Chapter Text
…
Huff...
Tired, really, truly tired.
The stadium air echoed with deafening chants and shouts, wild in ecstasy and bitter devastation over the final score of the friendly match between Re Al and FC Barca; 4-3.
That victory was sure a hollow one. Our winning point had come from a highly controversial penalty in the dying minutes, and our opponents simply lacked the drive to turn the tide. Friendly match or not, nothing excused such a lukewarm, sloppy performance from both sides.
I took a slow breath; the lack of sweat and my steady heartbeat were constant reminders that I hadn't found a single second of the match engaging enough to break a sweat.
My gaze swept cold across the pitch. My teammates were celebrating the win by jumping and flailing about like brainless morons. Naturally, they started heading straight for me, eager to drag me into their sweaty, embarrassing display. One of them threw an arm around my neck as another gave me a slightly friendly shove, as if their gross clinginess could suddenly make me share in their cheap joy.
I rolled my eyes, keeping my face perfectly blank as the stadium cameras swung our way. If those media vultures expected me to crack a smile or show even a hint of excitement, they were going to be sorely disappointed.
With a dismissive motion, I shoved my teammates off me. I was just as irritated by our squad's pathetic display as I was by our opponents'. Did a non-competitive title suddenly give them the right to treat the pitch like a playground?
I turned and headed toward the tunnel. Subconsciously, my mind replayed the match. Only a couple of us had actually played with any real discipline... Myself, some mere players in both teams and… Definitely not Bunny. His play had been quite off, but I could’ve been wrong.
A vein throbbed at my temple the moment the image of that annoying striker crossed my mind.
To distract myself, I began calmly massaging my left wrist, trying to rub away the frustration of the last ninety minutes.
Then, I stopped dead in my tracks.
My wrist... Where there should have been two bracelets, there was only one white strip of silicone. The black one was gone.
I let out a quiet sigh. How could I possibly lose a bracelet like that?
Turning on my heel, I walked back out onto the grass. I could feel the curious stares of the remaining crowd and staff, but I kept my eyes glued to the turf, scanning the endless, bright green sea shimmering under the stadium spotlights.
After barely a minute or two, I wondered what the hell I was doing, wandering around like a lost puppy, mesmerized by the grass as if I’d been studying football turf since I was five. Yet, an inexplicable attachment refused to let me just walk away. It was the same accessory I’d worn constantly since my time playing in Spain.
An anti-racism campaign bracelet. A bit ridiculous, sure, but that wasn't the point. I just wanted my property back.
Had it snapped when the team piled on top of me after the penalty? During that hard tackle on their dark-haired midfielder? Or when I’d accidentally yanked the jersey of that useless winger to slow down a counter?
Another slightly louder sigh escaped my lips. Before I could resume the search, a shadow fell over the grass in front of me. It wasn't the lean figure of my coach, nor was it one of my ecstatic teammates.
Bunny Iglesias was making his way calmly across the pitch, likely amused to see me so fascinated by the ground.
-”Searching for something?”
I didn't even need to look up to picture the faint smirk raising his scarred features. Keeping my voice flat, I took a step forward to continue scanning the grass.
-”Obviously.”
-”What is it?”
He asked, his tone dripping with shameless and almost innocent curiosity. I finally looked up, matching his gaze for a fraction of a second just to deliver a cold shut-down:
-”None of your business. Go away.”
But Bunny wasn't the type to take a hint. Instead of backing off, he stepped closer, falling into stride beside me while keeping just enough distance to stay out of arm's reach.
-”I'll help you look.”
He offered, his low voice carrying an annoying trace of humor I didn't bother responding. My eyes caught on a dark shape in the grass, but as I bent down, I realized it was just a discarded plastic bottle cap. Dammit. The urge to get out of this stadium was becoming overwhelming. At this point, I didn't even care about Bunny's annoying attempt at helpfulness if his extra set of eyes got me out of here faster; I wasn't going to waste my energy arguing with him.
Five or six minutes must have passed. Deciding I’d had enough of the ridiculous treasure hunt, I abruptly cut it off. I turned toward the tunnel, picking up my casual detached pace. Whatever. I’d just buy a replacement online later.
But of course, a quiet night was too much to ask for… The faint sound of footsteps followed close behind me. Bunny wasn't calling out to get my attention, just trailing me like a shadow.
Stopping near the entrance of the dark tunnel, I spun around with my entirely neutral expression, and looked him dead in the eye:
-”What do you want.”
He gave me a small, boyish smile, looking entirely too pleased that I was finally paying him some attention. Yet his reply came out calm, his voice as steady as it was devoid of emotion:
-”Hold out your hand.”
My expression didn't betray a thing. I was so used to Bunny and his tricks that players sometimes complained about. I simply crossed my arms, not even bothering to answer.
Finally, it was his turn to sigh. He shook his head slightly, his lips set in the same smile, and moved one hand from his hip to hold out the very thing I’d been searching for.
My black bracelet hung between his fingers, darkened by the shadow of a physique far more imposing than mine, though his face made him look anything but credible. I snatched the accessory from his grip and turned away, not caring about whatever stupid look he was giving my back.
My footsteps barely echoed in the tunnel filled with countless noises that had been assaulting my ears out on the pitch. Retreating into my own bubble, I made my way to the locker room; my teammates had already showered. I tuned out the noise completely, intent on one thing: changing and getting the hell out of there.
I wanted nothing more than to shower, finish my skincare routine, and head straight to the hotel to sleep.
The moment the hot water hit my skin, my breathing slowed. The soothing whispers of the shower drowned out the faint irritation of the night, the heat relaxing my muscles completely.
But the relief was short-lived.
After stepping out of the shower, finding that the rest of the team had already cleared out, I headed toward where the mirrors and sinks should be, dressed only in my training shorts, my bracelets, and my necklace. I stopped dead in my tracks once again... A freshly taped sign hung on the restroom door: CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.
Infuriating.
I turned, my slides silent against the cold tile of the stadium's private corridors. Since our facilities were locked down, I’d just have to use the opposing team's restroom...
The problem was the layout. Normally, I spent as little time as humanly possible inside these venues; but now, I was wandering dumbfoundedly in those concrete hallways. My relaxed pace had quickened into a hurried stride. I wasn't about to let my post-match routine get delayed by an hour just because of some plumbing issues.
But suddenly, through a doorway just ahead, a familiar silhouette stood out from the ordinary shadows of a half-lit room.That same damn silhouette; the guy who’d had fun holding onto the bracelet of mine he’d kept from the start..suddenly appeared in my peripheral vision.
I slowly turned my head... The sound of running water was loud. The flow never faltered to a mere trickle. Standing in front of the sink of the very restroom I’d been hunting for, was that 1.91 meter-tall striker.
Bunny Iglesias seemed entirely mesmerized by the water running over his hands. Droplets from his wet lavender hair fell onto the long-sleeved white top he wore over his long shorts, dampening the fabric. It was obvious he had just showered, but compared to me, standing there in nothing but shorts, he looked prepared for the dead of winter, bundled up from head to toe.
I raised an eyebrow, stepping as calmly as silently into the room. The only sound was the rush of the faucet and the slight rustle of his fabric as he straightened up, turning his head toward me:
-”What are you doing here, genius?”
I didn't spare him a single glance, nor did I give him a chance to catch my eye. I set down my toiletry kit and began my routine, unhurried. Seeing that I wasn't in the mood to be interrupted during my precious ritual, he nodded and turned his attention back to the sink.
He had a habit of nodding vigorously whenever I ignored him or spoke rudely, as if he fully understood and accepted my resentment toward him. But that wasn't really what was on my mind. Ever since I’d walked in, I’d been wondering: why was that moron washing his hands over and over again?
I stole a quick glance, trying to see what was so important to him. Yet, I saw nothing but clear water swirling in the basin. His cuffs were completely soaked, and it looked almost intentional. Ugh. Just imagining the damp fabric against his skin snapped me out of my relaxed state.
I looked up to refocus on my face now damp from the product, and immediately noticed that Bunny had spotted me in the mirror. But I didn't let it show, calmly applying my moisturizer and cream.
...
Goodness, was he doing this on purpose? That asshole striker wasn't even washing his hands anymore; he was just soaking his cuffs, rubbing them so thoroughly they looked like they might dissolve under his insistent touch.
I let out a breath. Finally, I was done. I carefully put away my products, noting how flawless my slicked hair looked as it slowly air-dried in the dead-silent restroom. But then, quite by accident, I noticed something that made me wonder what Bunny was actually doing there, standing frozen in front of the sink.
It was while closing my case and sliding it against the polished counter that I saw the faint, blood-stained water vanishing down the drain. My eyes automatically darted to his hands, his sleeves... And there, on his right wrist, was a small red stain he had surely been desperately trying to clean off.
But before I could see anything in detail, he abruptly pulled his hands away from the sink and turned to face me, invading my personal space, almost as if trying to force me to look away. His little display didn't impress me. My eyes remained fixed on his sleeve, which he was tugging and bunching up beneath his tense fingers.
For a split second, I thought he’d been injured on the pitch. Then I remembered that no player would act this way over a typical match injury. And the man standing before me was none other than Bunny Iglesias; that striker whose wide, lusterless eyes seemed entirely hollow as they praised death.
-”Sae.”
He said my name so coldly that I almost gave in and looked up. But I only did so once he had fully hidden the spot beneath his white-knuckled fist.
-”What do you think you're doing in the restroom?”
His red eyes bored into mine, lifeless irises indicating me he didn't appreciate my question. His wet hair hung down, droplets falling on mine.
-”You didn't answer me earlier...”
The guy was truly impossible. I raised an eyebrow, my face twisting into a look of contempt:
-”Go be suicidal somewhere else.”
It was obvious that whatever had happened was much fresher than his shower. When he’d handed me my bracelet earlier, his sleeves had been clean. They’d even been rolled up slightly, likely from all the action and aggressive tackles during the match; and I hadn't noticed anything amiss.
Yet here he was, partially hiding his right hand behind his back, his smile straining to make him look composed and clueless. At my words, the corners of his smile faded, though it didn't vanish completely. His eyes, however, narrowed coldly, and his tone faded from relaxed calm to a tense edge.
-”That's rude.”
Without another word, he stepped aside to head for the door, not even sparing me a final glance. I stood motionless, one eyebrow still slightly raised. Bunny had always been the type to defy convention and make everyone uncomfortable.
But right then, I felt only weariness. A weariness that made me wonder what he was doing to himself. As my gaze dropped to the floor, I spotted a single, abandoned red drop on the tile. It was subtle, yet striking enough to make me speak.
-”Bunny.”
The person I’d called out to stopped subtly, turning only halfway so I could see his profile. His single visible eye studied me as if, all of a sudden, I were the disruptive element in the room.
My expression hardened into a bitter look. Watch how you think you're acting.
”What makes you think you can do that in a place like this?” I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth, gesturing vaguely to the restroom. “At least wait until you're... Doing ‘that’ in a hotel or somewhere private.”
He lifted his head dreamily. The tense air around him shifted back to that familiar, calculated coldness masquerading as warmth. He turned fully toward me as I took a single step in his direction.
-”Wait…” He let the word fade into the silence, as if he genuinely didn't understand what I was getting at. “For what?”
I narrowed my eyes slightly and crossed my arms, nodding toward the defensive way he was holding his hands behind his back.
-”You know what I'm talking about.”
-”Hm?”
-”Mutilating yourself.”
I stated it bluntly, refusing to mince words or let him play dumb. I couldn't care less how he chose to process his stress or handle his private struggles, but I absolutely despised being dragged into the gloomy, suffocating atmosphere he carried around.
Right then, Bunny seemed like an entirely different person, even though we were all used to the contrast between his smiling facade and his usual dead expression.
I stepped closer, noticing his mouth was slightly open, offering no quick comeback for once. Standing right in front of him, I pressed my finger without force directly against his chest:
-”You're my rival.” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “I refuse to watch you stoop so low and become trash just because you're losing your grip on your career for the pleasure of pain.”
-”Heh.” He just let out a dry laugh. “I never said that I’d do that, did I? Where are you getting this from?”
Before I could answer, he cut me off, his voice dropping to a defiant whisper:
”I’m not like you, Sae. Nothing and no one can make me stray from my dream or my goal…”
He flashed that triumphant smile at me. Despite feeling my blood boil, I kept my face entirely blank, showing nothing but a lightly raised eyebrow of utter disgust.
-”Picking a fight just to shove away that pitiful state of yours.” I paused for a short second. “You really must be feeling like shit.”
I mumbled a quiet “pathetic” before jerking my finger back, quickly folding my arms across my chest like a shield.
He didn't flinch. Instead, his head remained tilted, those quiet, searching eyes scanning my face as if trying to solve an nonexistent puzzle. On my side, I almost regretted sticking my nose into whatever was going on here. Why had I even bothered stepping into this mess? I wasn't the type to waste time on things that didn't concern me. But then again, what did it matter anymore? My routine had already been shattered. At this point, I could just be roaming freely.
-”Want to comfort me?”
His question was entirely devoid of sincerity, one lame attempt to provoke disgust or push me away. But instead of falling for it, I only looked down on him.
-”What happened?” I asked, tilting my head to meet his downward stare with a completely impassive expression: “I thought your goal was to destroy me, to make me regret clinging to one dream after sacrificing the other. But looking at you now, you don't even seem like a threat.”
I stepped back, my arms still kept in place as my eyes studied every shift in his facial features. Perhaps I was genuinely curious about what drove him to mutilate himself, even now. Back when we had been kids, he’d always been that weird guy… Suicidal, or bordering on masochistic. But I’d thought those tendencies had subsided.
-”If you like being humiliated so much, just say the word. I can go about it differently than through football.” Bunny stated, his voice as triumphant as his smile. “Besides... I wouldn't want to bother the great Itoshi Sae with my problems.”
He closed, his expression turning unusually serious as I flatly replied:
-”You've got it wrong. It's just a waste of my time to call a stray like you a rival if you're going to give up.”
He smirked with an expression I couldn't exactly decipher...
-”So, you want me to keep giving you a reason to pay attention to me?”
His eyes narrowed as I found no energy to react. Huh. More of his vague, bullshit lines.
-”Just don't pull your suicidal stunts in public. It's piteous.”
-”Yes, yes, of course...” He raised both hands in a playful, defensive gesture. “Cross my heart.”
But in that rookie mistake, I caught a glimpse, without even trying, of his right wrist, the sleeve he’d tried to hide. As if that brainless moron didn't even feel the pain, blood seemed to be pouring freely from the wound. I couldn't see the details of what he’d done to himself, but it was ugly. Clearly.
As soon as he realized what he’d done, he tried to yank his arm back. But I was faster. I swiftly grabbed his forearm, focusing my eyes on his wrist. My fingers tightened around his skin, right below the fresh stains.
I could sense his slight panic, the way his fingers twitched and his muscles suddenly went rigid. He certainly didn't appreciate my lack of tact or hesitation.
-”What exactly did you do to yourself?”
I didn't even wait for an answer, pulling his sleeve further down as he froze.
-”Are you going to patch me up?”
He had a knack for keeping his voice calm and flat, as if the world, life or death, were nothing more to him than another human whim. Even with my grip tight around his wrist and a look of solid seriousness plastered across my face, he could only muster the energy to amuse himself by tossing out flippant remarks.
I scanned the area for anything that might have helped with the self-harm, but found nothing. There was just his tall silhouette, his pale skin, and the dampness drying on his body. That was it. A few minutes earlier, Bunny had shut himself away in the silence of the restroom, obsessed with the water and his own reflection.
Our eyes then met.
-”No. But you're going to come help me clean up the floor. Even more blood is flowing.”
My fingers were stained, his white sleeve was smudged with metallic red; there was even more evidence now of the disaster we'd just put together.
On his wrist were marks resembling natural bite wounds; the gross cuts weaving through it made the whole thing look like a chaotic, rushed mess. I let out a breath, looking down at the numerous droplets spreading across the floor. God, who would have thought I’d end up scrubbing restroom tiles with Bunny Iglesias?
-”If the little prince says so.”
His brief, mocking reply was immediately followed by mine:
-”Doesn't it hurt?” Hearing the tone in my own voice made me feel sick. I looked at the poorly self-inflicted wounds. “Looks chaotic. And ugly. I don't know how you managed to do that to yourself with..nothing at all.”
-”My fingers, that's all…” He gave me that same, casual smile. “Nothing to worry about.”
I stepped back, processing his answer while looking for toilet paper as he headed back to the sink to run the water, yet again. By this point, I was more familiar with the sound of the water pressure than with my little brother's voice.
As I started cleaning the floor with the pathetic wad of toilet paper clutched in my fingers, I replayed his words in my head: ‘My fingers, that's all…’ Ah. His fingernails. He must have scratched so hard he’d actually given himself a friction burn. My brows furrowed. But... How could that much blood flow from just a friction burn? I let out a loud huff. That guy wasn't human.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Bunny disappear into a stall, only to emerge a moment later clutching a handful of toilet paper. He wasn't grabbing it to help me clean. Instead, he began gently pressing the damp paper against his fresh wounds, trying and failing miserably to hide what I had already clearly seen.
I raised a judgmental eyebrow. It was a useless effort; even if he managed to shield the skin from view, his sleeve was already heavily ruined, stained with all the blood I’ve perhaps purposely let flow earlier.
Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the stains on the tile, scrubbing with unrecognizable vigor. A moment later, the rustle of his fabric signaled his approach, and I heard him quietly drop down beside me to finally help clear away the mess.
We stayed there cleaning the floor in silence until the quiet was broken not by us, but by the sound of wheels rolling our way. I realized it was probably the cleaning crew... Tsk, thank God we’d just finished getting rid of the evidence. We tossed the papers into the toilet, flushed them, and went to wash our hands one last time.
Walking out of the restroom as if nothing had happened, I focused on the way Bunny was applying gentle yet firm pressure to the damp paper, ignoring the curious look the janitor shot us.
But halfway down the hall, the two-bit striker stopped and glanced back at me with a look of amusement:
-”I didn't think you'd actually come help me patch myself up.” A smile appeared from behind his hair: “Appreciate it.”
I raised an eyebrow. Huh? What was he talking about? The only reason I was following him was that I had no idea where I was, and I needed to get out of their locker room to find our own.
-”I'm just lost.”
-”Aren't you going to ask for directions?”
-”You don't know them.”
He turned and kept walking, placing a finger against his smile as if he were mocking me as I was completely off base.
When we reached our destination, I leaned against the doorframe, my gaze dreamy over the surroundings. My arms were crossed, and I paid little attention to Bunny as he finished packing up his gear. It was just the two of us. Two empty stares and two hushed voices.
Then I saw him delicately remove the damp paper and rummage through a small toiletry kit. Mine was tucked into my shorts pocket, reminding me that I had supplies on hand, just in case I picked up a minor injury. It was for the sort of injury not serious enough to waste time visiting the nurses and the kind I preferred to treat myself.
Bunny seemed quite practiced at what he was doing. He had taken out some thin, skin-colored bandages and a tube of cream. He appeared completely at ease bringing out his post-mutilation kit right in front of his rival, apparently.
-”Sae.”
Hm? I looked up into his eyes. He calmly closed the tube of cream he was holding and put it back in his toiletry bag, continuing:
”Do you have any aloe vera cream with you?”
I grimaced. What kind of question is that? I uncrossed my arms and sat down across from him, quickly rummaging through my kit. Wasn't that product known for its many benefits? I wouldn't be surprised if I actually had some. And sure enough, I did. It was the kind of cream I used when I’d chafed my skin; besides moisturizing, it reduced inflammation.
I nodded unconsciously, satisfied with my own tastes. Then, I stood up and held the cream out to him, refusing to back away as I stepped right into his personal space. With my arms crossed, I stared unblinkingly as he applied it to the irritated skin.
He thanked me with a small, hollow smile, as if he felt compelled to put on that expression whenever I got within a certain distance.
As his fingers delicately applied the cream, I saw the reason why this mentally ill, suicidal guy had bled so much. It wasn't just the scratching that had caused the injuries; there were cuts on his wrist that had reopened. Many were scattered in a tight cluster, leaving a trail of angry red scars.
I swallowed hard at the sight. Ugh. I wanted to get the hell out of there and never see his face again. I looked away, unable to keep scrutinizing every scar and mark of his inner turmoil on a body sculpted as much by muscle as by twisted urges.
-”Is that the reason for your lukewarm performance in the match?” I asked, catching the curious look he threw my way. “Your urges, or your thoughts, whatever they were..did it slow you down?”
He didn't answer right away. He just looked back down at his wrist, smoothing the cream into his skin before capping the tube and handing it back to me.
-”Was I really that lackluster?” He looked up as a calm smile played on his lips: “Or is that just your excuse to come talk to me? My head was perfectly clear while we were playing.”
I turned and walked back toward my kit, keeping my voice even:
-”So you lost your grip afterward, then.”
Silence followed. I didn't actually expect an answer, but as I reached for the door, ready to leave, his voice halted the question still spinning in my mind...
What had triggered those urges?
-”Wait.”
I stopped and turned back, keeping my face entirely blank. Bunny hadn't moved. He was still sitting there, the head bowed as he stared intently at the floor scuffed with his team's footprints. His arms rested on his knees, his shoulders tense in the quiet room.
-”What? You've already wasted enough of my time.”
-”Come here.” He offered a reluctant smile: “Please.”
I had to force myself not to roll my eyes heavenward. God, this guy was insufferable. Every instinct told me to let out an amused scoff, turn my back on him, and walk out of this damn stadium. But something whispered whatever to me… You don't just walk away from someone this unstable, not without making at least a minimal effort to keep the peace.
I stepped back to where I had been standing, looking down at him. This time, Bunny met my gaze. He reached up, placing a hand gently against the back of his neck, his expression entirely too calm.
-”How much do you hate me?”
-”At least you're self-aware.”
-”Hmh…” He gave a slow and slight nod. “But I want to know the scale of it.”
-”Is that what keeps you up at night, you worthless striker?”
-”Perhaps.” He flashed a toothy grin: “Perhaps.”
-”And what exactly do you expect me to do about it?”
Before I could turn toward the door, he stood and stepped closer, closing the distance until the tips of his hair almost brushed against mine…
-”Don't hate me too much.” He leaned in for a jokingly, friendly head-bump, making me flinch back automatically. “Otherwise, I'd be sad.”
-”Are you fucking kidding me?” I snapped, taking a hard step back. “If I'm the reason you're hurting yourself, stop it right now. That's shitty ridiculous.”
I probably didn't realize how heavy the disgust was on my face, but I couldn't hide the bitterness as he watched me, his mouth slightly parted.
-”Let's just say guilt has a habit of taking the wheel…” He said with a casual shrug. “It's not your fault.”
My jaw clenched and my brows furrowed. I hated everything about this. It was a million miles away from my usual routine, from the quiet peace I kept on and off the pitch. This damn rabbit was completely derailing me with nothing but a few quiet words.
But when I spoke, I kept my voice as cold as the desert:
-”Go see a therapist, then. Don't dump your issues on me.”
-”Be my therapist.” He murmured shamelessly... “Just for tonight.”
………….Did I hear that right?
…
Sae remained silent for long seconds, his unique teal eyes betraying nothing despite the bitter flame burning within him. Yet, the tension in every fiber of his being gave Bunny a clue: The Prodigious would only yield if the Spanish striker were sufficiently delicate and carefully calculated in his every word and movement.