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After the match against Bastard Munchen, Reo is… friendly. The passes during practice feel just as good as they used to. Water and towels keep materializing in Nagi’s hands exactly when he needs them. Nagi’s dirty laundry tends to magically reappear on his bed, folded and faintly smelling of the standard Blue Lock detergent.
But that’s about it. Reo is friendly, and nothing more. He’s not exclusive with it, either. He hands bottles of water to the entire team; he scours the floor for discarded clothes and takes care of them regardless of who they belong to; once in a while, he even passes the ball to Chigiri. It’s reasonable. That doesn’t mean Nagi has to like it.
Yes, Reo is definitely friendly, but something is off. He’s all polite smiles, carefully crafted words, fitting pats on the back after good plays—it’s weird. Unsettling. Eerie. Nagi almost misses the animosity.
It’s not always like that. Reo is different when soccer gets heated enough, radiant and touchy, but it’s not that easy to figure out what enough is. At times, Nagi braces himself, expecting his favorite armful of a cheering Reo, and it doesn’t come. His hands itch. The craving is nearly enough to make him want to score.
Reo is different in some other cases, too, is the thing. Just not with Nagi.
Exhibit A: after practice, Reo laughs at something Chigiri said, eyes crinkling and chortles rackety in that adorable, distinctly unplanned manner. The sound is sweet. Being an eavesdropper kind of sours it, though. Nagi practically feels like a—
Hm. Hold on.
The way Reo acts, the way he talks to Nagi off the field—it’s…familiar. Could’ve been nostalgic. Nagi spent the best months of his otherwise uneventful life watching out of the corner of his eye as Reo dealt with others the exact same way. People at Hakuho went crazy for it, bending over backwards for their crumbs of Reo’s attention. It looked dumb. Nagi used to find it somewhat funny. With Reo constantly assuring him he was special, and acting like it, too, Nagi might’ve even grown to be a little arrogant about it. Reo would perform his own version of the social bare minimum, and people would melt, but only Nagi used to get the real deal. Emphasis on used to.
It stings—no, actually, it hurts like a motherfucker when Reo ruffles Chigiri’s hair. That should be me, Nagi thinks, a pang of jealousy mixing into the dejection. Chigiri dares to huff, not appreciative in the slightest, and isn’t it despicable? If Nagi could light things up on fire with his glare, he’d burn the redhead to a crisp for the audacity. Not the most appealing superpower on a regular day, but his priorities are shifting. Rapidly.
When Chigiri finally vacates the locker room, Nagi almost sighs in relief. Covered in sticky cooled-off sweat and slumped on a bench, he has both an excuse and a reason to linger. The reason flits around the room, packing and cleaning up with a tiny, private smile, half-focused on a phone screen.
His expression falters and morphs into something offensively amiable when their eyes meet. “Come on, Nagi, you’ll fuse with the wood at this rate,” Reo chuckles. So well-mannered, so gracious, so you-are-just-some-guy-I-need-to-be-civil-to. It’s sickening. “Don’t stay too long, okay? I’ll see you at dinner.”
Reo turns to leave then, not waiting for an answer, and no, no, no. Something snaps. Nagi can’t put up with this anymore. He slides to the other end of the bench, fired up by sudden determination, and grabs the back of Reo’s jersey to keep him in place.
“Huh?” Reo lets out, startled. “Did you want something?”
“Reo,” Nagi mumbles. His fingers tighten on the jersey.
“Yeah? Are you feeling alright?”
“Not really.” Truth is the path of least resistance, and all that.
Reo puts a hand on Nagi’s forehead. “Hm, you’re a bit warm. It’s normal after exercise, but make sure to drink water.”
He’s still caring, his Reo. The hand is so soft, the touch so fleeting, and Nagi wants more. He wants headpats, hair ruffling, an arm slung over his shoulders, to have Reo draped over his back, to be draped over Reo’s back, to put his hands on Reo’s waist, to nuzzle his neck, to play with his hair, to gather the longer strands on the back of Reo’s head into a fist and pull—
“Hey, Reo, when did you get close to Chigiri?”
There’s a flicker of emotion in Reo’s eyes, gone in a blink. “Well, we’re teammates,” Reo shrugs. “And we teamed up for the second selection, too, until… You know. So, yeah.” It’s unlike him, to swallow words. “What about it?” Oh, these have a touch of defensiveness to them.
Nagi hums noncommittally. “Just unexpected.” To see you this affectionate with someone other than me goes unsaid.
“Don’t worry, I won’t pass to him unless absolutely necessary.” Reo winks, clearly not realizing that soccer is, like, the least of Nagi’s concerns at the moment. “If that’s all, I sort of seriously need a shower.” Reo tries to take a step back, a tiny, inconspicuous one, but the hold Nagi has on his jersey doesn’t let him.
The soft muscle of Reo’s back presses into Nagi’s knuckles. It’s not a conscious decision—all that skin is right there, and so is Nagi’s hand—he releases the fabric to put his palm on Reo’s waist instead.
Maybe Nagi is a little more touch-starved than he would like to admit. Reo’s fault, for sure, for getting Nagi hooked. He’s been…tragically Reo-less lately, and Nagi genuinely didn’t know he could feel like this. It’s all such a pain, but not in the usual way. It spreads from somewhere in his chest, agonizing, gut-wrenching, absolutely fucking unbearable.
Reo doesn’t seem too pleased with this turn of events, his cute little eyebrows furrowing and the faint put-on smile slipping off entirely. “Let me go, will you?”
Nagi isn’t exactly listening. Hard to focus when it’s the closest he’s been to Reo off the field since the first selection. In fact, the only thought in his head is that he wants to be even closer. I get whatever I want, Reo used to say. Perhaps Nagi has heard it one too many times, and Reo’s motto has rubbed off on him just like Reo’s passion for soccer has.
Or something. Doesn’t really matter, and introspection is a hassle. What matters is this: Nagi tries to get up from the bench, tightening his grip on Reo’s waist for support, but Reo forcefully puts both his hands on Nagi’s shoulders, and he’s pushed to sit back down.
Nagi nearly whimpers.
Reo looks more and more annoyed by the second. “Listen, Nagi, I get that you’re tired, but I honestly can’t carry you, if that’s what you’re trying to achieve here.” He lets go of Nagi’s shoulders to fold his arms, straightening. “You’re much heavier than you used to be.”
Wow. Low blow after low blow.
“No. I want—” Nagi swallows. He’s not entirely sure what he wants at this specific moment, actually. His hand fits so perfectly on the dip of Reo’s waist that it’s difficult to think about anything else—oh. Right.
Or wrong. When Nagi goes to mirror the position with his other palm, Reo stops cooperating altogether. The one-handed grip is too weak, or maybe too strong: Reo takes a proper step back, and Nagi follows. As in, he slides off the bench entirely, and simply falls to his knees right in front of Reo.
“Ow,” Nagi remarks dully. He probably scraped his knees, but he doesn’t really care. At least he managed to not let go of Reo in the process.
Reo looks stunned, and also kind of nervous. Damn. Not even a smile? Nagi literally threw himself at his feet in the silliest way possible, and even this wasn’t enough to loosen Reo up?
The old Reo would be cackling by now. His eyes would glint, and he would say that Nagi is ridiculous, and then he would help Nagi get up, offering a hand. Nagi would take it, and then he would use the momentum to crash into Reo. From there, Nagi would merely need to wrap his arms around Reo and claim he’s just so, so terribly exhausted that he can’t possibly move away. Perfect.
But, for whatever reason, it’s not happening. This is going to be more complicated than Nagi expected.
“Reo,” he whines, employing one of his greatest weapons. “You’re being a p—“ Shit. Backtrack, backtrack. ”I mean—”
“What?” Reo is pissed. “What could you possibly mean?” He pries Nagi’s hand off, and it’s criminal how lovely Reo looks when he’s angry. His jaw seems especially gnawable when he’s clenching his teeth like this. Pure torture.
Nagi clutches the bottom hems of Reo’s shorts instead. He better cut to the chase.
“Why won’t you let me touch you?”
“Why won’t I—“ Reo splutters, cheeks reddening, eyes darting around, skittish.
Oh, of course. The cameras.
The paranoia is quick to leave Reo. Nagi remembers that Blue Lock has Mikage written all over it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and why you’d even be bothered by something like that,” is what Reo settles on. He’s shaking a little.
“You’re lying. You didn’t let me, just now,” Nagi monotones. Dishonesty is tricky, but it’s obvious here. There’s no way Reo doesn’t understand what has Nagi so upset.
“Well, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’re being clingy.” Reo is resolutely looking anywhere but at Nagi’s face.
What a shame. Is Nagi putting on such a fine puppy eyes performance for nothing? He worked hard to perfect this one. It always made Reo yield, after all.
Maybe being straightforward will get him somewhere.
“It’s because you won’t touch me. Haven’t we made up? Why won’t you touch me, Reo?”
Reo’s blush is starting to spread to his neck. Nagi wonders how warm the skin there would be if he were to wrap his hands around it.
He thought they were done with that dumb misunderstanding. Repeating himself would be troublesome, but he will if Reo needs him to.
“Do you even hear yourself? You’re making it sound like—as if—ugh.” Reo digs his fingers into his folded arms, face suddenly hardening.
It’s a rare look. Nagi prepares to listen.
“Why do you care?” Reo goes on. “Yes, we’ve made up. We’re playing together. We are going to win the World Cup together. I’m doing everything I can for our promise, and you know that. I train until my legs give out. I watch matches until my eyes hurt. I pass, and pass, and pass to you. It doesn’t fucking matter what we do—or—or don’t do outside of soccer. It doesn’t. You don’t need—” Reo pauses to take a breath. He spares a glance at Nagi and looks away at once.
Nagi distantly registers that he himself hasn’t been breathing either. He’s no longer sure what kind of expression he’s making.
“You don’t need me to coddle you to play. It’s not part of the deal anymore.”
Oh.
“It’s not?” Nagi echoes. The words are extremely confusing. Thoughts scatter like apples from a flimsy paper bag in a cartoon.
“There’s no reason for us to be as…close as we used to. You got your motivation elsewhere.” Nagi didn’t. “Doesn’t it make sense for me to put that effort into soccer instead? It’s better for—for the dream.” It isn’t.
Reo has been looking increasingly tired as of late. Nagi knows, because he pays more attention to Reo than he ever has to anything or anyone else in his life. That being said, Prince will inevitably notice and decide to intervene.
Nothing here makes sense.
“I don’t have enough time for both. It’s too much work,” Reo finishes off.
Oh.
And then, like with a flip of a switch, Reo is polite and friendly again. As if he hasn’t just tipped Nagi’s world on its axis. “Did you scrape your knees? I can get you some saline from the first aid kit.” The tone is carefree, but Reo still isn’t looking down.
Saline won’t help when Nagi feels like a chunk of him is suddenly missing.
Or shattered beyond repair, maybe. It’s difficult to put a name on the feeling.
“Since when?” Nagi asks, and it comes out hoarse.
His vision is a little blurry. How strange. It’s probably because he forgot to blink. He’s always found it challenging to stop looking at Reo.
“What?”
“Since when is it not part of the—the deal?”
The word is ridiculous. Nagi doesn’t give a single flying fuck about the World Cup if he doesn’t have Reo with him every step of the way from now on. They’re supposed to be partners. Playing together doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“You’ve been doing perfectly fine after the first selection,” Reo shrugs, his voice flat.
This is so, so untrue, and Reo has no idea. Nagi needs to let him know.
“I haven’t. I haven’t been fine, Reo, I wasn’t, I’m not.” It’s getting harder to breathe.
Reo sighs wearily. “Yeah, I understand you miss the pampering. I’m sure you can find someone else to do it once we’re out of here, with your salary and everything. Can’t you wait a bit? You clearly can score without it. Besides—” Reo audibly swallows. “Besides, it wasn’t that important for you during the second selection, so I’m certain you can manage.”
Reo doesn’t understand anything.
Nagi feels his throat tighten. Speaking through it is taxing, but he has to. Otherwise, Reo will keep saying these nasty things that are making Nagi sick to his stomach.
“It—It doesn’t matter, Reo.” He fights his hitching breath with every word. “If you’re busy—or—or tired—or—or don’t want to do it anymore, I can go without it.”
Finally, finally Reo looks down, and Nagi is so grateful, so happy to be able to see his face properly that he doesn’t immediately realize that he can’t. It’s all way too blurry. He doesn’t see Reo’s mouth open—solely hears the gasp.
“Oh—Oh no, what—Fuck—” Reo crashes to the floor, and his soft, warm, perfect hands gently land on Nagi’s cheeks. Nagi would certainly sigh with pleasure if only he could take a damn breath. “Nagi, why are you crying?”
Ah. It all makes sense now. How embarrassing.
“You were—were saying that—” Nagi tries to explain.
The hands leave his face abruptly, and he can’t help it—he sobs. It probably isn’t doing him any favors. He can’t remember Reo ever saying he’s into people who cry uncontrollably.
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to hold Nagi. Were it not for the death grip on his shorts, Reo would likely leave, and honestly? Valid. Nagi wouldn’t hold it against him. That would be hypocritical, seeing as Nagi would leave, too. Dealing with a weeping mess must be such a hassle. He would make an exception for Reo, though. Reo is his exception to just about anything.
Alright. Okay. It is what it is. At least Nagi has the presence of mind to wipe the tears. His fingers unclench, and Reo is free to go.
He doesn’t, of course. Nagi recognizes the fallacy as soon as a handkerchief starts drying his face. Reo would never leave someone to cry alone. He’s all courteous like that. Beautiful inside and out.
Maybe a tiny bit more on the outside, Nagi thinks when he gets to see the concentrated frown on Reo’s face, eyebrows knitted and a lip between his teeth.
But it’s short-lived. Nagi can’t stop crying, and everything is a blur again.
This is mortifying.
Reo just sits there, silently moving the handkerchief from one eye to the other every few seconds. It will become too wet to be of any use pretty soon. Being this close to Reo, knowing he doesn’t want to be here, is making Nagi slide into desperation. There’s a headache brewing somewhere inside his skull. Thinking is more of a pain than it usually is.
“Reo,” he rasps. “As—As I said, I—I can live without you spoiling me.”
“I’m aware. I said it first, by the way. You don’t need to repeat my own words to me.” Reo sounds bitter, and his movements grow harsh and rough, rubbing unpleasantly at the tender skin under Nagi’s eyes.
“Then what’s the problem? You—” Nagi might be at risk of getting his eyes scratched. He leans away sharply. “Woah.“
Reo whisks his hand off, as if burned. “Sorry. Sorry, that was…stupid and careless. I didn’t mean to,” he says quietly, squeezing the handkerchief in a fist. It must be disgusting. “I—” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry. Here.” Reo puts the crumpled fabric into Nagi’s palm.
It’s confirmed to be gross. Nagi wrinkles his nose.
Reo laughs nervously. “I’ll get you another one.” He turns to rummage in his bag. “What were you saying?”
Nagi got distracted by genuine fear for his safety, but it’s brief. He needs the fresh handkerchief when Reo gives it to him. It’s silk. Purple, with delicate golden embroidery spelling Mikage in a corner. Bizarre, but masterly. Showy, but charming.
Nagi proceeds to ruin it.
Reo simply watches, hugging his knees half a step across. It’s awkward.
Maybe Nagi shouldn’t have leaned away.
Maybe getting his eyes scratched wouldn’t have been that bad.
Nagi sniffles. “I want to understand why—you—” He takes a shuddering breath and sniffles some more. “I don’t understand why we can’t be as close as we were before. Do you want me to apologize? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was…stupid and careless. I didn’t mean to—”
“Are you mocking me?” Reo interrupts, because of course he does. His voice is ice-cold.
The mood swings are escalating. Nagi racks his stupid fucking brain for whatever might’ve caused this one. It barely takes a second.
His memory is generally prodigious, but it has its drawbacks. Sometimes, Nagi latches onto impressions or phrases, repeating and reusing them mindlessly, without realizing, like a moronic overgrown parrot. It usually stays in his head, since he hardly ever speaks. He was called out on it only a few times. Choki never complained.
Naturally, it comes to bite Nagi in the ass the one time his words have significance.
“Reo, I’m not mocking you,” he chokes out. “I—I am sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, I swear.”
Reo scans his face for a few excruciating seconds. “Okay. I believe you.” It’s resigned more than anything. “My reasoning still stands. This doesn’t change the circumstances.”
Reo is mean. They’re going in circles.
Nagi feels lightheaded from all the crying. His face hurts; his head hurts; his chest hurts. Nothing is working. It’s a last resort type of situation.
Oh well. Alright, then. Here goes nothing.
Nagi starts folding into a dogeza.
This isn’t the right place to do it, and he skips so many steps the bow is no more than a parody. Straight to the last pose. Atrocious posture. Definitely improper enough to be considered offensive, in line with everything Nagi does.
Always quick to catch on, Reo gasps midway. “What the hell are you doing?” The question is horrified, not scandalized; it’s a start.
Nagi’s forehead presses into the locker room floor, sticky and cloying with day-old remnants of a cleaning liquid. Ugh. This isn’t exactly working wonders for his headache.
“What I did was inexcusable,” he recites stiffly, the formal words unfamiliar on his tongue. Hands set on the front of his shoulders, attempting to push him up gently, but that’s neither here nor there. Nagi wants an actual response, for once. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, Reo. Won’t you? Can you? Please,” he begs. Remorse claws at his throat. “I—I’ll try my best to be—I’ll be good.”
“Nagi, there’s no need—I’ve already forgiven you,” Reo says, hurried but soft. His hands turn a touch more insistent. “Get up, treasure, please.”
Nice. Nagi loves the nickname. He should’ve done this sooner. Pride is a bothersome thing, worthless when ditching it makes Reo say such sweet words.
Nagi begins to straighten, slowly pushing off the floor. It’s a nice view he’s treated with: Reo’s thighs, barely covered by ridden-up shorts, his fitted Manshine City t-shirt, his face—
Which isn’t the least bit angry, but pained and desolate and gods Nagi has no idea what to do. All the stops have already been pulled out.
The expression is a punch, because Reo is never supposed to look like this. Nothing is supposed to be able to make him. He’s otherworldly, nearly invulnerable, strong-willed—how dare something hurt him so badly? How dare something devastate him? Could it be… Is it Nagi?
Oh. Oh, he might just have to kill himself for it.
Nagi is torn between the desire to shrivel up, and—or—maybe—
It’s easy. Reo’s hands are still on his shoulders. Nagi leans forward and does what he’s never done before: he hugs Reo as tightly as he can manage.
Slowly, tentatively, Reo hugs him back, arms wrapping around his neck.
It feels good. Reo is snug and solid in his hold. He smells of sweat, cheap minty shower gel, sneaked-in lavender shampoo, and, somehow, like everything Nagi has ever wanted. It feels so good Nagi almost forgets it’s a last-ditch effort to comfort Reo, not himself.
“Please don’t be sad,” he whispers. “I promise you don’t need to waste your time on me. I can manage.” Reo suddenly goes rigid, and Nagi scrambles to elaborate, “But I miss this. I miss being close to you. I miss you talking at—to me. I miss your voice. I miss your laugh. I miss your smile.” He takes a deep breath, and hugs tighter. “I miss you, Reo.” It’s barely audible, but Reo is close enough to hear.
“Do you, really?” he asks, voice uncharacteristically small. They are pressed so firmly together Nagi feels the movement of the jaw on his shoulder.
What a wild question. How could he not?
“I miss you so much.” Nagi struggles to find the words. He thinks of how, some nights, he stays awake even after his eyes start hurting from the brightness of his phone. “I miss you so much I can’t sleep.”
Reo exhales shakily. “Um, okay. Okay, treasure. We can try—We’ll figure something out.”
Nagi is never getting tired of that nickname. Relief spreads through him like a power-up. He thinks he might be glowing with it, too, just like a video game character.
Reo also deserves a nickname. Something that suits him. Something cute. Boss fits, but it doesn’t reflect how precious his Reo is. Nagi will try to choose another one later. There’s a question he wants to ask first.
“Have you missed me?” he prods, feeling lighter than he has in months. He thinks he knows the answer. He simply can’t help but be greedy for Reo’s reassurance.
“Yes,” Reo confesses faintly. It’s music to Nagi’s ears.
He shifts his hands lower. Reo is wonderful in his arms, warm and soft in all the right places.
“Uh, Nagi, that’s—” Reo squirms. “That’s a little—Um—”
Nagi takes the hint, letting him go. He regrets it immediately after, the air feeling colder than it has any right to, now that he remembers what the heat of his partner’s body is like.
Reo’s face is flushed crimson. “Okay, so.” He clears his throat. “Let’s get you washed up, yeah? Or we can go straight to the showers and do everything there.” He gets up from his knees, offering Nagi a hand.
Nagi chooses to nuzzle into it instead of taking it.
“You’re so silly,” Reo sighs, cradling his cheek. He buries the other hand in Nagi’s hair, fingers tenderly scratching his scalp.
Nagi’s eyes close in contentment. He wishes he could purr. It would be the optimal way to express how good Reo is making him feel. As it stands, Nagi can’t, so he goes for the second best option, covering the hand on his cheek with his and turning it until he can press his lips to Reo’s knuckles. The fingers twitch, and Reo freezes for a beat, but then the scratches resume.
Nagi wants to stay in this moment forever, with all of Reo’s attention focused on him. If only the pain in his legs from kneeling on the hard floor was easy to ignore…which it isn’t. Letting go of Reo’s hand and plastering on a pout, he opens his eyes.
The fond look on Reo’s face is magic. It goes straight to Nagi’s heart, like an arrow, like a jolt of electricity, forcing it to speed up.
There’s a distant inkling that his cheeks are about to heat up, and no, nope, Nagi is having none of that. That’s enough embarrassment for the day, thank you very much. He gets up. His legs protest, blood rushing in, but he doesn’t mind at all, since it’s conveniently redirected away from his face.
Good.
Nagi suddenly realizes he’s thirsty. Parched, even. As usual, Reo reads his mind, taking a few steps to procure a bottle from his bag.
It’s the most delicious water Nagi has ever had the pleasure of drinking. Could be because it's Reo's own bottle. Could also be because Nagi is exceptionally dehydrated. One of the two, probably, but Nagi is leaning towards the former.
“Ready to go?” Reo smiles.
It’s breathtaking.
“Yes, boss,” Nagi answers.
He is definitely picking another nickname later.