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“next!”
cameras shuttered in multiple directions. it was the middle of summer, hot and sticky. or maybe he was just nervous, that’s why his palms were sweaty. he wiped his hands on his cargo shorts for the fifteenth time, practicing his grin for when he stood shoulder to shoulder with his idol.
that’s right. bachira meguru would finally meet isagi yoichi, the greatest footballer of all time as far as he’s concerned. he endured so much to get here, too much to get here. several nights working overtime at the factory, his coworkers laughing at him. ‘you know, you’re ridiculous, man’ they'd say, and he would get so defensive, embarrassingly defensive. after all, isagi was a star athlete, and bachira….
well, right now he needs to pee. really bad.
his shaggy bangs covered his golden eyes. every now and then he’d take a look around, the world of glitz and glamour overwhelming him. but this was isagi’s world. bachira knew isagi had to be a good person, oh he had practically bet his life savings on it. he knew he liked to go on walks to clear his mind. he knew he wasn’t a great student in school, something they shared. he knew much more, things he shouldn't know, things he wouldn't admit to his face that he knew. and he knew that this custom made totoro plush keychain would be a deeply appreciated gift.
that’s the type of person bachira knew isagi to be.
of course, his mom helped him make it. she was the artist, he was merely the isagi yoichi expert.
“next!”
crap, he thought. this was real. this was not his bedroom, and that was not a poster. it was the real, living and breathing isagi yoichi sitting down at the stand, grinning wide.
bachira was stiff. he caught the agitated face of the security guard to his left, and nervously shuffled closer to the table as to not disrupt the flow of traffic.
“h-hi-”
“hiya! how’d you like the game?”
the voice made bachira melt. yes, there was nothing to worry about. he could be comfortable around an easy going guy like isagi.
he cleared his throat, his eyes making on and off contact with isagi’s deep blue orbs. “isagi… i mean, it was amazing! you’re amazing..”
isagi let out a chuckle and bachira thought he could die right then and there. fuck. did he fuck up already?
“thank you, really.” he said earnestly.
phew!
“it’’s just..”
‘ah, of course. i’m a weirdo loser and now, even isagi yoichi knows’, bachira thought to himself. he furrowed his brows and tightened his grip on the gift bag he had prepared. he won’t be needing it anymore.
“seriously, thank you! i’m glad we finally meet.”
“I don’t…”
“hm? aren't you the admin of ‘isagi hub’? it’s just, this hairstyle..” isagi mumbled, standing up from his seat to have a closer look. “i’m pretty sure i recognize it..’
bachira’s face was blood red. his favorite person in the world was standing inches away from his face. and hold on, did he just acknowledge him as the owner of the official isagi yoichi fanclub server
what is happening?
he couldn't breathe. he could barely nod, but he managed to do so.
isagi gleefully grabbed bachira by the shoulders without a second thought. “hey, i really like your posts. ah, i know i should have more things to say.. but thanks.” he backed off, becoming aware of how physical he had gotten with the stranger. for a second, his cheeks flushed pink.
bachira could see the security guard flash him another dirty look in the corner of his eye. he had to do something, anything! he didn't come this far to say only a sentence and a half.
“ehem-”
“no! no, i should be thanking you! watching you play- oh man! football has never been more exciting! i get such a rush, looking forward to your goals, studying them after.. and! and..”
he paused, realizing he had forgotten to breathe. he exhaled. he shook is dark brown bangs away from his face. “i’m sorry..”
isagi waved his hand back and forth. “it’s alright, really.” he gave bachira a gentle smile before giving security a reassuring look. that’s right, this was isagi’s fan event. he ultimately called the shots.
bachira returned the smile. it was toothy, genuine, and he would never know it, but to isagi, it was also cute.
“ah, right! this is for you.” he mumbled, scrambling for the gift bag. isagi grabbed it without hesitation, to bachira’s shock. he wondered if he always opened fans’ gifts without hesitation, or if he had a manager look at the gifts first for safety reasons.
“wow!” he marveled, pushing pass the tissue paper. he pulled out the keychain and cupped it in his hands. “totoro! and he’s wearing my jersey!”
“yeah! there’s a letter, too, but… if you don't mind, i’d be a bit embarrassed if you read it here...”
isagi nodded, shoving the folded piece of notebook paper in his back pocket. “right, no problem!” he cleared his throat and threw his face into his palm, the keychain still inside of it. “crap, i almost forgot! did you want an autograph?” he asked shyly, scratching the back of his neck.
bachira hunched over in disappointed. he was so busy worrying about isagi’s present, he hadn't bought anything for him to autograph.
“um..” he muttered, breaking eye contact. “i didn’t bring anything for you to sign.” he forced a smile. he didn't want to make isagi feel bad for his stupid mistake.
isagi looked around, desperate to make it up to the boy. “mmm”
“it’s okay! don’t worry about it, you’ve done enough for me today!”
the dark haired boy blinked. “well, do you mind if i use your hand?”
“wha-”
isagi grabbed bachira’s sweaty, trembling hand with one of his own and a sharpie marker in the other. he popped the cap off with his mouth, spitting it out off to the side. “sorry- i never got your name..” he said, quickly tattooing his signature onto the other boy’s palm.
“my name is um, bachira..”
“hm. well have a great day, bachira!” isagi rushed, nodding his head to the side. that was bachira’s cue. it was time for the next person’s turn.
before he knew it, the inpatient guard from before was right behind him. “isagi! thank you!” he waved as he was being pushed away. his eyes remained on isagi until he was no longer in sight.
when he broke free from the busy crowd, he ducked over to admire his last minute autograph from isagi yoichi.
he caressed the footballer’s signature, then squinted to read the writing underneath it:
“hi ‘um, bachira’ ! call me!”
if only his sweat hadn't washed away the last few digits.