Chapter Text
France was an incredibly complicated country.
Everything confused Isagi; from the language to the unwritten but very real rules French people had in different parts of the country. Rules he respected, of course, because his home country was similar in that regard and he was a respectful young guy! But obviously, for someone who starts traveling at a young age, it leaves you with a lot of questions. Here he was in Paris, squeezed between lines of tourists like him visiting the big, iconic landmarks—and a couple of pickpockets, just like in any tourist spot visited by thousands of foreigners in any country.
After the crushing defeat against the home team, Isagi figured he needed some time away if he wanted to avoid murdering Rin. Or throwing himself off a bridge, he told himself. So, he went on a well-deserved vacation, free of any tiny mosquitoes buzzing in his ear telling him, "You lack ego, Isagi."
He shook his head, trying not to get annoyed. He needed to enjoy the summer in this unfamiliar city, Montmartre, which was beautiful with its architecture and cobblestone streets. Colorful places. Isagi felt like he was reconnecting with an inner peace he hadn't felt since he entered Blue Lock. Translator earbuds in, summer clothes on, and nobody recognized him since he wasn't *that* famous outside of Japan anyway. Life was good.
Checking his phone and admiring the scenery whenever he looked up, he concluded that he was finally feeling relaxed enough. A wide grin spread across his face; he texted his parents to let them know he was having a good time, and told Meguru not to ask for anything because he wasn't bringing back any souvenirs. Or maybe he would, it all depended on his mood and if he managed to complete his mission.
The black-haired boy's mission? Reaching a pastry shop. The French are the kings of gastronomy, especially when it comes to sweets. And he could definitely appreciate sweets! He liked them a lot and had a massive sweet tooth. Being in Paris, the cradle of all things sugary, just to try something sweet—that easily made it into his top three best things a tourist could do. Way better than waiting in endless lines just for an Instagram photo.
That’s how, by looking it up on his phone, he first found the city. Then, he found a bakery that was famous but way less crowded than, say, Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s place from Miraculous. It was called "Les Petits Mitrons," and the pastries they made were enough to make Yoichi take a bus ride completely alone in a foreign country where he didn't even speak the language. If he tried, he’d probably do it so badly it would be taken as an insult, and they’d beat him up while he curled into a ball on the floor or something.
He found himself walking toward his destination. The cobblestone streets were quite the experience, making him feel every single stone piercing through his Converse, but he figured he’d endured enough in Blue Lock that walking was the least of his worries.
Besides, a week ago he had endured running against that idiot Loki; his feet could handle some stones. Loki was a stone in his shoe, if he really thought about it.
Yoichi shook his head and sighed before getting bitter, feeling his eyebrow start to twitch. Now was not the time; he was close to his ultimate source of stress relief. He just had to not think about that crushing defeat against France, and honestly, not think about football at all.
He arrived and saw the small shop with only two people inside. The sight and the aroma completely restored his faith in humanity and his inner peace.
— Finally, I can be happy.
He whispered in Japanese, softly, happily clutching his phone in his hands.
He stared at the shop's blue storefront, its windows filled with beautiful puff pastry tarts. He walked in with so much joy he felt like there were fluffy clouds beneath his Converse now. Using his phone, his translator earbuds, hope, and pure hunger, he pointed to his order: a generous slice of Mille-feuille, completely stuffed with cream and red raspberries. His mouth was watering; he was so happy.
Until suddenly, he felt a strange presence enter the shop. He didn't turn around because he preferred to happily watch them slice his piece of puff pastry, but there was such an abrupt shift in the atmosphere that he had to roll his eyes and look out the corner of his eye. The sight, however, threw him completely off balance.
He saw a tall, stocky guy who looked strong and very athletic. He was wearing a beanie that completely covered his hair and wore a face mask. His clothes weren't weird, since it was summer attire, but it was obvious this guy was hiding something. Yoichi felt a strange prickle of familiarity; he felt like he knew this guy. Or that he’d seen someone similar.
He completely ignored him when he received his order, paid, and prepared to go sit at one of the few tables outside the shop—until the guy spoke.
— What are you doing here, Isagi Yoichi?
The shiver that shot down his spine was not normal at all. It leaped down his back, vertebra by vertebra.
'I know that horrible voice!'
Turning around, as pale and stiff as a corpse, he looked up at the damn man who had a whole head of height over him.
There were those dark eyes. Black as the cloudiest night. Captivating yet intimidating.
— Just what I needed —Isagi grumbled, determined to turn right back around.
It was a hunger-induced hallucination, obviously. That guy, that New Gen 11 from France, definitely wasn't standing right there. In a pastry shop. In France. His own country. Of course not.
Isagi sat at a table, took a deep breath, and got ready to eat. The flavor was delicious, sweet, and so complex it showed the love the baker put into the dessert. For a split second, he forgot about the bizarre situation that had just happened.
Until his bubble burst again. This guy, the bastard, had the nerve to sit at his table. To drag the chair as close as he could and stare directly into his face while he ate.
When Isagi swallowed, the only thing he could say was:
— Are you psychotic?
— Not really. I'm actually quite rational. You should know that by now after our match.
The bastard popped a bite of chocolate into his mouth, and Isagi comically felt a vein throb on his temple.
— Hey, you should know that if I was in some remote spot, it was because I didn't want to hang out with anyone. Least of all you.
Yoichi watched as the burgundy-haired guy (currently covered up) processed his words with that damn peaceful expression.
— Get out of here or I’ll cut your eyelashes off.
— Hey, I just want to hang out with you peacefully. Don't be so bitter about the match result.
That almost made the shorter boy follow through on his threat to cut those eyelashes off one by one. He choked out a hysterical laugh.
— Bitter? But you're completely obnoxious! You were trying to make me feel content with being a runner-up.
Hugo seemed completely unfazed.
— Actually, my philosophy is a bit deeper than that—
— Shut up.
Surprisingly, Hugo shut up. Yoichi, for the sake of his mental health, preferred to ignore him. Yes, ignore him. It wasn't like he was right there. He stuffed his mouth with the delicious dessert and ignored his stress.
— ...You're pretty cute.
Suddenly, Isagi almost choked and had to cough. 'What.' Mid-cough, while this idiot tried to perform a maneuver so he wouldn't suffocate, he managed to speak again.
— What. I don't think I understand you. Yeah. I definitely don't understand you. I should get out of here...
— I just said I think you're cute. I'm not the only one who thinks so, either. A lot of the guys I know have had that in mind too.
What kind of fucked-up comedy was this?
— Are you hitting on me?
A dead silence followed. The taller guy removed his beanie in an interestingly masculine and—almost—sensual movement, letting his reddish hair spill out in a mesmerizing instant. He pulled down his face mask, leaving Isagi a little dazed.
SO WHAT IF HE LOOKED GOOD AND SMELLED LIKE RED WINE?! My god, the guy had been insufferable on the pitch and had completely dismissed him.
— Yes, you could say that. I'd also like it if you stopped looking at me with so much hatred. I already told you I didn't want to dismiss your talent.
— You never said that.
— I'm saying it now.
Isagi wanted to slam his forehead against the table.
— UH-HUH, okay. Assuming you're being serious and this isn't some hidden joke to upload to TikTok... how did you realize you found me attractive and now want to hit on me, huh?
Hugo's gaze softened strangely, and Isagi, once again, felt unwanted shivers.
— Because you had me hypnotized during the match, I was just too focused to see you as anything more than an opponent at the time. Suddenly, with the final whistle, all I could see was you, and your face filled my mind. Round cheeks, big, very blue eyes, a pretty smile. Plus, I like your hairstyle and the fact that it looks like you have two little leaves on top.
Yoichi instinctively clapped his hands over the small tufts of hair sticking up on his head, which he styled that way because, according to him, they brought him luck. He felt a strange blush burning up his face. Okay. Okay, okay.
— ...And did you talk about this with anyone before deciding that when you saw me again—even though you said we would NOT meet again in the gears of your destiny or whatever bullshit—you were going to try and flirt with me?
Yoichi was actually seriously curious now. It wasn't just wanting to dig for gossip anymore; now he felt a little... yeah, interested. Because Hugo was insanely attractive and smart, and because apparently, Isagi had a very repetitive pattern with men bigger than him.
— With Loki.
Now Yoichi really felt like he was riding a unicycle in a circus. With Loki. Julian Loki. Another obnoxious guy from that national team. No way.
— With Loki? —he repeated through uncontrollable laughter. The whole situation was just too surreal.
Hugo just watched him. Yoichi was starting to feel a bit exposed under a gaze as... heavy as his.
— I want us to talk, Isagi. I like you; you catch my attention. I want to kiss your mind and your lips. I want to absorb the blue of your eyes like drinking from a well of crystal-clear water. Give me the chance to get to know you. Maybe on the pitch we can be enemies, but off it, I want us to be more than that.
With every word, the taller guy leaned over the table, getting closer and closer to the black-haired boy's face. Visibly red and confused, Isagi wondered if all of this was just a bad French translation courtesy of his earbuds. Just in case, he'd ask Ego to check them later.
For now, his main concern was the attractive 6'2 Frenchman leaning toward him with that terrible confidence he’d displayed during the entire previous match.
— ...Is that what you say to everyone you flirt with?
He offered a nervous smile, and for the first time, saw Hugo's composure completely falter. The tiny smile and soft (yet piercing) eyes vanished, replaced only by the dark, empty stare he had given him the very first time they met.
Yoichi swallowed hard.
— I don't flirt with anyone else. This is the first time I've ever flirted with someone. I'm not irrational; I don't pay attention to people who aren't important.
Oh, wow. Yoichi felt like he might throw up his pastry from pure nerves. He felt like he was being smothered in candy apples—so sweet it was too much for him.
Yoichi let out a shaky sigh as he looked at him. That sharp, chiseled face.
— ...I could give you my number. We could talk. We both have busy schedules. You more than me. Maybe... we could start with that. Texting. Yeah.
It was hard to find the words, but he felt a strange calm and watched Hugo's murderous tension melt away the moment he saw him smile softly. Oh, man, now he understood why people rumored that French guys were attractive and borderline sexy.
— I'd love that.
With a pen that Isagi had no idea where he pulled it from (he assumed he kept it in his pocket for any fan needing an autograph), Hugo wrote his number on a napkin, just like in a romance movie. He handed it to the shorter boy, finished the abandoned chocolate sweet in a single bite, and said goodbye—but not before giving him a kiss on the cheek.
With traces of chocolate left behind.
Yoichi finished eating almost on autopilot. He carefully tucked the napkin into his pocket, grabbed his things, and walked away many minutes after Hugo had simply vanished with that parting kiss.
On his way back to the place he was staying, Isagi thought that a massive storm would brew within the New Generation 11 if any of them found out about this madness.
Who would they crucify first if they found out?