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"I missed you, you know."
Isagi freezes in his tracks, the words that he'd thought would never come out of that mouth –
It feels foreign, to hear them in that smooth, low voice of his.
He recovers pretty quickly, he can't leave the white haired boy hanging. For someone who is so laid-back, Nagi Seishirou can be almost disorienting in his impatience once he starts to desire something.
"I missed you too, Nagi." He smiles softly down at the boy, white head in his lap, and then laughs a little when Nagi blinks at him, sleepy and cat-like.
"That's good." Nagi nods, falling silent soon after with no signs to continue the conversation. That's fine, that's just how they operate, after all.
Silence, with Nagi is comfortable, because Nagi doesn't pressure him to talk or expect him to keep the flow going. He could just fall quiet mid conversation and Nagi wouldn't bat an eyelash.
Isagi takes some time to refamiliarise himself with soft white hair, bunching it up in his hand, grip deliberately gentle so as to not cause Nagi any discomfort.
Very much unlike when Nagi had done the same to him, when they were just getting to know each other while the absence of Bachira and Reo had left hollow, aching wounds. His grip wasn't so gentle then, large hands violently wrenching up the topmost tresses of Isagi's smooth hair, his impassive face taut with irritation and eyes blazing with anger.
Isagi still recalls, with painful clarity, the rough handling that made his eyes tear up even as his jaw clenched in a mix of indignation and a resistance to pain.
For some reason, the sick little part of Isagi thrills at the thought of that moment. A slight blush tints his face– what is he thinking, all of a sudden? Right now, when Nagi is finally with him after being apart for almost 40 days in the NEL?
Their respective performances aside, Isagi just wants to spend time with someone who is easy to relax around. Who doesn't get his adrenaline rushing with every sentence.
(But when he does, it makes Isagi feel so, so–)
Isagi has nothing against his rivals. They exist to make him stronger, and they feed off of each other by clashing and improving themselves. But sometimes Isagi just wants to wind down with comfortable company, in the presence of someone who is most definitely a remarkable threat in his own right, but also an approachable person who doesn't declare his intent to murder Isagi in every sentence.
Or maybe there's nothing wrong with admitting that he just wanted to see Nagi.
His slender fingers, that had been absently carding through messy white hair are brought to a stop as a warm, dry hand wraps itself around his thin wrist, stilling his movements effortlessly.
"Hm?" Isagi looks down in confusion, meeting half-lidded black eyes that look up at him, "Nagi? What is it?"
Nagi doesn't reply for a few moments, just stares at Isagi with an unrelenting stare. Isagi stares back, neither intimidated nor nervous, letting Nagi collect his thoughts enough to talk to him.
This is just how Nagi operates.
In the past, he would often blurt out the first thing that came to mind, heedless of whoever perceiving it in any way, as it required less effort than thinking his words through. But that same thing had caused him to miscommunicate his intentions to Reo, ultimately causing their fallout –
Something Isagi knows that the white haired boy is still bitter about.
It's not like they haven't repaired their relationship, significantly even, but Isagi can tell when Nagi feels remorse over his callous words, when all of that could've been prevented had Nagi and Reo been more clear with their words and just... understood each other better.
Easier said than done, is what Isagi privately thinks. Reo and Nagi both individually have a lot of issues that criss crossed and eventually blew up– it wasn't just caused by one incident, as far as Isagi has pieced it together. But now that they have both matured enough to talk things through and be honest with each other, they've been recovering their previous, precious bond.
Isagi is happy, truly, because Nagi is friend and Nagi is genuinely happy that his and Reo's relationship is finally mending.
But Isagi also wouldn't get in the way of Nagi's self development. If Nagi feels the need to improve his speaking skills, Isagi is wholeheartedly supportive of that. He feels very proud, even, that Nagi is now visibly trying to get better, no longer content with stagnating, whether it be soccer or other things.
And maybe, just maybe...
Isagi is the slightest bit flattered.
Because Nagi is trying, for him, for Isagi, trying to put together his sentences instead of slurred half-words in a bored undertone, expecting others to just get what he means.
Maybe, for some people, it would be considered the barest of bare minimums, but the fact that Nagi, who didn't see any worth in putting effort into anything–
The fact that this boy is now taking the initiative to actively improve himself? Especially because Isagi had been the one to suggest all this to Nagi, who had listened so attentively to every piece of advice Isagi had so ardently conjured up for him?
It makes Isagi feel special in a way no one else has.
It's sweet. It's the tiny way that Nagi Seishirou makes it known that he cares.
"Isagi," Nagi tugs at wrist urgently, bringing him out of his stupor, and Isagi feels something unfurl in his chest, warm and fond. Nagi is somewhat childlike in his behaviourisms, and Isagi finds it particularly adorable when big grey eyes look up at him all innocently, eagerly awaiting answers to any question that Nagi has.
At the same time, he can also be quite distant and unreachable, which would make Isagi's heart ignite with the fiery urge to make Nagi look at him and keep his gaze fixed.
Fuck Isagi has missed this boy.
"Yes?" Isagi tilts his head in askance, "What is it, Nagi?" He finds no problem in repeating himself. Some people simply require more patience than others, and Nagi isn't even particularly difficult like other people that Isagi has met in Blue Lock.
"I was wondering..." Nagi trails off, and after some hesitation, continues, "How... is this Kaiser guy?"
What?
That is not what Isagi was expecting.
Isagi's shock must translate to his face, so Nagi sits up and rushes to explain, "I mean, how good are his soccer skills?"
Isagi blinks. "Did you not get a grasp on his skills when you were playing against us?"
Nagi pouts immediately at having been denied a straightforward answer. "Isagiiii," He whines, drawing out the last syllable in a way that would've been annoying on anyone other than Nagi, "That's not even an answer. Don't make it a hassle. Just say it."
"Alright, alright," Isagi chuckles, "If you're so interested... Where do I start? Well..."
"Doesn't he have the same playstyle as you? Rational and efficient?"
For the second time that night, Isagi is shocked into silence.
Nagi huffs, looking peeved at Isagi's surprised expression. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not dumb, you know? I can infer that much, at least."
Isagi hums, an eyebrow raised in interest. "And how did you? Infer that, I mean."
"It's mostly because I noticed that he had minimum wasted movements, same as you. And he tends to use off the ball movements, positioning himself in the best place, waiting for perfect passes from Ness, while creating the best path for his goal... Honestly, if it wasn't for his boosted physical specs and that Kaiser impact, he's essentially a second you."
For a moment, Isagi is really almost disbelieving of the accurate analysis, especially considering who it came from. But soon, a grin curls his lips, radiating pride towards his friend for having increased his soccer knowledge and recognition of skills to a better degree.
Isagi laughs lightly, trying to cover up the flutter of his heart at the implication that Nagi has been watching him closely enough to be able to break down his playstyle piece by piece.
"You're giving him too little credit, Nagi," Isagi runs a hand through his own hair, tensing up as he's reminded of the tremendous gap between his and Kaiser's skills that may look small-scale to the average observer, "He's possibly the best U-20 striker in the entire world – bar Loki but that's a different argument – and he's a massive genius of improvisation in his own right. Not to mention, aside from his excellent physical specs, his vision and the efficiency of his movements far surpasses mine."
Isagi's grin dulls down into a smaller, more reserved smile. "It might look simple to you, but I've got a mountain to climb if I want to defeat him."
Nagi lets out a sound as if he's considering Isagi's words. "That may be true, but... If I'm underrating that guy, then you're the one who's giving himself too little credit."
Isagi's breath hitches at the sudden firmness of his words, the utter conviction lacing his voice sending chills down his spine.
"W-what?" This conversation is really taking an unexpected turn, and Isagi doesn't know what to do with it– embarrassingly enough, he stumbles over his words, the peaceful, easy-going mood having long since been abandoned for this charged up atmosphere brimming with an unknown sort of energy, a static electricity brewing in the clouds with no knowledge of when the thunder will strike.
And then Nagi turns and looks him dead in the eye, face unmistakably solemn. Hard and set in stone, as if unwilling to shy away from stating his certainty.
"So what if he's a better version of you? Surpassing your ideal movements, being a genius.... None of that matters in the face of your adaptability."
Nagi frowns at the lack of comprehension on Isagi's face, letting him know that despite the shorter boy hanging on to Nagi's every word, he's still hesitant to believe it.
And Nagi knows that it isn't because of a simple lack of self-esteem, but rather that Isagi, self assured that he is–
Is still uncovering, slowly but surely, the bare bones of his ego, sealed and hidden away for no one to see.
One puzzle piece at a time.
(Just like Nagi, who is still just discovering the limits of his own vast potential, but that's a conversation for another day.)
"It's not that," Isagi reasons, voice falling quiet, shaking his head in disagreement as if there's something that Nagi just wouldn't understand, "Adaptability can only get you so far... Vision can only get you so far if you don't have the right physical attributes to carry out your vision. I get that being adaptable is useful, but..."
Isagi heaves a long, tired sigh, and Nagi's mind reels because the last time he'd seen Isagi this desolate had been when Bachira had been stolen, and that was a whole lifetime ago, so–
"But sometimes it's just difficult, you know? Trying your hardest and knowing that it's not enough to make up for even a quarter of what you lack, all the while watching others be born with what you want–!"
Isagi abruptly cuts himself off, looking mortified in that particular way he always does when he goes off into a tangent, curling into himself as if opening up to a friend about his (perfectly valid) insecurities was something to be ashamed of.
–...So what happened in the days I wasn't there for you?
The weariness in Isagi's voice speaks of deep seated tension that has been engraved deep inside his mind. Nagi had sensed that something was amiss the moment he'd seen Isagi after so long, expecting to see that vibrant intensity his blue eyes shone with but instead being met with exhausted smiles and half-hearted attempts at keeping himself together.
Nagi had meant to give Isagi some space, figuring out that he would eventually talk about it if he wanted to, and of course, Nagi would listen to whatever Isagi said in that honey laced, velvety voice that only Nagi had had the privilege to hear, late at night.
All at once, Nagi understands.
He understands what he needs to do. It's the same feeling that he gets when he plays soccer, when his body intuitively knows what exact movements it needs to execute purely on reflex.
Nagi looks up through his eyelashes, resolutely meeting beautiful blue eyes that dim with a sort of helpless frustration that hasn't been present since the early days of Blue Lock.
Isagi tries for a smile, but it's feeble and faltering at the edges.
Nothing like the feral grin that stretches from ear to ear upon encountering a worthwhile challenge, or the cold smile that hides meticulous calculation of the enemy's destruction behind the surface, both of which never cease to send shivers of pure reverence down Nagi's spine at the sight of it.
Or maybe the tender, doting smile that Isagi reserves solely for his closest friends to see.
Naturally, Nagi is possessed by a sudden desire to replace this subdued smile with the one that Nagi thinks looks better on him.
Isagi jumps as Nagi places his hands on either of his shoulders and turns his body towards him, so that Isagi has no choice but to listen to him with all of that unwavering attention he can devote.
"I'm not good with words, and I'm not creative enough to guess what happened to make you feel like this, when in my opinion your soccer's been perfect as always–"
Isagi opens his mouth to cut him off, because what fucking perfection is he talking about, when his own teammates have been trying their hardest to sabotage him into giving up, when he's been going past his limit and giving more than his hundred percent only to have not even scored a single goal in two matches–
"But you've never started out as the top dog."
Isagi flinches sharply at that, but Nagi speaks over his pathetic inner monologue, his quiet but steady tone somehow cementing itself more persistently inside his mind than his own voice.
"The only thing you were born with his your vision, and even if it's not something that will get you far in your career just by itself– like the physical abilities of others that you so admire– you've never failed to develop that weapon with every single match, have you?"
"No, but–"
"But you didn't just stop there. You continued to get more weapons and explore more options that would let you score a goal, because you didn't settle for playing sidekick even when you lacked the skills. You've never been afraid to change yourself– any part of you that wasn't useful was discarded and replaced for a better one, and that's how you kept drastically increasing your level with each match you played against tougher opponents."
Nagi pauses and takes a deep, shuddering breath. It's clear that he isn't used to speaking so much at once, and with such fervor, and the entirety of Isagi's body feels ablaze with the affection that runs through him– at seeing how hard the typically lazy genius is trying for his sake, even when he's so far out of his depth in this particular subject.
And why wouldn't he be? Isagi's never heard Nagi speak so extensively about soccer itself, and with such casual assurance in another person's abilities. It sounds foreign, all these well thought out words coming from his mouth, that Nagi has apparently been observing about him all throughout their time together.
Even through the gratefulness he feels welling up from deep inside him, Isagi still finds it in himself to allow an equal amount of bewilderment to flood his senses.
Thing is– Isagi is incredibly self aware, and he knows it.
Perhaps the pressure of the situation got to him this time and clouded his usual rational judgement, influencing him to think in ways that come not from a place of cold, logical but fair assessment of his own strengths and weaknesses, but from a place of emotional fragility that has been present since the day he'd been born as a hypersensitive child.
Isagi considers himself to have more than adequate mental strength, but even the strongest have their moments of weaknesses, especially when faced with overwhelming adversities that incessantly try to break him over and over again.
(Even if Kaiser has failed to conquer him, it's not like Isagi himself is left with no damage.)
So Isagi, with the part of his mind that can still recognise rational input, is frankly blown away by how much Nagi's words make sense. He feels the anxiety and lack of faith in himself dissipate with each profound sentence that Nagi verbalises, his bones rattling as if shaking off dust that had been collecting for a long time without being brushed off.
(And the fact that it's Nagi who comes to find him in this place of despair, who offers his assistance without asking anything in return, somehow reading Isagi's state of mind and his flimsy attempt at pretending that everything was fine –
Isagi feels seen in a way he never has.)
"What I want to say is– you'll never have a specific world class weapon that will make you skyrocket to the level of top players, and you'll never have the godly physicalities that would make it much easier for you to perform better as a striker, but you know what?"
Isagi's heart starts thudding wildly against his chest as Nagi leans down, slowly so as to give Isagi the time to back away if he wanted, and then joins their forehead with such a wanton sigh that it makes Isagi's knees weaken, bracing his trembling palms against the taller boy's chest to steady himself.
"You don't need it." Nagi whispers, breathless without reason. "The only thing you need is to increase your stats one by one– just enough to carry out your vision, as you've been doing. Maybe a weapon or two. Maybe a different type of skill that you've never explored before."
There's a quiet kind of belief, unshakeable and undaunted, that permeates through Nagi's sentences and makes itself known to Isagi's senses. Isagi shakily revels in it, feels it deep in his bones, the honest admiration that Nagi speaks with.
"And I know you'll be able to do that much. I know you'll do anything and everything you can to turn a disadvantage into an opportunity because that's just who you are, Isagi."
And as if all that isn't enough, as if Nagi hasn't ripped apart the foundations of Isagi's world with his mere words–
"I've had my eyes on you from the moment I saw you, and since then, my eyes have never left you, striker."
The last word is whispered precisely, carefully, fiercely against Isagi's lips.
Like puzzle pieces falling into place, their lips slot against each other as if meant to be.
Isagi closes his eyes, forcing his brain into tranquility– what Nagi's name represents. They try to fill in each other's shoes as they kiss, in a twist of turns – Nagi methodically mapping out each wet crevice of Isagi's mouth, and Isagi meeting him with a reckless, thoughtless passion as he surrenders himself to his reflexes and moves as his intuition commands.
It's the influence they have on each other, Nagi gradually starting to get worked up from Isagi's feverish, audacious movements shifting sensually against his body, and Isagi's violent tremors lessening bit by bit as he regains a more collected state of mind and becomes more in control of his own actions.
Nagi pulls Isagi closer against him, marvelling at how perfectly the smaller boy fits in his arms, as if he was crafted with this purpose in mind. Isagi shudders and in turn forces his tongue deeper down Nagi's throat, Nagi surrendering the playful fighting they'd been engaged in (with their tongues instead of fists, obviously.)
Nagi groans low in his throat as one of Isagi's hands entangles itself in his messy hair, a hushed gasp even leaving his throat only to be swallowed up by Isagi's sinful mouth as the shorter boy scrapes his sharp nails against Nagi's sensitive scalp.
Isagi wraps his arms around the taller boy, caging him in an impossibly tight embrace that leaves the poor boy light headed. One hand digs further into Nagi's abused scalp, hair tousled beyond recognition. Another traces his exposed nape, up and down, sending shivers of molten heat through the white haired boy.
Nagi tries to stifle the soft whine that builds up in his chest, but it's ripped from his mouth without his permission when Isagi strokes his tongue particularly good against a bundle of nerves inside his mouth that he didn't even know he had.
Nagi feels his vision blur with want at Isagi's measured movements, one after another aiming to dismantle him and leave him scrambling to grasp solid ground.
In a way, it's reflective of their true natures– a true reflection of how they play soccer.
In the first few minutes of the game, Isagi reeks of desperation to prove himself and make space for himself on the field. As time passes, Isagi works out the strong and weak points of his opponents to use them to his advantage.
He fits together his puzzle pieces to destroy the opponent team's structure. Adapting effortlessly to the flow of the game, Isagi calculates the most efficient movements he can perform, systematically mapping out the most optimal paths and courses of action that ultimately lead to his goal.
Even now, Isagi is always one step ahead of him, always keeping Nagi on his toes.
All previous thoughts forgotten, Isagi breathes out a smug laugh at the way Nagi becomes putty in his hands within a few moments. Asshole. Now that he's back to normal, Nagi feels a sliver of pride and satisfaction at the thought that whatever he told Isagi had hopefully had a positive effect on the boy.
But at the same time, Nagi wants to rise up to the challenge that Isagi's laid out for him.
Admittedly, he's also feeling particularly petty at the smug attitude, so he bites down hard on Isagi's lower lip, intending to take retribution–
Only for it to backfire against him as Isagi jerks at the unexpected, sharp twinge of pain, arching up prettily against his larger body with a strangled cry, causing warmth to pool in his stomach at the frankly seductive gesture.
Unable to take the heat anymore, Isagi thumps his hands against Nagi's chest, signalling that they need to part for oxygen. Nagi, mindful of not causing Isagi any unease, wastes no time to follow up on Isagi's order.
Nagi pouts dejectedly as they separate for air after what seems like an eternity, but immediately reattaches himself to Isagi's body, draping himself over the smaller boy and just slumping against him in a way that makes it clear that he doesn't intend to part from Isagi for a while.
Isagi's harsh pants echoing in his ear is just a bonus.
When they're both finally done catching their breaths, he peels himself off of the shorter boy, expecting to see that genuine smile on his face, considering that he'd been all but back to normal during their impromptu make out session.
His heart drops at the way Isagi's large blue eyes water as soon as he meets Nagi's gaze.
As much confidence as Nagi appeared to have in his (purely impulsive) actions, deep down Nagi had been the slightest bit scared that the kissing would be going too far and Isagi would end up disgusted with what he'd done, even if Nagi was quite sure that Isagi liked him back (after numerous assurances from Reo, Chigiri, Bachira and surprisingly Barou.)
But to think that he drove Isagi to the point of tears?
Before the panicked apologies bubbling up in his throat can spill forth from his lips, Isagi inhales sharply–
–And throws himself at Nagi.
Nagi flounders for a moment, unsure what to do all of a sudden, how to comfort Isagi without even knowing the source of his anguish, but Isagi buries his face in Nagi's chest and stops moving altogether.
They stay like this for a moment, Nagi eventually encasing his arms around the smaller boy, his heart shrivelling with each minor tremble that he feels against his chest.
It's when Nagi is starting to doze off, almost lulled to sleep by the comfortable position, that Isagi slowly lifts his head from his chest.
At first, the image doesn't register – Nagi blearily blinking his eyes open, and then his breath catches in his chest at the gorgeous smile that greets him.
Isagi's eyes are still wet, but there is an undeniable shine to them that speaks of pure, unadulterated happiness. His smile, that one which Nagi had missed so much, that one which Nagi had given his all just to see it displayed unabashedly on Isagi's face–
Isagi smiles at him wholeheartedly, and Nagi thinks that he's finally put the right puzzle piece where it belongs instead of that wrong smile that had been forcefully trying to slot itself where it was unwelcome.
"Thank you," He grins up at him, Nagi's heart soaring at his adorable, boyish face.
"What for? I didn't say anything that was a lie. All I did was make you look at what you were neglecting in your field of vision."
Isagi chuckles, and it feels like a breath of fresh air after all the gloom and despair Nagi's seen from him in one singular evening.
"Well, yeah, but I'm thanking you anyway." Isagi turns a pretty shade of pink, looking away shyly for a moment, making Nagi feel slightly intrigued at this new, flustered side of Isagi that he's yet to see much of.
"Even I didn't know how much I needed that, Nagi." Isagi's words are as sincere as always.
"I'm glad." Nagi replies back just as sincerely.
They don't need to say anything anymore, everything's out in the open, so they lapse into a comfortable silence, shifting into their position from before– Nagi's head in Isagi's lap.
Isagi had yearned for a relaxed, laid back evening with Nagi, but perhaps he'd failed to realise just how much those demoralising taunts and doubtful comments and repeated transgressions had affected him until it had all boiled over in an explosion of self-degradation and sense of failure.
The crushing pressure that had been rooting itself inside his heart, slowly suffocating him from inside, is now relievingly absent. The cobwebs tangled inside his arteries have been dusted off.
Kaiser and Ness tirelessly working as opponent defenders, making it ten times as hard for Isagi to score now that he's playing against essentially the entire field–
He's adapted to them, all by himself.
His idol thinking of him as merely a poster boy who has nothing to offer other than fanservice–
He's shown him exactly how much he's worth.
Yukimiya questioning his character as a striker–
It was both their faults, in the end. They were being too idiotic, too caught up in themselves to see the bigger picture. They've resolved it already, but the slight hurt still lingers.
Everyone, even his old Team Z friends thinking that he got by on an unfair opportunity and favouritism when it was instead the result of what he'd rightfully earned through his goal–
It wasn't like they were being completely serious. Besides, Isagi would've thought the same if he was in their places... wouldn't he?
All of that had been haunting Isagi, disturbing his sleep at night, all the echoes of what he's heard is what he'd been seeing in his very dreams.
All the you're not worthy and you're never going to make it as a striker and stop trying to fruitlessly resist your role as a clown, Yoichi –
All of that useless baggage that will not help Isagi Yoichi achieve his dream has been disposed of.
And all Isagi has to thank for it is his surprisingly well-articulate, thoughtful, gentle giant of a... friend? Best friend? Boyfriend?
No matter. They have all the time in the world to figure that out, and neither Isagi nor Nagi are impatient enough to rush into things.
They're mollified enough after having a taste of what they'd been craving all along.
Later, when Isagi and Nagi are reluctantly preparing themselves to separate from each other, seeing as Isagi has to go back to the German stratum, Isagi pops the question that has been bugging him for quite some time.
"Why did you ask about Kaiser in the first place?" Isagi asks, tilting his head in confusion, a tic that Bachira had no doubt instilled in him.
Nagi shuffles in his place, looking unsure.
"I just wanted to, I guess? Just wanted to know what he had to offer, as one of the best U-20 strikers."
Isagi presses his lips into a firm line, not really satisfied with the answer. It feels like something is lacking, something substantial.
Before he can ponder too much on it, Isagi feels his chin getting delicately tipped up to meet Nagi's grey eyes, dilated pupils nearly making them appear black.
"Well, that's not quite all of it," Nagi says slowly, as if tasting the words, while Isagi is rooted in place with his whole body frozen like a statue and his face on fire, "I guess..."
He cranes his neck downwards, never once breaking eye contact, "I was wondering why you were so fixated on him during our match. I didn't see anything special in that guy, if anything, he seems like a major pain in the ass. But..."
"I just wanted to know if you'd forgotten to look at me. Don't look at others too much, striker, or else I'll have to do this again and make you look at me. And trust me..."
Isagi feels goosebumps bloom on his skin as Nagi's hot breath brushes against his ear, their close proximity making his heart race (as if he hadn't kissed that boy silly less than an hour ago).
"I'm willing to do a lot of things to make sure that your eyes are fixed on me, egoist."
Behind the sugary veil of his flustered countenance, Isagi coyly looks up at the white haired boy, an amused lilt of his lips making Nagi's own heart skip a beat or two.
"Don't threaten me with a good time, genius," Isagi drawls, leisurely draping his arms around the taller boy's neck and leaning his weight against him, "I might just never look at you again and have you chasing after me forever."
Their playful banter might have continued, had Isagi not made the decision to seal their lips together in a chaste kiss. Shared smiles and a warm hug later, Isagi walks back to his stratum, as casual and unruffled as he'd been when he'd left the place.
Upon the way, Isagi's smile drops, little by little until he has a neutral expression on his face, similar to Hiori's placid face.
By the end of his detour, Isagi has stopped walking naturally, his movements appearing stiff and robotic to anyone that might be lurking nearby– fortunately there is no one here.
As he reaches his final destination, his room, Isagi drops all pretenses and dives straight for his bed, not even giving Hiori or Kurona a chance to peek at his face before he smothers it deep inside his pillow and screams.
"Seems like he had fun in the England stratum." Hiori's stupid, annoying, teasing voice irritates Isagi's ears even as he continues screaming.
"Are... are you okay?" Yukimiya asks falteringly, and the concern would have been touching if Isagi couldn't hear the undertone of laughter in his voice, even as Isagi continues screaming.
"Isagi's not in the mood to answer. Answer." Kurona chimes in, sounding totally unbothered about the fact that Isagi continues screaming.
Because holy shit he just had his first kiss with his first crush.
With that thought in mind, Isagi continues screaming.
Far away, in the England stratum, two shrill, ear-piercing screams of "YOU KISSED ISAGI?!" echo deafeningly throughout the halls, in complete contrast to the white haired boy who had casually dumped such a shocking piece of information on them with absolutely zero build-up.
Even farther away, in a room filled with monitors, inaccessible to anyone but Ego Jinpachi, the man in question exasperatedly slurps his noodles as he wonders when the hell it was that his painstakingly created soccer project turned into something straight out of a corny teenage romance drama.
(At night, when Isagi goes to sleep, throat hoarse from screaming –
Instead of the very same taunts and comments and whispers of his ineptitude following him in his dreams, the only thing he can feel is hazy recollections of soft lips and softer smiles, big arms in a protective embrace and messy white hair attached to a face of perpetual boredom.
For the first time in forever, Isagi Yoichi sleeps with a content smile.)