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There is a certain amount of... disdain, that Sei regards Endou Haru with.
He’d said that to Unmei once, those specific words—very nonchalantly, he’d thought—and Unmei had choked on his udon and genuinely looked like he was having a fit (Sei had even been worried about his heart for a second) before he had schooled himself into his usual stoic expression and said “Is that so?” which Sei hadn’t particularly appreciated. He also hadn’t appreciated when Unmei had seen him at practice two days later, stifled a laugh with his hand, and, when an explanation was demanded, said, “Sorry. I just thought of what you said about Haru again.”
He’d said it to Kisoji, once, too, when he was being particularly nosy about everything around him (as is his nature) and that had doubled him over laughing so hard it devolved into a coughing fit.
So he guesses he has a reputation for it. As much as he can shout and complain at the people who laugh about it, he can’t say there’s no reason; he supposes, if you looked really hard, you could find that the way he looks at Endou Haru is less than kind. His Nagumohara teammates who have talked to the guy more than once insist he just got off on the wrong foot, and that he’s an okay guy, they promise; his teammates who were originally from Hokuyou share some of his wariness, but even Jinnai—the one who had faced most of Haru’s wrath in that first match they played—has begrudgingly admitted to him being a bit pretentious, but otherwise fine.
The one person who he’s found any solidarity with is Sakurazaki of all people, and Sei isn’t about to talk about it with him.
It is all, of course, due to one person’s propaganda. The one thing that makes Sei dig his claws into the ground and pull against the leash Unmei has tied to his neck.
You can’t even get away with referring to him as the football monster with any sort of derision in earshot of Unmei, anymore, without a critical glare being turned on you and the extremely sound argument of some people call me that, too being thrown in your face. Endou Haru has not stopped being something to be feared, in Sei’s eyes, or in anyone else’s, really, including Unmei—the difference is that they only fear him on the pitch; a tactical miscalculation, no matter how many sweets Haru brings their captain.
Does it matter how accurate the propaganda is if you’re too deep in the other side for it to work? It’s a question he wonders about whenever he sees Haru on one of his multiple trips to Nagasaki, chattering away to Unmei like he’s belonged at his side all this time, looking, for all intents and purposes, nothing like the football monster Sei had met on the pitch at the start of last year. The not-quite-person that had scored a double hat-trick and yawned as he walked out had a smile that was painted on his face and eyes that could have been lifeless glass. The boy who skips along next to Unmei smiles wide and laughs loud, as he’s done since he parachuted into that Football Frontier match those months ago.
(Who parachutes into a match? It’s ridiculous, and impractical, and Sei has wondered, multiple times, at his low points, if there was any way he could get away with doing it despite being part of Nagumohara where Unmei would definitely notice him sneaking away to catch a helicopter.)
All this to say, it’s not like he hadn’t noticed the change in Endou Haru’s demeanour. He thinks he was one of the first ones to notice—possibly the very first, other than Unmei, and no one can outsmart Unmei, so he can probably consider himself the first. He still remembers the match like it was yesterday, that start of the second half where a ragged Nagumohara had been run in circles by a beast; you’d be hard pressed to find anyone there who doesn’t. The fierce, fiery energy pouring out of Haru, so strong that you could swear he was leaving burnt footprints in the grass where he ran, terrifying and mighty; tired teammates gasping for breath as they wondered how one person could be so strong. Sei had jogged to his position already scared of the Endou Haru he’d met months prior—the thing he’d met in his place hadn’t been that.
And Unmei had somehow considered this better than before. Sei so vividly remembers looking up from his conversation with Tsukikage and seeing them both lying down, next to the ball that had determined their fate, staring up at the clouds and barely even speaking to each other. Like they knew what the other was feeling, like they were meant to stay like that forever, sun shining down on them like they were the only people in the world.
And now, standing at the bench in Raimon Junior High’s football stadium and glaring down Haru and Unmei while they just, like, stand next to each other and that seems to be enough to cause Unmei to smile, Sei resists the urge to cry very, very well.
They’re not even here for Raimon. They’re here for a different exhibition match that some other bigshot Tokyo school had paid for, against a team that won’t really stand a chance, but of course Unmei had accepted it anyway. The team they’re actually playing is planning to fight back, Unmei’s research predicts, so they’ll at least meet other passionate players at—Kidokawa-something, Sei thinks? The point being that they had all gathered in the meeting room and Unmei had brought up the other school on the screen, barely letting Kasumisaki get a word in about permission slips before he’d launched into strategy, and they’d all murmured among themselves and pitched in where they could until he’d finally allowed himself to smile and say we have also arranged a practice day with Raimon Junior High and the room had gone up in cheers.
It only makes sense; after the Frontier, Nagumohara’s relationship with Raimon had grown stronger than ever, the thread that linked Unmei and Haru being joined by a dozen other frail connections until it had been woven into a twine. Though Tokyo and Nagasaki are far from each other, the Inacord group that Unmei had created to “share strategies” had quickly devolved into a lawless mess of excitement, fostering that bond further until many of Nagumohara’s members had found good friendships in Raimon and even those that hadn’t were excited for the chance to play them again.
Sei had been excited, too, until he was talking to Unmei later that day and he had told him that he was excited to see Haru again, a glimmer in his eyes that made Sei’s stomach drop.
So he watches Unmei and Haru out of the corner of his eye, pretending Tenguji isn’t obviously biting his tongue to keep himself from laughing as they try to swipe the ball away from each other. “You know,” Akasode notes when he finally gets the ball past but she dives in and halts him in his tracks because he was trying to will Haru to the other side of the field, “you were very intimidating when we played Hokuyou last year.”
Sei levels a look at her as she puts one foot up on the ball. “Thank you.”
“Much less intimidating now.”
Admittedly, the offended yelp Sei lets out is likely not helping his case.
They’re barely even training! Most of the time they just stand next to each other and talk, and then maybe they’ll kick a ball back and forth while they do it, and then maybe they’ll just stand next to each other watching everyone else. It’s an hour before Haru steps away to talk to Yagyu and Unmei is left still smiling a little as he goes through something on his tablet, and Sei immediately abandons all pretense of paying attention to whatever Raika and Sigdale are talking about and leaves with the former’s laughter ringing in his ears.
“What’re you looking at?”
Unmei doesn’t startle at his presence; if anything, his smile grows wider, like he was expecting it. “Amisaki-san sent me some of Raimon’s internal data,” he hums. “It’s very interesting.”
He says the word interesting like he’s a dog staring down a particularly juicy piece of meat. Sei doesn’t pay it much mind.
“Internal data on their players?” Sei glances over his shoulder at the screen, half expecting to find a picture of Haru’s face, but instead finds a picture of someone he only vaguely recognises.
Unmei shakes his head. “On Kidokawa Seishuu,” he says. “Nothing much that I didn’t already have, but what is here is... good.” The good sounds like an evil overlord whose plan is going exactly as expected. Again, Sei doesn’t pay it much mind. “Would you like to tell me why you keep looking over at me?” he says, not looking up from where he’s scrolling. “You should be focusing on training.”
He can’t be too surprised about being noticed, but he still feels his cheeks burn a little. “I am training,” he mutters. “We’re gonna win tomorrow, anyway.”
Unmei gives him a long look. “Kidokawa Seishuu is well known for their football, Sei,” he chastises, “and they have been since before Endou Mamoru’s time. They won’t be an easy opponent. Their offer of a friendly match was accepted because both myself and Kasumisaki-sensei could see the benefits.” He raises his eyebrows. “Maybe you should be practicing instead of talking to me.”
Ouch. Okay, so maybe Sei hadn’t really looked into Kidokawa Seishuu, too mad about the planned Raimon meetup to do much but sulk in the corner of the clubroom—so maybe he’d been a bit quick to judge. But to be fair to him, Unmei looks as though he has something else on his mind too, worrying at the corner of his lip when he thinks Sei is beaten back enough to not be looking, turning his head just slightly to stare at...?
Really? He’s talking to Sei, and still staring at Haru?
“Unmei,” Sei whines, and Unmei jumps slightly.
“Sorry,” he says, not actually sounding very apologetic, and Sei feels a growl building in his throat. “Sei, have you...?” A small pause. “No, you’re the worst person to ask.”
“Hey!” Sei yelps, a little too loudly, enough for Hoshimura to curiously glance over nearby, and he glares her away back to her running. Turning back to Unmei, aware of his face flushing, he latches onto his sleeve and looks at him as seriously as he can. “I can answer any question you ask me. Better than anyone.”
Unmei looks at him, deadpan stare. “Then have you noticed if something is off with Haru?”
Sei stares at him.
“...No.”
Unmei makes a low hum.
“I answered the question!”
“I could have gotten that answer from Sakurazaki-senpai.” Unmei’s face twitches a little, and he glances over at Haru again, and it’s enough for Sei to think: wait, he’s really worried. “Kisoji couldn’t see anything either, but I swear.”
So Sei leans back a bit from Unmei, for the moment, and stares across the field at Endou Haru, because even in his slight disdain for the guy, he and Unmei are close—really close, too close—and that means if there is something actually wrong (and Unmei is usually right about these kinds of things) then Unmei is going to be worrying about it until it’s right again. And that is something Sei cannot abide by.
Haru is standing on the side of the field, checking his phone with a water bottle hanging out of his mouth, posture leaning to one side, relaxed. Sei is very ready to call it there, turn back and say he looks fine, but he reminds himself that it’s Unmei who noticed anything at all and ploughs on through his own analysis. Focusing his eyes like a camera lens, he first takes in the whole of Haru’s stance, catching glimpses of the ardor surrounding him, that fervour that had terrified him to the point of tears in the Frontier, though it feels much softer when he’s not in a match. He can almost see gentle wisps of green, if he focuses just right, though he wonders if it’s a trick of the light more than anything.
Then, he zooms in, flitting to different points of tension, shoulders and legs and arms, and comes up with... maybe something small, but nothing that isn’t explained by him simply not paying attention to Haru outside of matches that often, not knowing his usual posture. His face is neutral as he stares down at the screen in his hand, blank and maybe a little unfocused, but nothing to be worried about.
He looks up, and Sei just manages to turn back to Unmei before they make eye contact with each other.
“I really don’t see anything, Unmei,” Sei says, and Unmei hums.
“Alright. I suppose he hasn’t said anything to me...” There’s still a twinge of something in his expression, but it’s eased just slightly by Sei’s analysis. A flash of pride shoots through him, filing the look away as evidence that he’s trusted, that he’s leaned on. But then, Unmei’s gaze hardens. “In any case: get back to work.”
“Sorry, sorry!”
Sei scrambles to join Hoshimura’s drills (this turns out to be a mistake, because she seems to be just as nosy as Kisoji), and resolves to put the Haru problem to the back of his mind as much as he can.
—
It’s because of that very conversation, though, that Sei actually does notice something.
They’re taking a break with a tray of onigiri that is apparently a Raimon staple—though according to a stage-whisper from Hoshimura to Kisoji that everyone on that side of the pitch had heard, Amisaki rarely makes anything for anyone outside of the team, so this was a real event. They’d all gathered around the bench and taken one, thanking her for the food and chatting among themselves, all crowding around each other.
It’s likely because they’re all in one big crowd that Sei notices movement out of the corner of his eye, and stares at Haru disappearing into the door that he knows leads to the hallway where the clubroom is. He only sees him for a split second, but it’s just barely long enough for him to see his brow is furrowed, face tense, before the door is being carefully closed behind him.
“What’s up, Soramiya?” Arashi asks, turning to look at where he’s staring a little too late.
“Nothing, nothing,” Sei says, taking the chance while he’s not looking at him to sneak a glance at Unmei. He has an onigiri in one hand, tablet in the other, and is showing something to Tono on it with such focus that his food is almost entirely untouched. There’s no way he saw Haru, and there’s no way Sei is going to drag him away from what he’s doing. It looks important. Everything Unmei does looks important. So, he stuffs the last bit of his onigiri in his mouth, just managing to not choke on it too obviously, and announces, “I’m going to the bathroom real quick.”
Arashi nods. “You know where it is?”
“Yeah, I remember.” He nods back to him and starts pushing through the small throng of people he’s in, passing Shisendo and Shinano having some kind of intense conversation with Nogami, and jogs up the stairs.
What could go wrong? He’ll check up on Haru for Unmei, maybe work out whatever little problem he has, report back, and Unmei will clasp his hands in his own and say, Sei, I always believed you could do it. You are the best football player and friend I’ve ever met and will meet. Would you like to be my co-captain? Also, when we get back to Nagasaki, could you meet me under the God Tree after school?
He’s expecting Haru to be in the clubroom when he opens the door, expects to maybe find him sulking on the bench or something, and Sei would do his best to talk it out with him without looking daggers at him the whole time, and Unmei would be so delighted that he got through a whole conversation. Instead, he finds the room empty. The door creaks behind him, and he frowns as he glances around, realising he might have to do some detective work to figure out where Haru actually went, on a campus he really doesn’t know too well, and considers if this is really worth it. Eyes passing over the room, they land on the bin in the corner as the door clicks shut, and he blinks at the grains of rice decorating the flap.
Then, without the noise of the door, he suddenly notices it isn’t quite silent in here.
Above the vague noise of the people still mingling on the pitch outside, muffled by the wall between them, Sei hears rushing water; pipes sounding through the walls towards the bathroom leading off of the clubroom, loud like they’re on full blast. And underneath that, entirely audible in the otherwise silent room, is loud, violent retching.
He’s stunned still for a moment, footing unsure as he considers what to do. So he’s sick? he thinks, dumbfounded, but he’s so sure he would have seen that, especially if he’s in here doing this; and nevermind him, Unmei would have picked it out immediately—Sei swears he has a sixth sense about that kind of thing. But, well, he’s listening to the proof, isn’t he?
Without really thinking about it, his feet move him to the doorway to the bathroom, wincing as the noise becomes clearer, finding Haru’s shoes haphazardly shoved to the side at the door. Two taps are running at full blast, turned on so high they’re spitting water at the wall, clearly an attempt to muffle noise but it’s really not working because Sei stares at Haru’s legs sticking out of the open door of the furthest stall, kneeling on the admittedly clean-looking bathroom floor, and listens to him gag into the toilet. The acrid scent of vomit fills the air, mixing with the smell of cleaning products in a way that doesn’t inspire anything good. Sei kind of wishes he hadn’t eaten the last bit of that onigiri, feeling like the grains are sticking in his throat.
Then, the heaving falters to a stop, replaced by hacking coughs, replaced by gasping breaths. Or, not gasping breaths, Sei realises—gasping sobs, fast and frantic.
He swallows as finally, after a minute of listening to this, stunned, he slips his shoes off, steps into a pair of slippers, and ventures a little farther into the bathroom. There’s no reaction as he walks to the stall and peers around, finding Haru curled into himself and shaking with sobs. “...Endou-kun?”
Haru startles so bad he swings his elbow into the side of the stall, loud bang echoing into the room as he whirls around to face Sei.
A jolt of shock goes through him as he takes in Haru’s face, coming to rest in the pit of his stomach as dread. There are tears streaming from his eyes, pupils constricted and wildly flitting around, surrounding skin swollen and raw; sweat drips down from his brow, pinched and tense. He crouches, curling back in on himself as he watches, muscles taut like they’re ready to spring, chest heaving with wheezing, shallow breaths coming from his lips, red and puffy.
But what takes Sei aback is that he glances down and finds a familiar bright orange piece of fabric on the floor next to him, sloppily thrown to the side. Dragging his eyes back up to look at Haru, he finds that with no muffler, nothing to tuck the lower part of his face into, he looks so much smaller than he’s ever seen him, the most open he’s ever seen him. This isn’t the formidable monster Sei has known since the Spring Cup—this is a first year having a panic attack.
Even then, as he stares, Haru swallows and pants and clearly tries to get his breathing under control as fast as he can, coughing to try to clear his throat, and he looks up and says, voice so strained he can barely hear it over the taps, “Soramiya... san.” A wobbly smile that would shatter like glass if you lightly tapped it tries to form. “Um, sorry. Guess the,” he swallows again, “the onigiri messed with me.”
“Endou-kun,” Sei repeats, aware of how purely astonished he probably looks, “what’s going on?”
The smile breaks, and Haru all but snarls, “Nothing!” at him, undercut by the snap coming out wet and choked, with him looking down and to the side to avoid Sei’s gaze, sniffling and, despite his best efforts, still with uneven breath. He’s pressing himself against the stall wall, Sei realises, like a cornered prey animal—and a cornered prey animal with teeth, at that, still trying to keep up some form of bravado against him. To the end, Endou Haru will not stop feigning that he is something to be feared—or, at the very least, that he is something unwavering, even with wild eyes and tears streaming down his face.
It’s here that Sei is reminded that Haru is a year younger than him. He’s the same age as Unmei, would be his kouhai if they were at the same school. It makes something uncomfortable swirl in his chest, biting his tongue and staring at him.
“...I’m going to get Tsukikage,” he finally concludes.
“Don’t,” Haru gasps, urgent enough for Sei to not leave immediately, staring up at him with glassy eyes. “Soramiya-san, I’m—fine, really, just—go back out. I’ll... I’ll be there soon.”
He really does consider it for a second, but decides Unmei would kill him if he ever found out. “Endou-kun,” he growls, “you’re pretty much hyperventilating.”
“I didn’t,” Haru snipes, taking a ragged breath in, “notice.”
Now he’s really considering it.
Again, the threat of Unmei never speaking to him again keeps him there, and Sei finally crouches down to be at the same level as Haru. “If you’re not gonna let me get Tsukikage, then start breathing,” he snaps at him, and Haru blinks, eyes glinting with something other than tears, and takes a sniffly inhale.
He turns away from him, leaning over to scrabble at the roll of toilet paper fixed to the wall, tearing off a long piece and scrunching it up to shove at Haru, who hesitantly takes it from him and starts scrubbing at his face, finally abandoning all pretense of not being in active tears. When he lifts his head, he looks marginally better, taking heaving, deep breaths in, managing to clear his lungs; his eyes have turned slightly foggy, dark and blurred, still wet at the corners. He turns away from Sei quickly after he does it, the wavering line of his mouth still just visible, skin under his eyes red and raw as he takes shaky breaths.
He drops the tissue into the toilet and presses the flush down. While he’s doing it, Sei ducks out of the stall and turns the damn taps off, revelling in the quieter bathroom.
“Isn’t your family the one paying the water bill?” Sei mutters as he struts back to Haru.
Haru breathily laughs. “That’s how you think that works, Soramiya-san?”
“I don’t know!” he snaps at him. “I can still go get Tsukikage!”
That makes Haru look back at him, fixing him with a stare, still not quite focused and with wetness at the edges but enough to get his point across, even if it's weak. “You get Ren-san, Unmei will notice.”
Sei grits his teeth. “So?” he spits, refusing to take the bait.
“So, he...” Haru swallows, stare breaking contact. “I don’t want him to...” his voice quietly trails off into nothing, still choked and rough. “Just don’t,” he coughs out.
Sei watches him for a second, tracing his still-shaky hands and tiny voice. “Unmei’ll probably notice something anyway,” he mutters. Haru makes a tiny noise of discontent. “Endou-kun,” he says flatly, and watches him tense up a little more, “you didn’t answer my question. What’s going on?”
“I did answer,” Haru mumbles, “I said nothing.”
“Sorry if I don’t believe you,” Sei hisses.
Because it's ridiculous. He's staring at Endou Haru sitting with one knee pulled up to his chest on the floor of a bathroom stall, avoiding his gaze to stare at the discarded muffler on the tile, stark contrast to the person who plays with the opponent in matches and extreme contrast to the monster with the painted-on smile. Tell him about this a day ago—an hour ago, and he would have denied it outright, but the sight is making him feel slightly nauseous himself.
Haru looks to the side and mumbles under his breath, then says, louder, “Of course it’s you who came in here.”
Sei bristles, any weird feelings of empathy evaporating. “What does that mean?” he demands, taking a threatening step forward.
“You’re,” Haru coughs, “probably going to tell Unmei anyway.”
“That’s—”
“And he can't see me like this,” he cuts him off, insisting, “not again, and, I don’t know how to do this,” he says, voice turning pitched and warbling like he’s going to start crying again as he speaks, and Sei stops in his tracks, “and you’re already—” he sniffles, “you’re always next to him.”
Sei is dumbfounded for a moment, searching for his voice. “I’m always next to him?” he says incredulously.
“You’ve always been next to him!” Haru insists, voice rising, grudge clear in the way it snaps. “He talks about you like you’re—” a deep, shaky breath in, “you helped him when he was sick, you did everything right!” His voice cracks on the last word, gritting his teeth as Sei stares down at him. “And I’m just—I’m using him, I’m just trying to replace—”
He cuts himself off, curling in on himself as the sound of his voice echoes on the tile. Sei’s gaze flickers from him, to the orange cloth next to him, back to him again, as his head spins with the idea of the ugliest of his feelings being reflected back to him by someone with a smile like Endou Haru’s.
“...I didn’t help him,” Sei mumbles.
“You were there,” Haru says desperately, something frantic sneaking into his tone.
“Not really.”
“You’re still there,” Haru sniffles, “in Nagasaki. I don’t even live in Nagasaki.”
“He went to Tokyo for a weekend last month because you wanted to see a movie with him,” Sei retorts.
“And you can just do that every day!”
Haru fumbles to stand up, leaning on the wall of the stall, fury in his eyes as he stumbles past Sei and gets to the sink, turning the tap back on at full blast and shoving water in his face with his hands as Sei watches, stunned, without a response. He watches the water fall from Haru’s face as he holds his fingers on his sinuses, cupping cold water against his eyes.
“I didn’t do anything right, Endou-kun.”
Haru doesn’t respond, still with his hands over his face, so Sei swallows, realising a little too late that this might be a bad path to go down as a familiar feeling of tightness springs to his throat, and he breathes through it, deep and clear. “I barely even saw him,” he says. “I went there every day, and I would see him through the window, and he’d go hide. He showed up to practice once and the second I made eye contact he ran.” And oh, there it is: the tightness reaches his sinuses and pours out through his eyes, tears gathering at the corners and starting to stream as he blinks. “He didn’t come back to football because of me, Endou-kun. It was years since I last saw him when I found out he had. You know who did help him come back?” He takes a breath in, and spits out the word: “You.”
Haru doesn’t say anything, but he visibly tenses, stopping still in front of the sink. “And you’re right,” he blubbers, “you weren’t there, but you’re the one who inspired him to keep going anyway. You should have heard him, it was—you did more for him than I ever did.” His voice rising, Sei snaps, “So tell me why you’re throwing up in the bathroom having a panic attack about him!”
Haru stays still, then releases all the water cupped against his face with a loud splash, rubbing his face slightly before turning the tap off and putting his hands on the side of the basin. For a moment, the bathroom is silent, only Sei’s uneven breathing filling his ears as he sniffles, jaw set as he stares at Haru.
“I just kept thinking about... someone else, today,” Haru says, still staring into the sink, refusing to look at Sei, but his voice sounds almost normal. Like he hadn't been crying at all. “This is... around the time he...” He trails off, and Sei can fill in the last word just based on his tone. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there, feeling his stomach churn and mouth dry out. “Anyway,” Haru continues, “I saw you and Unmei talking, and I took a bite of that onigiri, and it just... turned to dust in my mouth, and...”
He takes a deep breath in, and then turns around. Sei is stunned to find the only trace of his breakdown is a slightly flushed face and slightly red eyes, puffiness all but evaporated with the cold water. Lucky, he thinks blankly, but then rearranges it to practiced. What’s really stunning, though, is that Haru is smiling at him—a familiar smile, but one that’s become rarer these days, painted on and plastic.
After Hokuyou and Nagumohara had merged, when the dust hadn’t quite settled yet, he’d had a conversation with Unmei about Endou Haru where he had talked about him like you would an idol, spark in his eye that Sei had thought he’d never see again, soft-spoken but with nervous underlying excitement. I met him when we played Nishinomiya, Unmei had mentioned, but something about him was... off. His smile; it was fake. Did you see it? Sei hadn’t paid much attention to Endou Haru’s smile when he’d seen him before that point, so he’d cast a long, suspicious glance at Unmei and left it at that. He could see it after they’d all started talking to him more, how the change felt more real, but it’s been so long since Sei had this cast on him that he hadn’t had a good comparison, and he certainly hadn’t seen whatever Unmei insists he could see if he looked a little harder, too wrapped up in all his envy.
Well, here it is: eyes too bright, smile too small, face more like a doll than a human. Sei blinks in the face of it, and is stunned for so long that Haru moves before he does, trotting back to the stall and picking his muffler back up. Then, he starts to walk past Sei, towards the exit of the bathroom. “Seeya, Soramiya-san,” he says.
“H-Hold on,” Sei says, cursing himself for hesitating. Haru stops, fabric hanging from his hand. “Hold on! You can’t just do that!”
Haru turns back to him, tilts his head in such a practiced way that Sei tenses, and suddenly, everything Unmei’s ever said about Haru makes sense. “Hmm? Do what?”
Have you noticed if something is off with Haru? Sei hadn’t, but if Unmei had—
“Endou-kun,” Sei says, seriously enough for Haru to shift on his feet. “You said earlier you were trying to replace someone.”
Haru flinches back a little.
“You cannot think,” Sei hisses, “that your relationship with Unmei is just that.”
There’s a long silence, permeated only by the still-dripping tap, shut off in a hurry. Haru opens and closes his mouth, then sets his lips in a hard line, all but a confirmation. “...Thanks for hearing me out, Soramiya-san,” he says finally, and turns to leave again.
“Endou-kun,” Sei says louder, but he doesn’t stop this time, struggling out of his bathroom slippers. Sei shoots forward and catches his arm, gripping it with a little too much force. “Endou-kun,” he hisses, and Haru tenses under his touch, but stops.
“I don’t,” Haru snaps back. “It’s more than that, I know it is—”
“Then why didn’t you say that?”
Sei watches Haru grit his teeth and not answer. “That,” Sei snarls at him, “is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Haru doesn’t turn to look at him. “You’re the most—do you think all your friendships are replacements? What the hell makes Unmei special?”
“He can’t play.”
Sei blinks, furrowing his brow further. “What does that have to do with anything?” he snaps, sorting pieces in his mind as he waits for the correct one to be given to him.
Haru finally twists in his grip, glaring at him, corners of his eyes slightly wet again. “He couldn’t play!” he barks at him, loud enough for it to echo into the hallway outside. “He got injured when we were kids, and—I’ve been playing for him!”
Sei is so startled he entirely lets go of Haru’s forearm.
Haru stumbles back a bit, catching himself on the doorway to the bathroom and rubbing his arm. There are harsh red fingerprints on it from Sei’s hand. “Soramiya-san?” he says, voice shocked into passivity.
The picture is suddenly so clear that he doesn’t quite know how to look at it for a second, and suddenly so familiar that it makes Sei’s throat fill with more tears. A picture of a football pitch, clouds overhead, watching the very person you thought could be invincible falter and fall, and after the news has broken, wondering how you’re meant to keep going alone.
Sei had been rewarded for pushing onwards with a reunion, with Unmei standing at the sidelines with a smile on his face every time he scored. Haru...
“You’re not replacing him, Endou-kun,” Sei whispers. “You’re still playing for him, right?”
Haru’s eyes glaze over just slightly. “Of course I am,” he murmurs, almost looking past Sei instead of at him, as if there’s something behind him.
Sei, for a moment, imagines a world in which Unmei didn’t get back up, didn’t keep going—in a way much more permanent than he had ever thought about—and feels so sick that he thinks he might throw up, dizzy and disoriented by the notion, a sob building up in the back of his throat. The plastic smiles and glassy eyes all begin to make sense, the mere thought of that world swirling around his mind like a tempest. Struck by the notion that maybe Haru is stronger than he ever considered, Sei stumbles forward and puts his hand back on Haru’s arm, gentler this time.
“Then you aren’t replacing him,” he repeats. “You’re just making friends.” He laughs a little through tears spilling out of his eyes, streaming down his cheeks. “C’mon, you think he’d want you to be playing alone forever?”
“Of course not,” Haru mumbles, “but... I just...”
“Endou-kun,” Sei insists, and Haru’s grip tightens on the muffler in his hands, almost imperceptively. “I lost Unmei for five years, and the only thing that kept me playing was knowing he was still out there.” He takes a breath. “He helped you find your passion again, right? The victory road?”
Haru hesitantly nods.
“Then thank him by keeping going. Not a replacement, just a new drive.” He gives him a wobbly grin. “Play for both of them! You can do that, right, Football Monster?”
Haru stares at him.
“I can do that,” he whispers. He laughs, and sniffles, and shakes away his tears easily enough. “You’re not mad?” he finally asks in a small voice.
Sei raises an eyebrow. “Why would I be mad?” he says, ignoring the fact he has absolutely been furious multiple times since he entered this bathroom.
“That I’m friends with Unmei,” he explains. “I just thought... well, he talks about you like...”
Sei lifts his head and glares at him. “We’re rivals,” he insists, sticking his nose up, “and I will not have you doubting your friendship with Unmei when he looks at you like that.”
“Looks at me like what?”
Sei levels a glare at him. Haru blinks, and laughs, eyes clearing just a little. “Soramiya-san,” he says, “could you call me Haru?”
“Eh?” Sei jolts a little at the apparent non sequitur, staring at Haru with slight confusion—glancing to the muffler still in his hand, white knuckles wrapped around it. “...Haru-kun, then.”
“Rivals.” He grins, gently taking his arm out of Sei’s grip and sticking his hand out.
Sei stares.
“Rivals,” he repeats, clasping his hand in Haru’s.
—
It is not hard to tell that Sei has been crying.
Unmei can read his face from a mile off, years of instinct resharpened by the past few months spent strategising together; even if he couldn’t, he’s pretty sure everyone can see his puffy eyes and slightly flushed face. It’s a common enough occurrence for everyone to politely look away and not mention it, even as curious glances are exchanged over his head, likely about his and Haru’s whereabouts.
(They were in the bathroom, Unmei knows, because they had come from the clubroom entrance and Haru had drops of water seeping into his muffler. And, he supposes, Arashi had said so.)
He worries over it for a moment; even if it’s common, Sei’s crying fits don’t happen for no reason. There is a logic to it that Unmei can follow, but there’s not much he can do if he doesn’t know the situation leading up to it, and there’s certainly not much he can do when he’s being bombarded with a request to be switched in for their ongoing practice match they had both missed the start of, hearing Tsukikage getting the same treatment from Sei’s companion, and so he can’t ask what happened. But whatever the case, Sei is clearly not crying anymore, and so he decides he can ask about it on their way back to their hotel later on, no matter how much his curiosity burns.
And then Unmei gets a look at Haru’s face, and is very, very startled to realise that Haru was crying, too.
It’s much less obvious on him. Unmei can only pick it out so quickly because he’s seen it before; the tears on Haru’s face followed with a day dedicated to clearing them will forever stick in his mind. A not-entirely-real smile, red at the corners of his eyes. Sei crying is an almost-daily situation; Haru crying is much rarer; both of them exiting a bathroom having cried their eyes out is...
Something definitely happened. Otherwise, he’s not sure why they would be casting glances at each other across the field when they think no one else will notice—and maybe no one else but Unmei does notice. The ball flies between players before it lands at Sei’s feet, Akasode skidding in front of him for an intercept, and he smoothly feints her before sending it between her legs and darting forward to catch it on the other side, quick as a whip.
“Nice, Sei-san!” Haru calls out, and everyone around him stumbles. Unmei almost drops his tablet, head immediately whipping to Sei to catch his reaction, expecting an offended shriek, a tirade of curses, but...
Sei only startles for a second, glancing up at Haru with a different glint in his eyes, before he grins and shoots forward with the ball. Shinohara hollers a, “What!?” across the field, barely having time to recover as Sei throws her a high ball. He looks over at Haru and finds something playful in his expression, mirroring Sei like there had been no animosity between them whatsoever—and like he had known exactly what he was saying.
Hm.
Unmei can work with this.