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When Nagi wins the World Cup, he is alone.
Isagi scores their winning goal six minutes into overtime. It's as if he drops a burning match into a vat of gasoline—the crowd explodes accordingly, full of noise and color that sweeps their team into a crowd of flashing lights and sweat and heat. Nagi finds himself between Bachira and Rin, somehow. Bachira is screaming his head off and wringing Isagi's neck, and Rin is laughing, crying at the sky, hugging Nagi of all people, and as Nagi hugs him back, he realizes it's the only time he's seen Sae's little brother smile.
Victory makes everyone drunk, it seems. The bench hoists Isagi into the air and parades him around until he chokes on confetti. Nagi lets himself get buffeted around, dizzy with exhaustion. It's kind of strange, because he's dreamed about this moment for a very long time, and he still feels out of touch. Nothing, really, but an itch that fails to ebb, no matter how much he puzzles at it. Something is off, but whatever something is, he doesn't know.
They win, but Nagi is not happy.
In the mess, Rin peels away from Nagi, and suddenly Nagi is cold and lonely in a sea of people. His ears are throbbing. There's a droning, floating buzz in his head, and as he sees a glint of gold approaching them, slow, over the crowd of hands and heads, he begins to feel something rise in his mouth. Like nausea, but there's nothing to throw up, so he stands with his fingers twisted into his jersey and swallows his discomfort.
Isagi hogs the trophy for a while, and everyone lets him. It trickles its way through the team to Nagi eventually, though, and the horde backs away just enough to let a few reporters stick their cameras into Nagi's face as he receives the cup from Bachira. It's surprisingly underwhelming for such a remarkable object—maybe because he's spent so much time looking at it on Reo's laptop screen—but as he holds it in his hands, all he can feel is some liberating sort of relief.
"Thank you," he says to the cameras. He starts to cry. Everyone cheers for some reason, and Bachira leaps on his back to rake the scraps of colored paper out of his hair, and Nagi lets him. He is tired; he's a weary kind of tired. There's nothing he wants to do more than sleep.
"Why are you crying?" Isagi shouts at him through the din, after the cameras turn to zoom in on Rin instead. He's smiling from ear to ear. Nagi has long since gone numb and can barely hear him, and he shakes his head in response.
Back in high school, Nagi would celebrate winning games with his team. They'd lift him up onto their shoulders in the locker rooms and buoy him about, jostling him through the sweaty air while he stared up into the fluorescent ceiling lights and wondered how much homework he'd have to finish that night. Reo would hold his hand through it all—like his lifeline, waiting to catch him even though he never fell.
Nagi's hands are still cold. He curls his fingers into his palms and feels the fading sting of metal on his skin. The warm press of another body greets him every way he turns, but it's never anybody he wants to see.
When Nagi wins the World Cup for Reo, Reo is not there. He hasn't been for years.
Nagi is losing his mind.
It's been too long. He's been alone for too long, maybe, and he doesn't know anything at all—not news to him, but he clings to whatever sanity he has left, and that includes the World Cup. Win it, has been his motto for the past several years. Win it, for Reo. Win it, and Reo will—
(Reo will what, exactly?)
Nagi wins. He takes the team's replica of the trophy along with him, into Reo's fancy apartment complex and up to his door, through the worst thunderstorm of the summer. He sends the team a single text, just so they know where it's gone. Maybe he's in trouble now, stealing it for himself like this—he doesn't particularly care. He knocks on Reo's door with his backpack in his left hand and waits, slouched against the far wall. It takes ten seconds for him to hear muffled footsteps approaching, a quiet laugh and a soft call; "Coming, give me a moment."
He sounds just like Nagi remembered. He still speaks with such gentle indulgence, even if Nagi’s name doesn’t roll off of his tongue anymore. He is still so slow and careful as he opens the door, smiling, dressed for bed. He sees Nagi and freezes.
"Reo," Nagi says. Then, a little quieter; "I'm home."
Reo closes the door. Nagi hears the sound of his lock clicking. His unspoken words echo in his ears, bouncing down the empty corridor and into the distance—Hey, Reo, let me in. We're both older now, we can go out for drinks together for the first time, isn't it great? Reo, I won it for you. Tell me I did well, just to make me happy, please. Reo, winning isn't supposed to be this miserable, right? Won't you fix me?
Nagi's belongings are halfway across the world. Nowhere he can go, nothing he can do. The trophy is heavy on his arm. He reaches out and knocks again. He does not say anything he wants to, but he does tell Reo through the door, "I have nowhere to stay, Reo. Just do me this one favor."
Reo's back in front of him in an instant with a horrible look on his face, a pained scowl that Nagi almost can't stand looking at. It's pathetic, how easily he comes running back, and Nagi feels pathetic for knowing that. Feels pathetic for liking it. Reo must be thinking something similar, because he can't quite meet Nagi's gaze, and he's tentative as he stares off at the wall behind Nagi's head and says, "Just this once," like the liar he is.
Nagi has grown since they last met, and Reo looks a little smaller now. Softer, mellow and fraying at the edges, in a comforting sort of way. There's less rigidity to the lines of his shoulders now, maybe because he quit football all those years ago. He smells like mint toothpaste and flowery shampoo. A little like he was before high school, actually, on Sunday afternoons in his bedroom, doing nothing. Nagi knows because he's long since memorized the way Reo sounds when he breathes; quiet, in for two seconds, out for three.
"I've missed you," Nagi tells him, more out of habit than anything. Reo twitches and drops his gaze to the floor, and he backs away to let Nagi inside, arms crossed.
"You're supposed to be at the World Cup right now," Reo says, distant, as Nagi drags his shoes against the carpet and shakes his sopping jacket. He turns away from Nagi—his hair is done up in a short ponytail, and Nagi gets such a dizzying rush of nostalgia looking at it that he almost forgets to listen. "What happened?"
"Nothing. It's already over," Nagi says. "I just wanted to come home early."
"Go to your house, then."
Nagi stares at Reo's back. He sighs and wrings his jacket between his fingers one final time before hanging it on the coatrack, and he amends, "I meant I wanted to come see you, Reo."
"We're not friends anymore," Reo says.
"I'll always be yours." Yours, or your friend, Nagi's telling the truth either way.
He gets his shoes off and simply stands there for a moment, dripping dark circles onto Reo's doormat. Reo turns back to him slowly and studies him through careful eyes, guarded. Nagi waits for him to take his hand, to pull him into a warm hug. He waits for Reo to treat him like he used to—but they'd fallen apart a long time ago, and Nagi only gets a curt nod and a wave at the couch. "Sit down," Reo says. "I'll get you something to drink."
It's late. Reo must be tired, and Nagi wants to thank him for his hospitality, but something about the haunted look on the other man's face gives him pause. He walks inside and takes a seat without speaking, and Reo drifts into the kitchen, bare feet falling softly across the tiles.
Nagi's not sure what he expected when he decided to come here. Half of him had hoped Reo would welcome him with open arms, a laugh and a hug and some kind of easy apology, I'm sorry for avoiding you, let's catch up, please? He knows that they haven't seen each other since Blue Lock—knows that Reo is upset at him for leaving him, and that he should be upset in turn, but the memory of Reo's gentle care for him still burns bright, and he can't help but think that surely, things cannot change too much.
Reo returns a moment later with a cold bottle of lemon tea and a weary sort of smile on his face. "Here you go," he says, setting it right into Nagi's hands. "I'll get you a towel. Are you hungry?"
Nagi is, a little, but he doesn't want to trouble Reo any more than he already has, so he shakes his head. Reo disappears again, and Nagi closes his eyes, sinks into the couch cushions, focused on following the slow slide of a raindrop down the back of his neck. His bag topples onto the ground and he lets it go, suddenly tired down to the tips of his fingers. Everything sounds, smells, feels like Reo. It's like coming home after a long day. After a few years.
"Don't fall asleep yet," Reo says. He's back already. Nagi opens one eye. "You're not going to drink?"
"Ah," Nagi says. He twists the cap off of his bottle and brings it to his lips, then sets it down onto the table in front of him. "I didn't think you liked these."
"I just bought a few on a whim the other day," Reo says. He holds the towel out, and Nagi waits. "Do you want to dry off?"
Nagi tips his head forward and says, "Won't you do it for me?"
Reo's hand trembles. He drops the towel into Nagi's lap and sits down next to him, a careful arm's length away. "I'll get you some spare blankets so you can sleep on the couch," he says evenly. "Unless you want the bed, then I can sleep out here. And I can pay for a taxi to come in the morning, just tell me when you need to go, okay?"
Nagi stares at Reo. "Hey," he says. "You're not going to say anything?"
"I'm talking to you right now," Reo says, restless. They're not talking to each other at all, really, not when Reo is like this. "Do you want an extra pillow?"
Nagi takes a breath. He bites the bullet, hard; "I won," he says, struggling to keep his voice low, but the words still sting as they leave his tongue. "I won the World Cup." Then, a little softer, he adds, "Won't you congratulate me?"
Reo leans close to him, sets a bracing hand on his shoulder. He smiles wide and says, "Congratulations, Nagi," but it's not what Nagi wants to hear.
"Don't say that," Nagi tells him. "You don't mean it."
Reo's face falls immediately. "You're right," he says shortly, leaning back. He stands quickly and slinks out of the room, and he returns with a fluffy blanket in tow. "Goodnight, Nagi," he says, depositing the blanket on the ground in front of him.
Nagi's not sure what he expected when he decided to come here, but it wasn't this. He didn't come here to say hello and sleep over and pass right out of Reo's life again, existing for a night and then never again. He didn't think Reo would be easy, but he didn't think it would be this hard, either, and he fails to find a response as Reo stares at him under the dim light.
"Why did you even come here?" Reo asks abruptly, quick and harsh, as if he doesn't want an answer. "It's been years. We're not supposed to be talking to each other."
"...Why can't I be here?"
Reo scuffs one foot against the ground. Nagi watches his discomfort, hates it. "You broke our promise," Reo says, and Nagi catches his vulnerability immediately, in the way his voice wavers. "You left me. I can't forgive you for that."
"I know," Nagi says, unabashedly apologetic. "I'm sorry."
"You can't just say that to me and expect me to let you in..."
But you already did, Nagi thinks sorrowfully. "I'm sorry," he says again, and he lifts his bag onto the couch, unzips it with one hand. "But our promise, Reo—I haven't forgotten it. Not once."
Reo sighs, and the tension in his shoulders softens infinitesimally. He takes one tentative step forward, and Nagi holds out a hand. Begs him to come, please, eyes wide and hopeful. And it works, just enough, because Reo slides his palm over Nagi's with painstaking reluctance and meets his gaze. "Here," Nagi breathes, and he lifts the World Cup into Reo's arms. "It's for you."
Reo sways as it lands in his hand, dipping under its weight before he straightens back up again. He stares down at it for a long moment, and Nagi watches him collapse, shivering from head to toe, until he presses his face into Nagi's shoulder and begins to cry, choking as he drags an inhale through his teeth. "Nagi," he whispers. His hand tightens in Nagi's, pulling at his skin until he thinks he might bleed.
Nagi cradles Reo's head and stares at the ceiling. Reo's not yelling. He's not mad, he's not telling Nagi to leave. He's not rejecting him, and surely that is a victory, and yet—
Reo isn't happy.
"Reo," Nagi says. Reo flinches away from him. "Hey, don't look at me like that. Please, be happy."
Reo shakes his head. "Nagi."
"You wanted this, right?" Nagi forces a grin, lifts the trophy vaguely. "Look, look, I got it—got it for you, just for you, Reo." He nudges his forehead against Reo's, half-desperate, hating the growing ache in his chest. "Won't you smile for me? Please?"
Reo laughs, watery, real tears spilling down his face. He drags a hand across his face and smiles weakly, and there's something so utterly broken in his face that Nagi wants to cry, too. The trophy tumbles to the side and Reo throws his arms around Nagi's neck, so Nagi holds him back, close enough that he feels Reo's heart beating.
Fragile glass cannon, that's what this is. Reo is falling apart in his arms and Nagi wanted this—wanted Reo to hug him, but not like this, not with such terrible sorrow in his voice. "I'm sorry," Nagi murmurs. He doesn't know what he's sorry for anymore. For everything, maybe; for meeting Reo, for leaving him. For doing whatever it was that made him like this, because anything that happened in the years they were apart is his fault.
He wasn't there for Reo. Always dragging his feet, even when it comes to this, he has no excuses. But he's here now, and now might be all he gets for the rest of his life, so he curls his fingers around Reo's and studies his face, just a breath away from his own. "You're not happy," Nagi finally says. "What's wrong?"
Reo shakes his head again. He leans into Nagi until he blots out the ceiling lights and says, "I wish you hadn't done this."
Nagi twitches. He tightens his grip on Reo's hand. "I'm sorry," he says again.
"You don't even know what you're sorry for, do you?"
Reo is watching him closely even through his tears, and Nagi cannot do anything but part his lips and say, "No, I don't."
Reo chuckles, and Nagi smiles back, even as his heart throbs bloodily in his chest. He's not happy, neither of them are, but Reo is laughing as he presses his lips against Nagi's. Nagi kisses him back out of necessity, a primal urge deep in his gut not to let go, and Reo sighs through his nose, leans a little closer.
Nagi has daydreamed about their first kiss a million times. It'd be over dinner, or after a football game, or under a cherry tree like all of his favorite rom-coms. He'd even considered the possibility that it might be tonight, with Reo happy in his arms, smiling and giddy over the trophy he'd always wanted. He had dreamed that it would be slow, romantic, with Reo's gentle hands cupped around his own. He had dreamed that it would feel like they loved each other, but the way Reo kisses him now is nothing short of excruciating.
He's crying. Reo is crying like he hates it, and he has his fingers twisted painfully into the neck of Nagi's shirt. He sobs into the space between them as they part for one short moment, and then Nagi is chasing after him, hugging him tight to make up for the insurmountable time they've spent apart. It's his hundredth apology, his millionth I love you, and he hopes Reo feels it.
"I can't believe you," Reo says. Nagi can taste salt on his tongue. "Can't believe you brought this thing here, are you crazy?"
Yes, for you. "It's no big deal," Nagi says. He kisses Reo's cheek softly, praying that it'll quell the violent stirring in his stomach, hurting when it doesn't.
"The World Cup, Nagi, of course it's a big deal—"
"Not for you," Nagi murmurs. Reo freezes against him. "Anything goes if it's for you."
Reo buries his face in the crook of Nagi's neck and Nagi simply wonders why. Why the hell Reo is acting like he's had his heart broken, when Nagi wanted today to be the best night of his life. He knows now that he's naive for showing up out of the blue like this, thinking it would work out in a matter of minutes, but Reo is still in his arms and he refuses to let go of that small victory, at least. "Tell me what I did wrong," Nagi whispers into his ear, tilting their heads together. "Come on, Reo, please."
"We're not friends anymore," Reo mumbles, and before Nagi can rile himself up to contradict that absurd statement, Reo barrels on. "I've been—we've been apart for years and I thought you understood that—I don't want you to be here, you shouldn't want to be here, and—"
"Don't speak for me," Nagi interrupts. He holds Reo tight, tighter when he feels him try to pull away. "I did this for you, I do everything for you."
Reo lets out a frustrated, bitten cry, tearing from his mouth like it'd burst out of his chest. Nagi jumps at it, spooked. Reo flinches out of his grip and stands, trying and failing to wriggle his hand out of Nagi's, and he's spitting as he snaps, "Don't say that to me, Nagi!"
He's seriously angry, now. Nagi has seen it happen before, the way Reo turns in on himself, beats himself up, and Nagi panics. "No, Reo," he says, stumbling as he chases Reo and grabs him back immediately, fear like late-game adrenaline rushing through his veins. "Reo, it's okay, don't be mad, please, I can't take it if you are—"
"Nagi, shut up—"
Nagi closes his hands around Reo’s wrists, and then they’re at a standstill, locked in place. "I won't do it again," he says. There's a pathetic, forlorn keen in his voice, and he makes no attempt to conceal it. "Whatever it was that I did wrong, just tell me, and it won't happen again. I'll make you happy. I'll do anything, Reo, please, just don't cry over me."
Reo sniffles. He presses a hand weakly against Nagi's chest and pushes, a feeble nudge. "I wish you hadn't done this," he says again, and it hurts just as much as the first time.
"Don't say that," Nagi pleads. He's begging now, clinging onto the sleeves of Reo's shirt like a lifeline. "I know we fought in the past, but I know better now, and so do you, we can—we can go back to how it was before, can't we?"
Reo breathes deep and lets it out in a trembling rush. Nagi shuts his eyes and dips his head toward the ground. "You're everything to me," Nagi whispers into the heavy silence, and Reo winces, as if it's the worst thing he could hear. As if Nagi is hurting him like this, by baring his heart and his emotions, and Nagi doesn't understand—better late than never, what the hell happened to that?
"I can't believe I did this to you," Reo mumbles. "Can't believe I ruined you like this, Nagi, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
Nagi's eyes fly open. He jerks his head up to stare at Reo, and Reo blinks back at him, wide-eyed and teary. "What are you talking about, Reo?" Nagi presses. Reo's expression closes off. "Hey, look at me."
"Don't want to," Reo says thickly. He tries to peel himself away and Nagi tightens his grip. "Nagi, let go."
"You're not leaving me," Nagi says. Not again.
Reo closes his eyes. Nagi brushes away the tears that gather on his skin. "You should leave in the morning," Reo says, suddenly icy, eyes still resolutely shut. "Take the trophy back to your team. And then—then I'll block your number, and you'll block me too, and you'll never see me again."
"Reo, what are you talking about?"
"I'm going to move, too," Reo says, raising his voice, speaking over Nagi's weak protest. "I won't send you my new address."
"Why are you leaving again?" Nagi whispers, and Reo shudders at those words, ducking away from the hand he raises between them. "Reo, I don't understand what's wrong. I thought the World Cup—" and it occurs to him that he doesn't know Reo anymore, doesn't know his likes or dislikes or what he does with his time, doesn't know what he dreams of at night, but Nagi has nothing else he can say— "It's what you always wanted, right?"
"That was just something I said as a kid, Nagi." Reo shakes his head. He's slipping away from Nagi, and Nagi's too stunned to keep him close. "Maybe I meant it then, but we're not the same anymore."
Nagi watches Reo, halfway across the room now, wavering in his wrinkled T-shirt. He says, "You're lying to me," and knows by the glint in Reo's eyes that he's right. He stands, and Reo backs away. Nagi doesn't know exactly when they started hurting each other like this, when they'd pulled apart so irreparably, but he's never seen Reo frightened like this before, and he never wants to see it again. "You wanted me to come here tonight, right? You let me in, after all."
"I didn't," Reo says defensively, but Nagi catches his uncertainty and lunges for the chance to break him apart.
"You bought those drinks," Nagi says, and both of their eyes flit to the living room table, where the opened bottle of lemon tea sits innocuously. "You found them for me, didn't you? You remembered that I liked them—" and I don't anymore, Nagi remembers, because lemon is too bitter for his taste now, and Reo hasn't gotten to know that, and that thought is enough to choke him up. "You're still thinking about me after all this time, aren't you?"
"I'm not," Reo insists, his voice sharp with a world of hurt. "You don't ever leave me alone, that's your problem—"
"Do you want me to?" Nagi asks. It's a terrible question, loaded and dangerous, and Nagi wants to take it back the moment he sees Reo's expression darken; because if Reo says yes, Nagi thinks he'll fall apart forever.
"I thought you wanted to," Reo says instead, and it's not much better, but it's not nothing. "I held you back, Nagi, and you hurt me, we're not good for each other."
"It wasn't like that," Nagi says softly. Because they had to grow separately but still together, not apart. Not whatever this is, with every word either of them utter stinging in the air. "How can you say we're not good for each other?"
"We spent years apart just fine, Nagi."
"I don't think either of us were fine," Nagi whispers, and Reo's breath hitches. "I wasn't, and I hope you weren't, either." He folds his hands around Reo's, feels him simmer down, and the way Reo shivers at the gesture gives him enough courage to say, "I want to be with you again."
"You don't," Reo says, instant, like a reflex. "You don't, Nagi. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then what do you want, Reo?"
"What I want doesn't matter."
"It's everything to me," Nagi tells Reo. "I'll devote myself to you. I'll do anything, Reo."
Reo's face twists. "That doesn't bother you?" he asks.
"What?"
"Such blind devotion for someone you haven't seen in years."
"You're not just someone, Reo," Nagi says.
Reo sighs and shakes his head. "You really shouldn't have done this, you know."
"Reo—"
"I don't matter to you," Reo interrupts, digging his fingernails into Nagi's palms. Nagi bristles at the sudden heat in his words, at the accusation. "I shouldn't matter to you. I picked you up when we were kids and said something to you about a pipe dream and I've fucked you up, Nagi, aren't you mad?"
"You didn't fuck anything up," Nagi protests, raising his voice to match Reo's. "We both just made a few mistakes, and we're both sorry—"
"That's not what this is about!" Reo snarls. There's a quiver in his voice, and he takes a breath, trying and failing to steady himself. "I—I told you I wanted to win and now you—you're obsessed with bringing me this thing—" he gestures again at the trophy. "I ruined your life! You're happy with this?!"
Nagi stares at Reo, the little crease between his brows. "I don't understand," he says faintly. "I'm always happy with you."
"Don't be!" Reo cries. Nagi flinches at his sudden intensity. "Stop settling for devoting yourself to something so useless—go do something you actually want to do, instead of spending the night with someone you never wanted to care about!"
"I want this," Nagi insists. "I want you. Want to be with you, even if you're yelling at me—"
"You shouldn't, you know—"
"—and you're wrong," Nagi continues. It's a gradual realization, figuring out what Reo is saying, and he hates himself for how perpetually oblivious he is. "Because, first of all, I don't hate being with you, no matter what you might think. You didn't force me into anything."
Reo wilts under his gaze. He sounds hesitant when he says, "You just think that—"
"I know that. And..." Nagi takes a breath and holds it there until it aches. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I want to do these things? You think I didn't want to win for you?"
"It's not normal," Reo says. He fidgets, restless, and Nagi tightens his grip just a little. "It's not good for you, Nagi. I'm selfish, I wasted your time for so long—"
"Reo, you're not a waste of time," Nagi says. He feels Reo relenting, and he persists; "I chose to want you, not the other way around."
Reo crumbles in his hands. He bares his teeth, full of desperate torment, as he says, "I made you win the World Cup, Nagi."
"I won it because I love you."
Somewhere, muffled and distant on the other side of the window, the rain begins to cease. Reo stiffens for one terrifying heartbeat before he sags against Nagi, uncurling his fingers from where they trap Nagi's, as if all the fight has evaporated from his body. Nagi holds himself perfectly still, and he finds it within himself to whisper, "I'm sorry I took so long, Reo."
Reo hiccups. "Don't apologize for anything," he mumbles. "I'm the one who should be apologizing."
"I'm sorry."
It draws a reluctant, startled laugh out of Reo, and Nagi allows himself to smile tentatively. "Do you really?" Reo asks quietly, pressing his forehead against Nagi's shoulder.
"Really what?" Nagi asks.
Reo is silent, and Nagi leans his cheek against Reo's hair while he waits. It's soft, just like it used to be. "Do you really love me?" Reo finally asks.
Nagi wraps his arms around Reo and pulls him impossibly closer. "As long as you'll let me," he says.
Reo chuckles. "You were right," he says weakly, and he sounds a little bitter about it, still. "I wanted you to come. I expected you to come and I was hoping you wouldn't, too, and I hate myself for being relieved when I saw you at the door." He hesitates, and then he adds, "I thought you'd forget about me after so long."
"You were wrong," Nagi tells him, gentle, and Reo concedes with a tiny nod. "I want you to believe me."
"I want to, too," Reo murmurs. He does not say I do, and Nagi can't help feeling disappointed at it, but it's enough for now. It's better—it's a step in the right direction, and they've been pulling against each other for so long that Nagi is relieved more than anything. "I can't believe myself—as soon as you say I love you I just give up, isn't that pathetic?"
"I would too, if you said that to me," Nagi says. Reo snorts. "I'm not joking."
"I'm too old for a few words to matter so much."
"You're wrong again." Nagi pinches Reo gently. "When did you get so silly?"
"Oh, shut up," Reo grumbles, but he's smiling a little, too. He steps backward, and Nagi doesn't scramble for him this time—not now, Reo tells him wordlessly, with a reassuring hand ghosting over his shoulder, so Nagi trusts him. "Look, it's late, Nagi. Let's go to sleep."
"I'll stay on the couch," Nagi offers, and Reo nods shortly. They are still distant in some ways, different in ways they have yet to memorize, but Reo still looks at him so softly, and Nagi knows that some things will always be the same. "I should probably let my team know that I'll take the trophy back tomorrow, too."
"Yeah," Reo mutters. He casts a disdainful look at the trophy, which still lies abandoned. "I don't want your coach showing up at my doorstep because you've gone missing.”
Nagi laughs and lets Reo give him another smile before he backs away. It's another letdown, the inevitability that he'll have to leave so soon, and it's the sight of Reo turning his back to go to his bedroom that spurs him to speak.
"I'll come back," Nagi says. Reo freezes. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Just wait for me."
Reo turns to him, and just like the beginning of the night, there's something guarded in his expression—but Nagi recognizes the way he wants now, a slumbering longing that swims in his eyes, and it reassures him to know that they feel the same. "That's the first time you've said something like that to me," Reo tells him.
It's true. Nagi has never promised like this—it's always a compromise, that we're going to win, we're going to stay together—but it's been many years, and they've changed. He smiles at Reo from across the room and watches warmth bloom in the other man's face.
"It won't be the last."
When Nagi wins the World Cup for Reo, Reo is there. They're both a little too late, but they eventually come to intersect, and Nagi will not let go this time.