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Kaiser hits the video call button and falls back onto the bed. Nightly calls are a habit now, but tonight the ring stretches. He studies the contact photo he chose—Ness snarling at an opponent mid-match, curls blown back from his forehead—until the call connects. Audio only.
“Hi, Kaiser,” Ness says, breathless.
Kaiser presses his nose to the screen. “I can’t see you. Turn your camera on, too.”
Ness has the audacity to sigh, long and unapologetic. Static rasps the line, fingers scraping the mic as he fumbles with his phone.
Night floods the screen, streetlamps smearing gold across the dark. The camera jolts with Ness’s quick footsteps.
“What are you doing?”
“Baking.”
“Haha! Don’t be a smartass. You’re outside—”
Ness cuts him off, not to speak to Kaiser, but to someone else, voice dropped low and gravelly. In the confusion, Kaiser catches a flash of his face before the phone tilts back to the sky.
“Ja, ja. Whatever. Tschüss!”
Kaiser pictures him throwing a passive-aggressive peace sign.
Ness resumes walking, his breath steadying. He makes no effort to adjust the camera. Stays just out of reach.
It gnaws at Kaiser.
“Who were you with?”
“No one.”
“You were talking to someone.”
“I was jogging. Yoichi and his annoying boyfriend were jogging too. We ran into each other and raced, his boyfriend cheated—and I don’t owe you an explanation.”
Annoyance at the mention of his archrival tears through Kaiser like a chainsaw.
He must hesitate too long, because Ness pops back onto the screen, brow arched. “You there?”
“Yeah.” Kaiser scratches at the vine tattoo winding around his forearm. “I need you to cut and re-dye my hair.”
Now Ness angles the camera so he's looking down at the screen. “No.”
“What do you mean, no? Look at me. I’m ugly now.” Kaiser stretches the phone outward. The frame catches his damp hair grazing his shoulders, the clean line of his bare chest, and the low band of his boxers at his hips.
“I’m looking at you, Kaiser,” Ness reassures. His eyes flick away after a single sweep. “I said I wasn’t doing whatever you tell me anymore. Remember?”
“It’s been almost four years and you keep saying that,” Kaiser mutters. He wants to snap his fingers until Ness looks at him again. “I need your help.”
“You can ask,” Ness says.
“What?”
“Ask instead of demanding,” Ness repeats, pouting.
Kaiser huffs air out of his nostrils. “Alexis Ness, will you please cut my hair and dye it again?”
“Okay.” Ness caves instantly, cheeks pinched bright with a smile. He tries to hide it by tilting the camera so only his forehead shows.
Kaiser wants to reach through the screen. Pet him. Squish his face between his palms.
“When?” Ness asks.
“February thirteenth.” Kaiser rolls onto his side. He almost misses the flicker of disappointment on Ness’s face. “I said yes to that Valentine’s Day auction thing—”
Ness stops dead. “What? But—but you always turn that event down!”
“Not this time. I got curious.” Kaiser clicks his tongue. “And it’s for charity, so why the shit not? People bid, money goes somewhere noble.”
“And the winner gets to take you on a date,” Ness says. He’s motionless, phone held low, only eyes and hair visible. “Didn’t know you were so charitable all of a sudden.”
“I’m an asshole, not heartless,” Kaiser yawns. “Besides, my PR team thinks it’ll cool things down after I fouled Yoichi last month.”
“You almost got red-carded,” Ness scolds, worry leaking through.
“It was a gravity-assisted, ground-level fall.”
“Kaiser.”
“It’s not like he’s never been fouled before.”
“Kaiser,” Ness says again—fighting down a laugh now. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes makes Kaiser sit up too fast, dizziness blooming in his head.
“So you’ll help me?”
“Yes.”
Some things don’t change. They haven’t shared a team in years, but Ness is still a constant—always wrapped around Kaiser’s fingers, even when he pretends otherwise.
“Good,” Kaiser says. ‘Danke schön’ sticks in his throat.
x
Two weeks later, Kaiser sits backstage before a blaze of vanity lights. Ness stands behind him, scissors poised. Kaiser watches him through the mirror, marveling at Ness’s featherlight touch.
“Your hair grows too fast,” Ness says in wonder. “The dye fades even faster than that, though.”
Sometimes Kaiser wishes Ness would touch him harder. The lightness makes it feel like he’s barely there.
“Good thing we both live in Spain now,” Kaiser says, searching for his eyes.
Pink rushes up Ness’s face. He doesn’t look up.
“You’re still using color-safe shampoo?”
“Yes,” Kaiser lies. If he did, he’d see Ness less.
He isn’t sure when it started doing these things.
“At least I don’t have to bleach your hair.”
“We could bleach your hair and dye it blue,” Kaiser offers, and feigns offense when Ness rejects the idea. “Why not? We could match.”
“I don’t think I could pull it off like you,” Ness says, like Kaiser puts the stars in the sky.
Look at me, Kaiser wants to say. Red watercolors across the bridge of Ness’s nose. Part of him aches to turn around, to test if it feels like a hot stovetop.
He almost does, but then a hair stylist materializes out of thin air.
“I don’t need my hair done,” Kaiser begins.
The stylist looks right at Ness. “Are you ready?”
Ness nods politely. “Can you give me five minutes? I want to dry Kaiser’s hair.”
The roar of the dryer fills the space. Five minutes of warm air gliding across his face, Ness’s fingers brushing along his scalp, grazing his shoulders—it’s not enough, and it’s too much, all at once.
“Why?” Kaiser asks when Ness sets the dryer down.
Ness doesn’t look at him. Instead he starts packing the combs and scissors and cape he used to cut Kaiser's hair into his duffel bag. Zips it shut too forcefully, hands clumsy. “What do you mean?”
“Why is the stylist asking you if you’re ready? They’re only for the auction participants.”
Kaiser isn’t stupid. But right now his brain is scrambled. Maybe his father knocked him around too many times and it’s finally catching up to him.
“I’m in the auction,” Ness says, dropping the bag onto the floor. He plops into the chair of the vanity next to his, twiddling his thumbs.
Lightheaded, Kaiser opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it. “You’ve never done it before.”
“I’ve never been asked before.”
Kaiser’s throat goes dry. Sweat collects at his hairline. He shifts, the fabric of his jeans too prickly all of a sudden. “You have to go on a date with whoever wins you in the auction.”
“I know.” Ness picks at his cuticles. “Uhm, I found a really great charity. We get to pick where the proceeds go, you know.”
“I know. I chose The Safe House. They give counseling to children from abusive homes.”
“I remember. You told me. I picked Kick it Up. They—”
“Fund and host football games for at-risk kids. I know. I looked into that one, too.”
“I knew that one would catch your attention. I’m glad we think alike.”
The more Kaiser stares at Ness, the farther away he feels. A space stretches between them, invisible but real.
Kaiser crosses his legs, uncrosses them, then sits straight up. “You didn’t tell—”
He seals his mouth shut. What could he even complain about? First Ness entertains Yoichi and his annoying boyfriend. Now this auction. What else has Ness kept hidden from him? Imagining a stranger with Ness, leaning in for a hug and smelling his floral cologne on his neck, makes Kaiser’s stomach churn.
Someone else would get Ness for an evening.
Kaiser isn’t stupid—he swears. But the idea of Ness with anyone else doesn’t sit right with him.
A ripple of betrayal passes through him. Then he cackles to take the edge off. “You? Taking someone on a date?”
Their eyes finally meet in the mirror. Ness frowns, a spark of defensive anger flying. “You don’t think anyone would want to bid on me?”
Kaiser doesn’t know what to think. So he doesn’t. “Well… I guess someone would, if it’s for charity.”
Ness’s eyes go glassy. He twists his fingers in his lap, keeping his gaze low. Kaiser’s chest tightens. The brief satisfaction of getting back at Ness fades, leaving a hollow ache, like sinking under water and realizing the surface is farther away than he thought.
The stylist returns and tosses a cape over Ness. It slips against his shoulders, rough and uneven. Kaiser flinches. Ness doesn’t adjust it. He sits still, shoulders stiff, letting someone else handle him with none of the care and precision he shows Kaiser—no tucked folds, no gentle smoothing, nothing delicate. Kaiser’s fingers curl against the armrests.
“How do you want it?” the stylist asks.
“I need to piss,” Kaiser mutters, jerking upright. The chair tips back, clattering to the floor.
It’s too hot—that’s what he keeps telling himself. That’s why he felt sick in there. And it was too bright. That’s why Ness couldn’t meet his eyes.
Wouldn’t.
Whatever.
If Ness wants to date—
One of the many stylists ushers him into a giant walk-in closet packed with racks of clothing. They hold a paisley-print collared shirt against his chest.
“Why would I wear that?” Kaiser pushes it away. It sails from their hands, landing with a satisfying bang. “Can’t I just wear what I brought? It’s Versace.”
“Everyone’s going to wear the same outfit—”
“No one’s going to wear that shirt,” Kaiser snaps. “It looks like it just got shat out by a rabies infested pig.”
“Hey now,” a singsongy voice interrupts from his left. Kaiser twists his head in that direction and immediately regrets it. He can’t catch a fucking break.
“Don’t talk to me,” he sneers. “I can’t understand you, anyway. Your pronunciation sucks.”
Yoichi’s annoying boyfriend tosses something at him. Reflexes take over. Kaiser catches it, pops in the earbud, and braces himself to be rage baited. “Be nice to the workers, Kaiser-pon!”
“Go to hell.”
“I’m already here, with you.”
Kaiser would laugh, but he’s too busy fighting demons right now.
Something about the situation rattles him. Down the hall, Ness is having his curls sculpted and gelled into perfect ringlets, prepped for strangers to appraise and bid on like he’s a slab of meat, while Kaiser stands here, trapped making small talk with his Barcha teammate.
“Shoo, you failed striker.”
But Yoichi’s annoying boyfriend ignores his command. “I was surprised to see your name on the roster.”
“I’m charitable,” he insists, thinking about how Ness basically said the same thing. Then it hits him. This is Yoichi’s boyfriend. “Why are you here? Are you cheating on our sweet little Yoichi?”
Yoichi’s annoying boyfriend tilts his head like a cat deciding if it should swat at a toy dangling in its face. “Huh?”
“You’re here to be bid on for a date, aren’t you? So, it means you’re cheating.”
“Hahahaha! You’re funny. I’d never cheat on Isagi!” The boyfriend waves the accusation away, literally. “It’s not a real date. It’s more like a friendship appointment, isn’t it?”
“I know that.” Kaiser says it easily, but it costs him his pride. His fist stays clenched at his side.
“The auction doesn’t mean anything,” the boyfriend reassures, hands folding behind his back. “It’s just a fun way to make a difference in the world.”
The gesture lands harder than the words. Ness does arm thing, too, when he’s trying to soothe Kaiser down from a temper tantrum. He’s always careful, like handling a rose to pluck its imperfect petals.
Kaiser’s jaw tightens. The walls feel too close. He imagines driving his fist straight through one of them, just to feel the resistance give.
“Were you planning on kissing your date, Kaiser-pon?”
“Fuck off.” Running a hand through his hair, Kaiser rolls his eyes until technicolor swirls dance behind his eyelids. “No one could pay me enough to do that."
"Not even Ness-chan?"
Two things happen: Kaiser starts choking on his own spit, and a shiver shoots down his spine at the suggestion. Yoichi's annoying boyfriend doesn't bother trying to help him. All he does is stand there innocently, unassumingly, like this isn't his fault.
"Too bad he can't bid on you."
"Ness couldn't afford me," Kaiser manages to retort, throat scratchy.
"He'd take out a loan," the other smiles.
"I wouldn't let him."
“Everyone knows,” he says softly, maddening in his gentleness. Sadness ghosts across his face, there and gone.
Suddenly Kaiser doesn't know what to do with his hands. In his mind, he flicks Yoichi's boyfriend the middle finger and maaaaaybe punts him out of the solar system. But in reality, he simply stares at the other until he's called away by a stylist.
"Bachira, your trousers—how did you already get them dirty?"
Another voice joins them, startling Kaiser. "Are you the reason Rin is covered in mud and had a nervous breakdown in the parking lot? I had to call the fire department."
Yoichi's annoying boyfriend singsongs "nyaaaaa~" and scurries off, leaving Sae no choice but to redirect his glare at Kaiser, as if reassigning culpability to him.
Oh, right. It's Kaiser's midfielder on Re-Al. Sometimes he forgets Sae exists until they're forced into the same room. Too bad he can't say the same about the details he's learned about him against his will. Kaiser turns to walk away. He doesn’t need to be around Sae any more than necessary, and he’s certain Sae feels the same—but then Sae decides he's in a talkative mood.
"So, it wasn't a mistake," he says, blinking. Unimpressed. "You're an auction participant, too."
Kaiser crosses his arms over his chest. "Why is that such a big fucking deal?"
"You're not the most charitable person."
"And you are?"
"I am." There's no pride or arrogance when Sae says this, which is a feat in itself. "I started a nonprofit to fund schools for—"
"Football, yeah, I know," Kaiser grunts, loathe to accept that Massive Insufferable Prick Extraordinaire is a better person than he is. Who cares? "Ness donates to it."
"Ness donates to it" Sae echoes, and his tone irks Kaiser, poisoning his blood.
"Do you want me to fetch him for you to talk about it? He's getting ready." Sarcasm, of course. If Sae says yes, Kaiser might push him into the clothing racks.
"So he is here, after all. I was surprised to see his name on the roster, too."
Kaiser already doesn't like where this is going. "Why? He's single, isn't he?"
Whatever Kaiser says gives Sae pause. Nothing changes on the surface—Sae only loses his cool when it's related to his brother, and even that is imperceptible—but the air tenses. Kaiser might not be able to read Sae's mind, but he can hear the gears turning in that arrogant head of his, and decides to change the subject.
"Don't you have a partner too?" Damn it. Not Kaiser's best strategy of deflection…
"I'm engaged," Sae corrects. The corners of his mouth faintly hike up as he lifts his hand to show off proof that someone on this planet finds him tolerable.
Squinting, Kaiser glances between the rock embedded in the band and Sae's punchable face. "So…why are you participating?"
"It's charity. Do you not understand what that means?"
Kaiser scowls, briefly wondering why he hasn't aimed a football at his head and given him permanent brain damage. A voice in his head suggests it's not too late. "Won't that pink vulgarity mind?"
"I do what I want. And, the date isn't real," Sae stresses, brows furrowing. "It's PR. You understand that, don't you, Mr. Clown?"
There's no reason to explain to this pompous loverboy that Kaiser no longer messes with the media to boost or manipulate his image. That stopped when he lost the last goal of the NEL. The humiliation all but ate him alive.
"But then again, you don't understand a lot of things yet," Sae remarks.
Kaiser pulls himself up to his full height, towering over the other man. "Care to explain yourself?"
"All these years, the locker room talks, my advice—you still don't get it." If Kaiser didn't know any better, he'd believe Sae is concerned. And Kaiser can't help but feel like he's letting Sae down somehow. "You just don't listen."
Their first conversation speedruns through his mind. They'd been in the locker room after one of their first games after Kaiser transfered to Re-Al. They'd lost. Sae couldn't mind his own business. Wouldn't stop mentioning Ness. Somehow, at the core of it all, everything leads back to Ness, who's about to go on a date with some loser rando who can't score a date without doling out cash.
Sae moves to the clothing rack, shuffling through black trousers, inspecting the tags. "You're mad that Ness is in the auction."
Fuck. "No I'm not."
"Either way," Sae says, removing a hanger, "I don't really care what happens with you two. Don't let it interfere with your performance on the field."
It occurs to Kaiser that Sae came to retrieve pants for his younger brother, who's probably slumped over in his underwear somewhere, seething, five seconds away from an aneurysm.
"You're back to coddling him," Kaiser lashes out, because it's easier than dwelling on what Sae just said.
Kaiser isn't stupid, no. But he's not ready—
"If you keep waiting, he'll slip away," Sae says.
Fuck, it's freaky how he reads situations. Sae Itoshi really is weird.
Kaiser can't even tell him to shut up. There's no use denying the truth. Kaiser thought he'd have more time, though. He's new to…whatever this fragile thing is that he and Ness are dancing around. He'd always dreamed about being loved, though. He never thought it'd come true. Never dreamed he'd want to give instead of take, take, take.
The first stylist returns as Sae leaves, an orange button up in hand. "Kaiser, put this on."
"I said, leave me alone!"
But the stylist isn't taking his shit. It seems no one is, anymore. "Then don't wear anything!"
"Fine!"
And that's how Kaiser finds himself silenced and shirtless as he waits in line with other Re-Al players. They're in limbo, behind the curtain. Kaiser catches a glimpse of the stage as the lights dim just enough to hush the crowd. A single spotlight falls on the announcer at center stage, microphone in hand.
“Welcome to the Tenth Annual La Liga Dating Auction!” His voice rings out, grand and dramatic. If Ness were here next to him, he'd catch Kaiser's eye as if to ask if he's okay, if it's too loud, if they should go somewhere quieter. “Tonight, players from ReAl, Barcha, and Chicorid, and will be auctioned for one appropriate date.”
The crowd cheers. Kaiser imagines paddles waving in anticipation. Wonders if Ness is looking forward to this, because he's not. Where is he, anyway?
“Each participant has prepared a single sentence describing their ideal date. All dates must be public, league-approved, and no overnight trips. Bidding starts at one thousand euros. And every euro raised tonight goes to a charity of the player’s choice. So, get your paddles ready—Re-Al is up first! Let the bidding begin!”
Curtains shift, spotlights sweep over the stage, and the line starts moving. The crowd leans forward, wallets at the ready, and erupts into fox whistles, jeers, and squeals when Kaiser steps onto the stage, right behind Sae. He’s discarded his jeans for silk trousers but refuses to wear the atrocious uniform shirt. Cool air nips at his skin, and all he can think about is Ness.
"First up—Rin Itoshi! His ideal date is… a walk through a haunted house!"
The younger Itoshi brother steps forward, immune to the clapping and bid war for his time. Kaiser doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s smoothed it into the epitome of blasé. Just like his brother. God must have created them specifically to shorten Kaiser’s lifespan. Sometimes Sae refuses to pass to Kaiser because he’s that in sync with his brother, but he’s yet to admit his favoritism.
Ness never ignored Kaiser. He always passed to him—until that last goal of the NEL.
"Five million euros! Going once!"
Ness began challenging Kaiser then, feeding him harder-to-reach passes, ones that flirted with the impossible. The new attitude followed them off the pitch—whenever bad thoughts plagued Kaiser, Ness was right there, stubborn and loyal, helping pick up the pieces of his shattered ego. Ness never raised his voice at him despite Kaiser yelling, never backed down, never feared him—
"Next up, we have the team's center back…"
And even when the U20 World Cup ended and Kaiser joined Re-Al, their conversations continued. It was harder to find time because of their misaligned, busy schedules, but that was nothing a text here and there, a picture, a meme, a video couldn’t fix. Ness even started emailing him and sending postcards via snail mail, and once called him crying when Kaiser sent one back.
"Two million euros!"
Ness promised, “I’m going to keep this forever,” and Kaiser believed him. He probably glued it into his scrapbook—the thick, many-colored one where Ness pressed flowers between the pages and pasted printed photos from their days out together, from everywhere and nowhere. The mall. The different cities they traveled to during their time with Bastard München. Playgrounds. Ticket stubs. Pieces of their worn-out kits. Fabric scraps. Stickers.
Ness gave Kaiser a page to himself.
“Put whatever you want here,” he instructed.
So Kaiser dried blue rose petals and flattened the thorns he pulled from the stems, taping them to the page with bleeding fingers.
“Now you have to be careful opening the book,” he said, certain Ness would discard the page because it was ugly.
“Okay,” Ness replied, beaming.
“And finally, the emperor himself, Michael Kaiser!”
A cacophony of overzealous chants erupts as the spotlight falls on him. The brightness stabs at his eyes, and he squints into the audience as he takes one step forward. Five seconds pass before his vision adjusts enough to peer into the crowd. Looking for the pair of magenta eyes would be futile.
This time, Ness isn’t there. He hasn’t snuck away like he used to to watch one of Kaiser’s games. He’s backstage somewhere, waiting to be bid on, too.
Ness is always waiting.
"Michael Kaiser's ideal date is—ah, he didn't submit something! How mysterious!"
Honestly, the thought of going on a date pushes piping hot bile up his throat. This was a mistake. As much as he didn’t want someone to have Ness to themselves, he can’t do this to himself. He can’t sit across from someone if they’re not Ness. Why did he sign up for this?
"Six million euros!"
Flashbacks to the NEL bombard him. The salaries. The rankings. Assigning a numerical value to himself. This is basically that all over again. Next time, he’ll donate privately. Next time, he won’t give Ness a chance—or a reason—to enter the auction in the first place.
"Seven million!"
But he has to change first.
Ness changed.
Can he?
"Sold! Ten million euros! Wow!"
Kaiser feels hollow.
Confetti explodes from overhead, there's more din of happy noises, and Kaiser refuses to glance at whoever bid on him. Gaze trained on the floor, he does an about face and marches off the stage with the others, then breaks away. Someone tries to congratulate him on the bid and he barrels past them, lurching into the audience.
There's a break now, apparently. Bidders stand, stretching their legs, conversing among themselves. Kaiser's own feet wander aimlessly as he weaves between the chatter. For once, he's at a loss. He elbows through the throng of people until he runs into someone who refuses to budge.
"Fucking move—"
The person whirls around so fast their…hair falls off?
It's a wig.
The man bends down to pick it up.
As if on instinct, Kaiser claws at the person's real hair and yanks them up into standing.
The person slaps his hand away, and the two gasp as recognition sets in.
“What are you doing here?” they demand, pointing at each other.
"You're here because your boyfriend is cheating on you too!" Kaiser accuses, so giddy at the thought of Yoichi drowning in insecurity that he bites the inside of his cheek. The iron tinging his mouth tastes like victory.
Yoichi bristles—irritation flaring off him like a solar burst—then reins it in, the heat collapsing back beneath his skin. "Too?" He tilts his head the same way his boyfriend did earlier. "Boyfriend?"
"Can you be any stupider? Is Blond Undercut not your boyfriend?"
Disgust contorts Yoichi's face. "You have a boyfriend too?"
Kaiser's stomach flips and flops like he's been yeeted off a cliff. "I'm the one asking the questions here."
But Yoichi is too smart and nosy for his own good. Kaiser can almost read his thoughts as his expression morphs from confused to enlightened to amused. And then he smirks. "Are you…jealous?"
That's honestly not the worst thing anyone has ever called Kaiser. But it's the most embarrassing. Feelings, vulnerability, honesty—these are nebulous markers of humanity that Kaiser can't quite handle despite years of therapy and reading self-help books and looking at the sky, because he's taking more time to slow down lately, like Ness suggested.
Still, there's nothing easy about your archrival clocking your shit and diagnosing you with an emotion no one should be allowed to know Kaiser is able to experience.
"I'm jealous of all the people who don't have to see your ugly mug," Kaiser sneers—then bursts into a grin as his brain lights up with an idea. "Give me that! And this!"
"Huh?" Yoichi's face goes from irritated to scandalized in two seconds flat as Kaiser pulls the black wig off his head, intentionally bringing along a few hair strands, and frees the horribly unfashionable trench coat from between his elbow and ribs. Snatching the sunglasses off proves to be more arduous, because Yoichi fights back, scratching Kaiser's face and calling him things in Japanese even the translation earbuds can't interpret.
"I need those! It's a surprise for Bachira. He can't know it's me!"
"Hah! You're such a loser you can't stand to see your boytoy with another person."
"That's not what this is about. And also, who would like that? Well—I guess that might be someone's cup of tea, but it's not mine—"
"Shut your mouth. I don't want to hear your rambling!"
"Not one person wants to hear you. Is Ness tired of you, yet? Is that why he signed up for the auction? Owwww, let go!"
"Don't ever talk about or think about Ness again! And if I hear that you're racing with him again, or near him, it'll be the last thing you do!"
"He's a sore loser, just like you, by the way."
It feels good to know he and Ness are so alike. The thought is so comforting, Kaiser releases Yoichi's earlobe.
"Let's agree to a truce, because we're wasting each other's time. I need to get out there." Yoichi throws his hands up in the universal sign of I-come-in-peace. "I'm about to be Bachira-less tomorrow, but if it gets Ness to be less aggressive towards Bachira, it's worth it."
Kaiser scoffs, prepared to defend Ness and whatever unhinged allegations Yoichi wants to list.
But Yoichi doesn't offer any details.
Kaiser shakes his head, though the frantic knocking in his chest is hard to ignore. He steps aside, motioning with his arms mockingly. "After you, Loser."
Yoichi chuckles derisively. "Idiot."
"Lead paint eater."
"Batshit licker."
"Used toilet paper recycler."
Sick of his shit, Yoichi shoves Kaiser toward the rows of chairs. "Stop Nessing around and get out there," he gripes, throwing the paddle board at his head. It digs into Kaiser's forehead and plummets to the floor. The number 8 is etched into its surface. It occurs to Kaiser, as he bends down to retrieve it, that maybe he and Yoichi have some things in common. But then he feels acid rushing up his esophagus at the thought of finding common ground with him, and decides to not dwell on the subject.
"Shut up, Yoichi."
x
Michael Kaiser's life flashes before his eyes as he waits for the Barcha players to take the stage.
Sadly, there's not much to see in the movie reel of his life.
The reoccurring event is mainly his dad beating the neurons out of him. The countless times he slept at the playground. That one time he went to jail. They're not pleasant memories, but they're his, and no one can steal them.
And then he thinks about Ness.
He and Ness running down the pitch, passing between each other, taking on the opposing time as if it were two against eleven. Late night training. Eating all their meals together. Touching up Kaiser's blue dye and cracking up at the blue stains on Kaiser's forehead. Ness forcing him to watch The Notebook and crying over stray animals. "Their fur is so matted," he'd sob, hands shaking with the injustice,the cruelty. He's the reason why Kaiser no longer squishes pesky bugs that intrude into his apartment, why he captures them in a cup and releases them outside.
Those are objectively better memories for him, but the thing is—
Ness is someone that can be stolen.
It's happening right now, isn't it?
Music blares from the speakers, and the announcer yaps on as the Barcha players appear one by one. Bunny Iglesias—he also pisses Kaiser off— along with Yoichi's annoying boyfriend, a few other nobodies he's run into on the pitch, and then Alexis Ness. His hair is somehow bouncier, more defined, and still curtain his brows, which are ironed into nonchalance.
But Kaiser can sense the unease. The nervousness. After all, he's trained himself to become an expert in Ness's body language. He's used that information for manipulation, and now's his chance to use it for good.
He's never felt the urge to rescue Ness before. Maybe that's what the butterflies in the pit of his stomach are about.
Kaiser adjusts the wig, feeling for any stray hairs that might have escaped, and ducks behind the collar of the trench coat. Adjusts his sunglasses.
Bunny Iglesias is the first player up for auction.
The crowd stirs like a mosh pit as he steps forward, paddles launching into the air like rockets.
"Not all at once," the announcer laughs, and Bunny looks mildly interested as the crowd's enthusiasm remains steady, the last few bidders battling it out passive aggressively. Still, Kaiser covers his mouth to smirk to himself when Bunny's hammer price isn't higher than his. Maybe it's petty of him to revel in this victory, especially when it's one-sided competition and not healthy for him to assign value to himself like this, but the malice is deep-seated. He has to fight back.
The other nameless players are bid on. Then it's Yoichi's boyfriend's turn. His smile lights up the room, the bidders cooing and awwing.
"Bachira Meguru enjoys playing futbol. His ideal date is…playing futbol," the announcer booms.
The crowd is in titters.
Kaiser cranes his neck in search of Yoichi in the rows behind him, and spots him at the very back, peering through the curtains. A dark surge of glee courses through his veins at Yoichi's disturbed expression. Shockwaves pulse through Kaiser when someone finally wins the bid and Yoichi, instead of falling to despair, grins and finger guns his boyfriend, who winks and returns the gesture. No one but Kaiser seems to notice this was an exchange between the two, some sign of trust.
"Next up: the charmer, Alexis Ness!"
Kaiser nearly gives himself whiplash as he spins, just in time to see the spotlight flare over Ness. Weird—did that happen with the others? Kaiser can't remember. The light casts a halo around his head, painting him into an otherwordly being.
"Alexis enjoys candle-lit dinners, reading together, and holding hands."
Of course Ness does. Kaiser isn’t surprised.
What’s harder to ignore is the realization that this is what they already are—minus the obvious romance: the candles, the intertwined fingers.
His stomach cramps at the thought.
The panic building in his chest isn’t because of Ness, though.
It’s because of him.
Oh, God, can he even give Ness those things?
The part of him that believes he can conquer anything knows he could play the part.
But that’s the problem. It would be a performance. A facade.
Ness deserves something real.
He raises his paddle.
But so do others around him.
Kaiser can't take his eyes off Ness, whose mouth slightly opens at the sight of people jumping out of their seats to bid on him. His eyebrows unfurrow. Shoulders relax.
Kaiser keeps his arm above his head.
He'll be damned is he loses.
"Three million euros!"
Slowly, the others set their paddles down, never to raise again.
Backing down from Ness has never been an option. Kaiser merely sits with his hand permanently lifted, determined to be the last one. Ness's confused gaze lands on Kaiser—and then at the only other person bidding.
"Four million euros!"
Kaiser flicks a glance at his so-called rival.
Some polished nobody. Smooth, shoulder-length hair falling in a single glossy sheet, the kind that probably catches studio lights on magazine covers. Carefully composed. Marketable. Forgettable.
As if that means anything.
Kaiser’s been on covers, too. Has posed beneath blinding flashes, jaw sharp, eyes empty on command. He’s modeled, and he's let his image be less than perfect. He’s booked his own flights since Ness stopped hovering at his side because Kaiser transferred: window seats, aisle seats, it never mattered. He’s wandered foreign streets alone, playing tourist, snapping photos of skylines and stupid café signs. Stared at the screen afterward, thumb suspended, debating.
Sent them to Ness anyway, as a way to connect.
He’s listened to Ness cry through a phone pressed tight to his ear—after brutal losses, after scoring opportunities that slipped by cruelly. After finishing a novel with a tragic final page.
“Why can’t things just work out?” Ness had sobbed once, voice small and wrecked.
Kaiser had closed his eyes and let the words settle somewhere deep. Because it hadn’t been about the book. Not really.
He knows the cadence of Ness’s breathing when he’s trying not to break. Knows the way his laughter sounds when it’s forced. Knows how gently he must be handled when the world feels like too much.
Would this stranger learn that?
Maybe they wouldn’t sharpen their cruelty and aim it at Ness the way Kaiser once did. Maybe they’d be kinder by default. Softer.
But would they unravel under Ness's loyalty?
Would they drop—pride, ego, all of it—if Ness looked at them with that open, devastating sincerity and called them human?
Would they wait through the spirals, the overthinking, the fragile hope? Would they stand still long enough for Ness to trace their edges, to understand them completely?
Would they let themselves be seen?
Kaiser doubts it.
Because loving Ness isn’t just wanting him.
It’s enduring the way he makes you confront your worst self, and chooses to stay anyway.
Kaiser grips the paddle until his joints pop.
He has changed.
"Five million euros!"
The other person wavers.
"Five and a half—"
They flip their hair back, and rest their hand and paddle in their lap.
Gleeful, Kaiser turns his undivided attention to Ness, the intoxicating thrill of outmaneuvering everyone else making him feel untouchable.
Ness, gaze locked on him, melts into a smile, arms clasping behind his back.
Wait—what?
"Sold, to the highest bidder!"
People hoot and holler as the announcer calls a break before the next bidding begins, but Kaiser doesn’t hear it. He weaves through the aisle, vaulting chairs as the crowd’s flow stalls, their chatter grating against him. His feet catch, and his face narrowly misses scraping the floor.
Kaiser wouldn't think anything of it, except his elbow gives out and he does bang his temple against a chair as he pulls himself up.
Bad luck, bad signs, no no no—
Backstage, an unfamiliar spiral coils in his chest.
He wants Ness—he admits it now! So why does it feel wrong? Searching for him to celebrate feels like hunting a deer and wading through the forest to claim its body.
“My parents never let me do anything. I hated not being able to choose my extracurriculars,” sixteen-year-old Ness had griped to Kaiser, both of them relieved to have escaped home for Bastard Munchen’s dorms.
Oh.
God, Kaiser is stupid, isn't he?
By bidding on Ness, he's stolen Ness's autonomy.
He's really, actually, truly going to puke now—
Kaiser notices him all at once:
Ness stands a little apart from the others, silk button-up gleaming faintly beneath the overhead lights, expression content as he listens to the Barcha players converse. There’s a stillness to him. Serene, almost luminous.
As if sensing the shift in the room, Ness turns.
Their eyes meet.
Recognition flickers. Then his face opens, bright and unguarded.
“You found me!”
The words land somewhere deep. Kaiser crosses the space before he can second-guess himself, draping an arm over Ness’s shoulders, steering him gently but insistently toward an empty room down the hall. The noise fades behind them. The door shuts with a muted click.
In the quieter light, Ness looks impossibly clear: no shadows, no defenses. His smile pulls at the split running through Kaiser’s chest, widening it.
“Is it really you?” Ness asks, almost reverent. He reaches up, careful, and peels the wig away. Kaiser's disguises always comes loose in Ness's hands. “It’s really you…”
To delay the inevitable, Kaiser asks, "How did you know it was me?"
"I didn't at first. But when you turned to look at the other person bidding on me, I just got the feeling it was you."
Kaiser swallows. It feels like forcing glass down his throat. His palm drags over the back of his neck. “You don’t have to do it. You know that, right?”
Ness’s brow creases. He doesn’t mask the hurt. “Do what?”
“The date.” The word tastes foreign. Kaiser reaches for his pocket out of desperation and finds it empty. His wallet must be abandoned in the dressing room. Of course. “I’ll still donate the money. That’s not changing. If anyone asks why we didn’t go on the date, you can just say I’m a piece of shit—”
The reaction is immediate, visceral. Shock. Then something more fragile. “That’s not true, Kaiser!”
He hasn’t called himself that in years. Hearing it aloud again probably feels like reopening an old wound to Ness, who feels too deeply.
“Then say you got sick. Or I did. Or something.” There’s a faint buzzing in Kaiser's skull, like static building before a storm. “Anything works.”
Ness blinks, steadying himself. He wrings his wrists. “I don’t understand. Do you regret bidding on me?”
“No.” The answer comes too fast to doubt. Kaiser has never been good at hiding from Ness.
“I thought no one would bid on me,” Ness admits, almost to the floor between them. “I told myself it would be fine if nobody did. Or if I went for the lowest amount. I tried to prepare for that. So, when you won—”
The thought slices clean through Kaiser.
“What?” His voice roughens. “Of course people would bid on you. That’s exactly why I had to—”
He stops.
Silence presses in.
“Why? Why did you bid on me?” Ness asks, not wavering.
Kaiser’s jaw tightens. “You don’t get to let other people touch you.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” Ness replies instantly.
“I didn’t like it,” Kaiser tries explaining again, heat coiling in his stomach. Shame tangled with something sharper.
The words hang there for half a second. Possessive, unpolished.
“Didn’t like what?”
“The idea of someone else choosing you.” His voice drops, almost feral. “Standing there. Claiming you.”
Ness worries his lower lip between his teeth. “You never tried to.”
It isn’t accusatory. It’s honest. Which makes it worse.
“I didn’t want them to have you,” Kaiser says again, feeling stripped down to the bone. "I want you to be mine."
“Then why didn’t you say something?” Ness steps forward. His hands are clenched, not in anger, but as if holding on. “Why wait until now?”
A strained laugh escapes Kaiser’s mouth. “Because if I said it out loud… you could walk away. You could say no.”
“But I want you, too!” Ness’s voice trembles. He closes the distance completely, and for one suspended heartbeat Kaiser thinks he’s about to be pulled into a hug. “I’ve wanted you. I think you know that.”
“I didn’t know I was allowed to want you back,” Kaiser snaps, then softens, words spilling faster. “Wanting things never worked out for me. The people in my life, my feelings, all that crap—it always burned me in the end. I never chose anything. Even football wasn’t my idea. I just… used it to survive. But this is different! You’re different!” His breathing grows uneven. “If I wanted you back, you could always leave, and I don’t think I recover from that!”
The room feels smaller.
"But now I just fucked up all over again. I didn't pick you without trying to hide, and I didn't give you a chance to pick me!"
Ness studies him. Calm, unwavering.
“Then choose me properly,” he says at last. "Ask me properly."
Something in Kaiser gives way. A chain snapping loose.
The fear doesn’t vanish, but it stops driving him.
He takes Ness’s wrist, firm and certain this time. “Come here.”
They weave their way back into the blaze of the stage. Nervous energy prickles through Kaiser’s limbs, making every muscle twitch with anticipation. Lights explode across his vision. Phones rise like constellations. The crowd murmurs, then quiets as Kaiser strides toward the podium with Ness close behind, trench coat dangling around his legs.
His knuckles pale as he grips the microphone.
“Everyone, shut up. I need to say something.”
The room stills.
He exhales slowly. “I made a mistake.”
The coat slides off, and he's reminded that he's still not wearing a shirt. He stands there stripped of pretense, bare in a way that makes the audience gasp.
“I thought I could pretend I didn't care about who I dated,” he says, eyes locking onto Ness next to him on the stage. “Turns out… I just didn’t want it to be anyone else but you.”
The world blurs at the edges.
Only Ness remains, waiting.
Kaiser realizes he let go of Ness's hand. He's too nervous to reach for it again. “I’m choosing you. Properly.” He swallows once. “Alexis Ness, will you go on a date with me?”
Tears gather in Ness’s eyes. For one unbearable second, time fractures. Kaiser braces for refusal. For confirmation that fear was right all along.
Then Ness’s mouth curves into something radiant.
“Yes.”
Applause crashes around them, distant and irrelevant. The lights still burn, the air is too cold, but none of it matters.
In his chest, something settles into place.
He has chosen.
And, impossibly, he has been chosen, too.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kaiser knows what’s coming: headlines, microphones shoved too close, relentless paparazzi, teammates smirking. The smugness. The spectacle. The stranger who thought they’d won a date with him.
Let them.
He hooks his fingers into Ness’s belt loops and draws him in. Warm palms frame his face, tilting him with quiet certainty. Their mouths align, seamless. Kaiser inhales sharply, and Ness answers by deepening the kiss, stealing the air from his lungs.
When they separate, it’s only by a sliver. Their foreheads rest together. His pulse pounds—not from defeat, not from triumph, but from the shock of being met with honest desire.
Ness looks at him as if there’s nothing else worth seeing.
For once, Kaiser doesn’t feel cornered by the future. The cameras can flash. The whispers can spread. There will be conversations, confessions, things long overdue—but none of it needs to happen now. There is time. They have time because he chose, he really chose.
And despite it all, Ness chose back—not dazzled, not coerced, not fooled by a performance, but steady in the face of everything Kaiser tried to hide.
The certainty settles slowly, like something earned rather than seized.
No masks. No games.
This is where they begin.
"Kaiser," Ness sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "My Kaiser…"
Kaiser’s hands glide up Ness’s sides, slow and deliberate, savoring the tremor it pulls from him. He cups his face, thumbs pressing into warm cheeks.
“Let’s get out of here, Ness.”