Work Text:
His mind is a fractured network of vivid sensations and muffled voices; he remembers too much to be unaware, but knows too little to change that. This splinter of memory has lived in him for all of his life.
Each day is a battle in separating it all, from the present to the past, the fresh, budding stems from the encroaching rot.
There is too much held in this one mind. (His neck is heavy with the memories of the dead.)
But here, and now, alive, Yoichi can't forget the sensation of filth on his skin. It has never touched him, but the dirt is there, in his hair, his mouth, the scents drowning him in their repent-less greed. The hands are phantoms, the mouths curved to kiss, suck, bite; they've tasted more than any other he's ever allowed.
He doesn’t remember them, not until he meets them. His mind breaks more in those moments, briefly, overcome with the conflict of two equally enduring beings. One that screams, batters against the torment, and the other that holds him, tells him there's nothing to fear, we are stronger this time.
Yoichi tries to forget, but Isagi won't let him; the scars are carved to the bone, the marrow. Something that deep will never leave him.
Omegas are the first dynamic you learn to spot. Even before presentation, the luxury of anonymity is already half-dead; action, personality, hobbies, physical appearance, temper--they're all measured against assumption on what you'll be.
Timid, chubby, teary-eyed little Isagi never stood a change.
Isagi, who loved football, who cried at the simplest thing, who stuttered talking to other people. Isagi, who was gentle and tiny, who smiled like an angel, who was read like an open book by everyone around him, was assigned Omega and that never changed, even when he did.
Junior High was a tough place, but he could get up when shoved to the mud. He could bite back when shoulder-checked out the door, assured in his confidence, in his ego.
But Ichinan High was the colossus, the unscalable wall that sparked the fire that would burn him to cinders, chip at his ego and turn it to ash.
Isagi adored football. He never thought that there would be those that hoped to destroy that.
In that bleak, tormented life, Isagi fought with all of his might to realize a dream too big for his body, a dream too impossible for society to fathom.
So even as a child, he had learned of the monsters that lurked the dark corners of this world, that fed a smile to the blinding cameras, that walked the halls of his school wearing a title Isagi hoped to guide him.
But he was still Isagi--he craved harmony, he who was painted in timid, kind strokes by the loving hand of his parents, and so was convinced if he was just silent, agreeable, then he wouldn’t have to be cautioned against the one thing that filled him with purpose.
(But they never stopped.)
No. they saw him, better than them—though they’d never admit it—and worked hard to keep him from reaching for the skies. Thinking back on it now, Yoichi knows they were doing it to force him to quit soccer.
(And they almost won. Almost. Isagi’s greed and hunger was as vast as the empty pockets of space; never ending, ceaselessly expanding.)
Junior high was the match, the sparking cinders, the beginning of his presentation. Already, Isagi noticed the way omegas treated him, looked at him, avoided him.
That was his first doubt, his first burn. Alphas would snicker, cruel, and say; Omen. If even omegas couldn’t stand to approach him, then was there really something wrong with him? Were they right, truly?
(Isagi never knew the truth. Never knew what omegas saw him as. Never knew how superior he was.)
(Oh, hindsight, what a shame.)
Under that assumption, that loneliness, he ignored it all, filled his head with football, with the desire to get better and prove to himself and the world that he could reach the stage Noel Noa stood on, could strike out as one of the world's best.
He won match, after match, after match, until he was called the up and coming striker of his hometown in Saitama. It stroked his ego, his belief that he was getting somewhere. (Isagi wanted the whole world.)
At sixteen, emboldened, he came to Ichinan High, a powerhouse with a reputable history in their soccer club. He believed, so wholeheartedly, so naively, that this is where he was meant to be. At sixteen, he still thought his secondary gender could be that, secondary to the passion and grit he had for the sport.
(And then he caught fire, burned like a witch on a stake; without mercy, without justice.)
"Omegas aren't mean to be strikers, and they never will be."
It wasn’t bad in the beginning. The coach of the club had been hesitant on letting him in, but after looking him over, suddenly smiled and welcome him with open arms.
(Run. Run. Run.)
He was omega, the only one there. His submission was natural, given freely, his manners mild and attentive. But that was off the field. On it, they learned of his ego, died against it, weak, talentless, and--
(They didn’t like what they saw.)
Even as a child, Isagi had learned of the monsters--
And now he was forced to learn of them again. And again. And again.
The bullying was the most tolerable part. Just childish ways of being shown he was unwanted, unappreciated, how they thought his dream to be stupid and unrealistic. Vandalizing his locker, tearing his uniform, relegating him to defender, kneeing him in the ankle, laughing as he fell. It was the second step in the mud, and Isagi was yet to be made aware of how far they’d go.
(He didn’t know this is where his ego would be sealed, where he would be seen as an omega, the pretty, dumb soccer bitch and be forced to sell himself to the filth, to the incels, to the un-evolved beasts that roamed and filled the corners of this world.)
It was their words that broke Isagi. Their touch. Their hate.
It was how the coach never stopped them, how he began to doubt Isagi’s place on the team—despite knowing he was better than them, any of these fucking losers—!
It was how he stood opposite the adult man, alone, and learned he was alpha too.
“You want to stay on this team, don’t you?”
“I—I…”
Heart rabbit fast. Tight throat. He’s scared. He’s scared. He's sixteen and he wants to play football. He doesn’t want to do this. Please. Please.
“Ahhh!” He suddenly yelled, scaring Isagi. His face is scary, eyes wide and black. His pheromones attack Isagi, has him frozen stiff. “Well, if you’re that indecisive, I don’t know what you’re doing here!”
“No!” Isagi trembled, a lamb to the slaughter. “I’ll—I want to… to stay…”
“Then you’ll do as you’re commanded, right?” A hazardous, disgusting scent spreads. Gleeful. Sly. Oily. The safety he felt with him was ripped apart in an instant.
He knows what he wants. What any alpha wants. (He's been learning.)
“….”
“Yes, coach…”
(If it was all for his dream, he can bear it, he can take it, so please let him survive.)
Even after, even in Blue Lock, his foothold, his relentless, exhilarating prison, Isagi would sometimes be overcome with the phantom sensation of being marked, would be reminded of the world outside his little bubble. It would paralyze him, pull him back down.
Scents that overpowered, blood that spilled, filth rubbed into skin. Saliva. Cum. Piss.
Unlit by the darkness, rubbed raw, Isagi would shatter again.
And each time, he picked himself up, shoved the pieces together again. Each time, he hated them more, cursed them more, begged to know why it had to happen; what did he do? Why did he deserve it?
(He hated them, but at his lowest, knee-deep in the rot and the mud, he hated himself the most.)
When Isagi opens his eyes again, Yoichi becomes the bearer of their duality. He holds their dreams in his cupped hands, stronger, his vision clear-cut. He's confident, fierce, his ego twice-reborn to soar the skies.
Isagi lives beside him, is cradled in the core of his soul, but Yoichi mourns him just as well.
Yoichi will never let himself fall back into Isagi.