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Bright lights piss Kaiser off. They always have—from the second he stepped into his first football stadium at fourteen to now, as a grown ass man operating a world-class team of eleven. He can deal with the burning in his calves after running drills for hours, and he can deal with the team nagging him about who knows what day after day. But bright lights? Absolutely fucking not.
Kaiser tries to push himself out of bed but his limbs are lead and his throat feels tight, so he can’t draw the curtains back. Bright and evil sunlight glares through the window. He lets out a loud, nasally groan that no one is around to remedy. His scowl deepens and he tugs the edge of the curtain as far as it will go. It closes halfway. Good enough for now.
His head pounds, eyes forcing themselves shut as he sinks back into the mattress. More than anything, Kaiser wishes he could open his eyes and halt the soreness wringing his body in two and the feverish chills coursing through his veins—but as many tries as he takes, it never happens. When Kaiser shuts his eyes, he doesn’t get the relief of deluded sleep. He only sees flashes of Isagi kicking a football around with the rest of Bastard München, like he knows they’re doing at this very moment.
And to make things worse, Noa is forcing him to stay home until he’s better. Better—such a stupid word. Kaiser is completely fucking fine. He may be reading 40°C but he’s still the best damn striker on BM—in Germany, for that matter. If he falls behind on training because of something like this, he’s going to kill that shitty excuse of a coach. Once he finds the strength to stand, that is.
Kaiser’s phone buzzes once on his bedside table. Then twice. Then another few. Just like it has for the past two days he’s been MIA. The sound reverberates through his skull every time, and they keep coming like clockwork. Some from Ness—begging for an inch of detail like the asshole he is. Most, though, are from his incredibly annoying and unbelievably loving boyfriend, Isagi.
Kaiser could never be mad at Isagi. And he means never. Not really. But with his raging headache, the calls and texts he can’t be bothered to answer or read are the most annoying fucking sound in the entire universe.
With all the strength he can muster, he grabs it and hurls it to the far side of his bedroom. It visibly dents the wall and he’s not sure what it does to the screen. The buzzing doesn’t stop. Why the hell would it? God, he’s such a fucking idiot.
“Shut the fuck up, Yoichi! I love you, but shut up–” Kaiser curses across the room.
A muffled voice comes from behind the door. “Jeez, I didn’t even knock yet.”
Kaiser’s breath hitches. It’s—Isagi? Here? The lock jiggles and the door pushes open. Just as he suspected, his gorgeous boyfriend stands in the hall taking off his shoes—just like he has a hundred times before. Though, most of the time it ends with a lot more than his shoes left at the door.
“Go away,” Kaiser mutters with as much force as he can muster.
“Gee, aren’t you cheery?” Isagi steps into his room, open door overlooking the entrance. “God, you look awful.”
“Fuck off. I gave you that key for emergencies.”
“That hair of yours is an emergency. It’s not like you to not brush it.” He kneels by Kaiser’s bed, leveling with the worn-in blankets and sturdy headboard. Two deep blue eyes meet Kaiser’s own, and he wishes he could plunge into their depths and feel the cold rush all around him. Maybe then Noa would take the stick out of his ass and let him train. “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”
“Phone’s over there,” Kaiser says flatly.
Isagi turns to see the dented wall and glares sharply at the taller boy. “Mihya, you can’t–”
“Yoichi, get out of here. You’re missing practice.”
“Practice ended an hour ago, you idiot.” He presses the back of his hand to Kaiser’s forehead. It adds to the throb in his head but his fingers are cool, so he leans into the touch. “God, Noa was right. You really are sick. You’re burning up, baby.”
Kaiser groans, using every ounce of strength to push himself away. He probably doesn’t go far. It’s just enough so his skin craves the touch again, so the air feels that much thicker when Isagi’s not around.
“Mihya, why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” he asks, keeping his voice low and soft in a way that makes Kaiser being incapacitated totally unfair. He’s lucky he still has the strength to imagine pinning Isagi to the bed, hips going slack as he relinquishes control—but only barely. Most of him is still trying to process the fact that Isagi is in front of him at all.
“I’m not sick,” he sniffles.
“Try again.”
Kaiser pouts his lip and turns on his side, back now to his boyfriend. Isagi sighs and brings a hand to his shoulders. The touch is gentle and almost as rhythmic as the stream of texts from his phone but nowhere near as insufferable.
“You’re stubborn, you know that?” Isagi says, but he doesn’t pull away. He never pulls away, not when Kaiser snaps at him and shouts, not when Kaiser beats him on the field a hundred ways and sweat beads down his forehead, not when Kaiser digs his nails into his wrists and palms and anywhere skin will break. Kaiser doesn’t think he’s the stubborn one, not when he has a boyfriend like that.
“Here, I brought you something,” he continues, reaching into his bag. Kaiser reluctantly rolls back over. He holds two chilled sports drinks—one named ‘Blue Razzmatazz’: disgusting, and the other ‘Fruit Punch’: bearable. “I still can’t read the German labels very well and they don’t have pouches like they do in Japan, but these looked like the next best option.”
“I am not drinking that.”
“Well, you’re drinking something. It’s this or water. Or I can run out and get you something else?”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Yoichi,” Kaiser spits, trying to keep his eyes looking more fierce than worn down—but he knows it doesn’t work very well.
Isagi sighs. He runs his hand down to Kaiser’s and squeezes gently. “You’ve got one anyway,” he says softly. “I’m not leaving.”
Kaiser’s breath catches in his throat, this time out of no fault to the congestion. Isagi brushes his fingers through his hair. Every once in a while, Kaiser forgets just how small his boyfriend’s hands are. He may be an athlete but his fingers are slim, nails always neat and hands always cool. Feeling them against his scalp makes him forget about the fever, if even for a second.
“You’re an idiot,” he mutters, waiting for Isagi to get up and head out the door. But part of him knows he won’t, and he relishes in that truth more than anything.
“Here. Drink.” Isagi hands him a bottle of water from his bag. Remember when Kaiser said he missed the cold? Yeah, well that bottle feels like a fucking glacier. It burns against his skin and he whines into Isagi’s touch. “Don’t be dramatic, Mihya. Just drink it.”
He twists the cap like usual, but his fingers scrape against the plastic rather than grip it. The muscles in his hands feel weak. God, how can he call himself Bastard München’s ace if he can’t open a goddamn bottle?
“Yoichiii,” he whines. “Open it for me?”
“You big baby,” Isagi teases, but takes the bottle gently and flicks it open with a smile. “Here.”
Kaiser takes a few sips, cool liquid running down his dry throat. Come to think of it, he can’t remember the last time he got himself a drink. It must have been before he went to sleep last—whenever that was.
Isagi slips off his cardigan, draping it over the side of the bed before standing. “Wait here. I’m going to get you something to eat.”
“It‘s not like I’m going anywhere.” The words slur out of his mouth. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. Quieter, he says, “Just… don’t take too long, okay?”
He’s not sure if Isagi heard him. He half-hopes he didn’t—then he wouldn’t be made to look like the washed-up, pleading mess he is. The bedroom door is wide open, but Isagi is nowhere in sight. Where did he even go? Is he still in the apartment, or did he pick up his keys and leave?
Kaiser’s stomach folds. He runs his own fingers through his hair, but they’re clammy and bigger than Isagi’s. It’s not the same. Tears well in his eyes for a reason he can’t fathom, and he reaches for Isagi’s sweater. He cuddles it close. The fabric is soft, and it smells just like him. He pulls it to his chest and shuts his eyes.
...
The lights are too fucking bright. Isagi must have closed the curtains the rest of the way when Kaiser fell asleep—but he thinks just about any amount of light would piss him off, so he can’t complain too much.
Except, he will. Because as soon as his brain is fully conscious again, the aches sting up his entire body. They root in his back and stem through his limbs and no shift in his position seems to ease it. A soft whimper pushes from his lips—and he can’t count the amount of times he’s whimpered and groaned in this very bed—but this time, Isagi isn’t here to soothe him.
He blinks back tears he knows will remain unshed; you don’t become the best striker in Germany by crying over every sting and itch. Though, the emotion comes in a way he’s not used to. It thickens in waves that pulse past the aches. It closes his throat and threatens to break through. He clutches Isagi’s cardigan some more, but his scent has rubbed off already and it doesn’t really help.
“Mihya, you up?” Isagi calls from another room.
Kaiser flips over in the bed yet again. He wonders for a moment how Isagi knew, but with the creaks in the mattress and the clunk of the headboard against the wall, he knows it’s no secret. It also makes him wonder how the hell he and Isagi haven’t gotten a noise complaint yet.
Isagi teases open the door, popping his head through the frame. As soon as their eyes meet, Isagi gives a soft smile that hardens the knot in Kaiser’s throat. He’s not sure how anyone can look at him and smile like that. So pure, with such genuine infatuation. Yeah, Kaiser is fucking incredible on the field, but that’s about all he’s good for. It’s all he knows.
And now, his eyes are red with something other than liner and the scowl he wears is no different from every other day. Someone as perfect as Isagi shouldn’t smile at someone like him this way.
“Hey, baby,” he says, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed.
Kaiser scoffs. “I’m not your baby.”
Isagi’s smile only grows. He pinches Kaiser’s cheek—softly, never enough to hurt—then tucks a blonde strand behind his ear. “Aww, yeah you are.” He places the back of his hand over Kaiser’s forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
“Yeah, I bet. I took your temperature while you were sleeping. 39°C.”
Kaiser cranes his neck up at him, trying and failing to come up with a time he’s ever bought medical supplies. “You took my temperature? …How?”
“Well, I got three different thermometers at the store,” Isagi says. “One through the mouth, one for your ear, and one…”
Isagi smirks, eyes flicking to Kaiser’s lap and back again.
“Yoichi. Tell me you did not stick a thermometer in my ass while I was sleeping.”
“I plead the fifth?”
“We’re not in the states, Yoichi.” He runs two hands through his hair. “God, you’re an animal.”
Isagi wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling Kaiser’s weight against his. He’s warm, and even though Kaiser is much taller and heavier, Isagi doesn’t seem to mind the burden.
“Relax. I used the ear one.” He plants a kiss into Kaiser’s temple, voice turning low as he whispers in his ear. “If you’d rather me stick it in, that can certainly be arranged.”
“Fuck off.” Isagi’s grin grows wider. “I’m glad you’re enjoying my pain.”
“I’m glad you’re glad. Sit up, yeah? I made you something to eat.”
“Not hungry,” he says, though his stomach aches as badly as his head.
“Too bad. You’re eating.”
Isagi pulls him up from under his arms and rests him against the headboard. He leaves the room—all too quickly for Kaiser’s tastes, because without Isagi right here, it’s easy for him to forget what it’s like to be held, to be touched softly, sweetly. Fuck, he hates what it’s like to forget.
Eventually, Isagi returns with a bowl of… mush. He hands it off to Kaiser, who tries his best not to wrinkle his nose. “What am I looking at?”
“It’s rice porridge,” Isagi says proudly, brushing through the knots in Kaiser’s hair with his fingers. “My mom always makes it for me when I’m sick.”
Kaiser stirs the spoon around. “Really?”
He nods. “She’d sit with me when I was a kid and stroke my hair like this when I had a cold. I miss her a lot. My dad, too. We have to plan a visit sometime soon.”
It’s so easy for Isagi to talk about his parents. Sometimes Kaiser forgets that not everyone dances around questions about their families and pretends they don’t exist. That not everyone was choked within an inch of their life by someone who was supposed to love them. That not everyone knows what it’s like to get a bottle broken over their backs by someone who was supposed to make them soup when they’re sick and tuck them in at night and call every week just to say hello.
Kaiser swallows down tears, biting the inside of his cheek. He wonders what Isagi’s parents would think of him—of their only son bringing home a boy with tattoos snaking down his arm and the ends of his hair dyed in a way they’d probably find to be obscene. They’ll never get their dream of having grandchildren and as soon as Kaiser steps inside, they’ll realize it. Even if he was able to give them that, it’s not like he has a shining example of what a good father should do.
Part of him smiles at the thought, because god, Isagi would be a fucking incredible dad. He’d sit with the brat and read to it before bed every night. He’d try his best to make its favorite meals even though he’s a shit cook. Kaiser imagines how a kid would look if they mixed their German and Japanese features, but quickly pushes it out of his mind. Isagi deserves someone who doesn’t have to ask what rice porridge is and who lives near convenience stores with labels he can understand. Isagi deserves… so much. So much more than this.
“Thank you,” Kaiser says. He takes a bite. It’s hot and it burns his throat going down, so he takes another one.
Isagi ticks up an eyebrow. “You feeling okay?”
“No better than I was when you asked me two minutes ago,” he replies flatly.
“I mean, I expected you to turn your nose up at the porridge. You didn’t grow up on it like I did and you’re the pickiest eater I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not a monster, Yoichi. I’m not going to insult your culture.” He takes another bite. “It’s fucking delicious too. I think. I can’t really taste a lot right now.”
Isagi beams at that, though if Kaiser were in his shoes, he probably wouldn’t take it as a compliment. As he eats, Isagi goes on about how his mom walked him through the recipe step by step, how cooking the rice for just the right time was difficult but he thinks he nailed it—which he did—how he had to run to the store because Kaiser keeps nothing in his fridge and had to guess if he was buying the right ingredients. He talks about how he ran into some Blue Lock fans who he thinks were asking for his autograph but he doesn’t know because he doesn’t speak German, so he hopes he didn’t sign a random person’s water bottle for no reason.
Isagi talks and of course Kaiser listens. Not just because he'd rather die than move a muscle, but because he’s been around the world and back. He’s seen mountains taller than one person can fathom and oceans as far as the eye can see. He’s been toured around most every continent for football matches and training programs—but none of that compares to this. Seeing his boyfriend’s face light up while he talks about nothing, because it’s not nothing to him and that means it’s not nothing to Kaiser. He thinks he’d trade every ocean in the world for a few minutes longer with Isagi.
Of course, all good things must come to an end. Isagi retreats to the kitchen to clean up, taking Kaiser’s empty bowl with him. The pain, though—the universe decides that’s allowed to stay. Kaiser writhes in the sheets, itching for Isagi to put his damn sweater back on so he doesn’t forget what he smells like when he’s alone.
...
“Come on,” Isagi pleads, pulling on Kaiser’s arm as he desperately clings to the blankets.
Kaiser tumbles off the bed; if he wasn’t half-dead with a fever, there’s no way in hell he would have lost. He whines while Isagi tugs off his shirt. God, he didn’t realize how fucking freezing it is in his apartment. A weak hand tries to grab the shirt back, but Isagi is already moving on to his sweats.
“Nooo, don’t take my clothes off. Ugh, Yoichi–”
“Mihya, you have to take a shower. You’re just going to get worse if you sit in the same old clothes.”
“That’s fine.”
“It’s not fine, you big baby,” Isagi demands. He throws Kaiser’s old clothes in the laundry and turns back to face him. “Go shower. I’ll change your sheets.”
Kaiser rolls over on the floor, tucking his throbbing head in his arms. “Nooo–”
“I– get up! God, you’re a grown man.”
Isagi hoists him up from under his arms—which is fucking incredible considering Kaiser knows he is, in fact, a grown man with a grown man’s weight. He makes a mental note to bring this back up next time Isagi has him stripped down to his boxers.
He buries his face into Isagi’s shoulder “Too much work. Let me die here,” he whines, hoping Isagi can understand with his voice barely working and his English slipping by the second.
“What, do you want me to get in with you?”
Kaiser’s face turns stale. He glares over at Isagi. “That’s gross, Yoichi.”
The shorter boy’s eyes widen. His brow furrows then lightens, lips part then shut. His cheeks heat with a red blush. “You’ve been inside me!”
“I hate you.”
“Jeez, aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?” Isagi says, dragging him closer to the door—unsuccessfully, by the way.
“Where the hell did you get that idea?”
Isagi lets out a heavy breath. Kaiser can hear his heart racing, can feel it through his skin—and he knows he’s not doing much to help the situation. “I don’t know, shouldn’t sick people be all loopy because of the fever?”
“Sick people are loopy because you drug them to make them shut up. I’m surprised you haven’t done that yet. I hear they make ones you can stick up the ass.”
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Isagi manages to pull Kaiser in the hallway. “Just go already. The longer you fight me, the longer it is until you can get back in bed. Go.”
Kaiser pouts his lip. “I thought you were coming with me.”
“I thought you said that was gross,” he says, but he’s already pulling his shirt over his head.
Luckily for Kaiser, he has the most patient and loving boyfriend in the entire world. Isagi runs the water, changing the temperature a hundred times to make sure Kaiser will be comfortable. He helps him out of his boxers and doesn’t stare. He washes every inch of him and pays a hell of a lot more attention to his hair routine than he does to his lower half—which doesn’t surprise him, per se.
They’ve showered together before. Mostly, Kaiser finds it fun to lather Isagi’s hair in shampoo and twist until it sticks up. Only on rare occasions does it end with Isagi pinned against the tile wall or one of them on their knees. Still, it’s almost reverent how careful Isagi’s hands are as they slide everywhere yet only linger on his jaw, his shoulders, his scalp. It’s calm as he looks into Isagi’s eyes and sees only focus and care.
Steam billows through the bathroom. It clears Kaiser’s congestion but also makes his head spin a little. He trips on the way out of the shower and doesn’t register the towel being wrapped around him. It’s soft. Are all his towels this soft? He doesn’t remember them being this soft—at least, they aren’t when he showers by himself.
Isagi manages to dress him again—not without whines and a few too many limp limbs that Isagi calls dramatic but Kaiser deems completely appropriate for the situation. A couple failed attempts at tugging Isagi in bed with him and the mattress feels empty without someone beside him. Without Isagi beside him.
It’s empty and Kaiser can’t stand it. As soon as Isagi is out of the room, Kaiser is on his heels. He dips his head low and watches as Isagi plops himself on the couch. He leaves a space beside him—the end piece he knows Kaiser likes—and unfolds a blanket over his lap.
“Sit with me?” Isagi asks.
“I’m sick. You’re going to catch what I have,” he replies, as if they didn’t spend the last twenty minutes less than a foot apart.
“Yeah, yeah.” Isagi waves his hand. “A little time with my boyfriend isn’t going to kill me. Come here already.”
One complaint was enough for Kaiser. He slides onto the cushion next to Isagi, placing his head in his lap. He’s warm. God, he’s so warm. He’s the kind of warm that Kaiser isn’t sure how he didn’t freeze without, how he managed nearly twenty years without Isagi holding him like this.
It starts with soft strokes through his damp hair. Isagi didn’t let him leave the bathroom without blow-drying it, but he was too tired to let him finish. Then it moves from the slow strands separating between delicate fingers to soft circles against his back. It’s easier to breathe when he huddles close to Isagi, who tucked the blanket around his waist and over his chest. Much easier than it used to be.
Isagi’s scent is sickeningly sweet. He’s smelled it a hundred times before but it’s a little different now. He’s surrounded by an apartment, by fabrics that smell like home to Kaiser, but his skin is the same. Soft. Kind. Hot in a way that doesn’t agitate Kaiser’s fever. And it’s hard for him to imagine any world where he isn’t allowed to savor this moment. He thinks he’d never forgive someone who tried to take it away.
...
Kaiser’s brain is foggy when he wakes. Sounds ring through his ear for a while before they register. It’s German—drawn out and dramatic.
He squints his eyes open. Japanese subtitles line the bottom of the screen, and Isagi’s focus is glued to the characters. He’s really beautiful. That’s the first thing Kaiser thinks—it’s the only thing he can think—when Isagi’s lips part as they slightly mouth along with the words. Fuck, his mouth is so pretty.
Kaiser’s eyes stray back to the screen. A man stands in a dark room, flush against a woman turned away. His voice is rough. The woman squeals and tucks her face into his chest.
“What is this, Yoichi?” he mumbles. “It doesn’t seem like your style.”
Isagi smiles softly down at him. “What does that mean?”
“You like dumb kids movies, not melodramas.”
“First of all, My Neighbor Totoro is not just a kid’s movie. It’s a masterpiece that happens to be geared toward children and families. You’d know that if you bothered to watch it with me. Second of all, this one just showed up. It’s a new release. The ad said it’s popular around Germany.”
Kaiser sighs, pressing his face into Isagi’s lap. “Yoichi, you can’t just click on every ad you–“
The woman’s face flashes on the screen, her voice clear as a bell, German rolling off her tongue like it’s meant to flow down a river or drift through the sky on a cloud. Kaiser’s eyes widen. He knows that face. He’s seen it every day for the past twenty years—every time he fixes his hair in the mirror, every time he catches his reflection on a nearby building, every time Germany sticks up a U20’s poster and he’s plastered in the center.
Her face is softer though, cheeks rosier and smile bright. A knot forms in his throat. Tears stream down his cheeks and pain throbs through his head. He buries his face back into Isagi’s lap and prays to god he doesn’t notice.
“Mihya? Are you– Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” Isagi pulls his head up.
Kaiser’s puffed-up, blubbering face is all over fucking display and he wants to combust right here on the couch. It’s red and ugly and he’s still crying and it’s nothing Isagi hasn’t seen before but it’s still fucking humiliating every time. His eyes flick to the screen and back.
“Is it the movie? Come on, talk to me,” Isagi pleads.
“I– it– I can’t. She–” his voice chokes out.
“The actress? What– why are you–”
“Fucking look at her, Yoichi!”
Kaiser watches him scan the screen. He doesn’t look again himself. He can’t.
“I mean, she looks a little like you. Wow, she looks a lot like you.” He pauses, squinting his eyes at the movie. He turns to Kaiser in a way that makes his head spin. “Mihya, why does she look like you?”
“Fuck.” Kaiser buries his head in Isagi’s shoulder again. “Turn it off.”
He does, without question. “Breathe for me, okay?”
Isagi’s hand brushes against his jaw but it’s suffocating. Kaiser primes the veins on his neck, nails scraping down the side. Hell, it’s scary how much better he feels at only that. Isagi tugs it away, rubbing the callouses on Kaiser’s hands with his own pristine ones.
“Breathe. I need you to breathe, Michael.”
“Shit,” he gasps. “I can’t.”
Isagi places a hand against Kaiser’s chest. “You can.” It’s firm—in voice and by touch. And the way Isagi says it makes him believe it's true.
He clutches Isagi’s hand where it flushes against his sternum. Isagi winces as Kaiser digs his nails into the back of his hand—but he knows he’d much prefer the pain to Kaiser shifting the focus on himself. He chokes out a few deep breaths he hopes Isagi will be proud of.
Kaiser knows it's not long before his breathing evens out, before his heart stops feeling like it’ll collapse in on itself, before the ringing in his ears fades away—but fuck does it feel like forever. Then again, every moment feels like forever when he’s bundled in Isagi’s arms. It lasts has, and he thinks it always will.
“Damn, my fever is making me a whiny mess,” Kaiser tries to laugh off, but Isagi’s expression doesn’t change.
“That’s okay,” Isagi replies. “Be as whiny as you need. I don’t mind.”
He rests his forehead against Isagi’s shoulder again, and this time, he doesn’t try and move.
“Talk to me. What’s going on?” he continues.
“She… she’s so happy.”
The words sound pathetic coming from his lips. Well, everything about him is pathetic right now. His back aches yet again—and Isagi’s grip tightens around him as if he can tell from only a look.
“Who?”
“Who do you think?” Kaiser glances to the screen. It’s frozen on her smiling face—a twist of fate maybe half as cruel as the one that left a shivering kid on the streets of Berlin at ten years old. “That’s my mom.”
“Oh. Oh!” He pauses. “Oh? I thought it was just…” a little quieter, Isagi says, “you and your dad.”
“It was,” Kaiser replies. His voice breaks as it pushes through the words. “I saw an old photo of her my dad kept. She was in a movie just like this. When I asked him about it, he–”
“Hey, hey.” He brushes a thumb on Kaiser’s cheekbone, wiping the tears away. “It’s okay to cry. Just remember to keep breathing for me, yeah?”
Isagi resumes a warm touch on his back. He starts with two fingers gently tapping his shoulder, then a flat palm running along the side. Only then does he use the bulk of his hand to massage the tension from Kaiser’s back. He knows why it goes down like this. It’s fucking embarassing that he still needs it—that he still has to be babied by someone younger than him—but he does.
The first few months of their relationship were so rocky Kaiser was sure they wouldn’t make it. It was already impossible in his mind that his biggest pain in the ass—Isagi fucking Yoichi—could look at him in a way that made him weak in the knees. So every time they tried to do something about it, Kaiser’s heart picked up speed.
Not in the way it does in poetic novels with drawn-out prose about romance or movies like the ones he watches most weekends with Isagi. God, he wishes it were that simple.
Instead, it pumped the kind of adrenaline through his bloodstream that backhanded Isagi a few too many times to ignore. Kaiser stuttered out apologies, eyes wide and frantic, waiting for Isagi to storm off. To hit him back like he deserved to be. But he never did. And he never does.
Just like now, he took Kaiser’s hand—always where he could see, could track, could understand was gentle—and said it was okay to cry.
Every bit of Kaiser wanted to push him back and choke out the pain like he always does. Part of him still wants to. But fuck, the first time he let someone hold him, trusted him with the things that made his muscles brace for impact, he knew that was it. That Isagi is it for him.
Kaiser takes a deep breath, just as Isagi instructs. His shoulders melt when Isagi runs over them.
“She doesn’t have scars like I do. On her shoulders and back,” Kaiser manages. “Her face is so… light. She wasn’t beaten fucking senseless by my dad because she didn’t get the chance. She got rid of me as quickly as she could. My own fucking family doesn’t even want me.”
Isagi tenses under Kaiser’s weight. The congestion returns to his sinuses, though he’s not sure if that’s the fault of the fever or the woman with his face on the screen.
“Your parents are assholes, Mihya. They're pieces of shit who had no right to treat a kid that way,” Isagi replies a little too quickly.
“Fuck if I know.”
“My point is, you’re allowed to be angry at them, as much as you want. But please, don’t take it out on yourself. I love you. I want you.” Isagi’s voice is smooth, his hand never wavering as it traces lines into Kaiser’s back. “I want to hear your voice and watch you play and be around you all the time. It hurts to hear you talk about yourself that way.”
Kaiser’s head spins. His whole body feels hot. Words trickle out of his mouth like drool and he can only half-comprehend what each of them means.
“But I– your mom sounds so nice and I don’t even speak Japanese and I’ll never get to have kids with you and see what our babies would look like and you–”
“Our babies? Mihya, what–?”
“–should leave me. Go find some nice girl your parents will love that you won’t have to hide from them and you won’t have to be ashamed of and–”
“Michael, stop. Stop talking,” Isagi says. It cuts through the chatter flooding Kaiser’s brain. He zeroes in on Isagi’s words. “You think I’m ashamed of you?”
Kaiser chokes on his breath. “Fuck, I would be. I’m–”
“Don’t even finish that sentence.” Isagi shifts their weights so Kaiser’s head leans in the crook of his neck, back flush against his chest. He laces his fingers around Kaiser’s waist. “You should look through the messages between me and my parents. I never shut up about you.”
“You– your parents know about us?”
Isagi lets out a laugh. It’s clear and clean, like the whistle a ref blows at the end of a match they’ve just won or the church bells in the center of Berlin that Kaiser never got to visit as a kid. It might be the most beautiful sound Kaiser’s ever heard.
“Of course they do. They watched BLTV during the Neo-Egoist league, so they saw the big fat crush I had on you every time we played together. And I send them pictures of you all the time. Some of the two of us, but a lot of you.” He cranes his neck so their eyes meet. “Mihya, I don’t want some Japanese girl back home. I want you. I want you and only you.”
Isagi leans down and plants his lips on Kaiser’s. It’s sweet and soft and the purest kind of kiss. He doesn’t deepen it, though Kaiser wouldn’t complain if he did. His bones may ache and his head may throb but maybe the best remedy for a sore throat is a huge–
Kaiser pulls away. “You’re an idiot. I’m going to get you sick.”
“Don’t care.” Another kiss, this time into his forehead. “I love you.”
Sweeter tears drip down Kaiser’s cheeks now. For the next few days, Isagi barely leaves his side. He escapes in the drowsy hours of the day for practice and rushes home right after. Kaiser’s not sure what he has, but the aches and the hot flashes and the shivers are worth it. They’re worth it now and they’ll be worth it every time they come if it means someone like his boyfriend will stay by his bed, coaxing him to sleep with sugar-sweet words and touches light as a feather.
Isagi stuffs the same bland rice porridge into his face meal after meal, but Kaiser doesn’t get tired of it. How could he, when Isagi made it just for him? How could he, when he serves it each time with a smile wider and prouder than when they beat PXG during the Neo-Egoist league? To Kaiser, that porridge is his favorite meal in the whole world.
He never had a favorite before. The sandwich shop on the corner by his dad’s old place used to have some pretty good stuff in the garbage, but it was still trash. Fitting for a kid half-starved and left with cuts to deepen and bruises to worsen on the street. Kaiser has eaten like a king for the latter half of his life—but he’s sure it won’t compare to the bowls he downs and the insistence from its maker that it lowered his fever by at least half a degree.
He doesn’t cry again. Isagi assures it’s welcome, but he doesn’t feel he has to. Kaiser inked his neck in blue as a reminder that nothing is impossible, but he’s not sure he ever really believed it until now.
Because not teetering on the edge of breaking down feels impossible—felt impossible. But it seems a little more in his reach now that a different kind of proof sits in front of him. One with eyes so deep and blue they could rival the sea itself and with a love so bright and pure it puts Kaiser’s own to shame.
...
The lights in Bastard München’s stadium aren’t so bright. He’s no sap, but there’s no way Kaiser could be so sensitive to some measly LEDs when the incarnation of the sun itself is missing.
The majority of Bastard München is lined up—the way they’ve started every practice since Kaiser was fourteen. There are two annoying exceptions to this, to the pristine line that’s been drilled into them since the day they all joined BM.
One: the space right beside the one Kaiser occupies—blank where it’s usually filled by their second-best player of a far shorter stature than most on the team. The best being Kaiser, obviously; there’s no way a newbie from Japan is going to steal his top spot so easily, even if he had to miss a few practices last week. Then the second:
“Kaiser, you’re back!” Ness throws his arms around his neck. A mess of violet bushes against his face, and Kaiser shoves him off.
“Line up. I don’t have time for this right now.”
Ness pouts his lip. “You didn’t answer my messages.”
“Right. Maybe you should be a little more worried about your passes than you are about being in my business every second of the day,” Kaiser bites.
Footsteps encroach from the left. “Listen up, everyone,” Noa calls, and Ness hurries to fall in line. “I need to have a talk with you.”
Noa eyes him, clipboard in hand, tapping a pen lightly against the side. A few snickers and jeers come from the lineup and Kaiser knows exactly fucking why. When Bastard München made an offer for Isagi after the Neo-Egoist league, a lot… changed.
There wasn’t a spare moment sweat wasn’t colliding, skin wasn’t on skin, lips weren’t doing what should be kept a hell of a lot more private than it was. It’s not like Kaiser complained. More so, he kicked himself for allowing those idiots to see it when Noa lined them up for mandatory STI testing.
“You’re all people,” he continues. “You’re human, but you’re also weapons on this team. Keeping your bodies well is of the utmost importance. Kaiser, I’m glad to have you back. Let’s see if your days off left you behind in training.”
“Yeah, right,” Kaiser snorts.
Noa marks something down on his clipboard, noting the empty spot beside him in the lineup. “That being said, it seems we’re down a player again today. Yoichi notified me this morning that he was bed-ridden with a fever. Do not,” he says pointedly toward Kaiser, “engage with him. He is likely contagious. I understand you may want to send him well-wishes, but your health is more important than one boy’s ego. That’s all. Begin drills.”
Like usual, Kaiser jogs to the center of the field. Ness eyes the sloppy grin on his face, but he doesn’t look back. Kaiser pictures an achey, loopy Isagi curled up in his bedsheets, a blanket draped over his head. He imagines feeding him a half-witted version of rice porridge and cradling him in his arms while he sleeps.
A smirk trails on Kaiser’s lips as he dribbles through the discs. He’ll have to pick up an ass-thermometer at the store on the way home.