Chapter Text
With his white hair and silver eyes, Nagi reminds Reo of snow — like if he touches him, Nagi will dissolve. Sometimes, the air between them feels fragile, like spun sugar that can easily snap, but the way that Nagi looks at him so gently, so patiently is just as sweet.
It crosses the distance, that look. Reo wants to reach out for it, for what’s behind it — the heart that Nagi offers up, again and again and again. But he can’t, not yet — they still have ways to go, both separately and towards their dream, and things are good right now, back to the way they were . Reo can’t upset the balance just yet.
When Reo wakes from a dream that refuses to let him go, he’s unable to hold back, finally reaching for Nagi, whispering his name and finding him warm and steady and solid. Nagi comes to life immediately, lurching out of sleep, just to hold Reo. He’s not snow, but winter — the feeling of being wrapped up in warmth, protected from the storm outside. Nagi’s arms wind around him like a scarf; Reo’s heart kindles and blooms.
For someone who runs cold, Nagi always makes Reo feel so warm.
“Reo,” Nagi murmurs, too tired to fully open his eyes but moving closer until he can brush his lips against Reo’s hair. “It’s okay.”
The sight of Nagi so sweetly disoriented nearly makes Reo laugh. Reo presses into the rumpled blue fabric of Nagi’s shirt, and Nagi gives a pleased, contented sigh at having Reo so close, a sound that Reo can only echo. He can hear Nagi’s steady heartbeat, can dry his tears and burrow close and remember that his dream wasn’t real. It wasn’t, even if it feels like it was.
“You can talk to me,” Nagi mumbles. “Even if I fall asleep, I’m listening.”
“I’m fine,” Reo says, and Nagi huffs sleepily. Reo feels Nagi’s cheek press against the top of his head; Nagi nuzzles against his hair, and again, there’s that familiar brush of soft lips.
“Reo,” Nagi says.
“It was just a stupid dream, my treasure,” Reo says softly. “You can sleep.”
“Hm…” Nagi’s wakefulness is waning with each second. “Will you be there?”
“What? Where?” Reo peers up at Nagi; even in the dark, he can easily fill in Nagi’s features. His ruffled hair, his drooping eyes, the curve of his cheeks and the point of his chin. His nose, covered in faint sunspots, and his lips, pulled up into a small, teasing smile.
“In my dreams,” Nagi says. “Reo has to sleep too, and meet me there. No staying up and overthinking.”
Reo lets out a quiet laugh, bumps the tip of his nose against Nagi’s affectionately. “What are we dreaming about tonight, then?”
“Winning the World Cup, of course,” Nagi says, barely stifling his yawn. “Mm, good night, Reo. Meet me soon.”
“I will,” Reo promises, leaning into the kiss that Nagi unconsciously leaves on his forehead. “Good night, my treasure.”
The warmth that lulls him to sleep can’t be explained by anything but Nagi. He’s not like snow, nor like winter — he’s just Nagi ; that’s everything and more to Reo.
(And when Reo dreams again that night, Nagi’s waiting for him, holding their coveted trophy out with a smile.)