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Rin sat in the locker room with his back against the wall, a towel draped over his head, and his fist clenched tight when he heard footsteps approaching.
“I’ve been lookin’ for ya all night,” Hiori said in lieu of a greeting, and it certainly wasn’t what Rin had been expecting. “Guess I should’ve checked here first, huh?”
It wasn’t a bad guess, but it would’ve been the wrong one earlier. The first place Rin had gone after the match wasn’t here—it was the nearest training room. He’d needed to hit something before he could stand to face the silence of the locker room. Before he could sit here and stew in it.
Because this was the only place that made him feel the loss. The only place that made it real; made it final.
Rin didn’t say any of that.
“Why were you looking for me?” he asked instead, voice rough from disuse.
Hiori exhaled softly. “Ya weren’t with us for the bow,” he said. “I was worried.”
Rin blinked from under the towel. Worried? Hiori had noticed his absence—and worried? The thought didn’t seem possible.
He had no idea what to say to that, so he remained silent. Hiori didn’t seem bothered or put-off in the slightest—he simply took a few steps closer and asked, “Would ya mind if I sat with ya for a bit?”
Rin’s breath caught in his chest, and he refused to look up at Hiori no matter how badly he wanted to. “No,” he said after a moment’s pause.
His voice came out much smaller than he hoped it would.
Hiori, thankfully, didn’t acknowledge it—he simply sat down next to him. But he also sat down much closer to Rin than he expected.
He sat so close to him that he could almost feel Hiori’s body heat radiating against his own.
“Listen, Rin,” Hiori began after a long period of silence, and Rin shook his head.
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “Don’t say anything.”
He could feel Hiori’s gaze boring into the side of his face. Rin resolutely did not move. “Please,” he whispered. Then repeated: “Don’t say anything.”
Hiori sighed before, unsurprisingly, ignoring Rin’s request. “Rin,” he said, firm yet somehow gentle. “Ya played well.”
“Shut up,” Rin snapped. It was weak; weaker than it would’ve been if he’d been speaking to anyone else.
Hiori sighed again. “Ya really don’t think so?” he asked.
Rin had to swallow a few times before he could answer. “No,” he said honestly. “I don’t.”
Hiori hummed, the sound almost mocking in its emphasized tone of contemplation. “Blue Lock won because of you, ya do know that, right?”
He scoffed. “Blue Lock won because of that final goal.” Rin blatantly refused to say the name of who, exactly, made said goal, but he didn’t need to. “And it was a final goal that I didn’t make.”
Hiori suddenly stood up, and Rin had to bite his tongue to stop himself from begging Hiori not to leave. But Hiori didn’t—all he did was gently take the towel off of his head and wrap it around his shoulders. Then he grabbed Rin’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt his face up so that they could make eye contact.
“I wantcha to listen to me real close, alright?”
Hiori’s eyes were big and blue; and Rin felt like he could get lost in them forever if he looked into them for long enough. He nodded mechanically.
“Good boy,” Hiori whispered; Rin shivered and his breath caught in his chest. Hiori’s lip quirked up slightly at his reaction before he ran both of his hands through Rin’s hair. “Ya played so well.”
Rin huffed. It was weak; his heart wasn’t in it. “But—”
Hiori didn’t let him finish. Didn’t even let him get past that one word. “Isagi did amazing,” he said, nodding as if he’d read Rin’s mind yet again. “He was incredible.”
Rin’s jaw tightened. His eyes stung, and no matter how hard he blinked, a few tears still slipped out. Hiori noticed—Rin could tell by the slight widening of his eyes—but before he could say anything, Rin leaned forward, resting his forehead against Hiori’s stomach.
The older boy’s shirt was damp, but Rin only registered it absently. Either way he didn’t care. It would’ve been hypocritical to care, considering Hiori had spent most of the conversation running his fingers through Rin’s sweat-soaked hair.
Hidden like this, he let a few more tears escape, though he tried to keep his shoulders steady and his breathing quiet. He failed at both—he failed at both, just like he failed tonight.
Even unknowingly, Isagi was the reason for his failures yet again.
“Isagi did amazing,” Hiori said again. Rin almost snapped at him for repeating it—until Hiori kept going, his voice softer this time. “But Rin, honey, you were unbelievable. Nobody on that field played like ya. Not Isagi, not Shidou… not Sae.”
And it was that last name—his brother’s name—that shattered him.
“Hiori,” he managed, though it came out more like a broken sob.
Hiori didn’t hesitate, crouching down to pull him in. Rin, to his mortification, all but jumped off the bench in order to bury himself in Hiori’s arms.
Rin couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this—without trying to muffle the sound, without pretending it didn’t hurt. He couldn’t remember the last time someone held him. The last time he’d let them.
“It’s okay, lovely,” Hiori whispered, cradling him close. “It’s only me here. Just let it all out, okay?”
‘Okay’ felt more relative than anything but Rin took it at face value. He couldn’t help it—Hiori felt safe. He felt so, so safe. He never wanted to leave Hiori’s embrace.
Rin wasn’t sure if minutes or hours had passed by the time he calmed down enough to come back to himself, but Hiori held him through it all, carding his fingers through Rin’s hair and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
“Pretty baby,” he heard Hiori say at one point, running his hand up and down Rin’s back. “Everything’s fine, and I’m right here with ya.”
It was almost enough to set Rin off again. All of these nicknames made him feel so warm, so safe, that he couldn’t help but hate himself a little for it.
It was no wonder Rin lost today, if he was this weak; when all it took for him to completely shatter was a few nice words and gentle touches from someone like Hiori—someone who would probably comfort anybody this way if he felt they needed it.
But the wounded part of Rin, the part he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge let alone indulge, kept him from running away.
In fact, he was starting to feel like he could fall asleep right then and there—on the grimy locker room floor, still in his sweat-soaked clothes, his face streaked with tears he hadn’t even realized were still falling.
And as if reading his mind again—because of course he was, and wasn’t that starting to get a little unnerving—Hiori pushed Rin back slightly and looked him in the eyes.
“I’m starting to think that we both need a shower,” he said, one brow lifting in that familiar, knowing way. “Wouldn’t ya say?”
Rin’s breath caught before he could stop it. His eyes flicked up and met Hiori’s; he immediately regretted it—the look there was too steady, too warm, too much.
Hiori smirked faintly. “Not like that, love,” he said, laughter humming low in his throat. Then, after a beat, the smirk deepened. “Though I’m certainly not opposed to doin’ that another time.”
Rin’s ears went hot before the rest of his face followed. “Me neither,” he muttered, too quiet to be confident but too honest to be a joke.
Hiori’s grin faded into something softer. He reached out and brushed his thumb over Rin’s bottom lip, lingering for a fraction too long. “I’m glad,” he murmured.
Then, with a gentleness that somehow made Rin’s chest ache, Hiori shifted him off his lap and stood. When he offered his hand, Rin hesitated for a brief moment before reaching out to grab it. Hiori’s fingers curled around his forearm—long and firm and sure—and with an easy pull he lifted Rin to his feet, their bodies drawing close enough for Rin to feel the heat of Hiori’s breath against.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Hiori finally broke the silence by asking, “Are ya good to stand on yer own, sweetheart?"
The question was humiliating, never mind its validity. “Yes,” Rin said quietly, though he made no move to step away.
Hiori didn’t either; he let his thumb caress the inside of Rin’s wrist in a way that couldn’t be anything but intentional. Then he nodded once and let go, and Rin felt the sudden absence of warmth like a shock.
But just as soon as the warmth on his wrist was gone there was a new warmth on his right cheek. Hiori’s fingers brushed over the blossoming bruise there, just as gently as before—maybe even more so.
“Shidou really gotcha good, huh?” he murmured.
Rin’s jaw tightened. “He barely grazed me,” he said, the same thing he’d told Hiori back on the field.
Hiori hummed. It was clear that he was only humoring him by letting the subject drop, but Rin couldn’t find it in himself to care. Then he smiled. “So,” he said slowly. “Shower?”
“Shower,” Rin agreed a little too quickly; anything to take attention away from the embarrassing meltdown he’d just had.
Hiori smiled faintly. “Shower,” he agreed.
Then he turned toward the row of stalls, but not before giving Rin’s shoulder a light tap as he passed—a small, steadying gesture that shouldn’t have meant anything. And yet, heat still crept up Rin’s neck before he could stop it.
When Hiori disappeared around the corner, Rin stayed where he was, staring down at his forearm like it had betrayed him. The spot where Hiori’s fingers had been still felt too warm, too sensitive, and he hated it.
(Almost.)