Chapter Text
The dried sweat made his body feel colder and fresher than it actually should have been, sticking to his skin, dampening the roots of his hair. There was a certain animalistic anxiety tightening his stomach; he felt suffocated, trapped, and cornered in the claws of the world, of the crowd around him—an aggressive mob. He didn't want to look ahead, at the empty goal; it wouldn't make a difference to look around either, at the pissed-off, depressed faces of the Japan fans, the anger and frustration in the eyes of the rest of the team. He felt ashamed; he preferred to stare at the ground. The green grass, synthetic and fake, unrealistic in its very essence. After all, the entire situation gave him an unreal sensation, even if his feelings, at that moment, were the soberest and rawest they had been in a long time.
He was in such a state that he simply walked off the pitch, his eyes on the grass, that fake fucking grass. The gentle breeze felt pathetic, lacking even the strength to rustle his damp hair. His mind lay blank, as if empty—no phrases, no conscious voice, no real feeling, no illusion. Just a notion, almost like an instinct crawling up his veins, as if it were something so honest, so wild, that it needed to pass through every bit of flesh in his body except for his brain, that abominable place of logic and sense: he didn't need this, this simulation. The real concept of necessity came from the limbs working physically, from the muscles contracting in effort and physical function.
His guts, blood, and muscles told him to run, to get the fuck out of there. A creature's instinct in danger, needing to get away from what is harmful; there is only one need to be met, a single question that shouldn't exactly be answered, but instead, resolved in a practical way: What the fuck was he doing there? The question didn't arise the way human questions do, seeking a logical sequence of invented words. It arose the way the questions of wild animals do, how they must feel before they die—at least, the way Rin always imagined they felt. A force, an indefinable weight that urges and leaves no room for meditation, demands action. The flight behavior installed in the heart of all prey, and the hunt behavior that exists in the heart of all predators.
Rin left the pitch without even stopping by the locker rooms, he didn't let anyone say a damn thing, he needed to get out of that hellhole. He needed to cover that invasive number on his jersey and find something to make his body calm down. He thought of the monk who trained him during the break between the match with PXG and the World Cup. In the middle of those woods, in the shrine of worship and the silence of nature, he felt more like a human being than he did right now.
However, he couldn't embody anything he heard and, supposedly, learned there. He never could; there were two Rin Itoshis: one who adopted for himself the capacity to breathe peacefully, to see the nature around him, who walked every morning through the silence of the monastery and came to appreciate, even without expressing it, the entire environment he had been forced to stay in—he even seriously thought if the solution to his weights and burdens wasn't simply being forced to give them up. In contrast, the Rin who was born the way he was returned—impulsive and destructive. He revolted against the idea of giving up his emotional resentments, grew infuriated, and felt his body heavy with hatred. Succumbing to forgiveness was like succumbing to a cowardly submission, one he would never allow himself.
He is crossing the street, distancing himself from the stadium. There are many cars parked around, spectators. However, there is also a lot of movement on the streets, people selling things to foreigners who came to watch the match. The smell of people, different perfumes, sweat, car exhaust, and fried food fills him, makes him feel familiar. When he was at the monastery, he barely thought about the city, whether it was Kamakura or Tokyo, he didn't really think about it. However, suddenly he would remember, between one meditation and another, how easily he could entertain himself—go to a cinema, walk by the sea, enter any shop—and suddenly he felt trapped, prevented from contacting the world.
There was both a certain punishment and a hint of pleasure in this perception. Trapped, he couldn't torture himself, occupy himself with chewing over the ruminating feelings in his heart, as if his mind were just as much a prisoner as his body. He ignored the fact that, if he really wanted to, he could simply escape to the city again. A certain masochism on his part, preferring to stay trapped; hence the pleasure—he couldn't voluntarily self-destruct, give up his basic needs for well-being; there were strict rules, there was a direction to follow, one he needed even if he didn't want to. But he began to want it, unconsciously; he wished he had to wake up and follow the monastery tasks, the inner peace of knowing what must be done, of not needing to question too much—they had already defined the rules, he just had to follow them. Until, once again, the revolt and disgust at his own surrender would invade him and make him snarl at the rules, at the good behavior. He got beaten more in the monastery than in his entire life, but he took the beatings pleasurably, as just another fair part of the daily routine.
He needed physicality, he was sure of it. He could cut himself with a blade, like some people his age did, dissatisfied like him. He could scratch himself like he did during childhood, though it didn't seem cathartic enough. Besides, the cuts would be too detrimental in the short term; he cannot allow physical marks until the end of the matches, because in that case, if Ego hasn't already confined him to the bench now, he definitely will after the first sign of self-harm. He was crossing a bridge now, thought about jumping. It would break his legs, for sure, but he doesn't think he would die. Maybe he'd get fractured and be left with permanent damage, riding in a wheelchair. He didn't want to get drunk—it was too obvious, it took time, and he already felt out of control enough. However, he needed self-destruction, the burning sensation, a physical confirmation of lack of importance, of control over his own failure and decay—a sort of suggestion of courage when deciding to harm himself on his own terms.
He passed a woman who looked foreign; actually, her appearance reminded him of Shelley Duvall, the actress who played Wendy Torrance in the The Shining. Rin didn't usually remember the names of famous artists, but he particularly liked that movie, and especially Duvall's performance. She had a face that was great for horror: large but drooping eyes, as if they were sleepy, and her large front teeth were unique, charming. The woman was smoking along the bridge, probably didn't know she needed to be in a designated smoking area to do that. Rin looked at her three times before walking again—the first and second because of her resemblance to the actress, the third because of the cigarette, almost at the filter, that she held between her nails.
He had just left the bridge, looking around. He has no idea where he is, but he knows there must be a convenience store somewhere. Or maybe a cigarette vending machine, even if they are rare nowadays. It wouldn't be the first time Rin smoked, though he has never bought a pack for himself—he found it humiliating to spend money on things of that nature. He already tried it once, when the school football team slipped away to smoke in a circle behind the gym. It wasn't a great experience; he managed to control his cough and even enjoyed a cigarette to the end, but he hadn't developed any particular interest since then, especially when his intention at the time was to be the best in Japan right behind Sae. He used to think of his own health for the sake of pursuing his brother's dream; contradicting that old conviction seemed to allow him to connect with himself—that ancient yearning for brutality, the same glazed eyes from when he witnessed the TV violence in his childhood. At the same time, it also represented a direct contradiction to his collaboration with Sae.
The wind chimes hanging on the shop door jingled in a pleasant way; Rin enjoyed it. With the pack of Camels in hand, after a certain butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling while buying them—an irrational fear that the clerk would notice he was a minor and try to report him somehow. Finally, he was calming down. He bought a black lighter too. There was a time when he carried a lighter with him, back when he wanted to socialize with his team after Sae left to play for Real Madrid; he tried to fit in with the older guys who smoked. It was a way to keep the team together, another attempt to socialize for the sake of football rather than for his own sake. It didn't do much good; his teammates still avoided him because of his lack of sync on the pitch, so he tossed the lighter aside—it was yellow back then. And now, he was buying one for his own use; he would burn his own cigarettes. He liked the thought; suddenly, he felt very calm indeed. Fulfilled, perhaps? He couldn't help but notice that he had changed; a dual sensation of satisfaction and embarrassment washed over him. He was ashamed of what he used to be and renewed by what he is.
He could appreciate the sound of the chimes; the people around gave a lively air to the city, the small noises from the clerk reminded him of a certain domesticity. He pressed the pack against his nose and inhaled; the smell was pleasant. He had always liked the aroma of tobacco; it transported him to old houses and museums, places where things never changed from their usual comfort. The sun was so vibrant, despite the cool weather. It left the sky a flat shade of blue, cloudless. Rin watched from beyond the bistro glass. He held the Camel in one hand and the lighter in the other; he was going to smoke, but he was wonderfully enjoying the feeling of serene anticipation, the placid state of simply holding his cigarettes.
Now, he allowed his brain to start working again, beyond the sheer strength of his body. He realizes he is in a part of Tokyo he doesn't know, with nothing but a wallet left in the jacket he grabbed in the middle of the trance to leave the stadium—he didn't even grab his phone. Well, he wasn't capable of caring, really. There must be a police station somewhere; when he feels like going back, he can ask them to take him to the Blue Lock facilities. He was in such an apathetic state that even the idea of sleeping on the street didn't bother him. He had already seen plenty of people his age spending the night roaming the streets and then simply passing out in some corner until they were found by cops or went about their day. Rin would survive for a night; there are plenty of alleys where one can sleep. He is aware that what he's thinking sounds absurd, but the whole thing doesn't seem absurd to him at all when witnessed firsthand.
Whenever he did something of an erratic nature, like what he intends to do from the moment he leaves the shop onwards—abandoning the counter that seems to separate him from the dangers of the world—he thinks of his parents with a certain embarrassment. What he feels isn't sadness for his mother and father; he doesn't think they'll be disappointed for having raised a son who sleeps on the street and smokes, despising all the good health they guaranteed him—after all, Rin might not be like Sae, but he was still a decent son after he stopped breaking his own toys. He is discreet, has a promising career, doesn't cause problems that require his parents' presence to solve, he's quite independent. He has a certain right to stray every now and then. However, there is always an embarrassment involved when they have to act like parents and children. Because of this, Rin avoids letting it happen.
It was true that the situation of independence from his parents was more advantageous when his relationship with Sae was on good terms; he ended up cornered, he thinks. Now, if there is a problem he cannot solve on his own, he will have to choose between embarrassing himself with his parents or embarrassing himself with Sae. Positively speaking, he had done well so far in avoiding the need for help from either of those two groups. His parents barely knew about Blue Lock before Rin told them he would be away for a while; his father nodded and his mother waved, murmuring some line of agreement.
He sighs deeply, he can catch a remnant of the tobacco smell; it's time to leave the shop, the clerk seems to be getting restless with his presence. Rin understands; if he worked behind a counter, he would appreciate the moments of the day without customers looking to disturb him.
Again, the chimes sing in harmony with the wind; Rin decides to move away from the shop until there is little movement around him. He has no desire to use a smoking area; the thought of confining himself in a small space to commit an act of transgression irritates him in its own right—what stupidity. You don't mind toasting your lungs but you mind getting chewed out for smoking on the street? Pure bullshit.
He walks aimlessly again; now that he has abandoned the unconscious hope of knowing where he was going, walking without a destination is more pleasurable. There are many things in the city that Rin likes, and memories flow through his skin, sometimes even giving him goosebumps at every small, insignificant association with his childhood, his life. He notices how walking forward through the crowd is a reasonably fun task, as if a sea were parting. He used to feel this way when he ran with Sae through Kamakura. Though the crowd only parted because they constantly needed to escape the consequences of Sae's mischief. His brother was quite a restless child, despite the sleepy face he showed around.
What the fuck, he thinks, the memory leaves him with an anxious feeling. He looks around; the number of people has decreased significantly, he can finally light a cigarette. He stands still in the middle of the sidewalk for a moment, digging his nail into the glued cardboard opening, pulling upward. And there lay the small circular heads, the white filters, looking so harmless. He picks one; it's as light as Rin remembers, it feels like it might even break if held too tightly. He shoves it between his teeth before he can drop it. He lights it, takes a long drag, but no matter how hard he pulls, his lungs never seem full, not as full as they would get with a deep breath. He lets the air out when he gets tired of pulling; the smoke floats quickly out of his mouth—it's a considerable amount. Unlike the smell, the taste is not pleasant. Rin drags again. "It tastes like shit," he declares mentally, "but the way it burns my throat and chest is comforting."
He was glad it was so cool despite the sun; he feels it would get too hot if he smoked in the heat, it would be annoying when he intended to smoke a lot. He had this personal exception: he would probably never smoke again, what did it matter if he smoked about ten cigarettes? Fifteen? The whole pack? He noticed that his cigarette ended faster than he imagined cigarettes ended. It couldn't have lasted even two minutes. His long drags finished a cigarette in no time at all; it gave him the impression that each of them was shorter and more harmless than they ought to be. Well, it is what it is, not something he wants to reflect on. He pulls another one between his fingers and then, between his lips.
Throughout the walk, he tries to balance his cigarettes in his mouth and smoke like they do in the movies, that familiarity of carrying a cigarette in your mouth while walking carelessly. He can't manage on the first three; he brings his hand to the cigarette instinctively. He remembers that he used to have trouble hanging popsicles from his mouth too, though Sae always did it that way. Had Sae ever smoked in his life? It seems like nonsense to him, a guy who won't even eat french fries because he thinks they're too oily. Rin tries to cut the questioning there; he knows he'll feel irritated if he thinks about it—this realization irritates him anyway; he bites the cigarette and throws it away, it was almost at the end anyway.
He looks at the pack, wondering if he should grab another cigarette; he felt satisfied, he had grown tired of smoking for now, and looking at how the pack still looked so full even after smoking five motivated him to take a break. He would walk a little more and then sit down in some plaza. Too bad there weren't beaches in Tokyo; Rin would like to sit on the sand and smoke, something that will probably never happen since he bought the cigarettes here and doesn't intend to smoke after today. At least, not until the World Cup ends. Afterwards, who knows? After all, if he surpasses Sae, he doesn't really know how he'll approach football. Maybe it's simply not the career of his life; it was never what he truly wanted—to be in first place to the point of needing to remain completely absent from every little harm to health.
He squeezes the pack in his pocket; he doesn't much like thinking about the future. He despises thinking about things of that nature—planned, premeditated, and rehearsed. He doesn't want to think about what to do, though that is always what he's forced to do: he wants to simply be, to continue the way he is, and if he can't continue, so be it. Being alive demands so many meaningless, absurd things; it's annoying, it makes his skin itch.
Rin is startled, as well as surprised by how quickly he can rebuild his feelings. He feels like he can smoke again, but decides to wait, putting himself in that state of anticipation; the satisfaction of knowing he will do what he wants whenever he wants makes him willing to wait. It is a pleasure to make himself wait. He thinks he would be a good smoker if he took up the habit for real, and then goes back to leaving his mind blank—it's easy while walking. He vaguely remembers why he liked walking so much during the free time he had at the monastery.
When Sae answered the phone, he didn't expect it to be a police station. In fact, he never thought in his entire life that he would ever need to go to one. The noise of papers, documents being handled, and the general silence remind him of a school environment, the middle school principal's office. He wasn't exactly pissed off, but he certainly wasn't satisfied. He never liked answering questions, whether they were interviews during his rise in football, answers for managers, or even family conversations. However, right now it was indispensable; yes, he is Sae Itoshi. Yes, that's right, the older brother of Rin Itoshi; of course, he can sign as the guardian; it's fine, he understands there will be records; no, it won't happen again; he really wasn't aware that the brat smoked. It's definitely a poison, officer. Rin is very young, indeed, a piece of bullshit.
In short, Rin had stopped to smoke in a plaza, but he hadn't counted on a police officer walking by at that moment. He had committed two infractions: smoking outside a designated area and smoking while underage. The situation escalated when he refused to say where he had bought the cigarettes and was excessive and rude in his response. He ended up getting dragged to the local station.
Now, Rin was curled up in a hard blue chair, wrapped in his jacket; the officers were kind enough not to throw him into a temporary cell. They said his infractions were microscopic; the smoking itself deserved just a slap on the wrist, and as long as the fine for smoking outside a designated area was paid, it wouldn't be a big deal, it wasn't really serious. Since he was a public figure, they didn't want things to blow up more than necessary. They were satisfied with notifying the minor's guardians, even if the young Itoshi's manners could use some work.
"However, Mr. Itoshi," the officer added, sternly, "I must warn you that this situation really cannot happen again. Especially at his age. He is young, but young people must also learn from their own mistakes, and if he insists on repeating them, they will have to face a more severe punishment."
Sae felt the beginning of a twitch in his eye; he always felt the start of it, but the action never actually materialized—expressing himself physically was unusual in his placid nature. That fucking arrogant cop was getting on his nerves, with all that moralism, a complete asshole.
"I understand," Sae said.
Rin seemed to have adopted a vow of silence and stoicism during the entire walk to the car; he didn't even look at Sae, embarrassed. He shoved his hands inside his jacket and kept that posture all the way to the silver car parked across the street. He didn't even know Sae drove. He peeked a few times out of the corner of his eye; there was no change in his brother's usual posture—serene as always, the same blank, expressionless face. This lack of an indicator kept a certain anxiety alive in Rin, but also a certain comfort. It stirred his body, this feeling so familiar that had afflicted him his whole life when it came to Sae: the absolute middle ground. He preferred it this way, though; it hadn't ended well when Sae went to extremes of expression.
The small noises of the car were the only sounds to persist: the ticking of the turn signal, the tires popping tiny pebbles on the asphalt, the ventilation system of the air conditioning, which heightened the enclosed smell of clinical cleanliness—it seemed suited to Sae's tastes. Rin was able to notice this kind of detail because he couldn't form any consistent thought outside the facts right in front of him. He couldn't see any counterarguments, mostly because there were no signs of what Sae's stance would be. Aside from the evident lack of expression between the two, the almost physical silence between their bodies, he was exhausted from walking all day. He noticed his eyes burned more than they initially seemed to.
"Fuck it," he thought, exhausted. He leaned his head against the window and fell asleep.
Sae’s features were mature, Rin notices. He had always thought of his brother as someone with a certain maturity, yet this is the first time looking at Sae gives him the impression of a man, a full adult. They are in Sae’s apartment; it’s a penthouse of sorts in its own right—spacious, clean, with way too much leftover space. There is a huge window that allows a view of dozens of Tokyo buildings and shops. It’s late afternoon; Rin rubs his eyes, still sleepy. There is a comfortable-looking sofa in the living room; he doesn’t feel comfortable sitting down, and exactly because of that, he forces himself to sprawl out. It’s leather—black leather. Italian, maybe?
Sae leaves his keys with delicate care on top of what must be a chic porcelain ashtray, shaped like a cup; the dark blue paint is pleasant. And then, he sits down next to Rin on the sofa, which frankly gives him goosebumps. Rin cannot accept that Sae behaves so naturally, as if the proximity between them hadn’t been interrupted in a way as violent as it was. Sae takes him by the shoulder and pulls him close, not with force—it is gentle, like all his gestures; but it is intuitive and authoritative enough that Rin yields, leaning in. Sae’s body is warm and, even with his gentle and fleeting nature, it is firm. Had the human body always been this warm and firm? It’s been a long time since he touched one.
"You stink like cigarettes," Sae says. It’s neutral; there is no accusation, no approval. A direct observation.
Rin flinches, uncomfortable. It’s an instinctive movement to try to recoil, to pull the unpleasant smell out of Sae’s reach. Even with everything between them, he despised the thought of being unpleasant; his disobedience was losing the well-placed justification he had developed over the years. Despite the very direct observation, the arm around Rin tightens, stopping him from pulling back. Sae’s eyes make him want to run; they hypnotize him and take him back to childhood.
The orange sky, the gentle breeze, the popsicles, the warnings and reprimands. His entire sense of self was born from things so simple because, under Sae’s gaze, even the most mundane elements in view gain some utility, some sound of their own. And now, Sae looks at him intently, his mouth moves and says: "Why?" Once again, the objectivity is noticeable.
He cannot answer; he thinks about how his mouth tastes bad, and how it has an unpleasant smell because of the smoking. He feels limp, sustained only by the gravity of orbiting around his brother. There is something in the whole atmosphere that reminds him of his days at the monastery, perhaps that old question: did he need a certain physical limitation, an authority greater than himself to manage to exist peacefully? He needed them to reprimand him, to set boundaries, and to decide for him what is "right" and "wrong." He must blame his childhood for having thoughts of this nature—the way he was conditioned to depend on Sae his whole life, the only form of love he knows. The only true one, which allows him to relax, even if in a fragile, exposed way.
He says nothing, shakes his head, just like when he was a child, questioned about his toys. Why would he break them? He didn’t know. He couldn’t say; he could only shake his head. He feels like crying, his eyes hurt so much; he knows he is in a childlike state right now, he despises it, but he cannot help it—it is part of his nature.
He leans forward, a single bold movement. Could he hug his brother like they did in childhood? When they would fall asleep in the living room despite their mother’s warnings, curled up into each other. Sae would eventually untangle himself, tired, but Rin always came back. He feels like he’s going to throw up. He feels like he’s going to pass out. He hates how he feels so destabilized near him; no matter how much he grew during the time they were separated, the whole process became futile the moment they collided.
"Rin," Sae pulled him again. His eyes were huge, like an owl's. "Lie down. It’s clear you’re not going to answer anything like this." He blinked, a small twitch in his eyes. "Why are you so sleepy? Did you take something?"
"No," he murmured. It came out kind of raspy, like an old voice, rarely used. Besides the fact that his throat burned from the cigarette’s harshness.
Even so, Sae stopped him to check his pupils before letting him lie down in his lap. Rin aligned himself hesitantly. What a strange situation. He had the feeling that time had shifted, nothing existed beyond that huge window; he felt afraid, and despite that, a certain excitement for a moment—that the world had vanished, and only the two of them remained, just an older brother together with his younger brother.
"You need to... you need to take me to the stadium tomorrow," Rin murmured, trying to anchor himself in reality, trying to punish himself somehow, to grab onto the disillusionment. Suddenly, he realized he was so tired. Way too tired, for a long time now, all the time.
Sae rests his hand on his hair, though he doesn't stroke it.
"We can talk about that later." His speech is firm and confident, like the rest of him, that typical air of someone who doesn't care.
In reality, Sae Itoshi has no fucking idea what to do in a situation like this.