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Chigiri finishes with the last of his stretches, standing up despite the aching in his knees that protest against any further movement.
He knows he should probably rest soon, but Nagi's phone is too loud for him to feel relaxed in this room, despite Chigiri normally having no qualms about his presence. Barou also isn't above waking him up mid-sleep to clean up something he left on the floor, and Chigiri does not feel like dealing with that, so he slips out of the room, searching for something to do.
Chigiri reaches for his wrist, grimacing when he realises that he forgot to grab a hair tie. He keeps losing them recently, as hair ties do, but he swears they grow feet on their own and run off sometimes.
Although, his hair has been blow dried already, and usually, he tries to avoid putting it up so his scalp can rest. So with a quiet sigh, he leaves the problem for another time and walks down the empty corridor.
The training rooms are empty, but it's to be expected at a time like this. Chigiri considers heading towards the canteen, but the chances of running into Kunigami or Reo are marginally higher if he does, and he doesn't want to face them just yet.
It's not that Chigiri is ashamed. But while their loss is still fresh, he wants to avoid rubbing salt in the wound if he can.
Whatever. It's not like being on this team means he's any more guaranteed to complete this selection. He bites back another sigh, wandering the opposite way.
With every step he takes, his eyes seem to grow heavier, exhaustion from today's match seeping into his bones. He swears, even though his own stamina isn't the worst, he feels like he's surrounded by monsters in this place. Every day is a challenge to keep up and not get drowned.
Chigiri pauses in his pondering when he notices light coming from the data monitoring room. He peeks his head in and isn't surprised to see a familiar black-haired boy, clad in blue and holding onto a pillow, eyes fixated on the large screens in front of him.
Isagi is a monster of his own, Chigiri thinks. Not in regards to stamina, but in regards to his mind and determination. He's quite similar to Chigiri, in the way that he would give up anything to achieve his dream, but there's also something about him that feels otherworldly.
When Chigiri is on the field with Isagi, whether as friend or foe, he feels an overwhelming presence that dictates him to do better—run faster, jump higher, kick harder. It's fascinating.
"You're going to spoil those precious eyes of yours one day," Chigiri says, announcing his presence. Isagi yelps, almost falling off the cushion he's sitting on, and Chigiri can't help but laugh.
Despite how terrifying Isagi is on the field, he's not the least bit intimidating off the field.
"Chigiri!" he greets with a smile. That's another thing he finds interesting about Isagi. No matter what, when it's not time for a game, Isagi treats everyone equally. He doesn't get overshadowed by his competitiveness once the match is over.
Well, Chigiri can think of a few exceptions to that rule, but Isagi is mostly a fair guy. It's why it's so easy for Chigiri to grab a cushion and join him on the floor, leaning back on his palms to look up at the screen.
"I'm examining Rin's plays to prepare for our match," Isagi explains, picking up a remote and rewinding the videos. "Not just him, but the others of the top three as well."
"And Bachira?" Chigiri asks.
Something in Isagi's eyes dim, but he nods. "And Bachira. We're the most familiar with him, so I haven't focused much on his plays."
"Hah!" he laughs. "You should know better than anyone else that familiarity doesn't equate comfort. I would hate to go against Bachira one-on-one."
"Same," Isagi sighs. "I would hate to go against any of them, actually, but the urge to defeat them is much stronger."
"Hm…" Chigiri hums, watching the smooth motion of Rin's plays, the way he always seems to be there at the correct moment. It's eerie, in a way. "I didn't think you'd still get nervous over upcoming matches."
"Wh— of course I do! Everyone improves so quickly. I always worry about catching up."
The easy admission makes Chigiri's heart swell. Still, he reaches over, knocking on Isagi's head. He exclaims in surprise, shying away from the firm hit. "That's 'cause you run too slow, idiot. How do you expect to catch up with that speed of yours?"
Isagi scowls, though Chigiri recognises that he isn't actually upset. "Shut up. Not everyone has those legs of yours."
"You think about my legs often, Isagi?" he teases, cackling when Isagi shoves at him with an embarrassed whine. "Sorry, sorry!"
"Anyway," Isagi says, swapping the screens to focus on Aryu instead. "We should have a strategy meeting later. Once Barou comes back, I have a few plays I want to try out—"
Isagi continues talking, not even looking at Chigiri anymore. Not that Chigiri can fault him. His eyes shine with something bright and youthful whenever he talks about football, like this is his lifeblood.
Still, there’s a tension in Isagi’s jaw when he speaks, and the eyebags under his bright eyes just keep getting darker the longer they stay in Blue Lock. Of course, the training regimen here is extreme, but it's not the only reason. Countless nights of staying up and obsessing over survival would take its toll on anybody.
Isagi is passionate, maybe the most passionate of them all, but that passion comes with a price. More often than not, that price is your own body.
Chigiri’s hand drifts towards his knee. He knows that fact all too well.
“Actually,” Chigiri interrupts, “I think we should just lay off football for the night. We can discuss strategy tomorrow morning.”
Isagi cuts himself off, his eyes widening, as if Chigiri just suggested something appalling. He sighs, reaching over and tugging the remote out of Isagi’s hands. “Proper rest is important. Don’t break your body when you’re not playing, idiot.”
“Oh,” Isagi says, ducking his head. “Sorry. Was I overwhelming you?”
“What?” Chigiri stares at him, watching as he shrinks in further on himself. “No, stupid. I’m saying that you don’t know how to relax.”
“I— this is relaxing!” Isagi defends. “Watching plays, forming strategies… It eases me.”
“Maybe that’s how it was before you met Rin, but now, it’s killing you on the inside. You’re too stressed.” Chigiri shuts off the monitors and they are enshrouded in darkness, the only bit of light coming from the hallway outside and the soft blue LED lights.
“…Maybe,” Isagi relents. “But I guess I don’t know any other way.”
Chigiri taps his finger on his chin. “There’s loads you could do. Nagi plays games on his phone. Barou cleans and carries out a routine.”
“What about you?”
“Me?” Chigiri hesitates, wondering if he should bring his own hobbies up.
His hair suddenly weighs down on him, like a shadow that stains his feet. Chigiri has never once felt embarrassed about how much effort he puts into his hair care, it being his source of pride and happiness instead, but judgement still follows him wherever he goes.
It runs deeper than being called Princess or pretty. Chigiri has no qualms about those nicknames—he takes them in stride, even.
No, it’s being sneered at whenever he enters the men’s bathroom, at being talked to like he’s naive, at the extra mile he has to run to prove his skill. Chigiri doesn’t think Isagi’s the kind of person to treat him as such, but it’s a vulnerable topic anyway.
“I…” Chigiri begins, the words getting stuck in his throat when he tries to force them out. Quietly, he grits his teeth. What has he to be so wary about? He’s handled this for years. He can handle Isagi’s judgement too.
(Maybe it’s because Isagi is one of his closest friends here in Blue Lock, and Chigiri doesn’t want to be disappointed by another inevitable—)
“Oh! Sorry, I almost forgot!” Isagi exclaims. Chigiri jumps, all thoughts flying out the window when Isagi pulls up the sleeve of his pyjama shirt, revealing a sliver of skin.
There, wrapped around his wrist, is none other than a black hair tie.
“I found it in the bathroom,” Isagi explains, pulling it off and holding it between his fingers. “I thought it might’ve been Reo’s or yours, so I was gonna ask whoever I saw first.”
“It is mine,” Chigiri confirms, taking it with hesitant fingers. “…Thank you.”
“No problem!” Isagi replies with a beam, looking like the sun, and suddenly, Chigiri feels stupid for worrying about anything at all.
So, this time, he doesn’t hold back. “I like putting my hair up in different hairstyles. It’s meticulous but peaceful.”
Isagi tilts his head, nodding. “That makes sense. You have a lot of hair, and it’s long, so it would open up a lot of options—”
“Dude,” Chigiri cuts him off with a laugh. “This isn't gameplay. Why are you talking about it like that?”
Isagi flushes. “Well, I don’t have your hair. It’s the only way I can make sense of it from my point of view.”
A fleeting thought crosses Chigiri’s mind. He immediately denies it, more out of habit than anything, but when Chigiri gives it a little longer, he decides that there’s no harm in suggesting it. “You could try, if you’d like.”
Predictably, maybe even reasonably, Isagi’s eyes widen in shock. “You’d let me touch your hair?”
Chigiri’s lips twist into a scowl as heat rises to his cheeks. Isagi sounds like he was just offered a lifetime supply of steak or something. Though, with how defensive Chigiri gets over his hair, he knows why Isagi sounds like that—both honoured and terrified.
“Just to braid it,” he mumbles. “I can show you how I usually do it.”
“S-sure!” Isagi does a full-body turn, facing Chigiri directly. His knees bend awkwardly, like he’s still deciding between getting up or staying put. “Uh, should I wash my hands? Should I—”
“Just stay here and watch me,” he interrupts. Isagi crosses his legs obediently and Chigiri cannot help but smile. “Atta boy.”
“Shut up,” Isagi mutters, but he dials his focus up to a hundred as Chigiri reaches up to part his hair.
Chigiri takes a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders and going through the familiar motions. He does it every morning before he goes to training, every afternoon before he plays football, and every evening if he's yet to shower before dinner. It's one of his favourite hairstyles because it gets just enough hair out of the way while keeping that familiar shield around his face.
He can feel Isagi's gaze on him, so intense and determined, like he's plucking every single observation he's made apart and analysing them down to its core. It's not that serious, but Chigiri kind of likes being at the centre of all that attention anyway.
When he finishes his braid, he turns back to Isagi, amused to see him frowning heavily. "Did that make sense?"
"Kind of…" Isagi says, tilting his head to the side. He looks like a lost puppy.
"Good. Now, you try. I'll guide you through it."
Chigiri undoes what he just did, turning his back to Isagi once more. Isagi crawls closer, his knees hitting Chigiri's spine, and he sucks in a breath at the sudden proximity.
Isagi's first touch is gentle, as if he was handling a delicate butterfly. He holds onto Chigiri's hair like it's glass, the strands falling through his loose fingers. Chigiri huffs, lifting his chin slightly. "You can hold it. It's not water."
"It kind of feels like it," Isagi mumbles, but he obliges.
Under Chigiri's stilted advice and his careful handling, Isagi ends up with a somewhat decent imitation of a braid. It's not as tight as Chigiri likes it, and there are definitely parts a bit too messy, but for a first attempt, it's surprisingly well done.
"Huh. Nice," Chigiri compliments, running a hand over the braid. "You're a really fast learner, Isagi."
"Really?" he asks, blinking. When they make eye contact, Chigiri feels blown away by how wide Isagi's eyes are, filled with excitement. "Thanks! I'll do even better next time!"
"Next time?" Chigiri teases. "Sure, I look forward to it."
His heart stumbles in his chest when Isagi grins. Chigiri simply grins back.
There is a sort of fire in Chigiri’s eyes that ignite Isagi’s own.
It’s sharp, the way his flames flick against skin, a burning kind of heat that makes you sweat. It’s in everything Chigiri does—when he runs, when he laughs, even the colour of his hair—it screams look at me, look at me!
Sometimes, Isagi forgets that it was he who kickstarted this fire, this ego, but God he will never regret it. Even if it means having one more tough opponent that he’ll have to take on to become the world’s best, he wouldn’t ask for any other way.
When he sees that passion burning in Chigiri’s eyes, Isagi feels his own flames come alive. He’s like a whirlwind that Isagi will spend his life chasing, even if he knows he’s no match, because there is a quiet tug at his heart that draws him towards Blue Lock’s fiery princess.
So when Chigiri knocks his shoulder against his and asks for a one-on-one practice, Isagi is standing up faster than his mouth can form the word yes.
They’re supposed to be resting, but Barou is still running through his methodical drills and Nagi slipped away the moment he could, so there’s no harm in getting in a little practice. Chigiri holds the ball against his hip, walking out to the middle of the field and setting it down.
“Will you start, or shall I?” Chigiri asks.
“I don’t know if I can outrun you if you start,” Isagi replies honestly.
Chigiri raises an eyebrow, nudging the ball towards Isagi with his toes. Isagi shakes his head, kicking it back. “I didn’t say I wanted to start. Give me a challenge, won’t you?”
Chigiri blinks in surprise. And Isagi watches, pleased, as that familiar spark fills his magenta gaze, his lips stretching out into a small grin.
Chigiri readies himself, bending his knees. “I think I should be the one asking that, Isagi.” He sings Isagi’s name like a melody and Isagi feels his stomach turn. Before he can process it, Chigiri snags up his momentary distraction and kicks the ball past him, racing off.
From the moment they kick off, Isagi can tell that Chigiri isn’t going full speed. He glances back, eyes narrowing in a silent taunt that Isagi picks up on all too easily.
But Isagi isn’t one to give up—he’ll give Chigiri a reason not to underestimate him.
He dashes after the redhead, watching his legs for an opening. The way he dribbles makes his legs look like a flurry of wind, even if it isn’t overly complicated. Isagi waits for the moment Chigiri slows in front of the goal before sliding his leg the opposite way of the ball’s spin and sending it flying off.
Chigiri laughs like he expected this and chases after the ball with a wide grin. Isagi pushes his arm out as he follows, planning his next route. Chigiri may be faster, but if he angles their bodies in a certain way…
“Fuck you!” Isagi laughs when Chigiri sidesteps him, the momentary movement distracting him enough for him to trip over Chigiri’s feet, sending him crashing. He groans as he gets a mouthful of grass and Chigiri’s laughter ringing in his ears.
Chigiri flops down beside him. “We’re terrible at one-on-ones.”
“Maybe it’s not something we can improve so quickly,” Isagi laments. “You outrun everyone anyway.”
“I do,” Chigiri agrees, raising his chin with an unserious haughty expression. He sobers up after, picking at the blades of grass and tossing it onto Isagi’s shoes. “But I’m not satisfied with just that. Don’t tell me you are either.”
Isagi blinks, a familiar fire igniting in his chest. “Of course not. I’m going to be the best in the world.”
Chigiri grins and the fire only burns hotter. He stands up, offering a hand out to Isagi, who slides his palm against his without hesitation. “You’ll have to beat me first, Striker.”
“You’re on!”
The night before their match, the match to determine who passes, who gets to stay in Blue Lock for another selection, Chigiri finds himself alone with Isagi in the baths.
They’re soaking in the warm water, letting it wash away the ache in their muscles and the anxiety in their hearts. It doesn’t matter how prepared they are, there will always be pre-game nerves that are difficult to quell.
Sometimes Chigiri wonders if that makes him unworthy of fighting in Blue Lock—do monsters like Rin or Barou ever feel nervous? Their unshakeable ego is based on their unwavering confidence, but what about Chigiri?
Chigiri loves football. It’s to the point where he’s ready to tear himself apart if it means feeling the everlasting high that running on the field gives him, and sometimes it makes him feel crazy, but there’s—
Isagi.
Isagi, who understands this dangerous passion like no other. Isagi, who doesn’t just encourage, but embraces it, the passion and the pain. Isagi, who plays football like he needs it to breathe, like it’s the blood rushing through his veins.
Because football isn’t just a game—it’s life. This, Chigiri understands like no other.
He flinches at a light splash of water that brushes against his chin, making his eyes flicker open in surprise. Isagi is looking at him, a wry smile on his face, and the sight of it alone is enough to make Chigiri’s heart sing with something exciting.
“We’re going to win tomorrow,” Isagi says, assured and confident. He says it like he needs to believe it. Somehow, Chigiri believes him too.
“We will,” Chigiri agrees, and his sight seems to close in on Isagi—the easy smile on his face, the hair sticking to his forehead, and droplets of water sliding down his bare skin. The water is warm but Chigiri’s face feels hotter, like fire is licking at his skin and leaving behind something alive.
He holds eye contact until he can’t bear it anymore, looking away with a fierce thump in his chest. The water ripples under their miniscule movements, every breath recorded in the rumbling of the liquid. When Isagi moves closer, Chigiri feels it before he sees it, in the ripping waves tickling his skin.
“Chigiri,” Isagi says, quietly, in a hushed whisper, like he’s holding back a damning secret.
“Isagi,” he replies, looking up and ignoring the way his voice shakes.
Something intense swirls in Isagi’s eyes. It sends shudders up his spine and he tries not to drown in that sea of raging passion, the depth of his eyes holding endless mystery, but it’s hard. Chigiri thinks his breath might be taken away at any second.
Isagi’s lips part like he’s about to spill something terrifying. Instead, he closes his mouth, shakes his head, and retracts. “Let’s get out of here.”
Disappointment fills Chigiri’s gut even if he isn’t sure what he was expecting in the first place. He nods anyway, and they drag their feet out of the tub, drying off and putting on their given pyjamas.
Chigiri’s hair drips uncomfortably against his back as they walk back to their room. He adjusts the towel around his neck, and when his hand falls back to his sides, it brushes against Isagi’s. He expects him to jerk away, but Isagi simply moves closer and the heat returns to Chigiri’s cheeks once more.
As they enter their room, about to part, Chigiri reaches out, his fingers hooking into the crook of Isagi’s elbow. Nagi and Barou aren’t here again, leaving it as just the two of them. He barely thinks before blurting out, “Dry my hair for me?”
To an outsider, it sounds like a selfish request—that Chigiri is too lazy and is making Isagi do it for him, like the spoiled princess he allegedly is.
But when those words fall on Isagi’s ears, his eyes simply light up, like he was granted the universe’s treasure. He takes what he’s entrusted with careful, grateful hands, and Chigiri tries not to think of the implications when Isagi nods in agreement.
“Sure, Princess,” he says with a slight laugh. “Lead the way.”
Chigiri bites his lip to prevent his smile from widening too much as he drags Isagi over to his side of the room, digging through his drawer for his hairdryer. Once it’s plugged in, he crosses his legs on his bed and Isagi joins him, climbing in behind him.
As Isagi dries his hair, dextrous fingers running through the damp locks, Chigiri relaxes. Like this, he really does feel like he can take on the world, every major obstacle crumbling in front of his feet.
Warm air whooshes past his ears. Isagi reaches out, pulling his hair aside, fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. Chigiri shivers, tilting his head downwards and not missing the way Isagi sucks in a breath.
When they’re done, Isagi shuts the hairdryer, dropping it on the mattress. Chigiri turns around, a thank you on the tip of his tongue, but it dies out when he sees the fire in Isagi’s irises threatening to explode.
“Want something, Egoist?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
Isagi swallows mutely, but he tips his chin forward. He doesn’t seem to have noticed he did it either, but it doesn’t matter—Chigiri knows.
And Chigiri wants it too.
Eyes fluttering shut, he leans in, letting their lips fall into place. That seems to shock Isagi into action, hands dropping to Chigiri’s cheeks, cradling and pulling him closer. He tucks a stray bit of hair behind his ear and Chigiri burns.
The clash of their egos is no less than an explosive supernova, pink and blue bleeding into each other. Chigiri gasps when Isagi pushes harder, sending fireworks through his gut. It’s a challenge as much as a test against restraint, and Chigiri breaks either way.
He pushes back, fighting, succumbing, hands grasping the front of Isagi’s jumper and he feels hot all over and his heartbeat won’t slow down. It’s comparable to how he feels on the court—the rush, the adrenaline, and the bursting delight of success.
Chigiri pushes until Isagi falls back, landing on the mattress with a quiet oof. He pulls back with a deep intake for air and the sight he’s greeted with sends another raw thrum of desperation through his veins. Isagi blinks up at him, swollen lips tilting upwards into a fond smile, and Chigiri cannot help the flush rising to his cheeks.
“I know you’ve been told this countless times,” Isagi says, fiddling with his clothes, “but you’re beautiful, Chigiri.”
Chigiri huffs, glancing away. “I suppose you’re not too bad yourself, Isagi. I didn’t take you for a flirt, though.”
“Me?!” At that, Isagi laughs, pushing himself up. “I’m not the one acting all coy and stuff all the time!”
“I don’t flirt,” Chigiri denies. “It’s your fault you like me so much that everything I do seems like flirting to you.”
“Excuses, excuses.” Isagi grins, and Chigiri can’t help but lean in again, kissing it away. “Hey, Chigiri.”
“Hm?”
“Whoever scores the most goals tomorrow gets another kiss, how about it?”
Chigiri gapes, his brain faltering for a bit. It reboots when Isagi laughs at him and he swats at his arm. “It’s the same outcome either way, idiot!”
“No. Maybe Nagi will score all five goals and we’ll each have to give him a kiss.”
“Oh, shut the hell up. We just kissed and you’re already creating a competition? You’ve got no tact.”
“What can I say? I’m just an egoist,” Isagi mocks, and Chigiri shoves him down, kissing him again.
“You’re on, Egoist,” he mumbles, lips stinging when Isagi bites down on them, a grin playing on his own.
“I’ll hold you to it, Princess.”