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The way his spikes dig into the fake grass is a familiar feeling from the past.
Unmei, in the bright lights of the stadium, on the last leg until the champions are crowned. It’s something he stopped dreaming of years ago.
But what else could he do, with a team member down with a sprain and an empty spot in the formation when the victory was so close to their fingertips? They all had put so much towards this moment - to form the club, to make it grow and prosper, and to get a foothold in the tournament - all their blood, sweat and tears couldn’t be for nothing, he would make sure of that.
And deep in his cursed heart… Unmei wanted this.
He needed this. To play along his team one more time.
The whistle rings loud in his ears.
He’s far from peak physical condition, but he knows their strategy and the opponents better than anyone, so he manages.
His skills are rusty and his limbs get heavier with every step he runs, but he makes it work.
He ignores the growing pressure inside his chest and focuses on the moment, on the ball, on the joy.
He’s fighting. Despite the pain, he’s feeling better than ever.
Then there’s a chance.
He kicks the ball, with all his hopes and dreams and energy he has left, and the ghost of an old hissatsu sparks along the pass. Sakurazaki chains it with his own technique, roaring its name louder than ever, and a bright light engulfs the goal.
The ball is in. They take the lead, just moments before the time is full.
Unmei can’t hear the whistle or the announcer or the audience exploding in yells and shouts, his ears are filled with his pulse and ragged breathing, but he sees Kisoji and Sakurazaki cheering. They catch his eyes and smile and Unmei doesn’t try to stop the smile forming on his lips too.
In that moment, he has no regrets.
But his chest clenches and he can’t fight the pain anymore.
He grasps his shirt and his body doubles down. It’s a cold burn, stabbing through the cavity of his chest and what’s inside, spreading slowly and freezing his mind. The pain holds his lungs, not letting them expand, and he gasps for air in desperation and slowly growing panic.
There’s people around him, he’s somewhat aware, and a very gentle hand grips his shoulder. There’s Sakurazaki, looking at him with wide eyes, and he asks something. Where? Chest, Unmei thinks he manages to word it out, and he knows Sakurazaki understands. They all understand what’s going on.
Someone else is speaking too, but the words slip through the pained haze, like the rest of the faces of the people around. There’s another question, probably, but he has no air left and there’s a sudden wheezing right in his ears. He can’t help closing his eyes tight.
Someone moves him, turning his body sideways and against something, and the pressure lets a little more air into his lungs. But the pain doesn’t ease and Unmei reaches his hand out for something, for someone, and the instant he feels a warmth against his palm he grabs and holds, tight and tight and tighter.
He holds tight onto his life because it’s all he can do.
Jouji’s breath hitches when he sees Sasanami crumple down.
He lunges towards him. How could he have forgotten? He was against this, they all were, but Unmei was hard-headed and shared the same desperation as the whole team, if not even heavier.. Jouji wanted to play with him too, more than he ever wanted anything, but he never could say it out loud in fear of ruining everything. Ruining Sasanami’s life.
But he was so determined, and happy, and now he is on the ground and in pain and possibly dying-
“Sasanami!” Jouji calls as he falls down on his knees right by him, gripping his shoulder as gently as he can. The strategist manages to lift his face, scrunched up in pain. There’s only a sliver of recognition in his watery eyes. “Where does it hurt?” Jouji asks, almost pleading for a confirmation for his fears that he prays to be false, and gets it as a strained whisper. Of course it’s his chest, of course it is his heart.
Their teammates have gathered around, and the stadium medics arrive. “Do you know what happened?” One of them asks, crouching next to them. “He- he has a heart condition, I don’t remember the name..” Jouji starts and sees instructor Kasumisaki along the medics, with a phone on her ear.
The man next to him nods and turns to Sasanami. “Do you hear me, Sasanami? Do you have medication with you?” But the boy doesn’t respond, instead his breathing gets even more strained and loud. “Let’s try moving him to his side”, the medic says but before he can act, Jouji pulls Sasanami close and carefully turns him sideways, upper body somewhat cushioned against his own thighs.
Jouji steadies his position and seems like Sasanami’s breathing eases a bit. He reaches out his free hand and without a thought, Jouji grabs it and almost flinches at the tight grip he gets.
The cacophony of voices blurs out. The distressed teammates around them, making a loose veil for privacy; instructor Kasumisaki talking on the emergency line, sharing the instructions with the medics; the worried but considerate Raimon players keeping their distance and discussing among themselves; an announcement of some sort of the situation, and general confused noise from the audience.
Jouji wishes he could shut them all up. They didn’t need to be a part of it. Well, their team did, and of course the instructor and the medics. But he wishes there was something to hide them from the eyes of the outside world.
Sasanami keeps struggling. The medics keep checking his pulse, unable to do much. Jouji can’t think.
A shake on his shoulder snaps Jouji back to his senses. “Sakurazaki”, Shinohara says, assuming correctly that he has no idea what’s happening, “they’re moving Sasanami so the paramedics can get him faster.”
Jouji now sees the stretcher and medics around. Sasanami hasn't let go of his hand, so he won’t let go, either.
The medics effortlessly but very carefully lift Sasanami up, and Jouji follows next to the stretchers, holding on in hopes it soothes the other’s pain even for a bit.
Somewhere along the way in the stadium building, Mrs. Sasanami appears, a crying mess. Jouji can’t imagine how it feels like to watch the same tragedy unfoil a second time, and he thinks he talks with her shortly, even when he’s left with no recollection of it for later.
They’re at the main entrance, and the sirens are already echoing far away, closing in too slow for his liking.
Jouji has to let go of Sasanami’s hand. He knows it’s inevitable, but he fears it will be the last time he holds him.
He lets go. And he’s left at the entrance, the ambulance speeding off in a flurry of red and blue and ear-piercing alarm.
He breathes in. He breathes out.
Kisoji and Shisendo are next to him, silent. Like they’re afraid to talk to him.
Jouji feels like he still can’t think, but he can still feel Sasanami’s grip on his palm, and he knows what to do.
A determination sets on his jaw, and he turns around so suddenly his teammates jolt on their spots.
“Come on”, Jouji growls. “We got a championship to win.”
Jouji spends the next half a day in the waiting room.
Their victory celebration is skipped as they all rush to the hospital, anxious for any news. Mrs. Sasanami is there and tells them he was immediately taken into an emergency surgery that is still underway.
Her eyes are red-rimmed but dry, voice surprisingly steady, but when Jouji takes her shaking hand she holds him back tightly.
The team fills up most of the waiting room, both in space and noise, and they’re soon ushered away with promises of updates as soon as something new is learned, but Jouji and a few others stay.
They settle on some chairs and wait, wait even though the clock barely moves and no one shows up to tell them anything.
They get drinks from a vending machine, Mrs. Sasanami insists she’s fine but Jouji gets her tea anyway.
It’s dark outside. Kisoji can’t keep his eyes open anymore, and Shinohara doesn’t fare much better. “Go home”, Jouji’s command holds less weight and more emotion, “I’ll text you.”
Now it’s just the two of them.
Time still doesn’t really pass.
Then there’s a nurse addressing Mrs. Sasanami, and they’re both up on their feet in an instant. It’s about the surgery - it’s going well, out of immediate danger but not in the clear yet, something about a procedure and medical language Jouji has no chance of following with - but Mrs. Sasanami understands and gives them permission for something. And even he can understand it’s something risky, but necessary.
The nurse leaves and Mrs. Sasanami looks even more tired, more lost. Jouji sits her down and holds her hand, silent, a steady rock to hold on to.
When she finally looks up, the tiny curve on her lips is not as forced as it could be.
And they wait. Jouji sends some group texts, Sasanami’s mother fiddles with the hem of her sleeve.
Jouji suddenly thinks of the Sasanami household. A small apartment, clean but kind of cluttered, how sunlight hits the kitchen wall in the morning.
He gets up. “I’ll go out for a sec, I’ll be right back.” He knows the closest convenience store is open 24/7.
He goes out and thinks of all the time he’s spent in that cozy place, first with just homework, then sharing dinners and helping out and just comfortably sharing space. How much of himself he’s bared open inside those safe walls, how they always made him feel like family.
So much unlike the cold, empty rooms of the building where his home address leads.
Jouji returns with a bag of a small variety of food and they share a meal with Mrs. Sasanami. It’s not the best of meals with just konbini stuff, and neither of them get much down, but it’s something.
It’s the least he can do.
Mrs. Sasanami is dozing off against Jouji’s shoulder when she’s called, and she’s immediately up and awake. This time it’s the operating surgeon.
The surgery went well. The details slip past him again, but Sasanami’s in recovery, they’re going to wake him up. Something about extubation and a familiar face. Mrs. Sasanami’ is relieved, but there’s also something tight still in her demeanor.
“Can he come too?” She asks, and her hands are trembling. For support, but Jouji’s not sure for who. Maybe for all of them.
Stay in the back, they might need room around the bed, but he gets a clear. He can do that, it’s what he does best.
Sasanami looks even tinier than normally, buried in all the equipment and wires and tubes.
Jouji stands in the back of the room, watching the staff work around the bed, Mrs. Sasanami close by. Some machine beeps quietly in a steady rhythm, and there’s a sound of airflow, a mechanical in and out, in and out. Jouji can’t count how many wires he can see disappearing under the hospital gown.
Jouji stands silent, he stands still. Every movement feels too much, but he can’t look away.
They get signs he’s waking up. The beeping picks up and Jouji’s breath seizes for a second - but the staff reacts like they expected it, and Jouji trusts them more than the medical dramas in the morning TV.
Sasanami’s mother holds his hand when he opens his eyes.
A nurse is checking on him, others with the machines and close by, and Sasanami looks surprisingly calm for someone poked full of equipment and with a tube down his throat. But he’s most likely also full of painkillers, so that probably helps.
He doesn’t look like he’s in pain. Something in Jouji’s own chest eases a little.
Sasanami catches his gaze for a second. The deep sea green eyes are dull, but there’s some kind of relief underneath, and if Jouji wasn’t frozen solid still he’d snort in a why are you making that face way.
The staff catches Sasanami’s attention again, they need to go through some things.
Jouji tries to focus on something else. He’s probably enough of a breachment of privacy just by being there. Instead of listening, he watches Sasanami’s hand, sandwiched between his mother’s own, and how the cannula disappears under a tape and into the back of his hand.
Sasanami apparently fails a breathing test. It’s okay, they’re told, they’ll see to some things and try again later. He just has to bear with the assisted breathing for a little longer.
Neither Sasanami looks too worried, but Jouji can see deeper than the surface.
The staff is apparently done with everything they needed to do right then. They will continue some tests soon, but they will give a little space for them before that. Mrs. Sasanami nods and thanks them.
Sasanami himself just blinks, unable to speak yet, and turns his eyes to the figure in the corner.
Jouji suddenly becomes too aware of himself in the room. He doesn’t want to go, but he’s not quite sure what else to do.
Mrs. Sasanami follows his son’s gaze to Jouji, they both look at him with soft eyes, and that’s what it takes to get him to break off his odd daze and step forward, stiff, cautious.
He minds the equipment and stops close to the edge of the bed. He looks at the wires and tubes snaking underneath the gown draped over his chest, the cannula of some sort taped on the side of his neck and the variety of vials attached to it.
And the tube that brings air in and out of him, and his eyes, despite all of this, watching Jouji so soft and calm. Why? How can he be so content in such a life-devastating choice he made?
“We won.” Jouji says bluntly, so he won’t lose his restraint. “Thanks to you.”
Sasanami squints his eyes and Jouji can almost hear the judging tone without any words.
Jouji sighs. There are a thousand things in his mind, but none are willing to come out. He feels like how he was before the soccer club: isolated by his own choice.
He places his hand on the bed sheet, just barely touching Sasanami’s fingers with his own. Sasanami slightly turns his hand so they’re not quite holding hands, but the half of a palm resting against Jouji’s is enough of an encouragement.
He takes a deep breath.
“We'll take care of the club, so you just focus on getting better.” He tries and fails to keep his voice even. “You’ll get better… right?”
Sasanami blinks slowly and brushes his index finger against Jouji’s thumb. Jouji nods, and nods again, and he has no more words.
Mrs. Sasanami takes her turn then, talking softly about how Jouji took care of her while they waited, if he needs something from home, what comes next; her chatter is casual like planning a shopping list, and her son listens with tired interest.
Jouji realizes their hands are still resting against each other. They separate only when the nurses are back to usher the guests away for a while. Jouji gives Sasanami a silent look before stepping out of the room when the head nurse was still explaining the upcoming tests to Mrs. Sasanami.
Jouji stops in the hallway and stares at the faraway wall, or maybe just into the distance in between.
Sasanami is alive. He’s not in danger anymore.
He held his hand. It was warm. Isn’t that proof enough?
He should text others, to let them know. They’ll need to plan who takes on the management duties until Sasanami’s good to return. How much is the clock, is it too late to text? Probably not in this situation.
Will they be able to visit only during visitor hours? Was he considered close enough to keep coming in with Mrs. Sasanami? Should he inform home he won’t be coming in soon?
Will Unmei really be okay?
“Sakurazaki?” Her voice is quiet and Jouji tenses up.
He turns to face the woman. Even in the shadows of the dimmed hallway he can tell she’s got nothing but warmth for him. Her touch is barely a ghost on his arm, careful, but calming. “It’s alright now. You did well.”
Jouji blinks. Again.
And again and again and again until it does nothing to keep the tears at bay, and his breath trembles.
Mrs. Sasanami steps closer. “Thank you for taking care of us.”
Jouji can’t hold the sob in.
He leans into the open arms, and it’s not quite an embrace but his hands ball against the soft cardigan and his tears and cries muffle against her shoulder. The arms around his back are heavy but warm and they feel safe, safe in a way that makes him miss his mother and his father and how things could have been.
And he found another sunny spot for his heart, a safe and warm place to tend to his soul, and now he almost lost it too and his inability to prevent it was devastating. He feels like a kid again, punched down and stripped of freedom and forced to lock his heart in a box.
Mrs. Sasanami doesn’t let go.
Jouji doesn’t want to look away from the light in the doorway. He doesn’t want to let go of the warm hand that leads him there and keeps the door open. He’s afraid of falling back into the dark, losing his hope, losing him.
Mrs. Sasanami holds him tighter.
Time muddles and probably stopped at some point. When Jouji finally lifts his head, mind too blurred to be more than a little embarrassed of the mess he made of her cardigan, Mrs. Sasanami smiles despite her wet eyes.
“Let’s get something to drink, shall we?”
‘Give me the chance to play football again!’
Jouji blinks his eyes open. The room is basking in golden evening light. Did he fall asleep?
He looks at the bed and Sasanami in it; in the same familiar spot, same notebook in his hand, but instead of reading it he’s watching Jouji. Somehow it feels like he’s been watching him for a while now.
Jouji watches him back.
“You should go home to sleep”, Sasanami says, monotone and without accusation. Jouji stretches his arms before replying. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go when your mom comes back.”
Sasanami just huffs a breath and turns back to his notebook.
It’s the second evening in the ward. Sasanami got the intubation tube weaned off some hours after waking up and he was moved out of the recovery soon after, when he was confirmed to be able to breathe well on his own. It’s no surprise he’ll have to stay in for monitoring for a while, but at least his current room is much calmer and comfortable.
“Calm” is something that has been on Jouji’s mind these days. Sasanami has not once broken the calmness he’s had since waking up. Not even when he was deemed fit enough for visitors, and the whole soccer club barged in at once when the visiting hours started. He was showered with questions and “get well soon”s and his table is still full of flowers and yet uneaten fruits and snacks, but the most that even the sudden burst of life and noise got out of him was a gentle chuckle.
The visitors deemed him as tired. And he probably was tired, by how much he still sleeps and how much medicine still flows into him from the tubes. But Jouji’s not totally convinced. There’s something… something missing from his eyes.
Sasanami sighs and lowers the notebook again.
“Should you be the one sleeping?” Jouji says with a slight tease in his tone.
“I wouldn’t mind, I like sleeping.” Sasanami pinches the bridge of his nose, free of the oxygen tube until the night nurse comes by. “But I hate how I can’t keep focus for long.”
“That means you need the sleep, dumbass.” Jouji gets up and sits on the edge of the bed instead. He takes the notebook and puts it on the only empty corner on the side table.
Sasanami purses his lips like he wants to talk back but knows he’d be fighting a losing battle. But he doesn’t look too tired, and the warm glow on the sheets and on his cheeks and on the strands of hair framing his face is making Jouji a bit bold.
“Say, Sasanami.” Jouji starts and his own voice sounds strange to him.
He’s met with a questioning gaze and he continues before he can start hesitating.
“Were you really ready to die on the field?”
Sasanami is silent. They’re both silent. Jouji can only hear the air in and out of his lungs and the way a monitor picks up its beeping in the background.
The silence stretches and Jouji lets Sasanami think. It was a sudden question, maybe an unfair one, out of the blue. The least he can do is to let him figure out what he wants to share. So he’s the one to break their eye contact, turning his gaze to the window. It won’t be long until the light of the day will fade again, the last strays of gold and orange embracing the space around them.
When Sasanami speaks, he does so with that eerie calmness, but his words are steady.
“I made my decision when I stepped in. But it’s not like I want to die.”
Jouji hesitantly looks back at him. The tenseness in his features makes Jouji want to take his hand, but he doesn’t move.
“I don’t know if anyone else can really understand it, but… it felt like it was something I needed to do. It didn’t matter what was coming after, as long as I got to do my part one more time.”
The sun’s light hits his eyes and they shine with something dark but comforting. “I don’t want to die, but I would’ve been okay to go then.”
So much determination, for such a young human. Jouji could swear he was at least twice his age, based on the weight behind his words, if he didn’t know better. The times he’s been jokingly and lovingly called a grandpa make more sense now.
(And now he can thankfully snuff out the small but scalding ember of one fear in the back of his mind.)
“Sorry”, Sasanami says, a little quieter. “Depressing stuff.”
Jouji shakes his head and finally moves his hand on Sasanami’s, and entwines their fingers. “Nah, that’s more like you. If you ended that in a silly joke to lift the mood, I’d have to go hit some doctors for doing a bad job.”
The curve on Sasanami’s lips would have gone unnoticed if Jouji didn’t know to look for it.
“It’s just something that’s been in the back of my mind for a long time, I guess.” He continues talking and brushes his thumb against the side of Jouji’s palm. “I know soccer’s not everything in life, but… Sometimes it really feels like it was the only thing I had.”
Jouji remembers Sasanami hanging from his lapels, his frown angry but eyes full of sad tears that glistened in the setting sun. Desperate, pleading. In a way, he thinks he can understand. He doesn’t share the same undying passion, the burning need in his veins, but he can understand.
He thinks of his father, and… maybe, if only a little, he can understand.
“But you still have soccer. And you have…” Jouji hesitates and backs off, “...us.”
Either Sasanami doesn’t notice the slight pause or he lets it pass by. “I know.” He sighs and turns to look out of the window, eyelids heavier than before. “When I got on the field, I… kind of knew, I thought ‘this would be it’. No matter the outcome, it would be my last spark. I might have to live with that loss, but I don’t regret it.”
Sasanami’s hand feels unnaturally warm against Jouji’s own. He continues, and what his words lose in volume, they gain it in determination. “I want to take Nagumohara as far as possible. And Sakurazaki… I want to see you go even further than that.”
Jouji can’t deny that he’s been thinking about that. Aiming high with the current club, through the years in Nagumohara, and then after… The dream of keeping on playing, possibly even getting a career out of it, is new and shy but at this moment, he feels it stronger than ever. And the images in his mind always have Sasanami in them, without Jouji consciously arranging them.
It’s a new constant Jouji doesn’t want changing anytime soon, or maybe ever. But he’s not ready to say that much out loud.
Sasanami’s eyes droop again.
“You better get some sleep so you can take us to the top, then”, Jouji snorts and with a quick squeeze, he untangles their fingers before settling back on the guest chair.
Sasanami doesn’t seem too disappointed, he just follows Jouji with his gaze before settling more comfortably against the pillows with a sigh. “You’ll come tomorrow in the afternoon, right?”
Jouji cringes inside at the unsaid don’t skip classes to come here earlier, a clear result of Jouji ditching a full day when Sasanami was still in the recovery room. Despite the defying motion of crossing arms, he nods slightly. “Yeah, at the latest when the visiting hours start, depending if I can shake the rest of the club off.”
Sasanami doesn’t reply anymore and Jouji watches his face relax into sleep.
The sun has just set behind the cityscape, sky still blooming with gold and fire but the room steadily grows cooler in tone. Jouji doesn’t fight the yawn escaping his lips.
Maybe tonight he will finally get some rest.