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It’s 2:30 AM and Karasu’s still awake, sprawled out under the covers of his bed. Not the usual bedtime routine, but it’s one of those nights where you recount the events of the past few days and it sooner-or-later transforms into an existential crisis bubbling with fear that begs the question of ‘What the hell am I doing with my life?’. At this hour of the night, Karasu’s sense of rational thinking had checked out of its shift, and the deadly looming figure who goes by the infamous name ‘Overthinking’ had checked in. Ugh. He so badly wanted to sigh, or yell. Anything to make the world acknowledge that he’s practically clawing through the pits of hell in his mind right now.
But he can’t. Otoya’s caught in slumber in the bed across the relatively cramped dorm – If Otoya really had some of that ninja bloodline in him that he proudly boasts about, he’d be the essence of a light sleeper. Karasu decided testing how accurate the ninja’s sensory awareness is is not worth the risk– he wouldn’t want to interrupt his standard eight hours of rest. That’s just souring the night for both of them, and Karasu’s already failing at nursing the wounds of his own thoughts.
And so Karasu concluded that surviving whatever episodes that come of tonight required absolutely no hint of noise from his side of the room.
After all, if Otoya had figured out Karasu was bordering on a breakdown, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Cue the pestering ‘What’s wrong?’ and slightly concerned stares that only seem to make the entire situation worse.
Way to intensify the cruel long hours of the night. He shuddered.
Karasu tilted his head towards the ninja, dulled sapphire eyes narrowing in on his form.
He was out like a light.
After that seemingly quick assessment, Otoya’s consciousness no longer posed an immediate threat to his loud thoughts. Nevertheless, Karasu made a small mental note to stay wary throughout the night.
The past few days had been an endless yet intense cycle of training before they were up against Nagi’s team; running laps in the AM, playing through simulations of matches, cardio training at the gym by the afternoon, and then nearly falling asleep in the BLLK TV room after decoding the playstyles of his next rivals with heavy-lidded eyes.
There’s just something so undeniably mediocre about the same repetitive routine.
He stifled a groan, and pulled the duvet cover over his head.
Karasu had grown up chained to mediocrity. It tailed him like a parasite, sinking its fangs into the tender skin of its host. It taunted him, told him that he would never be good enough. No matter how confidently he tried to carry himself, or how dignified he tried to dress. His desperate attempts at shaking off the unwanted leech of a title were nothing short of humiliating, since Karasu would forever be as average as one can get. The most logical way, in his opinion, to build an immunity to the ever-plaguing mediocrity in question was for him to become the parasite instead. He’d bare his own fangs to his rivals and draw out their bloodied weaknesses with taunts he knows all too well. He’d indoctrinate their minds using insults lathered in salt, and belittle them until they were faint with verbal illusions. As any parasite does, Karasu left rich with a match victory in his left hand and satisfaction in his right, whilst his unfortunate target hosts were left to suffocate from the rough sting of his words.
The duvet cover provided relief as it trapped air to produce a cooling sensation throughout his body. But it was only temporary.
Now, Karasu intimately danced with the uncomfortable warmth that only continued to grow.
He dives head first into uncertainty. Is this how you make living, whether it be in or outside of Blue Lock, bearable? Surely not everybody feeds off of the weak to get stronger, because logically speaking, that route proves no path for exponential growth in one’s ego or maturity. There’s only so much weakness you can encounter. Karasu knows that. Yet it’s the persona that Karasu had nurtured for himself; he picks his beak at the worming insecurities of his opponents. It’s the image he had built himself - a ‘wealthy’ nest lined with thorns and stinging nettles sharp enough to puncture the flesh within its vicinity.
But he’s not effective if the people around him stand tall against his taunts. If they’re immune to his sting, Karasu can’t take advantage of them. They’re above him– extraordinary. Just so much better than Karasu. It’s unfair and never fails to leave a bitter aroma. What use is he now if he’s crumbled beneath the royalty of being extraordinary?
Otoya stood proud as one of the few people who proved immune to Karasu’s taunts on the field, but it somehow never left a sour taste on the crow’s tongue. The soulless insults turned into playful competition and banter between them - like it was their own special niche. To Karasu, Otoya was admirable. He lived life as it came at him; he never bothered with hyper analysing or people-watching (well, unless they were cute girls) like Karasu had known his entire life. And whilst Karasu did find the other an absolute weirdo upon their first meeting, it was easy to admit that Otoya was nothing short of extraordinary. He constantly challenged Karasu to play better on the field whilst already maintaining perfect synergy.
Otoya was effortlessly carefree whilst Karasu was textbook. Karasu’s heart grew a tone warmer at the thought of how close they’d become given their differences.
Truthfully, he enjoyed being with Otoya. It was like he understood him. He most of all appreciated the looks they’d often exchange; whether it was a look of reassurance before executing a perfect goal, or when they’d share a knowing look when one of them had referenced an inside joke in a conversation with a third party who didn’t understand. He’d probably looked at Otoya more than anyone else, and whilst that sounds really embarrassing to admit, Otoya was the closest thing he’d get to contentment in this prison.
But the ninja lived freely, and so Karasu can’t help but wonder whether he’d grow sick of their dynamic and soon want something better that he couldn’t provide. After all, their teamwork was simply a ‘relationship of convenience’, words of Otoya himself. The reminder twisted the crow’s heart in an indescribably uncomfortable way.
He didn't want to lose Otoya.
Karasu dragged his hands down his face.
At this point in the night, his so-called confident demeanour could easily be stripped off like peeling a soaked, day-old plaster off of a wound. He can feel sweat forming on his forehead.
Okay, he’s definitely overthinking this. He had climbed so far without Otoya in his life, so it clearly wasn’t the end of the world if he’d lost him.
But they’re teammates who have known each other since the start of Blue Lock. They’re best friends. They’re partners. Losing Otoya would be like ripping apart two pieces of cloth sewn so intricately together. As the night slowly approaches the delusional hour, Karasu wants to call him his soulmate. Okay wow, is he really that desperate? That’s the paradigm of mediocrity. Karasu is mediocre at best.
Curse that shitty word.
Karasu is his own worst enemy. He was dying in a fruitless battle with his self-worth. And he knows that, of course, but his no-longer-sane train of thought can’t stop the vile pit of nausea welling up in his stomach, or the numbing feeling threateningly infecting his skull, or the heat of his body and the pressure of the duvet teaming up to swallow him alive, or the sweat tearing its sticky claws into his skin and refusing to let go to deny him any freedom–
A jagged exhale pierced the gentle humming of the aircon. Oh fuck.
And then unfurled a thin stream of clear ribbon from the ducts of his eyes, moisture pooling at the collar of his sweater. His eyes widened, his right hand darting to plaster his mouth shut, but not before a desperate gasp for air managed to escape.
Shit.
He’s like, really not supposed to do this right now. Karasu’s crying and he’s not in the room alone.
He thinks of Otoya, and how ashamedly little he would feel under his piercing gaze. He thinks of Otoya, and prays that he hasn't woken up.
Karasu hastily wiped his tears with the back of his hands, leaving both his face and hands equally dewy with a mix of water and sweat. It was a futile effort, as his eyes were still freshly damp and showed no sign of drying up anytime soon.
As silently but quickly as his violently-shaking hands could muster, Karasu lifted the cover off of his head. Partly to finally breathe in ventilated air, and mostly to check whether Otoya had woken to his ongoing emotional malfunction. Karasu’s vision was hazy with tears but it purged Otoya's face, desperately trying to make out any differences from when he last looked at him.
Oh. The damage had already been done.
Otoya’s awake, his half-lidded eyes that had long since shaken away traces of sleep staring back at the suspect of those poorly-covered muffles.
Their eyes meet, and the way Otoya’s eyes slightly widen doesn’t go unnoticed by Karasu.
Oh fuck.
Nobody was supposed to see him cry. Nobody was supposed to worry about him. He had always hid behind an iron shield of confidence and it’s now being seared into a molten mess by the very boy across from him.
Karasu churned out a fake, half-assed sounding cough and jerked his head away from Otoya’s gaze. This was a raw level of vulnerability he wasn’t expecting to acquaint Otoya with. So he really was a light sleeper, huh?
As quick-witted as Karasu typically was, he wasn’t sure how well he could play it out this time.
There was no point in asking if he was okay; he clearly wasn’t. The atmosphere grew awkward for a few seconds, with the only noises being the low melody of the aircon and Karasu quietly taming his laboured breaths. Each boy was plotting their next move.
“Hey what’s wrong?” Otoya called out, voice treading with concern that was unfamiliar for the both of them.
Silence hung between them for nearly a minute before Karasu spoke up, trying his best to mask any voice cracks that would’ve proven his helpless state.
“Don’t worry about it ‘toya. Go back to sleep.”
“Oh come on, man. You’ve actually got me worried. What’s wrong?”
Karasu internally drawled out a sigh and curled up under the sheets. He didn’t particularly plan on answering, even though he knew that would worry Otoya just as much as thinking of a poor excuse they both knew wasn’t true. He was tired, scared, and helpless– whilst he so desperately wanted to find something to say to will away the intense emerald stare, he was exhausted and clammy and disgusting. Sweat had soaked onto his hair, plastering it to the nape of his neck. He looked like he had just barely survived a nightmare, and so admittedly Otoya had every right to look at him with concern.
When Otoya wasn’t dignified with a response, he peeled off the covers of his own bed and padded towards Karasu’s, sitting cross-legged on the free space at the other end. Well it didn’t seem like he was going away anytime soon.
“What’s up?”, much softer this time. Oh. Otoya’s decent at this. Must have learnt from all the comforting he had to do whilst breaking up with his girl-of-the-month.
“I’ve never seen you like this and it’s kinda – well – seriously worrying. Talk to me. I swear I’ll listen.”
Karasu perked his head up, his face slightly sour from the salty taste of tears.
“Won’t ya get tired?”, his voice low and cracked.
He hesitated before continuing, “Won’t ya get tired of me? Well I mean – I’m nothin’ special.. n’ yer just next level. Extraordinary. Ya adapt like crazy and who’s ta say ya aren’t gonna run off to the next best thing when ya get the chance?”
His head now hung low as he wore a sad smile, “It’s cringe as hell, but yer so fun to be with, Otoya. Seeing ya score knowin’ I assisted ‘em is hella exhilarating – it’s so easy ta play with ya, and it’s even easier ta have fun with ya. I really don’t want it ta end anytime soon,” a poor piece of duvet is strangled by one of Karasu’s hands as he furrowed his brows and frowned, “but I’m just so fuckin’ average. I do the same shit over and over again n’ I destroy dreams and hurt feelings and it feels like I’m gettin’ nowhere. We got a relationship of convenience after all, n’ whilst ya make it so simple fer me this greedy prison wants more outta the both of us. Sometime soon you’ll want more outta me but I’m the same, lame-ass Karasu I’ll always be and I’m just not worth stickin’ around for.”
A few beats of silence.
“I wouldn’t have waited for you to start the second selection if I didn’t think you were worth it”.
Karasu didn't lift his head. Instead, his eyes darted around the span of the duvet in a sad attempt at willing away the subtle familiar feeling of tears that pricked at them.
Otoya huffed out a slightly amused sigh as he glossed over Karasu, most of his face being covered by indigo hair.
“Living worry-free is fun and all, but you know I’m only able to do that on the pitch because you always give me the opportunity to do so. I don’t know how you don’t see it, but man, you’re so fuckin’ awesome. I wouldn’t have gotten away with most of my sick ass plays if it wasn’t for you being able to manipulate the entire field to suit me.”
The ninja’s face shifted slightly into one of admiration, an impressive switch from his usual apathetic look. Legend has it there was some sparkle in his eyes as he frequently shot glances at the raven mop. Karasu may have been a freak with stupidly angled hair, but his overall intellect and game-sense was unrivalled by everyone he’s encountered at Blue Lock (and he’s confident it will stay that way), his humour perfectly synonymous with Otoya’s, and his muscles grew buffer with every passing day… Okay, Otoya may have caught himself staring a couple times, but boys always check each other out in the changing rooms! It wasn’t that gay!
Point being, how could such a cocky genius downplay himself this poorly? It made no sense to him, but seeing such a raw and shy side of the other boy made Otoya’s heart grow just a little softer with every look he stole at him.
“I chose to stick by you from the start, Karasu, and it’s gonna be pretty fuckin’ difficult to not have you around to throw me quite literally the most exhilarating passes I’ve ever received. Not to mention all those shots you’ve taken yourself– you’re seriously like so fuckin’ cool and freakishly smart. Your IQ probably rivals Einstein or something,” a subtle tender look graced Otoya’s face as he started, “this place would’ve been so boring without you. You’re not gonna be shaking me off any time soon, and you better not leave me either.”
Karasu looked up as hope nurtured his delicate face. Their eyes found each other again for the first time in what felt like ages, but the familiarity of it all, alongside Otoya’s lips which have curved up into a small but genuine smile, gave the crow the reassurance he needed to repent for the uneasiness that wormed throughout him. He nodded his head. Once to himself, in acceptance that he will be okay. Once again to Otoya, in acceptance that he’s worth enough to stay here with him and grow with him.
The crow blinked twice before he rasped out an honest “thank you”
He wasn’t acquainted immediately with a response, but Otoya’s smile grew bigger, sitting somewhere between relief and adoration. Karasu concluded that was the most fulfilling response he could have gotten.
A blanket of comfortable silence draped over them, each second restoring Karasu’s confidence before it was interrupted by a half-assed cough – “Ninja technique: eternal assassin loyalty!” as he fired a sequence of hand signs with flawlessness. It was terrible. Delivery and timing and all.
Karasu’s face contorted into one with evident disgust and they both stared at each other in shock-silence for a heavy couple seconds before they burst out laughing.
The laughter died down, but the warm presence persisted. They both quickly grew fond of it.
Whilst Karasu was painted over with relief and a newly unlabelled but profound sense of love, he couldn’t shake off the sweat and moisture that had stuck onto him for what felt like hours.
“I’m gonna go wash my face ta get this shitty feeling off a’ me. Sorry fer keepin’ ya up so long”
He paused for a brief second before saying, “thank you again, ‘toya” with a small yet earnest smirk that Otoya found both annoying and.. flattering. On Karasu. It just suited his perfectly-angled face and made him look 100x more attractive than he already was. That's all. Shut up Otoya.
“Don’t worry bro, I always got you”, Otoya quipped back with practiced nonchalance.
Karasu stared back at his reflection in the mirror after splashing his face and neck with water. He smiled at his growing dark circles. He’s this far for a reason.
Okay, a couple reasons. A lack of Otoya’s presence would have driven Karasu to insanity (even though Otoya does that very thing effortlessly).
But more importantly, he’s strong and undoubtedly intelligent. He’s made it this far himself and he will always have to prove himself to continue forward. He’s painfully aware that he’s not the best, and there’s a dull ache whenever that crosses his mind– Karasu still believes he’s ordinary at heart, but he yearns to reign amongst the best. He’s a teenager with sickeningly twisted insecurities after all. He deserved to be upset.
Karasu might not achieve his dreams, but the realisation of being talented enough to rival the best gave him an excuse to be temporarily proud of himself.
Karasu walked back into the bedroom with a soft smile planted on his face.
To his surprise, Otoya hadn’t gone back to sleep. In fact, the Otoya in question had made himself comfortable half-laying under the sheets of Karasu’s bed.
Karasu’s smile was gone.
“Why are ya in my bed ya freak?!” Karasu hissed, with no real bite.
Otoya glanced up from where he was practicing a pen spinning trick he had previously seen on Youtube (titled: How to Spin a Pen around Your Fingers Like a BOSS. Totally checked out).
“Oh. Well I didn’t feel like moving. And your bed is more comfortable” he confidently replied, as if it were the most logical reasoning ever.
“Our beds are the exact same ya dumbass! Get out!” Karasu made an effort to shoo him out, and it was all but effective.
“But it’s so lateee! Come on.. don’t kick your best bro out” he drawled, before he physically lit up as if he had the greatest lightbulb moment of the century; he was sure he was rivalling Einstein’s IQ with this one.
“Why don’t we just share your bed for tonight? Like, sleep together. Like, cuddle.” It sounded like an amazing idea. To Otoya only. Karasu’s face dropped with every sentence that had left the ninja’s mouth.
“Are ya hearin’ yerself?! Cuddle?!”
This was incredulous. They threw around gay and homo-no-homo jokes all the time. But it was 3 AM, and even if Karasu, on the absolute lowest of keys, got excited whenever they ‘jokingly’ blew kisses towards each other, the crow was sure neither of them were awake enough right now to be on the same wavelength about this.
“What? Wouldn’t it cheer you up a little more? Girls dig that sort of stuff don’t they?” Otoya pondered thoughtlessly, like it was a totally normal thing to suggest.
“I’m not yer bird” Karasu deadpanned.
Otoya feigned offence, “I think you missed the relationship in ‘relationship of convenience’ – don’t tell me we just broke up.. I thought you were bae!” he said dramatically, a hand on his heart in mock sadness.
Karasu responded by smacking Otoya’s head.
Another bout of silence.
“Move over, dumbass.”
Success! The ninja obliged, making enough room for the both of them on a single bed. Enough was sort of an overstatement– Otoya was half-leaning on the wall and it could not have been comfortable at all. Nevertheless, they effortlessly fell into a comfortable quietness with Otoya’s arm and leg latched onto Karasu. It was too late in the night for him to refute it. Karasu was about to be taken away by slumber when,
“We should do this more often. Lowkey feels better than cuddling with chicks”.
Otoya was met with a kick to his shin. And a barely noticeable grin on Karasu’s face.