don't tolerate downtime.”
-”Of course…” His smile actually seemed genuine for once. “Though I don't think I'm cut out for endless tranquility. I'd probably end up going mad and kill myself.”
-”That wouldn't surprise me.” I remarked dryly. I looked at him, noting how he seemed to enjoy bringing the mood down each single time. “Am I imagining things, or did you only bring up the future just to tell me you're planning to commit suicide the second you retire?”
Bunny pressed two fingers against his mouth, trying then failing to stifle a loud laugh. I gave him a flat, unamused look as his eyes sparked with a mischievous red tint in the streetlight.
-”Hehe. Busted?”
-”You’re the only one who finds that funny.”
-”You're so rude to me, little genius.”
-”Find something more interesting to say... How much time is left?”
-”Ten minutes.” Bunny replied, checking his screen. “We're progressing fast.”
I tried to get my bearings as the lively streets faded behind us. We had transitioned into a largely residential district far removed from the late-night restaurants and commercial noises. In the distance, a massive, brilliantly illuminated building stood out from the neighborhood, its luxurious architecture screaming high-end hospitality. I assumed that was his team's hotel.
He kept the conversation going, his voice slipping back into that calm, slightly plaintive tone:
-”Honestly, I'd rather just stay cooped up at the hotel until the end of the season.”
-”You shouldn't have chosen a home so far from the stadium, then.”
-”You talk as if we aren't in the exact same boat, genius.”
-”Hmh.” I shrugged, looking out at the numerous streets. “Living in a massive city is exhausting either way.”
-”You could always settle down in Tarragona or Girona instead.”
-”I appreciate the advice, but I'm good.”
Bunny mirrored my shrug, letting the conversation drop without an argument. He probably felt the exact same way.
As we went on the wide sidewalk, his phone vibrated continuously, relentless floods of notifications lighting up the dark. He glanced at it, then turned his curious gaze back to me:
-”Do you have practice tomorrow?”
-”As if I'd show up.”
I never liked hitting the pitch the morning after a match. My routine required re-watching the footage until I fully deconstructed every movement and micro-second of timing of mine to fix. Only after learning from those details would I bother showing up.
-”I don't know if I'll make it to mine.” He continued, noticing the slight raise of my eyebrow. “I'm a little worried about the mental aftereffects when I wake up.”
-”Don't be dramatic. You'll be fine.”
-”I'm not exaggerating. I'm still feeling the weight of my wounds right now.”
He wasn't kidding; his sensitivity was palpable. I glanced toward his phone again to calculate the distance left..three minutes, then replied flatly:
-”Find a way to get your head straight. Tonight is an exception.”
-”Tonight? It's morning.” He countered with a grin: “Does that mean you're staying with me until tonight?”
-”You're incredibly bold, I'll give you that. But absolutely not. No way in hell.”
-”Hmm... Rude.”
Strangely, he didn't get pushy. We finally arrived at the hotel entrance, where the overwhelming volume of golden lights and polished gold lettering was practically blinding. The intense reflection alone felt like it was costing me five hours of sleep.
It was only then, under the harsh volume of lights, that I noticed Bunny had completely left his sports jacket behind. He’d been holding his right wrist ever since we left the plaza, intentionally trailing a step or two behind me to keep it out of sight.
I let out a soft breath...
-”You forgot your jacket.”
-”Good point.” He muttered flatly.
-”Go to sleep.”
Without overthinking it, I unzipped my own sport-jacket, the metallic slide of the zipper resonating through the quiet. When that two-bit striker took it and tried to pull it on, an amused smile made its way across his face:
-”Oh... Thanks, but... This is a bit small for me. I can only really wear it like this.”
My jacket hung open, the ends of the sleeves dangling past his hidden hands while his shoulders remained pretty constricted. His body was simply too broad for my gear.
-”Doesn't matter. As long as it covers your hands.”
He nodded, his smile kept in place. Before turning toward the doors, he leaned in and gave me another brief head-nudge, much gentler and slower than the one from the locker room. I chose not to react, letting him have his moment of peace for the very last fucking time.
-”Good night, Sae-san.”
I watched him walk through the glass doors and move across the lobby as if nothing had happened, only turning on my heel once he disappeared toward the elevators.
Did that moron really think adding ‘-san’ to my name was going to earn him any extra points?
…
Sae pressed his phone to his ear, ready to head back to his hotel as if this night had been just like any other. Bunny’s subtle fragrance seemed to linger faintly on his neck; he rubbed the spot, feeling ill at ease.