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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?”
The first time Reo doesn't get what he wants is when Nagi Seishirou walks away from him during Blue Lock's second selection. He's learned to curb his expectations by now, though.
Really, he has.
Written for Treasured: A NagiReoNagi Zine