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If Blue Lock was a closed terrarium, filled with relationships criss-crossing, twisting and breaking apart, then Rin was an untouchable ivory tower rising above it all.
The—thing, between them hadn’t been something Isagi had predicted. Of course, he’d fantasised sometimes, because Rin was lovely and had green eyes that could dissect you in seconds and more than that; Isagi could watch him play football for the rest of his life and never get bored.
After the NEL, Rin had said, with his usual brusqueness, “Isagi, do you want to fuck me?”
Isagi had stammered. Rin had stared at him inscrutably then leaned in for a delicate brush of the lips which turned into something more sensual instantly. They were roommates for the duration of the U20 World Cup and so there was no one to interrupt them when Isagi sucked on Rin’s bottom lip, pushed him down and straddled him.
“You’re really something,” he said, breathless. “You can’t just ask me that li—“
“I should’ve known you’d be as lukewarm about this as you are about everything,” said Rin boredly and then Isagi leapt on him just to make him shut up.
Life felt like a fever dream after that. They made out after making their way through the bracket. Rin would rather die than hold hands in public—Isagi didn’t really mind either way.
“Rin,” he asked after the Korea match, “why’d you want to do this.”
Rin was stretching gracefully, a marble statue in motion. He stopped mid-lean and said, “We can stop if you want.”
“No,” said Isagi. Whatever Rin felt for him, it wasn’t—love. That was okay. Isagi was patient. He could wait.