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I- We gather here, we line up, weepin' in a sunlit room
And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too?
A rooftop warmed by faint sunlight, the echo of distant conversation, and the familiar soundtrack of a gacha game. That’s the scenario Reo finds himself in when he opens his eyes. In addition to the familiar white blazer, faintly smelling like lavender fabric softener, it’s a moment like he lived so many other days.
Hakuho High. Lunchtime.
Nagi Seishiro notices his presence, and Reo’s feet follow his gaze even when his fight or flight is screaming to run away until his tendons disintegrate.
“Guess what I have for you, my treasure~” His voice comes out, happily saccharine, a pre-recorded dialogue option, like he’s in the backseat of his own conscience. At least the weight on both his hands gives away some sort of clue about what is coming next, as Reo takes a seat next to his partner. “A special lunch delivery! I worked really hard making you a perfectly balanced meal, so you better be grateful and amazed!”
For that statement to be real, one should have access to a kitchen, or at least any recollection of recipes and ingredients. The only thing Reo has is a cold feeling in his gut, a fleeting sensation of disconnection.
“You made both lunches even though Reo must have five different chefs?” Nagi doesn’t seem to recognize his discomfort, though, acting like Reo belongs there even if... “You’re so weird. Welp, a homemade meal must be nice. Feed me, Reo.”
Reo can’t be at school; he's preparing for the World Cup.
And Nagi can’t be with him either, because…
I lost him.
And it is perhaps this pain that makes Reo finally realize he’s in some sort of lucid dream. Even then he doesn’t wake up, so Nagi lays that fluffy head on his lap and opens his mouth, expecting to be fed.
Eyes closed, peaceful expression, so much so that Reo’s body moves on its own, feeding him an octopus-shaped sausage.
“You should pay more attention to what other people do to you. What if this was poisoned or tasted terrible?” This time, the words are, in fact, controlled by his will. Perhaps now that he realized this is a dream, Reo was given his agency back to some degree.
“Reo’s not other people. Plus, if it tasted bad, and I ate it anyway, you would give me a day off and take care of me. Not a bad deal.” Nagi’s lazy and bratty remarks fill his chest with fondness, nostalgia even. As if they come from a past far more distant than months ago. “Why don't we skip practice today either way? In honor of Reo's cooking or something.”
“What's even that excuse?”
Reo chooses that answer simply by logic: in their old days, it would 100% be his reaction, accompanied by cheek pinching and lectures that never went anywhere. After all, besides some mild complaining, Nagi always followed him to practice.
And to Blue Lock.
All those days until their world together ended.
Reo suddenly feels the need to change his answer to a question, an alternative.
“What if… We just let soccer go?”
That makes Nagi take his eyes away from the game, phone stored in his pocket, eyebrow slightly raised, and Reo could swear that there’s the a shadow of pain mixed along his confusion.
“Huh? Are you already that bored with me? Reo's heart is so fickle…”
“Not with you, dummy! But as a certain person says, soccer can be a pain, right? And there's so much to do in this world…” So many alternative paths that don’t lead to destruction… “What would you like to do instead, my treasure?”
“Wait, are you serious? So I get to keep being Reo's treasure even without needing to get all gross and sweaty? That’s a life I can sign up for~”
Life was just a pain for me, but you gave me light…
“Whatever Reo wants to do is fine by me. I’ll be your househusband and provide support.”
“Is that so~”
It’s not real; Reo knows that now, but it’s comforting, this situation. Maybe he can see how his and Nagi’s lives would play out if a certain letter never got into his hands. Was a happy ending waiting around the corner had he made a different choice?
If so, perhaps it is not too late to-
Nagi stares at him, a smile tinted in sadness hurting Reo’s heart like needles.
“But we can't.” He sounds certain, resigned… “Because Reo loves soccer.”
Reo loves soccer and Nagi Seishiro, and his heart was far too small for that conflict. In this dream world, he at least wished to make a different choice.
“Let’s eat our lunches and go to practice, Reo. So you can be the best in the world.
Even with full control, Reo can only nod along.
II- We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean
Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring
After that, fragments of Nagi’s existence lurk in the shadows of his dream world whenever Reo is unconscious, a subtle scream reserved for one person.
A field of dandelions, their fragments being carried by the wind.
A bike that moves although Reo’s feet, not covered by shoes, remain frozen, all the way to a bluish gate.
The entrance floor is covered in green and thorns, yet no blood is spilled when he slowly walks, and walks, and walks.
It’s a labyrinth, no rhyme or reason to keep pushing forward.
Reo feels that they’ll kill him if they catch him.
But what have I done?
He finally rests on a staircase, discomfort taking over, watching as his skin slowly turns into sunset-colored scales. His blood runs cold now, and it feels as comfortable as a coffin, that indifference, that dependence on the environment to self-regulate.
What’s inside doesn’t matter, at least it shouldn’t. But when the sun goes down, bathing his reptile skin in moonlight, every color change hurts as if being prickled by the entrance thorns, why it has to hurt again, why can’t he grow used to the pain? His dream self knows this happens every day, with the sun and the moon and the rain.
Slowly, he goes from orange and purple to dark blue, apart from one spot.
In the middle of his ring finger, much like a stubborn star twinkling in the night sky, a single white scale insists on maintaining its color.
He runs to the bathroom, hoping the artificial lights can cause a different outcome, but the stubborn thing remains inflexible, the only part of him not covered in pain, and maybe that’s why the remaining discomfort starts becoming so obvious.
Humans are adaptable creatures, and routine can make you able to handle the most dire conditions. Yet, it only takes a drop of comfort to yearn for a way out, for the hedonistic tendencies to kick in. A reminder.
Of what you want the most.
Of what you can never have.
So he tries to pull the white scale off, getting frustrated when even the pressure won’t cause a sting, the mercy agonizing. But it comes out at least, the cursed thing, only to be immediately replaced by another. And another. And another.
Reo’s entire right arm shines in pearly white, even when the lights go out.
On the bathroom door, he hears someone knocking, and not going away when Reo refuses to provide an answer. They never enter, and yet their presence can be felt just the same.
His presence.
“Reo always does this, you know? Locking yourself in the bathroom when you’re hurting.”
“And how exactly would you know that? You weren’t there to see.”
The numbness caused by the white scales only makes the twisting of his insides more apparent. You weren’t there. You aren’t here now as well.
“But that’s a game we’ve been playing together for a while. Reo’s too kind. Never leaving me to be the bad guy alone. Always escalating. So I can be far away when you break in a million pieces.”
The silhouette of Nagi’s abandonment, surrounded by people who were obviously more talented than a broken copycat. His bitter words, forcing a finishing blow.
Losing him a second time, way less bitter, way more final, the faint warmth of a hand on his hair. The reason why, even if Nagi regretted not pulling him down, his words would never reach Reo again.
“What’s even the point in all of this? Being separated by the door is supposed to mean something?”
“Dream interpretation is such a hassle, you’re thinking too hard, Boss.” The banter is so familiar that it almost takes Reo back to reality. Almost. The white scales are growing again; some darker ones hit the floor, banished from that new arrangement, others adapt, color getting sucked out by some unknown entity.
It doesn't hurt anymore.
“Are these your real colors, chameleon? Or is Reo still hiding?”
The sun comes back, its rays invading the bathroom’s sole window. In the mirror, Reo sees that the scales are mutating again, taking the shape of whatever that day needs from him, but he can’t be fooled by the illusion of change anymore.
Under the smoke and mirrors, only one color, or lack of, really exists.
“As if you’d know when I was hiding, idiot.”
As if you ever knew that under everything, I never stopped being yours.
III- And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?
Cursing my name, wishing I stayed…
After all the symbolism worthy of a weekend-long psychoanalysis course, it is almost uncanny when Nagi fully shows up again, a mix between his Hakuho-self and the last time they saw each other, hidden under one of his trademark mendokusai sets.
And while there are perks to lucid dreaming, Reo wishes he could fully lose himself in the illusion for a change or at least learn how to control these scenarios.
Sitting side-by-side on his couch is a bit anti-climatic.
“I think it is nice. Reo's house is a bit too big for my liking, but the couch is comfier than the deluxe beds in Blue Lock. Someone should sue Ego for false advertisement. And mistreatment of minors.” Dream-Nagi, apparently now a mindreader, says, resting his head on Reo's shoulder. He sighs contently when a hand follows the familiar path to his hair, because really, what's the point in resisting anymore?
These dreams aren't going away; might as well enjoy them. Perhaps if Reo's really lucky, he'll go fully insane and detach from the part of him who stubbornly keeps moving forward. Either way, the perks of this world are highlighted by the lack of consequences.
Such as when he realizes he started kissing Nagi, knowing he doesn't really need to stop to breathe only makes Reo lose himself further.
Nagi is kissing him back, messy as you would expect from somebody’s first try, and is all that Reo ever wanted.
“Stop staring at me, creep!” Reo dramatically complains once their lips separate, voice sounding playful for the first time in ages.
“Don't wanna. Reo's too cute.”
Nagi pulls him back, warm hands all over Reo's body. His hair, nape and collarbones. His chest, waist and thighs.
Like always, no, like the good old days of last year, when they lived every moment without a single care, when Reo's ambition was breathtaking, not suffocating.
When Nagi Seishiro became an eternal constant in the story of his life.
So close, like they should always be, forever and ever until the sun exploded.
“I love you, Reo. You know that, right? Deep down, you always knew.”
That is so messed up. The whole thing.
It is his last chance of saying it back, though, but the words stop existing in whatever language Reo's dreams have.
Instead, he pleads.
“Hey Nagi? Stay with me? Just until the end?” Of the dream, or his will to keep going, Reo's not sure. But it doesn't matter either way.
Nagi is fully gone as soon as Reo finishes his wish.
“Why?” His voice comes out normal for the exact duration of the word, morphing into noises and ragged breathing.
A dry chuckle. Hysterical laughing. Tears. Sobbing. And once again, Reo finds his words. “This is a dream. It is not real. Doesn't- doesn't change shit.” He gets up, hating the darkened and opaque version of his windows, knowing that even if he punched through them, nothing would exist on the outside.
There's no escaping, nothing to do but to curse, hands sweating, glued together.
Like a prayer.
“Then why-” He restarts, oxygen hurting his lungs as if the act of breathing became toxic. “Why can't you stay with me? Just for a little... Hey, Nagi, just a little... I'll do anything, please? At least in here, let me see your face for a little longer... I don't want to forget...”
He's still not telling the whole truth...
“I can't stand the idea of you forgetting us...”
That's more likely.
Nagi is still not back.
“You're such a fucking liar!” He's speedrunning the five stages of grief, acceptance shifting into a more sinister and bitter version of being stuck in a reality that nobody can really alter. The anger burns his throat, so Reo has no alternative but to keep vomiting those words. “Saying that you liked me even when I was scared—what a bunch of shit!! Every time I slip from your perfect little caretaker, you leave me behind!”
He doesn't.
“Not once you helped me pick up the pieces, not once you took care of me!”
He did. You tried your hardest to not let him see, but to him your mask was as good as invisible.
“And now I fucked up, and you refuse to even give me a chance to explain myself or apologize!”
You didn't even ask. You're too scared to do so. For what would it mean for you, but more importantly, what would it mean for him. Poor Nagi. Poor, heartbroken, finally free Nagi.
“LEAVE ME ALONE! GO ENJOY YOUR CAREFREE LIFE AND DISAPPEAR FROM MINE!!”
Don't go. Pull me back. I love you.
When Reo finally wakes up, a mess of sweat and tears, his room is much like a prison cell.
A temporary home for a religious prisoner who just committed heresy.
… And I can go anywhere I want
Anywhere I want, just not home.
After that night, Reo stops dreaming.
So obedient, his treasure, that he’d follow Reo’s requests even when they are insincere.
Even when they destroy them both.