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Isagi Yoichi was a simple person.
As a simple person, if he were to notice to be followed, he would simply walk faster until he was running from whatever or whoever was following him till a dead end in a alley, then he would simply, carefully, turn around, trying to keep his tremors to himself, to face off with who was following him. At that point, he would realize that it had all been a stupid sensation and that there was nobody following him, the street was empty, except for a ball.
A ball.
Like.
Isagi sometimes wished he wasn't a simple person because he was now thirty minutes from his house and he had to go back and walk for another thirty minutes because of a simply useless paranoia.
Fuck.
It wasn't even— like, what the fuck, Isagi, maybe next time try to understand if you’re actually being followed before starting to run like a madman in a complete different direction from your house, mh?
That would have been the best.
He sighed in relief, starting to walk away from the alley, he observed the ball, it was… it wasn't even at the side of the road, abandoned, it was in the middle of the alley, unmoving, Isagi thought that if it had eyes it would have been looking at him weirdly, given he too was looking at it weirdly.
What a strange hypothetical.
The more he looked at it, the weirder it looked, a ball, a soccer ball, it didn't seem new, in fact, it looked like whoever it belonged to had used it a lot, it was pretty ruined in some spots, but for the rest it was just…
A soccer ball in the middle of an alley.
Isagi shrugged, trying to keep that I’m being followed sensation away from himself, it was slowly turning into a Someone is watching me sensation, which wasn't better, but he didn't know how not to feel it.
He hadn't noticed the ball when he’d run in the alley, he was sure he would have, he would have probably tripped on it or something like that, but no, it was almost like it got there after he ran into the alley, so like…
Isagi Yoichi was a simple person, and as simple people do, he didn't actively think he had been followed by a ball, but his head probably wasn't as simple as he wished it was, because that was exactly what it was trying to convince him of, as if a ball could have actually followed him.
That was just so absurd, Isagi distractedly asked himself why he had to think like that, as if any possibility was a plausible one, like, no.
Not at all, he wasn't— he wasn't being followed by a fucking ball for fuck’s sake—
He realized he’d spaced out only minutes after he'd been standing and staring intensely at it, he shook his head and turned, walking away from the alley and the ball.
He didn't think much of the soft noises coming from behind himself, I’m not being followed, shut up, but by the time he was home he was sweaty as fuck and out of breath.
That sensation hadn't left him for the whole run.
*
Great.
Fucking great.
Another year of not going to the nationals, con-fucking-gratulation, to him and his fucking instinct of tossing the ball when he could have easily scored from there.
Fuck.
Isagi felt like crying.
No, never mind that, he was crying, his sight was blurry and his eyes burnt, he couldn't help but try to hide his face by looking down, letting the tears fall to the ground, on his cheeks, fuck, this was so frustrating.
Fuck.
He just… he just sobbed, taken over by a wave of everything, he just stood there with his bike and cried his eyes out, nobody could have heard him anyway, nobody would have known, it was fine.
He realized he’d closed his eyes minutes after his sight had gone black, he rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears, and blinked rapidly, another sob escaped his lips, he searched for a tissue in a pocket and blew his nose while also drying his cheeks, only to see, after his sight had become a bit clearer, a ball at his feet.
A ball.
It was—
What the fuck?
It was the— the ball from the week before, the one in the alley, what the fuck, it was there at his feet and Isagi—
Isagi didn't want to deal with this, whatever this was, like, at all, he just wanted to cry for the rest of the day and stay there, in his sad little pit, for a while, until dinner or something like that.
He certainly didn't want to think about the fact that that ball had probably actually followed him there.
Nope.
A problem for another day, that's what it was, that’s what he told himself it was as he carefully walked around it and went away, home.
At least this time he was more aware of the soft noises coming from behind himself.
He couldn't bring himself to turn around though.
He couldn't bring himself to care.
*
Isagi was starting to doubt reality as it was.
Dear God.
He distractedly asked himself why he had to procrastinate something like this, and found no answer.
Fuck.
It wasn't something he could ignore anymore, well, he could, but it would just…
Okay, let's be clear here, Isagi was doubting reality because his head was, once again, trying to tell him that he had been followed by a ball.
It wasn't—
He just found it in so many different places, he found it in that alley, at his feet, those two times, but he also found it in the middle of the road after another afternoon at the pitch, he found it on the sidewalk after his mother told him to go buy some stuff at the supermarket, he found it near the gate of his school after another day of boring lessons, it was everywhere, better yet, it was everywhere he was, Isagi didn't know what to think about that, but he could hardly ignore the curiosity that had started to build in himself.
He would ask himself at any time of the day Why is it following me? and as much as that had seemed like a crazy option two weeks before, Isagi now wasn't so sure it still was, because as absurd as it seemed, he could see that it maybe did make sense.
Maybe, he didn't really know, but he couldn't help but stop to stare at the ball in the middle of the street like he was actively trying to figure out what that was, as if he didn't know already.
“Am I going crazy?” he asked the wind, nobody answered, he wasn't expecting an answer, and Thank God he didn't receive one, he just shook his head and moved closer to it, kneeling to the ground to look at it better, it was a simple soccer ball, he knew that, but it was…
He reached it with a hesitant hand, his finger had barely touched it when a shock of electricity went through his whole body, he flinched back as if it had hurt him, it hadn't, he was just caught by surprise, he wasn't hurt and he wasn't scared, he really wasn't.
He couldn't help the What the fuck? that escaped his lips, his hand tingled, he could barely feel his fingers, The hell?, still, he tried to touch the ball again, and this time nothing happened.
It was cold, as much as it was ruined it also seemed like someone was taking care of it, in a way, it wasn't too dirty and overall it was just a used soccer ball, nothing more than that.
Isagi didn't really know what to do, should he take it home? It wasn't like it belonged to someone, he didn't think so at least, and a new soccer ball wasn't going to hurt anyone, right?
Right?
Well, Isagi just shook his head, got up, ball in his hands, and went home.
This time, he heard no soft sounds behind his back.
*
He couldn't let go of the ball.
He couldn't—
Okay, let's rewind back a few hours.
Isagi had just got home, with the ball, he'd said hello to his parents and had gone straight to the bathroom to take a shower, he had left the ball in his room and, while showering, he had been overtaken by a strong feeling of anxiety, he didn't even know when he’d started thinking, he just knew he couldn't stop and couldn't pinpoint what he was thinking about at all, voices over voices in his head, he had barely been able to get out of the shower before closing himself in his room, heavy breathing and unseeing eyes, he had fallen on his bed, his whole body shaking, and he didn't—
That sensation was one he’d never experienced before, his heart was echoing in his ears, in his chest, he could feel it beat too much, too much.
And then the sensation disappeared suddenly.
Isagi couldn't understand shit.
Literally, one second he’d never been more anxious, and the other he was the calmest he'd ever been, like, What?
This happens three times.
The second time he was called to have dinner, and as soon as he’d sat at the table he was trembling and couldn't breathe, he had given his parents a scare, even though he insisted he was fine, he ate in literally five minutes and flung himself in his room again, only for that sensation to disappear once he was there.
The third time he was in bed, desperately trying to tell his head to shut up, it didn't, of course it didn't, Isagi had to get up and almost trip on something before realizing it was gone.
He'd tripped on something.
Something.
He turned on the lights in his room and came face to face with the ball.
The ball.
He'd tripped on the ball.
And his anxiety had gone away.
Isagi had never been more confused.
He tentatively took the ball from the ground, he just… stood there with it in his hands, feeling some kind of feeling of relief wash over himself.
He sighed, put the ball on the floor, and went to bed, only to quickly fall from it, reaching for the ball as soon as his heart palpitations became too much to handle.
And the moment he touched the ball, he was calm again.
What?
So, here we are, with Isagi curled up in his bed, holding the ball like his life depended on it, as he realized that that was the cause of his anxiety.
Honestly, Isagi just wanted to sleep, he didn't really care if he had to hold on to a ball to do so, as embarrassing as he found it, he had to do what he had to do.
And that he did, he fell asleep and dreamt of people he'd never seen, a guy in his teens with brown and yellow hair playing with that ball, a woman with a pink robe who reassured the teen that everything was going to be fine, he dreamt of the woman crying and the teen, the son, smiling the fakest smile he’d ever seen.
His memories of those dreams disappeared as soon as he opened his eyes.
*
This was getting out of hand.
Isagi had already been scolded two times because he was playing with the ball under his desk in class, If I have to tell you one more time, I’ll have to talk to your parents, Isagi, that was what his teacher told him, and Isagi honestly couldn't care less, Let them call my parents, if this is what it takes not to feel that anxious anymore then I’ll do it.
He was called into the Principal’s office not soon later, and he had barely been able to listen to them, given that the ball was safe in his backpack and he could barely hear the Principal’s words over the voices in his head.
Oh well, he was sure it wasn't anything important anyway, probably just some talk about his usual not caring about school as much as he should have, he didn't care.
But something happened after school, Isagi was at the pitch, the soccer club wasn't training anymore, a break before it started again, so Isagi had the pitch for himself.
That was when he felt it.
An incredibly overwhelming force, as soon as he put the ball on the ground to start playing with it, he blacked out.
When he opened his eyes it was already dusk, he was sweaty, so sweaty, and Tada was asking him when he’d become so good at dribbling.
Isagi hadn't known what to answer, he’d just laughed as if he'd told him a really funny joke, picked up the ball and went home.
Good at dribbling? He wasn't, he'd never been, but the fact that he couldn't remember a single second of training made his head talk, whisper doubting words in his ears, words that Isagi ignored far too well.
There was nothing to think about anyway.
He took a shower and went straight to bed, he strangely wasn't hungry at all, but that didn't matter.
The ball stayed with him that night too.
*
It all went out of the window a few days later.
The night was calm, silent, and Isagi was trying, after debating if that was a good idea or not, to sleep without the ball.
And dear God if he was regretting it, his hands were shaking, his whole body was shaking, he could barely breathe properly, eyes closed shut, he tried and tried to ignore the voices in his head, with very scarce results.
He didn't want to give in, he couldn't— he couldn't just live attached to a ball, he had to at least try to distance himself from it, he had to, he really didn't want to think that he would have to spend his whole life with it, he didn't want that for himself, he didn't—
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, he couldn't take this anymore, he couldn't fall asleep, at all, he didn't know what time it was in the night, three, maybe four, he had no idea, but he was tired.
So very tired.
He hesitantly sat up in the bed, giving in to the impulse to just grab the ball and keep it to himself, he turned on the lights and rubbed his eyes.
When he opened them, he screamed.
That was embarrassing to say, but he did, a single one second scream, his heart seemed to be beating even more now, and Isagi could understand why.
There was a person in his room.
A person in black and white, they looked like a teen, a guy, he had completely white skin and black and gray hair, his clothes were of different shades of gray, it looked like he was wearing an official uniform of some sport club, his figure was stained with red, it overflowed from his arms to his hands to invisible puddles on the ground, he wasn't moving, but his contours were somehow blurry, changing, his eyes were completely white, a bright, shining white, and he was smiling.
He was smiling at him.
Isagi had never been more still in his life, never, almost as if he wouldn't have been able to see him if he didn't move.
He didn't want to—
“Hi,” the person said, “you have my ball.”
What the actual fuck? “S-Sorry,” it came out as barely a whisper, the person’s smile grew wider.
“It's fine! Don't worry about it. I saw you play with it, you seem good at soccer.”
“I— I try my best,” was the only answer that came to Isagi’s head.
“Yep! That's cool, I play too! My mum used to say that I was good at it! Do you wanna play with me?”
Do you wanna play with me? sounded like some kind of sentence taken from a horror movie or something, Isagi had no idea what to think anymore, but it seemed like he wasn't too anxious now.
“Ah, sorry about that,” the person's smile became more sad, “I didn't mean to make you anxious, I was scared you would have left the ball in a corner of the street like people do.”
“It's fine,” it really wasn't, at all, Just what the hell is even happening? “just don't— don’t make me anxious anymore, I promise I won't leave the ball in a random street.”
“Okay!” his smile seemed kinder now. “You promised, so that’s cool.”
“Uhuh, can— I mean, uh… who exactly are you?”
The teen made a peace sign, blood kept flowing from his arm. “Bachira Meguru, it’s a pleasure to meet you, your name is Yoichi, right?”
“Isagi Yoichi, yes.”
“Ah ye, I heard while you were in the Principal’s office, but I forgot, nice!”
“Nice,” Isagi repeated, he couldn't believe…
He couldn't believe, let's just leave it at that, he couldn't believe anything about that situation.
“Why are you in my room?” Isagi asked him when neither of them seemed to know what to say anymore.
“‘Cause my ball is here.”
Like that explained anything. “Okay?”
“Ye! I can't really leave it, I’m attached to it, or I used to be, ya know, back in the days, I tried to get away from it, but I can't, and honestly I don't really want to, I’m very fond of that ball.”
“So you go where the ball goes?”
“Basically, I mean I can decide where the ball goes, I can move it sometimes, but yeah, I can't be too far from it.”
“Okay,” okay, “so you— I— you…” Isagi had no idea how to talk, what to ask, how to ask, how to say it.
“Don't worry! I know I’m dead, you can say it.”
I know I’m dead, well, that was exactly the confirmation Isagi needed. “So you're some kind of… ghost?”
He nodded. “Yep!”
“So— uhm, okay, cool,” Isagi could have laughed at the absurdity of that situation.
He didn't. “I don't know shit about ghosts, sorry.”
“It's really fine, I’m just here, vibing with my ball, do you wanna play with me? I think I already asked…”
Isagi didn't know what to say. “I— sure, I can play with you.”
“Cool! Do you wanna go now?”
Isagi had no idea if he could say no to a ghost, he didn't want to make him angry, angry entities are never good, that was what horror movies had taught him. “I’m… well, I’m a bit tired now…”
“That’s okay! We can go when the light comes, it's fine for me!”
“Cool.”
“Ye!!”
“So I… can you let me sleep a few hours?”
“Of course! Again, sorry about that, I swear it won't happen anymore.”
Isagi nodded. “Okay, okay, then, uh… good night, Bachira.”
“Night!”
Isagi tried to smile at him, before turning off the lights and laying again in bed.
He fell asleep two minutes later.
*
Isagi could barely believe what was about to happen.
He was walking on the road to the soccer pitch where he usually went to play, ball in his hands and that night’s conversation playing in loop in his head.
Dear God.
All of this didn't make sense, at all, but he had to adapt, he didn't want to break the promise he made to Bachira, he said he would have played with him, and that was what he was going to do.
Bachira… he didn't see him that morning, but he was keeping his word, Isagi was able to have breakfast without having to play with the ball with his feet, in fact, he hadn't felt anxious at all, even if he had left it in his room.
That was a relief.
Lost in his thoughts, he tried to think about this whole thing, ghosts, he knew nothing about them, his whole knowledge came from the three horror movies he'd seen in his life, he just knew that they could interact with the living if they felt strong emotions, and that sometimes they existed because they were linked to reality by stuff they had to do, some kind of goal they had to fulfill before definitely passing way.
Isagi distractedly asked himself if that was what was keeping Bachira there, wanting to play with someone, he hoped it was going to be that simple, because Isagi didn't want to be followed by a ghost.
Not that— not that he had anything against him, but it just… Isagi was a simple person, and as a simple person he thought that being followed by a ghost wasn't going to be all fun and games, and he could have lived happily without being in contact with the dead at all.
Like, at all.
But for now he would have to live with that.
He arrived at the pitch, it was empty, as it usually was, he let go of the ball and kicked it in the grass, he didn't know if, when, Bachira was going to show up, so he just tried to do some dribbles, something simple, until he felt a strong presence observing him.
He looked up to see him, he was smiling such a happy smile, Isagi couldn't understand why.
“You wanna try on your own for a bit?” he asked Bachira, who nodded.
He passed him the ball, and, well, it became evident in a matter of seconds that Bachira couldn't touch the ball, as much as he tried, he couldn't at all, that seemed to make him… anxious, maybe, the wind was blowing strong, stronger than a few minutes before, and the more the ghost tried to touch the ball, the more it blew, stronger than ever.
“I—” Bachira seemed on the verge of tears, “why can't I just— fuck—”
And Isagi had no idea what to do, he could barely stand with the strong wind that was hitting him, but he—
“Bachira, it’s okay, you can— you can do it,” he tried to cheer for him, he didn't know— but Bachira kept trying and failing to even pick up the ball, it was so frustrating, for all the parts involved, that Isagi just—
“I fucking can't—” the desperation in his voice was crystal clear, “Why?!”
“Bachira, hey—” Isagi tried to move closer to him, “it's— it's fine! Maybe you're— tired, but don't force yourself, I’m— I’m sure we can find a way.”
Bachira looked up, shining tears running down his cheeks. “You would help me?”
Isagi was almost taken aback. “I— of course, I can try and— and help you, it's gonna be fine.”
The wind calmed down suddenly, Bachira smiled, wiping away the tears with bloody hands. “I'm sorry, I made you come here for nothing.”
“It's really fine,” and it was, “I— can I ask you something?”
Bachira nodded.
“That time, a few days ago, did you… did you take over my body to play?”
And now he seemed almost embarrassed. “...sorry.”
“It's fine! I’m— I’m just asking so I know, do you… do you wanna play like that again? So in that way you can… you know, touch the ball.”
“I mean— I—” he sniffed, “would that be okay for you?”
Isagi nodded. “I wouldn't have asked otherwise, right? It's really fine for me.”
“Oke! Okeoke, I— I want to, ye.”
Isagi nodded. “Then I’m ready when you are.”
When Isagi regained consciousness, it was the middle of the afternoon, he was drenched in sweat, and he had never felt more tired.
Really never felt more tired.
“Thank you,” he heard Bachira's voice in his head, he wasn't there anymore, “it was fun!”
And that was enough for Isagi.
*
Isagi had never sat still for so much time in his life.
He had barely ever used his computer, he usually used it to watch soccer videos on YouTube, but now he wasn't doing anything like that, no, he was in fact doing some research.
Some research on ghosts at that.
He would have never thought to be doing something like this, but, well, there was a first time for everything.
Though he wasn't finding much, the article on Wikipedia was boring and every link he searched said different things, there was not much online, he’d also tried to read some ghost stories, just to understand what other people had done, but they all seemed so fake or just… useless to him, nothing really said what he wanted to know.
How to help a ghost with their goal, most of the stories were just random apparitions, nobody seemed to have actually interacted with or helped a ghost, so basically nothing was helping him at all.
He wasn't about to ask Bachira though, he didn't think he knew more than him, and, well, he didn't want to make him too aware of his… condition, he didn't know what would have happened, and he didn't want to upset him.
To be honest, he was curious about him, about his life before this. About his death… not so much, he could guess how he died, that was another reason why he didn't want to ask him.
But he had been sitting at his computer for the whole day, reading and reading and reading anything and everything, and he came to a point where he did the most obvious thing.
He looked up his name.
He found nothing at all, no Instagram account or Facebook one, not a single social media had that name, his name, but he did find an article on an online newspaper.
That just confirmed his theory, and by God, he would have never wanted to be more wrong in his life.
A tragic accident leaves another victim
Another accident has been reported in the city, another case of bullyism takes away the life of another poor victim. “He wouldn't talk to me,” is what Bachira Yuu, mother of Bachira Meguru, told our journalists, “I knew there was something wrong, but he never told me anything, I didn't know it was this bad.” His mother kindly talked with us about her son, “I want people to remember him because of how kind he was,” she said, “Meguru had alway been so kind, so sure in his beliefs, he was a really sunny person, he was always happy to help whoever needed a hand in anything.” Yet another case of suicide because the schools don't do enough prevention on such an important topic, yet another victim of such cruelty. “I wish we all talked about this more,” is what his mother told us, “I wish people had the courage to talk about this, I don't wish for anyone to lose a child this way, my prayers go to everyone who shares my pain, I hope we can all be strong, I hope nobody else has to deal with such a tragedy.”
Isagi really had never wanted to be more wrong in his life.
And yet that was the truth, and he didn't know how to deal with it, so he did what he usually did when he started to think too much, he closed every tab and went to the pitch, playing with Bachira’s ball as much as he could, until the night had fallen and he had to leave because the pitch was being closed.
He wiped the tears from his face as he showered, letting the scalding water wash over his body, trying not to think about anything, and he promised himself he would have helped Bachira as much as he could have.
Hoping that that would have been enough for him, hoping to be a sort of friend for him, hoping he could finally fulfill his goal, not to cast him away, just…
Because Bachira deserved to have someone, and Isagi would have done everything to be the someone he needed, to make him happy.
That was all that mattered to him.
*
“So, we know that playing with my body isn't it,” Isagi thought out loud in the middle of the empty living room, “so maybe if you possessed someone and played with me, do you think that would work?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Bachira's words echoed in his mind, “we could try? I dunno, it doesn't feel like it would work though.”
“Yeah, that seems too… orchestrated, I guess, in the end the point is that you play, not another person,” still, he had really no idea how to make him interact with the ball.
“When can you move it?”
“Uh… like, when I’m feeling stuff, if I think too much I get upset, and the ball moves.”
So at least that is something. “What do you think about?”
Bachira didn't answer.
“Sorry,” Isagi said, “that was too forward on my part, I—”
“Are you scared of talking to me?” Bachira was suddenly there, sitting at the table with him. “I don't bite.”
“I know that, it's just… I don't wanna be rude.”
“You wouldn't be! I like talking to you, it's nice.”
Is it nice because you never really had anyone to talk to? That was the rudest thing he could have asked.
He didn't ask it. “That's good to know.”
“Yep, like… you can ask stuff, I don't mind at all, if it can help us then ask away!”
“Uh…” Isagi tried to think about something that would have actually helped them, “is… what do you feel, when you think too much?”
Bachira made an I'm thinking pose. “I’m usually trying to remember stuff, ya know, 'cause I don't really remember much from my life before this, so I usually try to force myself to remember, and I get… angry, in a way, also sad, and stuff I don't really understand.”
“Mhm, so it's a feelings kinda thing, right?”
“I guess so, yeah, but I can just… command the ball in random directions, I can't really touch it, well, I never tried, ‘cause I never needed to, ‘cause I was moving it anyway.”
“Cool, cool, that means you could try to touch it when you feel stuff? Not that— I mean I don't want you to get upset, I dunno, do you think it could work for any feeling?”
“Maybe, I… I honestly feel only when I think too much, so I know it could work with negative feelings, but I haven't… I haven't felt positive ones in a while.”
That makes sense. Isagi nodded. “I won't pressure you to think, but if you do… well, you can try on your own, right?”
“I can, yeah.”
“Cool.”
“You…” Bachira wasn't looking at him anymore, “you can ask me anything, if you want, I feel like that would help me remember, I… I honestly just want to remember.”
Why? Isagi just nodded. “If I have questions I’ll ask them.”
“Nice!”
After that, Bachira disappeared, and Isagi was left alone with his thoughts, ask him anything, he didn't really want to, he didn't—
Fuck off, he couldn't protect him from something that had already happened, it was his life, sure, he didn't know much about it, he just knew what that article said, but he…
He didn't know.
He didn't know at all.
But Bachira had the right to know, he had the right to remember.
So that afternoon, while laying in bed, thinking again about everything, Isagi asked.
“Do you miss anyone from before?”
Bachira didn't answer right away. “My mom, sometimes, I… I barely remember her, but I… I wish I knew if she’s alright, as— as much as she can be.”
Isagi nodded. “Would you want to see her again?”
“I don't know, it's— it's not like I could talk to her, I feel like if she saw me she would feel worse.”
“I get that, that's fine.”
“You know, I— I don't think I’ve thought about her when it happened.”
Isagi was silent.
“I don't remember my death,” Bachira continued, "but I know how I died, and I… I don't think I was thinking about anyone, at the time, I think that… I just wanted it all to stop.”
“What did you wish stopped?”
“Everything.”
Isagi didn't ask anything else, he didn't understand, and in a way he was glad he didn't.
He was just… “I'm sorry.”
“It’s fine, it's in the past now, I just…” he heard him sigh. “I just wish it had been easier.”
“I'm sorry it had to end like that.”
“I'm sorry too, I can't say I regret it, mostly cause I don't really remember, but now, being like this… it's both frustrating and freeing, you know?”
Isagi didn't know, but he nodded anyway. “I can imagine, yeah.”
“I'm happy you picked up the ball though,” he could almost see the smile on his lips and he talked, “to be honest I was… I’ve tried to interact with people before, but nobody really… I'm happy you didn't ignore the ball, I… thank you.”
Isagi smiled. “It’s no problem at all.”
And it really wasn't.
Isagi was almost… he was happy he picked up the ball, he was—
“I'm happy I met you,” he said, he couldn't stop himself, “you're a nice guy, Bachira, I… I’m really glad I picked up your ball.”
Bachira didn't answer, but Isagi saw him sit on the bed beside him, a smile on his face, and that…
That was enough of an answer.
*
It happened a few days later.
Isagi wasn't sure what was happening, he just knew Bachira was crying and the lights in his house weren't working anymore.
“I—”
“I don't wanna remember—” the ghost cried inside and out of his head, “I don't— make it stop, please—”
Almost as if he couldn't control his thoughts anymore, Isagi understood him far too well.
Maybe that was why he moved closer to his ever changing figure and only said:
“Let's go to the pitch, one-on-one, you and me, maybe it can help you think less.”
“I can't— I can't touch the ball, you know that—”
“Then you can use my body as much as you want, I’m sure playing can help you, it always helps me when I think too much.”
Bachira looked up to him, tears kept falling from his eyes. “I— We can try.”
And Isagi had never run so fast in his life, with that ball under his arms and Bachira sobbing in his head, he hoped this could have helped.
“Okay, I’m ready, Bachira,” he said, and there he was, Bachira was wiping the tears from his face, Isagi smiled at him, offering him his hand because he didn't dare step foot in the grass.
Bachira stared at his hand for a few seconds before trying to hold it.
He was cold, a burning cold, Isagi had never felt such a sensation on his skin, it hurt and it numbed him at the same time, he gave Bachira’s hand a squeeze, still, still, smiling.
He let the ball fall to their feet, and nodded.
That afternoon, Bachira was able to dribble for a few minutes, and the sheer happiness that took over him was enough to make Isagi happy too.
He couldn't have been happier for him.
“So, what do you say,” Isagi said, “you wanna do this match up?”
And he'd never seen such a happy smile on his face, Bachira nodded, and they were face to face in the middle of the pitch, smiling as if that was the best day of their lives, and they played.
They did so many match ups, some were won by Isagi, some others by Bachira, and that was it.
The happiness of having someone to share your passion with.
Isagi couldn't describe the feeling he felt, but they ended hours later, when the sun was setting, when Isagi had never been sweatier and he’d never been happier.
“This was so cool!” Bachira was so overexcited, he was basically jumping up and down in the pitch. “I'm— you have no idea how happy I am, I—”
Isagi noticed that he was crying only when he realized that he was also glowing.
“Thank you,” Bachira told him, “thank you for— playing with me, thank you for being my friend.”
Thank you for being my friend.
“It was a pleasure,” Isagi moved closer to him, he took his hand in his own, “I'm happy I got to meet you, Bachira, even if the circumstances were these ones.”
“That's okay,” he cried, he was burning, he squeezed Isagi’s hand, “I'm still happy, I… I’ll miss you, Isagi.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
And he dissolved into shining dust, washed away by the wind.
Isagi was left alone.
*
Isagi sometimes still thought about him.
He thought about him and his life, his words, his smiles and his cries.
Isagi knew he missed him, that much was obvious by the way his eyes filled with tears at the mere thought of him and by the way his ball was still in his room.
He had to admit he had slept a few nights more with it, just because… because he couldn't understand what he was feeling, and that ball still washed over him with a particular feeling of relief, of tranquility.
He had never stopped playing with his ball.
He had never stopped because he didn't want to forget, he didn't want him to become some kind of passive thought in his mind, he wanted to actively remember him, because he deserved to be remembered.
Isagi had never thought he could feel so many things because of a ghost haunting a soccer ball, and yet, here we are.
He couldn't say he minded.
Isagi didn't think he would have had such a quick connection to someone like him, but he had to admit, he'd never been more excited to play with someone than that time they spent the whole afternoon at the pitch, that was the most fun he's ever had with anyone.
Bachira Meguru was a good person.
Bachira Meguru dribbled like his life depended on it, in such a controlled and impulsive way he was amazing to watch, Isagi had to admit he had lost two or three match ups because he couldn't stop looking at how he used the ball, like he was one with it, like he was dancing in a field filled with mines.
Bachira Meguru was a nice person, he was kind, he was…
Bachira Meguru was his friend, a friend he would have treasured until the day he couldn't remember him anymore, hoping to always be able to remember him, Bachira Meguru was…
Isagi thought that they would have been the best of friends, had time been in their favor, he thought that he would have liked to make him smile and laugh, he thought that he would have liked to keep playing soccer with him, he thought and thought about Bachira Meguru, to the point where he could barely think about anything else, his mind now was focused either on soccer or him, and Isagi couldn't say he minded.
At all.
Isagi Yoichi was a simple person.
As a simple person, he went to his hometown and asked about the teen with brown and yellow hair, the teen with golden eyes and a kind soul, he asked where he was resting, and he was pointed to the city cemetery.
Isagi Yoichi had a small bouquet of flowers with himself, he wasn't embarrassed by this, at all, he walked to his tomb and found a woman praying for him.
She seemed surprised to see someone else there, but she smiled a kind smile.
“Can I put these flowers here? They're for him.”
The woman kept smiling. “Of course you can, I’m… I’m sure he would have been happy about it.”
Isagi nodded, placing the bouquet near the tomb.
“Did you know him?” the woman asked him.
“Not as much as I could have, I only knew him for a few days, but I… I’m happy I got to meet him.”
She nodded. “I'm sure he was happy to meet you too.”
Thank you for being my friend.
Isagi wiped away the tears before they could fall. “I hope so.”
He left a few minutes later, took a train home, closed himself in his room, and cried.
He stayed in his sad little pit until dinner.