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It feels like he’s losing his mind.
There isn’t a single doubt that he’s the best striker in Japan, but still, even if every person in this building knows that, Sae still refuses to acknowledge him.
It’s maddening, is what it is.
He’s trained harder than anyone else, he’s given his entire life to this sport, and he has been the very mirror image of what his brother was supposed to be.
But at some point Sae gave up and then cast him aside because he didn’t need him anymore, and all Rin wanted was to prove to him that that isn’t true.
Blue Lock is just a stepping stone.
Coming here at all was just a formality, and it doesn’t matter what team he’s on or who he plays against, he’ll always be the strongest, the fastest, the most agile, and the most cunning.
So why did he have to acknowledge him instead?
Isagi Yoichi is a thorn in Rin’s side, always nipping at his heels like the persistent little viper he is, and somehow…
It doesn’t make sense.
Isagi shouldn’t be anything.
Not a contender for the best striker, not a worthy challenger, not a blip on Sae’s radar. Not a blip on Rin’s radar either.
He should be background noise, a nuisance easily shaken off, but not only is he taking over Rin’s games—his life— his little half a beat behind plays and unnecessary bouts of optimism have worked their way into Rin’s thoughts even when he should be sleeping.
They have an early practice tomorrow, and he won’t be in his best condition, and it’s all Isagi’s fault.
If Isagi Yoichi had just dropped out in the first selection, none of this would have happened, and Rin would be focused on what matters: being the best alongside his brother.
But here he is alone in front of a wall of monitors with a dozen different skirmishes, games, and training sessions playing in every possible direction.
Most of the screens involve scenarios where he and Isagi played together, and the more he looks, the more he sees just how close they’ve been to each other the entire time. He could call it a coincidence if he was feeling especially stubborn, but he’s not stupid enough to believe that anything that happens on the field could be trivialized so easily.
They’re always together.
Always.
And what’s more frustrating is the implication that he’s nothing without him, that if Isagi were to disappear, Rin’s well crafted and streamlined plays would suddenly fail. They wouldn’t.
But the more he watches, the more he sees something that twists his stomach in a way he doesn’t like—something completely unexpected, even though it must have been pointed out to him before on more than one occasion.
It’s not that surprising that Isagi keeps his eyes on him, because Rin is exactly who he should be paying attention to. That’s the only way he can actually make himself useful, and so it doesn’t unsettle him at all to see how Isagi’s eyes trail after him no matter how fast either of them are running towards the goal. What bothers him now is that the more he watches them play, the more he sees himself looking for Isagi too.
He could chalk it up to a general calculation, the same way he analyzes the field before anyone else sees their own plays, but this isn’t like that.
It’s almost like he’s second guessing himself, which Rin would never do, but he’s constantly checking to make sure Isagi is just in reach, like while he’s in the middle of these critical moments, a part of him doesn’t believe he can do it without him either.
“That’s stupid,” he says beneath his breath.
Itoshi Rin doesn’t need anyone. Not Isagi, not Sae, not even that four eyed bastard who brought him here in the first place.
Even if he was a single player against a team of 11, he’s still sure he could win. Isagi is just a piece of a puzzle he has no choice to play, and if he wasn’t there anymore, Rin’s plays would look exactly like they do now.
He watches a clip of one of the matches where he bolts across the field, his head turning not towards the ball he has to steal, but to make sure Isagi is coming from the same direction on the other side, ready to meet him for the attack.
And Isagi darts towards him seemingly unnoticed by everyone else because that’s how he’s decided to wield his strengths.
He’s not a master yet, and he’s no match for Rin, but there Rin is in high defintion looking for him because he’s his guarantee to victory.
He puts his head in his hands and bites back the urge to scream and throw something at every single one of these screens because the last thing he needs is to get kicked out. Failure is one thing, if not just as unacceptable, but losing his chance for good over his own temper is something he won’t do. He’s not a fool.
No, he’s not a fool at all.
He’s something worse.
Pathetic.
The answer he needs can’t be found in this room or on the field, and frankly, Rin is exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally, he’s done with it all, and for the first time in his life, he misses being home.
Fuck this.
Rin gets up to go to bed, leaving the monitors exactly how they are, because even if seeing it with his own eyes gravely pisses him off, he can’t bring himself to turn them off.
Let the next guy deal with it. It doesn’t matter.
He walks back to his room without having to worry about being stopped or bothered because by now everyone who stays up late to train is already long asleep. He knows that should include him, and he wants it to include him, but his mind is louder now than ever.
Blue Lock is only quiet at night.
He stops in front of one of the bedroom doors, but it’s not his own.
Isagi is asleep inside, unaware of the permanent effect he’s had on him or anyone else for that matter. Praise always comes to him like a surprise, and criticism doesn’t baffle him as much as it bruises, and somehow out of the 298 other people who have walked through these halls, he’s somehow managed to be the only one to worm his way into Rin’s subconscious.
How did he get here?
He can’t even say he’s lost focus because he’s never been more focused, if not constantly frustrated.
So what is this?
And why does he want to go in?
They all used to sleep together in rows, wedged between their so-called teammates, fellow strikers they were expected to devour. That part didn’t bother him as much as always having people around him did. He was never alone, and if there’s one state of being Rin works best in, it’s that.
Getting his own room again and a bed that undoubtedly belongs to him and no one else was a blessing, and yet he’s not sneaking into his room, and it’s not his bed he’s seeking out.
He closes the door behind himself, leaving them both in total darkness with his eyes not quite able to adjust.
He should leave, but he’s already here.
“Isagi,” he says, his voice kept quiet. He’s not sure if the private rooms are monitored, but if they are, it’s safe to say that even their omnipresent deity has to sleep sometime.
Isagi’s sheets shuffle as he wakes, and Rin holds his breath, although he isn’t sure why.
He doesn’t seem startled, surprisingly, or if he is, he’s slow to react, and Rin will be sure to bring that up at some point later on. Your reflexes are shit.
Isagi mumbles something softly like a question before finally speaking.
“Bachira?”
Rin’s heart stops.
Why would he call for him now of all times? Why would he think he would be?
He doesn’t answer. He just blinks stupidly at nothing while his brain tries to find the exact moment where Bachira would have been the obvious first guess in this situation for someone not awake enough to rationalize one way or another.
He comes up blank.
“Rin?”
Rin swallows. “It’s me.”
“What are you doing,” Isagi mumbles.
I couldn’t sleep is the best answer, but telling him that feels too personal or like it’s an admission, which is somehow worse.
“Why did you think I was Bachira,” he says instead.
“He comes here sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes he has nightmares and misses his mom,” Isagi says.
“That’s childish.”
“You have a brother complex.”
“… no, I don’t.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” he says. “For what it’s worth.”
“Which is nothing.”
“So are you just going to brood in the dark all night?”
“No,” Rin frowns.
“You can, but I’m going back to sleep.”
Rin rolls his eyes and walks towards the bed, feeling his way around until his hands find the edge. Isagi reaches for him as he climbs up, and he’s not sure if there’s any meaning behind it or if he just wants to make sure Rin’s knee doesn’t end up jammed in his appendix.
Either way the silent guiding isn’t something that irritates him in any way, and he quickly finds himself crouched over Isagi’s form, his hands and knees caging him in place.
Isagi’s hands move up his chest, feeling all the way to his throat, and Rin wonders if he’s mapping him out, trying to decide where exactly he is in the dark.
His palm goes to his cheek, and Rin turns into it as if by instinct. Damn it, he gives in too easily.
This is Isagi’s fault. All of this is his fault. If he would just push him away for good, he wouldn’t do something like this. He could go back to the way things were when he didn’t need anyone and he knew exactly how to approach himself.
But he doesn’t need anyone.
He doesn’t.
And if he did, it wouldn’t be Isagi Yoichi.
“I don’t need you,” he says like a curse, and it’s not the worst thing he’s ever said to him, but for once it feels ugly coming out of his mouth, something he wishes he could take back.
“Then why did you come in here?”
“I don’t know,” he says honestly.
Why did he look for him again? Why is he always looking for him? During their games is pathetic enough, but here…
At least no else knows but them. He doesn’t have to hear his teammates or whoever they’re playing against comment on them like without Isagi he wouldn’t be able to play anymore. Isagi is the one who needs him, not the other way around.
Isagi’s hands move up until his fingers thread easily through his hair, and Rin’s eyes grow heavy. Tingles travel down his neck, his spine, and throughout his limbs, and he almost gives into it.
He almost lets himself sink, letting the last of his fight die out just for the feeling of being touched. Being felt.
And this isn’t anything out of the ordinary for Isagi. All of the hugs, and high fives, and the displays of affection among teammates come easily for him. He has no idea how it feels to have to earn them or to have them stripped away.
Rin doesn’t need them, though. He doesn’t need this.
“What were you doing?”
“Watching some of the matches,” he says, avoiding any important details he wouldn’t be able to explain, like how he wanted to see exactly why Sae acknowledged Isagi and instead discovered how hopeless he is.
“Did you learn anything?”
Rin pauses for a moment before shaking his head that he didn’t.
“Liar,” he says, his voice hoarse from sleep. “You figured something out, and you don’t want to tell me so you can become the best striker.”
“I’m already the best striker.”
“Not for long.”
There’s no reason for that to be what breaks him, to make him finally admit to himself what he came here for, but it is, and Rin breaks, cracking through that thin layer of ice long enough to press a kiss down to Isagi’s lips.
They’re sleep chapped but still warm, and Rin falls into them easily like he has every time.
One day he’ll kiss him, and Isagi will shove him away in disgust or something worse, but so far that hasn’t happened yet. Isagi kisses him back like he was waiting for it, but no mockery follows or victory laps. He moves with him as easily as he does when they’re on the field, and it hits him that when they play like that, when the two of them have that kind of chemical reaction, it feels powerful.
It’s not like playing with Sae, but nothing ever could be.
But playing with Isagi isn’t awful.
No, he doesn’t hate it as much as he claims he does.
But he doesn’t hate kissing him at all.
They don’t speak anymore. Isagi no longer asks him any questions he isn’t in the mood to answer, and the room is filled only with the sounds of their lips coming together and breaking apart—wet, rhythmic, and attuned.
Kissing him is the only thing he can confidently say feels good anymore, and no matter how many times he expects one of them to snap out of it, whenever they stop he always finds himself wishing they had just a few more seconds more.
Winning will always come first, but those victories happen in small bursts and are no longer enough to sustain him when they’re all he has time for. Goals are euphoric, but few and far between, and it’s come down to the fact that for the first time in his life, Rin needs something that entirely exists for himself.
But there are worse habits he could indulge in. Giving into this need doesn’t change the trajectory of anything. He’s not scoring less or slowing down. The shadows aren’t creeping up his back waiting to devour him, and he doesn’t have to explain to anyone why this is good or bad.
It’s peaceful the way meditation or training alone is. No one is asking him any questions, no one is trying to forge a friendship, and he’s not forced to listen to any declarations of war or asinine attempts to see any equal footing between them.
Isagi’s hand grips his hair, more responsive now, more awake, and he kisses up to his mouth as if to meet a challenge.
No.
That’s not how this is going to go.
Rin grinds down against him entirely for himself. Isagi lets out a heavy breath that shudders out of his lungs, and Rin can feel him stiffen through his regulation Blue Lock brand sleeping pants.
Fuck, it’s all so stupid.
They have Blue Lock brand toothbrushes, Blue Lock brand deodorant, and there’s probably a box of Blue Lock brand condoms hidden in a warehouse somewhere because there’s no way anyone would have gotten the okay to green light letting their house of prodigies fuck.
They do though.
It’s the only way to feel human inside this place.
It’s vulgar and crude, and he used to think that these primal desires were beneath him, that he was somehow a better striker for never losing his focus, but then he came with Isagi’s lips around his cock, and those ten minutes didn’t do a damn thing but make the tension in his shoulders finally release.
Why did they do that?
He can barely remember it. The reason, he means, not the act.
They were in the washroom after training late at night long after the others had all already gone to bed, and he remembers being relieved that it was one of the few places in Blue Lock without any security cameras.
It was the first time something other than this sport gave him peace, and he didn’t remotely feel guilty about that.
They haven’t stopped since.
There’s been a great deal of fumbling without having any resources from the outside, but he now knows what it means to know another person’s body more personally than he could ever know his own.
But why did it have to be Isagi?
Why did it have to be him?
Why does it still?
“Get under the blanket,” Isagi says.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“The fuck am I supposed to do if it gets dirty?”
“Just get a new one.”
“Where?”
Rin exhales, annoyed, but he gets under it with him anyway, and here he can feel just how warm Isagi is.
Isagi wraps his bare legs around him, stripped down to just his boxers, and Rin immediately chases his mouth, deciding the power play isn’t worth it, not when he has him like this.
Rin puts a hand on the wall as an anchor before rolling his hips over him, grinding them together and pushing a gasp from Isagi’s lips.
Isagi reaches down to his waistband and pushes Rin’s sleep pants down out of the way, and Rin doesn’t bother wasting time by pretending to stop him. He closes his eyes as Isagi palms his cock, knowing how he wants to be touched before Rin realizes it himself.
He stops just long enough to get himself out of his boxers, and Rin rocks himself over him, sliding his cock against his as Isagi gasps beneath them.
One day when they’re out of this place, they’ll get to be free and as loud as they want to, and he won’t need to seek out stolen moments just to get a little relief.
He’ll have Isagi out in the open where no one will notice them, and he won’t have to sneak into his room anymore.
Isagi takes his face in his hands, his mouth parted as he lifts his hips up to meet him.
Rin huffs out, his hair hanging annoyingly in his eyes as he ruts them together, the friction almost too much to be what he needs, and yet he can’t stop himself.
He pushes Isagi’s shirt up, letting his fingers trail over the muscle as he thinks about spilling over him, marking his claim and taking Isagi as his. Rin isn’t lacking in anything if he’s taking him for himself for pleasure.
He as a striker is complete.
He as a person is complete.
So why is it now with him panting and rutting over him, chasing an ending he’s seen before, that he might need him the most.
Isagi’s knees raise up to his side, caging him in, and Rin thrusts over him like he’s deep inside, and just the idea of it itself is almost too much.
“Fuck,” Isagi whispers. “God, Rin.”
Rin suppresses a groan at the sound of his name spoken not to differentiate himself from his brother but as a small prayer from a–.
Lover?
No, they’re not like this. This is just stress relief. This is just–.
Issgi jerks beneath him, and Rin thrusts him through it, his high building at the exact moment Isagi throws his head back in bliss because this is just another victory.
He knows he’s too sensitive, but he can’t stop. His own toes curl behind him as his body coils into it, and he grits his teeth as the pressure builds, threatening to rip right through him strongly enough to make him scream.
Rin holds his breath to keep quiet, and with a shallow buck of his hips, he paints Isagi’s stomach, and all the stress of the night completely disappears the way it always does.
He holds himself up above him, gasping for air as his mind goes from its highest peak to once again calm, and Isagi reaches up for him, curving his fingers around his neck to urge him down.
“Come ‘ere.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“If you wanna be the best, don’t say please to people.”
“Okay, then, come here, damn it.”
And with a single, defeated laugh, Rin does.
All the strength in his body fades as he drops down to his chest, and Isagi wraps his arms around him, holding him in place as they catch their breath. A kiss is placed on the side of his head, and for once he allows it.
“Don’t hug me.”
“I’m not.”
Rin pauses. “This feels like a hug.”
“I’m surprised you know what that feels like.”
“Fuck you.”
Isagi hums.
“Let me go,” Rin says quietly.
“Don’t wanna.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and exhales before tucking his face in Isagi’s neck. He smells like Blue Lock brand body soap, and it’s fucking stupid.
As long as they’re both here fighting for the same goal, he’ll never know what Isagi really smells like. He’ll never be able to associate him with anything but this place.
What would not being here look like for them?
And why is he so convinced that they’ll continue?
Is it because he can’t remember why it started, or is it because he’s gotten used to it?
What if they leave, and Isagi throws him away too?
It doesn’t matter. No matter what happens, nothing will change the future. He’s still going to be the best striker in Japan, and if Isagi wants to make himself nothing more than a stepping stone, then so be it. He won’t force him, and he certainly won’t beg. It doesn’t matter.
He feels the grip around him relax, and he raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t go to sleep like this, you moron.”
“It’s late,” he says. “I’m sleepy.”
Rin doesn’t argue.
And soon enough, he follows.
He wakes up at some point in the middle of the night, half out of it but aware enough to know that it would be the end for them both if he doesn’t get back to his room.
He peels himself off of him, scowling in disgust, and he vows then to never let them end up in that position ever again without cleaning up first.
He gets out of bed to leave, but before he does, he stops and takes another look at Isagi now that his eyes have adjusted.
He’s passed out like he doesn’t know what it means to lose a night’s sleep or to have his mind have him pacing in circles.
Rin should hate him more than he does.
He leans down to press a kiss on his forehead, but when he pulls back, Isage grabs him by the shirt and urges him back to his mouth.
“Don’t get caught,” he croaks.
“If I do, that would just make it easier for you to steal my spot.”
“Not if they kick us both out.”
Rim frowns. “I’m not a rat.”
“I wouldn’t let you go down for this alone.”
“No one asked you to do that.”
“So don’t get caught.”
“Go to sleep and don’t worry about me.”
“Hey,” Isagi mumbles as he reaches out for his hand. “Let’s play for Japan together.”
“Like that could happen.”
“It might,” he says. “I want to.”
“Why?”
Isagi manages a sleepy smile. “Do you really need to ask me that?”
“Yes.”
“Because I want to.”
“So?”
“Playing with you is fun,” he says. “I love your brain.”
“You do,” Rin says, and Isagi nods. “You don’t need me.”
“I want you,” he says. “That’s a need, right?”
“No, that’s something different,” he says.
“Not to me.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Do you only play with people you need?”
“There’s no point for them to be on my team if they’re useless to me,” Rin says.
“But you like playing with me, right?”
Rin pauses for a moment before nodding, a gesture that goes completely unnoticed. Yes, Isagi might be behind him in many ways, but he’ll admit playing together has become almost enjoyable.
Finding out Isagi feels the same isn’t necessarily a surprise, but it does warm him in a new and real way.
He used to play because it was fun and because he had Sae, but Sae has become someone who not only doesn’t need him, but doesn’t want him either.
Isagi wants to play with him.
What a simple concept, and he’ll spend the next three days brewing over it or forcing himself to forget by training.
Rin stands there quietly as he watches Isagi drift back off to sleep.
He knows he doesn’t need him. He can score without him, he always had before.
But what if a part of him wants him?
Not as a missing piece but because he enjoys him?
Oh.
So that’s what this is then.
Rin doesn’t need Isagi, he just wants him.
They’re not the same thing, and yet…
Maybe he’s not losing his mind after all.
“What if I want you,” he asks, not expecting an answer, because for all he knows, Isagi has already fallen back asleep like he’s supposed to.
It’s late after all, and it’s a question that Isagi couldn’t have the right answer for. Rin’s not even sure what the right answer would be.
Having the band-aid ripped off might have given him a chance to step away before he actually does something he’ll regret, but the thought of this having a reason to end doesn’t feel good to him anymore.
Yes, he wants him, and he’s a fool.
He turns to leave so he can sneak back to his room, and he stops to take a deep breath as he grabs the door handle. He was never supposed to stay here, so why is leaving so difficult? What does he think he’s doing?
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“You already have me.”
He turns around with wide eyes and sees Isagi sitting at the edge of the bed, and he might be throwing his whole world away for this, but he’s never run back for someone else so quickly.
Isagi is his.
That’s the difference.
It all makes perfect sense now.