Work Text:
1 : AIKU.
FWOOOOOOOOOOSH -
He feels the ball connect with his foot and burst through the air with the devastating force of his middle shot.
SCRIIIIINNNNNNKKKK -
The ball hits the net at a tremendous speed and he is suspended into the air in what feels like slow-motion ecstasy, just as Blue Lock Man is a second too late in its useless attempt at stopping the ball.
Barou Shouei’s deafening roar is echoing all around him in the strange solace of his solitary late night training, and he goes to the side to pick up a fresh towel to wipe up his brow from hard earned sweat. He takes a swig at his water bottle, coming off the high of what was probably his best goal of the night - although, pale in comparison of scoring an actual goal against his football rivals.
Barou is in a particularly reckless mood. It’s only been a couple of days since the devastating loss of the Ubers at the hands of Bastard München, and more specifically at the hands of Isagi Yoichi.
Barou hadn’t thought too much of it, at first ; after all, the entirety of his Blue Lock ambition rested on the back of this mutual rivalry he had with Isagi, losing himself in this deathly dance of theirs as they devoured each other on the field. This was only temporary - his time would come again, it always did.
But something else gnaws at his bones akin to a ravenous hyena - something foul is rotting inside of him, growing and festering in the pit of his stomach. He feels unnerved.
Unnerved by the fact that, beyond his desire to meet Isagi in front of the goal to brutalize his rival, he is actually craving other things ; things long lost, things he should have never been feeling. Barou misses playing on Isagi’s team.
The mere thought of that is enough to make him scowl at the wall in front of him, piercing seeping holes through the concrete as he is imagining it to be Isagi’s skull. Barou’s fantasies are usually limited to beating the guy to a pulp until he submits to him, the rightful King. Longing and yearning like a powerless maiden isn’t in the fine prints of this fucked up fairytale.
He suddenly gets up, fighting the urge to scream his frustration at something, anything, prickled and bleeding from his sudden affliction. He grabs his soccer gear in a violent grip before exiting the training room, the smell of anger and resentment still palpable in the air.
***
He’s still thinking about it as he soaks under a long shower. He takes his time when he massages his calves to avoid cramping, lets the water run over his sore muscles and wash away the vexation seeping through his pores - it doesn’t work.
Barou is annoyed as he washes his hair. Annoyed as he meticulously clears his face, remains annoyed when he shuts down the water and angrily wraps a towel around his strong waist.
Annoyance merges with exasperation and anger.
Pissed off, he slides into the warm waters of the baths and settles himself in his usual spot, falls into a meditative stance - tries to focus and recenter himself. Find better priorities.
Isagi’s face is all he can see, and he subconsciously tries to swat his rival away like he’s an annoying little pest buzzing around, ruining his carefully crafted inner peace. He growls, opens his eyes and stares into the distance.
He figures his problem isn’t gonna go away until he properly faces it.
Barou assumes his thinking man stance, frowns while his chin slips into his powerful grip, synapses all fired up and working overtime.
He doesn’t get what all that longing thing is about. It’s not obsession - that’s their thing, obsessing over each other. The obsession is here to stay, it fuels him when Isagi isn’t around. Fuels him even more when he’s chasing that number eleven inscribed on the back of his jersey from the darkness of his domain.
But past the obsession, he figures out that what bothers him isn’t something, it’s a lack thereof - progress. It all falls into pieces.
It’s not that he’s missing playing with Isagi ; he misses everything else that comes with it. He misses training with Isagi. Misses the late night lunches, the play discussions, even misses the yelling that echoed in their messy room who smelled like boyhood and dreams.
He misses bathing with Isag- Ok, let’s not go there quite yet.
His irritating train of thought is interrupted by someone entering the baths and Barou’s neck snaps at an alarming speed - he scowls at whoever dares disrupt his vengeful brooding.
Oliver Aiku couldn’t give a fuck - he isn’t even looking at him, towel hanging dangerously low on his stupid little manwhore waist, typing a succession of vapid nonsense on his cellphone. Oliver’s brow is furrowed, tongue peeking ever so slightly from his chapped lips - his text exchange with the new girl of the week clearly bothered him, and Barou didn’t care. Aiku annoyed him. Everyone annoyed him.
The other man suddenly winces, a low ‘tssssk’ escaping his throat, and he puts his cellphone away, finally noticing Barou staring at him with murderous intent. Oliver smiles back and shrugs, trying to regain control over the cool cat aura he usually sports.
“ Girls, man, they’re trouble. “
He sighs and slides into the baths next to Barou, spreading his legs around and settling his scruffy head comfortably over strong biceps. Barou wants to punch him in the face.
“ Save yourself some damage and focus on football. “
Barou laughs at this pitiful insight ; as if he’d bother with something so preposterous and lowly, like dat - wait.
Something finally clicks.
Infatuation makes you stupid - Aiku was the best example. Maybe that’s the real source of his problem. He had a little, dumb crush on Isagi. It made him act irrational and weak, like thinking about spending time with the brunette doing fuck knows what instead of meticulously whipping his body into a killing machine.
If he successfully dated Isagi, then everything would get back to normal - football, obsession, devouring.
Barou was a genius, sometimes.
“ How do you ask someone on a date ? “ The question is sudden, loud and clear.
Aiku opens one of his eyes and shoots back a quizzical look, Barou slowly turning his head to face him, determination inscribed in each and every one of his facial traits.
“ You’re seriously asking me about dating ? “ Aiku looks almost concerned.
Barou doesn’t understand why.
“ Did I fucking stutter ? “ he replies, slightly annoyed.
Oliver raises his hands in a peaceful gesture of surrender, looking amused now.
“ I would have assumed that you just took what you wanted for yourself, King. “
He smirks, ever so teasing. This man didn’t possess an ounce of seriousness in his entire body - that’s probably why his football was so mediocre.
“ Why would I do that to a person? It’s horrible. “ Barou is concerned, looks at Aiku like he’s got ninety-nine problems and they’re all his.
Oliver scoffs, shaking his wet hair with his hand and making water droplets fall everywhere around and hit Barou on his exposed skin - Barou hisses violently at him.
“ I’m talking figuratively, you dumbass. ‘Forgot you had a stick up your ass. Like, real far up your ass. “ He’s mocking him with an indolent lull of the head. “ You’ve never, ever asked anyone on a date? Really ? “
Barou sinks a little bit under the water - he doesn’t know why, but the insult simmers through Oliver’s placid tone, shaking up his confidence.
“ I don’t know why I would bother dating someone when I can play football, “ he curtly snipes back.
“ And yet here you are, seeking the counsel of this old scoundrel, “ It would almost be poetic if Aiku wasn’t so lame. Lame lame lame. “ Who’s this girl that has you under such a spell? She must be one hell of a vixen. I should steal her for myself. “ He winks at him.
Barou finds the thought of Oliver Aiku going after Isagi absolutely abhorrent, and he needs to restrain himself from drowning the older man in the hot water right there and then - mostly because it would be annoying to him, personally, to wait for the Blue Lock facility to sanitize the baths.
“ It doesn’t matter who it is, “ he sneers, and looks at Aiku with scornful eyes. “ Just answer the damn question. “
“ Ok, ok ! Man, you’re so prickly, “ Oliver seems rather annoyed himself, but Barou purposefully ignores it, and keeps looking at him with a piercing gaze. “ There’s only one effective way to a girl’s heart - it’s envy. “
Confusion and irritation must be visible on Barou’s scowl, because Aiku rolls his eyes deeply and proceeds further.
“ If you’re craving that girl, you have to make her crave you back - make her go completely insane. “ Aiku says in a serious tone, an intense flare in his eyes - and ok, maybe this guy actually knows what he’s talking about. He certainly dated a lot more people than Barou. “ And the key to this insanity is jealousy. Make her seethe over you flirting with other girls in front of her. Trick her into getting consumed by the thought of having you. “
His smile is wicked when he speaks next.
“ There’s nothing a woman craves more than something she can’t have. “
This seemed like terrible fucking advice.
But Barou Shouei wasn’t a quitter. He was the G.O.A.T.
He would get the girl or die trying.
***
On the next day, Barou wakes up and does what he does best : he goes Isagi hunting.
He oafishly asks anyone he can harass if they’ve seen the brunette around. Most of them shrug, looking a little scared, and Barou can’t blame them - his aura was naturally scary. They ought to be terrified, for he only decided if they lived or died.
Progress comes his way when Hiori directs him to the cafeteria, looking vaguely concerned. Barou growls a lowly “ Thanks, “ and leaves promptly, not sparing a single glance behind.
His eyes lock on Isagi’s little tuft of hair as the short boy gets up from his table with an empty cabaret, gently humming a little lullaby to himself, and Barou can’t help but think it’s cute. He remembers Isagi’s soft humming from their short-lived days spent together - Isagi hummed when he was making his bed, he hummed when he was gently scrubbing his football cleats with a soft towel, even hummed when he was brushing his teeth.
Isagi is cute, Barou thinks to himself. The thought immediately troubles him.
He darts to where Isagi is headed, shouts a bold “ Hey, loser ! “, ready to threaten him a little bit, as a warm up. Then he’d go from there. Isagi looks up, his stupid face lightening up, big sparkly eyes seemingly happy to see him - it does a number on Barou’s psyche, and the man blushes slightly, horrified.
Fuck this, Barou decides. He’s just gonna go for it.
He’s trying to psych himself up into risking it all, right there and then, and wonders how Isagi would react if Barou just kissed him and left - when Michael Kaiser violently rams into his target, making the shortie drop his cabaret and utensils all over the place.
For a split second, Barou goes blind with pure, unfiltered rage, and he wants to break both of Kaiser’s legs.
“ Oops, sorry, Yoichi ! I didn’t see you there, I thought this was where garbage belonged ― “ Kaiser purrs, looking down on Isagi while he discards the remnants of his diner.
Barou grabs the metal fork where it landed at his feet, patiently waiting for Isagi to pick up the other items, and he tries to poke Isagi with it to get his attention, but the other man immediately stares back at Kaiser instead.
“ It isn’t funny, asshole, “ Isagi’s irk can be heard in each and every word - all the spite and the poison, and Barou can’t help but feel a little pang of jealousy inside of his chest. “ Is your ego so fragile you need to pick on me outside of the field ? “
“ Nothing is fragile about me, fraulein, “ Kaiser slurs back, eyes squinting and tongue poking against his cheek. “ Worry about scoring some goals instead. “
Isagi quickly discards his cabaret and gets into Kaiser’s space - he was smaller than almost everyone on the Blue Lock roaster, but Barou knew by now that size was never a problem when Isagi was concerned. He could fight his own battles.
“ What, so you can steal them from me like a famished hyena ? “ Isagi smirks, and it lights up something deep inside of Barou’s brain. “ A little pathetic, don’t you think ? “
This is going horribly, Barou realizes. He is virtually invisible right now, Isagi and Kaiser lost to this pissing contest - so Barou Shouei bids his time, and he lurks.
These two buffoons were currently at each other’s throats, and admittedly, Barou never heard Isagi badmouth someone like he did with Kaiser. It even surpassed everything they could throw at each other on the field ; but the thing was, outside of a football match, Barou and Isagi actually got along surprisingly well.
Wait - is Isagi into Kaiser ?
This thought horrifies Barou, and he squints his eyes at both of them, observing.
Things were heating up quite a bit between the Bastard München’s strikers - excitement palpable everywhere around them. Kaiser and Isagi got off on insulting each other, he was sure of that.
Perfect. I just have to flirt with this Kaiser guy, then.
Barou isn’t exactly thrilled at the idea, but it was Aiku’s solution, after all - everything to help him avoid getting devoured by their insane egos.
“ … Don’t know why you’re so obsessed with me. “ Barou tunes back in to hear Isagi usher these terrible words, and anger flashes on his cheeks in a deep crimson.
Wait a second. He was obsessing over Isagi. That was his thing.
Kaiser throws his hands into the hair, exasperation coating his visage in a mask of contempt. “ Darling, have you looked in a mirror recently ? You’re the one consumed with envy. You’re obsessing over me. “
Barou suddenly snaps. No. No no no no no. This won’t do.
He is Isagi’s fated rival. He is the source of Isagi’s obsession, the driving force behind his ambition. Not Michael fucking Kaiser.
Barou needs to reclaim the narrative. So Barou acts in the only way he can think of at the moment : stealing Isagi’s goal.
He lunges at Kaiser and crumples his shirt into a violent grip, planting his strong lips on the German man’s own, and it’s a very awkward kiss. They’re both standing still, Kaiser too stunned to even react, Barou refusing to give him the pleasure of a satisfactory embrace - this was a business transaction.
Take that, Isagi - I’m the goal to steal, now.
Barou’s crotch explodes in what can only be described as the worst pain he’s ever felt in his life, like a throbbing firework of punch drunk torment, and he blacks out for a second. He can hear Kaiser screaming at him in German - Barou doesn’t speak a single word of German, and the translator doesn’t pick up what he assumes is a string of profanities. He gets the gist of it, though, by feeling alone.
Kaiser storms off and Barou falls to his knees, his hands cupping his crotch in a vain effort to chase the ache away - it doesn’t work, and he can only scream in silent agony, tears threatening to breach through his skin and fall all over his face in a pathetic display of wet failure.
Barou doesn’t cry.
Isagi looks at him with a veiled look of concern and discomfort.
“ Yeah, I am not going to unpack this. “ He throws a sorrowful gaze at him before turning his back and leaving Barou behind.
Wait, Isagi, don’t go away …
Barou Shouei craves death for the first time in his life.
He’s back in his room, tenderly icing his balls with a bag of frozen edamame he stole from the kitchen, an empty look on his face as he reconsiders every life decision that led him to this moment in time.
He wonders for a brief moment if there is rat poison somewhere, hidden away in a cupboard, and whether he could be quick enough to slip some of it in Aiku’s breakfast tomorrow morning without the man noticing.
2. ARYU
“ THAT’S IT ! Last strike, Barou, you’re getting benched. “
The sharp ring of a referee’s whistle doubled with Snuffy’s words echo all around them as the team silently stares at Barou. Ball under his foot, huffing like a bull gone mad, he glares back at Sendou holding his bloodied nose and cussing profusely, tears forming quickly in his pretty boy’s eyes, dusting his lashes with sparkles.
“ What the fuck, you absolute psychopath, “ Sendou slurs, looking like he’s ready to jump Barou at any moment, and ok - perhaps Barou deserves it.
He kind of just kneed Sendou in the face two seconds ago to steal the ball from him and bust his nose open pretty severely. Barou wasn’t even trying to be an asshole, he’s just - he’s been pissed and at his wit’s end since yesterday’s disaster in the Bastard München cafeteria.
Perhaps he was kneeing Kaiser in his mind, and Sendou just happened to be on the receiving end.
“ Bench, “ Snuffy yells at him and for once in his life Barou obeys a direct order from his football coach.
He mutters a rushed “ sorry, “ as he passes by Sendou and the other man glares at him, doesn’t even bother to reply as he gets up and leaves for the infirmary, fists clenched so hard his nails are probably digging tiny crescents in the raw flesh of his palms.
Barou tunes out from the rest of the Uber practice, sprawled all over the bench with a fresh towel on top of his face - his balls were still pretty tender. He kind of doubted he would fully regain feeling in his right nut, and was probably sterile now.
Fucking Kaiser Impact.
Barou is trying to figure out a way to ruin the German fucker’s life without the police getting involved when someone taps lightly on his shoulder, and Barou lifts the dampened towel to glare back at the intruder.
Niko and Aryu are standing in front of him, Niko’s facial expression indecipherable, as always - the little turd needed a haircut, and quick. Barou hated messy hair. Aryu just looked bored.
“ Practice is over “, Niko simply says, and with a quick glance Barou can indeed watch his teammates leaving the training zone to hit the showers. “ What got you so twisted that even Snuffy won’t put up with your shit ? “
Barou squints at Niko - he was an insufferable little gremlin, but he was also bold with his words, often cutting to the chase, and Barou doesn’t hate it. It makes his life simple.
He’s a second away from telling Niko to fuck off regardless when Aiku slithers behind them like the snake he is, sweaty and messy - Barou can’t stand the stupid shaggy mop on top of his head and his even stupider unkempt facial hair.
“ Our King is having issues getting himself a Queen, “ and Barou wants to throw mud at Aiku with how he smirks and winks at him from behind Niko’s back.
You ruined my fucking life, asswipe - Barou is about to yell profanities and maybe strangle him, but the annoying man is gone as quickly, if not more, as he appeared. Barou grunts and lets his head bang loudly against the concrete wall behind him.
“ Wait, are you for real ? “ Niko starts snickering, and Aryu suddenly becomes very interested in the conversation, a piercing glimmer in his eyes. “ You, of all people, have issues with girls? “
The fuck is that supposed to mean.
Barou tries to give them his special treatment, also known as the Barou Shouei Murderous Stare of Doom ; it was supposed to be highly effective, but as of late his teammates aren’t nearly as affected as they used to be.
Niko plops down on his right side, Aryu on the left, and they both start gushing and poking fun at him like they’re drunk aunties at a family gathering - it irritates Barou to no end.
“ Aryu, what are we to do with our poor Shouei ? “ Niko laments, an arm wrapped around Barou’s big shoulders while his free hand is busy pinching his cheek.
Barou feels a vein pop on his forehead.
“ Darling, our situation is hopeless ! “ Aryu’s hand is on his brow, he whips his long, silky hair in a dramatic movement and it tickles Barou right under his nose - he wants to sneeze badly. A second vein pops off. “ We ought to take pictures of our pitiful son and distribute them at our next omiai. “
Barou gets up and screams like a wounded beast gone mad with pain, muscles throbbing and fingers clenching the air in a death grip. People do not mock him. Ever.
Niko and Aryu stop their clownery and stare at him with fright - finally, some goddamn respect.
Barou grabs his football kit with renewed furor and kicks the nearest water bottle, almost scores a goal. Starts to feel a little better.
“ See, I think this is your problem, “ Aryu states, breaching the silence. “ You’re a brute.”
Barou scowls at him, but Aryu stares back with a piercing gaze from behind his fingers splattered all over his face, stuck in a stylish pose.
“ In romance, the only thing that matters is doing it with Glam. “
***
Barou’s foot is tapping against the floor in what can only be described as manic desperation while he waits for Isagi. He texted the guy right after he was done storming off the practice field yesterday, Niko and Aryu’s laughter trailing behind him in tantalizing agony.
King
You. Me. Joint practice tomorrow morning at 6 sharp. Don’t be late.
Sent 7.35 pm
(Barou could be charming when he bothered to. It’s just that he didn’t bother very often.)
To his surprise, Isagi had answered back ten minutes later with a yes.
Donkey
Sure !
Seen 7.45 pm
He’s trying to psyche himself up for what he is about to accomplish - it surely didn’t help that he slept poorly, consumed by the thought of finally bagging himself a boyfriend and restoring the equilibrium of his simple and structured life.
If only the little fucker could show up, now.
Barou is about to set himself on fire because Isagi is five minutes late, and every minute past six that slowly erodes against his skin is a minute he’s, one : never getting back and two : can weaponize to convince himself this was stupid and a waste of time.
A luxury he definitely cannot afford.
He’s furiously typing a string of colorful insults on his cell phone when Isagi’s silhouette finally turns around the corner, yawning into the soft morning light, head messy from being barely out of bed - his tuft of hair somehow even more prominent than usual. Barou is speechless for a second, even blushes slightly.
“ Yo ! “ Isagi lets out casually, waving at Barou, still tired but looking excited to see him, and ok, maybe Isagi gets to sleep in a little bit. As a treat.
“ You’re late. “ Barou grumps as he swiftly deletes the profanities from his cell phone - accidentally sending that to Isagi would probably undermine his swaying efforts and he needed all the help he could manage, for he was about to debase himself of his pride.
“ Happy to see you too, “ Isagi chuckles - he stopped being afraid of Barou a long time ago. Barou isn’t certain he likes that. But he is certain that actually liking it would be worse, so he settles for nothing.
He lets Isagi in first and they start stretching together, the air sharp around them as morning keeps rolling in its gentle rays from the nice sunroof of the Uber’s training field - it made it feel a lot less like football prison than their humble beginnings.
Isagi is babbling next to him about everything and nothing at the same time - updates from the Bastard München’s strict regime, his newest football theory he can’t wait to test against Kaiser (Barou scowls a little bit when he hears the name of his new official nemesis), how Kunigami still won’t eat steaks with him.
Barou tries to tune out the conversation, because frankly it bothers him that Isagi is talking about other guys so much - so Barou stares instead.
Stares at the soft profile of his precious rival, the gentle curve of his nose, his plush bottom lip. The faintest beauty mark right above his right nostril that could only be visible if you paid attention to it, or the slight puffiness of his underlid giving him a boyish look. He had surprisingly clear skin, too - perhaps Chigiri’s strict skincare routine had grown up on him.
Barou’s eyes slip down further, to the exposed collar bone peeking through Isagi’s training shirt ; his small, lithe frame the perfect weapon to be an offensive midfielder, and toned thighs. Isagi is wearing practice shorts, and it makes Barou think about really stupid things.
To other people, Isagi Yoichi was probably plain looking ; he was short, sported a normal haircut, and had boring dark hair. Seemed shy, meek even, well-behaved to the untrained eyes. Other people were idiots.
Isagi was the prettiest boy he’s ever landed his eyes on - and, excluding the fact it was the first time he really thought about any boy in that fashion, Barou fathomed he wouldn’t be craving anyone else for a long time.
Barou Shouei was royally fucked.
“ … do you think ? “ Barou tunes back in, and Isagi is looking at him with an expectant gaze.
“Uuuuh, “ is truly all Barou can answer back.
Isagi lets out a soft chuckle ; looks at him with a piercing gaze and a slightly mocking grin.
“ You’re pretty unfocused today. “
Barou has the audacity to let out an affronted ‘humpftt’, chest puffed and cheeks reddening by the second. “ Shut up. Let’s practice, nerd. “
He kicks the ball as hard as he can.
***
They dance around the ball a little bit, Barou’s typical aggression countered by Isagi’s quick thinking in a suave and obsessive murder-tango.
Isagi’s eyes are on him, and when it’s just the two of them, it’s much less about the prowling than it is about the prancing ; as far as Barou is concerned, he wants Isagi’s eyes on him at all times.
Reality is more complex than that.
Barou’s body takes a sharp turn in one of his signature nutmegs, and he pierces through in a brutish, typical fashion, forcing his path to the goalpost in agonizing ecstasy as everything withers and dies around him. He takes a shot, powerful and merciless, and scores a goal.
“ YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH !!!! “ His scream reverberates through the practice field, a victory song to his ears, and Isagi can only huff and smile through his furrowed brow, determination written all over his face - he looks the prettiest when riled up.
Normally, that’s when Barou would start the shit talk - but he remembers his purpose.
“ Barou ? '' Isagi inquires, because all he can stare at right now is Barou’s imposing frame, unmoving, and the back of his head.
Barou does something unholy - he passes a hand in his perfectly gelled coiffe, swipes the sweat and strands of hair sticking to his forehead, looking back at Isagi with sharp eyes, and smoulders.
Barou has never smouldered in his entire life - he didn’t think he was physically able to, frankly.
Seconds pass by excruciatingly, discomfort slowly filling up the air and wrapping around Barou with the smothering embrace of shame.
“ Are you ok ? “ Isagi asks in a low, concerned voice.
“ Yes. “ Barou smoulders harder.
“ Do you need to go to the bathroom ? “ Isagi’s emotions are indecipherable.
“ No, “ his voice cracks ever so slightly, and Barou picks up the ball, trying to breathe through his flaring nostrils.
The man is embarrassed.
They go back to kicking the ball around, and Barou tries to get his groove back. Lets Isagi score a goal on him - or he likes to pretend - and manages to steal the ball again, counters becoming ever so brutal, perhaps even desperate. He feels his kick resonate against his entire nervous system, and he wonders if he just pulled a muscle, if he needs to slow down a bit, but it doesn’t matter.
The goal gets in, Barou’s shirt gets ripped, he screams again like a madman possessed ; the second coming of Christ.
“ Aaaah, shit, nice one Barou ! Next one will definitely be mine, you goddamn King. “ Isagi is panting, wiping the sweat from his neck, and Barou isn’t sure if he wants to kiss it or break it.
He turns around, gets back into the mood, and tries to mimic the way Aryu delicately poses his hand over his face, looking back at Isagi through the prison bars of his fingers.
This is so fucking stupid.
“ Wasn’t that goal super glam, or what ? “ It’s the nerdiest thing he’s ever said in his entire life - he flexes to compensate.
Isagi looks so scared and uncomfortable, and Barou dies a little bit inside when he sees the other boy wince.
“ Are you sure everything is alright ? Are you dehydrated ? “
Isagi is nice enough to offer him his water bottle, which Barou humbly accepts, shoulders low in defeat.
Until he spots, in a passing glance, Isagi staring. Staring at his broad, sweaty chest while he gulps water, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. He smirks, and Isagi averts his eyes, having the decency of looking a little flustered.
Hell yes, Barou thinks. His body was hand carved by the soccer Gods. Peasants ought to ogle every square centimeter of his statuesque physique.
Maybe he stood a chance, after all. Third time’s the charm.
***
Barou is going in for the kill. Isagi is hogging the ball right now, totally in the zone, but not for long - after all, this is Barou’s specialty. Desecration.
Except he’s about to ad lib like he never ad lib’ed before, taking one right out of Aryu Juybei’s playbook - and doing it with Glam.
He tries to picture it first. Picture how the strange man and his stranger physique spring into action like a demented, disjointed doll ; picture the long reach of his leg stretching into infinity, ahead of his opponent, one cruel swipe of thievery and madness.
He opens his eyes mid-air, the visualization complete and implemented into his brain, savoring for a brief instant the look of surprise and despair spread on Isagi’s face with this sick twist of fate.
He feels before he sees the world spin around him as he trips himself while trying to kick the ball out of Isagi’s reach, and the next thing he knows, he’s eating grass and his nose is profusely bleeding. Pain explodes all around him in a deafening roar.
“ Shit, Barou, are you ok ? “
No, Barou wants to say.
“ Yes, “ he mutters against the ground.
Isagi helps Barou turn on his back, and the contact of air with his maimed nose feels just as bad as the scorched flesh of his ego. His blood is smeared all over his face in what he assumes is a pitiful canvas of broken dreams ; he wants to sleep through a thousand deaths, and never wake up.
Barou is Going Through It.
“ Can you feel your nose ? “ Isagi asks, his fingers grazing against it.
Yes, you fucking idiot, Barou thinks as he agonizes. “ It’s not that bad. “
“ Barou, I think it’s broken. “
I’m broken. All of me. Live to fight another day my ass.
“ Help me to the fucking infirmary then. “ Barou growls, hoping for the sweet release of ibuprofen.
Isagi offers him his hand, and in a surprisingly strong grip, helps Barou back on his feet.
When their hands split apart, knuckles brush gently against each other, pinkies parting last in a secret little love hook. Barou smiles on the inside, because no amount of pain can make him forget how soft and tender Isagi’s hand feels combined with his.
3. NIKO
Barou is having a bad day.
No, scratch that - Barou is having a bad week.
He’s brooding in his corner of the cafeteria, nose still throbbing from his prior accident two days earlier, having difficulty breathing through the persistent swelling. His bandage is itching in a spot that’s off-limits to his pruning fingers, and food tastes about twenty-five percent less than usual, which is extremely depressing to him.
He isn’t even pissed, right now - he is miserable. He has never tasted misery in his entire life, and it grates on his tongue like the foul grip of rotten meat.
So far, all he’s managed to do is kiss the wrong guy, get pulled out of the family gene pool and embarrass himself to no end in front of his pitiful crush.
It is a miracle Isagi still replies to his text messages, enquiring about his nose, and Barou suspects pity is at play.
Everyone around him is leaving the cafeteria, while Barou has barely eaten half of his plate - he might as well be dying, since he couldn’t even commit to maintaining a balanced diet and protein intake.
Snap out of it, you pathetic, sorry excuse of a man. When all else fails, self-admonishing is a sure value.
Barou gets rid of his leftovers, stomps in heavy strides with closed fists until he reaches his room - ready to go brood in his lair akin to a wounded animal and then get back on schedule.
Barou never quit anything in his life, so he wasn’t about to give up on Isagi Yoichi, even if it led him to an early grave.
He’s about to violently close the door on its hinges when a hand slides against the polished metal, and a mop of unruly dark hair peeks from behind it, staring at him with intent.
“ ‘The fuck you want, “ Barou growls at Niko, ever so charming.
“ Are you really trying to seduce a girl ? “ The question lays heavy in the air, pregnant with the unsaid.
Barou sighs, throws himself on his bed, sprawling his long limbs all around, breathing through the strands of his pillowcase.
“ Maybe, “ he mutters back non-committedly, because he sure doesn’t want to unpack his ongoing Isa-crisis with fucking Niko out of all people.
Niko drops the bomb.
“ This is about Isagi, isn’t it ? “
Barou stays still in his bed, paralyzed by the reality of his situation crashing over him in a suffocating hold. The words ring in his ears like a lament of love.
This is about Isagi.
See, it’s all fine and dandy when he knows he wants to seduce Isagi. Other people, they aren’t supposed to know. No one has any right to gaze upon the raw flesh of his tormented heart. Not even Isagi.
Barou is a selfish King, after all.
“ I don’t know what you’re talking about, “ he replies curtly, and Niko doesn’t believe him.
He doesn’t even believe in the words himself.
“ Don’t, “ Niko warns. “ My eyes are worth something outside of the field too, you oaf. “
Niko approaches gently, steadily, like he knows he’s up against a caged beast. Barou feels pathetic. The small boy sits on the very end of his bed, barely even resting against the fabric, yet the weight of it all crushes him with a punishing force.
“ Whatever. “
Being vulnerable sucks.
“ I mean, no offense, but, “ Niko briefly pauses, and he turns his head towards Barou. He feels his penetrating gaze through the curtain of his bangs, and it’s like being naked in front of God.“ You’ve been taking advice from complete morons. “
Ok - that part was a fair assessment.
Like a princess waking up from her poisonous slumber, Barou gets up in his bed, squeezing his pillow with his bare hands, possibly trying to suffocate all of his problems at once, and finally looks back at Niko.
“ And what would you have me do, then ? “ His tone is sharp, expecting.
Demanding.
“ Isagi is a smart guy, “ Niko states. “ You need to outsmart him. “
Barou huffs ; some advice that was.
“ Ok, boy genius - in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly an intellectual myself. “
Barou is realistic about his abilities. He’s a reckoning force of muscles and reflexes, and he forces his way out of most things in life. Finesse is not in his repertoire.
Niko smiles, and it’s a little bit creepy.
“ Better start using that big head of yours, Idiot King. “ and it’s there poking through his massive hair, Niko’s all-seeing eye, Barou forced to stare at his own useless reflection in the darkness of his pupil. “ Figure out what Isagi likes, and impress him with your vast fountain of knowledge. “
***
His conversation with Niko leaves Barou pondering upon the truths of the Universe, and he comes to the conclusion that he’s in way too deep, and he needs help. All the help he can get.
He sends the following text message to the few people he accepts to talk to, who have been around Isagi for longer than he had, and could even be considered friends of his.
(Ah. Friends. Pathetic. They could never be him, his fated rival.)
King
Sent to Lazy Idiot, Mouthy Princess, Weird Guy, Even Weirder Guy, Turnip Head, Rin
Fill this Google Form by 11 o’clock tonight or else
Sent 9.25 pm
Seen by 3
Once he is satisfied with the threatening level of his message, he lets his subjects do the work for him : gathering all the intel he can on Isagi’s favorite things. The form is exhaustive, an informational behemoth of fifty perfectly curated questions, covering everything he could think of ; food, movies, books, soccer tactics, soccer players, underwear brands, the last five questions all about Isagi’s favorite things about him, Barou Shouei. He purposely forgets to add a comment section at the end.
He receives Nagi’s form empty, and Reo threatens to involve his lawyers ; Kunigami’s number returns a ‘ the recipient of this message is unreachable at the moment. Please try again later. ’ and Rin just texts back never to contact him again or else he’s gonna eat his spleen and absorb his striker powers.
Chigiri and Bachira, fortunately, give him material he thinks he can work with. He either has to pick one of the two forms. 50\50 chance.
Barou is feeling sleepy, so he figures he can wing-it tomorrow. He dreams of a giant eye, acute organ pain and drowning in a sea of urchins.
***
Barou is on his way to ambush Isagi again, crossing paths with multiple Bastard München team members, all of them throwing vaguely suspicious looks his way ; Barou is not easily dissuaded. He never really bothered to check out if they’re actually allowed to walk freely into other teams’ training complexes, but Barou has only one rule that dictates his life.
He makes the rules.
He snuck into Zantetsu’s room at the ass crack of dawn, and counted his blessings that the idiot never locked his door, quickly swiping away his fake glasses. He promises to return them later in the day - stealing was the labor of lowly thieves.
Borrowing, however, is an entirely different story.
He spots Isagi as the guy is about to enter one of the screening rooms, and marches in his direction with renewed fervor, waving in a strong but collected fashion. He tries to curb his enthusiasm.
It doesn’t exactly work, because as soon as Isagi notices him and waves back, throwing his stupid, shining smile in the lot for a killer cute-but-deadly combo, it makes Barou weak in the knees, and it pisses him off to no end.
(Barou doesn’t have weak knees. He has warrior knees. He takes stellar care of his articulations, with proper stretching, perfectly adjusted shoes, and a daily intake of curcuma supplements to pre-emptively combat inflammation in his joints.)
“ I was thinking about you ! “ Isagi greets him, ever so nice - Isagi could get a little freaky on the field, and Barou appreciated that, since it contrasted beautifully with his amiable personality outside of it.
Isagi stops, looking at Barou with puzzling eyes ; Barou scowls in return.
“ I’ve never seen you with glasses before. Is this new ? “ and Isagi’s brow furrows.
“ I guess so. “ Barou does not elaborate.
Something is clearly on Isagi’s mind, and he keeps gazing at him, eyes squinting ever so slightly, trying to solve some mysterious puzzle Barou doesn’t have time to think about. Just drop it, you dunce. He forces the thought on his rival-turned-future-lover.
“ Alright. I was about to watch a rare Müller tape Kurona lent me for some inspiration ; you wanna join ? “ Isagi drops the subject matter, and this invitation is just what Barou needs.
“ Yeah, whatever, “ he grunts back ; smooth, Shouei, real smooth. You’ve got this in the bag.
Isagi unlocks the viewing room with his keycard, flicking some lights open, walking in a straight line towards the VHS setup. Barou follows quietly, hands in the pockets of his sweats, looking around in a non-committed fashion. Every training area looked virtually the same ; he figures Ego isn’t the type of guy to bother about decoration, really. The viewing gear was pretty nice, though.
“ There are cushions if you want to sit more comfortably, “ Isagi mutters almost absent-mindedly, fiddling with the tape in a very careful manner. Barou fixates on Isagi’s delicate hands and his gentle movements for a couple seconds before snapping out of it - getting caught staring shouldn’t be added on the ever-growing list of embarrassing moments witnessed by Isagi.
Barou grabs a bunch of cushions and starts arranging them meticulously in a surprisingly accurate rendition of a little loveseat. When Isagi turns back with the remote to join him, he whistles appreciatively and Barou feels very content - especially so when Isagi sits next to him, cozying himself against his side (Barou arranged the cushions like that for this specific purpose).
“ Have you watched Müller before ? “ He asks Barou, pressing start on the remote - the TVs come to life and the sound of a cheering crowd erupts around them as the camera zooms on a tall, slim man with baby blue eyes and a prominent nose, running through the field with efficient and calculated movements.
It would have been a wondrous sight if Barou wasn’t distracted by Isagi’s profile, and the devouring interest lying deep in the pit of his beautiful eyes.
“ No. It’s not really my style, “ Barou mutters against his arms as he scoops his long legs to nest them right under his chin. “ I prefer Balotelli. “
Isagi scoffs, and looks at him with an amused smile. “ I pegged you as a Balotelli guy. “
Barou humphs. “ He’s the best out there. Right after me. “
Isagi chuckles, doesn’t say anything else. His sides are burning him alive with the ever-touching presence of Isagi gently resting against him, legs propped up in front of him, feet peeking out of his slightly oversized pajamas. The fabric feels soft ; Barou imagines the skin underneath is even softer, and he desperately wants to know.
As they keep watching the match, Barou nods at Isagi’s insights, and tries not to get too distracted by the brunette’s infectious enthusiasm. He peeks subtly at his cell phone from time to time ; Bachira’s form is open and Barou browses through the answers, trying to latch onto a potential ice breaker, so he could prove to Isagi he was a smart guy with tons of conversation subjects to offer.
Isagi shoves into him lightly to get his attention, sensing Barou’s distraction - he pouts a little bit, similar to a kid who doesn’t like it when people don’t pay proper attention to something they really enjoy.
“ You missed a fantastic goal, “ He scolds gently, just a little bothered, and it’s actually cute.
“ Rewind it a little bit, will you ? I’ll look at it, I promise. “ Barou is apologetic - a novelty in his life.
They watch the action replay on the screen, and Isagi points at Müller, making Barou follow him on the screen with the guidance of his index finger.
“ See, it’s like he’s there, and then he isn’t - but you can see him from time to time quickly hiding behind other players, taking advantage of their blind spots, “ and Isagi is right, of course - if someone could understand how Müller thought and moved, it was probably the midfielder next to him.
He steals a goal right from under the nose of the opposite team, and even Barou has to admit it’s a real fucking cool goal.
Isagi woos lightly, settling back against him. As the match continues, Barou remembers the last answer he had a peek of from Bachira’s google form, and he clears his throat.
“ Do you like Goncharov ? “
Unfortunately for Barou - Bachira is a bit of a troll.
“ Sorry, what ? “ Isagi glances at him and then back, eyebrows raising in confusion, still trying to look at the screen.
“ Do you like Goncharov ? “ Barou speaks louder - obviously, Isagi didn’t hear him properly the first time. “ You know, the Martin Scorsese movie ? “
Isagi pauses the match, looks back at Barou with an increasingly furrowed brow, panic rising slightly on his face, and Barou is in Hell - again.
“ I - what ? “
Barou starts panicking.
“ You know, Goncharov ? “ He sounds a little manic, and he probably is, but he’s a second away from losing his shit entirely. “ The movie Goncharov? Isn’t it your favourite movie ? “ and he looks at Isagi with pleading eyes, asking for a swift and merciful death.
The silence around them is deafening. Awful, deafening, and reeking of desperation.
“ I like the Avengers, “ Isagi says in a quiet tone, like he’s talking to a cornered animal.
Barou’s left eye starts twitching uncontrollably, and he feels the anguish rise in his throat as he breathes very suddenly, and very loudly. Isagi has never seemed this worried before, and the boy starts gently probing Barou on his neck, his head, his face, looking for something - an explanation, probably (good luck with that).
“ You have a concussion, don’t you ? “ Isagi finally says, and Barou cackles maniacally - it sounds like rust and grinding gears. “ It’s the only explanation for the weird things you’ve been up to - kissing Kaiser, “ Isagi’s disgust is faintly visible on his face. “ Your clumsiness at practice, and now your incoherent speech. “
Isagi gets up, has Barou lay down on the floor, head resting on some cushions.
“ This is really serious, Barou - stay here, I need to go find a nurse. “ He only sees Isagi’s feet walk away from his field of vision, as the words block in his throat in defeated admission.
Barou screams at the silent image of Müller taunting him from the TV, and breaks the remote with his bare hand.
4. SNUFFY
Barou is pacing in front of Mark Snuffy’s office with the raging despair of a caged lion, glaring at anyone who dares come into his vicinity - he’s been there for about half an hour now.
Barou is at his wits end ; he’s literally tried everything he could come up with, and every single time had ended in agonizing misery. Isagi had forced him to see not one, but two different nurses, because he was convinced Barou had some sort of untreated brain damage, and wouldn’t take the first diagnosis seriously.
Now Barou won’t look him in the eyes, and tries to ignore his worried texts, as well as the absurd amount of WebMD articles about obscure brain injuries Isagi sends his way.
If there’s one thing Barou refuses to do at any time, it’s pity. He’d rather die.
And so, faced with the greatest challenge of his short but proud life, Barou serves himself a slice of humble pie, swallows back his ego akin to burning bile, and goes knocking at the door of the most insightful man he knows.
He’s about to furiously bang his fist on the polished metal of Snuffy’s door, when it opens swiftly in his face, and his football coach is staring at him with a tired, unamused look on his face.
“ Just get inside. “
Barou follows him, crosses the door, enters the phoenix’s lair.
He sits on a creaking chair in front of Snuffy, who props one of his legs on top of the other, hands resting casually on the armchairs of his seat.
“ Is it foolish to hope you’re here to ask my advice about football plays ? “ and it’s like he already knows.
Barou wonders if it’s worth it, all of it - if he can just make a run for it, and forget he was ever here - forget his infatuation for Isagi altogether, and just … Just get a fucking grip.
Barou sighs.
“ I need dating advice. “
Snuffy is taking a sip of his tea, and he violently chokes on the liquid. Barou spends thirty very awkward seconds watching his mentor fight for his life, and briefly wonders if his presence here was enough to convict him with accidental manslaughter.
Snuffy regains his composure eventually, looking at Barou like he’s lost his mind - at this point, he was used to it.
“ This is literally the last thing I expected from you. “ Snuffy’s voice is raspy, and he takes a proper sip of his cup, this time, trying to soothe his irritated trachea. “ You keep surprising me, you little shitster. “
Snuffy then settles into his professional Coach Look and stares at Barou with inquisitive eyes.
“ Why haven’t your attempts worked so far ? “ The question is simple - the answer, much more complex.
“ Several things, I suppose. “ Barou decides he’s to be honest. “ Frankly, I’m pretty clueless at romance, and I’ve received questionable guidance. “
Snuffy keeps looking at him without saying anything, assessing what Barou just said, thinking deeply about it. His coach was meticulous - left nothing unanswered for, and Barou hated it when football was concerned, but he thought that maybe this way of thinking was useful in other aspects of life.
“ What did I try to teach you, Barou ? “ He finally asks back.
“ Nothing, “ Barou replies without skipping a beat, an unimpressed look plastered on his face.
Snuffy purposefully ignores that.
“ Only when you have considered all of the possibilities, and made plans to ensure you can achieve the winning formula of a goal - your goal - can you successfully get what you want. “ He gets up, gives him a little slap on the shoulder.
“ Get working, you useless King, “ the scrawny man smirks at him, eyes piercing through his naked soul. “ Figure out every possible outcome out of countless dates. Find your way to the perfect one. “
Barou clings to his words with a desperate last attempt.
“ Rise from the ashes of your failures. “
***
Barou has been stuck at his desk for what felt like twelve maddening weeks ; in reality, five hours or so had passed.
His door was condemned to the living, room transformed into a frigid kingdom of death and reincarnation ; he could feel the presence of frightened mortals lurk on the outside, ushering words that meant nothing to him. He was consumed by his current craft.
Barou is feverishly scribbling battle plans and elaborate diagrams on the very last page of his notebook, surrounded by balls of paper scattered around him in a mess that would normally send him into anaphylactic shock. His wastebasket is spilling out ink and paper in a desolate mine field of anguish, foot intermittently kicking discarded dreams further away under his desk. Next to him, his cell phone’s screen is stuck on the fiftieth tab of his latest subject research, his battery screaming flashing red at him.
Barou had consumed an inhuman amount of various romance medias in the past couple hours, ranging from movie analysis, romance novels summaries, shoujo manga reviews - even dating advice columns for middle-aged single women. To anyone else, his notes looked like the lunatic incantations of a man gone mad, but Barou was following Snuffy’s advice to heart. He was projecting everything he had into dating Isagi Yoichi.
Except it isn’t really working - it’s past midnight, now, and Barou is stuck on his nth calculation, fighting away the exhaustion settling in his eyelids and luring him to sleep with gentle arms.
He had made countless adjustments ; figured out counters to other counters. Planned for everything that could go wrong with any of his date ideas, and the more he desperately fought against it, the more his plans cracked and crumbled under weaknesses and blind spots.
He comes to the conclusion that the perfect date simply doesn’t exist.
The perfect date doesn’t exist because he, Barou Shouei, isn’t perfect. It all boils down to that.
Barou suddenly drops his head against his notebook in a loud ‘thud’ and lets out a muffled scream into the night, hands gripping strongly at his wooden desk.
Nothing will work. He will die single and a football failure, utterly forgotten, and Isagi will probably go on with his life and marry a model with a ball for a head.
I’m delirious, Barou thinks as he massages his eyes, stretching the skin under his eyes, raw flesh exposed and prickling.
He rips out the very last page of his notebook, forms a perfect sphere with it, and considers eating it. Settles for throwing it with all the force he can muster across his room ; the paper ball ends up in the water glass resting on his nightstand.
He watches the paper slowly dissolve for a while, finding solace in the poetry of it all.
***
The next morning, after a night of restless sleep, Barou gets up with the sun and does the most creative thing he can think of : he calls his mom.
She answers the call with her gentle voice, happy to hear him muffle a low and loving “ Hi, ‘ma, “ into the speaker of his cellphone.
He’s sitting alone in his PJs in the middle of the practice field, his football gear waiting, neatly packaged next to him - and he feels clarity take over his life once more, as he lets his mom dote over him for several minutes.
“I hope they’re feeding you properly over there, “ she says in a worried voice ; he can only smile softly, missing his mother’s home cooked meals.
“ It’s alright, “ he answers distractingly, stomping an uneven patch of grass under his bare feet. “ It’s balanced. The ingredients are fresh. Is Akemi still fussing over her homework?“
“ That she does, “ his mother chuckles, “ She misses you a lot. Both her and Chiyo do. “ He can hear ‘ I miss you too ‘ right through her voice. If he was a weaker man, he would consider going home.
He doesn’t say anything more, so the next question she asks is riddled with insight only the greatest of mothers possess.
“ Why are you calling me so early, Shouei? “
It’s like a dam breaks inside of him ; he lays it bare for her, all he’s been up to, all the disaster and the pain and the ugliness he’s been holding up inside of himself for the past week - the past months. Barou tells her how much her son is a failure. He thinks he’s crying, but he doesn’t want to make it real.
“ Shouei, my sweet, “ she sighs gently, and his mother seems sad - Barou hates that he made her sad. “ You haven’t failed at anything. “
“ I haven’t succeeded, “ he replies, bitterness directed at his shortcomings.
“ No, you haven’t, “ and there’s a but. “ You haven’t succeeded because you tried being someone you’re not. “
That’s my problem, isn’t it, mom ?
“ What if who I am isn’t enough? “ Barou chokes a little bit on the words.
Her mother laughs very gently, and it heals all of the little scars he painfully sliced over his own heart.
“ Baby, if you really are meant to be with this person, you’re already enough. “ He supposes she has a good point.
But he still can’t figure out what to do.
“I’m scared, mom, “ he confesses, arm draped over his eyes like it could shield him from the truth. “ What should I do ? I don’t know how to date anyone. “
“ What are you afraid of, Shouei ? “
Trust.
His mom reads between his silences ; mothers are made of magic and stardust.
“ Have you tried trusting this person ? “ and she knows the answer, because how could Barou even begin to understand how trust worked - he’s always been a lonely child, on top of his lonely mountain. “ Can you trust that they know you enough to understand all of the wonderful things you offer to this world ? “
Barou is unable to speak ; can only feel.
“ What would YOU do, Shouei ? What would the real you do ?”
***
Barou doesn’t feel nervous, for once.
Well, maybe just a little bit - but he feels strangely collected. His mind is a clear, shining field, and he knows what he has to do to score this goal.
He’s waiting for Isagi to come meet him at the Uber’s screening room. He’s in his jammies, hair shiny and down from his shower earlier - bright red stripes falling in strands all over his shoulders and giving him some sort of undefined courage.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and Barou goes to open it, slips out of the room for a brief instant ; his eyes meets Isagi’s, and it’s like nothing ever happened in the last week. The boy just stands there, smiling at him, and he smells like soap and the pale light of spring.
Barou falls in love all over again.
“ So, are we getting in ? “ Isagi’s curiosity is piqued.
Barou lets out a small sigh, gathers up his courage once more.
Ok, here we go.
He lets Isagi enter the room, following closely, and shuts the door softly as the brunette is caught staring in a silent awe at the sight unfolding in front of him.
The main lights are closed, but shining motes are floating everywhere around them, emanating from the strings of fairy lights Barou meticulously installed on the bare walls of the room. In the center, standing tall and illuminated from the darkness, rests a small pillow fort Barou had built by recruiting the effort of his Uber teammates and raiding the Blue Lock emergency closets of almost all of their pillows. He’s put his own comforter - just cleaned, smelling like freshly-cut grass and a little bit of his own cologne - around it to give them some privacy, and hopefully create an alluring setting. Isagi moves slowly towards the fort, and sees that in front of it, a small dish full of bite-sized protein bar chunks is plated in an aesthetically pleasing way. Two hydrolyzed water bottles are placed neatly next to the snacks - Barou was serious about proper hydration. The screens were already turned on and what appeared to be a football match was staring back at them, the Italian flag shining proud on the players’ jerseys.
Isagi is dead silent ; he hasn’t moved in a minute. Barou feels the sweat cover his forehead in a thin sheen, and he starts to panic just a little bit - remembers the voice of his mom.
He recenters himself.
“ So, hum, “ Barou clears his throat, trying his best to hide how nervous he is and maintains a casual tone. “ What do you think ? “
Isagi slowly turns back to face him, his face staring blankly back at him ; somehow, it feels worse than rejection.
“ This is incredibly … sweet, “ Isagi finally lets out, and the air is pregnant with the anticipation of what’s to come.
It’s like something clicks in Isagi’s eyes - every puzzle piece falling into their rightful place, and Isagi finally sees Barou for who is.
“ Is that what you’ve been trying to do all this time ? “ He smiles, sweet and a little teasing. “ Asking me on a date ? “
Barou averts his gaze, cheeks flush as his pride gets tickled - he still isn’t sure he likes that whole vulnerability thing, but Isagi hasn’t exactly rejected him.
So he proceeds.
“ And what if I am ? “
He looks at Isagi with fierceness, tries to convey just how earnest he is about it all - he wants to date Isagi. Seriously date the shit out of Isagi.
Isagi starts laughing, light and saccharine - it’s not a mocking, nor a taunting laugh. It’s a knowing one.
“ You’ve always been a bit clueless. “
Barou looks offended, and Isagi quickly takes hold of his hand - it’s been a while since he touched his hand last, and Barou intertwines their fingers together.
“ It’s part of the many, many things I like about you. “
Barou could roar from happiness, and victory. He pictures Isagi nested against his side, telling him about all of the other things - and decides that it was all worth it, all this pain and this misery. Just so he could tell this stupid boy that he loved him.
He guides Isagi to the fort, helps him settle in, and the other boy fits right beside him like the missing part of a thousand pieces jigsaw puzzle. Isagi, in all his forwardness, takes Barou’s arm and wraps himself around it, places his large hand on his dainty hip - Barou grabs at it with a possessive grip, and he feels a purr about to escape his throat.
“ Shall we, then ? “ Isagi’s smile is a little wicked, but his eyes are so gentle because Isagi is a good person.
Despite the rivalry, the messiness of the football field, the insults and the devouring and the all consuming obsession - at heart, at his core, Isagi is good.
“ I’ve put on one of my favorite football matches, “ Barou simply states - he wants to show Isagi everything he loves about football (he doesn’t say that last part out loud).
“ Which one is it? “ Isagi asks, interested.
He starts tracing little hearts in the open palm of Barou’s hand, and it rearranges his brain chemistry.
“ June ‘12, Italy versus Germany, “ Barou smirks. “ Balotelli’s most legendary match. “
Isagi rolls his eyes playfully, and before Barou hits play, his gaze meets shining blue eyes - and Barou thinks that it’s stupid and effortless when you just do things. And don’t think too much about them.
Let this be a lesson for the ages.
Isagi closes his eyes ; Barou closes his too, just at the very last second, because his eyes are always gonna be looking for Isagi.
Scoring a goal was his favourite thing in the whole world, but Barou finds out that night that kissing Isagi Yoichi is almost as good as that.