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“Yesterday,” Nagi mumbles, the rest of his words dying on his tongue. His head is hidden behind his arms, strategically placed so Reo can’t make out the expression on his face. There’s an added measure of security to his evasion—his phone, brightness turned low, audio cranked high—that makes it impossible for Reo to guess what he wants. He drums his fingers against the table.
“Hm? Speak up, Nagi.”
Nagi shifts in his seat. Then, sighing, he tilts his head over the edge of his phone. “Yesterday,” he tries again, “you fell asleep on the table.”
Reo makes a noise in the back of his throat. The room feels strangely warm all of a sudden. “I was tired after practice,” he lies easily. “You’ve done it plenty of times.”
Dust particles float through the open air, landing in troves between the grooves on Reo’s desk. “Yeah, I do.” Nagi pauses. “But do I say your name when I’m asleep too?”
If you were to ask Mikage Reo when he last strove for a dream, his answer would be simple. The evidence is in the malty shroud hanging over him like a second skin, the heaviness in his limbs and the wobble of every hard surface he so glimpses upon. He considers it a fruit of his labor that he can loll his head to the side and come eye to foot with one discombobulated Agi, whose own eyes are glazed over with what Reo surmises must be a mixture of pride and relief. At some point during the evening, his braid had come undone, black hair pooling over his ears as he continued ranting to the ceiling about tightening up their defense or sizing up opponents to come. Driver tells him to lay off the analysis for one night because he’s killing the mood, and the comment bounces off Agi’s skin like the stray chip Driver hurls alongside his next set of protests. The penthouse suite is messy, multi-colored drinks spilling onto the floor, but the balloons are pretty at least, and the taste of victory nearly offsets the nausea building in Reo’s alcohol-ladden stomach. This isn’t so bad , Reo thinks, dazedly, as he swings his head to the other side. This is…
His gaze meets Nagi’s face, flushed.
It is both a blessing and a curse that just one look at Nagi can send Reo back three years into the past, when he’d first stumbled upon the snowy haired genius in one of their school’s sunlit staircases. Their meeting had quite literally altered the course of Reo’s life. Nagi was a bundle of talent the world graciously placed onto his lap, a mechanism by which he could pursue his ambitions. Even better, despite Nagi’s adversity to all things bothersome, he’d stuck around to lend Reo his strength. Nagi made his goals tangible. Feasible. It was no surprise that Reo wanted him for his own, though he never imagined that the capacity of his want would move beyond the scope of the field.
Now, Nagi braces the entirety of his torso against the same sofa Agi used to prop up his legs. His cheek is pressed to the cushion in a matter so unflattering it smushes half his face and leaves the other half looking exceptionally chiseled. “One more,” Nagi mumbles, dragging a yellow streamer over the seat with his hand. “We can do it, Reo.” Then, as an afterthought—“Almost there.”
Reo fights through the heavy set of his tongue to let out a chuckle. There’s a hint of pride in Nagi’s statement that makes his chest swell in much the same fashion. “Where?” he asks. When Nagi doesn’t offer a response, Reo does the next best thing and carries the conversation forward without him. “Why don’t we get you to bed?”
Much earlier, he’d called dibs on one of the suite’s bedrooms so Nagi could hide away while the rest of Manshine City celebrated passing qualifiers. He hadn’t expected Nagi to join in on the festivities, though the room ultimately served Nagi’s purposes anyway, so he had no complaints. Reo climbs to his feet, and, saddled by the force of gravity pushing him down, hoists Nagi up by his underarms. He doesn’t extend his hand for Nagi to stare at and inevitably take in his moment of need, nor does he offer up his full body so Nagi can loop his arms around his neck, press his weight against the span of his back. Instead, Reo wraps an arm around Nagi’s torso, steadies them both with toned arms, and guides them to the unoccupied room. He can keep his wits about him at this distance—not close enough, but never too far as to warrant suspicion. Only after Nagi has detached from Reo’s side and slipped into bed does the latter visibly relax.
Combing his hand through frayed lavender, Reo attempts to free himself from his drunken haze by shaking his head. Having ditched his hair tie prior to taking the elevator up to the penthouse, however, he only succeeds in further matting strands of purple and making his vision swim. With a steadying breath, Reo steps away from the foot of the bed, ready to make his escape. Unfortunately, a voice rings out in the silence before he can.
“Reo’s hair,” Nagi says, meeting his eyes. There’s a furrow in Nagi’s expression that creases the skin between his eyebrows. Reo imagines kneading it down after a lengthy Hakuho practice. He swats the thought away.
“What about it?” comes his reply. He leans his weight on the foot closest to the door, a tell that he means to leave, and soon. Nagi ignores this because of course he does, stretching his left arm out until it’s millimeters away from dangling over the edge of the bed. For a moment, Reo thinks Nagi might hold his hand.
“We’re…so close, Reo,” Nagi repeats. “Can you feel it?”
“What do you mean?” Reo coughs. His throat feels dry.
“...Because I can. Your, or...mm…”—Nagi hiccups at the same time he speaks, his words indistinguishable in the blur of muffled noise—“that...ah, that…” Some more mumbling. “...dream.”
It’s not fair. The gesture is innocent, a call back to the goal that brought them together in the first place, and it would have stayed that way had the mention of “Reo’s” dreams not dredged up weighted promises he remembers making in the heat of the Neo-Egoist League.
Let me be a part of your dream…
until you become the best in the world.
“Your” dream meaning Nagi’s—not Reo’s. Because if you were to twist the question—that is, if you were to ask instead when last Reo dreamt for himself , the answer would be never—not since he was 17.
“Are…you”—another hiccup—”happy…Reo?”
That’s okay, though. Nagi wants to be the best in the world, and Reo’s only remaining dream is to help him get there. Then, and only then, could he put the last scraps of his folly to rest.
“Yeah,” Reo croaks out over his throat closing in on itself, “‘course I am.” He makes to stand, his footing a little unsteady, when Nagi’s hand suddenly shoots out to grab his wrist.
“Wait,” Nagi slurs with the same conviction that fooled him into thinking they could remain this way forever. His irises tide with emotion; Reo tears both his wrist and gaze away.
“Get some sleep.” He pauses. “We can talk tomorrow.”
It’s a lie and he knows it.
“But Reo…” Nagi, for his total lack of perceptiveness, probably knows it too. So before Nagi can draw anything out of him, before Reo can incriminate himself while the alcohol courses through his veins, he takes a firm step backwards. He’s out of the door before Nagi can finish the rest of his sentence.
That had been two weeks ago. For two weeks, Reo went about dutifully attending practice and shoving lingering thoughts about “forever” into the recesses of his mind where they belonged. And for the most part, Reo’s routine worked, just the way he knew it would since they reconciled; trudging through the rest of Blue Lock, and returned to Manshine City post-invite to play for their club. What was one more misconstrued moment of vulnerability to Reo’s dozen? Who had time for complications when they were so close to achieving that goal? Reo repeats these sentiments to himself like a mantra, warding off any other feeling, running from every other thought. So when a particularly jarring slumber has a phantom Nagi appearing before him, he doesn’t understand why all the effort he put into preserving their ambition suddenly dissolves into nothing. Like Reo hadn’t been fighting the urges since he met him. Like Reo hadn’t been resisting his pull since Nagi last left.
They’re old aches. He knows better. He is better. Every delusion he’s ever had about staying with Nagi “until the very end” now reduced to grasping the World Cup, limbs drenched in artificially-flavored sports drinks, eyes fixed on a swarming crowd instead of a head of tousled white hair.
Yet when the inevitable comes, he’s still foolish enough to give right into it. “Hey,” a dreamstate Nagi whispers against his left temple. His hushed whisper lands feathery in his eardrums, carries the same youthful tinge it did when they were 17, and it scares him. “Reo.”
It’s an uphill battle. As he draws closer, a warmth he’s sure he snuffed out branches once more from his diaphragm up. Tell me, he’d thought when the only person he’d ever wanted was walking away. Tell me, he thinks again, three years later, his heart still shackled by that same man’s frigid hands. What do you think of me, Nagi? What do you…
With a gasp, Reo jolts from his sheets, pupils blown wide and shaking. A single bead of sweat trickles down his neck.
His room is still pitch black once he’s stabilized his breathing. The air conditioner hums as Reo smooths his hands over cooled linens, wiping the residual sweat from his palms which, up until a moment ago, were massaging circles into his forehead. No way.
Reo collapses onto his bed to beat out the buzzing in his eardrums. No way. Not now. It’s been years. Ripping his pillow from right underneath his head, he shoves the plushy mess into his face and groans. “Dammit,” he grumbles, pushing so hard he’s sure to suffocate…
…and suffocate he does.
Try as he may to ward away his subconscious desires, Reo’s dreams are slowly plagued by a set of gray eyes and snowy fields. Each fantasy captures a different wish of Reo’s—a café date before a big game, a quiet stroll through Tokyo’s streets, tanghulu in hand. They make Reo’s lungs squeeze with longing, sucking the oxygen from his body and bringing him back to the moment he and his partner’s dreams diverged for good. The feelings rousedby his dreams are pathetic, unnecessary, and Reo swears he’s grown from all of this, but—
Reo curls in on himself as he wakes to an empty bed for the nth night in a row. He drags himself into the bathroom, braces himself against the sink. The overhead lights make him look as white as a sheet. They spotlight the extent of Reo’s failures, the reality of his situation which doesn’t make itself known until he faces himself in the mirror.
Signs of his restlessness sully his once spotless countenance; puffing his eyelids, darkening his skin, but if choosing sleep meant being subjected to the same pain he’d carried while they were in Blue Lock, Reo would happily fashion his eyebags himself. At last, he tears his eyes away, lugging himself back to the room in preparation for another restless morning.
“W-What?” Reo manages, a fresh wave of scarlet rushing to his face. He tries for a laugh and stumbles on a choked out wheeze instead.
“It was the same the other day. And the one before that,” Nagi mutters. Reo’s brain crackles, then fizzles out. Leave it to Nagi to blurt out whatever he wanted without a semblance of tact. “Can you not sleep?” he asks, finally lifting his head. His eyes shift from the lamp in his hotel room to the untouched bed. “We can share—”
— like we used to , Reo’s inner voice unhelpfully supplies. He slams his hands onto the table. “No.”
Nagi tilts his head. “Why?”
Vaguely, Reo registers the alarm bells sounding in his head. Bad move. He’d gone too far by reacting so strongly to his suggestion. Rarely did Reo turn Nagi down, and to do so this vehemently was about as damning as openly admitting something was amiss.
Clearing his throat, Reo fumbles for some kind of excuse. “That’s—well…uh—” he scrambles for words. “The bed’s too small! For…two…” His eyes drift to the queen sized bed glumly. “‘Cause…you’re pretty tall, and…”
Nagi frowns. “The bed's the same.”
“Is it? I think the rooms are a little different here. We could compare them if you want! How about we go do that instead?” The suggestion flies out of Reo’s mouth in a hurry. “I’m sure Agi’s in right now. We could start there once we’re sure he doesn’t min—”
“Nightmares?” Nagi interrupts him. Reo goes deathly still, and Nagi uses the temporary lapse in his yammering to press harder. “Am I in them?”
Reo swallows. “Listen, Nagi. I don’t think it’s that big of a—”
“Is that why you keep saying my name?”
Nagi’s got a strange look on his face, so unlike the blankness Reo is accustomed to that his stomach flutters with anxiety once he really sees it. Unsettled, Reo grits his teeth, hands balling into fists on the table. “Why does it matter?” he asks, and it sounds dangerously like his last thread of sanity fraying.
“It doesn’t.” A beat. “But you’re slower, Reo.” When he’s not afforded a reply, Nagi continues. “You missed a pass yesterday.” Another pause. “I waited for it.”
“I’m doing just fine during practice, thanks,” Reo snaps back. He can feel the blood vessels bursting near his temple, temper flaring red against the backdrop of yellow lamplight. “If you’ve got enough brainpower to criticize my performance, put that same energy back into your own game.”
“I am.” His expression twists, barely. “But I can’t do it without you.”
“That doesn’t sound like something the best soccer player in the world should be saying.”
Nagi’s brows furrow. “Didn’t you want to win? The World Cup is right there, Reo. We have to get stronger.”
And if that doesn’t throw Reo for a loop. Out of habit he finds himself locking eyes with the man, electricity running like lightning up his spine. “What did you say?”
Nagi’s posture sags in relief. “Ah, there we go. You’re looking again.”
He scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean? I look at everyone when I speak to them.”
“Yeah, but it’s different.” His eyes drift to the right and back. Had Reo been any closer, he may have seen the wheels in Nagi’s head buffering in real-time.
“Huh?” Reo says, sounding as exasperated as he feels.
“It wasn’t like this before.”
Though Nagi seems to be elaborating, his words only serve to confuse him further. “Well which is it? Am I never looking at you or am I looking at you too often?”
Nagi frowns. “You do,” he says, careful, “but not like you used to.” His phone clatters onto the desk. Reo’s eyes flit to the GAME OVER text on his screen. “And you didn’t answer my questions, either. Any of them.”
Somewhere, somehow, something’s gone terribly, terribly wrong. There’s a depth to this conversation that makes goosebumps rise along Reo’s arms, as if Nagi is peering into him, dissecting his every thought.
“Aren’t you happy we’re almost there? The world stage...”
“I...” Reo’s jaw clenches. “I am happy, Nagi.”
“You’re lying,” Nagi huffs. “Why are you lying to me?”
It isn’t fair. The way Nagi calls him out like he knows him, the way Nagi narrows in on what should have been a stupid, fleeting dream...
“I’m not,” he tells him, slowly. “You’re going to be the best in the world.”
“ We’re going to be the best in the world,” Nagi corrects him.
Reo’s heart pulses in his ribcage. “No, not me.”
“That’s not what you promised.”
Reo’s gaze sweeps over Nagi’s face, then. His eyes are narrowed, the corners of his mouth downturned. Who was he kidding? He’d been naive to think Nagi wouldn’t notice; Reo wonders how long he’s known Reo’s heart wasn’t in it. “I’m only doing what you wanted.”
“I never asked for that.”
“You joined Isagi with it in mind, though!”
“That’s not what happened.”
His next words claw themselves free from the pit of his stomach before he can stop them. “You asked me to help you! Beating Isagi was your dream!”
Nagi shakes his head. “Didn’t I tell you? Joining Isagi, beating Isagi...” There’s a fire in Nagi’s eyes, a determination so strong it singes Reo’s skin, sets every other part of him aflame. “All of it was to make good on our promise. We said we’d win the World Cup together.”
“ Together , Nagi,” Reo repeats, hands fanning out over his desk. They’re wandering too close to uncharted territory, but he can’t get a word in edgewise with the ridiculous things leaving his mouth, and Reo realizes that this is it, this is the end. He’s ruining everything, just like he did back then. “It doesn’t mean anything if we don’t do it together.” Said like a petulant child whose toy was confiscated from him. Really, had he learned anything at all?
“But we are.”
No, we aren’t, Reo thinks bitterly, because somewhere along the way, something in him shifted.
There was winning the World Cup with Nagi.
Then, there was winning the World Cup and Nagi.
Winning the World Cup, and Nagi.
Stop it, he begs. You said you’d let him go.
“I’m not...good at this, Reo.” The room swirls with unease; Reo wishes the heat would go away. “I don’t get what you’re saying.” Nagi pauses. “I thought this was what Reo wanted. So why do you keep looking at me so funny...?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he croaks.
“It’s frustrating. You always do that, Reo,” Nagi continues, completely ignoring him. “If I say I want fries, you give me fries and a milkshake. If I say I should’ve brought my sweater, you buy me way more than I needed. I’m not that complicated, but Reo always puts words in my mouth. It makes things confusing. I don’t get it.
“When I told you I’ve always been with you, I meant I always would. We promised we’d be the best in the world,” he explains. “Just because our methods differ, doesn’t mean I forgot our promise. You taught me how to play soccer, Reo. Everything I do is for the dream you and I said we’d achieve.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Reo cries, shooting up from his desk to leave. Nagi mimics him, blocking his path.
His eyes are as dark as they were the night of the party. “You’re giving up then.”
“Of course I’m not! But things have changed , Nagi. I still want to win the World Cup, but the situation is different now. There are other things I need to think about, things you wouldn’t understand—”
“So help me understand,” Nagi says. “Tell me what’s changed.”
Reo steps back. “Why would I ever do that?”
“Because we’re partners, Reo. We’re friends.”
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Friends, teammates, partners. The words that once brought him the greatest comfort now deny him the thing he truly wants most. I don’t wanna be just friends , Reo thinks miserably.
“I don’t get it,” Nagi repeats. Reo watches him tug at a loose strand of his hair, wrap snow white around his finger, then recalibrate and bring the same hand to his neck. “Always jumping to conclusions and not letting me be a part of it. You’re so selfish, Reo. I really don’t get you.” He rubs at the skin. “Why do you keep saying something changed?” A beat. “Why do you think you’re the only one?”
For the second time today, Reo can’t bring himself to say anything intelligible in response. “Huh?” His voice is a hollow echo in his head. “What are you...”
As if he can sense Reo’s hesitation, Nagi moves forward. Lamplit shadows glide across his features. “Tell me.” It isn’t a suggestion.
Reo stumbles back. The heavy set in his voice is much too overwhelming. “You aren’t going to like it,” he warns.
To that, Nagi shakes his head. “I like everything Reo tells me.”
“No.” Reo’s eyes wander about the room in search of an escape. He finds nothing. “You’re going to hate me,” he tries again.
“We made a promise.”
“None of this is normal ,” Reo insists, back hitting the wall. Nagi takes another two steps forward, pupils shining in the light.
“Nothing Reo does is normal.”
“It’s going to change everything—”
“...I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it.”
Reo shuts his eyes in shame. “If you keep talking like this, I won’t be able to hide it anymore.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to.”
From the shroud of darkness, he sees walls of concrete and the man’s fading shadow. “I can’t do this—”
And then a chilly palm is coming down to wrap itself around Reo’s wrist, squeezing gently. “You can tell me, Reo.”
With a shaky breath, Reo forces his eyes open. The images of Blue Lock's facility disperse around him. In their place, a memory: a chance encounter on one of Hakuho High’s half a dozen staircases, their sun-kissed limbs spread out on that same school’s grassy fields.
The plaster is cool on Reo’s back, a stark contrast to the fire burning inside of him. His body, thrumming to the beat of his heart, remains unresponsive as Nagi closes the distance between them. His breaths are labored, and his chest is aching, and the set of gray eyes he’d fallen into so long ago are boring into him, and—
“For the last three years,” he whispers, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you. How much better it’d be if I won the World Cup”—he stops, swallowing down the lump in his throat—“ with you. Together. But not together like—I mean of course, we’re teammates, but—” Reo looks away, face scrunched in embarrassment. “It’s different. What we are is different.”
Something like a disbelieving huff escapes Nagi’s lips. It takes a moment for Reo to recognize the breathy sound as an affirmation. “Is that your dream?”
“Is that…is that okay?”
The lamplight flickers. Nagi’s breaths come slow. “I got it.”
There’s a clarity in the way he says those words that makes Reo’s pulse quicken. “Do you…?”
“Yeah, but I thought...” he lets his voice taper off. “What a hassle...” Then, eyes snapping back to Reo, “Your new dream”—a pause—“let’s do it.”
“You want to? This isn’t something you decide to do just because you feel like it!” Reo searches his face for anything: hesitation, fear, disgust. Instead Nagi blinks back at him, none the wiser.
“Why can’t I?”
“Because...because these are your feelings, Nagi!”
“Yep.” He nods. “Wasn’t it obvious?”
Reo feels like he’s going to cry. “What the fuck...? Are you trying to tell me you like me?” Nagi’s pupils are shining. “Is that what this is? You have feelings for me?”
“...I thought you knew.”
“No, I didn’t,” he half-sobs. “How am I supposed to know anything? You never made it clear to me, Nagi, you never told me—”
The hand that was at his wrist bone slides down to tangle their fingers together. “Then will you let me?” Nagi asks, dipping his head until his and Reo’s breaths have no choice but to mingle. “Let me make it clear to you, Reo.” He takes their intertwined hands and pulls it forward onto his chest. His heartbeat thumps to the pulse of Reo’s blood. It's erratic. Impossible to fake.
“You’re the worst,” he tells him. Through his unshed tears, the room shines bright and yellow.
“Do you believe me now?”
“You have no idea how much you put me through.”
Their foreheads come together, a light tap. “We can do it, Reo.”
“Do you know how long I’ve been dreaming of you?”
“We’re the same, always have been.”
“I thought I was alone—”
“Me and you,” Nagi breathes, “we can still dream.”
Sniffling, Reo leans into him further. “I won’t go easy on you, asshole. We’re gonna see everything through, you hear me? The training, the World Cup, your ranking...”
The corners of Nagi’s mouth shift; Reo thinks this is as close as he’s ever gotten to showing him a smile. “Yeah, I know,” he tells him, planting his lips to the back of Reo’s hand. “It's fine by me.”