Work Text:
Nagi Seishiro inspected the ring carefully. The band was a beautiful white gold, the diamond cut, flawless. His fingertip traced the simple inscription engraved on the inside of the band, 7 and 11, their numbers.
The jeweler grinned at him knowingly from behind the storefront counter.
“You look quite satisfied, Mr. Seishirou.”
Nagi nodded as he nestled the fine piece back into its little velvet box.
“If that will be all, we’ll charge it to the account. Congratulations again,” the man waved as he strode off to the back register.
Nagi looked down as he clutched at the box in anticipation, his thumb stroking the dark blue velvet that reminded him of those deep sapphire eyes he drowned in so often.
He was nervous, he realized. Very much so.
A game in front of tens of thousands of people left him unphased, entrance exams and million dollar contracts drawn up by suits were unimportant; their opinions did not matter, his skill as a footballer was never in question, his various aptitudes as a prodigy evident, but this—
In two months’ time he would be sinking down to a knee, perched on the precipice of sweet unknowns. Nagi would bear himself in front of the world to ask the most important person in his life, the person that made him feel alive, to be forever his.
The reality of his frayed nerves and how he felt more lost than ever over one man proved how much this mattered to him.
How much Isagi mattered to him.
Distantly, Nagi thought he might drown again, and this time for keeps.
Aware of the time, the ring was pocketed and Nagi strolled out the jeweler’s door.
///
Once Nagi decided to propose, he had called all his closest friends for advice on how to pop the question to Isagi.
Reo had predictably advised him to spare no expense, to feel free to take the Mikage Corporation private jet anywhere in the world, maybe to the bustling Dubai coastline, or perhaps the dazzling tropical paradise of Seychelles.
Chigiri had insisted on impeccable dress, and highly, highly, recommended a pricy hairstylist to tame Nagi’s mop top hair in particular.
Meanwhile Bachira had grinned, excitedly clapping. “Wonderful! You’ve just gotta be free and capture his heart,” he sang out, encouraging an improvised declaration of love.
For his part, the suggestions were welcome, but mostly unhelpful. Nagi had never been excessive or romantic.
In the end, Nagi had decided to stay true to what had started it all for them. Soccer.
When he first approached Isagi, there had been no nerves. He had simply wanted to play soccer with an amazing player.
Isagi Yoichi, choose me.
Then, he had played with abandon, and learned to cherish the sport. He had wanted to crush Isagi one on one, to show he’d changed.
Isagi Yoichi, here I come!
After the U-20 World Cup and the completion of the Blue Lock program, Nagi had missed his friend. He flew to Germany often, and recklessly courted him to be more.
Isagi Yoichi, be mine…
Now he visualized standing on the grassy field in two months’ time, following the conclusion of what he dreamed would be Japan’s Championship World Cup run. He would be covered in grass stains and sweat and kneel on the turf with indescribable excitement.
Isagi Yoichi, marry me?
///
Nagi drove into the parking lot of Isagi’s apartment complex and checked his phone. He had dropped the ring off for safekeeping at Reo’s and still had a few minutes to spare. Notifications showed he also had a few missed calls, all from Isagi.
He walked up the steps calmly, trying to appear and feel natural, despite how out of the ordinary his afternoon had been. He keyed into the apartment, and immediately was hit with the smell of delicious food and the sound of activity in the kitchen.
Yoichi peaked his head out from the kitchen as he heard the door open. He looked at Nagi for a second, irritation shining in his sapphire eyes, before he sighed and pulled Nagi into a hug.
“Hey, genius, where have you been? My parents will be here for dinner any minute.”
“At the arcade, lost track of time,” Nagi mumbled into Isagi’s silky hair. One hand cradled the small of Isagi’s back, the other the nape of his neck.
“How on brand for you,” Isagi stated matter of factly. He pulled back a little from Nagi’s embrace and peered up at him a little sullen, “I could’ve used your help in the kitchen, you know.”
“Sorry, shorty,” Nagi apologized.
Isagi bristled. “Don’t call me that,” came the immediate reply.
Isagi broke apart from the hug, his hands lingering in Nagi’s, and looked, really looked into his eyes.
Thoughtfully he traced Nagi’s wrist. “You seem more stressed than usual, you ok?”
It was a tender question. Nagi felt his nerves from earlier evaporate, and only his desire to stay with Isagi remained. The privilege to call Isagi, “husband,” would soon be his, he hoped. He suddenly wanted to be married yesterday.
Nagi leaned in to peck his Yoichi on the lips, his eyes twinkling a little with unspoken mirth, “Fine, now that I’m here.”