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The rumors were one thing. Finding out they were true was another.
Because really—who in their right mind would expect Rin Itoshi and Ryusei Shidou to be dating?
Inside Blue Lock, they were chaos and calculation. Fire and ice. The prodigy who barely spoke unless it was to criticize someone’s existence, and the unhinged striker who treated life like one long adrenaline rush. No one believed it at first.
Until PXG’s dorm walls started getting very thin.
—
Rin had only recently been recruited into PXG, and already his life had devolved into… this.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, teal eyes narrowed at the reflection in the mirror across the room.
Shidou stood there shirtless in front of it, aggressively applying hair gel like he was preparing for battle rather than a regular training day.
Rin stared.
“Why does this guy need so much gel…” he muttered under his breath. “He’s going to kill his scalp.”
The faint twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed him, but Shidou—blissfully dramatic and completely absorbed in his own reflection—didn’t notice.
Rin’s gaze dragged upward, tracing over spiked pink strands, strong shoulders, toned back muscles that flexed as he moved his arms.
He clicked his tongue.
“Seriously,” Rin said, standing up and walking over, “do you need all of that gel?”
Shidou didn’t even look at him. “Uh, duh? How else am I supposed to make it look perfect?”
“It looked fine before.”
“That was ‘fine.’ This is ‘lethal.’ There’s a difference.”
Rin rolled his eyes, stepping closer. “You look better with your hair down.”
The words came out quieter than he intended.
Shidou froze.
Rin didn’t notice. He’d already lifted a hand instinctively, brushing a loose strand out of Shidou’s face. His fingers skimmed along soft hair, wiping away excess gel.
“You always overdo it,” Rin added, a soft huff leaving him. “It makes you look like a clown.”
Shidou’s lips jutted out into an exaggerated pout. “You’re so mean, Rinrin…”
He tried shaking his head to dislodge Rin’s hand, but both of his own were slick with gel, and he couldn’t exactly grab Rin without making a bigger mess.
Rin smirked faintly. “You know you lo—”
Cold.
Something cold and sticky smeared across his cheek.
Silence.
Rin blinked slowly.
Gel.
Shidou, grinning like a menace, held up his hands in mock innocence. “Oops.”
“You are insufferable,” Rin deadpanned, grabbing tissues and wiping his face. “God, you’re so childish.”
“Yeah,” Shidou replied easily, cleaning his own hands. “But you love me anyway.”
Rin’s movements slowed just slightly.
“…Whatever. Damn cocky-mouthed bastard.”
The insult had no bite to it. It practically melted off his tongue.
Shidou noticed.
Of course he did.
He grinned wider, stepping closer until they were only an inch apart.
“He looks adorable when he’s annoyed,” Shidou thought, golden eyes scanning Rin’s face. The faint flush. The stubborn way he avoided direct eye contact.
“The hell are you doing?” Rin asked, eyebrow lifting.
“Nothing.”
Shidou leaned back just enough to make it believable.
Rin narrowed his eyes. “You’re thinking something stupid.”
“You’re no fun,” Shidou whined lightly. Then he leaned in again, voice lowering just enough to send a ripple through the air between them. “I was just wondering what it’d be like to be a little closer to that sour mouth of yours. It does a lot of talking.”
Rin stiffened.
“The hell does that mean?”
“I never said you’re all bark and no bite,” Shidou replied lazily. “Just that your mouth runs nonstop. ‘Rinrin.’”
The nickname was dragged out like candy.
Rin’s eye twitched.
“I told you I hate that name.”
No, he hadn’t.
He’d said it once, half-heartedly, and Shidou had latched onto it like it was his life’s mission.
Shidou knew the truth anyway. He saw the way Rin’s ears turned red every time he said it.
Rin’s gaze flickered up, then away again. His eyes lingered a little too long on Shidou’s bare chest, the damp strands of hair falling slightly into his eyes.
His throat felt dry.
He turned his head sharply. “Put a shirt on.”
“Why?” Shidou tilted his head. “Distracting?”
“Annoying.”
“Same thing.”
Rin scoffed—but didn’t step away.
Instead, he reached forward again, fingers sliding into Shidou’s hair. This time, more deliberately. He pushed it back, undoing the carefully crafted spikes, smoothing the strands down.
Shidou went still.
Rin rarely initiated contact.
“You’re hopeless,” Rin muttered. “You don’t need to look ‘lethal.’ You already play like a psycho.”
“That’s a compliment, right?”
“…Maybe.”
Shidou’s grin softened.
Rin’s fingers slowed, absentmindedly combing through soft pink strands. The gel had been mostly wiped away by now. Without the spikes, Shidou looked younger. Less sharp. Less explosive.
More human.
More… his.
“You’re staring,” Shidou said quietly.
Rin blinked. “Shut up.”
“You like it.”
“I tolerate it.”
Shidou laughed softly, then—gently this time—reached up and brushed his thumb against Rin’s cheek where the gel had been.
“You missed a spot.”
Rin swatted his hand away. “Liar.”
But he didn’t move when Shidou leaned closer again.
This time, there was no teasing grin. No cocky smirk.
Just warmth.
“You don’t have to act tough all the time,” Shidou murmured. “Not with me.”
Rin’s chest tightened.
He hated how easily Shidou could read him. Hated how comfortable he felt being seen.
“…You’re loud,” Rin said instead. “And reckless. And you use too much gel.”
Shidou waited.
“But,” Rin continued quietly, eyes finally meeting gold, “you’re not… awful.”
Shidou gasped dramatically. “The great Rin Itoshi thinks I’m not awful? I’m framing this moment.”
Rin shoved him lightly. “Idiot.”
Shidou caught his wrist before he could pull away.
The movement wasn’t rough. Just firm enough to stop him.
“Say it properly,” Shidou insisted softly.
Rin hesitated.
The dorm room felt smaller suddenly. Quieter. Even the world outside PXG’s training grounds seemed distant.
“…I like you,” Rin muttered.
“What was that?”
“I like you,” he repeated, louder but still annoyed.
Shidou’s smile this time wasn’t wild.
It was warm.
He tugged Rin closer, closing that last inch of space. Their foreheads nearly touched.
“I like you too, Rinrin.”
“…Stop calling me that.”
“Never.”
Rin huffed—but he didn’t pull away.
Instead, he rested his forehead lightly against Shidou’s chest, arms sliding around his waist in a rare, unguarded embrace.
Shidou froze for half a second.
Then he wrapped his arms around Rin tightly, chin resting on top of dark hair.
“See?” Shidou murmured. “You’re soft.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
They stayed like that for a long moment—Rin’s forehead resting against Shidou’s chest, Shidou’s arms wrapped securely around him.
For once, neither of them were trying to win.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of distant voices down the dorm hallway. Rin could feel Shidou’s heartbeat under his ear—steady, strong, real. It grounded him in a way he’d never admit out loud.
“You’re clingy,” Rin muttered, though he made no effort to pull away.
“You started it,” Shidou shot back softly, his chin resting against Rin’s hair. “I was just standing there looking gorgeous.”
Rin huffed a quiet laugh. “Your ego’s disgusting.”
“And yet you’re hugging me.”
“…Shut up.”
Shidou smiled to himself. He shifted slightly, one hand moving from Rin’s back to gently cup his jaw. It wasn’t forceful. Just enough to tilt his face up.
Rin blinked, surprised—but he didn’t resist.
Their eyes met.
For once, there was no teasing comment ready on Shidou’s tongue. No smug grin stretching across his face. Just warmth. Something open. Honest.
“You’re staring again,” Rin said, though his voice had softened.
“Yeah,” Shidou replied quietly. “Because you look like you want something.”
Rin’s cheeks warmed instantly. “I do not.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Rin glared at him, but it lacked any real heat. His hands tightened slightly in the fabric at Shidou’s sides.
“…You’re annoying,” Rin murmured.
Shidou’s thumb brushed gently along Rin’s cheekbone, slow and careful. “Yeah. But I’m yours.”
The words hung between them.
Rin’s breath caught.
Idiot, he thought. Stupid, reckless idiot.
But his idiot.
Before he could overthink it—before his pride could get in the way—Rin leaned forward that tiny fraction of space.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t fiery or competitive.
It was soft.
Their lips met in a gentle, hesitant kiss—brief and warm, like testing the temperature of something fragile. Shidou froze for half a second, clearly not expecting Rin to be the one to close the distance.
Then he melted into it.
One hand slid to the small of Rin’s back, holding him close without pressing too hard. Like he was afraid Rin might disappear if he moved too suddenly.
When they pulled apart, Rin didn’t step away.
Their noses brushed.
“You’re such a sap,” Rin muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
Shidou grinned—soft, not sharp. “And you kissed me first.”
“…Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late. I’m absolutely bragging about this to myself later.”
Rin groaned quietly and buried his face back into Shidou’s shoulder. “If you ever repeat that sentence out loud, I’m kicking you.”
Shidou laughed, the sound warm against Rin’s ear.
“Relax, Rinrin,” he whispered. “This stays between us.”
Rin didn’t argue about the nickname this time.
He just tightened his hold slightly.
Outside the room, they were rivals. Strikers. Weapons sharpened to cut down anyone in their path.
But here—
Rin smoothed Shidou’s hair down one last time, fingers lingering.
And Shidou pressed a quick, soft kiss to Rin’s temple.
Here, they were just two boys who somehow found comfort in the one person they were never supposed to get along with.
And honestly?
That made it even better.
Because for all their chaos and rivalry and explosive personalities—
Rin liked Shidou’s stupid hair.
And Shidou liked Rin’s sour mouth.
And that was more than enough.