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Chigiri isn’t exactly waiting, wasn’t exactly waiting, not really; but when Kunigami steps outside, it feels like he was. The noise from inside spills out thick and ringing what with the open door, then gets muffled behind it again as it shuts rather gently.
They’re at a bar; or, more precisely, in the alley behind a bar. Inside, there’s a birthday party—Bachira’s twenty-fifth!—and Chigiri likes both the party and his friends, but sometimes, it just all gets too much. Sometimes, when they’re all together, things blur back to how they were at the very beginning, and it’s such a strange feeling; Chigiri liked it back then, but he’s quite happy with where he is in his life right now. And yet—
“Oh,” Kunigami says, once he notices him. And oh, indeed. “Hi.”
It’s appropriate, now that Chigiri thinks about it. They haven’t greeted each other yet, haven’t talked at all. Chigiri doesn’t actually remember the last time they really talked. Birthday texts, maybe. Congratulations for a game won or a super-goal made, or something like that.
It’s a bit strange, is the thing. They’re adults, and Kunigami has slowly but surely become more sociable after Blue Lock, too—though he’s not like he used to be before the Wild Card round, either—so it’s easier these days, but they aren’t really… The two of them, well, they don’t really…
“Hey there,” says Chigiri. “Too much in there?”
Kunigami huffs what might be a laugh. “You can say that again.”
He lingers for a moment, clearly hesitating, because it’s just strange, isn’t it. Chigiri’s sitting on the curb, trying not to think about what that’ll do to his pants, knees lifted and arms wrapped around them. It’s not exactly comfortable, but there aren’t any trash cans around and it’s a nice and cool evening with a soft breeze, so it’s nice enough. In the corner of his vision, where the alley opens to the main street, street lamps and store signs and car lights blink like stars, glittering in the half-dark.
In the end, however, Kunigami takes a step forward, then another until he finally pops back into Chigiri’s vision again after he turned back around. Sits down on the curb next to him with a sigh.
Hm. So they are doing this.
“Sitting like this makes me want to smoke,” Kunigami says.
“Go back inside, then,” says Chigiri. And, “I thought you quit.”
Kunigami hums, but doesn’t elaborate. Smoking’s no good for an athlete, Chigiri wants to say, but Kunigami knows that, anyway, and he’s also a grown man. A grown man who’s only maybe, distantly, probably, one of Chigiri’s friends, too, and Chigiri has never been interested in going all mother hen, either. His leg kicks a bit at the impulse.
It does seem like a place made for smoking, however, it’s not like he can argue that point. Well, but he’s never smoked once in his life before, so what does he know?
Kunigami doesn’t go back inside, either. Chigiri thought he wouldn’t, but it’s not like he could have been sure. Maybe it’d be easier if they smoked together; if Kunigami asked for a lighter and lit his cigarette, offering to light Chigiri’s for him. If they could just sit next to each other for a specific purpose, so that it wouldn’t hang so heavy over both their heads. Both their heads…?
But, well, what does he know?
“How’ve you been?” Kunigami asks, quietly—his voice has that permanent hoarse edge to it these days, the one that makes it sound like he’s been screaming, and Chigiri does wonder if that’s just the cigarettes—thoroughly taking Chigiri by surprise. “Haven’t heard much—”
Then he stops. Haven’t heard much from you, it was probably supposed to be, which is of course fucking rich coming from this guy. Same guy who ghosted Chigiri until Chigiri gave up, after all. He lifts one corner of his mouth in something of a smile, stretches his legs out in front of him. Kunigami’s gaze, in his periphery, drops to his knee for a moment too long, but neither of them comments. They’re adults now, after all.
“Well, you know,” Chigiri replies in the same spirit. “Same old. Same as you, probably.”
Another snort that might be a laugh. “I hope not.”
Despite himself, Chigiri finds in himself the wish to pry. Despite himself, he finds in himself the urge to elbow Kunigami’s side, and tease him, see if he still reacts so badly to compliments, or something like that. Cup Kunigami’s face, if only to see what his eye bags look like at the moment. Ask if he’s sleeping well, and eating well. The guy’s getting bigger and broader every day, so a least the eating part must be covered.
Speaking of which…
Chigiri gets up, and he may or may not be making a show out of dusting off his pants where they touched the curb. Kunigami’s looking right there and lingers a little when he glances at him, so there’s that.
“I’m hungry,” he says, and before Kunigami can say There’s food inside, “Wanna go to the konbini?”
For a moment, Kunigami just stares. Chigiri readies himself to disappear on his own, and to get sandwiches or perhaps onigiri and maybe ice cream at the konbini, together with a water bottle, and get back to his hotel room to eat there by himself, and maybe catch up on one of the shows he’s been half-paying attention to whenever he looked into them, and…
“Okay.”
Chigiri blinks. Watches as Kunigami gets up with a grunt, stretching out one leg and then the other, before coming to stand still.
Hm. Alright, then.
So they go. Out of the alley and around the corner next to the bar, and for a moment, Chigiri is sure someone will come out and notice them and drag them back inside, and then whatever this is will be over. Well, sure: he imagines it, thinks it would really be rather funny. If he was in any way, shape or form a sentimental person—or, well, superstitious, he supposes—he might have imagined it a sign of the universe.
But no sign comes; instead, there’s just a car passing them. The noise of it, that vroom, rattles in Chigiri’s bones, then his knee.
Kunigami’s legs are longer, so he’s a little faster during normal, regular walking. Once upon a time he might have matched Chigiri’s pace; once upon a time, he might have purposefully walked faster, still, which may or may not have been because Chigiri’s been bothering him. Right now, it’s simply neutral fact.
Chigiri doesn’t really feel the need to speed up, to keep up, even though he’d obviously leave him in the dirt. There’s no need to get all competitive on the open street and off the pitch like this!
The konbini is right around the corner, Chigiri’d seen it on his way to the bar. Its lights are bright, and Chigiri wonders if they’d whirr faintly if there was less noise outside; less people walking, less cars driving by, less small chatter and the rustling of plastic bags and the crunch under his shoes.
Kunigami pauses by the sensor of the entrance so they can both slip inside while the door is open.
“What do you want to get?” Kunigami asks. Chigiri collects a basket, and then, after pausing to think, another one to pass over to Kunigami. He’s seen the amounts of food this guy eats, after all.
“I don’t know yet. I was going to just look around.”
Kunigami hums, so that’s apparently all. He doesn’t voice any complaint about Chigiri taking charge now that they’re inside, either, just follows him. It feels, for a moment, so acutely like the beginning of Blue Lock that Chigiri has to swallow against it; but they didn’t have konbinis in there, or really any choice regarding food, anyway, so there’s that. There’s that.
It’s nice to have a choice, Chigiri has found. He wonders when the others will realize he and Kunigami are gone, and what they’re going to think once they do. Smiles a little to himself.
They stop at a row of packaged sandwiches right underneath packaged onigiri. Kunigami hums again, this time sounding strangely pleased. Hungry, are we, Chigiri thinks but does not say out loud, for some reason. Well, it’s probably actually more strange that he thinks it strange; they haven’t been the type to banter—with each other, that is; it’s not like Chigiri knows what this guy does in his free time—for years.
And hungry Kunigami is, indeed. While Chigiri is still pondering, Kunigami is already seemingly indiscriminately picking stuff off the shelves: just from the corner of his eyes, Chigiri sees three tuna mayo onigiris, one with corn and mayo, an egg sandwich and a chicken sandwich, and that’s before he starts outright staring. It takes another moment—at least ten seconds!—until Kunigami notices.
His mouth quirks into something like a smile. His eyes are really quite amber, Chigiri notices now, more intensely so next to the faint dark circles and the pale skin. More intensely than they used to be, surrounded by golden skin, like the sun became the moon.
(Though Chigiri supposes he barely remembers the actual physicalities anymore.)
Which is awfully poetic to be about a guy Chigiri doesn’t really talk to much anymore, and a guy he never even dated, to boot. It’s much more embarrassing to be hung up on an ex-something than it is… well, an ex-actually-a-thing. Chigiri wets his lips with his tongue, breathes. Though it’s not like he’s really been hung up per se, not for a good while. Though it’s not like…
“Sorry,” says Kunigami, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Did I take something you wanted? You can have the egg sandwich, there aren’t any others left…”
Chigiri laughs, shakes his head, sending strands of hair flying. In the corner of his eyes, Kunigami’s gaze drops to Chigiri’s bun with the butterfly claw clip, and then lower than that. What a dog!
It’s not like Chigiri holds any illusions, though.
“I’d just forgotten how much you eat,” he teases. “Want to go to the bento isle after this?”
And, well, Kunigami nods, so there’s that. “I want some more meat,” he says, and Chigiri swallows. Yeah, sure. They can do that.
This guy’s much too sincere, really.
In the end, Chigiri picks tuna mayo onigiri, too, which will be it for the likes of him. Kunigami shifts almost guiltily next to him; or maybe he’s just interpreting into it. Makes him smile to himself, anyway.
Makes him cuff Kunigami on the shoulder, too. “Don’t expect me to pay for you because I invited you to come along, though.”
Kunigami bumps his shoulder back against Chigiri’s. It sparks right there, in his shoulder muscle, travels all the way up his collarbone to sit in his throat. Ah, he’ll need something to drink, too. “Ha-ha,” Kunigami says. “Very funny.”
And it is!
As promised, they do move to where the bentos are, and here, Kunigami stops in serious deliberation. It’s almost cute, the way his brows scrunch together, the way he rubs at his chin. Chigiri wonders if it’d feel bristly, just a little bit, if he were to touch it. He looks clean shaven, but from own experience, well…
Well. Kunigami picks out his dish and glances—wistfully, probably; and that’s an expression Chigiri’d like to see on this guy, all keyed up and stoic and quiet and deadpan he is mostly, these days—at the cigarettes as they walk over to the drinks. Chigiri tugs him along by his sleeve, and Kunigami lets him, because the guy could probably pick Chigiri up with one arm.
A few years ago, Chigiri thinks this thought would have sparked in a hot wave down his spine, left to prickle in his fingertips. As it stands, it does a small little swoop in his belly, and then that’s it. He hasn’t grown blind, after all.
It’s water for Chigiri, and predictably, a sports drink for Kunigami. One of those huge bottles that are entirely inconvenient to carry around, to boot, but they’re probably just going to eat on the curb outside of the konbini, so who gives a shit, really. Ahhh, Chigiri hopes they won’t be recognized by anyone. He should have brought a hat. Though he supposes there’s just no way on Earth for Kunigami to be considered inconspicuous, no matter what he might wear. He’d get spotted immediately.
Oh, well. Chigiri pays with cash and Kunigami with card, then they’re already out again. Chigiri shivers against the air. He hadn’t realized how much warmer it’d been inside.
Instead of going towards the curb, Kunigami loops around the front of the konbini, and after a small beat, Chigiri follows. It doesn’t seem like Kunigami knows the way—which would make sense, given they’ve both very likely never been here—what with how he glances around, but he leads them behind the store, anyway, where it’s much more secluded. There’s even a few overturned crates one could sit on. How lovely!
“This okay?” Kunigami asks when it’s already utterly too late: he’s even sat down on one of the aforementioned crates already, cradling his plastic bag in his lap. Chigiri lifts a brow.
Kunigami makes a face, then shrugs. Chigiri presses his lips together tight, but a small laugh escapes him, anyhow. It is what it is.
So he settles on the crate—for a moment, a part of him tries to be disgusted, but then he remembers he was indeed just sitting on the curb earlier, so technically, this is an improvement, is it not?—next to Kunigami’s, rustling with every tiny movement. Kunigami is rustling, too, and when Chigiri glances at him, already halfway through his first onigiri. Classic. What a guy.
He’s finished almost three in the time it takes Chigiri to take a sip of his water, place the bottle securely on the ground, and open his own onigiri package. There’s three in there, which should be plenty, as long as one isn’t an absolute fucking beast.
They eat in silence. There’s the whirring of the store behind them and the sounds of cars driving by every once in a while. Sometimes, there’s even footsteps, but none approaching them, and Chigiri wonders if they’d get shooed away if someone working at the konbini saw them sitting here. It’s getting quite cool as the evening progresses, too. They’ll have to go back soon. Or, well, home, maybe. To the hotel, that is; not that Chigiri knows what hotel Kunigami is staying at.
When he glances at Kunigami, he’s licking at his thumb, and their eyes meet, apparently startling Kunigami.
Yeah, very amber. Bright sunset-orange, though it looks a little dusty in the half-dark with just the cold store LEDs illuminating the place.
Before Chigiri can say something—god knows what, though—Kunigami shrugs out of his denim jacket, and offers it to Chigiri with a twitch of his hand, cheeks puffed up with food like a little hamster. He makes a little mhm? too, on account of clearly not being able to speak at the moment.
It’s cute. It’s really quite sweet.
“Thank you, hero,” he says. Kunigami makes a little displeased noise with a small frown that really cannot be taken seriously, and Chigiri laughs. Kunigami’s jacket is really warm when he slips it on, and really big, too; but he was aware of that part. He has to push the sleeves up to be able to use his hands.
The truth is, of course, that there’s no hero, but there’s no princess, either. Neither of them is perfect, or has ever been, or will ever be. It’s freeing, almost, the thought. A little bit.
They’re done with eating—both of them, though Kunigami actually did not take much longer than Chigiri did—when Chigiri decides to say, because someone has to say it in the end, “You know, I was in love with you. Back in Blue Lock.”
Kunigami chokes a little on his sports drink, which is probably Chigiri’s bad. The pained expression Kunigami makes for a small fraction of a moment, however, very much isn’t. Still manages to feels like it is, though.
“Chigiri,” he says, like he’s begging.
Chigiri shakes his head. “Come on, you’re acting like I tried to kill you. And I know damn well you already knew that, anyway.”
“Then why tell me…” Kunigami murmurs, but it seems to be more to himself than anything, and Chigiri’s not about to deign that with a response, either. He watches the way Kunigami’s Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a long gulp, then another, then another. Wonders of it’s because of the choking or because he’s genuinely parched or just for something, anything to do. Especially something that occupies his mouth.
“Was I misreading things completely?” says Chigiri. “Or were you in love with me, too?”
Kunigami sighs, rubbing at his forehead, fingers brushing into his spiky sunset hair. He scratches at his scalp. The noise tingles through Chigiri’s body.
“I—C’mon, don’t ask me that.”
The jacket is still rather warm from Kunigami’s body heat, and perhaps it’s that making Chigiri bold, but perhaps he’s simply always been. He kicks his feet, scratches the heel of his shoe over the ground. Next to him, Kunigami takes a shuddering breath, hand still in his hair. He’s probably thinking about smoking again, perhaps cursing himself for not getting cigarettes inside, after all. Chigiri smiles a little at the thought.
“It’s too late, anyway,” says Chigiri. “And I don’t think I’m asking for too much.”
This time, Kunigami laughs a little. It sounds just the tiniest bit hoarse around the edges. Chigiri swallows around nothing, then leans down for his water.
“It is too late,” Kunigami agrees. “It was just… For me, it was…”
“You didn’t think you were good enough for it, did you,” Chigiri says. He scratches his shoe over the ground again. If he focuses enough, he finds the jacket smells faintly of smoke, which is hardly a Kunigami-specific scent, or even one he’d associate with Kunigami. Pity. “After getting locked off. It’s why you shut yourself off from us. From me.”
“Mighty arrogant to consider yourself the most important…”
Chigiri lifts a brow. Kunigami glances at him, then flicks his gaze away again. His eyelashes are surprisingly long.
And maybe it’s stupid to be talking about love, anyway, when they were sixteen, but it’s not like Chigiri has ever felt about anyone the way he felt back then ever again. Maybe it’s just not possible anymore, after a certain age. And now he’s starting to sound like a seriously old person!
“I guess it’s true,” Kunigami says. “I didn’t. And I wasn’t. That’s all there is to it.”
Chigiri rolls his eyes. “And now you are?”
Kunigami shrugs. There’s a breeze tousling artfully at his hair, and whipping the strands framing Chigiri’s face into it rather irritatingly.
“I don’t know.” Pity. But Kunigami isn’t done: “Are you going back after this? It’s pretty late.”
If this were anyone else, Chigiri’d think he’s trying to hit on him. Trying to get him to go back to his hotel room with him, or trying to invite himself along to Chigiri’s hotel room. He imagines it, for a moment, he can’t help it: getting back either by foot or calling an Uber. Getting something to drink, maybe, some sort of wine Kunigami would probably wrinkle his nose at. Maybe room service, because Kunigami is most definitely going to get hungry again. They could watch TV while eating on the bed, and then they could…
Well. But the truth is, of course, that Chigiri hardly knows anything about Kunigami that doesn’t have to do with football, and vice versa, too. The truth is, of course, that they’re hardly talking at all, these days. The truth is, of course, that they probably barely count as friends.
“Tell me,” Chigiri says, anyway.
“I was,” Kunigami says, turning his bottle around in his hands, around and around and around. They’re really quite nice hands; big and veiny. “I was in love with you.”
Chigiri nods. “Good.”
Kunigami twitches a little, in surprise, and there they are again, those amber eyes. All wide, right now. “Good?”
It’s so stupid. Chigiri laughs, bats at a strand of his own hair. “Means you have both taste and eyes, after all.”
Kunigami laughs too; first in disbelief, but then it morphs into something genuine, until he’s doubled over and wheezing. Until Chigiri has to press his hand over his mouth to suppress his own laughter, before letting his head knock back into the konbini wall and letting it out staring up into the slowly darkening sky.
It, too, is about to turn amber. It’s quite beautiful, Chigiri thinks.