Chapter Text
“You didn’t hook up with anyone after the match?”
Isagi doesn’t know how they ended up on this subject. He definitely didn’t bring it up, considering he would rather talk about literally anything else. Preferably soccer. It was Bachira’s fault, like always.
They’re sitting in the cafeteria after a tough match with trays of food between them, quietly eating their meals. Isagi’s still trying to process everything that happened on the field, but the blond striker across from him has that strange, familiar look on his face.
The combination between blatant awe and with a touch of mischievousness that Isagi has learned to be weary of no matter how many times he’s seen it, yet one that he secretly anticipate over the years. And if experience has taught him anything, it’s that look always spells trouble. It also means the subject won’t be changing anytime soon.
For a moment, their eyes meet, and Isagi blinks, caught off guard by how quickly he found himself staring back. He hadn’t meant to look, not really, but now he can’t look away. Bachira’s piercing gaze holds him in place, making him squirm in his seat as the silence stretches on. Neither of them says a word. At least, not yet. Finally, Isagi breaks the silence.
“No,” Isagi repeats, more firmly than before, stabbing at his food like it personally wronged him. “Why would I?” But it doesn’t help. That damn stare is still there, pressing against him, heavy and unreadable. Like Bachira’s waiting for an answer he didn’t give. Like he already knows the truth. It makes his skin itch. He doesn’t look up again.
Bachira frowns, like it's the most unbelievable thing he’s ever heard. “Um, because you’re Isagi Yoichi? And you just scored the winning goal today? Even half of the stadium was screaming your name! If it were me, I’d totally be showered in kisses. Or maybe even a hook-up or two, right now.”
Isagi lets out a short huff, refusing to look at Bachira. “Well, you’re not me. And I’m not interested.”
Bachira tilts his head, humming like he’s chewing on a puzzle. “Because that’s what people do, Isagi. You win big, you celebrate. You kiss someone. Or hook up. Or… someone kisses you.”
Isagi shoots him a look, cheeks coloring a deep red, and then quickly shoves a bite into his mouth to hide the sudden flutter in his chest. He tells himself it’s nothing. Just nerves. But Bachira’s grin doesn’t fade, and neither does the way his eyes seem to linger a second too long. Isagi swallows hard, trying not to let it get to him.
Bachira watches, loving how easily he gets a reaction. He can’t help but grin. Isagi’s discomfort is kind of adorable. Just the right push of buttons, and there’s something there just beneath the surface, more than he lets on, that he can't quite manage. It’s too easy to get under his skin, and that’s exactly what he likes. He doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.
“Aw, come on,” Bachira says, leaning in just enough that Isagi can feel his breath. “You’re not fooling anyone with that face.”
“You know,” he says softly, leaning just a little closer, “I bet if you let yourself, you’d enjoy it.”
"Enjoy what?"
“Being kissed. Celebrated. Wanted.”
Bachira’s grin widens as he watches Isagi’s eyes dart nervously. “You’re way too tense, Isagi. You need to loosen up.”
Isagi snorts, clearly unimpressed. “Easy for you to say.”
“True.” Bachira leans in, his breath warm near Isagi’s ear. “But if you want, I can help.”
Isagi scowls, trying to hide the heat rising in his cheeks. “Shut up.”
But Bachira just chuckles and reaches out, fingers brushing into Isagi’s hair, still damp from his shower, warm and soft at the roots. The faint scent of shampoo still clinging to them as he gently pushes some of them back. Something clean and light, nothing fancy. It just smells like Isagi, and for some reason, that makes Bachira's chest tighten a little.
“Still wet,” Bachira hums, running his fingers slowly through a few locks before Isagi swats his hand away. “Smells good, though. You always smell like this after a match?”
Isagi stiffens. “Stop smelling me. That’s weird.”
Bachira just laughs, pulling his hand back. “Maybe. But your hair’s soft when it’s like this. You should let me touch it more often.”
Isagi jerks away, swatting at Bachira’s hands as they reach for him again. “Quit it!” he snaps, half embarrassed, half amused.
Bachira’s grin widens, clearly loving the reaction. “Aw, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t like a little attention.”
“You’re being a freak.”
“And you’re letting me touch your hair, so what does that make you?”
Isagi opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Annoyed, he pushes his plate away, clearly done with the conversation. Or maybe just with Bachira. Either way, Bachira grins wider, sensing victory.
“You know,” Bachira says, leaning in again, “if you’re not interested, you could at least pretend to be.”
Isagi’s chopsticks pause midair. “…That’s not really my thing.”
That made Bachira shut up, the frown creeping onto his face. It’s like he’s trying to piece something together, a slow realization dawning on him. It's never a good sign. Isagi can practically feel the gears turning in Bachira’s head. Whatever it is, he knows it’s trouble. And he’s about to bring it up.
“Wait. Don’t tell me you’ve never kissed anyone before. Or, y’know… hooked up?”
Isagi swallows hard, shifting back just slightly, suddenly very aware of how close Bachira is, and how much his heart is racing.
Bachira leans closer, his grin widening as he watches Isagi squirm under his gaze. He cranes his neck, eyes bright with amusement as he studies him, tilting his head like a curious cat. Isagi instinctively leans back, shoulders tensing, but Bachira mirrored him perfectly, closing the distance between them until they were almost touching.
Suddenly, a thought struck him, and his grin broke into a laugh as he nudges him with a finger, not letting Isagi retreat any further.
“Ah, so that's it! No wonder you act all red and flustered when people get close... you're unexperienced in this kind of stuff!”
Isagi nearly chokes on his next bite, biting the inside of his cheeks. He’s thrown completely off balance by Bachira’s words, like a punch to the gut. His head ducks low, cheeks burning with embarrassment as he avoids meeting his eyes. The words sting more than they should. Damn it, why does Bachira always have to say exactly what’s on his mind? Curse him for being so blunt. They weren’t exactly lies. They were true, and no matter how much Isagi wanted to deny it, there was no arguing with that.
Ugh… he can feel those eyes on him, and it’s driving him insane. He shoots a glance up and immediately regrets it when he finds those two pairs of golden, slit-like eyes, studying him like a predator sizing up its prey.
Great. Just great. What the hell is with that look? It’s not like he wants to think about that stuff. It’s annoying, so stupid, and completely unnecessary.
For God's sake, and for the love of his own sanity. Can he just eat his food in peace than whatever this is? It's invasive, and he sure as hell doesn't need to explain himself. Not to Bachira. Not to anyone. And if they think otherwise… they can go screw themselves.
“Shut up. Eat your food.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Bachira’s cheeks are stuffed full, so full it looks like he might spit it out any second, his words coming out muffled. “C’mon, Isagi, don't tell me you’ve never kissed anyone? Not even once?” A bit of sauce got in the corner of his mouth, and Bachira quickly wipes it away with his thumb, licking it clean without a second thought, maintaining eye contact.
“...”
The silence that follows says everything. The scraping of utensils and clattering of plates fills the space as Bachira’s mouth falls open before curling into a wide, toothy grin. “No way. No way. You really haven’t.”
Isagi jabs his chopsticks at him. “Why does this even matter?”
Bachira’s eyes widen in delight, a spark of excitement flashing through them. “Oh my god. You haven’t.”
“I didn’t say that!” Isagi snaps and slams his chopsticks down on the table, but his denial only makes Bachira’s smile grow wider. He practically vibrates in his seat, slapping the table hard enough to make Isagi flinch.
Bachira bounces in his seat like a hyperactive child, letting out a high-pitched, giggly laugh that bounces across the cafeteria like a schoolgirl sharing a juicy secret. A few heads turn, but he pays them no mind. “Because this is huge! The great Isagi Yoichi, genius striker, has never been kissed!”
“Keep your voice down, idiot!” Isagi’s head jerks up, glancing around in horror. “People are staring—”
Too late. All eyes were already on him.
Bachira beams, completely ignoring Isagi’s mortified expression. He throws his head back and announces loudly, “Guess what, guys? Our Isagi’s has never been kissed!”
Isagi feels the heat crawl up all the way up to his neck, burning the tips of his ears. His face is bright red, and he groans, burying his face in both hands. His teeth dig into his lower lip, jaw tight, struggling to keep himself composed while the stares boring into him make him shrink in his seat. Every second feels unbearably long, and he can’t help but wish the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
Underneath the table, he kicks at Bachira shin. “Ow! What was that for?!” he yelps, grinning all the same.
Isagi mutters through his fingers, "That wasn't funny!”
Bachira pokes at his food with his fork. “Not funny? Come on, you’re red as a tomato! I think it’s hilarious.”
Isagi peeks between his fingers, glaring daggers at him, and kicks lightly again, earning another exaggerated yelp from Bachira.
“Stop! You’re gonna bruise me!” Bachira dramatically whines, prolonging the syllables like he’s dying. “Ugh, seriously, Yoichi—ow!” he clutches the spot Isagi just kicked, wincing and flopping back slightly in his seat.
His complaints goes unheard, falling on deaf ears. “Not my fault, I told you to stop!” Isagi pouted, arms crossed in annoyance, brow knitted together like he was daring Bachira to say something. He actually pouted. Bachira wanted nothing more than to kiss the expression right off his face. If looks could kill, he would be nothing but a gravestone.
Bachira sticks his tongue out at him, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “Aw, come on, Isagi… I’m just having fun!”
Isagi rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts. “You’re insufferable.”
Bachira wiggles his eyebrows, cheeks puffing as he tries (and fails) to swallow down a laugh. A snort slips out, followed by a muffled string of giggles he can’t quite contain. “Pfft, just admit it… you secretly like it when I tease you about your tragic little romance life!”
“Wh— I do not like it!”
And then, because Bachira isn’t satisfied until he’s dug the knife in deeper, he leans in close, whispering just loud enough for the others to hear. Typical of him.
Of course. Just when Isagi thought his day couldn't get any better. Does Bachira seriously have nothing better to do than make his life harder? The world will probably end the day he stops being a menace to society, and somehow he knows he’d still find a way to annoy everyone anyway.
“Guess that means one of us has to fix that, huh?”
Isagi freezes, both horrified and horrified that Bachira is actually offering him to be kissed. His mind races for a way out, but no clever retort are formed.
Isagi shoved a trembling hand against Bachira’s chest, trying to push him back and put some distance between them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might tear out of his chest, loud enough that he was sure everyone could hear it. He could almost taste the heat in his throat, thick and choking.
“I—I… Bachira! Stop!” Isagi pleads, nearly dropping his chopsticks. Sweat prickled at his temples, dampening his hair, even though the cafeteria’s air conditioner was on full blast. He’s pretty sure he’s going to melt right into his seat.
Bachira leans back slightly, grinning like a cat who just cornered a mouse. “Oh, I think you do, Isagi.”
Isagi curses under his breath, his chopsticks trembling between his fingers. “Bachira! I… I’m serious! Stop it!”
Bachira pouts, lower lip jutting out like he’s genuinely offended, and reaches forward. He brought his hands up to Isagi’s face, sweaty skin meeting flushed cheeks, holding him still like something fragile. Bachira's eyes meet blue gaze, wide and unguarded, and he searches them for any sign of hesitation. When Isagi doesn’t pull away, he takes it as his cue.
“Hey! Bachira—!” Isagi sputters, eyes widen in panic.
But before he can pull away, Bachira leans in and plants a quick, soft peck on his forehead. The sound of his lips pressing against skin, a soft, wet smack, makes Isagi’s ears tingle. “There! Consider that your first... but your lips? I’m saving those for the fun part,” he teases, voice full of promise, and the thought of it alone makes Isagi shiver, heat creeping up his neck as his heart skips a beat at the implication.
Isagi stared at Bachira, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, utterly incapable of forming a single coherent thought. Every nerve in his body seemed to buzz, like he was too aware of Bachira and everything he was doing.
Isagi’s eyes go wide, heart racing. “W—what… d–do you mean?!” His voice cracks halfway through, a squeak he instantly hates, and he groans in frustration at himself. He hates how weak and exposed it makes him feel, and the fact that Bachira is staring at him like that only makes it worse.
Bachira chuckles, leaning back a little. He drags his thumb across Isagi’s lower lip in slow circles, applying just enough pressure to make it part. The subtle drag of calloused skin makes Isagi shiver. He licked his own lips absently, eyes darkening before finally lifting them back to Isagi’s face. Blue orbs stared back at him, and a satisfied smile spreads across Bachira’s face, pleased at the way Isagi reacts under his touch.
“Relax, Isagi. I’m not gonna make you… but someone’s got to set things straight. Lucky for you, that’s me.”
Isagi huffs, shifting uncomfortably. “Nobody would… even want me.” Damn it, why does he always let his insecurities get the better of him? Maybe that’s exactly why. He’s too hard on himself for anyone to stick around. (If only he knew how wrong that was)
Bachira’s brow furrows at that. “What?! That’s… totally wrong, Isagi! If you made a kissing booth right now, it would sell out in like… two seconds!”
Isagi snorts, glaring at him sideways. “Yeah, right. You’re delusional.”
Bachira shakes his head furiously, curls bouncing, and leans closer across the table. “Delusional? Nope. You just don’t see it ‘cause you’re always stuck in your own head. But me? I see it all the time. The way people look at you.”
Isagi’s stomach flips. He hates the way Bachira says it — like it’s fact, like he’s sure. “You’re making that up.”
“Am not!” Bachira shoots back instantly, puffing his cheeks out like an offended child. “They look at you like… like you’re the sun or something. And you don’t even notice. Which is kinda funny, but also kinda sad.”
Isagi tsked, flicking Bachira’s forehead with his other hand. "Quit joking around,” If anything, that grin quickly returned to Bachira’s face, and Isagi groaned, wishing he could look anywhere but at that infuriatingly smug face.
He toyed with the hem of his shirt, letting his fingers linger near Bachira’s arm longer than necessary, then jerked them away as if nothing happened.
His knee nudged against Bachira’s under the table, and he fumbled with his fork, spinning it around in his hand instead of taking a bite. A faint heat crept up his neck as he chewed quietly, eyes keep flicking toward Bachira before quickly looking away, pretending to focus on his plate.
“Bachira probably doesn’t even notice half the things I do,” he muttered under his breath, a small, bitter laugh following the words. He scoffed. Sun, my ass. None of it was intentional — or at least, that’s what he told himself — and he was almost certain Bachira didn’t notice any of it.
But Bachira doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, he rubs the sore spot Isagi just flicked, tilting his head as his smile softens for once. “If nobody else gets to, then I’ll be the first. And the second. And the third. However many it takes until you believe me.”
Isagi’s heart stutters painfully at the casualness of it, at the way Bachira says it like it’s the simplest truth in the world. His throat feels dry. He stammers, “Y—you’re an idiot.”
Bachira smiles. “Yeah. But I’m right.”
Isagi gapes at him, fumbling for words in the tip of his tounge, but nothing comes out. His hands curl into fists at his sides, more out of frustration than anything else.
And Bachira, damn him, looks smug enough to burst.
Bachira drums his fingers on the table, eyes lit with sudden inspiration. “Y’know what? How about a challenge. I’ll make a little group chat.”
Isagi blinks, suspicious. “…A group chat?”
“Yeah!” Bachira leans closer, lowering his voice like it’s a secret mission. “I’ll make a group chat… full of people who would totally want you if they had the chance for 24 hours.”
Isagi stares at him, mouth agape. “Are you sure thi—”
“I'm not done talking yet,” Bachira interrupts, brushing a stray strand of hair from Isagi’s forehead. “It’s totally harmless. Think of it as… a little social experiment. And there's rules, of course!” He waggles a finger. “Rule one: you don’t find out who for a whole day. Rule two: I’m still the first one to, y’know, show you how it’s done.”
“If you opened yourself up to it, I bet you’d see just how many people would love to have a chance with you,” Bachira urges.
Isagi huffs at that. “I’m not going to just go around sleeping with everyone, idiot.”
Humming in response, Bachira taps his fingers against his chin, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Yeah, you’re right. That's probably too much for you. 0 to 100, you know?”
Feeling like he’s somehow been insulted, Isagi opens his mouth to protest, but quickly shuts it when Bachira stands up suddenly.
“Kissing’s different, though!”
Grumbling slightly, Isagi moves to stand up as well. He grabbed his tray, and headed towards the disposal area. Bachira’s hands are clenched into determined fists, fire burning in those eyes as he locks on to this absurd idea.
“Yeah, kissing will be perfect,” Bachira states.
Isagi lifts up a hand to stop him, tray in the other. “I won’t walk up and kiss everyone either.”
“No, no that wouldn’t be your style.”
Again, is he being insulted?
Bachira leans forward into his space once more. His lips have morphed into a very telling, very obvious smirk that Isagi would love nothing more than to swipe off of his smug face. Instead, Isagi stays still, apprehension obvious in the twitch of brow.
“But if they kissed you, it would be a different story.”
Isagi feels like he missed a few steps. “Isn’t that the same thing?” he questions.
Bachira chuckles, and Isagi feels the blooming warmth at the back of his neck. He already knows that Bachira’s got more experience with these sort of things in comparison. Bachira’s rising fame really pumped up his confidence, and the FC Barcha definitely didn’t dampen that. But Isagi's never felt the gap between their sexual experiences more than in this moment.
And while that does annoy and bothers him to no end, it also makes something stir deep inside him that is… kind of pleasant.
“Not at all, Yoichi. So, how about this?”
Bachira places both of his hands on Isagi’s shoulders, lips lifted into a near feral grin. He’s been hanging out with ‘them’ way too much, Isagi vaguely thinks.
“For 24 hours, if anyone wants to kiss you, you accept it.”
Isagi hears the words, but he’s sure he isn’t comprehending them correctly. He runs over them again in his head, trying to find some sort of mistake in his understanding, but he can’t find any.
“What?” Isagi blurts, his voice louder than he wanted.
“Exactly as I said,” Bachira insists, grinning like he’s just discovered the best idea ever. “For one whole day, if anyone comes up to you and kisses you — or even wants to — you just let them. Within reason, of course. If you really can’t stand someone, feel free to knock their lights out. But if you wouldn’t mind? Then… why not, you know?”
Giggling, he taps Isagi’s nose — “boop!” — and grins as Isagi scrunches his face. “And like I said… rules. Rule three: nobody talks about it outside the group chat. Rule four: you can’t peek. Rule five: I get to set the standard.”
Isagi blinks at him, completely unsure how to respond. Bachira’s challenge is ridiculous, absurd, and somehow impossibly tempting all at once. He immediately wants to reject it, but Bachira just leans closer, eyes gleaming with mischief, like he can read every thought Isagi’s trying to hide.
“Unless you don’t think you can handle it,” Bachira adds, tilting his head, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips.
Oh.
Oh no. Bachira knows exactly what he’s doing.
And it’s working.
Isagi squares his shoulders, exhales sharply through his nose, and crosses his arms but his lips twitch despite himself. “I can handle anything,” he mutters, trying to sound unimpressed, even though his heart is doing backflips.
“Then prove it,” Bachira challenges, he's gripping the back of Isagi’s neck as his face hovers near his ear. He’s dangerously close, that familiar spark lighting in his eyes. The same one that makes Isagi’s chest flutter and his stomach flip every single time.
Isagi lets it happen, that familiar fire building up inside of him whenever Bachira challenges him, whenever he pushes Isagi to be better and better.
“One day. All the kisses. No backing down. And after you survive it all, you’ll see just how unstoppable you really are!”
Isagi scowls, trying to argue, but that annoying, smug grin is still plastered across Bachira’s face. He knows Isagi’s stubbornness, knows the way his pride keeps him trying even when he doesn’t want to.
Now that Bachira has issued this, he wants to show that he can be open to things. That he can do anything Bachira throws at him.
Or, as a weird consolation prize, he might instead show Bachira that people aren’t rushing to kiss or hook ups with him. That Bachira’s wrong, and stupid, and should stop talking about these things.
Fine. He’ll do it. But not because Bachira said so. He’ll prove him wrong — show that people aren’t lining up to kiss him, that Bachira’s being ridiculous, that this whole thing is insane.
Though winning that way probably wouldn’t make him feel much like a victor in the end.
“Fine. You’re gonna eat your words,” Isagi agrees. Is going against Bachira, and trying to prove that no one wants to kiss him, somehow dissing himself? Maybe. God, Isagi can’t keep up anymore. This challenge is dumb, but backing down isn’t an option now.
They shake hands on it, both of their grips powerful and unforgiving. Just like a match on the field. Bachira looks so sure, that for the briefest moment, which he quickly buries down, Isagi thinks he might somehow be playing a losing game.
Bachira leans back, eyes glinting like he’s just won a game. “Oh no, Yoichi… you’re the one who’s gonna get eaten.”