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Michael Kaiser hated feeling.
Gosh. He fucking hated it with his whole being. He hated how feeling made him feel. (Haha. It’s like that’s the whole point. To feel.) There was no better explanation for his seemingly dumb hatred. He just hated to fucking feel things.
He hated how emotions could turn him into different variants of himself. How they rendered him into an absolute mess or something absolutely awful. He turned to self-destructive habits or self-sabotage—no in between. It was what he knew best, what felt…right, comforting.
Different feelings evoked different reactions. He had come to learn that there were some variants better suited for the public eye than others. (He hated to admit it, but some variants were seemingly better for him too.) Anger was a familiar thing.
Anger, frustration, fury, rage… the list goes on. He couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t angry. (He could, he just didn’t want to bring it up.) Confident was up there too. Confident, egotistical, self-absorbed, self-centered…all familiar phrases he had heard in his lifetime, familiar faces.
Well, not faces… more like familiar inklings that course throughout his body. Spreading their venom in his bloodstream, leaving their mark deep inside of him. The hairs on his arms standing up as he felt a rush of goosebumps run down his entire body.
These emotions…rather than feeling like a separate persona, they were like extensions of who he was. They’re all emotions he holds close to his heart—his mind, a second shell of himself. It’s who he is, who he has come to be.
It was unwavering. His emotions never fluctuated from their usual course of action. It was either crazy lows or crazy highs. An immense feeling of anger or glory. Again, it’s what had come to feel like a safe space for him. The familiar emotions wrapped their waves around his body, engulfing him with their fury and boasts.
Enter Isagi Yoichi.
An unprecedented variable.
Isagi Yoichi was the vain of his existence. He remembers when he first waltzed into his life or better yet said, when he waltzed into his.
The Blue Lock Project had become increasingly popular. A seemingly foolish project that had Japanese soccer grasping at straws simply to better themselves.
Kaiser hadn’t cared for it. Not when his team talked about it. Not when Noa mentioned it. Not when the media was all on the rave with it.
It seemed vacuous. To this day it still seemed like it. Why would a madman gather one hundred strikers from every high school across Japan? They were all forwards. None of them had any experience playing defense, goalie, midfield, etc. All they knew was offense, offense, offense.
It wasn’t until the Blue Lock Project had an upcoming match with the U-20 Team that Kaiser’s interest had been piqued. The witless project finally caught some attention, be it skill, talent, hell—even looks, they had caught unforeseen attention.
The U-20 match seemed to be a domestic event for the most part. He couldn’t say they didn’t have any international attention because that would be false.
Japan and a good portion of the world seemed to have no interest whatsoever in the Blue Lock Project. All their unwarranted attention appeared to be negative attention. They all seemed to share the same recurring thought: “Rookies cannot play on the world stage and succeed.”
No one had faith in the group of strikers that were ‘molded’ to play different soccer positions. The world believed they would fail miserably. They would fall at the hands of the U-20 team, and Kaiser couldn’t blame them.
The players seemed to be regular players—they were regular players. They weren’t professionals, they were regular high school kids. This would be the first time they would step onto the world stage. They were finally getting a lick of what it felt like to be on the field with players out of their league.
To say the ending result of the match was unpredictable and rousing would be an understatement. The plays were…alright. He had seen better in his lifetime, and he had played better in his career. But the match allowed for the Blue Lock Project to garner additional recognition. They had reached an international audience, an even bigger one than the one they currently had.
One player in particular had caught his attention.
Isagi Yoichi.
Kaiser knew nothing of the man. Other than the fact that he seemed to be the star player of the match with all the post-game interviews he had done. Isagi Yoichi didn’t look like anyone special. He had blue eyes, blue hair, pale skin, and a cute ahoge that looked like a clover stem.
Yet something about him had immediately captured his attention and he was filled with a sense of curiosity. Maybe it was the way he carried himself on the field, maybe it was the newly acquired stardom he had received, or maybe there was an unfamiliar feeling creeping up on him; asking for more of this Isagi Yoichi—begging for more.
When Kaiser arrived at the Blue Lock facility and finally saw Japan’s up-and-coming star striker, the same peculiar emotion he felt a few months prior upon seeing Isagi on his television screen came rushing back to him in big, crashing waves.
It was…unusual. The feeling was unusual. It made him bear an enormous weight on his shoulders. It was disturbing, disgusting. He didn’t like that an unpleasant sensation was encroaching on his predicted territory.
He hated it. He hated it immediately. He didn’t let the feeling go further into his body, to his heart. He had spent the majority of his life with two feelings and their accompanying synonyms. He didn’t need to add a new one when his persona had been perfectly curated to fit the “emperor.”
So, as quickly as that unprecedented feeling came, it went out just as fast. Squashing it to the deepest, darkest part of his mind. Shackling it behind an imaginary wall of chains.
He would later realize that the unpleasant sensation was not morbid or distracting, but something sweeter, warmer, exciting.
Good God. He hadn’t realized then that it would come back and bite him in the ass.
That unpleasant feeling would soon resurface from the depths of his mind. It would break free from its chains and engulf him with its pain, affability, and delicateness.
At the time, when the feeling had resurfaced and practically drowned him with its weight, Kaiser was asphyxiated. The walls seemed to have been closing in on him, his palms were clammy from pure shock, his throat had gone dry from all the screaming he had done, and his head pounded from the pulling of his hair.
He was so fucking dramatic. He realizes it now. He admits it with embarrassment. He had been worked up at realizing that he had discovered a new emotion at the hands of Isagi Yoichi. Especially with such an unfathomable emotion that seemed to be working its course all throughout his body. Every time he saw Isagi, every time Isagi looked at him, the lingering touches of unsaid confessions and said. The only waking thought that he had was Yoichi, Yoichi, Yoichi— This antagonizing feeling was being triggered by a sole human and it just so happened to be Isagi.
In the deepest, profoundest part of Kaiser’s mind, he knew what that feeling was. He had seen it with his own eyes, he had heard colleagues talk about it before, he wasn’t oblivious to the feeling. Despite this, he couldn’t admit it to himself. His heart wouldn’t allow its shackles to be moved. It had to be hidden away, to be kept in sacristy. It was all he had that wasn’t tainted with his disgusting, crudeness.
He was willing to let the feeling die on its own. No, that’s not right. He had to let it die. It needed to die. It had to be rid of his countenance. It was disgusting, he felt disgusting. He was sure that damned feeling would be eradicated soon enough. It wasn’t worth his time and effort. It would dissipate quietly, it would never have the chance to see the light of day. That’s what he had told himself until he had been confronted with it.
By no other than Isagi Yoichi.
He won’t retell the story, at least not the whole thing. It was beyond embarrassing. Embarrassing and perpetually disturbing. Not to mention, it had been a long time since. A decade ago? Less than a decade ago? More than one? He couldn’t remember. He could barely remember what he had done last week.
He vaguely remembers Isagi yelling at him on the field after a long, grueling practice. He can’t remember why he was yelling at him. Most likely because he had been an ass or was being stubborn as usual. “Why won’t you just talk to me?!” Isagi yells, he hears his footsteps march towards him across the turf before a strong hand rests on his shoulder, forcefully turning him to face the shorter boy. Kaiser immediately takes note of the boy’s face. He assesses it, mapping it out with his eyes, analyzing before he speaks up. Isagi is clearly frustrated and his eyes are lit with a burning anger that has lost their usual hatred. It felt weird. His voice was laced with its usual tone, but there was something that was seeping through it with every word being spoken. Concern? Sadness? Anguish? He couldn’t tell.
He remembers deflecting. He remembers denying everything that Isagi was spitting out at him. He had too much pride to admit that Isagi was right about everything he was saying. He remembers thinking that Yoichi was an idiotic man for even thinking that Kaiser gave a single shit about anything or anyone. “Am I not talking to you right now?” He replies, staring down at Isagi with a bare expression, feigning ignorance. “Don’t give me that sass. You know damn well you’ve been avoiding me since the last match,” Isagi scoffs, disdain evident on his face. “Silly Yoichi. You’re always believing things that your mind fabricated.” Kaiser flicks Isagi’s forehead before preparing himself to walk away; he didn't have the energy to deal with Yoichi’s theatrics today.
Everything after that is a blur. It was mushy and hard to make out. He could only remember the emotions that were running throughout his body after his snarky comment. He remembers feeling rage starting to bubble up, waiting for its moment to lash out and tell Yoichi to “fuck off.” He wasn’t letting up—of course he wouldn’t—if he knew anything about Yoichi, he was a stubborn little shit.
He remembers feeling frustrated. Frustrated because Yoichi wouldn’t leave him alone. Frustrated because Yoichi wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Frustrated because Yoichi was awakening that same skin-crawling feeling in his chest. Frustrated because Yoichi wouldn’t let him forget about such a perpetually disgusting and unfathomable feeling. Frustrated because there was a sentence starting to formulate in the back of his head that was a pin drop away from being aired out for the world to hear.
He then remembers feeling immense shock. He remembers the moment when his heart dropped when Isagi said, “Because I like you! I know you do too. You’re running away from your emotions you fucking emotionally constipated bastard! Just fucking talk to me! Why can’t you face it?” He hadn’t expected a confession. It was the last thing he would’ve expected from Blue Lock’s ace striker. He couldn’t believe these words were being uttered by the same man who had claimed to hate him and would “get him off that throne.”
After the moment of shock then came clarity. The shackles that were holding his heart back from feeling any warmth and sincerity towards Yoichi finally seemed to shatter. It seemed that the rust had finally let the chains become bitter and the tether of the moment made them dissipate. He could freely admit that he too shared the sentiment for Yoichi. He liked Isagi Yoichi. He liked Blue Lock’s ace striker. He liked the short male with the cute ahoge that resembled a sprout. He had been longing for the man ever since he had seen him on his television screen. The warmth that had been seeping into his body from his chest seemed to resemble an emotion he wasn’t acquainted with and one he believed he would never experience. It wasn’t love… it was too early to love a person he had met a few months prior. The closest word he could use to describe the feeling was adoration…endearment…affection. Affection. Yes. Fondness and liking. He felt affection for Isagi at the moment.
After the emotional roller coaster that Yoichi had put him through for what felt like an eternity, one thing led to another. He remembers Yoichi yelling at him to “say something” and “not to run away.” He remembers asking Yoichi to say it again. He needed to hear Yoichi say it again. He needed to make sure it wasn’t a dream. He had to make sure he had heard him correctly. He remembers the confused look he got in return. He remembers the way Yoichi’s eyes went slightly wide at his response. He remembers the way his brows furrowed in slight agitation. He remembers the way Yoichi cocked his head to the left before uttering the words, “I like you, Kaiser.”
That was the catalyst.
Soon enough, he found his lips had crashed onto Yoichi’s. He can’t remember why he had done that. Maybe it was because he knew nothing more than to show his feelings through actions. Maybe it was because he let the irrational, impulsive side of him win. He can’t pinpoint the exact reason. He remembers the way Yoichi stumbled back with the sudden act and stayed still for a moment before reaching his hands up to Kaiser’s hair. He remembers Yoichi kissing him back with the same intensity and ferocity he was displaying. He remembers how Yoichi’s lips felt beneath his, they were slightly chapped, but tremendously soft. He remembers pulling away from Yoichi’s lips and staring at the boy’s blue eyes. The burning rage that had been there a few moments prior had now disappeared; in its place was a tinge of warmth. He remembers Yoichi’s eyes crinkling into beautiful crescent moons while quiet, bubbling giggles escaped his lips. He remembers caressing Yoichi’s cheeks with his thumbs and how Yoichi brought a hand on his, melting into his hold.
The confession was far from perfect. It was filled with avoidance, resentment, anger. He read somewhere that a confession should show all the parts of a person, that it should show every possible synonym for the word love. Yet theirs showed the complete opposite. It was the antonym for everything a confession stood for. It was imperfect. It was an imperfect confession. It wasn’t ideal. An ideal confession would take effort into planning, but they were far from idealistic. They abandoned ideals long ago, you can’t play soccer with a “perfect” ideal of a play or a skill, or even a team. He couldn’t help but think that the imperfectionality of it all almost made the confession perfect.
Now, if everything had seemed so imperfectly perfect; how the hell did he find himself at a dingy, old bar where no one would recognize him drinking his feelings away?
Kaiser downed the shot of tequila, letting the burning sensation go down his throat. With every shot, the sensation dulled into a slight abrasion, and soon it would feel like water. He asked for another refill—he hadn’t been here for that long, at least he thought so. He couldn’t remember why he was here, probably some idiotic reason that he couldn’t bother remembering at the moment. (He knew the reason, he just didn’t want to say it out loud.)
It was nights like these that he needed to go out and forget. He needed to forget every feeling he had ever felt in his lifetime. Especially every feeling he had felt for Isagi Yoichi at one point in his life. Affection, adoration, endearment, fondness, love. He had to forget it all. He needed to forget it all before he let himself spiral into a mess of emotions over a man who had long been out of his life. He needed to alleviate himself from him—stat.
He had forgotten about Isagi. He really had. He wasn’t trying to convince himself—he truly had forgotten Isagi. After their messy breakup last February, he slowly started to forget about Isagi. He hadn’t let the breakup affect him. He hadn’t let anyone’s pitying looks affect him. He hadn’t let the reason for the breakup affect him. He definitely didn’t let the fact that they broke up the day before the most loving day of the year affect him. (He had planned a whole day for the two of them. It was supposed to be romantic, secluded. He had to call and cancel dinner reservations and return the gift he had planned on surprising Yoichi with.)
He was fine. Truly, he was. He went almost a year without thinking about Isagi Yoichi. The only time he would ever hear his name would be from teammates who would recall a memory with him or teammates who still kept in contact with him. He didn’t go out of his way to search up Isagi Yoichi interviews in his spare time. He didn’t go out of his way to type out Isagi’s name on his phone to see what he was up to. He definitely didn’t go out of his way to go see him at soccer matches. Definitely not. He couldn’t care less about what said man was doing now in life.
If only that ridiculous song hadn’t played today. If only it hadn’t played and Kaiser hadn’t recognized the song from the beginning notes. If only he were strong enough to not let that damned song affect him so much. If only he hadn’t been immediately transported to a time where the name “Yoichi” still rolled off his tongue with so much partiality. Good God. He had done everything in his power to not let that song play anywhere near him. He blocked the artist, he restricted the song, and he made sure not to associate himself with people who liked that artist in case they ever played that song near him.
All of his efforts went to vain when he happened to come across an advertisement of Isagi with said fucking song in the background. It felt like a slap to the face. It was a slap to the face—he felt the force of it as soon as he saw Yoichi’s face and the damn song together once again. He felt the air inside his lungs escape his body in an instant and he felt his blood go cold in immense dread. It had to have been planned. Isagi had to have known they would use that song and approved it so he could fuck with his overly dramatized mind. There was no way he didn’t know—it was a setup, he was so fucking sure about it.
He hated himself for allowing himself to be taken back to the first time that foolish song played in the comfort of his own home. He hated himself for even still remembering such a tender, wretched memory. He hated himself for the single second that godawful song made him feel those—those damn emotions again. He vividly remembers everything they did to that song. He can still feel the lingering feelings of that moment spread throughout his body like second nature, like it was routine, like it was his lifeline.
Kaiser and Yoichi had planned a movie night. A movie night with just the two of them in his home. With the accompaniment of some snacks and booze. Lots and lots of booze.
He remembers Yoichi mentioning that the booze was a “necessary component for the night to go fruitful.” Now that he looks back at it, said man just wanted to get drunk after coming off a win against a random team he hadn’t cared to remember.
He remembers the two of them sitting on his couch. Well, Kaiser was sitting with a bottle of beer in his right hand. Yoichi had been sitting down until he decided to move his legs on the sofa to rest his head on Kaiser’s chest. He remembers placing his free hand onto Yoichi’s waist, caressing the small dip of it.
He can’t remember what movie they decided to play. He gave Yoichi the liberty to choose the movie they would watch. It was a romance movie, typical Yoichi, trying to fit the mood of “date night.”
He doesn’t remember much about the movie. He can make out the plot of the movie to a certain degree—a girl’s love letters had been sent out without her knowing and she was roped into a fake relationship with one of the recipients.
He hadn’t cared much for the movie, but he could tell that Yoichi was enamored with it. He noticed how attentive he seemed to be when the plot kept unfolding. How Yoichi would react whenever the couple would do something together. How Yoichi seemed to love the backtracks used for the movie.
It was oddly endearing to watch. He thought it was cute of his boyfriend to be scrupulous about a movie, especially a romance movie of all things. He wasn’t complaining—far from it—he loved to have Yoichi like this, on him, snuggling into him deeper like he wanted to crawl into his system, just adorable.
Soon enough, the movie had ended and one of the tracks had stuck to Yoichi. He exited the streaming platform and started to search for the song that wouldn’t leave his silly mind.
Yoichi had found the song, I Like Me Better, and started to play it, letting it loop on repeat. Then, he started to sing. Horrendously. It was so fucking awful. He was singing off tune, voice scratchy, and hiccups forming every few seconds. It was a mess, but in his drunken state, he couldn’t help but laugh.
Kaiser wistfully tuned into Yoichi’s lazy karaoke. It was sort of childish to break into karaoke at their age especially when they had much to drink. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. He found himself trying to harmonize with Yoichi’s singing and dramatizing ad-libs wherever he deemed appropriate.
It was gratifying. Gratifying and doltish but most importantly amusing. He felt giddy at the act of singing absolutely horribly, at the top of his lungs, and not caring about what his neighbors might think about them. Right now, in that moment, he felt full, whole, deep in Yoichi’s presence.
It didn’t help that at some point both of them had gotten off the couch in a fit of giggles and started to dance to the song. It wasn’t a danceable song, it wasn’t too pop-y and it definitely wasn’t slow-dancing worthy. They somehow made it work.
Yoichi had his arms wrapped loosely around Kaiser’s neck while he had his hands planted firmly on Yoichi’s hips. They swayed to the song's melody, moving freely around his living room.
They stared lovingly into each other’s eyes. It was just the two of them at this moment, no one else. Not the neighbors who would definitely file a noise complaint, not the roaring of the refrigerator, and not the loud roaring of cars passing through the streets.
It was intimate. An extremely amorous moment for the two of them. All he could do was stare into Yoichi’s eyes and hope that his countenance was enough to show his boyfriend how much he loved the current moment of it all.
All he could do was stare down at Yoichi and just admire the boy. His cheeks were slightly tinted with a light pink, a mix of the booze and the breathlessness of singing for a while. His eyes were crinkled at the edges from the small smile he mustered towards him. His hair was plastered onto his forehead and his ahoge still resembled a sprout.
All he could see was Yoichi. Yoichi, Yoichi, Yoichi— It was dumb to say because he obviously had eyes and anyone with a pair would see that Yoichi was in front of him. But there was more to it—he could see past physical resemblance, he could see Yoichi for who he was. His boyfriend. Blue Lock’s ace striker. The empathy that radiates from him along with the kindness and not to mention the egomaniacal nature that he lets marinate outside the field. It’s just Yoichi. It’s always been Yoichi.
He leans down to meet Yoichi’s lips with his own and he immediately lets himself melt into the familiar feeling of having Yoichi’s lips connected with his. The sensation of being able to glide his lips over Yoichi’s never gets old, he’s learned to embrace it, merge with it, become one in union.
Yoichi’s lips feel undeniably soft under his. Maybe it was the lapping of saliva or the lingering booze, but Yoichi’s lips were doughy. If he were being honest, he could get drunk purely off Yoichi’s mouth.
He felt heat rush to his neck at the quiet, pleased sighs Yoichi would breathe out when their lips parted for a moment. He felt his skin prickle with goosebumps when Yoichi let his fingers tangle into the nape of his hair. He felt a curling sensation in his chest when he started trailing kisses down Yoichi’s neck in slow, tentative movements.
It was slow. Slow, hesitant, and chary. Kaiser had never done anything like this. It was embarrassing to admit that he had never dated anyone before Yoichi. Unlike popular belief, he had never had any firsts before Yoichi. All his firsts were Yoichi. The hand holding, the lingering gazes, the kissing, dates—any sort of intimacy, it was all new to him.
Kaiser hadn’t learned anything of the sort. He hadn’t needed to. He was preoccupied with his soccer career. That’s what he always had sights on and it’s still an aspect he needs to improve. But then came Yoichi, who single-handedly pushed through the defense to his heart and scored.
Yoichi had flipped his world upside down. Everything he thought he knew was suddenly tilted on its axis. It was weird. Weird to think that feelings could be anything but the two default ones he had been so accustomed to. Weird to think that he, Michael Kaiser, would’ve been able to broaden his horizon on emotions. That he, Michael Kaiser, would allow such a fickle thing as love to tear down his carefully constructed walls and tear him from the inside out.
Now, in this moment, leaving open-mouthed kisses to Yoichi’s nape, in slow, languid motions, everything just clicks. As if this was the last piece of the puzzle, that this moment, of hearing Yoichi’s quiet mewls and gasps whenever he sucks on his porcelain skin, coloring it in purple undertones, this moment—it was all he needed to know that love was real and he was living it. He was living it and he was worthy of the feeling.
Turns out, he wasn’t as deserving as he originally thought. It’s as if breakups happen and you’re suddenly transported back to the past where you thought that there were only two emotions you were allowed to express. However this time, he knows there are more than two emotions that he has felt firsthand and he can’t do anything to recreate them again.
He's tried. He’s tried to recreate the same emotions that would course through his body whenever he was with Yoichi, whenever he held Yoichi, whenever he thought of Yoichi. He really has tried, but it seems as if love and any of its various counterparts were tied to Yoichi. Whenever he’s tried to branch out and try to see if the feeling could be sparked with another person, he ends up leaving before seeing if anything will happen. His chest starts to compress in a tightness so inexplicable; hurt and despair curl deep into his heart that he can’t seem to breathe out the air that’s fighting to escape. It was so unbelievably dumb, but he should know better—he knows better. Yoichi was the person with whom he had experienced such a beautiful, tender emotion that he couldn’t possibly repeat with anyone else unless they were Yoichi.
He hated Isagi for that. He hated him so fucking much for allowing him to become so overly attached to him. He doesn't need him to survive—far from that—it was more emotionally induced. Kaiser started to see that he couldn’t do something because he had already done it with Isagi. Doing an activity he had already done during a part of his life where he was happily in love when he was far from ever feeling that again made his insides churn in anguish, agony, resentment.
It’s not like he was worthy of reliving such a kind and warm emotion again. Kaiser had been an idiot. He couldn’t admit it to himself when he was sober, but a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts, but he digresses. He can’t remember the exact reason why their relationship had already been tense. It had been a long time coming, not an unknowing, surprising event. No, there was already tension building up for a while—it had to do with an injury, an ending contract, a non-renewal contract, and the possibility of switching teams.
He remembers their breaking point was when Isagi decided he would switch teams since he had received a better offer. Not one to feel stumped and grow accustomed to his surroundings, he jumped on the offer—not looking back, not thinking twice about leaving Kaiser behind.
He knows now that he was acting foolishly. Isagi had every right to switch teams if he wanted to, he wasn't obliged to keep playing alongside him. He knew he was always looking for opportunities to continue evolving as a player and to improve his actual soccer skills. But he hadn’t looked at it like that back then, his mind, his traitorous, revolting mind had twisted this offer into something far-fetched. He had believed Isagi was leaving him, leaving him behind forever. He believed that Isagi had grown tired of him, grown bored of his soccer. At the time, it was the biggest betrayal he had experienced; almost like a stab to his heart, being twisted around his chest—only making the wound bigger and bleed faster. He had always felt like Isagi’s soccer was so much fucking fun. Yet now it was being stripped away from him, and for what? A fucking club that had some of his friends and a new playstyle he wanted to learn and evolve from? Fuck that.
He remembers blowing up on Isagi. He remembers Isagi trying to talk him down. He remembers not letting Isagi try to convince him that they were still okay, their relationship was still thriving when in reality it had holding on by a thin strand. He wouldn’t fess up, stubborn as always. When Isagi realized he wouldn’t get through to him, he decided not to try to soothe him with his reassuring words, but rather talk back to him with the same anger and frustration he had been feeling for a while now.
He can’t remember what happened after all the yelling, screaming, crying, and the angry, “because I love you dammit!” He can’t remember if Yoichi was the one to pack up his things and slam the door of his apartment or if he had started packing Yoichi’s things amidst the arguing and told him to “get the fuck out.” He really couldn’t remember—it was all a haze in his crazed, saddening mind.
That being said, Kaiser was an idiot. An idiotic imbecile. He should’ve never done that; he realizes that now. Instead of blowing up at his boyfriend, he should’ve taken time to just think for once. If all he had done was think instead of acting on his emotions, he would’ve tried to rationalize Isagi’s point of view. He would’ve seen that the offer was not only beneficial for Isagi, but for him as well. Without Isagi on the team, he would’ve been able to evolve past Isagi instead of depending on his soccer, depending on their synergy, go back to being an “emperor” yet this time without his queen.
Now, in his drunken haze, filled with anguish and yearning—he can’t think about anything other than Isagi Yoichi. In this sad, dingy old bar, all he can think about is how good the man would look next to him, rubbing his finger on the rim of the glass, staring longingly at him, and with a dazzling smile that seemed to ease his worries. It would be nice to go home with him once more, just like how they used to—tipsy, clinging to one another in support, in massive fits of giggles.
It would be nice to be able to relive such adoring and amusing memories. He would do anything to be able to have Isagi in front of him—before the fighting, before the tension, before everything seemed to go brittle and die. He would love to be able to wake up with Isagi under his arm. He would love to have Isagi nuzzle into his chest whenever a particularly chilling scene in a horror movie came on. He would love to be able to go on food runs with Isagi after practice; ditching their protein for the nearest convenience store food.
He still can’t believe it. He hadn’t thought about Isagi in so damn long, and all that took to push him over the edge was an advertisement of Isagi with their stupid song. That was the spur to push him into going to a bar, almost a year after their breakup, and get absolutely wasted. He was so wasted that he could finally admit his underlying thoughts to himself. All these thoughts that he kept hidden in the back of his mind, dulled by the need to get better at soccer, dulled by the need to surpass Isagi, dulled by the conflicting emotions he had been feeling since that day, dulled by the obvious feelings he couldn’t face like the coward he was.
If he weren’t such a coward, he wouldn’t forget about his overdue confession. His damn mind was playing tricks with him, making him admit his traitorous thoughts only for it all to be in vain. He knew he’d forget this all in the morning, and if he didn’t, he’d make himself repress everything from tonight. He’d wake up with an aching head, reprimand himself for drinking so much, and forget that he spent his night drinking by himself, wallowing in self-pity over his breakup with Isagi Yoichi.
Maybe if he didn't have so much pride. Maybe if he weren't so egotistical—he could reach out to Yoichi and have a long, belated conversation. He could start it with, “I’m sorry.” He could mention how he had “been an idiot for waiting this long.” He could follow up with “he had been suppressing his emotions just like he had long, long ago.” Maybe he could even throw in a “I don’t deserve you and I never did, but I want to be selfish and put my best foot forward this time.” He could even casually say that he’s “missed him all this time and couldn’t replicate the past with anyone else.”
He’d say it was Yoichi all along and he was a goddamn fool for letting him go over a fit of rage due to his mind always thinking the worst first and letting all rationality go flying out the window when something doesn't seem to go his perfectly curated way. He’d say that he had missed him so much that it hurts to breathe sometimes because all he can think about is how “Yoichi would’ve liked this” or “Yoichi would’ve hated this.” Hell, the first month after their breakup, he’d hear the apartment squeak and he’d think it was Yoichi. He had even come back home after some outings yelling out “Yoichi!” to see if he was hanging around. When he got no answer back, he immediately felt silly for doing such an action and quickly chastised himself.
He’d say he missed all the times they would be together. The convenience store dates, late-night practices, actual proper dates, late-night escapades to the beach—he missed everything that involved Yoichi. He’d say that he hadn’t been able to do any of those things with anyone else let alone with himself because the only recurring thought he had was Yoichi, Yoichi, Yoichi— He’d say that love was only an emotion he could feel with Yoichi. He had introduced him to such a lovely feeling, he grew to believe he would never be able to live the feeling, and when he finally got a taste of it—he got drunk off the feeling. Then, he believed everything was too good to be true with the signing of a new team and his mind jumped to leaving him bare and alone, so he self-sabotaged—he stripped himself away from the feeling.
He’d say that he had no right to ask him of this, especially after everything he had done, but he’s always been selfish. Yoichi met him when he had been a selfish emperor, and it still lived inside him—the emperor was still Michael Kaiser, Michael Kaiser was still the emperor. As difficult, and truly mortifying as it would be to utter the words, he would find it in himself to say them—he’d push himself to say, “I love you.” Three words that seemed to carry the weight of his emotions, but not enough gravity to fully convey what he needed to. He’d ask Yoichi for another chance—today, tomorrow, ten years time—he’d ask for it and wait for it.
Kaiser stares at the empty shot glass in front of him. He really needed to stop feeding himself these delusions while he was drunk. It wasn't healthy. He knew it wasn’t. He and Isagi had gone their separate ways, and that was not for the best. He had to let Isagi live despite every fiber in his body telling him not to, and to fight for what was once his. It was truly a comical sight since it was easier said than done. He was so damn sure that if Isagi heard that Kaiser, Michael Kaiser, missed him—he would laugh. Kaiser had seemed so unaffected by their breakup, he threw himself into the spotlight, not letting such foolishness tether him. (While he was shamelessly in the public eye, he spent his time coupled up in his room, staring blankly at the wall trying to stay awake so he couldn’t see the distraught and frustration that had plastered Isagi’s face that day.) If he had heard Kaiser say all his deep and painful thoughts over him—he would also laugh, but in his face. He had enough humiliation coming from his own mind to be able to handle an external degradation. He also wouldn’t be able to handle the fact that Isagi thought his pitiful persistence was a laughable sight.
It was fine. Despite this, everything was not fine. If he had to yearn for Yoichi all his life then so be it. It would be better like that, a lot safer. He would save himself the embarrassment of being rejected like a high school girl who was hopelessly in love with her senior. He would be able to save face—no one needed to know how Yoichi rendered him into a pathetic longer. He already had enough with his own mind knowing this disastrous fact, he did not need more people to know. He was content with knowing that his yearning for Yoichi would be kept to himself. He knew it was painstakingly obvious that his feelings were all one-sided and that was not fine. He never expected for Isagi to sit around and wait for Kaiser to get his shit together. So, with his self inflicted issues, and idiotic tendencies—he would yearn for Yoichi all his life, their love, to him, was never over. He’d love Yoichi forever, he’d hold their love close to his heart—protecting it from any possible casualties, preserving its delicateness and warmth with tenderness. It's all he ever wanted to do when they were still together, but he fucked up tremendously. It’s the least he could do now that Isagi was no longer in his life and all he could still think about was said main; smiling brightly at him like he had hung the moon.