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The first time is an honest mistake. You don’t make it a habit to ogle other guys, but the steam had been particularly thin in the showers that day, and Reo had called your name at the wrong time, and, well.
In hindsight, it’s not your fault, really—
The first thing that you notice is that he’s hairless everywhere, save for the mop of hair on his head. Instead, he’s smooth, the expanse of skin that you see is as pale as the moon, unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Sharp lines on his stomach invite your eyes further down.
You whip your head away before you can see any more of his manlier bits, but at this point, the damage is done.
It’s the lack of sleep. Going from a solid eight hours a night to five, max, on top of back-to-back training was taking a toll on your mind and body. Not to mention with the very distinct lack of the opposite gender, your brain’s bound to wander to some… strange places.
Quickly, so no one registers your lack of response to a question you’ve already forgotten, you dump the water bucket by your feet over your head in an attempt to wash away these depraved thoughts.
“Dude. Are you good?” Hijikata, your designated goalkeeper, is caught in the splash, but with your rush to get to the bath- you’re oblivious, only retorting with a weak ‘shut the fuck up’.
You try, you really do, beating the thought into submission when it demands your attention, but the image of Nagi, smooth skin decorated with pearls of water is branded into the back of your eyes. It haunts you when you sleep, and especially so when you’re in that damned shower room.
It’s bothersome, because your rank has decreased by one, and you’re even starting to slip up on the field. But in some ways at least you’re lucky to be placed onto a team with the freak trio of Reo, Zantetsu, and— Nagi.
Your performance causes enough alarm in Reo that he starts forcing you into being the unofficial practice dummy, if only because he doesn’t want you dragging the rest of the team down. Fine— you deserved that much. But today, he’s trying to have you voluntarily in Nagi’s presence, which is appalling, and not at all appealing.
“Hah? No way.” You’re glaring up at him from the ground, stretching out your aching calves. “I’m going to get tangled up in his freaky-ass limbs. They’re like tentacles.”
Your teammate lets out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. “I had a feeling you might say that.” And pulls out a stack of crisp five-dollar bills.
Your eyes grow wide, transfixed on the encouragement Reo’s dangling in front of your face. “Dude, where’d you even get that?”
“Are you in, or not?”
You’re offended. Did you really seem that easily swayed— so much so that you can be bought with money?
“So, what do you need?” You tuck the thick wad of cash away, safely.
He points a thumb at Nagi, who, today, is lying belly first on the ground with his legs kicking in the air, playing a game on his phone. You would’ve called him cute if he wasn’t so, well, him. “You know how he is. He’s great at killing the ball’s movement, but when it comes down to it, I think he can use some more practice with game plans.”
You snort. “Yeah. The guy plays off of pure instinct.”
Reo claps his hands together, pleased. “Great! I knew I could count on you, Goldfish. You’re the best!” He smacks you on the back once, and leaves.
“Wha, wait. What exactly am I supposed to do with him?” But nearby, one of your other teammates is the one to reply, looking like he’s pitying you.
“Good luck getting that guy to do anything, man. Just last night I saw Reo feeding him dinner.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” You grumble, very delicately flipping your too-rich-for-his-own-good teammate off behind his back.
It’s for the money, you remind yourself, preparing for a difficult time lugging Nagi out of his relaxed state. “Hey, baby giraffe. Wanna dribble with me?”
You’re not expecting an acknowledgement right away, but to your surprise, he sets his phone down and lumbers over to you almost immediately.
And here you’d seen him bitching and moaning about moving for much less at Reo. Maybe he thought the other boy was as big of a pain in the ass as you did.
“Sure.”
“How about this.” You think for a moment, before toeing a loose ball over to him. “I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you start.”
“Okay.”
Nagi readies himself into a comfortable starting position, and you mimic him, squatting low into your own receiving stance. You’re very pointedly ignoring the way the spandex at his thighs is pulled taut, stretched to capacity by the muscles there. He kicks off, eyes sliding left and right of you. He’s assessing the situation and trying to make a move, in his own way, but unlucky for him, you can already see the wheels churning in his head.
You don’t let him through you so easily. An opening appears in the form of a deviation off the path, so small that you almost don’t catch it yourself. The ball flies the smallest bit crookedly, allowing you to steal it from him before it gets a chance to land.
You take off in a sprint before either of you process what’s happening, your body moving purely through muscle memory. Nagi isn’t far off behind you. You can hear the heavy thuds of his shoes on the turf, the sound sending an electric sensation down your spine. Before long, he’s on you— long limbs giving him the advantage you didn’t have.
Somehow, you end up with your back against Nagi’s chest, barely managing to keep the ball out of his grasp. Both of your bodies heave with heavy breaths. It’s a bit overstimulating, sharing his warmth when it’s already humid enough in the training room. You nearly go dizzy from the smell of fresh laundry and— mint.
Miraculously, you retain enough of your sanity to maneuver behind him, allowing you to shoot. And thankfully, the ball flies exactly where you will it to, that image ingrained in your head after countless hours of practice, hitting the goal with a soft swoosh.
You bend to your knees, breathing hard to delay looking at Nagi in the face. At this point, you aren’t sure if the heat on your face is from physical effort— or something else.
What kinds of thoughts were you having about another teammate? It was so wrong on so many levels you can’t even begin to explain.
Despite your pointed efforts to avoid his gaze, you find yourself meeting gray eyes less than a foot away from your face.
“He-hey! Personal space-” Your voice pitches up shamefully, nearly cracking. But he’s paying you no mind (probably), eyes sparkling as much as a lazy guy like Nagi could manage.
“That was fun. Can we do it again?”
Your heart pitches up once more, indescribably.
He’s good, almost too good for someone who only started playing soccer just a couple months ago, as you find out. In that case, you think, maybe he’d have been better off trying to dominate volleyball, with that height.
“Tried that.” He’s back to his normal, listless demeanor, lying face up on the turf. You’re sitting cross-legged nearby, catching your breath. “Boring.”
You can sense that he’s about to fall asleep, eyelids drooping and speech slowing. “Basketball?”
“Nah.” He rolls onto his side so you can only see the back of his head. “Soccer’s fine, because Reo’s here… but… meeting you is nice too.”
Shivers run down your arms. “Huh? Stop it. You’re being so corny, you’re giving me goosebumps.”
You don’t get a response. He’s already asleep, energy spent for the time being.
Luckily for you, the training at Blue Lock is intense, if the next few days are of any indication. You’re not afforded the luxury of thinking of anything else, or, at least, that’s what your de facto team captain, Reo, would’ve led you to believe. The guy is basically a drill sergeant.
This has become something of a routine for you now, the ball violence less so. You sleep, you eat, you condition. Outside life is something of a hard-to-recall memory, even though it’s only been two weeks? A month? Your perception of time is a little skewed. Though, you suppose some guys were having the time of their lives. But you, you’re just tired.
You’re on the ground, catching your breath after a particularly rough session when a sudden weight across your stomach has you nearly dry-heaving up your meager breakfast. In that instant, you whip open your eyes to glare at the offending party. “What the fuck is your problem.”
It’s Rikiya smiling over you, like he didn’t just attempt to take you out of Blue Lock himself with a soccer ball to your gut. The way he’s blocking out the lights from above makes him look like some kind of overly chipper eclipse of doom. “Come on, shorty,” He’s practically singing, sounding way too happy after four straight hours of drills. “Break’s over! Time for a one-on-one!”
“Die,” you say, and launch the ball back at him in response, but you’re already forcing your uncooperative body to move.
And your gaze falls onto Nagi, napping directly in your field of vision. He’s as straight as a pin, but dangling off the edge of the bench. Out of all the positions he could’ve been lying around in, of course it’d be the most uncomfortable one.
“Hey, Goldfish, why the hell are you just sitting around? Come here and help me dribble!”
You’re letting out a sigh and pushing off from the ground, trying to buy a few more moments to catch your breath. “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”
And you must’ve stood up a little too quickly, because your vision goes a little black at your peripherals and the world tilts to one side. Before you can stumble too much, however, you’re toppling into a solid form.
You blink back the light-headedness, hard, and come face-to-face with… a black and blue suit, the same as yours. Following it up, however, you meet sleepy gray eyes.
“Wha, what?” You lock eyes with the boy, who’s blinking owlishly at you, as if he wasn’t currently holding you by the waist. His gaze then turns thoughtful as it slips down your frame, before slowly dragging back up. Was… was he doing what you thought he was doing? Your body burns self-consciously. Wait, no. How was it that he’d been able to cross the distance between the two of you so quickly? You whip your head around to see if anyone’s noticed, but they’re all preoccupied with their own training. “Dude, personal space.”
He blinks again, and before you can react further he’s letting out a loud yawn and meandering away, mumbling about being hungry. The moment passes so quickly you’re nearly left wondering if it even happened, if not for the heat of his hands still lingering on your back, and the feeling of a ball meeting the back of your head, sending it careening forward.
“Fuck! I’m coming!” Nursing the now throbbing spot, you jog over to your waiting teammate, but not before sneaking a brief glance at Nagi’s back.
Eventually, or maybe inevitably, your team wins a match, and by a landslide, so you get some room to relax. There’s no imminent threat of being sent home, at least not right now. Conditionings lessen when the rest of the team realizes that they have a one-way ticket to victory with Nagi Seishiro, and strategies for the most part move away from ‘all for one’ to passing to Nagi.
You, however, aside from the cursory celebration, are more than hesitant to place your fate in the hands of a guy that could barely walk to the cafeteria hall on his own two feet— you’ve seen it. No matter how amazing he was on the field.
It occurs to a small part of you that maybe, your little victory against him the other day had been a fluke.
(But the thought of a shirtless Nagi always flits back into your mind, eventually. The sound of his heavy breathing clinging stubbornly to your imagination, and all is forgotten.)
Soon enough, you bump into Nagi in the changing room, despite your carefully manufactured distance. He’s spacing out, staring at a towel in his hand.
You’re not trying to spend more time with the guy unless absolutely necessary. You’re at two strikes by now, the bath incident and that moment you had during your little scrimmage from before, one more and you’d willingly take yourself out of the program.
His dazed stupor is a common enough occurrence that you don’t pay it any mind, aside from a suspicious look as you approach. You only needed to in order to get your things.
After fumbling in place for a moment, you settle on treating the situation like you would being cornered by a bear— approach with caution. But when he reaches out to grab you by the wrist as you pass by, your brain short circuits. His fingers are cold, this time.
“Shit.” You mask a flinch by jerking back a little, his hand still on you all the while. “What?”
He looks at you with that contemplative gaze yet again, before that glint disappears from his eyes and it’s back to a dull shine.
You yank your arm out of his grasp, more firm than expected but gentle enough that it doesn’t leave a mark on you. “How is someone so small so angry all the time?”
You feel a vein pop on your head, absentmindedly rubbing on the point of contact. You try to ignore the way it had felt on your skin. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me right now?”
“‘m not.” He hums, tugging on the dangling hair in front of his face. “It’s a genuine question. You have a lot of energy.”
You huff. “What, are you saying you think I’m annoying or something?”
“No,” he says, drawing the words out slowly. “I don’t. I like you.”
It catches you off guard, and before your brain slots into place, you flush at his words. Seriously, this guy had no sense of social cues.
“Look,” you say, finally, after a pause where you’re sure you’re gaping at Nagi and he’s staring back at you. “You shouldn’t say that to other guys, okay? Not me, not Reo, anyone. It’ll mean more if you save it for someone you really like, like a pretty girl. And not a sweaty guy, got it? I’ll forget about it this time.”
He blinks, looking confused, so you take that as an opening to leave, huffing all the way out the locker room. What a thick-headed guy.
Sometimes, it really felt like he was playing you for a fool, intentionally or not. Doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
You’re doing a service to the two of you, really. Getting caught by the wrong person could mean alienation from the rest of your peers, or worse. You didn’t let wandering glances last more than a few milliseconds, and even then, they’re unintentional. You make pointed efforts to keep a five-foot radius away from him at all times, let alone touch him.
It pisses you off, the way he was so nonchalant.
You let out a frustrated sound and whip your towel to the ground, nearly hitting Zantetsu’s feet in the process as he enters the room.
“Hey! That’s derogatory!”
With as much self-restraint as Buddha, you resist the urge to shove a dictionary down his throat.
Clearly, however, Nagi is hellbent on letting things be. He’s insisting on doubling down, despite your obvious attempts to shut him down. The guy might’ve been very confused, to which you admit a small part of you felt bad for. But even if you were short, and not traditionally masculine, you were still a guy.
Like the next day, when he’d casted a long shadow over you as you laced up your cleats before the match against Team W, blocking off your locker. He had bent down with that huge body of his, demanding a pat on the head for ‘good luck’ before you were able to regain access to your things— it’s a waste of a good physique, in your opinion, but of course, you were forced to oblige.
And when your team wins because— naturally, he claimed the new bed next to yours, even if it meant kicking the current owner out of it. Making for a very uncomfortable sleeping experience.
Or against Team X, when Barou had charged through your defensive line-up, giving you no opportunity to steal a goal, you’d noticed that eventually, Nagi had started keeping the King at bay elsewhere at all times, keeping you from even touching the ball. Passing to nearly anyone else, but you.
You can’t fathom what was going on inside his head. They’re pointless, meaningless actions, lost on you.
And here you are, being knocked around by a guy nearly a foot taller than you.
It’s only against Team Z that Nagi’s let up, if only because he’s distracted by bigger fish to fry. Isagi Yoichi. You do notice that for whatever reason, Nagi’s visibly agitated during the match, moving erratically around the field without Reo to spoon-fed him goals at times, and zoning out at others.
It’s not looking good. The other team is slowly closing the gap between scores, with no miracle in sight.
You hate to say it, but you know your role on the team— the past week is enough proof. You don’t have Nagi’s or Zantetsu’s raw shooting power, or even Reo’s leadership skills.
But even worse is that one asshole trying and failing to steal the ball from the actual goal-scorers on the team, your shared team, messing up shots and costing goals at critical moments.
You watch as he completely misses the goal, directly in front of the net, and decide you’ve had enough.
“Fucking focus, asshole!” You squirm between two guys from Team Z trying to break through your guard. “I didn’t give you those passes so you can fucking flub the shot!”
The ball ends up hitting the side of the post and lands out of bounds. It’s a throw-in.
“Fucking great.” You send a withering glare at the guy as you pass him, filing in to mark the players on the opposite team. “Might as well kick the ball into their goal yourself, why don’t you?”
“Like you’re doing any better, bitch.” He scoffs, and you see red when he thumps a shoulder against yours, hard. “How much did Reo pay you off just to play with Nagi? Bet that’s why they call you Goldfish, aren’t you? Greedy little whore.”
You don’t see it, being held back by your other teammates from jumping him, but Nagi levels him such a dead-eyed stare that he’s skirting the edge of the field as humanly possible, keen to not piss off the number one striker in the stratum.
Before the rest of Team V erupts in a full out brawl, the whistle sounds, and Team Z’s goalkeeper is tossing the ball back onto the field. You’re forced to advance.
Eventually, it comes out to a loss. Your first one since the selection began. The general feeling of the team is… mixed, because you’re still advancing to the second selection regardless. You zone out by the benches in the locker room after most of your teammates have cleared out, eager to eat or sleep after a grueling few weeks of survival— for now.
There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, though. All this stress, for what? Continually being subjected to others’ desperation to win, left in the fray. It’s like you didn’t even know the sport anymore.
It’s fine, you convince yourself. The few guys still lingering around are quiet, too quiet, and the sound of you putting down your water bottle down with too much force rips throughout the room.
You’re not even really upset. Annoyed, maybe.
“So, what’s with the sword fight?” Hijikata’s at the locker next to you, shirtless.
Faintly, it occurs to you that the weird, warm feeling from seeing Nagi’s naked body is absent. It’s just a bare chest, like yours or anyone else’s. “Don’t ask me. Today’s the first time I talked to that guy.”
“Not him, Nagi.”
“What about him?” You sigh. “He just freaks me out a little, okay?”
“Aww,” Rikiya’s slinging an arm over your shoulders, completely naked save for the towel around his waist. Again, nothing. “Is our Goldfish scared of the big, bad Nagi Seishiro? Scared of looking like an exponent next to him? Does he make you feel like a little carry-on bag?” He’s bursting out into laughter at his own bad joke, and even Hijikata’s biting back his own grin.
“It’s okay man, Messi is short too.” Hijikata’s clapping you on the back, unaware of your bubbling temper. “Then, again… how tall are you again?”
This is normal, this is how you should be feeling towards friends and teammates.
You’re fisting a handful of someone’s hair and sitting on someone else’s back. It must not hurt enough, because they’re still able to laugh.
“Wahh, so scary! I won’t ever call you pipsqueak, or shorty, or bite-sized, or-” You pull, hard. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry!”
“You know, you’re actually a lot heavier than you look.”
“Yeah, call for a time-out, babies.” You sneer, not feeling inclined to let up until a familiar shock of white hair catches your attention, startling you into dropping Rikiya’s head onto the floor. He lets out a weak cry.
It’s Nagi, slouched over the three of you. “Eh, are you playing twister? Can I play, too?” And Hijikata’s pushing up from the floor, dropping you to the ground in your surprise. In the same movement, Rikiya sends you a smug look, before the both of them are escaping into the hallway.
“Don’t fight too much, gentlemen.”
“He’s on a rampage, Nagi! We’re outta here!”
The door slams shut, and then there were two.
He’s really the last person you wanted to see right now, complicated feelings still burning in your chest. So for now, a hush settles over the locker room, save for the occasional whoops from your other teammates somewhere else far away.
Nagi breaks the silence first. “I think your nickname suits you. It’s cute.”
“...It’s because I look like one when I’m staring. A goldfish.” You’re miffed, but the fight is slowly leaking out of your bones. Instead, you lean back onto the lockers, resting on your hands. Nagi looms over you, a distance away, like a giant. “So? Are you going to tell me I’m too girly or what? Don’t you have video games to be playing right now?”
“Can I ask you something?” He says, instead.
“You just did.” You sniff.
So he stands there, slow blinking, request rejected. It’s evolved into something of a stare-off, and though you can’t read him at all, you’re feeling difficult right now.
“You don’t like me.” It’s a statement, plain and unassuming. But the way he’s laid it out so frankly makes you feel a little bad. There isn’t a good reason you had to be so antagonistic towards Nagi. And it must’ve been bad enough to the point where even he noticed it, not to mention your other teammates.
He isn’t a bad person, really, just a little lazy. But he was still winning you nice perks, like good food and decent mattresses. Really, you should’ve been thankful.
Actually, the problem is probably with you. And if you’re digging deep down… you’re probably attracted to Nagi. That much should’ve been obvious, if the comparison to your other teammates was any indication.
“I don’t not like you,” you relent. “I’m just…” You trail off, not knowing how to finish your own sentence.
“But Reo paid you to practice with me.”
“Well, yeah?” You cross your arms. “Can you blame me? I’m… scared of you.” The words stick to your mouth on the way out. You’re just repeating what your teammates have spouted off at you, and hoping that you can have some sort of plausibility with the excuse.
“Scared?” And he’s pulling at a string on his jersey, momentarily distracted. “Why?”
You gesture helplessly. Even you didn’t know what you were trying to say. “Because… you’re, have you seen yourself? You’re huge.”
He’s quiet for a moment, trying to digest your words. “Think I can tell my folks to put me back inside so I can come out smaller next time?”
You can’t help it, you’re laughing. It’s such a random thing to say. “Other guys are dying to be as tall as you, and you want to be shorter?”
“I mean it. It’d be nice to live in someone’s pocket for the rest of my life.”
“You’re so weird.”
Then he’s back to staring with that listless expression on his face. You think you spot the smallest glint in his eyes, this time. It’s an easier silence that you’re falling into, more comfortable.
“You know, I think I really like soccer now. Not as much as I like you, though.”
And you’re flushing, all the way to the tips of your ears. “What’s with you? I’m going to throw up, you psycho.”
Then he’s finally meeting your gaze, and somehow, he’s looking infinitely taller than he’d been before. “That’s rude. Don’t say that when I know you like me too.”
It’s like time slows, in that instant. The air punches out of your chest, mind racing with thoughts of oh fuck, how’d he know and why does he know. You didn’t think you were an obvious person about your feelings— but clearly, that didn’t matter if Nagi somehow figured it out.
Stupid, unexpectedly observant Nagi.
(He looks so attractive pissed off at you. There’s a blaze in his light eyes that you don’t normally get to see, and he’s showing off those broad shoulders, for once.)
Fuck it— he’s not using his size to his advantage to intimidate you, no way. Forget rational thought. You’d done enough of that on the field. So you do the one thing your whole anatomy has been urging you to do— you grab a handful of the other boy’s collar to meet eye-to-eye, steeling yourself. “Shut the fuck up, for once.” And you press your lips to his.
It’s a more violent movement than you would’ve done with a girl, but if he was going to force you into a corner, there was no avoiding it. You’d sacrifice your first kiss to put this nonchalant bastard in his place.
There’s a bumping of teeth, and Nagi wraps you between those freakishly long arms. The solidness reminds you that you’re kissing a man, but unexpectedly, you’re not as turned off as you expected. Rather, it spurs you forward, tugging hard on his clothes like a leash.
Instantly, he’s lifting you by the thighs, walking you against the wall to gain more purchase.
You have no intentions of being led, especially not with that nasty genius in the palm of your hand. Eager to regain control, you drag your fingers to the top of his scalp— tugging hard. His hair is as soft as you’d imagined under your fingertips.
His smell, the feeling of his mouth, it’s like all your senses are amplified. Before you know it, you’re tilting your head for easier access, and wrapping your arms around the planes of his back.
He’s breaking the contact momentarily to press warm lips against your ear. “...cute.”
You’re shuddering, but the break allows you to regain clarity on your surroundings. “Let go of me.” You tap on his shoulders.
“No.”
“Why not?” You tug a little at the baby hairs on the back of his head. All that gets out of him is a soft grunt and a small wince of pain. “Someone’s going to come in!”
His cheeks puff up in rebellion. “Not until you tell me you like me, too.”
“I can’t,” you grunt.
“Why not?”
“Because,” you’re pushing on his shoulders to lean as far as away as you can from him but with the hand on your back, it isn’t far. “We’re both guys!”
And he’s staring at you, owlishly, again. It’s unfair, because somehow, Nagi has always beaten you to the punch. On the field, with your feelings. The way he looked at you made you feel seen through, and it’s unsettling. From the beginning, you hadn’t enjoyed the sensation of his gaze, and even more so when you’d started being scared that he could read your mind and discover the taboo feelings you’d harbored for him.
He’s not agreeing with you, or putting you down, sober. Instead, he’s pushing back at you. “Why? Guys can’t like each other?”
“I… I don’t think so?” But you’re already starting to crumble, quite possibly from a while ago. Maybe, just maybe, it would’ve been okay, if it was with him.
“But I like you. And you like me.” He’s clutching at you, more firmly. “What now?”
“I, don’t know.” You’re starting to get dizzy. And the distance from the ground was starting to make you feel queasy. “Can you let me down, please.”
But before he can coerce you further, someone bursts into the locker room. Judging by the voice, it’s Reo, so you’re wriggling against Nagi’s grip to successfully land on your feet on the floor.
“See, I told you they were gonna start fighting!”
You push past Rikiya and Hijikata, apparently having called in final boss Reo, who starts scolding Nagi. Paying no mind to their concerns, you’re nearly sprinting down the hallway to the dorms, heart pounding in your chest, face sure to be bright red with how warm it is.
God, what now? You don’t know.
And before you can make a decision, you’re benched. You’re a player for Blue Lock, but also not quite. It doesn’t sting as much as you would’ve expected, not when you have basically VIP seats to what is quite possibly the biggest Japanese soccer game of the decade. It’s not a great mentality, but you’re honestly relieved that your feats have at least brought you this far. Though, sometimes, you’re feeling a big gap between Nagi’s and your abilities. Like this is the best you can do when he’s evolving a little bit more every day. But not much about him has actually changed, soccer aside.
Regardless, at least you get to witness your good friend Nagi (?) perform the coolest soccer feats of the century.
And you’re especially not bitter about it when he’s stealing you away during breaks to kiss you breathless. Which has become just the smallest bit more tolerable.
The two of you are tucked away in an obscure dead end corner of the hallway, behind a row of vending machines. It should’ve been absurd to do this so out in the open, but right now, you’re only feeling the thrill of potentially getting caught. You’re pressed up in the space between a Pocari Sweat machine and the wall, Nagi shielding you from any prying eyes.
“He-hey,” you mumble, warm and winded, “you should probably get going now.”
He hums into your mouth, pecking your lips— plump and wet from being kissed. One last time.
Or not, because a hand slips between your parka and paws at your jersey.
“Dude!” You yelp. “What are you doing?”
He’s rubbing his head against your torso as an answer. “Feels good. ‘m regaining mana.”
“You—” You point at your chest. “There’s nothing here. You’re literally feeling up nothing.”
But his fingers are ghosting up, brushing against a sensitive point. You immediately slap his hands away, twitching a little at the sensation. “Stop! I’m ticklish.”
“Boo…” A small pout plays on his lips. Then, as if a thought suddenly occurs to him— “...I want to hold you. Can I?”
You flush at his words. “Wha, huh-” Your mouth’s opening and shutting like your namesake. “No! God. Remind me why I let you near me again?”
“It’s exposure therapy.” He says, simply, flashing a victory sign at you.
But obediently, or as much as he could’ve been, he’s traipsing away after accepting a pat on the head from you. And then you’re left in the corner, alone, red-faced and warm. You tug down on your jersey.
Really, getting benched isn’t such a bad thing. You’ve already proven yourself enough to your satisfaction, and going above and beyond to show that you were better than everyone else was never really your style, anyway.
You do miss playing soccer, but for now, you’re content to just watch.
A TV switches from its advertisement to a broadcast of the field, your sign to get back to everyone else and wait.
Nanase’s waving you back to your seat, too enthusiastically for such a cold day. Just sitting in place for the few hours or so you’d been here is starting to numb your extremities. “Hey, they just started! Where did you go?”
“Took a walk to warm up.” You groan as you drop heavily into your plush seat. “It’s fucking freezing here.”
“I think Nagi left his jacket lying around somewhere if you wanna double up… Don’t think he’d mind.”
“No, it’s cool.” You’re scratching your ear and looking anywhere else but at him. “Oh shit, it’s Shidou.”
Nanase’s a nice guy, and though he’s probably one of the guys you’d gotten closest to since the third selection, there’s no way you could ever tell him you were basically heavy petting one of the Blue Lock Eleven every night.
But for now, as you’re sitting there, cheering with your teammates and yelling at the referees, you’re forgetting all about your guilt and worries. Here, you’re just you. Soccer fan and ex-Blue Lock player.
Little do you know, it’s just the beginning.