Archive of Our Own

The faster he got through it, the faster that junk would be out of his sight. Without any care, Ego tore the wrapping and then he stopped.

Inside the box were several neatly arranged packages — five of them, packed with almost obsessive precision. Peyoung Kyushu Tonkotsu Yakisoba. Rare. Extremely difficult to find. Only sold in specific regions. A strange hybrid of Kyushu’s tonkotsu broth and stir-fried yakisoba. This was not something you bought by accident. Not the kind of thing you gave to someone without knowing them.

Peyoung Kyushu Tonkotsu Yakisoba. The kind of soba you don't eat for comfort, those are the kind that taste like home.

Of course. The sloppy wrapping. Leaving it in the mailbox instead of handing it to him in person. And of all things, his favorite yakisoba. There was only one person careless enough to package it like that, and that person was the one who knew him well enough to know that this would be the perfect gift.

He stared at the packages for a moment, a little bit longer than necessary. After straightening up and moving to the small kitchenette without ceremony, Ego started making what seemed to be his lunch. Using nothing else by precise movements to do this action, muscle memory took over as if he’d done this hundreds of times. 

Because he had.

He filled the container with water up to the marked line, then closed it again. When the necessary time had passed, steam rose the moment he lifted the lid. The smell began to spread through the room inevitably. A plastic table. Two chairs pulled too close. Complaints whispered under breath. A shared look before stuffing empty containers into a dark trash bag, laughing quietly at how stupid it was to hide something so trivial like packages of instant noodles and hoping that no nutritionist finds out about their little cheat meal.

He clicked his tongue at the memory and took a bite. They were still so good. Annoyingly good.

Ego ate in silence, eyes fixed on nothing in particular, until the container was empty. When he finally stood up, Jinpachi took the trash and threw it into the bottom of the bin, hiding it in the same way they used to do.

The facilities were loud again the next morning. Footsteps echoed through the halls, voices overlapping, complaints and laughter filling spaces that had been silent the days before. Blue Lock had returned to its usual chaos. The holidays were over, and the players returned as if nothing had happened, as if rest had magically made them better, but it hadn’t.

Ego stood in the observation room, with his arms crossed and eyes locked on the screens. Christmas, holidays, celebrations; all of it was nothing more than a distraction. Time stolen from improvement. A convenient excuse to stagnate. Now was time to get back into the same routines, familiar inefficiencies, and the same predictable bullshit.

Then he felt it. Not footsteps, not noises, just a presence.

“Still running this place like a prison. I see.”

Ego didn’t turn around. The screen had data that was more important to look at.

“Prisons are inefficient. Blue Lock produces results.”

Noel stepped into his peripheral vision, hands in his pockets, and his expression unreadable as always. The same unreadable expression he had since he was young, but now reflected by an older person.

“So” Noa said casually, gaze following the players below. “Did you survive the holidays?”

“I did. I wasn't absorbed by them.”

Noa hummed, mildly amused. Silence settled between them, but it wasn't awkward, it wasn't tense. It was just silence.

“Did it taste the same?” The silence was broken after a while, the french's gaze lingered on him longer than necessary. Ego’s fingers tightened against his own sleeve.

“Stop it.” Of course it tasted the same.

“I didn’t expect you to say thank you.” 

"Next time don’t hide behind anonymous gestures. And learn how to wrap a gift properly." He finally met Noa’s eyes.

For the first time in a long while, Noa laughed.

“I knew you’d figure it out, you always do.”

“Don’t get sentimental, Noel. Your gift was nothing more than an efficient choice.”

“Of course...” Noa replied.

Jinpachi's focus shifted back to the players. Noa walked past him, heading toward the exit of the room. 

“I’ll keep that in mind next Christmas, Jin.” His voice drifted back, lighter than before.

Ego didn’t reply. But for the briefest moment, the memory of steam, tonkotsu, and something he hadn’t allowed himself in years lingered in the air.