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When Isagi sees Nagi for the first time, the boy rumpled and lazily poking at his steak, he feels infuriated. How a person could be so passionless about something that’s his purpose, his dream, his ego - it pained him, sent his blood molten.
Soccer’s the breath in his lungs, and to see it dismissed as nothing is asphyxiating; Isagi chokes, and is reminded of being choked at the promise of fitting in. So he shouts, as if to conceal the insecurity behind his fury, and walks away out of breath.
(Nagi blinks at him, the indifference he wears so readily hiding his surprise, his curiousity.)
+++++
In their match, Isagi’s too busy living - he’s too busy kicking up the turf and too busy looking through the field, too busy filling his lungs with oxygen and too busy pumping blood throughout his body - to notice the weight of Nagi’s fascinated gaze on him.
Certainly, though, Isagi does not forget about Nagi. The memory of ceasing to breathe still remains like a lingering wound; he recalls the expression on Nagi’s face, suddenly, and thinks that he might find it hard to breathe too.
The thought is tucked away when Bachira passes the ball to him and the shot’s lined up perfectly; Bachira helps him breathe, always, and he inhales.
Suddenly, though, Nagi’s behind him; his presence is weighted and dark, and Isagi forgets how to exhale. That part of him, that part that he resents so, looks around (insecurities, so shameful, welling up and nearly snapping his ribs and piercing his lungs.)
And then he remembers - he remembers, remembers, delights in remembering - and suddenly there’s the exhale, the relief.
Isagi falls forward, so he does not notice Nagi falling, too.
+++++
“Then I’ll… join your team, Isagi.”
Isagi can scarcely believe he’s heard the words, and nearly stumbles back.
There’s a light in Nagi’s eyes, an indescribable sort of fire - it’s the tentative sort, the shaky sort, the kind that flickers and flickers but still dares to burn.
Oddly, Isagi wants to cup it in his hands and blow it, fan the flames to see how bright they can go.
And then, Isagi realizes that he’s never seen Nagi like this before (at least, he wasn’t looking close enough.) Perhaps, in that spark, there’s the held breath that comes with wanting something; perhaps, Nagi cannot bear the stifling air, not anymore.
So he agrees.
(That night, after they’ve lost Bachira, after Nagi and Isagi’s fight, Isagi lays on the bed and thinks. The room is dark. Nagi shifts on the upper bunk and sends the whole bed creaking.
Nagi was so angry, so infuriated; Isagi’s never seen him so emotional before. Maybe, he thinks, that Nagi felt the same way he did when they first met; robbed of his breath.
Isagi huffs at the thought, feeling bitter.)
+++++
Nagi scores that ridiculous, ridiculous goal in the 4v4, and Isagi forgets to breathe again.
“Are you a god or something?”
Breathlessly, breathlessly, breathlessly. Isagi should be resenting this, but he doesn’t; he’s fascinated, instead. Simply fascinated.
Nagi Seishiro is 190 centimeters, white-haired and gray-eyed, and demanding the world to watch him as he shines. So Isagi does; Isagi nearly laughs at how entranced he is.
Nagi’s simply entrancing. His genius and talent are what Isagi first noticed, yes, but he’s recently been noticing Nagi’s undeniable attractiveness and the kindness and empathy that’s so hard to see because of the wall of indifference and boredom Nagi relies on.
(When it comes to soccer, Isagi’s eyes are always careful; not so much with academics or people. But when it comes to Nagi, perhaps it’s different.)
Isagi begins falling, too - if it’s Nagi, then breathlessness is okay, he thinks. This sort of breathlessness, in which Isagi’s forgetting that he’s human and thus chained down, is okay - more than okay.
So he feels himself fall, feels the wind brush the sides of his face, and closes his eyes.
+++++
Nagi catches him.
Nagi catches him, because he’s already fallen and accepted that fact, and so he grasps Isagi as he descends and catches him. They’re gasping for air, hearts beating rapidly in their chests like drums; they’ve won, won, won.
Then, there’s the rest of the team crashing down on them. Isagi finds himself on the turf, buried under three other people, in a messy, sweating heap; he glances to Nagi, to the boy who just held him in his arms, and sees gray eyes looking at him widely. Their gazes meet and their breaths, just recovered, are stolen again; their heartbeats, just settling, are sent racing again.
(There’s a silent realization made in that moment. A quiet proclamation. A vow, a promise, to be breathless together.)
+++++
Isagi sits beside Nagi on the flattest, highest part of the roof. Blue Lock’s celebrating the end of the Neo-Egoist League with a huge party; from below, the duo can hear Karasu, Yukimiya, and Otoya scream-singing into the karaoke machine.
It’s midnight - the sky is stained blue-purple - when they breathe the oxygen of each others’ gasping lungs. They’re breathing and choking, dying in their frantic pursuit of living; the air is warm with the promise of summer.
When they break apart, the world is still spinning.