Chapter Text
When Bachira Meguru lands in Haneda Airport, the sky is white with heat.
The plane slowly rolls into the terminal, before lurching to a stop. Behind him, people scramble to retrieve their belongings, while his phone immediately buzzes with a flood of notifications. Meguru first sends his mom a message, before taking the time to flit through the chats. His thumb freezes over a particular contact with no unseen messages, and hesitates. Ultimately, he switches over to his playlist, snipping the budding thought with the loud sounds from his ear buds.
Haneda feels different, though Meguru can't tell if it's because of the new decorations or simply because he hasn't returned in years. Three to be exact. While locating the departure gate, Meguru passes by a big group of young adults, huddling around a phone screen. Curious, Meguru takes a glance, only to see the photo of a dark-haired man clinching a large, shiny silver plate. Meguru can't read the whole title, but he recognizes the word "Bundesliga" written in bold. And even though the image is blurry from where Meguru is peeping, his mind helpfully supplies the facial features of the man. How can he not? Meguru would recognize that man even if he was blind.
Meguru decides that he needs to go.
He tugs his beanie a bit further down to conceal his face, moving through the hurrying throng of airport-goers. There is something like a shattering sound as he looks at the departure gate, and the vision of Isagi standing next to his mom, waving goodbye. Meguru suddenly wonders what emotion Isagi was showing, then, as his younger self was walking away a bit too fast, his eyes blurred by the incoming tears.
A screen showing the information of the flights also displays the temperature outside. Meguru remembers that it was also summer when he left for Spain.
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Luckily for him, it doesn't take long to spot his mom, whose bright yellow skirt certainly helps. It also doesn't take long for her to throw herself at him for a hug (which turns out more like a squeeze), flooding his nose with the familiar scent of paint.
"You have grown so much taller, Meguru!" His mom exclaims after taking a close look at him. "Bet you must have been living real good over there, huh?" She clutches her chest playfully.
Meguru laughs, "Sorry for not being able to make it to your exhibition last month, mom. I read about it online though, beautiful work as always!"
"I see that you haven't lost your honeyed tongue one bit," she jabs Meguru lightly, causing him to yelp as a result. "Let's go home first though, I want to know what shenanigans you have been up to half a globe away…"
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After the ride home, they have some takeout curry for lunch, before Meguru scurries off to unpack his luggages. His old room is exactly how he left it—except the thin layer of dust draping over every surface. Not that Meguru minds, though, humming as he wipes his room diligently, an act so uncharacteristic of his old self. Living alone abroad changes you in strange ways, he supposes. The summer heat dances on his skin as he hangs and folds his clothes (as neatly as possible, of course).
The closet door creaks from lack of maintenance as he slides it open. What first greets Meguru's eyes, however, is an unfamiliar carton box.
Huh, he thinks. Meguru has a habit of being forgetful, but he is pretty darn sure he has never left one here.
Meguru picks it up, and blows the dark dust away. He turns it in his hands, only to find no marks or words possibly hinting at what it is. The box looks a bit too pristine for something in Meguru's room, standing out like a sore thumb. He sets it down amidst his clutter of a room, and lifts a lid—
The first thing that Meguru sees is a stack of letters. Meguru doesn't think he has ever seen a stack as thick as this one.
The second thing he notices, is the line of characters neatly written on the top envelope.
From Isagi Yoichi.
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The room starts spinning.
All of a sudden, his palms hit against the hard wooden floor, followed by a "thud" sound that Meguru only registers later as himself falling. His vision starts getting all wobbly, which is funny, because the characters are somehow clear and crisp in his mind.
From Isagi Yoichi.
From Isagi Yoichi.
From Isagi Yoichi.
From Isagi Yoichi.
From Isagi Yoichi.
Isagi-
"Meguru, what's wrong?"
The door clicks open behind him, and Meguru tries to say something, but what comes out sounds more like a strained noise. Almost immediately, there's a hand on his back. "Breathe, Meguru, breathe," his mom coos gently. Obedient, Meguru starts gulping for air like a fish out of water, occasionally choking as a result.
"Inhale. One, two, three…" his mom counts patiently. "Now exhale. You're doing very well, darling." She strokes his back, the up-and-down motion soothing. Meguru feels like a child again, small enough to be held on his mom's lap, sobbing for hours on end. His mom had been more inexperienced, more panicked as she attempted to figure out the best method to calm him down. Over the years, this has become a routine, a habit inscribed onto her very being.
His cheeks are wet. He can taste the pang of salt on his lips. Despite their size difference that has only grown with him going to Spain, Meguru chooses to lean against Yuu's frame. Yuu indulges nonetheless, without questioning. They sit in silence, not even bothering moving away from the half opened suitcases and trinkets lying around them.
After an undetermined amount of time, Meguru manages to ground himself. "This—" He chokes out, "What…what are these?" He points at the stack of letters that has been staring at them.
Yuu gives a confused look, before recognition sparks in her eyes. "Oh, darling," she says, melancholy barely veiled in her voice, "those are the letters Yocchan wanted to give you."
"You weren't here every time, so I put them away. I was planning to tell you later." She brushes Meguru's bangs out of his red-rimmed eyes, "I'm sorry. I should have communicated better."
That doesn't manage to soothe Meguru, though, for something lurches inside his chest at the mention of the young man. "When? When was this?"
Yuu seems to hesitate for a moment, as if debating whether to tell him. But she eventually gives up under his insistent, pleading stare. "Yocchan visited every summer—his off-season—ever since you went to Spain," she says, although her gaze is slightly averted from his. "Some months he visited more than others. But he had never missed a year."
"He told me he wanted to talk to you, but since you weren't here, he asked me to help him keep these letters. He strictly requested for no one else except you to read it, so they have been kept in your closet for the past few years."
Meguru isn't sure that the answer he gets is what he wants.
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"I just don't think…I just don't think I feel the same…"
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Meguru wants nothing more than to get away.
He wakes up in the morning with sleep-deprivation written all over his face. All night Meguru tossed and turned, fighting with himself whether to open, to read the letters. In the end, fear got the better of him, and Meguru tucked the box away in the closet, bracketed by his clothes. It still didn't make sleep come to him any easier, though, the letters managing to occupy his mind even when unseen.
"I think I want to go on a vacation," Meguru murmurs, staring at his bowl of steaming miso soup that his mom has just put in front of him. The dining room is bright from the amount of sun streaming in from their window, and normally he would be elated, except that Meguru suddenly finds the light annoying.
Yuu hums in return. "Sounds fun. Any places in mind?"
"Umm, I'm still…looking at reviews. Researching." Meguru fidgets with the hem of an old, stretched t-shirt. There's guilt gnawing at his inside from how quickly he is attempting to leave despite not having seen his mom for the past years, and he waits for a complain, an angry retort to come.
It never, though.
"Well, a few fellow painters of mine tend to visit this countryside homestay whenever they're running dry on inspiration." Yuu smiles, "One of them is a close acquaintance with the owners. I can ask her to help you book a slot if you'd like. Only downside is that you might have to share the place with another visitor, but other than that the food is good and the view is gorgeous."
It is as if Meguru was drowning and a lifesaver miraculously appeared within arm's reach. "That sounds…wonderful. Really, thank you." All of a sudden, Meguru springs back to life, and finds the energy within himself to crack a crooked grin.
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Meguru finally understands the importance of networking and social connections from how lightning-fast the booking process takes. He is quite literally on a car to the homestay the next morning, after a hearty breakfast and a heavier backpack from the amount of onigiris that his mom has shoved into it.
As the vehicle rolls into motion, Meguru watches as the city with its crowded blocks fade away, replaced by verdant fields that seemingly stretch towards eternity. A ballad song that the driver has put on play softly in the background of his thoughts.
Meguru hasn't been on many road trips—Yuu used to drive them to his grandparents' home in the more rural part of Chiba Prefecture when he was way younger, but it had stopped after their passing. Meguru doesn't blame his mom, though, seeing how their deaths had taken away her last pillars of support. After the funeral, Meguru's world shrank to only him, his mom, and his monster.
Perhaps that was why he had immediately accepted the Isagis' invitation to visit a relative's seaside home (despite only knowing Isagi Yoichi then). The first summer after the match against U-20 Japan, Meguru sat next to Isagi, their legs tangled as seagulls flew by the window in flashes of white. Meguru vaguely recalls Isagi complaining about the heat while holding a mini fan to his face, yet at the same time, refusing to extricate himself from Meguru. There was something like fondness on the other boy's face as Meguru pointed that out in giggles, and for a moment Meguru thought he could drown, drown in that gaze and not regret anything.
He snaps out of his memories, only because thinking about what he had only deepens the gash of what he doesn't have in the present. Otoya once told him the cliché saying: "Time will heal all wounds". Meguru thinks bitterly about how it doesn't—at least for him. Three years, 1095 days, two countries apart, and Meguru's heart still yearns for Isagi. The ache is a bit quieter, a bit easier to live with, but it has never gone away. Meguru leans his head against the seat rest. Never.
He decides that the best way to avoid remembering is to fall asleep. Only when the car slows down, then shakes slightly from coming to a halt, does Meguru wake up.
Meguru takes in the sight: it's a decently big, traditional Japanese house. Despite the scorching heat, the cooling caress of the breezes makes it a bit more tolerable. He spots a small woden sign pointing forwards, engraved with a singular word: "Homestay".
When Meguru enters the foyer, a middle-aged lady is already waiting for him, donning a blue yukata. A large, rather fluffy cat lies lazily next to her feet, before noticing him and leaps away. The lady smiles at him, and Meguru somehow decides that he likes this person—maybe it's her gentle demeanor, or the deep smile lines that framed her expression.
"You must be Bachira Meguru?" To which Meguru nods enthusiastically. "I'm Funai Makoto, one of the owners of this place. You can just call me Makoto-san. The other owner, my spouse, should probably be back from the market soon."
Makoto doesn't even flinch when Meguru accidentally puts too much force into their handshake. "Nice to meet you, Makoto-san!"
"We'll have another gentleman staying with us or the next few weeks," Makoto glances at her silver wristwatch. "He should be here any time—"
At that very moment, Makoto's voice is interrupted by the beeping sound of another car. Meguru turns back, a greeting already on his lips, only to feel his heart drops to the pit of his stomach as a seemingly familiar—no, defininitely familiar—emerges from the dark car.
"Bachira?"