Archive of Our Own ^beta

I know you’re a fighter, but you never fought for me when I was a shelter
So you’re not heading  home to me
We could be closer, we could be closer
We could be

Halycon - Ellie Goulding

:::

Petals fall, fluttering down. Isagi watches them pelting on his window, faint pink almost white like snow. Summer is on the way, still far away. Spring has just bid its farewell, there’s nothing but warm days to come. It’s supposed to be comforting, after all, Isagi’s never been that fond of winter.

Yet, here he is. The promise of sunny day offered by the vast blue sky unheard. He lies on his bed, wide awake, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. It’s still early in April, he’s in the 2nd week of his highschool’s final year. His bags and belongings are strewn on the floor. 

On his table lies an opened laptop and unfolded letters. On the laptop screen, his inbox is opened, long list of read emails titled “Offering Letter”.

Isagi thought he had set his answer, long time ago.

Isagi stares on, unflinching. His mind is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. His phone somewhere to the right of his pillow. There’s a hollow in where he assumed his heart’s supposed to be. He closes his eyes, feeling lassitude settles deep within his bones. Ignoring spring breeze, knocking on his window.

Some times later, his phone rings. Once. Then no more.

Isagi feigns on sleep some more. He doesn’t bother until another beep, another vibration. Eventually, he reaches for his phone, pawing along the space beside his pillow.

He taps the notification window, watches the screen slides open the messaging app. There, the text reads;

“I have plan for Golden Week ”

From Nagi Seishirou.

He’s not so sure anymore.

:::

Nagi Seishirou knew about himself as much as he didn't.

He knew he needed at least 8 to 9 hours of sleep a day to function, as proper as a Nagi Seishirou could function. He knew he liked the colour grey. He knew he got his eye colour from his mother and any other physical appearances from his father. He knows he doesn’t actually like history, he claims he does because it only required him to read and memorise, considerably less effort than any other subject.

He knew he likes his rice and eggs soft so he doesn’t have to chew. He knew his blood type is O, and his favourite season is spring because the weather is perfect for napping and lazing around. He knew he was named by his grandmother. He knew he likes koalas and pandas because he wished he could spend a leisurely life like them. He knew he prefers his own company to other people’s.

Nagi Seishirou also knew he doesn’t make effort.

He doesn’t struggle. He knew things came easy to him. He knew he could have done many other things people thought he couldn’t. He knew the only reason he did none of those things was because everything was too troublesome. 

What he was yet to know is that he's actually capable of making efforts. Of pushing himself to the limit doing things that he thought to be troublesome. Of making friends and fighting with the very first one he ever had. Of feeling frustrated about losing someone. Of feeling happiness upon seeing someone else’s smile. Of having a dream and chasing it, running desperately that it feels like he’s flying in his race to the finish line.

And Nagi loves proving people wrong, while he hates being in the wrong.

Standing here in the sea of people, his best friend by his side, Nagi’s eyes caught a boy. Average height, average face. Blue-tinted hair and a pair of ultramarine for the eyes.

What Nagi was yet to know is that this very same boy will prove him wrong in the future, and he wouldn’t hate it.

:::

Isagi isn’t a fan of long train rides. He still took that 2 hours and nearly half an hour ride to Yokohama anyways.

“We should have met somewhere closer,” is the first thing he tells Nagi when they meet.

“I’m on time,” the 190 cm boy says instead, raising his hand in a simple gesture of greeting.

“My ass,” Isagi groans, “am I supposed to commend you for that?”

Nagi just looks at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world when it’s just a common courtesy. Isagi rolls his eyes, he supposes with Nagi’s track record, yes, he could have gotten some praise, but Isagi’s never that lenient on him anyways, so he punches him lightly on the shoulder.

“I’m hungry, food first.”

The taller boy whines, pout in his voice, “Isagiii,” dragging the ‘i’ longer than necessary.

“Food. First.” Isagi repeats, speaking with finality. He might be 15 cm shorter than Nagi but he's perfectly capable of 'staring him down', so to speak.

Nagi doesn't cower under his gaze, he sulks but obeys. "What do you wanna eat?"

It's 12 past something in the afternoon, Isagi's starving. He'd appreciate some rice, a large serving of noodles will do as well. He tells Nagi as such, "lead the way."

Nagi nods, "there's tendon and beef bowl..also, curry, chanpon," he narrates one by one. "Udon and soba too, also-"

Before Nagi can speak any further, Isagi grabs the sleeve of his hoodie, noting the soft, fuzzy materials, as he pulls Nagi along. 'Must be warm ,' he thinks. "Let's just see which line is the shortest, I really can eat anythin g right now."

"I ate soba yesterday," Nagi says as if it's supposed to stop Isagi from choosing soba if it was the only food immediately available. "I thought I'm supposed to lead the way, do you know where to go, Isagi?"

This time, it's Isagi's turn to give Nagi an obvious look, stopping in his tracks. "Go on, genius, lead the way."

Nagi returns the stare, says nothing but, "ok, striker," and Isagi's heart slips when the other boy removes Isagi's hand from his sleeve, only to hold it in his own instead.

Needless to say, he pays no attention to where he's going. At all. Letting Nagi does as told - lead the way , trusting Nagi to not lead him astray, as his eyes find themselves permanently glued to their joined hands.

Nagi's skin is as pale as his lashes, foreign to the sun. It contrasts nicely against Isagi's tanner one, years of football training from when the day rises 'till dawn.

Shin-Yokohama is busy as ever, if not even more since it's Golden Week. People come and go, footsteps echo, rhythmical beating of a drum. Adults and children alike, carrying backpacks and some suitcases. They're all heading somewhere, a journey planned with destination in mind.

Isagi's still looking at their joined hands, wondering why couldn't their fingers entwine. Nagi's stride isn't as long as usual, but then again, Nagi always makes sure that he and Isagi are walking in time, matching his steps so as not to leave Isagi behind.

He wonders if Nagi had it; a plan. After all, he was the one who invited Isagi to this trip. Unusual of him, but this time, Nagi is the mastermind. Surely, he has everything outlined.

But Isagi knew that even if he didn't, he'd still follow Nagi, going in blind.

After all, Nagi never leaves him alone. For everything Nagi could be, one thing he will never be is unkind.

:::

Nagi was young, somewhere between his 1st and 2nd grade of elementary school, when he learned that stars are basically humongous lump of luminous dust.

It was around the same time that he learned that stars don’t just exist in the sky. Sky can exist, within someone, particularly, within their eyes.

There was a teacher, someone whose name Nagi can only vaguely remember now; Izawa? Takizawa? But he was nothing like the other teachers, he didn’t complain about Nagi’s behaviour, he didn’t give Nagi a pass for his attitude because his grades were stellar. This teacher treated Nagi like he was any other student, just a young, bright, normal child, not a lazy, overgrown giant who slept through his entire classes.

“Have you tried stargazing, Nagi-kun?” The teacher asked. Nagi was the one on duty that day. If this was any other teacher, he’d skip and go home the first chance he got, but he happened to oversleep today, and he didn’t particularly find this teacher annoying either, so he carried his duties as he’s supposed to.

“Stargazing?” young Nagi asked, hands full with books that he had to help the teacher carry to the faculty office.

“Yes, stargazing. I think you’d enjoy it, Nagi-kun doesn't like troublesome things, right?”

He doesn’t. He hates it. He’d rather sleep or play games, and everybody knows. But lately, lately, he’s grown bored of his games. He’s finished almost all of them, he had checked the new ones but nothing caught his interest. He didn’t mind trying out new things, as long as it didn't take too much effort. “Stargazing isn’t troublesome?”

“It’s not. All you need is a clear, open sky and a telescope. You can even do it from your own room.”

That did sound simple enough, but there’s one problem. “I don’t have a telescope.”

“We have one at school.”

Nagi scrunched his face. “I don’t wanna go to school just to look at the stars.”

The teacher laughed, “either you come to school or buy yourself one,” he stopped walking, Nagi followed, looking at the elder man curiously. “Or you can borrow mine?”

He was smiling, his eyes gleaming bright, glittering. It’s as if there were stars in his eyes, illuminating his entire feature. Nagi said, “okay,” and that was the first time he learned, about the stars, some of them are not far up in the sky. Some of them are trapped, inside a much smaller galaxy, encased within someone's eyes.

Even when Nagi returned the telescope a week later, because despite how many times he tried, he always ended up falling asleep instead of gazing at the stars, the stars were still there. In the teacher’s eyes, a tiny yet tenderly glowing constellation.

That knowledge was gained, then stored to the back of his head. He didn’t remember it until today, until this very moment, as he witnessed the birth of a new star.

Nagi was once again reminded, that star aren't always coalesced dust and luminous clouds in far away galaxies. Stars can exist, locked up within one person’s eyes. And star can exist within someone. Star can pretty much be a human itself.

The epiphany came to him, crossing through his head like a shooting star cleaving through the midnight sky. He witnessed it right now, right in front of his eyes. The so-called supernova. The moment before a new star is born. A historical event. Birth of a new galaxy.

Isagi Yoichi exploded, right in front of his eyes, the moment’s seared, not simply captured but burnt to his retina. Isagi Yoichi, like star, imploded, before bursting out into kaleidoscopic technicolors. Erupting into a plethora of colours.

Isagi Yoichi was destructive. He demolished Nagi’s path to victory, leaving him with nothing but the cooling, dying core of his own star.

Isagi Yoichi was catastrophic. An astronomical disaster. A calamitous cosmic force that pulled, magnetising, but only to consume what’s left of him, only to wipe out what made him ‘him’ so he could be reborn, anew.

Left in the wake of his galactical disaster were stars, a million new forces of energies. His end was his beginning. The new him. Or perhaps, it’s the real him, who he’s meant to be, once he casted his crusting shell of dying astral wings away.

A new star, young, yet shining bright, brighter than anything Nagi has ever seen. Brighter than the ones he saw in the sky. Brighter than that little constellation in his teacher’s eyes.

Isagi Yoichi was shining, brutally. Blazing, brilliantly. Dazzling, agonisingly. There’s acute pain at the corner of his heart, there’s this hole caving at the bottom of his stomach. There’s this heaviness that strangely buoyed him instead. There’s frustration, intense and fulgent, pushing him forward.

He lost. He had given his all. Nagi too, perhaps, was a star, burning close to his final day, a withering core in the middle of expanding stars that his gravity couldn't hold anymore.

It could have been him. It could have been his resurrection, his renaissance.

He could have been a supernova, he could have collapsed to illuminate the entire galaxies, even those millennias away.

But Isagi Yoichi has taken that away, from him. His rebirth. His chance of revival. He has taken his light, or perhaps that has been Isagi’s own light to begin with. He didn’t know. Perhaps, he could be happier not knowing, and things would be so much easier if he remained without searching.

But it’s too late, he can’t go back anymore. For he was caught, in that explosion, in that beautiful calamity. Nagi was seized, ever so rough and dazzlingly violent, in Isagi Yoichi’s newborn galaxy.

“It’s frustrating,” he told Reo, eyes taken, by the sight of that new star, smiling lucent, eyes incandescent.

His joy bled gold into the remnants of Nagi’s star. Nagi, who until this moment, knew he had eyes, but never knew he could see. Nagi, who knew he could breathe, but never felt like he’s really alive. Nagi, who knew he could want, but never knew he could yearn, long, and hunger for something like this. As strong as this.

He wanted to know. He had to know. Why. How. Isagi Yoichi. Just what on earth is he? Just what kind of creature is he? Was he human? Or he’s really a star, wearing the carcass of flesh and bones of humans?

What was it that Isagi Yoichi had but he didn’t? How could Isagi’s star die, but Nagi didn’t?

But first, Nagi had to know how to get rid of this frustration.

And, why, oh why did he begin to yearn.

:::

Much to Nagi’s dismay, the udon store is the only place that doesn’t have a typical holiday lunch’s queue.

Isagi pats his back in sympathy, rocking out a rather heavy sigh from him. He makes a rather odd request that got both Isagi and the waiter frowning, “make mine very soggy,” then explains later, “it’s easier to eat that way.”

Nagi did say ‘eat’, but in Isagi’s opinion, it’s closer to ‘drink’ since he’s practically sipping his bowl. Isagi, who eats at a moderate pace and much more civil than Nagi’s rather ungraceful eating, wonders if there's a chewing process going on or Nagi is simply gulping down the entire bowl.

In the end, he decides not to ask. Instead, he asks, "so, where are we going?"

Nagi takes a sip of his overpriced lemon tea before answering, "my school."

"Hakuho?"

"No, my elementary school to be exact, nobody in Hakuho will interest you."

Isagi frowns,  "there's you."

"There's me," the corner of Nagi's lips twitch, just so slightly. "Reo, and nobody else. Playing against them won't do you any good. Frankly speaking, at our level now, playing against them is like playing with grade schoolers."

He falls quiet, trying to remember what Nagi and Reo ever told him about their school. Hakuho's Football Team is practically, literally, made by Reo for him and Nagi. It's not an exaggeration to say these two carry the team on their back. The other 9 players pretty much exist just to even out numbers.

"Therefore, we're gonna play with actual grade schoolers."

"What?" 

"We're going to my school, elementary school to be exact."

Isagi fails to see the logic behind that conclusion. How did saying playing against high schoolers is pretty much playing against grade schoolers, therefore , "we're playing against, what, ten and twelve years old?"

Nagi finishes his lemon tea before answering, "we are. What my team-," lips downturned, " ex- teammates are lacking, they have it."

"What, the lack of height?"

He gets a level stare from Nagi, eyes twinkling, "that's you."

"Hey-"

"Enthusiasm," Nagi picks up his tray. "I think you'd like that for now."

:::

It was an accident. Or was it?

Isagi was close, so close. Too close even, they’re just watching some football videos, sharing screen. Yet the tip of Isagi’s nose grazed the slant of Nagi’s jaw, Isagi’s lashes trembled against his skin. Isagi smelled so much like home, freshly washed sheets and well-worn pillow.

“Isagi.”

Nagi's finger was under his chin, soft yet insistent. Isagi, called, lifted his gaze.

There’s a very soft, fleeting touch of lips on lips.

It was an accident.

:::

They take another train ride to Nagi's school. No seat is empty, it's rather crowded, so the two of them stand on either side of the door.

Isag watches him, trying to imagine Nagi in elementary school.

Was he always this tall back then, was he always taller than the rest? Or was the height something that came along with puberty? Has Nagi ever experienced growing pains or just like everything when it comes to him, it came easily?

Even without that, Isagi thinks Nagi will always stand out, at least for the shock of his white hair and the paleness of his skin.

He always finds it odd when Nagi said he's never popular at school, thought the boy was lying until Reo affirmed it. It's true, Nagi never had a popular phase, not until Blue Lock. Now, people had witnessed his magical goal and spectacular play. He told Isagi that there'd be people, girls and boys alike, fawning over him. His classmates who used to ignore or simply treated him as a joke, started acting like they're the best of friends. Random people at street points and stares. Daring strangers approached him, asking for a sign on whatever piece of paper or writtenable material they could find.

He's attractive, there's no denying that. He got everything that'd make people turn, eyes caught. Nagi is freakishly tall for someone who claimed to spent the entire day either sleeping or playing games. No special diet nor workout either. Yet, he got miles for legs and a set of strong shoulders.

His strongest features are his eyes, droopy and downturned, huge pool of drying leaves standing out under the canopy of pallid lashes. Tall and sharp nose, square and perfectly angled jaw, yet the fullness of his cheeks remains, softening his entire complexion.

He's certainly easy on the eyes. Aryu once said Nagi's face is 'harmoniously stylish', whatever that means, but Chigiri had agreed and since in the end, it still means Nagi is good looking, Isagi supposed that's true. 

But Isagi finds the most attractive part of him is his unbridled enthusiasm. Pure, undiluted curiosity shining in his eyes. What Isagi finds the most attractive is the way Nagi lives for it, his interest and calling.

What Isagi finds appealing is the way Nagi, who seldom tells lies and prefers to don silence than saying things he didn't want to, is both very childlike and not when it comes to the truth.

Childlike, in a sense that he's honest and candid about his opinion. Not, in a sense that he's perfectly aware how to arrange words and deliver them in the way that either hurts the most or heals the right places. For someone who looks impulsive, Nagi's actually pretty calculative. He just doesn't say things out loud.

And he always has it; wants. Intents. Life of leisure and laziness is as much purpose as a child's big dream of becoming a doctor or astronaut. It's just not as motivating.

Nagi always has in him an ambition, and he strides carrying them with determination. He has means, he just didn't know it. Now that he does, and everything to achieve it at his disposal, he blazes through, bright as a soothing star.

One star that Isagi hopes will never burn out, eternally traversing one galaxy to another.

Because Isagi has watched him change, from someone who'd drop practice for a game into someone who'd drop a game for practice. Isagi has watched him, lying flat on his back, groaning out loud in exhaustion, yet still continuing practice until he got the result he wanted.

Isagi has watched Nagi change, and realised he's changing as well in the process.

A casual pat on the back, a passing glance. Things that didn't incite anything in him now made his stomach churn. His cheeks hurt from smiling whenever Nagi complimented him. His skin tingled where Nagi touched him.

His heart ached when knowing they have to part ways but he knew it had to be done. In that crossroads they're made to stand, the answer was only one.

Isagi picked the road that got him away from Nagi, yet eventually brought them closer in the end. After all, he doesn't think he deserved standing by Nagi's side as long as he was less than adequate. That boy needs someone stronger, someone skilled enough to contain his entire wonder.

So Isagi had to be stronger, not necessarily for Nagi's sake, in the end, it's all for himself. Nagi was just another thing added to the growing pile of his motivation. And to be stronger, they cannot be together. He knew it, they both knew it.

Yet, his heart still burnt when he told Nagi he's choosing Rin. Yet, sometimes, in the very rare moment of doubt, he fantasised how easy it'd be, playing with Nagi always ready at his beck and call.

Perhaps, perhaps what Isagi finds the most appealing is Nagi's kindness. The kindness that makes it very easy to be by his side.

He's always been kind. Even after Isagi threw him jeers and insults that he didn't mean, he never changed his ways. Nagi never speaks rudely to him, occasional taunts and jabs were only to Isagi's height and it's more of speaking out the fact than actual mocking.

Nagi treats him with respect. Isagi knows Nagi holds unusually devout trust in him, in his ability. His unwavering faith is the polar star; always guiding him, assuring as dawn, arriving to break the darkest of night.

"If you're like this, what am I supposed to do, Isagi?"

He could do anything. He could be anything. That star burning brightly in the vast stellar ocean could go anywhere. Yet, it stopped when Isagi did, for Isagi. It's almost as if he didn't know where to go, as if he didn't want to shine on the sky when Isagi wasn't looking.

Even if he could go anywhere. Even if he could,

Present Nagi shifts, announcer's voice telling their next stop. "We're here," he says.

Their eyes meet, Isagi's hand twitches by his side.

He doesn't know whether Nagi saw that, or it's because there are people, too many people, suddenly surrounding them, ready to get out. But Nagi takes his hand, tight, then pulls Isagi closer. "Immediately turn left, there's escalator.

Mutely, Isagi nods.

The door opens and Nagi takes him. Somewhere.

:::

The way Isagi behaved around him was clear enough indication that he thinks nothing of the kiss. It was an accident. That’s it. It’s not meant to happen and could as well be something that never happened at all.

He clearly acted like Nagi’s lips never brushed his, clearly talked to Nagi like their lips never collided. He touched Nagi in that frustratingly casual way. Nagi could only vent out through practice, and clearly , it’s not working for him.

“Your kicks are too rough,” Isagi commented, frowning.

Nagi grunted in response, rolling his poor, innocent victim of the day mindlessly beneath his foot. From the corner of his eyes, he caught Isagi cast his attention away from him.

He stepped on the ball hard enough that if it was a mere balloon, it’d pop with the loudest explosion sound possible.

“Isagi,”

“This is kinda frustrating, nothing’s working out today,” the cobalt-haired boy sighed, staring at Barou who continued his daily regime, alone, like his supposed teammates aren’t in the same room with him.

“You’re the most frustrating one ,” Nagi almost bit out, but words fought inside his head, and in the end, “It is,” was the one who emerged triumphant.

Taking a long exhale, Isagi finally, finally , looked back at him. The urge to further abuse the poor ball receded. Just a little. “Should we join him again?”

Nagi shrugged, kicking the ball aside, “do we have another option?”

Isagi laughed, that tinkling sound. Words grappled again at the base of his throat, this time words of compliment. “At least it’s actually doing wonder to my body.”

This time, nobody won. Nagi sent a passing glance over Isagi’s body like he didn’t spend at least 5 minutes a day ogling the boy. “Huh.”

“Hey, it worked!” Isagi rolled his sleeves, slightly fuming on the cheeks. “My arms are more toned, see?”

Nagi took his sweet, sweet time drinking the newly exposed patch of his skin. “I see,” his tone belies none of the excitement fluttering his belly.

“Whatever, let’s just, hey, Barou! Count us in!”

He watched Isagi jog to join the notorious king, felt the frustration back, brawling the fragile excitement he felt earlier when Isagi was looking at him.

It might be an accident to Isagi but clearly, for Nagi, it wasn’t.

Because when he did it, he didn’t mean it to be one.

:::

It makes quite a funny picture.

190 cm tall Nagi Seishiro, shock of white, bright hair, standing in the middle of gawking elementary school students, adoring. Nagi did say he doesn’t appreciate random people gaping at him, perhaps it doesn’t apply to children.

But then Nagi sends him a pleading look, lips a pout, too much tension on his shoulder.

Isagi laughs, perhaps not even children. He asks, “Has he always been this tall?”

To the middle-aged man beside him, coach of this school’s football team, Nagi’s homeroom teacher back in 4th grade. He had welcomed them with cheerful excitement that adults around Isagi rarely sports, his students mirroring his zeal in a chipper chorus of ‘ Welcome, Nagi-senshuu, Isagi-senshuu!’ before practically towing Nagi to the middle of the field in a sprightly wave of peppy children.

The coach’s name is Yajima-san, he has kind brown eyes and PE teacher’s typical short-cropped black hair. The corner of his eyes crinkle when he smiles and his laugh is as lively as his energy. Isagi can clearly see his influence on his students, they have this same zeal the elder man wears like a medal.

“He is, he is! He always towered over everyone, sometimes we forgot because all he did was sleep, he rarely stand up, but when he did, he stuck out!” The man chuckles, there's a slight lilt of dialect underneath his words, perhaps not Kanto nor Kanagawa native.

“I see,” Isagi watches in mild amusement as the kids begin to tug on every article of Nagi’s clothing they can reach, twittering like hungry baby birds. “Are his parents tall?”

Yajima-sensei ponders out, “hmmm, not as tall as he is now, but they’re definitely tall.”

Nagi darts his glance back and forth between the chirping kids and Isagi, who can see an imaginary distress signal blaring on top of Nagi’s head, reading Help! “Did you ever imagine he’d be like this?” He asks, final question before he departs on a rescue mission.

The answer, surprisingly, doesn’t come immediately. There’s a short interval of time when the two of them just stand there on the sideline, Isagi noting the stark contrast of the children’s overzealous spirits and Nagi’s bewildered hesitation.

Did it ever cross their mind, the mind of people who had seen the growth of Nagi Seishirou? Have they, who witnessed his history, ever guessed that this lazy oaf of an overgrown boy will walk the path he’s walking now? Loved and adored athlete who fights for the pride of his country’s glory?

“No, I never thought about it. Not even once.” The man continues, in wonder, “Who would have thought that out of all my students, it’d be Nagi Seishirou who received offers from international football clubs?”

Isagi hums, nodding. He hears Nagi calling him, “Isagi!” petulance and plea in his voice.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” he yells. The children start shouting happily, Yajima-sensei laughs beside him before telling his students to behave, answered by enthusiastic screams of, “Yes, Sensei!”

In the middle of it all, Nagi stands, quiet and eyes bright. Isagi thinks he’s right; Nagi was right. These children have it, enthusiasm. He’s also right about Isagi needing it right now.

But Nagi was wrong for one thing, Isagi doesn’t need these children to find it. He wonders if Nagi himself ever imagined he’d ever be where he is now.

He wonders if Nagi himself ever knew, of the fire, of the shooting star that gleams gold and eternal inside of him.

:::

Isagi asked him, “did it hurt?”

"What?"

The cobalt-haired boy elaborated, blue eyes shining in curiosity, shaded with sympathy. "When you had to part with Reo, did it hurt?"

Nagi stared at Isagi, thinking. Did it? Was it? He remembered feeling frustrated at his best friend's behaviour, the annoyance eclipsed everything else.

Reo's dark expression ashen, crestfallen. A sight he's never seen before. Nagi always hated it whenever Reo made such a face, Mikage Reo isn't supposed to look like that; desperate, depressed. Nagi believed Mikage Reo's meant to have the world on his palm, World Cup trophy in hand. Mikage Reo has everything in his disposal, he has all means and the answer. He's supposed to figure everything out. Together, they're supposed to be invisible.

They're not. They lost, to Isagi, then Reo lost to him and Isagi.

Did it hurt? Was it hurt?

"I think it did," Nagi concluded, both because he didn't want to think anymore and because it was there, fleeting as it was, the flashing strike of pain.

His blue eyes flickered, Nagi gleaned in them understanding. Those eyes were burning, merciless and ablaze back then in the field. Now, they're as serene as midnight ocean, deceptively calm. Nagi can feel the current, slowly dragging him away. "You think?"

He had to look away, before he jumped right in, before he dived in the unfathomless depth. Isagi's tide knows only to crest, not to crash. "I think. There was a little hurt and more of something else."

He tapped the tablet on his lap, dimming screen came back alive. Digital clock on the screen read 11:11, not much time left of the day. It's late, Barou must be asleep by now, so did Chigiri. Nagi was supposed to as well until his bladder woke him up and he stumbled upon Isagi in one of the empty room on his way back to their shared room.

The young striker was wide awake, eyes glued on screen, watching their earlier match. Nagi found himself entranced, caught by the gravity of his sheer passion, and decided to join him, much to Isagi's excitement.

They were in a heated discussion, reviewing their plays in performances, crafting strategies. Then night grew deeper and words started leaving him. Isagi took notice of his sudden silence, he began speaking less before dropping that unexpected question. "More of something else?"

"Why won't Reo understand? Why won't he stop accusing me of doing things I didn't do, feeling what I didn't feel," as the confession left him, Nagi felt no relief, nor did it make him breathe easier.

If any, he felt surprised. Confused. In wonder, at himself, for being able to say his thoughts out loud.

He looked at Isagi, still staring at him, eyes dark and gleaming, ocean surface reflecting moon glow. "Was he even looking at me or was he looking at someone he wanted me to be?"

"Is it lonely?"

It's no longer 11:11. Nagi vaguely remembered reading, or hearing somewhere; it's a time of magic. When there's little time left of the day, when it's best to cast your prayer. But the moment's gone now, it's not like Nagi's one to make wish anyways. If he wanted something, he'd make it happen, with his own two hands.

"Is it lonely, Nagi?"

Perhaps it's just his imagination, but it's as if Isagi was coming closer. On his ocean floor, Nagi found his answer. "It is."

Isagi smiled. He didn't look sad, just delicate.

Nagi didn't make a wish, but his fingers stayed frozen holding the tablet instead of finding their way to Isagi's hands.

It's quarter past eleven.

:::

They take the night train.

It's quarter to ten, their trains leaving in thirty minutes. Nagi leads the way to their platform but he holds Isagi's hand no more.

Nagi walks knowing where to go, Isagi trails from behind, watches his white head bobs as he strides along, short hair at the nape hidden by deep turquoise hoodie.

Nagi could have led him anywhere and Isagi would follow, willing and blind. How dangerous.

Isagi wished Nagi did.

"This is ours, Hikari 669," Nagi says, glancing at his telephone screen to confirm their booking.

Isagi rubs his eyes, bleary and slightly raw from the lack of sleep. Further stinging from the day's fatigue. "I'm taking window seat."

Nagi slips the phone to the pocket of his coat, Isagi sees a ghost of smile hanging amusedly over his handsome face. "Yes, boss."

He yawns to stop the frantic flopping of his heart, then walks over Nagi, "hurry up, I'm sleepy."

"I can tell," he hears Nagi says behind him, hears him following behind. This is comfortable , Isagi thinks, stepping into the train.

After a long day, he realised he's used to leading Nagi along, not the other way around.

:::

Nagi watched him leave with fire burning quietly in the pit of his stomach.

Nagi watched the whiteness of his battle-rumpled shirt flickered until the dark of the long, extensive corridor swallowed him whole. Yet, the flame in his gut was yet to be snuffed, set ablaze, torching his blood bright red  and vivid.

Life he spent with Isagi was shorter than life he spent alone, not even reaching the length of when he had Reo by his side. Yet, Nagi realised everything has changed. Reo did his bidding, Isagi didn’t. There were times Isagi indulged Nagi on his selfish whim, woke him up every morning, but he didn’t carry Nagi on his back, didn’t dry his hair like it’s part of his daily routine.

Yet, Nagi fell asleep dreaming of gentle hands, fingers threaded through his hair ashen-white. Nagi no longer woke up to them. He opened his eyes longing for a voice as gentle as a kiss of rising sun, the warmth he never knew the star possessed.

He attended practice with diligence that stunned Zantetsu. Dried his hair by himself with languid ease that startled Barou. Nagi played with ferocity that Chigiri whistled, “I’m starting to remember why I found you terrifying when we first met.”

Nagi realised, when he met Isagi again, that living with Isagi made him aware that he has limbs attached to him, for the longest of time, but they just laid there, forgotten under the shadow of his laziness. Freed from his apathy, they’ve learned the sweet ache of exertion. And Nagi has to learn living longing for that exhaustion.

If they rewarded him with this addictive sweetness of Isagi’s smile, he’d do it.

:::

Nagi spends the entire train ride asleep. Isagi watches night-train’s signature scenes; darkness, his companion’s head weightless as stone on his shoulder. It’s an hour ride to Nagoya, they nearly missed their stop because Nagi’s too stubborn to wake up.

They’ve booked a local inn, 30 minutes walk from the station. Isagi navigates in the dark, Nagi finds pavement appealing accommodation for the day if it wasn’t for the shorter’s boy occasional nudge and push. It ends up taking nearly an hour for them to find their destination.

The lady who runs the inn welcomes them with a tender smile and freshly brewed sencha, served with a bowl of assorted wagashis. Isagi checks inn with Nagi shamelessly draped over his back like he's a shell to Isagi’s tortoise, head burrowed snugly between Isagi’s neck and shoulder, breath slow.

Isagi, already cranky and exhausted, rightfully elbows his stomach, hard. Nagi yelps, yet still attaching himself on Isagi, who wonders how did he stand this lazy oaf in the first place. He gives the lady an awkward smile, she seems to find the sight before her amusing.

Her son, Akio, appears shortly later, offering to help them with their belongings which Isagi politely declines because all they got are their backpacks and nothing else. He recognizes them though, face immediately lits up, “hey, you’re really Isagi-senshuu and Nagi-senshuu! I thought mum was lying when she told me.”

“Nice to meet you,” Isagi gives a small bow, Nagi groans behind him.

Another rough shove to the stomach. Another awkward laugh. The pair of mother and son share a glance then trade a smile. “Let me show you the room!” Akio says then, Isagi follows him with Nagi in tow.

They settle their belongings and sleeping arrangement. Then Isagi takes a quick shower, short one, just enough to get rid of today’s sweat and fatigue. Nagi skips it in favour of sleep, but Isagi finds him wide awake, sitting cross-legged on top of still perfectly made futon , pale knuckles white, gripping his ankles tight.

“Are you angry at me?”

The answer to Isagi’s earlier musing pops in his head, in big and bold letters. He plops down before Nagi, watching his own hands prying Nagi’s away from his legs. Exhaling, he says, “I’m not, just tired. I’m so-”

“Don’t be,” Nagi interjects, saying the words for him, “I’m sorry.”

He takes the apology, yet doesn’t put it in the pocket of his heart. Yet. “Let’s just get to sleep, okay?”

For someone who looked like he’s about to face-plant on the ground an hour ago, Nagi certainly takes his sweet, sweet time to fall asleep. Even until his consciousness fades, Isagi can feel his eyes, heavy on his back.

:::

Isagi has chosen Rin.

Nagi realised with startling clarity that he didn’t hate Isagi for it, nor did it make him loathe Rin.

No. Isagi’s choice made him find that he despised himself. Very much.

Nagi’s smart. He’s a genius in every sense, he’s quick to figure out that Isagi’s choice meant Nagi was lacking. Rin had whatever it was that Nagi didn’t have and Isagi saw that.

Isagi choose Rin, simply, because he knew playing along with Rin would make him stronger, the way Nagi choose to play with Isagi instead of Reo because he believed that way, he’d be better. That way, he’d be closer to achieving his dream of winning World Cup with his best friend.

Reo couldn’t see that. Nagi did, see it, that’s why he blamed nobody, nobody but himself.

That’s why it didn’t hurt, it didn’t hurt at all. There’s no choking sadness, nor numbing heaviness that dragged his entire being down.

There’s just silence, falling gracefully, offering company. Nagi took it, with wordless, sincere gratitude. Took it and don it like a mantle, hoping it’d lend its undeterred poise as Nagi took another step, forward, to a new, uncharted path.

Nagi realised with startling clarity that he didn’t really care if there was no Isagi by the end of this road.

He just needed their path to cross and intertwine, occasionally. Time to time.

:::

Breakfast is a simple home-cooked meal, a serving of rice, miso soup, dashimaki tamago, and golden brown karaage.

Isagi engages himself in a chopstick fight with Nagi, who finds stealing his rolled-egg a mission for the day. It’s a bad table etiquette, Isagi knows, but he’s famished and he feels like defending his right.

Akio watches them from across the table, amused. He offers, “Do you want mine?”

To Nagi, and that ungrateful brat declines, not even sparing the older guy a glance, “no, it has to be Isagi’s.”

“Why?” Isagi builds a measly fortress with his chopsticks. He had tried moving the plate earlier but Nagi’s uselessly long limbs easily breached that defence, earning one roll of egg in victory.

No answer, silence hangs, like Nagi’s chopsticks in the air. Isagi takes one swift sip of his soup, behind them, Akio’s mother calls, “I can make you another one if you’d like.”

“No need!” On top of Isagi’s refusal, Nagi says, “I’ll trade them with my kaarage,” then he puts his plateful of karaage on Isagi’s tray.

The cobalt-haired boy gapes, “you could have said so in the beginning?”

Now the wall is down, Nagi seizes his prize, taking plate of half-eaten tamagoyaki for himself. “It’s easier to eat than kaarage, chewing is tiring.”

Isagi is still gaping at his friend, Akio laughs, “I’ve only seen you play on the TV, but even from than, I can tell you two are a good friend.”

Nagi pipes out, “we are.”

Isagi stops gaping, deadpans, "do we look like, really?"

Akio shrugs, his mother offers once again, "are you sure you don't want another dashimaki tamago , Isagi-kun?"

He declines, again, politely and less frantic this time. The lady can be heard saying, "very well." Followed right by her son asking them about their plan of the day.

Isagi talks to him over breakfast, asking if there was any place nearby where people - preferably children, would play football. Akio says there's a local park close by but children prefer playing in the communal field 1 bus ride from the inn. "They have proper football field, schools use it time to time."

His mother chimes into the conversation, mentioning the ground by the riverbank while serving them a plate of Tabimakura, and steaming sencha in dark-green ceramic cups.

In the end, Isagi eats all the snacks while Nagi decides they should try local park first. If nobody was there, they'd hit the riverbank, and communal park last. Their train's leaving late at night after all, they got plenty of time and little at the same time, depending on their luck.

They check out after finishing breakfast, bags already made and packed. The mother and son duo look disappointed that they're leaving so soon, but their moods are immediately lifted after Isagi agreed to give them their autographs, complete with pictures they can use to advertise their little, homey inn.

Akio hugs them goodbye. His mother bids her farewell with a gentle, "good luck."

Isagi thanks them, thinking he'd need it. A good luck.

This time, he leads the way, digital map in hand, Nagi following close behind.

It's comfortingly familiar.

:::

Nagi doesn’t hate Rin for taking Isagi away, but he, honest to God, doesn't know how could Isagi and Bachira stand him.

Nag’s aware that he’s not a poster boy for good attitude. He's a pacifist, he doesn't pick fights, nor does he provoke-unless prompted. Itoshi Rin breathes fire, keeping everyone at wide berth, like their very existence was perpetually offending him.

Rin acted like he never had a single friend in his whole life, which actually made him and Nagi a pair, but at least Nagi had Reo, and he had no trouble making friends with people who treated him with goodwill. Yukimiya did say he's surprisingly funny. Karasu (the pervert) casually pat and slapped his back, to which Nagi complained about, but the ravenette just laughed, not intimidated in the slightest by Nagi's annoyed glare. Otoya would randomly talk about girls with him (Nagi ignored him in favour of his game. Otoya rambled on.)

When Ojou, setting his entire mountain of whims aside, whom Nagi considered to be the most sensible person he's met in Blue Lock - after Yukimiya, commented, "he's not right in the head," about Rin. And Barou, begrudgingly admitted, "thought you're the worst but someone beats you, Kusao," in reference to Rin, Nagi believed he wasn't wrong in thinking he's got a better attitude than Rin. (He ignored Barou's slight, the maid's practically praising him.)

Yet, Isagi and Bachira would casually talk and laugh around him. Osha Aryu judged people from how attractive they are - physically, because Rin's behaviour definitely got 0 points in that department - and Nagi had to admit he's easy on the eyes, even with his unnaturally long lower lashes. Tokimitsu, who's constantly a bundle of nerves, was too lost in his own head to mind Rin's temperament. Perhaps, because the four of them had shared a living together, as short as it was, they've grown accustomed to Rin's aloof demeanour.

Nagi didn't understand how people could stand Itoshi Rin but he respected him as a player, he didn't hate him.

And he could find him annoying at the same time. Especially when Isagi fluttered around him. Excited, curious. Unperturbed by Rin's dismissive behaviour, not offended by his mean and ill-spirited words.

Whenever Isagi would act like Rin was the sun and he's the planet orbiting him, Nagi found himself picking yet another stone, adding it to his growing pile of irritation.

Because he could see himself in Isagi, Isagi in Rin. Except Nagi was more passive ogling when Isagi wasn't looking and obedient dog wagging its tail, wanting to impress when he's looking. (Pushing his limits just to stay in Isagi's field of view.)

Isagi's doing all that, thankfully, without the ogling part. Nagi would, probably, hate Rin, had Isagi done it too. He wouldn't have a shred of decency left in him to treat Rin civilly if that's the case.

It didn't change the fact that Isagi's currently obsessed with defeating Itoshi Rin. He spent practice thinking about the turquoise-eyed boy in mind. Thoughts fully occupied.

His kingdom's hijacked, what would he do to reclaim his throne. The answer was only one; he got to be stronger. He got to be better than Itoshi Rin. He might not be able to see what the two of them see, because that's not what he's meant to be; his role is to break all that, smash them to pieces to create a new future that begs and bends to his command.

Nagi brewed and stewed. He kept his silence. Nobody ought to know. Nobody but Reo, who's slowly and, for whatever godforsaken reason he had in mind, awkwardly trying to make his way back into Nagi's life. Despite saying, "I don't know you anymore," and "you've changed," he's still Nagi's best friend after all. The best he would and ever had. His partner. Reo knew. Reo understood.

Reo caught his soundless storm. The blaze of his trailing eyes. Reo saw him lingered, entangled by the sight of Isagi discussing something with Rin, in a very close distance that Nagi would pretty much like to jam himself in just to keep the two of them apart.

"Do you understand, now?"

Nagi didn't. He did what Reo was implying, though.

' Do you understand how I felt? Do you know how it feels now, being replaced by someone else?'

"No, I don't," he answered, and found it to be true.

Nagi didn't know exactly what Reo felt, Reo never told him anyways, how could he? He'd reiterate it again; he didn't hate Itoshi Rin for taking Isagi and his attention - Nagi hated himself the most for losing.

First and foremost, he knew he's not being replaced.

He knew he still got his place, his own place that nobody can occupy, at least not for long. For as much as Isagi fluttered around Rin, his eyes still spark whenever Nagi's near. His shoulder relaxed at the sight of him, and he'd find at least one part of their bodies touching whenever they're together - Isagi ruffling his hair, Nagi's chin on top of Isagi's head, clutching Nagi's elbow as he laughed, hand resting comfortably on his knee.

Isagi still gravitated to him when Nagi's around. So, Nagi didn't understand, couldn't, half because he never knew what Reo felt and thought. And whatever it was, he never put the blame on anybody else but himself.

"You really have changed," Nagi wasn't looking at Reo, eyes pinned on Isagi, listening intently to whatever Rin was saying.

He didn't have to look to know, he can imagine it already; hurt splashed in pallid colour all over his best friend's face. Whatever he'd do to make things right between them again. "I have."

There's only one thing, isn't it? One thing to do to mend the bridges between them. One thing to do to seize back his throne.

"I'd like to try that play one more time, Reo. Are you up for it?"

Isagi told him back then, in the beginning of 2nd selection. When Nagi asked him what he should do to get rid of this frustration.

Unfortunately, Nagi, you just got to win.

:::

The local park Akio mentioned is bustling with children, yes, but none of them seem interested in football, seeing as they’re engaged in something else. There’s a banner hung on the park entrance, written in colourful letters is ‘ Save the earth! Let’s plant together! ’. It seems to be a community event. There are adults and some teenagers, gathered together around their respective tables where numerous pots of plants can be seen.

They waste no more time, deciding to check the riverbank, which is closer than the communal field and requires them no transportation to reach. Akio and his mother forgot to mention that although there’s no proper football field, they do have goalposts installed. Boys, looking too big for elementary school yet too young for high school, are playing football in two groups of five.

Isagi finds a vending machine nearby, buys himself and Nagi bottled jasmine teas, then they sit on the soft grass, watching the match, occasionally making comments and remarks. The kids remained oblivious to their presence until around ten minutes later when the goalkeeper noticed.

The boy, all frozen and mouth hanging open, gasps, finger pointing. In his stupor, he allows the opposing team to score a goal, much to his teammates angry yells and opponents cheerful laugh. Yet, the commotion is immediately silenced when the boy, finally broken free from his astonishment, exclaims, “Isagi-senshuu and Nagi-senshu!?”

At the mention of their names, all eyes turned on them. Isagi, despite being used to attention more than he did before Blue Lock, still finds the entire thing uncomfortable. He feels his mouth stretch into a shy grin, while Nagi beside him, who was never familiar with the concept of shame and never tried to be acquainted with it, casually raises a hand, a simple greeting.

Various expressions of disbelief can be heard breaking among the boys, “no way!” and, “seriously!?” leave their mouths. Yet, nobody dares to approach them. Isagi glances at his friends, typically, all he gets is a shrug that can be translated as, ‘go on,’ tacked with, ‘talking to them is bothersome ’ in the end, since it’s Nagi.

But before Isagi can make a call, a boy with dark brown hair approaches them. Isagi recognised him as the striker of the stunned goalkeeper team. He also noticed that this boy is the best player among them, he was the one barking orders and giving pointers to his teammates.

“Umm,” the boy starts, wringing his hands together, big brown eyes darting back and forth between Isagi and Nagi.

Isagi gives the nervous boy what he hopes to be a reassuring smile. He stands up, “hello!” and out of habit, offering his hand for a handshake. “Isagi Yoichi.”

“Oh my God,” the young striker moans weakly before quickly seizing Isagi’s hand in a tight handshake, his other hand alternates between covering his mouth and grabbing his head. “Holy shit!”

Isagi wonders if this was how he’d react if he were to meet Noel Noa in another circumstance. Anywhere else but Blue Lock. To this day, he still marvels at the fact that he's able to hold a proper, actual insightful and meaningful conversation with THE Noel Noa. Crystallisation of his dream. The man who practically breathes meaning, defining value into his life. It might be the methodical approach of his speech, or the systematic way he carries himself that compels Isagi to do the same. No unnecessary stumble, information shall be relayed effectively and efficiently.

"Sorry! Oh, sh- I'm- Ryohei. Takenaka Ryohei. I am," the young striker, now having a name tacked on his face, stammers. Isagi finds himself thinking wistfully; that he misses this , missing knowing how it feels to sputter and tumble on his speech. Missing the nervous timidity only owned by inexperienced youngsters.

He's just 18 years old himself, perhaps not much older than the starry eyed boy before him, but those hundred something days in Blue Lock have created this rift, between him and everyone else, between him and his same-aged peers. Nowadays, Isagi feels a lot older than his actual age, oftentimes he found himself thinking how childish his friends were - how naive and immature they were. He's no longer who he was before Blue Lock, he's changed, in a good albeit a lonely way because sometimes it feels like he's the only one changing while everyone remains the same.

He's the only one moving ahead with nobody lagging behind, because he was the one moving too fast while everybody was walking in the right pace; enjoying their irreplaceable moment of adolescence while Isagi slaved himself to his dream and ideal.

He doesn't regret it, not one bit. But it doesn't mean he doesn't get a little lonely, it doesn't mean he doesn't feel a sliver of envy when his friends were talking about things that normal highschool boys do; hanging out in fast food restaurant on weekends, spending time afterschool in arcade, skipping classes, telling each other about their own crushes.

Isagi doesn't get to experience all that. Even back then in elementary school and junior high, he devoted his entire life to football. Fewer weekends were spent hanging out with friends, there were girls and silly crushes but they all remained his little secrets.

Before he knew it, he's becoming foreign to the concept of ordinary. What he considers normal isn't common to anybody else. It's like speaking in foreign language that people have heard of but never learned. They vaguely got what he was saying but they don't - can't understand. It gets frustrating at times, but what can he do? It can't be helped. At least he has his fellow Blue Lockers who speak in the same language as him.

Nagi is among them. Nagi who's fixing his gaze on Isagi and Ryohei's tightly clasped hands. Nagi who invited him into this impromptu 'journey' and said Isagi needs 'a little of children's enthusiasm '. Whatever that means. He's only half-right. Half-wrong, because Isagi also needs something else right now, something that he already knew where he can find but still too scared to discover.

Nagi, who calls his name, "Isagi?" with concern barely noticeable in his otherwise bland tone, frown close to invisible marrying his perpetually wooden expression. "Alright?"

He breaks Isagi's reverie, breaking Isagi and Ryohei's contact as well, holding Isagi's hand gently in his own. His eyes are dark, clouded with concern. It doesn't fit him. This heaviness doesn't fit Nagi Seishirou. Isagi hates it, so he banishes it with a comforting smile, "I'm fine. Sorry, I was spacing out. The usual."

Nagi buys his excuse, the frown eases out from his features. "Hmm," he doesn't let go of Isagi's hand.

"Umm, excuse me, Isagi-senshuu, I-"

"Holy crap, Ryohei! It's the real Isagi-senshuu! And Nagi-senshuu!"

Another breaks in. Another boy joins them, brown hair several shades lighter than his friend’s, freckled face flushed from excitement, ear-splitting grin livening his boyish features. Isagi identified him from the game, he’s playing for the same team as Ryohei, the one who kept giving him good assists. The only one who can keep up with him. He can easily guess - as easy as the way this new brunette slings an arm around baffled Ryohei’s shoulder - that they’re used to playing together on actual fields, on properly set-up matches. Either partnership made in school or bonds forged out of several years of friendship.

“Ryotaro!” Ryotaro, sounds like a given name, probably the latter than the former, but judging from a few seconds he’s seen him, there’s a high chance this Ryotaro fellow is the type who tells people to call him by his name.

“Ryotaro here! Kosaka Ryotaro!” In contrast to Ryohei’s flustered introduction, Ryohei's much more casual and easy. He seizes Isagi’s unoccupied hand like they’ve known each other for years.

Isagi feels Nagi tensing beside him. Huh .

“I’m a fan! You’re cool! ” He beams, radiating boundless energy that reminds Isagi a lot with Bachira. The way he teasingly pinches Ryohei’s cheek makes it harder not to see the similarity. “Still nothing compared to him! He’s a huge, HUGE fan of yours, Isagi-senshuu!”

“Ryotaro!” Ryohei hisses in a totally non-threatening way due to his stretched cheeks.

“He’s always been a football-head since he was young, but he got even worse after watching the U20 vs Blue Lock 11 match! He won’t stop talking about that game, about you in particular. For hours!!”

Ryohei does a perfect reenactment of fish out of the water; mouth closing and opening as he blushes even deeper. 

“Seriously, dude, what are you doing? Isagi-senshuu is here and you’re just standing there like an idiot. I’m doing you a favour here!” His hand moves from pinching Ryohei’s cheek to ruffling his hair, earning an annoyed yelp from his friend. “You should be talking to him, you know, profess your undying love-”

“RYOTARO!”

“Un-”

“Love???”

Three voices gasp in unison; one with embarrassment, one with confusion, one with concealed ire.

And, no, Isagi wasn’t just imagining things back then. Nagi’s all tense and positively glowering.

“What do you mean by love?”

The silverlett asked, not so gently prying Ryotaro's hand away from Isagi’s, who exasperatedly sighs, “out of all things you could ask, that one?”

“Don’t listen to him!” Ryohei seethes, horrified. Also shoves Ryotaro’s hand in a similar manner Nagi just did. His friend doesn’t seem to mind, grinning even further. “He was saying- there’s no undying- I’m a fan, but lo-”

“Says the one with Isagi-senshuu as his phone’s background and lock-on screen,” Ryotaro adds in a sing-song voice. Yep, definitely a Bachira type, down to the obliviously riling Nagi up. For whatever reason that got Isagi’s heartbeat picking up.

Ryohei's jaw dropped in scandalised gasp, eyes popping out from his socket, cheeks aflame. Isagi finds amusement in watching the slightest way Nagi's eyes narrow, voice uncharacteristically low as he speaks, "you have Isagi as your phone's background and lock-on screen."

"What? Oh come on, don't tell me you're embarrassed now, you're always sending me Isagi-senshuu's newest picture."

"You always have Isagi's newest picture."

"Does it bother you that much?"

"Huh?"

"AND WHAT'S WRONG WITH THAT?" Ryohei cries out. Eventually, he begins fighting back, trying to strangle Ryotaro who cackles maniacally. "RYOTARO, YOU FUCKER! SO WHAT IF I HAVE ISAGI-SENSHUU AS MY WALLPAPER, HUH? YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT IT BEFORE!?"

Had Isagi not been distracted by the commotion before him, he would have seen the stunned look Nagi directed at him. But, alas, he's distracted, joining Ryotaro in his laughter, purely out of amusement with no malice nor ill-intent.

His laugh halts Ryohei's tirade of colourful curses and expletives. Even Ryotaro stops giggling. "I'm sorry. It's just. It's fine." He shares his own story as a fan, of Noel Noa whom he was fortunate enough to be personally acquainted to.

Before Blue Lock, Isagi periodically changed his pc and mobile phone's background to Noel Noa's latest picture or photoshoot. Nowadays, his personal gadgets share the same picture of Blue Lockers on their final day in the facility. Isagi grinning brightly at the centre, football ball in hand. On his right is Bachira, an arm around his shoulder. Kunigami's smile reticent as he stood on Isagi's back, hand ruffling his hair. Chigiri smiled on his left, slightly leaning his head to Isagi's side. Then there's Reo next to Chigiri, grinning proudly, one arm curled around Zantetsu's elbow and another slung on Nagi's neck who stood a little behind them. Nagi had his usual blank expression, unusual double peace signs-one was purposely positioned on top of Barou's head who stood on Nagi's left, not looking intimidating for once.

With every word he spoke, Ryohei's expression became brighter. His eyes glitter as he looks at Isagi with a starstruck expression.

Ryotaro whistles, "see, it's okay! What are you even getting all worked up for? He's totally chill, dude! You were the one telling me Isagi-senshuu is soft spoken and kind."

"But he's nothing like that on the field!" Ryohei rambles on, excited. "Isagi-senshuu is like, an entirely! A totally! Different person on the field! He almost looks like a different person, but he's not!"

Hearing himself being talked with so much zeal and enthusiasm makes Isagi nervous a little. He chuckles, "I hear that a lot."

"See!" Ryohei slaps Ryotaro's shoulder a couple of times, not measuring his strength it seems because for once, the taller boy winced in pain. "That's what makes him amazing, you know! Like! I mean! He's smaller than his- oh! I wasn't saying he's short, he's average height, but he's-"

"Yeah, Isagi's great and all that, but can you stop talking like Isagi wasn't there?"

The air around them drops several degrees in temperature. Isagi - Ryohei and Ryotaro by extension, are reminded of Nagi's presence.

He's still standing by Isagi's side, still got hand curled around Isagi's wrist. His eyes aren't narrowed any longer but there is a gleam of irritation that previously wasn't there. 

All in all, in his 190 cm glory, Nagi is rather frightening. His height and blank expression is enough to make a child cry. He doesn't get upset very often, but once he did-and even without it, Isagi would rather not catch a stray of his temper.

"I'm. Sorry." Ryohei apologises haltingly, blue on the face. Ryotaro cowering slightly behind him.

"Nagi," Isagi's meant to chide but his tone takes a placating turn. He understands why Nagi is irked by Ryohei's behaviour. It came from a place of respect and concern. "It's okay, I don't mind."

"But, Isagi," ah, that tone, the one where he drags the last syllable of Isagi's name. "You should be."

"Ryohei-kun has apologised, right? Let it go."

"But-"

"I said; let it go," Isagi repeats himself, tone firm.

Nagi huffs, muttering his trademark, "how troublesome." And that's fine. That means he's not annoyed anymore. Smiling, Isagi stretches to pat Nagi’s hand, watches the last trace of ire slipping out from his relaxed face. Feeling fond, feeling his heart fluttering. Isagi forgives him as well, for leaving Isagi’s question unanswered.

"Does it bother you that much?"

Will good things even come out from seeking it out?

“Alright, so! Actually!” Isagi begins cheerily, attempting to liven up the mood. “I was meaning to ask, is it okay if we joined you? We can make it 6 on 6!”

Ryohei, who begins regaining colour on his face, albeit standing a little further than before, perks up. “You two? Join us?”

“Yes! Of course if you don’t mind...but if you did-”

“No! No! Absolutely not!” He quickly shakes his head, turning to his friend for affirmation. “Right, Ryotaro? We don’t mind! In fact, it’s an honour-”

“Yes, yes! I’m sure everyone will be delighted! Hey, guys! Listen!” Ryotaro agrees with equally enthusiastic nods before calling his friends over. Isagi half-wonders if he was doing that to stop Ryohei from saying anything that could potentially offend Nagi, whose mood is completely restored, sporting his signature poker face.

Before long, the remaining eight kids have joined them. They introduced themselves one by one, some timid, some other casual and bold. They play ‘till sun down. Just like yesterday, neither of them play seriously. Isagi does more directing, barking orders than actually playing. Nagi half-assed most of his attempts but even the most simple of traps got the boys ooh- ing and aah -ing at his bare minimum efforts.

The last 10 minutes are practically 1 on 1 between Isagi and Nagi, who finally got a chance to turn their gear on. Isagi emerges victorious after Ryohei, who of course volunteered to be in Isagi’s team, joined to help. Ryotaro was quick to follow, ready on his back and call.

“Unfair,” Nagi pouts, accusing. “It’s 3 of you against me, I was alone.”

“Ain’t my fault your teammates are slacking off,” Isagi scoffs, quietly, secretly, careful as not to be heard by exhausted middle schoolers.

Seems like he wasn’t as quiet as he hoped to be, or Ryohei’s just hyper aware of whatever Isagi’s doing, because he can be heard gasping, in wonder, awed, “Isagi-senshuu’s degrading speech.”

Isagi doesn’t bother trying to find out whatever the fuck people said about his colorful vocabularies after his personality took a one eighty in almost every single match.

“Eeh, whatever,” Nagi unceremoniously drops his chin on Isagi’s head, draping the rest of his body all over his friend. “I’m tired, Isagi, carry me.”

“Like hell I would,” Isagi hisses, he doesn’t try detangling himself from Nagi though. Based on experience, it’s futile. The most effective way to get rid of him is either by talking to him until he agress to walk by himself, in expense of wasting his time because Nagi can be absolutely creative when it comes to making argument.

Or, he can sternly order Nagi to use his good for nothing legs.

Strangely, based on experience, it’s usually more effective than the former, on top of being more efficient. 

Nevertheless, he's currently not in the mood for any of them, so he goes with plan C, his last option; ignores Nagi.

He continues chatting with the boys, who steal curious glances at Nagi at first but soon mimic Isagi in pretending like there's no white-haired giant slumped on his back.

The sky bleeds dark purple, they leave one by one, bidding farewell with a firm handshake and photo together (Nagi still attached). Soon, it's just Ryohei and Ryotaro remaining. Ryohei is obviously reluctant to leave, while Ryotaro, who's grown uncharacteristically quiet from exhaustion, reminds him, "your mom told you to be home before seven."

"But-" 

"And you promised her you'd be home by then. Wouldn't want to upset her, she did ground you before, so you better behave for a while."

There's definitely a history here, seeing as Ryohei shivered at the memory, looking dejected with shoulders dropped.

"We got a Shinkansen to catch as well. I guess this is goodbye, and see you around?"

“Shinkansen? You’re leaving Nagoya?”

Isagi tells them about their impromptu trip; five days, five cities. The young brunette’s sunken expression lit up, it’s like his sun was never down and always risen. Eyes sparkling, he’s breathless when he says, “we should do it as well, Ryotaro.”

“Yeah and you’d be paying.”

“Oi!”

The two begin bickering again. Isagi watches their banter, feeling fond. Feeling jealous.

He wishes he had someone like Ryotaro. He wishes he had someone who can trade joke and insult that potentially hurts but not just because the other person knows what actually hurts. Isagi had plenty of friends but nobody like that. Nobody remembered, let alone knew of his parents’ rule. Nobody exposed his dirty little secrets (not that he had one) in front of someone he admired. Everybody knew of his dream, but nobody said “Good luck!” that they really mean.

His dream, that’s all he ever had. He’s dedicated his entire life to football. His childhood and adolescence. He appreciates friends who came along the way, but he has long since accepted that people come and go. Friendship can last through distance, or end without one. Either way, both require a struggle and Isagi has decided that he’d only put so much effort into football. His long, arduously devoted journey has led him to Blue Lock, to his idol Noel Noa, to where he is now; a step closer to reaching his dream.

Perhaps, in its expense, he had lost something. Not sincere friendship, nor genuine bond with someone. After all, he did gain them all in Blue Lock; people he’s fought and with, people he shared dreams and common goals with, and he’d never trade them for anything else.

But what he missed is normalcy. What he missed is ordinary. He doesn’t regret it, yet he missed it.

And will replying to that email, that he never stopped rereading until this trip started, give him the same feeling? Will whatever answer he gives to the sender of that mail cost him something that he’d miss in the future?

“Let’s go, Isagi, I don’t wanna be late like yesterday,” Nagi groans behind him, Isagi feels the rumble of his chest on his back.

“That’s because we started late to begin with.”

“Where are you going?” Ryohei asks.

“Kyoto. We already got a place booked there.”

“That’s nice!” He falters, “wish I could send you off at the station, but...”

Isagi reaches out for his shoulder, patting his guilt away, “it’s okay. I had fun today, it’s enough.”

Ryohei smiles shyly. “Do you mind if we take a picture together?”

Isagi agrees. The four of them take pictures that, according to Ryotaro, is “enough to decorate Ryohei’s bedroom’s entire wall.” They share hugs for goodbyes, Isagi laughs at the awkward way Nagi hugs them; Ryohei timid while Ryotaro’s as cheerful and casually affectionate as ever.

Eventually, they part ways, and make it in time to the station. There’s even enough to spare for a quick convenience store visit and toilet break. It’s only a 40 minutes ride from Nagoya to Kyoto. He’s already hungry for skipping lunch in the zeal of their match, but nothing some snacks cannot handle. His stomach can wait for less of an hour.

And whoever sent him that email can certainly wait a little bit more.

:::

Nagi's grown used to stumbling upon Isagi, alone in the monitor room, on his way back from the toilet.

Like last time, he was wide awake, eyes bright, reflecting myriads of colours from the tablet's screens.

And just like the last time, Nagi was caught. Arrested. He remembered when did he first give Isagi his surrender. He’s already Isagi's prisoner, kept and contained within his gold, gilded cage.

The smaller boy was so absorbed in whatever he was watching to notice Nagi. Nagi didn't bother making himself known, standing mutely by the door, watching. Remembering nose pressed on the slant of his jaw, soft lashes trembling against his skin.

The kiss. The touch. The fleeting accident.

Yet, just like the first time he saw Isagi, the moment stayed. Carved, engraved on his memory with factual precision of a documentary. Built like historical monument. To withstand countless storms and thousands of years to come. Will never yield to time, remains ancient and eternal.

Nagi'd never forget the kiss, even if Isagi did, he swore he'd never. For Isagi in that moment was his and only his alone. Unknown to anybody else but him, only his to cherish and memorise.

:::

Isagi hates it when he’s being like this .

He likes solving puzzle, loves working on problems. He enjoys the entire process of figuring things out, doesn’t hate it even when it comes to himself, but hates it when he’s being like this . 

This as in not even knowing what the hell he wants.

He’d rather have someone toss a ball of tangled wires at him. At least when it comes to that, he has a clear image of what he wants. His goal. Straight, untwisted wires. Then he just has to figure it out, working around the intricate knots. Observing. Learning. A delicate pull here, unravel it there. Even the most complicated puzzles give you a full image, an entire picture the obvious motivation.

His friends knew it, they come to Isagi whenever they need help. Chigiri who always looked so sure of himself, even Rin called him once. They came to him, seeking guidance, asking for help. Most of the time, it’s football related, but oftentimes it’s not, entirely personal. Isagi’s always more than happy to help, he loses nothing anyways, gains more instead. Another perspective, another insight. His friends’ faith and trust.

Isagi loves thinking, loves getting lost in his own head, chasing after his goal. But that’s only because he knows what he’s after. He got his priorities sorted, a clear destination in mind.

Right now, he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t really know what he’s after. Even with white puzzles at least you know you’re chasing after that pure blankness. All you gotta do is find the pieces that fit. But when you’re left with nowhere to go, you don’t even know where you’re supposed to go. You know you got to move, but where? Are you even supposed to in the first place?

Glancing at the taller male who comfortably sleeps beside him, Isagi feels a pang of jealousy. A stab of irritation.

Everyone does come to him when they’re stuck, in need of a second opinion.

Everyone but Nagi.

Yes, Nagi does come to him when it comes to football, but he never did when it’s about anything else. He talks to Isagi about private things, his family, his cactus-plant (pet?) Choki, or the latest game he’s addicted to. He told Isagi about wagashi store near his house after Isagi said he likes kintsuba. The new seasonal lemon tea drink released in the market.

But he tells Isagi nothing, about his problem, his concern. Nagi might act lazy all the time, but he always knew what he wanted, back then in Blue Lock and up even now.

There’s a pricking sensation at the edge of his heart. Isagi tells himself it’s jealousy, he wants to be like Nagi, always moving ahead, purpose known. Got lost once or twice, is no big deal, it’s part of the entire process.

He tells himself it’s not because he wished Nagi would come to him as well when football is not concerned.

But then Isagi trails the slant of his jaw, remembering how it felt once against his nose. Counts the pale lashes, recalling how they felt fluttering against his skin.

Thinks that human wants, wants, and wants, and wants, and wants . Very rarely gives.

He knows it’s a losing game.

:::

Isagi in his arms, shouting. Smiling. 

At that very moment, Nagi knew that he’d do anything it costs to keep this star shining bright.

:::

They started receiving their pay, salary so to speak, after Neo Egoist League.

Isagi knew his worth, having seen the offers they gave him raising and raising on cinema-sized screen, but actually seeing them deposited to his own bank account was as surreal as it was scary. He’s barely seventeen, he’s been living frugally and came from a middle-class family. Yes, he did want to become a world-class, professional athlete, but, no, he never gave much thought about money.

The first thing he did was ask his parents to set up a separate account for his ‘salary’, he never touched it unless for something important, being his parents’ birthday. Other than that, the account sits at the very back of his mind, forgotten most of the time.

Until this trip.

In a whim, Isagi decided to book a rather fancy, and historically famous inn 10 minutes from Kyoto station. It comes with an onsen and kaiseki meal for dinner. It’s not the most extravagant ryokan around but it's an exorbitant number to pay for high school students. Yet, the total cost of this entire trip, especially during this peak season of Golden Week, barely make a dent to his account. He’s not one of them, but he can understand a little why some people would start this career for money.

They make it to the inn with less fuss than yesterday, mostly because Nagi’s unusually sober at this time of the day. The check in process goes relatively easy, nobody seems to recognise them, or these people are already used to seeing public figures to show reaction.

They take a long, long relaxing bath. Take their sweet, sweet time finishing their ornately made dinner. The futons are already made when they return to their room, and Isagi only has enough energy to sluggishly crawl under his blanket, while Nagi plops down on top of it.

Isagi is in the dawn of his sleep when he hears a rustle, followed by sudden cold air on his, supposedly, blanket-defended back.

“Nagi,” he moans the name of the culprit.

There is softness of hair tickling his nape, “it’s cold.”

“Get under your own then.”

Familiar hand crawling over his torso, “it’s troublesome.”

“You realised you’re not making sense,” he calls out. “If you can get under mine then you can get under yours.”

“It’s troublesome,” Nagi repeats himself like his signature word holds enough reason behind his action.

It doesn’t. Isagi feels him shift and solid warmth familiar on his back. “Nagi.”

“Yes?”

The hair’s gone, now there's a ghost of warm breath haunting his skin. “What’s gotten into you anyways?”

“Did you have fun?”

“What?” Despite everything, Isagi can feel himself moving, pressing closer, seeking more of that heat.

“Did you have fun today?”

Did he?

He thinks of today. Yesterday. These past two days. Of enthusiastic kids and ecstatic boys. Of adoring gazes and admiring eyes. Of things he gained in place of what he had lost. Of youth he had but imperfect nonetheless.

Long fingers settle over his knuckle.  “I did.”

And Isagi finds that he means it. And perhaps it’s the way his body relaxes, or it’s something in his voice that convinces Nagi that he means it. The taller boy hums behind his back, holding him tight, a little closer. “I’m glad you do.”

Fingers twist and turn, Isagi holds Nagi’s pinky in his hand. “Good night, Nagi.”

“Good night, Isagi.”

For the first time since receiving an offer letter from Manshine City, Isagi finds peace in his sleep.

:::

Nagi doesn’t do a lot of things that boys around his age do, including taking and saving photos.

The only pictures stored in his phone are screenshots of games or the ones his parents sent from their travels, automatically saved to his phone. His phone’s wallpaper is the default background. He never changed the image of his contact icon.

That, until Bachira suggested they take pictures together.

‘They’ as in what could have been the final Team White; Isagi, Bachira, Nagi, Barou, and Chigiri. It was after their match against Japan U20. They’re all sweaty, running high from adrenaline that clings tightly like their blue-jersey on their heated skin. The three immediately agreed, sans Barou who needed a little bit more convincing.

In the end, they ended up taking dozens and dozens of pictures. In various poses, expressions and positions. Chigiri said he’d print them. Some days later, Bachira would tell them that his mother made a painting out of it and hung it on the wall of his bedroom. Isagi used them as his profile picture for a while. Nagi didn’t know what Barou did with them, but he knew Barou wouldn’t delete those pictures, the self-proclaimed King is brash but he’s not heartless.

Nagi himself set one of the pictures as his phone background. He has no intention of changing it, both because it’s too much of a hassle and he genuinely likes the picture.

It’s the one where he stood in the centre, carrying Isagi up in his arms like a trophy. Isagi was grinning brightly, cheeks pink from excitement, eyes twinkling sapphire-dazzle. One arm around Nagi’s shoulder, fighters curled at the base of Nagi’s neck, another throwing victory sign for the camera.

There’d be another moment of victory in the future, another occasion where he triumphs, another time to celebrate. Yet, Nagi knew the background of his phone would stay the same, just like the heat crawling under his skin when Isagi’s around, or the way his heart perks up whenever Isagi called his name.

The picture has claimed its lofty throne of Nagi’s wallpaper, reigning until the next worthy successor.

:::

Like any other students in Japan, Isagi has visited Kyoto before for a study tour. But the study tour was no holiday and being the serious, diligent student Isagi was, he stuck to the rules, paying attention to lectures and wrote cohesive reports about historical sites they visited instead of sneaking out from their assigned groups like his friends did.

Nagi, on the other hand, has gone to Kyoto both for a study tour and, as weird as it was; family trip. “It’s back when I was...seven..eight?” Either it’s that long way back or Nagi is just being Nagi; couldn’t be bothered to remember.

Therefore, Isagi decided they’re taking a break from their street football hunt. Instead, they’re gonna enjoy Kyoto to the fullest. Or rather; Isagi is gonna enjoy Kyoto to his heart's content while Nagi tagging along.

The inn they booked is placed strategically in the heart of Kyoto. 5 minute walk to famous Kamogawa, add another five for the picturesque canal of Takase. Roughly 30 minutes by train from tourist spots, give and take. Isagi has a plan, a simple itinerary complete with timetable and budget breakdowns. Unlike Yokohama and Nagoya, they’re spending two nights in Kyoto before leaving for Osaka the next morning. The day begins with fulfilling, ornately made Japanese breakfasts. They’re gonna visit Kiyomizudera first, Fushimi Inari next, have a slightly-late lunch in one of the famous restaurants there before taking a half an hour ride to Nijo-jo.

It’d be somewhere around 3 in the afternoon after they finished sightseeing. Isagi did consider Kinkaku-ji but Nagi whined it’s too far, besides, he already visited the temple back in junior high. After much debating, Kyoto Gyoen is their final choice of tourist destination of the day before enjoying the lively atmosphere of Kawaramachi. Isagi did try convincing Nagi of walking back to their inn but Nagi refused after knowing it takes at least a grand 40 minutes of walk by foot and there’s no universe in which Nagi Seishirou would agree to that. Dejected but not giving up, Isagi bargained again for an early evening stroll along the canal.

Surprisingly, Nagi did say yes.

And not surprisingly, he frowns after Isagi switches their phone-giving his phone to Nagi and taking Nagi’s into his own, saying, “you’re gonna be my photographer of the day.”

“Why?”

“Because mom wants pictures,” he emphasises, “ many pictures.”

Nagi’s frown is now accompanied with a pout, and a whine, “that’s not fair.”

Yes. Not fair. Because, also slightly surprisingly, Nagi is weak to Isagi Iyo. Isagi didn’t expect the two to hit off so well when he introduced them to each other. He’s seen Nagi interact with adults, he’s not necessarily rude but Isagi won’t call him polite either. He’s okay around adults but Isagi can see why some of them will find his indifferent and apathetic behaviour crude.

With his mother though, they got along swimmingly. Iyo seems to find Nagi’s laid-back yet straightforward personality endearing. His perpetual laziness, God knows why, ‘adorable’. His mother did tell him, after Nagi spent a day in his house last year, doing nothing but watching football videos and playing Winning Eleven, that Nagi reminded her of a dog. A huge, snow-white samoyed to be exact.

Isagi remembered himself agreeing. Nagi does, indeed, remind him of one sometimes, what’s with his tendency to be touchy and seemingly constant need for Isagi’s approval whenever he did something that could warrant Isagi’s validation.

In return, Nagi treats Iyo with respect and child’s artless affection. He told Isagi that she reminds him of his own mother, a sprightly, easy going mother. Isagi knew that Nagi lives alone, apart from his parents who travel often. Nagi might not miss them all the time, but despite his entire 190 cm of height, he’s still just a seventeen year old boy, young and growing and still needing guidance deep down. Nagi seems to find a trace of his mother in Iyo, and just like he does to his own mother, he’d rather keep them happy than not, no matter how troublesome and tasking it is.

“We’ll take turns,” he tuts, “Mom also wants pictures of you. Of us.” Adding, "but more of mine.”

With a sigh, Nagi relents. All arguments waving white flags in the face of Isagi Iyo’s wishes. “Fine.”

Isagi beams, mission accomplished. Smiling, he reaches up to ruffle Nagi’s hair, feeling his heart growing fond, feeling it swelling ten folds with affection at the way Nagi’s expression melts into one of contentment. At the way he easily bent to his mother’s will.

This is something that he’s known for a while, or perhaps a long time now; that he likes Nagi Seishirou. A lot. As a rival and a friend.

As well as more than a friend.

It’s the feeling that’s always been there, ever present at the back of his mind, coming alive whenever Nagi is around.

Isagi knew but he never addressed it. It doesn’t seem to be necessary in the grand scheme of things. He never had much interest toward romance to begin with, it never bothered him that he never felt so strongly about anyone while his friends were giddily talking about girls and crushes.

Love’s not foreign to him, he knew love is everywhere. In the breakfast his mother prepared. In the way his father always tried to make it to their dinner every night. In the way Anri arranged their training and schedules. In the endless cheerfulness Bachira treats everyone. In the way Barou started asking him for football-related advice. In Chigiri’s attentiveness to Isagi’s barely changed, yet, shorter haircut. In the way Kunigami remembers their little group of four’s favourite foods.

Love is there too, in the way Nagi is willing to take pictures for him. In the way he invited Isagi to this trip in the first place.

Anyone else wouldn’t believe, they couldn’t even imagine, could they? That the Nagi Seishirou is willing to take pictures for someone. Would go as far as leaving his house for a five day trip instead of spending his golden week lazing around in his house, playing games.

But they don’t know Nagi the way Isagi does. They don’t know that Nagi works better with trust. And because they don’t love Nagi the way Isagi does, he hopes Nagi doesn’t do things like this for just anyone else.

Isagi hopes Nagi does something like this for him and him alone. Isagi prays Nagi doesn’t invite anyone to spend holidays together. Isagi wishes Nagi likes no one else’s mother the way he is fond of Iyo.

It’s childish. It’s selfish, but Isagi has always been the most selfish among the bunch, both in football and apparently in love. In a kind of love that he only discovered after meeting Nagi. The kind that he could only vaguely remember when it started and the only one that he had to fight not to cloud his judgement.

Isagi thought he had set his answer, long time ago, but he’s not so sure anymore. Not when this feeling, that he never really ignored yet otherwise abandoned, makes him aware of things that he could have lost and possibly regret in the future.

This is a feeling that he’s known for a while, or perhaps a long time now.

He just never knew it had grown, powerful enough to affect his future.

:::

The process of getting Isagi's phone number was easy. In fact, it required absolutely zero effort from Nagi himself.

Anri threw a small dinner party for the Blue Lockers. For the first time in what felt like forever, they indulge themselves with greasy, unhealthy foods. Pizzas, fried chickens, overly-salty french fries, and other variants of fast food.

Nagi sat alone in the corner, lost in his own world of mobile games, ignorant of the bustling crowd and bursting noises of rowdy teenage boys. An empty paper plate and half-filled plastic cup on the table in front of him. He had a pizza, one single slice, and nothing else because fast foods were generally a chore to eat and there's a new event going on in the game he's playing.

Some people did come over, offering food, refilling drinks. Nagi merely regarded them with a nod and barely audible hum of acknowledgement. He couldn't remember who they were, but he's certain none of them was Isagi.

He would have known if it was Isagi.

He would have looked up from his phone if it was Isagi.

"Nagi, there you are!"

It's Isagi. Nagi did look up. His phone vibrated briefly on his hands.

He looked down, finding ' YOU LOST' written in bold, red letters across his screen.

Nagi wrinkled his nose, "huh."

"Umm, sorry."

"It's okay, I can just do it later." The blond shrugged, turning his phone screen-down on the table. "You're looking for me?"

He returned his gaze to Isagi, who, for some reason, looked mystified, mouth slightly ajar.

Nagi thought, ' cute .' He called, "Isagi?"

"Yes, Isagi! Here! Haha!" Suddenly, Isagi plopped down on the empty seat beside him. Nagi didn't miss the bright scarlet blossoming under his skin.

"You're looking for me."

"I was," the answer came with a sigh. Their knees were barely touching. Almost touching.

Nagi shifted his leg a little, pressing his thigh to Isagi's.

No reaction.

Huh . Here it was again; the frustration.

"They returned our phones, right?" Isagi began, taking out his phone. Nagi watched as his fingers danced quickly over the touchscreen. "We were exchanging numbers over there."

By we , Isagi probably meant Bachira and Chigiri, team z and who's left of it, possibly Barou too, and the rest of Blue Lockers considering Isagi's unsurprising wide range of connections.

"Then I realised I don't have your number," his fingers stopped along with his words. The screen froze on the 'create a new contact' page.

Nagi didn't have spatial awareness. His eyes couldn't see beyond what he's seeing, but he can already see where this is going.

"So, I was thinking-"

"Where do you live, Isagi?"

"Huh?"

Distracted, Isagi gave Nagi a perfect opportunity to snatch his phone. He swiftly typed his number, his Line Id, and registered his contact as ' Nagi ', before returning the phone to its flabbergasted owner, whose cheeks were dusted lightly pink. "I’m staying in Tokyo, my parent’s house in Kanagawa," he went on.

"Tokyo and Kanagawa," Isagi muttered dazedly, gaze falling heavily on his phone, safely returned to the owner's hand. "About an hour from Saitama."

"Hmm," Nagi took his phone, still frozen on the 'You Lost ' screen. Without much thinking, he closed the app.

He certainly wouldn't do this if it was anyone else but this was Isagi; asking him his numbers, offering him his own in return. Nagi would be a fool to miss this chance. The game can certainly wait any other time.

"That's not too far," this time, it's Nagi's turn to open the contact screen. "Give me your number, Isagi."

And that's how Nagi got his number. His line id, and barely updated social media account. It was pleasantly easy. He also got Isagi for himself for another fifteen minutes or so before Bachira came over, dragging Isagi back to the centre of the room where Otoya and Raichi were having a heated discussion about some random and possibly stupid stuff. "Raichi said he needs us! Solidarity! Team Z!" Bachira giggled gleefully while locking his arms with Isagi, oblivious to the glare Nagi was giving him.

Isagi said, "alright, alright," and, "stop pulling, I can walk by my own," to his best friend. To Nagi, he tossed him a smile, bright and sparkly like his eyes, before mouthing, "text you later."

His irritation at Bachira's gone, melting away like snow under the sunlight. Nagi didn't resume his game until Isagi dissolved into the crowd, lost in the blur of people.

Needless to say, it took multiple attempts for him to clear the game. He's distracted, barely focused. All he could think about was an hour train ride between Saitama and Yokohama, the new number saved in his phone.

He thought of the mystified look on Isagi's face. Him turning down his phone, his game for Isagi. The chance that Isagi might have seen, might have noticed. The blossoming of his cheeks. Their knees pressed together.

He thought of Isagi's, "text you later ," and the possibility of,  " see you later!" It wasn't there, but Nagi could make it happen. It all depended on their conversation later. Nagi's aware that he's not the best at it, but he liked to think that he's good at speaking out his mind, especially when it's with Isagi.

Not when it came to Isagi because there's something that he, surprisingly, wasn't ready to say about him. Yet.

Yet . Being the key. Yet , because one day, Nagi will be ready. Yet , because Nagi knew he had and would make himself ready. Yet , because, surely, Isagi deserved it.

Isagi deserved to hear; of all these wonderful words  and thoughts that always occupied Nagi's mind whenever the boy's around.

:::

Their trip ended around an hour later than expected, or rather; than Isagi told Nagi it would. Isagi has to deal with Nagi’s incessant whining while he walks along Takase river, pretending like he doesn’t have a 190 cm tall grumbling boy as his shadow.

He’d love to visit again sometimes, somewhere in April when the water is nearly pink from reflection of sakura blossoms, or maybe soon enough next June when hydrangea blooms. He’d ask Nagi to come along, especially after they discovered today that Nagi actually has a talent for taking good pictures, much to Iyo’s delight. She immediately set a picture of Isagi, tossing a smile over his shoulder for Nagi to capture, with Kiyomizu-zaka in the background, as her contact picture.

For now, Isagi saves the question for another time, preferably when Nagi’s not persistently scowling and is more pleasant to be around.

Still, despite his protest, Nagi tags dutifully along. Isagi rewards him with another pat on the head and promises to pay his lemon teas for the rest of their trip. Nagi’s mood doesn’t immediately get better. It noticeably improves when they finally soak themselves in the large bathtub of the onsen, his wet hair dripping water all over Isagi’s shoulder, weight comfortably pressed flush against his sides.

Isagi doesn't mind his silence, Nagi's obviously exhausted and Isagi's partly to blame. Their trip could have ended earlier had Isagi not switched back and forth between two shops because he couldn't make up his mind about which souvenirs he should get.

He enjoys Nagi’s company, with or without words. Just simply being by his side is enough. Even before realising he’s in love with the silver-haired prodigy, Isagi has always found Nagi comforting with his quiescent presence. Nagi’s never afraid to call Isagi out in his wrong, he’s unhesitant in offering comfort when sensing Isagi’s down.

It all began a long time ago, back when they began building their partnership on shaky, unstable ground. Isagi just lost Bachira, he’s standing at the precipice of doom. His fortress of confidence invaded by fear, missing his conviction. Without faith,  Isagi almost lost himself, if it wasn’t for Nagi’s hands, rough and demanding, seizing his hair, dragging him up.

Nagi has seen him at his lowest. Nagi has seen him crippled by failure. Yet, Nagi stayed. Unshakeable by his side, enduring in his belief, that Isagi will emerge triumphantly victorious. He followed Isagi’s words, obeyed his orders as if it was his creed all along. Isagi forgets fear with Nagi by his side. Nagi’s very presence is a constant reminder that he was once lost, but eventually found his way back in the end. His living medal of honour.

Isagi knows love is everywhere, and he finds one within himself, budding slow yet sure. Growing gently, verdant and tender. The sweetest ache brought along by thornless vines. Nagi’s kindness the root of it all. The very same love that makes Isagi hangs Nagi on the north of his imaginary sky.

The very same one that cleaved his supposedly straight path, making branches. The one that probably holds the answer to his questions; which path should I take? Where should I go?

But perhaps, it’s not even an answer that he wants or needs. Perhaps, whatever it is, is something that only Nagi can give. Be it an answer, be it a guidance. Be it a closure or Nagi’s brand of wordless assurance.

The absence of speech lasts, adding a soothing taste of peace to their dinner, weightlessly carried to the dark of the room. That night finds Nagi, once again, crawling to Isagi’s side instead of his own laid out futon. He still shrouds Isagi in his lulling warmth, but this time, they’re face to face, eye to eye, breathing in tandem, delicately timed.

“You got something on your mind.” Isagi breaks the seemingly hallowed silence, voice just a shy above whisper.

“Hmm.”

Even the lack of light cannot hide the brilliance of Nagi’s eyes, diamond dust tossed into the muteness of his green. “And that something concerns me.”

“Wao,” Nagi hums flatly, “you can read me so well.”

“Ask away.”

Wind blows softly, slight  reluctance rustling drying leaves off brittling branches. Yet, the tree of Nagi’s curiosity stands; tall, proud and strong to brave the coldest of winter.

Isagi had loved; Isagi loves him for that very same fortitude.

“Manshine sent you an offer.”

Isagi seeks support from millenia-fortified trunk, “..they did.”

“But you haven’t replied.”

“I have not.”

He watches Nagi study him for a moment, not exactly searching, just seeing and learning. “Have you replied to anyone?”

Isagi considers before answering, “plenty.”

“Just not Manshine?”

“Manshine is one of them,” he corrects him.

“Hmm.”

“You still have something in mind,” Isagi points out, familiar of Nagi’s sky and weather.

Briefly, Nagi closes his eyes, as if it’d stop Isagi from reading him. “I want to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“ Of you, something.” Pale lashes flutter, silver curtain of mist raised. Through them, Isagi discovers them again; his lush, verdurous forest. “I don’t think it’s something you can give.”

Isagi shifts closer, lost in mid-autumn forest. Smells the drying leaves, shrouded by decaying branches on moss-covered grounds. “Try me,” he whispers.

Just as breathless, Nagi asks, “can I kiss you?”

This time, it’s Isagi who closes his eyes.

Then Nagi kisses him. Fleeting like the touch wasn’t even there. Yet lingering, like all too realistic dreams. “Did you have fun today?”

He reaches blindly, for hands that he knew are always there. For a star hanging bright in the north of his sky. “I did.”

There’s no more kisses. At least on the lips. But there are some, gentle as mid-day rain barely touching his skin; on his temple, on the tip of his nose.

Unfading warmth grows from the crux of his being, spreading slow through his system, carried by Nagi’s wavering caresses.

“I was wrong,” lulling cadence of his breathing kisses Isagi’s lips. "You could give it to me."

“You hate being wrong.”

“Not if it was you,” there’s an arm around him, pulling Isagi close. “You always do. All you did was prove me wrong.”

Fingers caught and intertwined, Isagi presses his nose to the juncture of Nagi’s neck, inhaling the season of leaves changing colours. “Do you hate me?”

“I could never,” he says. So much faith. So much conviction.

So many things. Barren. Hidden. Behind that statement. An honesty that Isagi hopes is only his to keep. Treasure lying await in the depth of his evergreen forest.

“I would never.”

Isagi knows that he loves autumn. Loves its cosy embrace, loves its mild weather. Loves the way it reminds him that year is coming to a close but not yet. Not yet, there’s still time, he still got time, plenty of them, to do things he still couldn’t do and could have done. Loves the way days gradually grow shorter yet brimming hope all the same. It’s still warm, sun still reigns longer than moon on the sky, he still has time.

Isagi loves autumn and all its peaceful encouragement. He always wishes it’d last longer. And maybe, for a while, or perhaps a long time now, he realised this particular autumn, this one cradling him now, is the very one he wished will never pass.

:::

Nagi thought had nothing to fear. Nagi used to believe nothing could frighten him.

Turned out, he was wrong. He was no God, just a foolish, puny human. He’s pretty much capable of fearing as much he could feel.

It had nothing to do with the way Isagi’s walking away. It had nothing to do with the way Isagi’s far ahead, leaving him behind. It had nothing to do with knowing he’s no longer the one reflected in Isagi’s eyes. It had nothing to do with the way he realised he’s probably been replaced. It had nothing to do with knowing he no longer had a place by Isagi’s side.

It had nothing to do with all of that. He had lost Isagi before. He knew how it felt to watch his retreating back. He’s no stranger to seeing Isagi chasing after someone else. He had no problem at the thought of being the last person  in Isagi’s mind.

It had everything to do with realising that Isagi never had the answer that he's looking for. Nagi always had it all along.

It was his own renaissance. His moment of reincarnation.

And yet, he yearned. And yet, he longed. Collapsing stars. Majestic catastrophe. For the new cosmic reborn. Caught in his gravity. Fluttering lashes on his jaw. A shy whisper of lips on his. Nimble fingers, threading strands ashen. Wishing to get lost, astray on the fervid ocean floor. Unplanned yet desired accident.

He did see the light.

It had nothing to do with all of that. But he was proven wrong; thought he could not, it turned out he could.

Where was that light now?

“Seeya, genius.”

Nagi feared.

Just how many times can a star die to be born again?

It had everything to do with everything.

:::

Isagi feels a strong sense of deja vu.

He’s been in a situation like this before, one where he and Nagi shared a kiss yet they acted like nothing even happened. Pallid lashes. Nose on diamond-hard jaw. Lips brushed. Lingering yet barely there.

And they had acted like nothing happened. Nagi didn't even look at him like novels and movies said the protagonist did after an accidental kiss. No eyes huge as saucers. No double take. No heated up cheeks. No silence filled with deafening heartbeats.

Nothing. Just a screen glowing between them, as bright as Nagi's eyes as he poured his attention back on it. As bright as the confusion dancing in Isagi's mind.

Was it real? Did it really happen? Did Nagi just kiss him? Did he kiss Nagi? Did they just kiss? Were those Nagi's lips on his?

Plethora of questions yet nothing came out from his mouth. Isagi would have asked, would have demanded his truth and answer. But he didn't. Because he was at the phase of his life when he's haunted by rejection and the only thing that can exorcise it was validation. He didn't think he could take even the slightest deflection, so he picked silence and pretence as a form of self-protection.

The same thing is happening now. He wakes up still curled in Nagi's arms, the taller male's lips a shy whisper away from the skin between Isagi's brows. He's got an eyeful of Nagi's skin, nose right under his strong jaw, just a little bit, and he could have planted a kiss right on his jugular.

Isagi wishes he could always wake up like this; waking up to the warmth of his translucent skin, behind them, a window framed with curtain paper-thin, giving a glimpse of sky perpetually grey from hanging rain. The ordinary gloomy English sky.

Then he'd wake up first-he does wake up first, spending first five minutes of his wake soaking in Nagi's soothing presence, chasing the remaining sleep away as he takes his fingers in a journey along the contour of Nagi's arms. Nagi's hand will be right on the dimple of his back, fingers just curled over the skin, not quite holding him. Then Isagi would pry them away, tangling his own between them before bringing their joined hands between them.

Nagi would be asleep still-he is still asleep, lashes long, diamond crusted, casting soft shadow over his cheeks. If Isagi was feeling bold, he'd kiss each and every slope, would print words of love on transparent skin. He's not feeling particularly brazen at the moment, so just holds on, tight. And pray, pray that this could be part of his future. That even if this couldn't be part of his everyday, this could be part of his weekend or holiday.

He prays. He wishes. Like human do, human who can only want, want, and want, and then by the time he's done with his fervent prayer, Nagi would be awake. Either because Isagi wakes him up with gentle pats on his head, or, very rarely, because he wakes by himself.

This morning in Kyoto, Nagi woke up without Isagi's hand on his head. Isagi watches his lashes flutter, watches his eyes slowly gain their focus, watches himself caught in his sage-green vines.

"Good morning, Nagi," he says, slightly breathless. In wonder. Mesmerised. Casting another prayer, wishing he could always be the first thing these eyes see every morning.

"Morning," Nagi's voice is low, heavy with sleep. The taller male struggles a little more with it, fighting to stay awake, refusing their relaxing embrace. He squeezes his eyes shut, groaning, "time is it?"

"Check out at 10," Isagi tells him, not exactly the answer that he seeks, still something that he needs. "We still have time for a bath and breakfast."

"Long bath?"

"Long bath," Isagi nods, much to Nagi's satisfaction it seems, because the corner of lips twitched, a fraction. Just a little.

"Good," he sighs, Isagi feels his body relax against him.

Their fingers are still laced together.

They did share a kiss last night.

"Five minutes."

"Mmrgh?"

"Five minutes and up we go, I'd like to arrive at Osaka right around lunch."

Another groan, accompanied with a pout. "Can't we make it ten?",

"Five," Isagi repeats, in a tone that Nagi knew left no room for negotiation.

"Fine," resigned. No objection, Isagi smiles, triumphant. Nagi glares at him, very briefly, before closing his eyes and untangling their joined hands to wrap his arm around Isagi again, tucking him under his chin. "As you wished."

They spend exactly five minutes like that, cuddling, or at least that's what Isagi's internal clock tells him. Once the time runs out, Isagi wriggles out from Nagi's hug, earning a whine from the taller male. He rolls his eyes playfully, watching as Nagi himself rises from the bed albeit rather unwillingly. 

Isagi practically drags him to the bathing room, refuses to bathe him, but allows Nagi to use his shoulder as a pillow once they're clean to enter the onsen. They're naked, skin against skin, Nagi's breathing slowly beside him, leaning his entire weight on Isagi.

Another prayer casted. Another wish made. That there'd be nobody else whose shoulder Nagi would use as a pillow as he takes a long, lazy soak in the onsen.

They have breakfast, pack up their belongings, then check out right when the receptionist is about to call them to offer an extension.

They talk, all the way from the inn to the station, throughout the entire train ride to Osaka.

They talk, just not about the kiss.

:::

Reo's talking, full of hopes, grand dreams. Their dream. His dream.

"Isagi's amazing."

Reo talked about numbers and statistics. They completely flew over Nagi's head.

"But we lost."

Reo talked about motivation. Big numbers and early retirement. His dream. Once it was his dream.

"But we lost."

Reo told him to, "stay this way, it's fine." Reo said he doesn't have to change.

But I lost .

Unfortunately, Nagi, you just got to win.

:::

Osaka is nowhere as crowded as Kyoto, but there’s still too many people to Isagi’s liking, given that it’s golden week.

He uses Nagi as his shield, clutching to the back of his jacket as he ushers the boy toward the station’s exit. Just like in Yokohama, they enter the place with the shortest queue for quick lunch before scoring maps for potential spots to play football. Isagi doesn’t feel like eating that much, both because he just had one of the biggest and scrumptiously elegant breakfast, and because he doesn’t feel like doing anything at all. He doesn’t feel like talking nor socialising either. 

Simply put, he’s just not in the mood. The issue that he’s been avoiding throughout this entire trip has barreled through his carefully made barricade, and is now standing, daunting unkind, right in front of him.

Because the kiss, because Nagi has shown him a glimpse of what they could have had.

And, on God, does he want it. He wants it now more than ever.

Nagi picks it up, his sombre mood. Isagi can tell with the way he is taking the initiative to pay, leading them to find potential spot where people are likely to play football. Riverbank seems to be their lucky spot for this trip, they find a group of people around their age playing, full team. One of them noticed the two Blue Lockers first, practically announcing their presence to the entire occupant of that cosy riverbank. All eyes turned on them, the football players and people just casually lounging under mid-day sun, lunch boxes and soft drinks scattered around.

Of course there are pointing fingers, coupled with overt stares. Isagi, in his less than stellar mood, scurries behind Nagi with a timid smile and equally timid wave to the adoring crowd, feeling slightly restless. Nagi, who seems to find his role by the day to be Isagi’s knight in shining armour (as if he’s not always), steps in front of him, shielding him from nosy gazes.

Isagi’s heart flutters a little, faith rose hue like flickering cherry blossom petals.

It might not look like it, but Nagi’s extremely protective of people he cares about, he’s sensitive to people around him, especially those he cherished. He’s empathetic despite his aloof indifference, and Isagi is fortunate enough to have the privilege to be one of the people Nagi is willing to brandish his sword for, another one obviously being Reo, and the rest of Blue Lockers to certain extent.

Nagi has always been kind to him. This trip, too, is one of his kindnesses.

This very trip is the solution that Nagi came up with to Isagi’s dilemma.

After he received the offer from Manshine City, Isagi immediately consulted his friends. Chigiri, Bachira, Kunigami, even Barou and Rin. They all gave him helpful, solid advice. Rin even met him personally to go over pros and cons of joining that team. Isagi came prepared with print outs of every document they sent him, including the detailed training program that Agi had meticulously planned for him. He’s aware it’s not something that you usually showed to somebody else, but Isagi trusted Rin the most when it came to football, it’s a faith they mutually shared.

Isagi’s eternally grateful for his friends' generosity, they all showed him the pieces to complete the puzzle he’s working on. Except those weren’t the pieces that he’s looking for at all. Isagi knew, some of them did tell him as much, that they found it weird that Isagi’s even beating himself over this offer. The answer should have been obvious, everybody and their mother knew, it’s basically public knowledge at this point, that Isagi Yoichi’s meant to continue his football career in Bastard Munchen, before it’s time for him to come back and serve his country’s honour.

It was very obvious too, even to him.

Until the offer from Manshine City came, trailed by countless of what if s and possibilities that he never dared to flirt with before.

He’s heard it before, how feelings and emotions are truly the strongest of it all. He never thought it’d happen to him at all. He's a slave to logic and definite numbers. He’s caring and compassionate, but he knows everything is supposed to be just and fair, that’s the way the world works.

So when it actually happened to him, when the thought of being with someone he loved could stand ever so imperiously, threatening to detriment his future, Isagi’s at lost.

Perhaps this is his punishment, the price he had to pay for his pride and arrogance. This is God’s way of reminding him that he’s just a puny, weak human. All that metavision and years of football training can do nothing to solve this problem. This is the matter of the heart, and there’s only one way to fix it.

He decided to discuss it with Nagi.

Nagi had picked up, despite the late time, and Isagi reconsidered again before telling him, because he knew there’s nothing more that Nagi loved than sleeping. But Nagi insisted, after guessing there’s something that’s been weighing Isagi’s mind even before he said anything.

“I’m listening,” Nagi had said.

“But the time- your sleep-”

“You’re acting like I never stayed up late listening to you talking about football before.”

Isagi’s heart trembled, warm with heart searing affection. “That was football, this is,” he paused, choked with emotion. He spoke again, voice smaller to hide the tremble, “me. Personal.”

“Shoot,” Nagi said, easily, “I said; I’m listening.”

On God. Isagi knew he loved this man, but he never knew he could love him as much as he did now. Was it okay to pretend, was it okay to take Nagi’s words as, ‘I would do anything for you’ ? Was it okay to hope that this was the kindness that Nagi only extended to him? Was it okay to wish, to beg, and demand God to make this elusive attention his and his alone? Was it too greedy of him? Will he be punished again for this longing?

So he told him everything, but of course, except one thing that actually mattered. The heart of the problem. His heart. His yearning and desire. If Nagi picked it up, if he realised there’s something else that Isagi wasn’t telling him, he showed no sign of it.

By the end of Isagi’s long story, he said, “I’ll think about it,” then he hung up.

Isagi’s a little perplexed by the abrupt end of their conversation, but it’s okay, perhaps this is what he deserved after not being totally honest with Nagi. Besides, he’s happy enough that Nagi was willing to spare some of his precious, treasured sleeping time for him.

The invitation for Golden Week trip came the very next day. Isagi didn’t think twice before accepting, and here they are now, in Osaka, playing football with strangers.

Nagi never explains why he did this, but judging from the conversation they had in the beginning, back in the udon shop about Isagi needing some of children’s enthusiasm and all, he can sort of guess why. Nagi thought Isagi needs to be reminded of why he’s playing football in the first place. He wanted Isagi to remember how it feels, to play football just for the sake of it, for the joy it gives him, for the pure fun of it.

Nagi thought the solution to Isagi’s problem was as simple as remembering the reason why he played football in the first place. He’s basically telling Isagi that he already knows the answer, he’s just hesitating. There’s no missing piece in the first place, it’s all here, Isagi just needs a little more push, a little courage to put it all together.

He’s right, but he’s wrong. Wrong, because Isagi, like with everyone else, never told him what piece he’s looking for in the first place. Because Isagi never told him what’s stopping him and why he’s hesitating in the first place.

He owes Nagi, who had gone as far as not only suggesting this trip, but also coming along, when he could have used his precious Golden Week sleeping and playing his beloved, beloved games, his honesty.

And everything. He owes Nagi everything, for everything he had done for Isagi up until now, for being himself and being there for Isagi, for asking, “you okay? Do you still want to play or should we just go straight to the hotel?”

Isagi shakes his head, hand still clutching the back of Nagi’s jacket. “I’m fine, I want to play.”

Slight creasing of his brow, the barely there shift of expression that he can pick up just because Nagi allowed him to. “You sure?”

“I do,” ever so protective, Nagi Seishirou. His Knight in shining armour, his saviour. “Perhaps it can lift my mood a little.”

The colour of worry dissipates from his face, “if you said so.”

Some people are already coming over as they speak, the usual conversation of, “are you really Nagi-senshuu and Isagi-senshuu?” they confirmed, and before they can ask, someone is already inviting them to play.

It’s different, they have spectators this time, there are people cheering, probably recording or livestreaming this. Isagi can see it already, them trending on social media, clips of them going viral, more and more people will probably come over to watch.

His prediction was true. By the time they decide to take a break, there’s basically a wall of people surrounding the field. Isagi checks his Line, his group chats are full with people talking about him and Nagi in Osaka. He supposed a similar thing is happening in Nagi’s Line, but the boy is dutifully sticking to his role of the day; keeping people coming unnecessarily close to Isagi. Isagi still interacts with people, though only as much as his mood allows. Afterall, it’d be rude to just ignore them after they cordially invited them to play together, the least he could do is be civil. Nagi is totally mute through it all, but since his peculiar behaviour is as famous as his stellar play, nobody seems to mind.

They finish playing somewhere before five. Nagi whines to leave soon but Isagi, being Isagi, cannot refuse the request of pictures and signs. Eventually, Nagi has to practically drag him away from the impromptu handshake slash signing slash photo session thing before more and more people come over.

“Stupid Isagi,” can be heard, uttered under his breath, as he pulls Isagi by the elbow. The boy in question can only smile at that.

They make it back to Doutonburi where Isagi insisted earlier to visit for their famous takoyaki. Nagi blanches at the sight of the crowd that greets them, loudly whimpers upon arriving at their destination because the stall is sporting a long, long queue that Isagi has heard to be a daily occurrence for this shop, not just for Golden Week.

“Isagiii,” dragging the I, clutching Isagi’s hand. “Do we have to?”

“We do,” Isagi answers, finality in his tone.

Nagi surrenders with a sigh, he follows Isagi as they walk to the end of the line. Just like back in the riverbank, some people seem to notice them, but nobody approaches nor tries talking to them. Isagi can only guess Nagi, despite his reluctance, is still doing a spectacular job at being Isagi’s guard dog, probably by simply staring them down.

The stall owner recognizes them, “hey, it’s Nagi-senshuu and Isagi-senshuu!” He declares with a heavy Kansai-accent, Nagi nods curtly while Isagi smiles with a small, “yeah, that’s us.” He compliments their play while serving their food, even goes as far as giving them extras, winking, “don’t tell anyone okay? Good luck, I’m supporting you!”

They walk along the canal to find a place quiet enough to eat, away from the crowd. They wait until the takoyaki is cool enough to eat. Isagi pokes it once, deems it cool enough, and splits the chopstick. He takes the still steaming, fluffy dough to his mouth, aware of Nagi watching him.

“It’s not hot?”

Isagi shakes his head, saying, in between his chewing, “nope,” finished swallowing, “it’s fucking good, Nagi, you should try it!”

Nagi eyes his own sceptically. “You sure it won’t burn my tongue?”

It could, actually, if he wasn’t careful, but Isagi doesn’t tell him that. “Nah, it’s fine,” he takes Nagi’s chopstick and breaks it for him. “Here, try!”

When Nagi says what he says next, Isagi isn’t surprised at all, “feed me?”

A small smile makes its way to his face as he sighs, “what do I do with you.” He complies anyways, taking one scrumptious looking ball carefully, bringing it to Nagi’s mouth, “here.”

Yet, Nagi doesn’t move, just staring at him with his big, sage-grey eyes.

Isagi blinks, confused, “here?” pushing the takoyaki closer to Nagi’s mouth.

Nagi darts his gaze from the food then to Isagi, “No aaah ?”

Isagi can already imagine the reaction of is friends if they were there; Chigiri rolling his eyes with slight annoyance at Nagi, Bachira giggling in amusement, Kunigami probably gonna pretend like he doesn’t see anything, Barou will be the first one to call Nagi names, while Reo will exasperatedly apologises to Isagi while reprimanding his best friend.

But Isagi’s used to this, had done this a couple of times when it was just the two of them. When Nagi first made such a request, Isagi had, rather innocently, assumed that Nagi used to do the same thing with Reo. It wasn’t until this happened right in front of Reo’s eyes that he learned that; no, this was not something that Nagi used to do with Reo. “I dry his hair, help him dress, buy him clothes and all, and well, perhaps, I did feed him, but I’d never do the,” Reo grimaced, “ aaah thing. No.”

Did it stop Isagi from feeding Nagi that way?

No, it didn’t. Isagi just kept doing it, he’s used to it by now. Sure, it’s a little embarrassing at times when he had to do it in front of everyone else, especially when it’s a stranger. But at least Nagi eats, a little more than when he had to eat alone even, and that’s all that mattered to him.

Besides, who wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to feed their crush like that? Certainly not Isagi Yoichi.

“Aaah,” he says then, watches Nagi’s eyes spark before he opens his mouth wide, accepting the offered food. He resembles a dog, a giant pomeranian with bright, beady eyes, ears standing straight in attention and tails wagging at the promise of good treats.

Isagi alternates between eating his own food and feeding Nagi. Halfway, they realised they don’t have any drinks at all so Isagi says he’s gonna buy some, but Nagi stops him, “you stay there, I’ll get it.”

Isagi gives him the money, he’s promised to sponsor Nagi’s share of lemon tea through the entire trip after all, then Nagi leaves to find either a convenience store or vending machine nearby. Isagi is left alone with the cooling takoyakis and calmly flowing river as his companion. 

He considers checking his phone, but he doesn’t feel like it. He’s still not in the mood to socialise at all, Nagi’s a perfect companion when he’s feeling like this. He talks, but not much. He’s quiet, but not enough to make it awkward and uncomfortable. Not that Nagi’s lack of words ever disturb him in the first place. He’s perfectly content with just having him near.

Nagi returns not long after, a bottle of lemon tea and barley tea for Isagi. Isagi accepts it with a small thanks, laughs when he notices the first thing Nagi does upon seating is opening his mouth, asking for another takoyaki. Isagi feeds him before opening his own drink.

There’s only 2 takoyaki left on his paper container when he begins speaking, “can’t believe we’re already at our last holiday in high school.”

"There's still summer break?" Nagi points out, folding his fingers as he counts. "Winter break, and even spring break." He shows Isagi his hand, three fingers curled. "See."

"It doesn't really work with third years, Nagi, I thought someone from prestigious school like Hakuho would know," Isagi snorts, "then again, maybe it doesn't matter for a genius like you, you don't need to study like other people do to get good scores. Everyone else in our grade will spend the rest of the holidays at cram school, you know."

"But that applies to you, too, Isagi."

"I'm not a genius like you, sadly, I can't solve equations just with feelings."

Nagi tilts his head, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "I'm saying that you're not taking a university entrance exam anyways, what's the point in spending your holidays studying?"

"That's,” Isagi pauses. He quickly looks down to his food, completely aware that he’s avoiding Nagi’s stare. Avoiding the glaring topic at hand. “True. So we still have summer, winter, and spring breaks? Lucky us."

"And next, it's gonna be your turn."

"My turn?" At that, he lifts his gaze again, finding Nagi still looking at him, but there’s no more question in those drying leave eyes. Just a glimmer of something, soft, as heart-achingly tender as his voice when he speaks.

"Yours."

"For?"

A slight curve at the corner of his mouth, "to plan our trip of course. I did come up with it this time, no?"

It takes a while for Isagi to process what Nagi was saying. It. This time. Being their impromptu trip through Golden Week. Yes, it was Nagi who invented it, even though technically, Isagi partakes in arranging the details of their schedule.

But that's not the most important part, isn't it?

"Are you saying you're willing to spend your holidays with me?" He asks, slightly breathless. In awe. Disbelief and wander.

Again, with that barely there smile. With those heart-stoppingly delicate eyes. Perhaps, they’re never leaving his face in the first place. "Why not? It's always fun with you."

"Then," Isagi tries, afraid, unsure, yet determined. Emboldened, by wordless promise in Nagi’s eyes. ”Then you'd be responsible for the winter break?"

The ghost of a smile melts, yet into another smile but slightly different, reticent, and a little sad around the corner. Nagi's voice is as soft as his gaze tender, "if you're willing to go to England, that's it."

England. Manchester. Manshine City. Isagi remembers the offer letter. The E-mail. The part of it that mentioned a list of possible dates to visit England for a survey.

"They want me to start as soon as possible, introduce me to the whole team, get me familiar with England and the club and all,  find an apartment while we're at it. Chris wanted to invite me to his family home for Christmas but our holiday didn't start until the new year, right?"

"Chris must have liked you a lot,” Isagi chuckles, not really knowing what else to say.

"A little too much, it's a little annoying, but that's fine."

He pushes the remaining octopus ball with his sauce-laden chopstick, smiling without really meaning it, "England in winter, sounds nice..."

They lapse into momentary silence. Nagi could have said anything. Nagi could have said the exact thing that Isagi is thinking.

"I could be there, too. I'm invited as well. I could go with you."

Nagi could have, but Nagi is kind, couldn't be anything else but kind, and he might not understand Isagi completely, but he knew him very well in parts that he understood.

So he simply asks, "Is there anywhere you wanna go, Isagi?" Adding quietly, "in England?"

"Ocean," Isagi replies. From being at loss before, his answer came fast, immediate. He casts his gaze back over the horizon, where sun is bleeding all over the skyline. "I wanna go to the ocean."

"Ocean," he hears Nagi said, hears no wistfulness in his voice. Just confidence, optimistic and serene. "I can take you there."

He can. Of course he does, he is Nagi Seishirou, anywhere he goes, Isagi'd follow. He can be anywhere, anywhere but here, anywhere else he wants to. Anywhere far from Isagi but he chose to be here. He has chosen to be here, and Isagi's not sure, with everything that has happened these past four days, with everything that he has learned throughout this journey, Isagi's not sure if he's capable of letting him go.

Not anymore.

“Have you ever wished you’re anywhere but here?” Isagi asks, staring at far off horizon.

“Not now,” Nagi answers. His voice is still just as sure as before, as sure as the setting of the sun Isagi caught his gaze on. “Perhaps any time else, but not now.”

When Isagi turns around, he’s not surprised to see Nagi is looking at him. Still looking at him the way he did. The way Isagi hopes he has always been and will always do. “Can you take me now?”

Nagi doesn’t take his hand, but he pretty much does as he says, “as you wished.”

They finish their food in silence, then make their way back to the station. Cancel their hotel’s booking after buying tickets back to Shinagawa. The train arrives, Nagi walks ahead, again, Isagi follows behind. This time, it feels less foreign, feels easier.

For the first time in this trip, Isagi leans his head in Nagi’s shoulder. He’s not asleep, wide awake, watching the scenery blurs away in a kaleidoscope dulling colours and black. His hand on the armrest is slanted perfectly against Nagi’s, their pinkies brushing. No words uttered. No conversation exchanged.

Isagi just sits there, breathing and just be, feeling every movement, every shift of Nagi against him. Eventually, when the sun has completely retreated to let night reigns over, he closes his eyes, and falls asleep to the assurance that Nagi is taking him, somewhere, but this time, somewhere Isagi wants to be.

:::

"We sent offer to Isagi Yoichi as well, did you hear anything from him?”

Nagi, in the process of reviewing (read: skimming), through printed version of the training program that Agi sent him, looked up. On the screen was Agi, looking, for once and if Nagi had to say so himself; uncharacteristically nervous. “you sent an offer,” affirming, not questioning. “To Isagi?”

“I did,” he quickly add, “technically, it wasn’t me, but overall, it was me, I drafted the proposal and everything, training programs and all. Except the numbers and legal things, that’s not in my payroll.”

“He didn’t say anything yet,” Nagi shook his head. His mentor visibly deflated. “I’m surprised Chris allowed it.”

“Chris has final say in some things and none in another, this is the latter.” Agi briefly disappeared from screen, he returned again with glasses perched on his nose and previously absent pad on hand. “Chris a dumb arse but he’s not stupid. He knew Isagi Yoichi’s worth, we all do, like everybody else. Rumours had it that all major clubs in Europe has sent him offers, some were rejected,” a rather long pause. Through pixelated screen, Nagi saw Agi frowning as he began typing on his pad.

“I thought it’s obvious where Isagi is going.”

“Bastard Munchen has yet to announce anything, according to my resources, Isagi hasn’t replied to them either,” his mentor put down the pad, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My resources also said Isagi replied in 5 days at most, we sent the offer a day later than them, it’s been 6 days, and nothing. If Isagi was really going to Munchen, we should have heard something about it by now.”

Nagi wondered what kind of resources Agi have; are they even accurate at all? Why and how would they know about Isagi? His eyes narrowed; is Isagi’s privacy in danger?

“Perhaps I’m looking in the wrong place,” Agi sighed, taking off his glasses, he continued, “Isagi Yoichi won’t ask you for advice, will he?”

“That’s kinda rude,” the frown stayed, albeit for different reasons this time. He might not flaunt his friendship with Isagi in public like some people, but he’s pretty confident-his crush on Isagi aside-that he’s among one of Isagi’s closest friends. Isagi did talk to him about his problems, as mundane and trivial it is.

Isagi has invited Nagi to his house, where Nagi grew fond of Isagi’s mother who ‘s equally charmed by him. And it’s not a one time occurrence, he’s been at Isagi’s house for multiple weekends, he’s been there enough to know which door leads to Isagi’s bedroom and which to his parent’s, which slippers belonged to Issei and which one was Isagi.

Nagi has fallen asleep, on Isagi’s bed-both on and under the blanket, on the carpet of his bedroom, on his living room’s sofa and woke up with a soft blanket covering him. Both alone and with Isagi by his side, a mesmerising breadth away. A frustrating distance. Not one he could breach anytime soon, at least not in the near future.

Or so he thought.

Manshine City sent an offer to Isagi Yoichi, probably a near identical one to what they sent him and Agi was explaining to him right now. Nagi received dozens of offers as well, but Manshine’s was the only one he accepted for obvious reasons, namely being he knew them and they knew him. There’s no need to go through that mundanely annoying process of getting to know each other. Nagi and Manshine are past beyond that stage, they already know how each other work, they already know what they expect from one another.

“It’s simply an extension of what we already do, but what we taught you was just a glimpse, 1% of the real thing,” Agi explained to him earlier today. They immediately arranged a video call after Nagi sent them the answer, an obvious and simple ‘yes’ , which Anri probably crafted into a more elaborate, e-mail appropriate version.

It seemed to be the obvious answer for him, just as obvious as Isagi Yoichi will definitely play for Bastard Munchen. The very reason why he’s playing football is in that club, why would he decline their offer? There’s no reason to turn it down anyways, Isagi’s in a very good relationship with Noel Noa, despite the running animosity between him and Kaiser, they had found their even ground to work together efficiently. Unless Isagi was legally forbidden to enter German, everybody and their mother knew Isagi Yoichi will make his official pro debut in German, specifically, in Bastard Munchen’s jersey.

That’s the impression Nagi got from Isagi as well. Every time they talk about the future, it’s always with Isagi in German and Nagi in England. He’s always been so sure about it, they were. Each time, they talked knowing they wouldn’t be together. Everytime, Nagi was made aware that; yes , he’s in the future Isagi draws, but, no , he won’t be a constant part of it. This distance between them will remain, like it was never meant to be breached let alone closed.

Nagi’s completely aware that’s how he and Isagi work. Nagi moves, prompted by feelings and instinct, seeking for the thrill. Isagi plans, formulates and strategizes. And Nagi has to break it, he has to break free from Isagi’s calculation. Has to show him that sometimes one plus one does not equal two, has to remind him that humans can craft their best laid plan but in the end, it’s God who makes the final call.

That’s how they work. That’s their so-called ‘Chemical Reaction’. Nagi has to constantly crush it, the ideal world Isagi fantasised, to either help him build a better utopia together when they’re in the same team, or to show Isagi that Nagi's dominion is here to reign.

They’re not meant to be together, they can be, but Nagi knew, in order for Isagi to stay, shining bright and intensely golden, it’s better for them to be apart. After all, Isagi has chosen Rin, chosen Bastard Munchen, and everyone else but Nagi to devour for that very reason. Isagi knew it too. They both knew; that they’re meant to be apart. Not because they cannot be strong together, but Blue Lock has taught them, while they’re strong together, they can be stronger in other environments. Bastard has everything Isagi needs to grow, likewise, Manshine has that for Nagi.

It isn’t as much as they’re meant to forever stay on the opposite side of the field, it simply means for them to be truly invincible together, they have to be strong enough alone. Playing with Isagi certainly makes him stronger, Isagi opened up many doors, introduced him many possibilities, teased him with a glimpse of how strong he could become. But then, there’s still a limit, a limit they cannot break unless Isagi attained bigger, wider vision, and Nagi has to be able to keep up with it, or else, he’ll continue losing.

He doesn’t mind chasing after Isagi, but he pretty much minds lagging, being left behind and can only watch as Isagi raises again and again from the ashes, evolving, brighter, higher. Nagi hates being stuck in the same place, something he never thought he would, but, hey, that’s another thing that Isagi incited in him. ‘ How far can I go? What else can I be?’

For once, Nagi stopped seeing a future in which he takes early retirement and spends the rest of his life with pension money. For once, Nagi was able to imagine something else, and it was Isagi who did it, sketching an entirely new picture of the future, one that Nagi never imagined but turned out he liked. 

It might not be a future where he’d wake up every day with Isagi’s hand on his hair, with his sweet timbre saying, “good morning.” It won’t be a future where he can easily cancel his plan if Isagi called, he won’t come home to watch Isagi cooking in the kitchen, or setting the table for take out foods he ordered.

It won’t be rose-coloured future, but as long as it’s a future where Isagi can continue, being Isagi Yoichi whom he loved the most, that self-effacing, chivalrous egoist on the field, then Nagi won’t trade it, not for anything else, not even for a promised forever with him.

And God knows, God knows how much he wanted it.

But he had made a vow that day, only for him and God the Almighty to know; he’d do anything it costs to keep this star shining bright.

Nagi Seishirou doesn’t do a lot of things, including breaking promises. That’s why he was so angry with Reo’s attitude back then, how dare he accuse Nagi of forgetting their promise? No, Nagi would never forget it, not to his dying day, or even after their dream eventually comes true. Nagi Seishiro will always give Reo the best he has to offer, for the sake of their dream of winning the World Cup together.

He’s glad that Reo eventually came to his senses, finally escaping the iron grip of his parent’s shadow. Together, they’re as strong as ever, and of course, Manshine sent Reo an offer as well. In fact, Agi just  finished having a video call with Reo, accompanied by Mikage Corporation lawyer(s), before his appointed time with Nagi. His best friend has told him to record this video call, Nagi has forwarded the entire email, with the attached documents and all, earlier. He’s meeting Reo and his lawyers tomorrow to review the whole thing, going over the contract details, consulting and discussing, and all the mumbo jumbo that Nagi’s genius brain can actually comprehend but he was too lazy to do it.

He’s sticking with Reo, that’s a must, a final, because they’ve promised and Nagi Seishirou doesn’t break one. He can’t let Reo go, but he can, with Isagi. He can let him go, he can set him free and watch as Isagi soars with his glorious, majestic wings.

If that’s what it takes to keep Isagi shining, then so be it. If that’s the price he got to pay, then pay he would. Because Nagi knew he loved him, loved Isagi Yoichi who taught him so many things; of losses and victories, of frustration and gratitude, of kindness and selfishness. Isagi, who’s the most beautiful in his selfish freedom, and Nagi would rather die than clipping his wings.

But if Manshine sent Isagi an offer, and if Isagi decided to accept it, that changed everything.

“Tell me if you heard anything from him.”

Nagi didn’t give him a straight answer, just a quiet, “hmm.” Agi didn’t press further, they continued what they were doing before; going over the details of Nagi’s offer, which Nagi barely paid attention to. That’s probably why Reo told him to do it in the first place.

Later that night, Isagi called him, “did you get your offer from Manshine?”

Nagi said yes, but he didn’t tell Isagi whether he had accepted it or not - because, technically, he had not, not until he signed the contract.

“Of course you did,” Isagi sighed. Then he stopped, said nothing. If this was anyone else, Nagi would drop the call already but this was Isagi, there’s always a meaning, even in his silence.

“I’m listening,” Nagi said softly.

Isagi stuttered, “but the time- your sleep-”

Nagi rolled his eyes, of course, ever so considerate Isagi Yoichi. “You’re acting like I never stayed up late listening to you talking about football before.”

“That was football, this is,” a pause, then when he spoke again, his voice was smaller, “me. Personal.”

“Shoot,” Nagi pushes, “I said; I’m listening.”

Another beat of silence, lasting for a while. Nagi checked his phone, waiting. He’d wait forever, if it was for Isagi Yoichi, he would stand another millenia of silence.

Eventually, Isagi spoke. Nagi listened.

He didn’t tell anyone. Not Reo, or Chigiri who texted him the next morning. Certainly, not Agi. Because this too, this conflicted and beautifully unsure Isagi Yoichi, was his and his alone.

:::

They take a forty minute-ish taxi ride to Kasai Kaihin Beach. It’s empty, being this late at night. Isagi can imagine it being more crowded by the day, or perhaps one of two hours earlier, occupied by people spending the last, remaining days of Golden Week.

Isagi complains quietly about the chilly weather, it’s meant for himself, but Nagi picks it up. Even the smallest of sounds he makes, his ears would always pick it up, like he’s attuned to catch every single sound that escaped him. His attention warms Isagi, just like his triple XL-sized deep turquoise hoodie he forces Isagi to wear.

“You’re really small, Isagi,” Nagi comments, assessing Isagi drowning in his hoodie, it ends right below his knees, making his legs look shorter, and Isagi has to roll the sleeves up to see his own hand.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, thankful enough that Nagi doesn’t point out that the clothes are pretty much slipping off from his shoulder. He knew Nagi was big, but not this big. He’s just not all height, apparently, he’s also huge horizontally.

Midnight sea is quiet, safe for the rhythmical song of lapping waves and occasional humming of the wind.

Isagi takes off his shoes, drops his bag, then walks on, closer toward the sea. He stops right where the wave is just a shy away from his feet, flirting. Nagi follows not long after, but unlike Isagi, he doesn’t stop, walks, further, with his pants rolled up to his knees, pale skin glowing faintly in the dark.

He looks like he’s about to disappear, taken by the ink-black sky, carried by the calling ocean. Isagi would have lost sight of him if it wasn’t for the brightness of his hair, the pallidness of his skin. Nagi stands out in the dark, a faint beacon of light, fighting against the swallowing dark. A single fireflies. And Isagi doesn't want to lose him. Even if he knew Nagi was never his to lose, he doesn’t want to.

“Nagi,” he calls out. Don’t go. Don’t leave. Stay here.

“England is over there,” Nagi points, somewhere that Isagi thinks Nagi wants him to believe to be England. But ‘there’ could be anything. ‘There’ could be anywhere. “Oceans away. Germany is closer.”

The sand is cool and wet beneath his feet, wave chases and runs around his ankle. He’s heard about the offers, plural, surely, for Nagi Seishirou The Boy Wonder. “I supposed you’ve made your decision.”

Nagi is quiet, for a lengthy enough period of time that makes Isagi think he’s gone off somewhere. It’s already hard to see through the night ocean. Night sinks deeper, even the whiteness of Nagi’s hair has become difficult to comprehend.

But his words are not.

“I’m going to England.”

“You’ve decided,” Isagi confirms, voice terse.

Nagi still has his back on him, facing the sea. To where he believes England to be. To where his future lies awaits, expecting and waiting.

It could be anywhere.

“I did. I accepted the offer, all that’s left is to sign the contract. I’ll do it when I visit next winter.”

Isagi has no way to see his face. But he has ears, strained open. Even through the weeping of the wind and outcries of the waves, he hears it, as loud and as clear, like he’s seeing it with his own two eyes.

Nagi is smiling.

“I’ve done so many things I thought I’d never do,” hand falling, Nagi turns around, halting the image of him walking away from Isagi’s mind. “My parents said as much, mom was a little shocked because she never saw me like this, even my football career is surprising to her, but she never thought that I would...”

Is Nagi still smiling? It’s too dark to make out his exact expression.

“She never thought that I’d go as far as saying I want to go abroad for football. They said they never thought I’d ever want something, it terrified them. What did she say again, hmm, ‘it’s like I don’t know you, Seishirou.’”

Is Isagi smiling?

“You know the funniest part? I don’t think I ever really know myself either. I too, like them, used to think I never want anything but that’s not true. Even back then when all I wanted was to live my life doing nothing, even then, I already wanted . It’s just what I want is not what other people commonly see as  want , it's just laziness. They didn't think I would ever have a will on my own."

"That's not true," Isagi finds himself saying, defensive on Nagi's behalf.

"You're right, that's not true. I do have a will, I do have the ability to want something, I just never realised it's always there...because I never wanted something, anything,” in the dark, Isagi catches the slightest turn of his head, “until you."

In the dark, midnight sea, Isagi sees his star. Descending, from the distant galaxy to banish every shadow that hides, lingering and corroding his heart.

"I never want something as strong as I do you."

His trusted northern star. Steadfast in his belief. Always there when needed. Full with unspoken promises and wordless faith. His compass. His anchor on the sky.

"I don't wanna lose to you, Isagi. Not anymore. That's why I have to become stronger, I have to become someone beyond your expectation, isn't that our chemical reaction?"

Isagi stays, frozen in place. Caught in Nagi’s gravity. Arrested by his honesty.

"At the same time, I want to meet your expectations. Your hope and trust in my ability, I don't wanna let you down anymore. I did it once, it was awful. I hate that feeling, I don't wanna feel like that anymore, when I'm no longer reflected in your eyes-"

Nagi pauses, ducking his head down. A momentary flash of regret. A split-second of shame.

"That's why I have to go. This time, I will make you look at me, this time I will make you chase after me."

He’s yet to find energy to move, can only stare at the familiarly frustrating distance between them. But Isagi has enough words to say, "you're saying like you're playing for me.."

"No..I don't. In the end, I'm just doing what makes football feel good. It's not money, nor is it the promise of easy life or early retirement. I realised that nothing excites me more than chasing after you, I feel the most alive when I do. Against you. By your side."

Isagi purses his lips, closing his eyes. He breathes harshly, can feel it coming, just there, creeping hot behind his eyelids. Ruthless honesty climbing up his throat. 

"And I hope it's the same for you. I hope playing with me has been fun for you too."

He did wonder earlier, if Nagi is still smiling or not. He got his answer now. Surely, Nagi is smiling right now. Brilliant. In that tenderly reticent way of his, with that autumn-forest eyes bright, his most beloved season of leaves changing colours.

His smile shall be speaking of his happiness, of his joy. Meaning everything he said; he loves playing with Isagi. The most alive he has been, he said. He’s happy, when he’s playing with Isagi. When he’s with Isagi.

And yet, he won’t come to him. He doesn’t ask Isagi to come with him. He doesn’t take him. When it’s everything, the only thing, one thing, that Isagi wanted the most now. Anywhere. Everywhere.

"There's only one time it wasn't," Isagi finds his voice back. "I don't want you inside my vision, Nagi. It wasn't fun when you were. When I had you all figured out, it wasn't as fun. You're supposed to-"

"I have to break your vision,” Nagi said, calmly. Happy. “Destroy what you saw and rebuild it. Your field, your game,"

“My world...” Eventually, Isagi steps forward, the water is cooly encouraging around his feet. "That's why you have to go."

Nagi nods, "to England."

So sure. So certain. Like Nagi has always been. He always knew what he wanted. He might not know why he did, he just knew he did, so he does it. Nagi always knew, of himself, of Isagi, to a certain extent, and Isagi envied him for it.

Isagi envied him for it, because he wished he could be as sure. He wished he could be honest with himself, about what he wanted, everything he truly wanted. Not just the ones he lets other people know he wants. He wished he didn't have to feel ashamed for ever wanting. Wants, wants, and wants or something, even if it’s for something that he’s not meant to have.

He wishes he could tell him, right now, everything, before the ocean takes him away, before he vanishes like Isagi’s courage.

“But I wanna play with you, Nagi,” he confesses. “I know that's how you should be, I know that's what our chemical reaction is based upon, but sometimes-but I..."

He has to tell him, to ask him; take me, take me anywhere. Everywhere. Somewhere, as long as you are there,

"I wanna play with you cause sometimes it gets tiring. Sometimes, I just want someone to give me a miracle. Sometimes, I'm done with seeing, sometimes I just want to be shown."

Nagi smiles, glimmer of wave in the dark ocean. Unseen but not unheard. "And that's why you don't choose me. You didn't, Isagi. You should not.”

“Why shouldn’t it?” He bristles, almost crying out in frustration. Hating the calm way he spoke. Destesting the way it crushes his hope.

"Did you regret choosing Rin over me?"

The question stuns. Remembrance stung. "...never."

"See, it's the same Isagi.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing to do. Like it’s a common fact that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.

Like it’s something that both of them already know, and they do.

“You can't choose me. You don't."

And he’s right. And that’s true. Isagi didn’t choose him. Isagi never chooses to specifically chase after him. Isagi wants to defeat him, but it was never Nagi who stood in his way. It was never Nagi whom he had to devour , to learn, and absorb into himself.

They’re not the same, they’re too different. Nagi’s the sun, he’s the moon. Whatever. They don’t necessarily complete each other, but they’re capable of working seamlessly together.

Nagi is his compass, his guiding light in the darkest of night. But he’s not the one Isagi sees by the end of his route. In the final destination of his journey, in his quest to find the ideal him, to become the best striker in the world, there is no Nagi. There are Rin, Kaiser. There is Noa. There are other players with similar playstyle as him whom he can learn and study from.

And there’s no Nagi, there will never be Nagi.

"But I feel safe with you," words slipped, another confession. A fragment of him that he kept for himself for so long, finally free, liberated.  "I never feel as safe as when I'm with you."

"You will be fine." Nagi assures him, frustratingly faithful. "I will eventually find you again, Isagi. No matter where I am, I will always chase after you. All my roads will eventually lead back to you."

"Why," Isagi chokes out. Depending on Nagi’s answer, he’s not sure if he can hold his tears back any longer. "Why don’t you want me to choose Manshine City? Do you hate playing with me so much?"

“And why is it, you’re not being honest with me?” Nagi shoots, but it’s Isagi who feels the recoil.

He gasps, startled. “What-”

Isagi wishes he can see the expression on Nagi’s face, can see his lulling forest of eyes. Can touch, and feel his consoling warmth. “It’s already obvious you want to play for Munchen, but why are you hesitating over Isagi? There’s something else you’re not telling me, isn’t it?”

“That’s,”

“You already know your answer,” Nagi tells him, again, things that he already knows. “You do, but there’s something else, isn’t it? It’s not simply because you feel safe playing with me.”

Words, they all leave him, again. Treacherous words, clambering back to the bottom of his throat instead of coming out. Coward words.

Coward him.

He’s the most cowardly of them all.

"Isagi Yoichi I know won't play football just because he feels safe."

Isagi smiles, crooked. Voice hot with hurt. "Then perhaps you don't know me at all."

"That's true," is his immediate response. But there is no dejection, no resignation in his affirmation.

Just resolution and unbreakable conviction.

"But the Isagi Yoichi I love won't do that either."

If it wasn't for the icy water around his leg, he would have thought those words were merely an illusion.

Did Nagi just say what he thought he did?

"Isagi Yoichi you-"

"The Isagi Yoichi I love,"

Finally, Nagi crosses the distance between him, his legs making noise as he splashes water around. Isagi stands, stoned on the spot, like it was quicksand beneath his feet. He sees Nagi coming closer, white shirt billowing, blown by the ocean breeze. Pulling him back, like it’s not ready to let him go, like Isagi does.

Nagi stops right in front of Isagi, light eyes shine in the colour of seafoams. He takes Isagi’s hands in his, weaving their fingers together, wreathing words like one would a flower crown.

“The Isagi Yoichi I love wouldn’t take the easy route. The Isagi Yoichi I love wouldn’t settle for less. The Isagi Yoichi I love sees a challenge and takes it, head on. Fearless. Brave.”

“Nagi...”

“The Isagi Yoichi I love,” no doubt, no question, no hesitation. Just pure devotion. Nagi takes their joined hand, placing it on his chest, right where his heart beats, as strong and as unyielding as his belief. “Will walk on, see ahead, and never look back.”

Isagi lets it go, then. Lets it fall, the barricade he’s trying so hard to build. The pretence he’s hiding himself with. He lets it fall, his tears. One, two. Soon it turns into three and four. They fall, free like rain. His emotion was caged birds, now free from restraint.

He catches Nagi’s eyes, trailing along his tears. Following them as they keep coming, spilling out, like in exchange of his word that’s refusing to come out. "I love you, Isagi,” he professes again. ”Not because I want you to love me back. I'm loving you because I do, because I want to. Even if we’re not meant to be together, Isagi, I will continue loving you."

Then Nagi smiles, to the tenth or perhaps eleventh of Isagi’s tears. Smile private and reticent, only for Isagi’s eyes to see. Sunrise, as seen from uncharted, undiscovered woods somewhere. Twenty something, Isagi finds his voice again, whispers, “who are you and what have you done to Nagi Seishirou?”

“I’m him,” Nagi says to the innumerable stars of Isagi’s tears. “And I’m here, I’ll always be here. Right behind you. Ahead of you.”

Isagi tries to laugh, it comes out closer to a sob. “ Ahead of me? Someone’s getting way too confident.”

“That’s how we should be,” Nagi murmurs, tightening his hold on Isagi’s hand. “I chase after you, then I get ahead of you, then you chase after me, then so on.”

“That sounds tiring. Is that how love’s supposed to be? I thought you don’t like troublesome things like that.”

“I thought so too,” Nagi caresses his cheek, a touch gentler than the midnight breeze. “Until I realised that loving you is a chase, an endless race. The feeling I didn’t know I like but I do. Turns out, I always do, and even though that means I can’t always be with you, I wouldn’t trade this. Not for anything else.”

"You were wrong then,” he leans into the touch, to the heart-searing warmth of Nagi’s palm.

“Turns out I don't hate being wrong when it's you."

Isagi closes his eyes, basking in Nagi’s touch, saturating his sun kissed skin with Nagi’s moonstone colours. He still owes Nagi something. He still has something to say. Gathering his breakable courage, he begins, “you’re also wrong about one other thing.”

“Am I?”

“You are,” Isagi nods, pulling their tangled hands until Nagi is close enough for him to lean on. “I knew you suggested this trip because you thought I’d get my answer if I remember why I love playing football in the first place.”

“I did.” When Isagi puts his head on Nagi’s shoulder, he takes it as a sign to hug him instead. Which is exactly what Isagi needs right now. He feels his wet cheeks heating up, snuggling deeper into Nagi’s embrace like it could tamper down his blazing furnace. This isn’t the first time they share a hug, but this is the first one after Nagi confessed. It’s familiar, yet different. Like the remastered version of your favourite film, or  the artist’s self-cover of your favourite song.

“That helps too, sort of. But that’s not why I’m hesitating in the first place.”

“You said,” Nagi speaks, right on Isagi’s ears, kissing thrill down the smaller boy’s spines. “You want to play with me.”

“I want to be with you,” he confesses, cradled in Nagi’s millenia-fortified arms, surrounded by the scent of brittle branches and fallen leaves. “After that offer came, I kept thinking. Seeing, daydreaming. I started thinking of the future I could have with you, always by my side. Everyday. Thought of waking up to you every morning, coming back home to you. Because I love you too, Nagi. I hope that- I started wanting-“

Whatever his wishes, whatever his wants. His achingly adored desire and well-quelled hunger. They’re all gone, swallowed, by Nagi’s lips, descending violently tender upon his own.

Nagi kisses him, kisses, and kisses, and kisses, until Isagi’s sure it’s no longer oxygen being inhaled into his lungs. Nagi kisses him like everything ; like he’s trying to get into Isagi’s veins, Isagi’s mind. Like he got something to prove, yet nothing to lose. Like he’s stopping Isagi from dreaming, yet leaving him craving for more.

Nagi kisses him, like lovers do in one of those movie scenes. But, surely, their love isn’t made for movie screen. Because Lovers hold on to each other in the movies. Lovers would ask to stay, or take you away. Somehwere. Everywhere. Anywhere. As long as they can be together, lovers hold on, to anything, for everything.

But Nagi tells him to go, anywhere he wants to go. Everywhere his heart strides, he should follow. Nagi takes his hands, hearts, and everything Isagi has to offer, only for him to let it go.

“I love you,” he says, with heart-bleeding desperation Isagi’s never heard in his voice before. “And I want it too, Isagi. I want everything that you want, I want you to wake me up in the morning, want to sleep to your ‘ goodnight’ . Want to see you everyday, want the whole world to know that you’re mine and mine alone, I want you-“

“-to choose somewhere else but you,”

“-but I have to let you go,” he kisses him again, sad yet solaced. “ I know this is the right thing to do. Don’t come to Manshine, Isagi, that isn’t where you should be. I don’t want you to make a decision that you’d regret later.”

“if I was wrong, I could just make it right,” he claims, pleads. Suddenly feeling brave, feeling daring. Or perhaps just desperate, just begging Nagi to let him stay.

“You know that’s not what you want-“

“But I want you-“

“And I want you too,” one more kiss. Isagi appeals for another, momentarily losing themselves in the slow dance of their lips. “God knows, I do. More than anything, more than anyone,”

“Then love me,” in that way that only you can do. In the only way you know to do.

“Choose Bastard Munchen,” Nagi says, smiling. Radiant in his love. “Choose them over me.” Choose them over every morning with me, choose them over sleeping to the cadence of my breathing, and window view of sky hanging with rain. Choose them over an impulsive trip to the lake district on the weekend, choose them over strolling by canal street after a quick visit to the grocery store.

Another tear slips by. A single shooting star. Nagi kisses them, like making wishes. Farewell my love, good luck, and all. How ironic, Isagi thinks. How laughable. Isagi’s spent his entire youth and adolescence for his dream, sacrificing all things normal and ordinary. The least they could do is give him a bland and boring love story. But no, his soon to be lover wants him to go, to leave him, and chase after his dream.

Was he that much of a sinner in his past life? An enemy of states ? A mass murderer? Was he some kind of angel who defied god and tossed away from heaven to life a miserable life as mortal?

What an exaggeration. His life isn’t that wretched and inconsolable . After all, God gave him Nagi Seishirou. God spares him from heartbreak, and heartache, and feeling unreturned. Well, perhaps he can scratch the ‘heartache’ part out because his heart is certainly aching right now, throbbing, hurting. How could he not when Nagi told him he loves him, only to let him go? To depart, take flight, and soar high?

Because apparently, that’s the Isagi Yoichi he loves.

How selfish. What an egoist.

Where did he learn to say things like this anyways? Did Reo lend him his entire library of poem and poetry? Did Nagi personally borrow Mikage Corporation’s trove of love story?

Does he even know how his confession makes Isagi’s heart sing? It’s all plucked strings and orchestra down there. Like the one kings and queens held for coronation. The Queen. England. Nagi is going to England, while he wants Isagi to go to German, to see that ugly mug Kaiser’s face again, to endure Nesse’s subtle harassment, to bloom and flourish like a stubborn flower in winter’s harsh environment.

“I’m letting you go to another country, but I’m not letting you go to another man, you are mine.” Oh, that again. That sinful lips and their wicked words. Nagi’s a seasoned hunter, his words are well-polished arrows. His speech is an expertly crafted bow. He shoots Isagi again and again, hits him right where it hurts, right what he wants.

Nagi makes a perfect crime, and Isagi is the perfect victim. He’d bleed time and time again for this man. He’d fall all over again to his arms. They will ask, but he won’t tell. A self-organised felony.

“What do you think, Isagi?”

“About?”

The narrowing of his eyes speaks enough, of his ire. An out of nowhere, irrational jealousy. And perhaps a dash of insecurity. “About me. About being mine.”

“I’m yours,” Isagi affirms, catching the way Nagi shivers, his eyes twinkle. Then he kisses him. Pouring his love, his self-made remedy, the cure to Nagi’s anxiety.

Nagi kisses back, slow and deep. Deeper. He holds him tighter, heaves, and lifts him up higher. Isagi laughs, if he bent his legs, they’d be completely out of the water. “You’re mine,” he cracks a smile, genuine and true. The best damn thing Isagi has ever seen. As bright as the constellation of diamond-crusted forest in his eyes.

Isagi swears he loves this man, to the moon and back. To the sun and back. To the stars. To the Polaris. His decades and millennia away Polaris right now in his arms. Close yet he can never be close enough. Real, but he still feels extraterrestrial sometimes. Like he doesn’t quite belong here in the same plane as him. Too good to be true, like God trapped in the body of mortals.

“I wanna tell the whole world you are mine,” Nagi whispers, “what do you think?”

Isagi considers it. Nagi, telling the whole world, ‘Isagi Yoichi is mine.’ Nagi Seishrio, the prodigy, the phenomenal future of Japanese Football. The soon to be Miraculous Wonder of Manshine City. Belongs to Isagi Yoichi, the selfish emperor of Japanese Football. The soon to be Bastard Munchen’s wunderkind. Nagi Seishiro, the sovereign to Isagi Yoichi, the heart of Blue Lock.

Oh, how words will run, stories will spin. People will talk as the internet falls into uproar and disarray. Their names will be trending again, viral in social media. The already nosy eyes will turn, even more prying. The previous adoring gazes will probably turn, scorning. And surely, there will be wishes, well made. Congratulations, thrown cheerfully in celebration like confettis.

Isagi would love to see it, Isagi would love to see the world break, from the sheer force of their gravity. But he’s not ready for it yet. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready, and that’s for future him to decide. For now, this is enough. Nobody needs to know the way he loves him, and how he’s loved in return. This is for him and him alone.

He has enough already, a piece of Nagi that belongs only to him. Nagi’s phone number, his line id. The brand of his favourite lemon tea. The address to his apartment in Tokyo and family home in Kanagawa. His stolen and accidental kiss. His first loss, and coincidentally, fortunately, his first love. Why not add another more, to that tiny growing list of their secrets? His lover. His boyfriend.

Nagi Seishirou’s boyfriend. The one and only. The first, and hopefully the last. World’s number one striker. Isagi likes the ring of it, so he laughs until his laughter rings through the ocean, weaving the symphony of his delight to the tranquil harmony of the sea.

Nagi looks at him funny, still smiling, still unfairly beautiful and strikingly too good to be true. With the ocean in the background, moon a silver drop hanging on the royal blue sky, stars blinking merrily around. Their love might not be one for movie screen, but this surely looks like something out of a movie scene.

Nagi holds him there, in his arms of millenia-fortified trunk. But Isagi holds him, not like leaves hanging on shivery branch, nor with desperation of  clutching on a lifeline. No, Isagi holds him, simply, like one would hold their precious ones. The love of his life, not necessarily the reason to go on living, but one that makes it worth trying.

And he’d try, for him, for Nagi. But they’re still young, just like the night still has hours to reign before the day comes up alight. They still got time, just like the day gradually grows shorter yet the year is yet to end. Just like autumn. Just like him, letting Isagi go only to have him, builds a distance that only serves to pull Isagi in.

“Maybe not now,” he decides eventually.

“Okay,” Nagi plants a quick kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Perhaps later, when we’re ready. When we’re adults, more mature, when, oh, I don’t know. Maybe never. Don’t you think it’s gonna be troublesome if we did?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nagi pulls him down for another kiss. Kisses. On his nose, eyes, cheeks, lips. “Anytime you want. Anything you wish.”

“God, I love you,” Isagi smiles with every kiss, with every flex and shift of Nagi’s muscles as he supports his weight and kisses him at the same time. “You had the audacity to tell me to go, don’t play in the same fucking team as me, and yet, here I am.”

“I love you too,” Nagi scrunches his nose. “Seriously, I don’t wanna deal with Chris constantly on your back, he still holds grudges. He only allowed the offer because the higher ups said so. It’s gonna be troublesome...”

“That sounds stupid,” he adds, “and immature.”

“Chris is stupid,” the silverlett agrees. “And childish.”

“Is Agi the only sane man in that team?”

Nagi contemplates for a while, then, “I won’t say he’s exactly sane either,” shrugging, “at least they’re both kind.”

“They like you.”

“A lot more than I thought, it can be troublesome sometimes."

Isagi grins, “but I love you, more.”

Beneath him, Nagi shivers. He's looking at him like Isagi just struck him with thunder. This man loves him, and, “and I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

Their love might not be one for motion pictures, but behind them, wave crashes, shattering silence. Up there, stars glitter, opal moon watches. They got celestial, opulent witnesses. As well as terrestrial, nautical spectators.

Their love is one, without the promise of forever. Is not the greatest love story ever. Might be the one you’ll hear in the pop song, but the kind one that climbs up the chart when it’s the season of breakups and heartbreaks. 

Because Nagi takes his hand, only to let him go. But just like how Nagi will chase and chase and chase after him, just like how Nagi said he wouldn’t trade it for anything else, Isagi won’t have it any other way either. For this is the way Nagi loves him, the only way he can and knows to love him. The first way of loving someone that Nagi knows.

If there was anything else that Isagi wanted the most in the world after becoming number 1 striker, it is to have all of Nagi Seishirou’s firsts.

“Can I kiss you?”

"Is this a goodbye kiss?" The star dims.

"No,” he giggles, “what makes you think so?”

“I don’t know,” Nagi flicks his gaze down, “it’s just, you are-”

Threading fingers through hair white as snow, another trails the slant of Nagi’s jaw till they slip around his ears. "This is I'm leaving to go back -kiss."

“You can save that for the air-”

Isagi kisses him.

Once. Soon it turns into another. Twice. Thrice. Like his innumerable tears. Like myriads of stars in the sky. And he’d make it infinite if he could, if he’s allowed to. Isagi can kiss him for another hundreds, another thousands, and ten thousand, and millions, and billions of lightyears to come. It’s not enough, it can never be enough, and if it was too much for this lifetime, then he’d gladly do it in another one.

He will be born, again, like stars, collapsing magnificently in the far away sky, to begin a new galaxy from his remnant. And Isagi will find him again, will traverse through different star clusters to find him, the brightest star in his constellation.

Wherever he goes, he’d follow. Anywhere. Somewhere. Everywhere.

:::

On his first day in England stratum, Chris asked him, “what is Isagi Yoichi to you, your rival?”

A rival? A friend? A crush? Inspiration? Goal?

No. That's not enough. No words are enough to contain, to explain, what Isagi Yoichi is to him. Who Isagi Yoichi is to him.

Words are not enough. Threadbare sentences won’t do. A paragraph doesn't suffice. You need at least a chapter to narrate his supernova era, another one for when he was a newborn star, another more and then some. A short story should be enough, even longer is possible.

That would be enough to explain ‘what is Isagi Yoichi’, but not to address the actual question in hand;

What is Isagi Yoichi to him ?

And for that, you need another story. For Nagi was there, since he was just a tiny speck of pale blue in the galaxy. Nagi watched him change, witnessed how he grew, pulling every stellar body around him into his celestial galaxy.

Nagi was there because he was the closest one to him when he was just a cold, dying star. Right by his side as he exploded in lucent brilliance. Caught in his cosmic force, cradled in his luminous gravity. 

Nagi saw it, closer than anyone else, he knew what Isagi did and didn’t do.

Because Isagi told him to, "look at me, properly," "pay attention to me,"

"shut up, genius, I'm getting to the good part now,"

"unfortunately, Nagi, you just got to win."

He would have done it, without being told. He was doing it already, before ordered. He's been watching, how Isagi's light flickered as they tried to snuff his light time and time again. He's been looking, at how Isagi just keep on burning brighter, dragging everything under his reign.

He's been searching, for his stolen ember, his fading moment.

His answer, the key to his own rebirth and resurrection.

Perhaps, Nagi was simply looking for his own way to die.

Because he was seeing but not really looking. Hearing but not listening. Touching but no feeling. He didn't live like he was dying; how could you die when you weren't living?

And just like how he learned from his teacher, that stars can be everywhere, not just those hanging on the sky but can be gleaming, locked in someone’s eyes. Twinkling in someone else. Star, can pretty much be someone else, bound in a mortal body instead of a celestial one.

Just like that, Nagi’s learned, that perhaps to live, you have to die first. Your galaxy has to expand before your soul collapses. You have to fly the highest, to have the most fatal of fall. 

So Isagi killed him. He didn’t splash colour into Nagi’s grey, dulling life. He shone upon his dark and wiped it clean until it’s bare, brilliant white. Isagi took everything away, leaving him nothing but a blank slate. A bright hollow blossomed in his chest. Emptiness ached serenely. 

Curiosity pulsed sedately.

Nagi thought he was dead, still deep down in his grave when he answered back then, after a brief contemplated silence, “...something like that.”

And now Chris asked him again, not exactly the same but similar one, “what is Isagi Yoichi?” After tasting his first defeat, his first ‘death’ in Isagi Yoichi’s hands.

Nagi gave him another deliberate silence, a slightly longer one this time. For he has come to know what Isagi Yoichi is to him. His death, his beginning. His light, his dark. His frustration, his inspiration. His well-intended accident and ‘could-have been’ the one. The main protagonist to his ‘what-if’s and dreamt about kisses. His first love song and on-repeat symphony. His revived star and undying galaxy.

The only one he allowed to prove him wrong.

It had everything to do with everything.

And he could have told Chris that, could have answered so. He didn’t though.

Because that Isagi Yoichi was his and his alone. That magnificent star was his to discover and examine.

Eventually, by the end of his long intended silence, he settled with, “...something like that.”

:::

They booked no hotel, no inn. No appointment.

It’s been the plan to stay in Nagi’s apartment since the beginning, and the master of the house crashes face first onto the bed, falls asleep, and will likely still sleep ‘till sun down. He leaves enough room for Isagi to occupy. One arm stretched with an unspoken offer of a cuddle, one that Isagi will definitely take later.

He’s got permission and access to Nagi’s personal computer. Sleek and black gaming computer, figures. Isagi logs in to his email account, notices a lone cactus by Nagi’s windowsill and, strangely, feel compelled to give it a polite nod. Choki, he’ll properly introduce himself later.

Right now, he has an email to reply, an offer to turn down. His mind’s made, it’s time to give his answer. It’s final, he’s not staying in England.

But nobody said he’s not going to England. Nobody said he can’t go to England, this winter, somewhere in December, or January, because Nagi’s going there and Isagi got enough money to spare.

After all, Nagi has promised him. Isagi asked where Isagi wanted to go in England, and Isagi told him he wanted to go to the ocean. Nagi said yes, and Nagi Seishirou doesn’t break his promise. He’s taking him to the ocean, somewhere in England. Isagi has heard about Cornwall, about Cornish Coastline. The end of the world, they said. The beginning of the world, another would say.

Maybe Nagi won’t spend his Christmas with Chris’ family and spend it with Isagi instead. Maybe they can find someone kind enough to take them there. Even if there was none, then that's fine. It doesn't have to be Cornwall, it can be Brighton, it can be any beach, any ocean.

As long as Nagi's there, as long as Nagi takes him, then Isagi would go. Somewhere. Everywhere. Anywhere.

:::

Nagi wakes up to an unfamiliar smell. Delicious smell. A warmed up meal, maybe. Very likely. Unfamiliar simply for the fact that Nagi doesn't cook, and the first time the microwave was ever used also happened to be the last time.

He also wakes up to someone in his room. The first time it ever happened, but this time, it won't be the last.

Isagi Yoichi is there, in his bedroom, standing in front of his microwave. Drowning in Nagi's deep turquoise hoodie. In familiar grey pants, Nagi's as well, one with a drawstring and perfectly functional elastic bands.

Isagi Yoichi. Blue Lock poster boy. Noel Noa's apperentice. Bachira Meguru's partner. Itoshi Rin's perfect equal. Jinpachi Ego's self-claimed masterpiece. Michael Kaiser's twin Emperor. Bastard Munchen's future conqueror. Japan's most beloved egoist.

So many names. Titles and monikers.

But for Nagi, there's only one; his striker.

Isagi scratches his nape, the hoodie slips slightly off his shoulder, revealing more of tanned skin.

Add one to that list, one that belongs to him and him only;

his boyfriend .

"Good morning," Nagi croaks out, voice scratchy with sleep. "What are you doing?"

"There's no food in the fridge," Isagi sounds exasperated, "so I had to go out and buy lunch...early dinner.."

Nagi rolls on his bed, "morning  Choki," pricks himself with the cactus. "Ouch."

"I can't believe you did that," there's both amazement and confusion in his voice, "I don't understand you."

"I understand me enough for both of us,” Nagi sits up, scrubbing his face. "And you went out in my clothes,"

"The only clean clothes I have were my sleeping wear," he claims, words slightly rushed in the end. Probably blushing as he speaks, "the jeans I wore last night were wet, and you said I can wear your clothes!"

"You can, whatever you want."

"You're saying that a lot," Isagi - his boyfriend , huffs. "You're supposed to say, 'it's troublesome'."

It's a rather accurate imitation of him, Nagi's genuinely impressed, but won't tell him, his ego's big enough as it is.

"Who are you and what have you done to Nagi Seishirou?"

"That's rude," getting off the bed, crosses the distance right when Isagi finishes removing their food from the microwave. "I'm him."

He holds Isagi from behind, still in his ocean-stained clothes. "You stink," is what his lovers said but he melts in his embrace anyways.

"And I’ve done many things I thought I'd never do," ignoring the snide remark, kissing him at the tender spot behind his ear.

Isagi twitches in his arms. He would love to hear it, the sounds Isagi'd make if Nagi were to pluck his violin strings. "Because I proved you wrong?"

Yes he did, did it better than anyone else. The only one Nagi would allow. “Take responsibility, Isagi.”

He takes his lovers’ hands in his, slightly hot from the microwave's residual heat. Weaving his fingers through Isagi’s, not to fill in the blank or stitch opened seams. Just to touch him and feel. “You’re not gonna suddenly slip a ring on my finger and propose, and-“

Isagi sounds nearly hysterical, great. Nagi deadpans, “why do I feel like you’re just making fun of me?”

No answer. Really, Isagi can be so rude sometimes.

But it’s  not like he wants him any other way.

There might be no Nagi by the end of Isagi’ route, likewise, Isagi won’t be waiting by his finish line. But it’s okay. It’s fine. Because now they know; how the roads they walked have made them powerful, and the reason why the path before them still looks beautiful.

Because Isagi got his anchor in the sky. Knows the season comes and goes, and soon, it will be autumn. And Nagi hates being wrong, but even the best of a marksman may miss. One day, he’ll make a mistake, will be proven wrong, and as long as it’s by that one person, perhaps, he won’t mind it as much.

Perhaps, when it’s Isagi, he’s meant to be wrong. 

“Isagiii,” he whines, dragging the last of his syllables longer than necessary. “I’m hurt, you know,”

Ghost of a smile, shaking his shoulder, bubbling up laughter, “I’m sorry,” Isagi giggles, apologising without really meaning it.

But it’s fine, for now Isagi’s a fierce bundle of joy in his arm, a clamouring galaxy. One look at his eyes and Nagi would see, shimmering sea of stars, in the depth of sapphire ocean floor. Twinkling in rhythm, like song, melody woven from delighted sounds. How could he hate him? How could he be angry when Isagi’s tune is livening up the silence of his room? Cheerfully introducing itself, to every quiet and wordless corner of his room, to every speechless and sentient furniture.

Days later, after he left, Nagi would look at them, at the mute table and dusty carpeted floor, and he would hear his laughter, ringing, bouncing off the usually drab cream walls. Days later, they’d suddenly find colour, richly saturated in Isagi’s presence. Then Nagi would die, from Isagi’s beauteous crime. Would fall for him, in love with him, all over again.

“Are you?” He pouts, hugging him tighter, resting his chin on Isagi’s shoulder where his hoodie isn’t clinging for his dear life.

“I am,” Isagi untangled one hand, only for his palm to graze Nagi’s neck, skimming over his skin like sunlight’s kiss. “So, what do you say if I’m coming with you to England? Holiday in Europe sounds nice.”

The curtain’s drawn, paper thin, leaving a gap in the middle. Light’s trickling in, translucent and shy. Like they're feeling sorry for intruding. Outside is a pale blue sky, high of departing spring. Trimmed green with fresh new leaves, embracing branches, stretching and extending as far as their timbered arms could reach. Like they're seeking for the sun, yearning, longing, then trembling in joy as it sinks even lower, falling closer to them before melting into the skyline like a gigantic, golden teardrop.

The remnant of his favourite season. Still a perfect one to sleep. He could just dream of pastel-coloured fields,  sketched in between is a clear, cruising creek. A single paper boat will float, wind blows southerly, southerly. He could have slept the entire day, burrowed under a well-worn blanket, oblivious to heightening cloud peaks.

But Isagi is in his arms, in his bedroom, fluttering whites of flower petals onto the floor, hair swaying like rustling leaves of a willow, voice rings as sweet as skylark’s songs. Weaving warmth into his skin like sneaking sunlight, and even when twilight rouses, he’ll stay as bright. Then the sky gives way to inky night, Isagi will shine, scattered and scrawled diamonds on the sky. Thousand lightyears away galaxy. His undying, irresistible galaxy.

All those years ago, Nagi gave up on stargazing. This time, he’s a lot older, just a little bit more mature, he can stay awake, he can do some stargazing. Especially if it’s  for the oceanic constellations in the sky. 

“That’s fine but Before winter, there’s summer break, and if I’m responsible for the winter, then you’d have to do the autumn-“

“I can just stay with you,” Isagi murmurs, voice growing quieter by the end that Nagi can barely catch it, “you’re autumn.”

Nagi blinks. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” Isagi evades, a perfectly well-manoeuvred peck to the slant of his jaw. “So! Summer!” He claims cheerfully.

A well planned kiss, not an accident.

Nagi lets it go this time.

“You probably want to go to the ocean again,” Nagi guesses, kissing the side of his brow.

“You don’t like it?”

Another kiss, meant to drive his worry away, “not at all, wherever you go, I follow.”

“I still think we plan England first,” Isagi insists, buying his way with one more kiss. “It’s overseas, we got plane tickets to book, hotel, transportation. Itinerary. Have you decided when you are leaving? Manchester’s close to the sea, you know,” 

Isagi launches into what he does best; formulates, plans, and strategizes. Nagi listens, then does what he does best as well; moves, prompted by feelings and instinct, completely on a whim, “by the way, it’s my birthday tomorrow.”

“WHAT?”

“Really, Isagiii,” Nagi whines, dragging his name longer than necessary. He hates being wrong, he thought Isagi would at least remember. Turns out he’s wrong.

When Isagi’s the only one he allowed to prove him wrong.

“I’m hurt, you know.”

Perhaps, for this one, he should make an exception.

:::

Needless to say, Chris Prince doesn’t look exactly happy when Nagi turns up in Manchester Airport with Isagi in town.

His expression turns sour upon noticing they are holding hands .

Nagi just stares, expression as bland as ever. Isagi purses his lips thin, both from feeling slightly sorry and to stop himself from snickering. Agi greets them cheerfully, blatantly ignoring his teammate.

Later, on their way to the hotel, Agi driving and Chris sulking on the passenger seat, the dark haired man asks, “are you planning to go anywhere after this?”

The two Japanese boys at the backseat share a look, passing words through a glance. Nagi shrugs, Isagi takes the sign, “the ocean,” he says, not taking his gaze off of his boyfriend. “We were thinking of Cornish coastline, but if it’s too far, we will settle with Snowdonia.”

“Splendid!” Agi approves, “how are you going there? Did you find a tour guide, or-“

Nagi’s eyes gleam as he speaks, “I’m driving.”

Isagi’s hands find his, easily; like coming back home. Like the needle of the compass will always point at north.

“I’m taking him there.”

His true, faithful Polaris.