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They were only ten minutes into the match.
Ten minutes in and Rin Itoshi had scored arguably the goal of the tournament, recklessly colliding with Isagi back-to-back before exploiting the boy’s instinctive lurch forward to vault him and smash a bicycle kick into Bastard’s net.
Nothing could be heard over the sheer chaos of the fans, screaming Rin’s name like hyenas – chanting, hollering, with a fervour that couldn’t be emulated anywhere else. It was his first season with Re Al, the expectations on him beyond high, considering not only his brother’s legacy but his performance in the NEL. The crowd, no, the whole footballing world, were scrutinising his every move, eager to see whether he’d fall and fade away like countless young prodigies before him or rise above and prove his inclusion in the senior team wasn’t a mistake.
And rose he had.
Quite literally.
Isagi finally straightened up, back dully aching with the lingering pressure of a 6’1 man using it as a springboard. That was incredible. Sure, he shouldn’t really admit it, they were fighting on opposite teams and all, but Rin’d always managed to transcend Isagi’s vision in unbelievable ways, fuelling the fire in his soul to contantly adapt and evolve. And this time was no different; Isagi could only stare forward dumbly while Rin launched the shot past his head, crashing over his shoulder and whacking the ground hard as the stadium PA announced his name.
With adrenaline coursing through his veins and noise blasting his ears, it took Isagi a second to realise Rin wasn’t getting up.
“Rin?”
Rin always got up. Even in the NEL, after breaking his nose from the force of that crash shot, he’d still been fit enough to continue – to taunt Isagi, even. He constantly leapt into the jaws of danger, challenging himself to increasingly dangerous stunts on the pitch just to satisfy the addictive destruction he’d devoted himself to. When he did injure himself, which was often, he’d always appear even more alive, eyes glinting with some perverse sense of ecstasy at the pain. He always got up. He never looked like this.
Something was very wrong.
Sprawled on the turf, the boy had barely reacted to his own name. With a gentle few pats to his face, his eyes squinted open, fixing onto nothing before drifting with an unfocused glaze. Isagi’s own concerned pair scanned him, a thick feeling of dread clogging his throat as he continued to prompt Rin into awareness. The crowd was still blaring his name, but it was as if he couldn’t hear a thing, expression blank and completely incongruent to his usual self-assured manner. After a few more prods, he seemed to come back to himself for a moment, chapped lips parting as if to speak before quickly falling slack against his jaw.
Before Isagi could even blink, a crowd had formed: medical staff running from the dugout to crouch down beside them as players from both sides surrounded him in a protective circle. Sae was there too, a slight furrow in his brow as he took in the situation. Isagi gestured at him hurriedly, forcing him over to where his brother was being sat up slowly by the paramedic team.
“Itoshi, do you know where you are?”
An unintelligible noise left the injured boy’s lips as his head dipped, bobbing against his sternum. In response, Sae reached forward and, maybe too aggressively, lifted it back up, fingers clutching his chin as he repeated the question in a quieter tone.
“...Nii-chan?”
The medical team nodded approvingly, obviously relieved that Rin’s memory seemed to be intact. Questioning continued, with Sae taking over, whispering to Rin in a way that didn’t make him shrink back and cover his ears.
Isagi felt useless. There was nothing he could do but sit there, stroking Rin’s knee in silent comfort as he was examined. He couldn’t tell if the other boy’d even realised he was there, attention equally split between his brother and the pounding in his head.
A few more moments passed, Isagi moving onto massaging his calf as he was instructed to follow the doctor’s pen. He’d clearly failed, judging by the tight inhale of breath around him as they signalled for the referee and whispered something about a ‘concussion’.
Upon his arrival, it abruptly dawned on Rin that he was about to be subbed off and, despite his chilling lack of expression just moments ago, he suddenly lit up with familiar anger, thrashing against Sae’s hold as he jumbled out all the reasons he could still play. The pink haired boy struggled to hold him back, attempting to restrain him without injuring his head further, and Isagi realised he couldn’t just sit there.
Hands thrusting forward, Isagi grabbed his shoulder in one hand and cheek in the other, applying mild pressure, enough for Rin to stop.
“Rin! Look at me!”
He did, barely, eyes fighting to reach their target. Once finally focusing, Isagi’s lips pulled up in a gentle smile at the glint of recognition in his eyes, the boy’s shoulders falling in silent relief beneath his hand.
“You need to get examined.” a groan interrupted him, “You do! You can barely hold your head up, Rin.”
As if to spite him, he raised his head aggressively, miscalculating as it started to loll back, Isagi and Sae’s hands colliding as they rushed to support him. The former snorted before continuing, “See what I mean? Don’t get too grumpy, you know this isn’t the end. I still need to get you back for humiliating me like that, so you better rest and heal up quick, okay?”
Rin whined again, though this time more resigned. Realising it was hopeless to stare daggers into Isagi’s eyes, as if he could convince him by force to change his mind, he eventually gave up, stretching his legs out in a feeble attempt to stand up.
Hands were on him in an instant: Sae clutching his right side as Isagi held his left, hauling him off the artificial grass. The medical staff seemed eager to get him on a stretcher, probably for the best, but he shoved them away each time they attempted to touch them, mumbling that he could walk on his own. Everyone knew that was a lie, but nobody was about to challenge someone as stubborn as a Rin without his rational brain.
With slow, hobbling steps, they eventually managed to guide him to the medical room just off the side of the field, with only a few close calls when he began to sway. Laying him down on the bed, Sae didn’t linger, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead and a nod to their doctor before making his way back to the pitch.
Rin’s eyes followed him as he left with a glassy glaze, pouting as he pulled his legs up to his chest. He was conscious now, the jolts on their walk serving to make sure of that, but the pain clearly hadn’t ceased, and his brother leaving had only amplified his discontent.
A heaviness built up in Isagi’s throat at the scene; there was nothing he could do. Rin needed comfort right now, someone to sit beside him — close but not overbearing — and wipe the tears from his eyes before they could fall and embarrass him. But the match wasn’t over. Thirty-five minutes were left of the first half; as Bastard’s number 11, he couldn’t afford to sub out this early.
Rin clearly wasn’t lucid enough to understand that, hand tugging at Isagi’s shirt as he stood straight. With a muffled noise, he gripped harder, yanking the older boy back with a surprising amount of force.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His words were slurred, barely audible as he buried one side of his head into the coolness of the sheet, but Isagi was close enough to catch it.
Fuck.
“The match is about to restart.” As if on cue, an official appeared at the door, signalling to him to get back on the pitch. Rin’s grip only tightened in response, forcing Isagi to grab his wrist and peel his fingers from his clothing one by one. The effect was immediate. The injured boy glared up at him with wide, betrayed eyes, and it suddenly became 10x more difficult to resist forfeiting the entire match, damn all the consequences.
Unfortunately for Rin, though, he did actually care about his career.
Gently, he guided his hand to his lips, kissing it once, then again, before setting it lightly against the sheets. His eyes were half-lidded, practically closed, but his mouth was still drooped in a pout, and so Isagi kissed that too, giggling as Rin pushed him away with a ‘go play your stupid match then’.
“I’ll be back at half time.”
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Twenty-five minutes into the match Isagi Yoichi’s ankle gave out beneath him.
A searing hot pain jolted up his foot into his calf as he fell, toppling to the floor in a less-than-flattering heap. Jesus Christ. Okay, sure, Isagi had overestimated his abilities a little, duelling Re Al’s best dribbler one on one – and yes, said dribbler’s nickname was ‘ankle breaker’, but he thought it was an exaggeration! Unfortunately, he did in fact deserve the title, feet working several steps ahead of Isagi’s own brain as he playfully manoeuvred the ball every which way. Isagi almost took back possession, he was so close, but the second he’d twisted to steal from behind, his ankle inverted, rolling with a sharp, ugly pop as his weight pressed down on it.
With the sharp noise of the whistle, Isagi sat up, wincing as his foot shook with the movement. Yeah, he’d messed up. It wasn’t too bad though, a quick look at the ankle confirming only a ring of redness was present. With more force than usual, he pushed himself up off the floor, attempting to convince the referee gameplay could continue. It was just his luck that the second he attempted to put pressure on the joint, it buckled and sent him hurtling straight back towards the floor.
Right. So it might be a little more serious than he’d hoped. Whatever. He could ice it for a few minutes and then get right back on the field. Give Rin a visit in the medical room and be on his way. He chose to ignore how the ankle was getting more red by the second, swelling between his fingers as he held it to his thigh.
Kaiser’s voice from above him tore him instantly from his thoughts. The peacock-preened striker was laughing at him, patting his head like a small child who needed comfort.
That asshole! Isagi struck his hand out, punching him away, which only served to make him laugh louder.
“Awwww… little Yoichi’s ankles couldn’t handle basic dribbling?” he crooned, crouched to the ground as he joined the medical staff in examining his foot uninvited. Uninvited and unqualified— how was anyone allowing this nonsense?
Plus, Kaiser knew damn well Re Al’s world class dribbling was the furthest thing from basic, he just seemed intent on giving him blood pressure issues on top of his active injury. Really the pinnacle of a team player.
“Get out of my face.” he pushed him again, this time making him fall onto his ass from his crouched position. Now, it was Isagi’s turn to laugh.
Karma!
Kaiser grumbled a little before settling down, the referee's appearance distracting him from any retort he was about to make.
“I can still play, I’ll be fine in a second.” Isagi called out before his doctors even had a chance to speak. Clearly, they were displeased with that, shaking their heads as they told the ref a substitution had to be made. Something about a ‘sprain’ and that it’d be ‘dangerous to put any more pressure on his ankle’.
So dramatic. Ego never would’ve cared so much about ‘health and safety’. But there was no talking his way out of this, he could feel it. With a sigh, he moved to stand himself back up, startling as he felt Kaiser of all people’s hands reach out to support him, grip only tightening as Isagi recoiled.
“Don’t get so stroppy. I can’t have my favourite midfielder out of the game for too long.” he sing-songed as he draped Isagi’s arm over his shoulder.
It’s like he had a manual or some sort of guide for every single way to piss Yoichi Isagi off and he decided now was the perfect moment to spam all of the methods. Come to think of it, he was probably the one who wrote it. He was a total pain in his ass, but… his grip was almost attentively firm around him, pulling him up against his own body whenever his ankle sent him stumbling. And, even more surprisingly, he didn’t make a comment when Isagi leaned all his weight against him. Isagi would’ve teased him for going soft if his own ability to walk wasn’t currently in his hands.
Before long, he’d completely droned out Kaiser’s persistent yapping, limping on auto-pilot as they reached the medical room. With a flashy twirl and another back-handed attempt at comfort, Kaiser made his exit – loudly.
What an attention seeker.
Well, whatever. At least he finally had a chance to check up on Rin. He seemed sleepy enough last time he saw him, so hopefully he was actually resting like Isagi’d told him to. Could you sleep with a concussion? Well, Rin wouldn’t listen to the doctor’s advice anyway so it didn’t really matter.
“How’s Rin doing?” Isagi asked, elevating his foot at the nurse’s prompting.
“Rin Itoshi? Oh, he left a couple minutes ago. Said he was fully healed and could sit on the bench until they subbed him back in. A couple of medics had to assist him out.” she replied with a resigned shake of the head.
That idiot. Isagi honestly couldn’t be surprised; that’s the exact kind of thing Rin would do. The exact thing Isagi himself had tried to do too before Kaiser’d guided him away with a snort and a ‘no way’. It was hard to comprehend Rin’s thought process on the best of days, let alone at a time like this, but what he knew for certain was that Rin really must really think he can still play with his head scrambled. Likely thinks he’d still play better than half his team with that handicap.
Well… would he be wrong?
Finishing his check-up, the nurse ran him through everything. He had a mild ankle sprain, needed to rest and keep pressure off it and keep it elevated and ice it regularly and blah blah blah. The usual, then. Nothing life or career threatening, at least.
With a nod and a polite smile, Isagi stood up to leave, accepting the assistance from a medic nearby as he stumbled back to Bastard’s dugout and onto the bench. From here, he had a full view of the battle between Re Al and Bastard München, which had quickly become Kaiser vs Sae, the two marking each other like eager hawks. Scanning around him, or, more specifically, at Re Al’s bench, he couldn’t spot Rin anywhere. How far could a boy with a concussion have possibly walked?
Knowing Rin, pretty damn far.
Barely considering before acting, Isagi heaved his uncooperative body out of his seat, bracing against the armrest for a moment as his ankle tightened and stabbed tiny pricks of pain into his swelling skin. With a resigned sigh, he committed himself to an undignified limp over to Rin’s dugout.
He better be here.
Ignoring the confused, disgusted and downright angry stares he got as he approached the bench, Isagi beelined towards Rin’s coach, asking if someone had seen him for the second time that day. Hesitating for only a moment before glancing down and realising Isagi wasn’t a threat (rude!), he replied:
“Rin’s at the back. It’s quieter and a lot darker there. He refused to go back to the medical room so… it was our next best option.”
The man seemed exasperated; fighting against Rin when it came to his health was always a losing battle. Isagi knew that most of all. With a grateful dip of his head, he made his way back, ignoring the stares that kindly informed him he was not supposed to be here. Whatever, it’s not like he could do anything anymore.
Dodging a few feet sent to trip him up, Isagi finally reached the back of the dugout, feeling as the claustrophobic air tightened around him. Glancing down the row, he finally caught sight of Rin.
Sitting on the furthest chair to the right, ensuring nobody got too close to him, Rin sat with his back hunched, head tilted forward as he stared at his own hands, clasped between his thighs with a red-raw grip. The icepack resting on his neck had started slowly melting, darkening the white of his uniform to a damp, dull grey, as his wet hair clung to his nape. His chest rose and fell not quite erratically, but not far from it, stuttering in an irregular beat. The only sign of consciousness was his mouth, lips pressing and parting as if he was in deep conversation with someone. Only, nobody was there.
Strange, but Rin's done stranger.
With a quick quirk of his eyebrow, Isagi slid into place beside the boy, startling him with a touch to his back. His head twitched towards him, doing a double take as he saw his face.
“Who were you talking to?” Isagi joked, hand resting on Rin’s back with his fingers grazing his nape. Rin stared at him for a few more seconds in complete confusion, the cogs whirring in his mind visible behind his eyes.
“...You? At least, I thought— What are you doing here anyway? The match is still…” his tone came off defensive, switching gears the second he was questioned. As he feebly lifted his head to point out the ongoing game, the icepack slid down his neck into Isagi’s hand. He caught it with a hiss before holding it back to his neck.
“Did you not see? I sprained my ankle.” Isagi pointed down at the offending joint as he spoke, ignoring the way it throbbed in reply. Rin just stared for a moment, as if he couldn’t comprehend, before shrugging his shoulders. Less in a ‘I don’t care about your messed up ankle’ way (though Isagi was sure there was an element of that too) and more in a ‘I didn’t see that and I’m too embarrassed to admit it so I’m just choosing to ignore it’ way. How supportive.
Rin clearly hadn’t been too focused on the match if he’d completely missed Isagi’s injury. Likely couldn’t focus at all. Unusual for him, considering his borderline unhealthy obsession with the sport usually persisted even when he was incapacitated. The head knock must’ve done a number on him.
That point was proven further as the referee blew his whistle sharply at some sort of tackle. Rin’s body flinched violently as he dragged his hands up to hold his pounding head. A low groan escaped his lips as the noise echoed in his mind, startling as Isagi drew him into the comfort of his chest, hands layering the ones covering his ears.
“‘M fine. Get lost.” he mumbled, making pathetically weak attempts at whacking him away. It’s like he wasn’t even trying.
Isagi’s grip only tightened, surviving the writhing of Rin’s body as he went through several stages of denial in accepting he wanted his touch. He even knocked the wind out of him with the thrash of his head, though that seemed to hurt him more than it ever could Isagi, wincing with a tight groan as the unrelenting pressure in his brain spiked. He seemed to forfeit the battle soon after that, suddenly falling limp against his body in some kind of attempt to catch him off guard. It didn’t work – obviously.
With both hands cushioning Rin’s sensitive head, Isagi massaged his scalp with blunt fingernails, paying little mind to the way droplets fell from Rin’s silky strands and soaked into his shirt. Isagi slumped in his seat slightly as he half-heartedly elevated his foot, pulling Rin closer as he did so until practically his entire upper body was curled in his lap. Was this the best position for a dizzy person to be in? Probably not, but it must’ve been appreciated, judging by the way he drooped against Isagi’s hold further, sighs replacing the pained inhales. Even his agitated mumbling about not needing him had stopped.
“Just give me a second… I’ll be ready to play again soon.” Rin interrupted the silent air with a murmur against Isagi’s shirt.
He couldn’t be fucking serious.
Barely holding himself back from full-blown laughter, a snort escaped Isagi, egged on by the way he felt Rin’s scowl against him. Overexerting himself was one of Rin’s favourite hobbies, right behind destroying opponents, destroying himself and threatening to destroy. In his defence, working himself to the brink was usually conceivable for Rin, as athletic as he was. It’s just that he wasn’t usually like this, melting into his rival’s embrace like jelly at the mere sound of a whistle.
“Yeah… I don’t think so.” Isagi finally replied, laughing a little more as Rin honest-to-god growled against his chest. Did he not realise that this was proving his point? Holding the boy’s head firm as his diaphragm stuttered with his giggles so as not to jostle him, Isagi sat back further in his seat, enough so that Rin had full view of his bruising ankle.
“I’m useless too, Rin. It’s okay.” Isagi reassured light-heartedly.
“Yeah, you are. You stopped scratching my head.”
That brat!
Instantly rewarding his bad behaviour, Isagi continued his ministrations, smiling to himself as Rin nuzzled further into him. The nuzzle was not a sign of affection though, far from it apparently, as he found out when Rin started to get stricter. Verbal commands at first, things like ‘scratch there instead’ or ‘stop it with your lukewarm gentleness’, which gradually escalated to where they were now: Rin’s hand squeezed tight around Isagi’s wrist as he guided him to where he needed relief most. Isagi wasn’t about to complain, though. Call him easy or self-preserving, but the tight pressure of Rin’s grip was an ample distraction from the throbbing of his foot.
Using his arm as leverage, Rin suddenly heaved his body forward, hauling himself clumsily from the spot beside Isagi into Isagi’s lap, stiffening as the boy in question gripped his waist in support. With minor adjustments, and absolutely no communication so as not to scare the beast, Isagi widened his legs far enough that Rin could fit himself between them, legs resting over his right thigh as his head was coaxed back into his warm spot on Isagi’s sternum.
“Tell me what’s going on. I can’t see the match anymore.” was the only acknowledgment he gave to the entire sequence of events. Isagi was kind enough not to point out that Rin hadn’t watched a single second of the match since his substitution.
Well, his wish was his command. It wasn’t like he had planned to do anything but. Analysing the team without his own individual influence was sure to be invaluable in exposing any flaws in their play.
And, admittedly, watching Kaiser and Sae catfight without them was pretty funny.
“Your brother just pulled a feint on Kaiser.”
A muffled ‘I guess he can do something right.’
“Your keeper blocked Kaiser’s shot.”
“Hah!”
“Kaiser scored!”
“That bastard.”
Rin finally lifted his head, groaning at the sheer volume of the stadium celebrating Kaiser’s goal with thunderous applause. Isagi’s hands were clasped over his ears, but that didn’t seem to help much, the boy still pouting in his hold.
“Did you like my commentary?” Isagi grinned, trying to distract Rin from the deafening ambiance.
He rolled his eyes in reply.
“It was lukewarm. Too much focus on Kaiser.”
“Hey! God forbid I want my team to win!”
“Yeah. God forbid.” Rin stared up at him with narrowed eyes, though the angle just served to accentuate the baby fat on his cheeks. The annoyed expression Rin was clearly trying to convey paired with the softness of his features mingled into something tight in Isagi’s chest that could only be described as cuteness aggression, reaching out to pinch his cheeks before he could stop himself.
“You’re just so cute.” Rin’s mouth dropped from a pout to an outright scowl as the words processed in his mind, but, before he had a chance to retort, Isagi gently nudged his jaw up, leaning down as he connected their lips with a soft mwah.
Once he started he couldn’t stop, leaving dozens of close-mouthed kisses against Rin’s lips, giggling as the boy grumbled under his breath as if he had any intention of pulling back. After a moment, though, Rin’s hands wrapped around Isagi’s neck, pulling him away with a surprising amount of force.
“Huh?”
“Tepid Isagi. You aren’t doing it right.”
With firmer hands, Rin pulled Isagi’s head back down, forcing them against each other an open-mouthed kiss. The younger striker set the tone, lips harshly slotting between the gaps of his own as hands on the back of his head urged Isagi’s head down until they couldn’t possibly press closer. Rin truly was intent on devouring him.
As if to prove Isagi’s own thoughts, his tongue poked out, licking against the parting in the older boy's lips as the his breath hitched. A heat was rising within him, swirling restlessly in his chest, rushing through his bloodstream and burning impossibly brighter at every intersection of their bodies.
It was as if Rin saw kissing as a battle to the death too, a challenge of who could devour who, the way he sucked on his bottom lip with such intensity, nibbling lightly as drool and soft noises spilled from his lips. Isagi wiped at his chin and chuckled, the noise abruptly becoming a moan as his open mouth served as an invitation for Rin’s tongue to force further between his lips. Said boy adjusted the angle in consideration, raising himself up and moving his hands to envelope Isagi’s cheeks so that he could drive down deeper into his mouth.
This came with its upsides (namely, shoving his tongue down the others throat as he struggled to get air), but eventually, the pounding in Rin’s own head became too much, a trail of drool connecting them as they parted. For a few seconds, all they did was stare at each other, matching deep intakes of breath as the string of spit between them broke with a pop.
He was still just so cute, Isagi couldn’t help but think. Owlishly-wide eyes boring into his own with a sparkle of passion, no longer as muted and empty as they were; kiss-swollen lips eager to go again, even with the pressure radiating through his skull. His face was so much more honest this way, pouting and scowling in tune with his emotions.
“You know, you should get concussed more often, Rin.”
And when those wide eyes narrowed and those pouty lips hardened and snapped at him… yeah, he was cute then too.