Archive of Our Own ^beta

Three months into their partnership, Nagi is confident he knows Reo better than anyone on Earth. (Except, maybe, for Ba-ya, but she had a seventeen-year head start. Not a fair comparison.) A good portion of his time spent with Reo consists of listening and observing, and Nagi is nothing if not a quick learner.

He likes to think they are each other’s first real friends, and Nagi takes this role quite seriously. He knows Reo’s favorite and least favorite things, the charm of his polite demeanor, his underlying passionate personality, his dreams, his flaws, his quirks, his preferred skin care products and more. If he had the motivation and energy, Nagi could write a multi-page list of things solely about Reo.

And most of it all came naturally with the progression of their friendship. Reo likes to talk, and Nagi is willing to listen, so long as his hands have something to do. They balance each other out in this regard. Even if Nagi doesn’t have the words to convey his preferences and feelings, Reo has grown adept at reading his body language. Nagi hasn’t felt so known by anyone before—sometimes Reo knows what Nagi needs before he can even realize it. No one else would guess by the intonation of a short hum or the slouch in his posture that he was growing bored or needed a break. Only Reo.

Because of this, Nagi is only more certain that he knows Reo inside and out.

Because of this, Nagi nearly panics at the idea that he might not actually know everything about Reo.

On a hot afternoon, the blazing sun sinking slowly towards the horizon, Nagi finishes the day with shooting practice. The rest of Hakuho’s team has already left, but he and Reo always stay later for a bit of extra practice. An effort Nagi would never make on his own, but the lemon teas and Reo’s grateful smile suffice as rewards.

Reo sends him the ball from the half line, and Nagi lets his body move instinctively to get the ball in the net. It’s easy, yet satisfying, how his foot connects with the ball, the dull sound made by the impact. He watches it soar through the air and land in the net’s embrace with a gentle swish. Reo said this was the last one, so Nagi, naturally, falls to the turf with a heavy sigh.

He wipes his brow and shields his eyes from the blinding sun. Damn this turf field and its heat. Grass would be so much cooler and gentle on his poor skin. At least they’re done for the day.

The crunch of approaching footsteps lets him know Reo’s come closer. Nagi doesn’t need to open his eyes to picture the look on Reo’s face, a mix of exasperation and fondness.

“Good work today,” Reo says. “Let’s clean up, then we can get going.”

“Too tired. Can’t move,” Nagi grumbles.

“Then I’ll give your lemon tea to Choki, instead.”

Nagi makes a face and groans as he hauls himself up into a sitting position. Reo chuckles, and the sound is nearly as bright as the setting sun.

“You wouldn’t,” Nagi insists, getting to his feet. “That’s child abuse.”

Reo flashes him a cheeky smile. “I don’t think that applies to adult cacti.”

Nagi only huffs and trods towards the goal to collect the balls that found their target. Only one went astray today when a butterfly flew in front of his face mid-shot. He missed the goal and fell on his back, Reo’s laughter clear across the field.

He yawns and nudges each ball towards the bag at the half line. Reo went to grab the one loose ball, and Nagi can hear his rhythmic steps behind him. He’s just kicked the last ball away when a sudden thud catches his attention.

“Reo?” Nagi asks, turning around.

Reo lies on the ground on his side, elbow barely extended to support himself. His head hangs, forehead grazing the fake grass as his chest shakes with rapid breaths.

Nagi falters for a moment. His body moves before he can think about it, and he kneels at Reo’s side. “Reo, are you okay?”

Reo’s shoulders tense, gaze fixed on the ground. “I’m fine,” he pants. But the closer Nagi looks at him, the more it seems he is not, in fact, fine. Reo’s cheeks are ashen and pale despite all the running in the sun they did today. Nagi heard Reo jogging behind him, nothing fast, and yet he’s struggling for air like he just sprinted down the field.

Hesitantly, Nagi reaches a hand out to Reo’s elbow, trying to steady the arm trembling beneath him. Reo latches onto his wrist with his other hand, and Nagi can’t help but feel his grip ought to be stronger.

“Do I need to call someone?” he asks carefully.

Reo shakes his head, breaths still shuddering as he says, “Just…need a minute.”

Despite the questions bubbling in his head, Nagi complies. He gently nudges Reo’s elbow to let him lie flat on his side, all the while Reo clings to his hand like a lifeline. Nagi can feel the rapid reverberations of Reo’s pulse where their hands meet. It staggers with his uneven breaths, a beat without rhythm. An uneasy feeling begins to gnaw at Nagi’s stomach. A minute passes, then two. Reo’s breathing evens out, and pink tinges his cheeks once more. Only now, as he sits up, does Reo lift his gaze to look at Nagi. His eyes are glossy and slightly unfocused, but he smiles nevertheless.

“Sorry about that. I’m alright,” he reassures.

Nagi stares blankly at him, unconvinced. Reo hasn’t let go of his hand yet.

“I’m fine, Nagi, really. It’s just the heat.”

In the back of his mind, Nagi doubts the heat alone could have Reo gasping for air like a fish out of water, but he wants to believe Reo, so he just nods and stands up. He helps Reo get to his feet and holds onto him a moment longer than needed, even after he’s sure Reo won’t fall again.

They finish putting away the soccer balls and return the ball bag to the equipment room. Reo pulls his gloves off and still helps Nagi remove his socks and shin guards before tending to his own. He talks idly all the while, as if nothing had happened at all. Something like guilt pinches Nagi’s chest.

When it’s time to go, Reo ruffles Nagi’s hair and asks the usual question: “Want me to carry you to the bike?”

Nagi leans into the touch and hums in consideration. Normally, it’s a no-brainer, but today feels different. “Let’s walk together,” he says.

Reo raises an eyebrow, then cracks a mischievous smile as he secures his bag over his shoulder. “Afraid I’ll drop you?”

“Yes,” Nagi deadpans, rising to walk beside him. “Who will buy my drink if Reo passes out?”

Reo punches his arm half-heartedly and laughs. The sky is painted red and orange as they walk to Reo’s parked bike. While Reo mutters reminders and notes to himself, the feeling of worry from earlier pokes at Nagi’s mind. He’s never seen Reo like that. A fall or a scratched knee, sure, but never out of breath and struggling just to sit up.

Worrying is a pain, though, and Nagi knows Reo wouldn’t want him to worry. Nagi needs to look at it rationally, and the rational conclusion is that it was a one-time thing. So rather than let himself think troublesome things—are you lying to me? Is there actually something about you I don’t know?—Nagi falls into the easy routine of listening to Reo’s voice and enjoying the gentle rush of wind in his hair.

—

It’s not a one-time thing.

A week later, well into the second half of a high-stakes game, they’re up 4-2. Nagi’s done enough to keep them ahead, but Reo has been running circles in the midfield just to keep the opponent’s offense at bay. Reo intercepts a weak pass and pushes forward, head lifted to look for Nagi. Nagi starts his run towards the goal box without sparing a glance at him. He doesn’t need to; he knows Reo will put the ball where he can do something with it. All he has to do is wait for the pass.

But the pass never comes.

Instead, he hears the sharp trill of a whistle and scattered whispers and gasps. Nagi turns around and sees Reo face-down on the grass, the ball rolling away from him. Nagi’s legs move on their own, Reo’s name leaving his lips like a hushed prayer.

The referee is in his way, waving onto the field the teacher Reo convinced to sign on as their coach. Nagi nearly pushes the referee over, the eyesore uniform blocking his view of Reo. He drops to his knees and turns Reo over on his side, expecting a similar sight to last week’s episode. But Reo’s eyes are half-closed, his face pale and sticky with sweat, and his breaths are ragged and slow.

“Reo?” Nagi murmurs, tapping his friend’s cheek lightly. The only visible response is the sudden jerk of his arm towards Nagi’s knees. He can vaguely hear his teammates and their coach talking, something about giving Reo space, but their fuzzy words mean nothing.

Instinctively, he reaches for Reo’s hand. He doesn’t know how much it can help someone who’s unconscious, but the contact seemed to ground Reo last time.

Last time. Last time should’ve been the only time because Reo said he was fine, that it was just the heat, but today is cool and breezy, and Reo is always on top of his hydration. Then why is it happening again?

As Nagi checks Reo’s wrist for his pulse, his fingers brush over something underneath his glove. He pries the glove off of Reo’s hand to find a black band with a small metal plate. There’s something engraved into the shiny metal, but all Nagi can make out is Mikage Reo - CHD.

Then their “coach” is behind him, a hand on his shoulder urging him away from Reo. Nagi gives Reo’s hand a squeeze before pulling back, and he can only watch as Reo comes to and sits up with the adults’ help. The teacher notices the bracelet and starts yapping about something Nagi can’t bother to listen to, because Reo is looking up at him and the glove in his hand, and for once, Nagi can’t tell what Reo is thinking. He searches his clouded eyes for a hint of shock, anger, shame—anything—and comes up empty.

Reo is benched with surprisingly little resistance, and the game ends with their victory as expected. After a quick debrief, the rest of the team heads off to the locker rooms, while Nagi watches Reo walk to the street where Ba-ya has parked, still dressed in his uniform. Nagi’s hand has grown sweaty from clutching Reo’s glove, and without thinking, he dashes to catch up with him.

“Reo…” he says.

Reo stops but keeps his back turned. “What is it?”

Thousands of things come to mind, though Nagi can put none to words. Are you okay? What was that? Please look at me. Lamely, he holds out Reo’s glove, and says, “You left your glove.”

“Ah.” Reo, blessedly, turns to grab the glove. Nagi soaks up the fleeting seconds where he can see his face like a parched flower. He can read this look; his eyes are sullen and cast down in embarrassment. Nagi gets the sudden urge to wipe the look off his face, replace his tight grin with a genuine smile, but he remains motionless as Reo turns away once more.

A moment of silence passes before Nagi finds his voice. “Reo…are you okay?”

Reo’s shoulders shake with a short, forced laugh. “Yes…and no,” he says quietly.

“Will you tell me?” A simple request. Reo hardly ever denies him anything; surely he can give him this.

Reo smiles weakly at him over his shoulder. “Tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

Nagi doesn’t pout or pry, only nods and watches Reo go. He’s rooted to his spot until the car disappears down the road, a lonely flower reaching uselessly for the fading sun.

—

“I have a congenital heart defect,” Reo says, holding up his wrist with the medical alert bracelet.

Nagi looks up from his phone. “What does your heart have to do with your geni—”

“That’s not what that means!” Reo exclaims, ears turning pink as he pokes Nagi’s cheek with a chopstick. “I was born with a hole in my heart. I had surgery when I was younger to fix it, and now I take medicine to help it work properly. Sometimes it doesn’t work right, and I’ll have trouble breathing, or I’ll faint like I did yesterday.”

His phone screen flashes red around the edges as his avatar is injured. Nagi hums in thought and says, “Kinda like Iron Man.”

Reo blinks, then smiles around a bite of food. “I guess so.”

“Does it happen often? The not-working thing?”

“No, it’s…sort of a more recent thing.”

“Because of soccer?”

Reo frowns at his bento. “Probably.”

Definitely, then. “Are you alright to keep playing?” Nagi moves his avatar to loot an abandoned building and comes away with an HP item.

“Of course,” Reo scoffs. “I saw my cardiologist this morning. She says I just need to be more careful.”

Nagi restores his character’s health to the limit and nods in agreement. “Reo should always be careful.”

“Worried the Reo limousine will get sent to the shop?” Reo teases.

“No,” Nagi says, voice flat as he meets Reo’s gaze. “Reo needs to stay healthy if we’re going to win the World Cup, right?”

Reo looks at him wide-eyed, but his surprise quickly melts into relief. “Right.”

Nagi grunts, satisfied, then turns back to his game. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Reo shrugs, though Nagi guesses he knows his answer quite well. “I didn’t want anyone to treat me differently because of it. My parents already think I’m made of glass. I think I’d go crazy if everyone else started giving me their worthless pity.”

Nagi thinks about it, and the idea of people looking at him like a helpless animal sounds like a massive pain. “That’s a fair reason,” he mutters.

“If I’m seen as weak, I don’t want it to be because of something I can’t control.” Spoken like a true king, Nagi thinks. Reo would make a great RPG royal. “But I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, so…”

His avatar finally dies, and the screen loads back to the main menu. Nagi stretches and yawns, resting his chin on his forearm. “It doesn’t change anything for me,” he says honestly. “Reo is Reo, and Reo isn’t weak.”

Reo gives him an incredulous look and ruffles his hair with fond exasperation. “You can really say anything with a straight face! I’m jealous.”

Nagi closes his eyes and basks in the affection. Reo’s honesty and warm touch are a soothing balm to the slow-growing pit of worry in Nagi’s gut. While he’s content to know the truth now, he still can’t shake the unease of not knowing something about Reo, especially something like a chronic illness. What he said is true; it doesn’t matter in the end, because nothing can change the fact that Reo is a strong soccer player. Nagi knows it better than anyone.

So what is he so worried about?

Nagi traps Reo’s hand with his own and brings it to his ear.

“Nagi!” Reo sputters, “What are you—”

“Shh, I’m trying to listen,” Nagi shushes him, closing his eyes.

He presses Reo’s wrist close to his ear, feeling the steady beat of his pulse against his skin. It begins to quicken, and he cracks open one eye to look up at Reo. “It got faster.”

Reo huffs and looks like he’s trying to bite back a smile. “Uh-huh.”

“But you’re feeling okay?”

“I am.”

“Hm.” Nagi listens closer, and just as soon as his pulse jumped, it slows back to an even rhythm. He releases Reo’s hand and nods decisively. “Sounds good to me.”

Reo’s laugh is bright and clear. “Thanks for the assessment, Dr. Nagi.”

“I would never be a doctor,” Nagi says, frowning. “Way too much work.”

“That’s good news for the general public. You’d probably fall asleep at the operating table.”

Nagi only shrugs; he probably would.

As lunch comes to an end, Nagi notices his chest feels lighter than before. The unease stirring his stomach seems to have settled now that he’s confident once more in his Reo knowledge. That’s good, he tells himself; worrying solves nothing, and would only make Reo feel worse if he knew. Nagi just has to trust that Reo will take his doctor’s advice and be more careful about overdoing it.

Because he knows Reo well, he’s sure he’ll make the smart decision and follow through.

—

Blue Lock presents many new and interesting challenges for Nagi, especially following the first selection. Before meeting all these new opponents, he hadn’t realized how fun soccer can actually be. He’s not quite sure what intrigues him so much just yet; is it the unpredictability of a game when the opponents get desperate? The determination to win in the face of impending defeat? The frustration of losing without knowing why?

Whatever it is, it’s made Nagi into a curious monster. He’s starving to find out where this foreign feeling comes from, so much so that he’s realizing things he’d never considered before.

For starters, Nagi and Reo can’t grow if they aren’t willing to separate. And if they can’t grow past their current level—can’t beat the likes of Isagi—then how can they expect to win the World Cup together?

Nagi tries to dispute it in his mind, but realistically, he knows that there’s only so much they can do with just the two of them.

Reo is an incredible talent, versatile and able to adapt to others and bring out the best in them. But if he’s stuck playing with Nagi alone, how can he go beyond his current limit?

And Nagi knows the same goes for himself; for so long he’s been content with what’s been handed to him, but now he’s found a whole other world of possibilities in soccer. There are endless ways to score goals, trap the ball, outmaneuver a defender, and Nagi wants to try them all. It’s a craving he didn’t think himself capable of having.

So he takes the initiative and parts ways with Reo. Reo is strong, and Nagi doesn’t doubt they’ll meet again. Since coming to Blue Lock, Nagi had wondered how Reo’s heart was doing. Part of him thought the pressure of the challenge might stress his body; from what Nagi read about congenital heart defects, excessive stress and exercise can cause the heart to overwork itself. But throughout the first selection, Reo thrived under the pressure, his charisma and tactics uniting eleven individuals into a cohesive team.

Interestingly, however, Reo seems to have given up wearing his medical bracelet, rolling his uniform sleeves up and leaving his forearms exposed. Nagi takes this as a sign of good health and hope, and it serves as reassurance that Reo will thrive independently in the second selection. It makes him feel the slightest bit better about their temporary separation.

So he bids Reo goodbye, promising to play with him again and trusting that his partner understands this is the best way for them to succeed in the chaotic world of Blue Lock.

—

Somehow, Nagi still doesn’t know everything about Reo. Their awkward encounter in the bath makes it painfully clear.

Nagi doesn’t understand; he thought Reo would get it? Reo knows him better than anyone in the world, so why didn’t he understand that Nagi left so they could both grow stronger?

For some reason, Reo believes they aren’t partners if they’re not together on the field.

It’s puzzling, to say the least, and a pain to mull over. Their match against Reo’s team is in a few hours, and Nagi has already drained his phone battery trying to distract himself from thinking too hard about it all. Isagi and Barou are both off doing their own things, leaving Nagi alone with a dead phone and an overactive mind.

Maybe he could just sleep until game time, but then he might miss his alarms or play sloppily. He can’t afford that; he needs to show Reo how he’s improved and make him see how exciting this new world of soccer is.

With a heavy sigh, he plugs his phone in and drags himself off the top bunk. A snack should do for now, then maybe a video while his phone charges. Anything to pass the time and hold his attention.

Lunchtime is already over, and the cafeteria offers few options for food outside of meal times. Nagi settles for having a fruit cup; it’s basically a drink, anyway. He sits at the nearest table and drinks the juice first, feeling out of place in an empty, silent cafeteria.

Maybe he should’ve waited for Isagi to come back and dragged him out here with him. He hasn’t eaten alone in weeks. It’s depressing.

The lack of company leaves him vulnerable to his wandering thoughts, which, of course, find their way back to Reo. Nagi can picture the dead look in Reo’s eyes clear as day, hauntingly empty and devoid of his usual light. His face looked gaunt, the skin beneath his eyes dark like bruises. Reo always takes care of himself, so why did he look so tattered?

Because Nagi made a decision without consulting him? Could that be it?

Nagi knows he’s not usually one to take initiative, but he’s his own person. He doesn’t need to ask for permission to do things. And besides, he made the decision knowing it would be better for both of them. They need to improve so they can achieve Reo’s dream.

Doesn’t Reo get that?

Nagi nearly spills juice all over himself before he decides he’s not hungry anymore. He gives up on responsibility and resigns himself to a nap after setting several alarms on his phone. Thinking is too tiring right now; he needs to focus on soccer first. Reo would want him to.

In his fleeting dreams, Reo’s bleak irises burn holes into his heart.

—

Nagi’s team wins. They pick Chigiri. All at once, it feels like he doesn’t know Reo as well as he thought he did.

When Reo accuses him of forgetting their promise, of giving up on their dream, something nasty grips at Nagi’s heart.

There are a number of ways to convey his hurt, but the only one that comes to mind is the angriest.

He tells Reo he’s a hassle, that he doesn’t care anymore. Nagi knows he’s lying to both of them.

The brief glance he gets at Reo’s face is equal parts satisfying and devastating. Part of him delights in seeing the pain in his chest reflected on Reo’s sharp features, and part of him nearly crumbles.

He doesn’t look back as he walks away. Whatever Isagi says is drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. He doesn’t see Reo’s heart breaking into four patchwork chambers.

—

Nagi tells himself not to think about it; he doesn’t care anymore, after all. But it’s a lie. He’s always cared when it comes to Reo, whether or not he realized it.

The dream Reo shared with him has given way to a dream of his own: to challenge himself and become the world’s best striker. Winning the World Cup is a given. But Nagi’s dream isn’t just to win some fancy trophy—it’ll mean nothing if he doesn’t reach the top alongside Reo.

He can’t bring himself to regret going separate ways. They’ve both grown substantially in their time apart, and that’s exactly what they need to step closer to their dream.

And Reo thinks Nagi forgot about it.

Independence has made them stronger soccer players, but at the moment when Reo told Nagi to abandon him properly, Reo didn’t want them to be soccer players. Reo wanted the old Nagi back.

Nagi can’t go back to that version of himself. He knows it as well as Reo does. Perhaps this is what makes everything hurt even worse. Right now, neither of them can give each other what they want.

But Nagi still clings to his dream; he can see a future where they stand together at the world stage. Blue Lock is the ticket to reaching that stage, but they’re not boarding the same train. He can’t make Reo understand, nor can he stop to wait for him.

Nagi can only push forward and believe that Reo will keep chasing their dream, too.

—

Relief washes over Nagi when Reo steps through the door, a member of the last team to make it through the second selection. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if he hadn’t, and he doesn’t want to think about it.

He’s relieved, too, when Reo picks his team for the tryout games. It’s not quite forgiveness, but it means Reo hasn’t given up on their dream. Nagi can work with that.

Reo tells him what he already knows; even if his new style is amazing and undeniably Reo, it’s not enough yet on its own. Nagi wants to see Reo evolve further—he knows Reo has what it takes. He just has to wait for him.

Nagi waited seventeen years for an end to his boring, lifeless existence; he can wait for Reo as long as it takes.

—

Like a heavenly body, Reo’s orbit is something Nagi can never really escape. Little by little, they begin to inch their way back towards one another.

In quiet moments, Nagi is reminded of just how well Reo knows him. In the locker room during the U-20 match, Reo hands him a towel before he can finish the thought that he needs one. After particularly grueling training with Manshine, Nagi will occasionally find a chilled lemon tea bottle waiting on his bed.

Nagi tries to return the favor. He keeps spare hair ties on his wrists and is quick to offer one up when Reo misplaces his. At dinner, he sneaks the sweet potatoes off of Reo’s tray and pushes down the bubbling feeling in his chest when Reo pretends not to notice.

They don’t really talk, not about things that matter. Short exchanges at mealtimes or a reminder from Reo to keep up with his laundry are commonplace. Both of them readily avoid talking about the hurt they’ve caused each other. Their conversations are dry and brief, but Nagi likes hearing Reo’s voice regardless. If Reo had a podcast, Nagi would be the number one listener, even if all he talked about were boring businessman things.

And despite the frequent demonstrations of how well they know each other, without the intimate proximity or actual conversations, nothing feels quite right. Nagi often finds himself wondering what difference it makes; sure, he knows Reo best, better than even Chigiri or his highbrow buddies, but Reo treats him the same as anyone else in Blue Lock. It’s irritating, an itch he can’t scratch. Nagi is supposed to be Reo’s treasure, but the more they grow—the more Reo thrives on his own—the more it seems Nagi has no place in Reo’s life.

The once-forgotten feelings of worry and fear continually rear their ugly heads every time Reo hunches over to catch his breath. Nagi has to busy his hands with a water bottle or a towel to keep himself from running to Reo’s side whenever he looks winded. His skin buzzes with the desire to grab his wrist and hold it close to his ear, to listen for the heartbeat he knows better than his own.

This, too, is endlessly frustrating. Nagi can’t remember the last time he cared so much about anything. He cares about soccer, sure, but he wouldn’t have soccer without Reo. Caring is a pain, getting upset over things is a pain, and yet he keeps doing it. Maybe Blue Lock has turned him into a masochist.

During a break at practice, he watches Reo as he listens to Prince talking animatedly across the field. Reo’s eyes are attentive and bright with focus. He nods along with Prince, offering his own input that makes Prince jump with enthusiasm.

Nagi sips his water and wallows in the tightness twisting his chest. Like the worry and fear, this feeling only appears when it comes to Reo. He frowns at his feet, unable to bear admiring Reo from afar any longer.

He has to give Reo space, wait for him from above like he was told, but Nagi grows less excited with soccer each passing day. However childish it is to think, soccer is simply not as fun when he’s playing alone.

Reo is blossoming into a monster of versatility, meanwhile Nagi is stuck in the never ending struggle to “learn creativity”, whatever that means. Nagi has resolved to keep going for their dream’s sake with the trust that Reo would join him when he found his own path, but it seems Reo is on track to leaving him in the dust.

He hears Reo laugh from across the field. It’s been a while since Nagi heard him laugh so freely, like he could finally breathe again.

He doesn’t need me. And that’s how it should be, maybe. That was the whole point of growing individually: to rid themselves of codependency.

But why does being apart in soccer have to carry over to everything else?

Even in an environment where they sleep, eat, and breathe competitive soccer, Nagi has seen players go from enemies on the field to friends in the locker room. If Reo plans on teaming up with him again someday, why can’t they be friends off the field now? Does Reo think soccer is the only way for them to be together?

Nagi supposes that may have been true at some point. Reo dragged him into soccer initially, but Nagi chose to stay after finding that life with Reo is infinitely better than life without him. Perhaps part of his motivation to continue playing soccer was the worry that Reo would get bored of him if he didn’t. He enjoys soccer on its own, now, after coming to Blue Lock, but a gap has formed between him and Reo in the wake of his newfound passion.

Yet another troublesome thing: as he grows into his love for soccer, he feels Reo slipping away from him. It doesn’t make sense. They’re best friends. Soccer brought them together, so why is it tearing them apart? Why can’t Nagi have soccer and Reo at the same time?

The thought startles him. It seems so simple, thinking of it that way. If what he wants is to play soccer and have Reo back at his side, then he should—

“Hey, someone call a medic! Quick!”

It’s Prince who’s yelling. Nagi looks across the field and sees him crouched next to someone lying flat on his back. Prince’s voice continues, clear above the low murmurs of his teammates.

“Hurry, now, he has a heart condition!”

Nagi’s ears ring. He thinks he says something, or maybe someone else says something to him, but he doesn’t hear anything over the voice in his head chanting Reo, Reo, Reo…

The field around him blurs into a mess of colors, unnaturally bright green bleeding into doctor’s office white. He feels his legs moving, dull thuds shaking his body with each step hitting the ground. He’s not worried; nothing good comes out of worrying. Reo just fell. He’s fallen before, and he always gets back up. But as Nagi gets closer to where Prince is hunched over him, Reo does not move.

It’s fine, Nagi tells himself, Reo will get up. He always gets up.

Then comes a mass of blue blocking him from reaching Reo. He pushes against the moving wall, but no matter how much it dips and bends with him, he cannot break through. Nagi is vaguely aware of his own harsh breaths, the rush of adrenaline making his arms shake. He has to get to Reo, but he can’t move. The medics are here, crowding around Reo and shielding him from view. Reo is supposed to be up by now but he’s not getting up. Something is happening to Reo but he can’t see it; something is wrong and Nagi doesn’t know what it is. His skin is hot and sticky and he can’t move, and Reo has a heart condition and something is wrong but he can’t see what’s happening and Nagi needs to get to him, he just needs to see him and—

Cold water hits his forehead and trickles down his face. The sensation freezes his brain and body for a moment. His vision clears slowly, the ringing in his ears dulling to a low whine. In front of him is a familiar face framed with bright red hair. He feels turf pellets dig into his knees. When did he get to the ground? Chigiri has firm hands on Nagi’s shoulders, and his mouth is downturned in what could be concern or annoyance. Maybe both.

It takes him a second to realize he’s mumbling something, and that Chigiri is replying steadily under his breath.

“He’s alright, Nagi. Reo is okay. The medics have him. Reo is alright.”

—

Nagi sits outside the infirmary for three hours.

He spends the time fidgeting with his jersey hem and a hair tie he’d brought to practice for Reo. He waits as patiently as he can, begrudgingly accepting the snack and water a nurse gives him. Chigiri joins him halfway through, hair still wet from a shower. He must have rushed through his routine. Nagi doesn’t talk, looks sparingly at his phone, barely touches the water bottle or pretzel bag.

Prince comes by and politely suggests Nagi get cleaned up. Nagi only grunts in acknowledgment. Prince pats his head affectionately and says something under his breath to Chigiri. Nagi hardly notices.

He’s used to laziness, knows how lacking energy and motivation to do anything roots him in place. The feeling now is more like uselessness. Nagi wants nothing other than to know if Reo is fine, but he can’t know yet, so all he can do is sit and wait. While his body is trapped within the Blue Lock facility, he’s trapped inside his own mind.

He’s never felt so restless and exhausted at the same time. The scene plays on repeat in his head, and his subconscious supplies images of what Reo’s face may have looked like throughout it all. His stomach aches the more he thinks, but he can’t make his brain turn off.

When the nurses finally let them in to see him, Nagi stands up so fast his head spins. A nurse leads them down a short hallway to the first door. Nagi holds himself back from pushing past the nurse as he brings them in.

Nagi’s focus latches onto Reo’s sleeping form, tucked in with only his head visible against the pillow. He must have only just fallen asleep; Nagi knows Reo tosses and turns in his sleep, can never get comfortable lying still.

The room is small, walls bare and gray like those of their sleeping quarters. A single bed and two chairs fill the space. An IV bag hangs near the bed. Nagi traces the tube’s path with his eyes until it disappears under the covers. Reo’s face is peaceful, but he seems paler than Nagi remembers. The shadows under his eyes aren’t as bad as before, though. Nagi hopes he’s been sleeping better.

He gravitates towards the chair closest to the bed, taking a seat without taking his eyes off Reo. Chigiri lingers near the doorway, talking with the nurse just loud enough for Nagi to overhear.

“So he’s going to be alright, then?” Chigiri asks expectantly, like the nurse will give the answer he wants to hear.

“For now, yes. We suspect he collapsed from overexertion and fatigue, not necessarily because of his condition.”

Chigiri clicks his tongue and thanks the nurse, who steps out of the room with a reminder to let Reo rest. Nagi’s hands sit useless in his lap, itching to reach out and feel Reo’s pulse against his fingertips.

It’s borderline torturous. Reo is right here, close enough to touch, but Nagi feels he’s oceans apart from him. There was a time when he couldn’t get Reo to leave him alone; now, Nagi can hardly get Reo to look at him.

His frustration festers with nowhere to go, but that’s no good. He let that happen last time and snapped at Reo in the second selection. Nagi needs to fix this somehow, but what if Reo doesn’t want that? Maybe he’s changed his mind about playing together again. Nagi wouldn’t be surprised; Reo’s an amazing player with or without him. But that would mean Reo actually forgot their promise or chose to break it. Nagi’s not sure which hurts more.

“Hey.” Chigiri’s voice draws him out of his head. “Are you alright?”

Nagi blinks slowly. “I’m fine, why?”

Chigiri furrows his brow. “You had a panic attack. Those can really shake you up.”

A panic attack? Nagi’s never had one before. Is that what happened? “I was just worried about Reo,” he says blankly.

“Yeah, everyone was,” Chigiri agrees, “but you were kind of freaking out. It’s like you weren’t really there.”

Nagi bites the inside of his cheek, mulling over the memory of it. He can only recall bits and pieces with clarity; the rest is a blur of colors and sensations. Above all, he remembers the tightness in his throat, like his lungs were swelling up without release.

When Nagi says nothing, Chigiri continues: “Did you know about his heart condition?”

Nagi swallows. “Yeah.”

Chigiri scoffs, the sound bordering on a sigh. “That jerk. He never told me.”

Well, at least that’s something Nagi knew that Chigiri didn’t.

“Reo doesn’t like talking about it,” Nagi mutters. His eyes rake over Reo’s relaxed features. He watches the comforter rise and fall gently with his breathing. “I don’t think he would’ve told me if I hadn’t asked.”

“Has this happened before?”

“Kinda. Not as bad as this. Usually, Reo gets back up on his own, but he didn’t this time…” Nagi digs his fingers into his thigh. “I was scared.”

Chigiri regards him quietly for a moment, then places a firm hand on his shoulder. “It was pretty scary,” he murmurs.

“But I don’t want to worry about Reo. He’d be upset if he knew I was worried.” Worrying solves nothing, and Reo hates when people give him pity. Nagi knows he’s already done enough to upset Reo; he doesn’t need to push it.

“Nagi,” Chigiri starts, incredulous, “do you honestly believe Reo would be upset with you for worrying about him?”

Nagi looks to Chigiri and frowns. “He doesn’t like people worrying about him.” Nagi should know; he used to know Reo best. Nowadays, he’s not so sure.

Chigiri lets out a long sigh, the hand on Nagi’s shoulder squeezing hard. Nagi thinks he sees his eyebrow twitch. “I think you may be an exception to that. Among other things.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he laughs, “Reo treats you pretty differently than other people. I think he’d be happy to know you cared enough to be worried about him.”

Chigiri must be imagining things. “Reo treats me the same as everyone else. Maybe a little worse, actually. He won’t even talk to me outside of practice and dinnertime.”

“Have you been trying to talk to him?” Chigiri asks.

“No, he told me to wait for him, so I will. I don’t want to rush him if he’s not ready yet.” A frustrated noise escapes Chigiri’s throat, and Nagi squints at him. “What?”

Another deep breath, then Chigiri says, “You should talk to him.”

“Did something happen?”

“You could say that.” Chigiri’s voice is flat—he’s being sarcastic, but Nagi doesn’t know what he’s referring to. “I feel you would both benefit greatly from having a chat.”

“But he said to wait for him,” Nagi repeats himself. Doesn’t Chigiri get it?

Chigiri’s eyes darken. “This isn’t about soccer right now. Reo thinks you don’t care about him.”

Nagi blinks, eyes widening. “Why would he think that?”

“Maybe it has something to do with when you told him, ‘I’m past caring. I’m done with you’.” Chigiri rolls his eyes.

Okay. Fair point. “But I thought we were past that,” Nagi mutters weakly.

“Did you ever apologize for saying that?”

Nagi frowns at his hands. “No…but he’s still been doing stuff for me even though he doesn’t need to.”

Chigiri makes a sour face. “Because he’s a hopeless idiot.”

“Hey. Don’t talk about Reo like that.”

Rolling his eyes again, Chigiri ignores Nagi’s protest and goes on. “Reo isn’t going to bring anything up. He’s the type to bottle everything up and pretend he’s gotten over it. If you still care about him, you need to tell him that. He can’t read your mind, Nagi.”

Oh, that’s right.

Reo knows him better than himself at times, better than anyone else has ever known him. Because of how well Reo can read him, it’s easy to forget that he can’t actually read Nagi’s mind. That would explain why Reo didn’t understand what Nagi was doing.

They’ve both grown and changed since coming to Blue Lock. It’s hard to read someone when they’ve changed without you. Nagi never gave Reo a chance to understand how and why he evolved, and in turn, he never got to understand Reo, either.

They relied too heavily on an unspoken agreement that they knew how the other thought and felt. Nagi’s realizing more and more these days that you can know someone like an extension of yourself and still read them wrong. And maybe that’s scary, but it doesn’t mean you don’t know them well.

The prospect of discovering something new about Reo isn’t as scary as it might have been months ago. If anything, Nagi wants to know Reo all over again, be the first to learn how he’s grown and what he’s been up to. If there’s something about Reo Nagi doesn’t know yet, then there’s simply even more of Reo to love.

Ah.

He’s put a name to the feeling that bubbles in his chest when Reo smiles his way. The adrenaline rush after scoring and hearing Reo call out his name. The quiet peace in Nagi’s dorm while they sit together, underscored by Reo’s gentle humming.

Even the desire to support him, the worry that pokes at his stomach when Reo pauses for a breather; that’s love too, isn’t it?

Nagi might not know love like he ought to before throwing the word around, but he knows Reo. Reo and love are swiftly becoming synonymous in his mind.

“Nagi?” Chigiri’s voice drags him out of his thoughts.

Nagi blinks, then looks at Chigiri with conviction. “I care about Reo.”

Chigiri grins and pats his shoulder. “Good. Tell him, then. And apologize while you’re at it. I can’t stand seeing you making that kicked puppy face anymore.”

Ignoring that comment, Nagi purses his lips in thought. “How do I tell him, though?”

“You have to figure that out for yourself,” Chigiri says, getting up from his seat. “As long as you get your feelings across, there’s not much you can mess up.”

Oh, there most certainly is a lot Nagi could mess up in a single conversation, but Chigiri is already walking towards the door.

“I’m going to bed. Don’t stay here all night, you still need to shower.”

“Yes, mom,” Nagi sighs. He feels a pinch on the back of his neck and winces. Chigiri leaves the room with a goodnight to him and Reo.

Nagi lingers at Reo’s bedside, mind running rampant with what he wants to say to Reo. Ever since they first parted, Nagi has amassed a collection of things to tell Reo, some of them written somewhere in his phone, others tucked away in his brain. But how to pick and choose what should be said? He can’t tell Reo everything all at once, not when they haven’t had a proper conversation in months.

The nurse comes back to kick him out thirty minutes later. He bids Reo goodnight with a promise to tell him how he feels, even if it’s nerve-wracking.

Taking initiative is hard. It’s a pain to make the first move and do something of his own volition. Nagi used to think just near everything was too much of a hassle before Reo came along.

Soccer, eating, working towards a dream; all of it was a hassle, and yet Nagi still found himself doing it.

When he asks himself why, the answer is simple: because Reo wants to, and Nagi cares for Reo.

Nagi loves Reo.

Maybe caring is a hassle, but it always felt worth it when Reo smiled at him, carried him home and let him doze against his shoulder. If it’s for Reo, nothing is too much of a hassle.

—

Reo wakes the following morning when Nagi stops by.

Nagi had slept a grand total of two hours, waking up and falling back asleep several times throughout the night. His body was weary enough, but his brain wouldn’t let him rest, preoccupied with what to tell Reo when he awoke. After breakfast, he’d slipped away to the infirmary just to put his mind at ease. Being near Reo would be enough to soothe his nerves, but he wound up glued to Reo’s bedside, absentmindedly tracing the lines of his palm and listening to his breaths.

Reo’s breathing shifts, and Nagi watches his eyes open blearily. On a few occasions, Nagi has observed how Reo wakes up. For a few moments, Reo squints in the sunlight, a soft crease between his brows and a scrunch along his nose. Then, he yawns, slow and wide-mouthed like a cat, before opening his eyes and slipping out of the fuzzy haze of sleep completely. Nagi usually wakes up after Reo, but the few times he’s woken first are tucked away close to his heart.

Nagi watches Reo’s eyes open and flicker to meet his gaze. Reo stares at him silently for a breath, lips parted in quiet surprise. Feeling brave, Nagi decides to speak first.

“Reo,” he says softly. “You’re awake.”

The corners of Reo’s mouth tug down. “Why are you here, Nagi?” His voice is low, still rough from sleep. Nagi wants to hear it again.

“I wanted to see you.”

Reo lifts an eyebrow, looking away from Nagi to the clock on the wall. “What about morning training?”

Nagi runs his thumb along Reo’s wrist, decidedly ignorant of the time. “I’ll probably be late.” He feels Reo’s pulse quicken faintly through his skin. Reo is always a stickler for punctuality—Nagi’s probably stressing him out unnecessarily.

Reo’s gaze falls to Nagi’s hand on his arm. He doesn’t comment on it, and instead he sighs, letting his head sink into the pillows. His jaw tenses slightly, a sign that he’s contemplating his next words carefully. He’s only just woken up, and Nagi’s already making him think hard. Perhaps he should’ve come by later instead.

Reo looks over at him. Nagi’s eyes haven’t once left Reo in the time he’s been here. He can see the conflict brewing in Reo’s head, sees the moment one side overpowers another and his face begins to crumple.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Reo pleads, covering his eyes with his free arm.

Nagi doesn’t loosen his hold on Reo’s wrist. “Like what?”

“Like you care.”

Nagi frowns. “I do care.”

Reo pulls his wrist away and turns over on his side. His palm feels frigid without the contact. Nagi feels like he could choke on the silence.

“Reo, look at me. I do care.”

“Because I’m sick and weak?” Reo scoffs. “I don’t need your pity, Nagi. I’ve had enough to last a lifetime.”

“Because it’s you,” Nagi says. “I care about you.” I love you, he thinks, but the words don’t dare cross his tongue.

Reo stills, shoulders barely moving. Is he breathing? Shit, is it happening again—?

“I don’t get you,” Reo whispers, voice shaking. “I really don’t get you. Why would you say that?”

Nagi furrows his brows as he reaches to touch Reo’s elbow. “Because it’s true.”

Reo flinches away from his hand, still refusing to look at him. “Go away, please,” he begs. He curls in on himself, shrinking into the corner of the bed.

“Reo—”

“Please, just go, Nagi.”

Guilt and grief tug at his chest. “I care about you, Reo,” he repeats like a broken record.

“Stop it already!” Reo cries, muffled by his sleeves. “If you care about me, then you’ll leave me alone!”

Nagi’s breath catches. Why does this always happen? Whenever Nagi tries to express himself, Reo pushes him away. He opens his mouth, hoping the right words will come tumbling out by some miracle, but he chokes.

Nagi has a thousand things to say and no words to convey them. He’d thought he’d have more time to collect his thoughts, work out what he wanted to say. Now that the opportunity presents itself, he freezes.

His throat tightens, lungs burning as he takes a slow breath. Nagi’s body moves on its own, standing from his seat and marching towards the door. If there’s one thing he can reliably do for Reo, it’s follow orders. Because he cares about Reo, because he loves him, he will listen this time and leave him be.

The time will come for him to pour his heart out, but that time is not now.

His eyes sting when he shuts the door, and only then does Nagi realize he’s started crying. He swallows back tears and wipes his face, but it makes little difference.

—

They don’t speak again until the match against Bastard Munchen.

“I need you, Reo.”

Nagi knows he’s pushing too hard. Reo doesn’t need him anymore; he can fight on his own, and Nagi is amazed by him and his resolve as always.

But Nagi is also selfish. Reo tells him as much. He knows he’s being selfish when he asks Reo to lend him his strength in this match, and yet he pushes further, still. Nagi has to reach for him now before he gets too far ahead and leaves him behind. He might not get another chance after this.

Let me be your treasure again.

When Reo accepts, the arm around his shoulder feels like coming home.

Playing soccer with him again—their soccer—is easy as breathing. This is the excitement he’s been missing, the spark of inspiration he needed. He is on top of the world in this fleeting moment, and Reo is right beside him. Developing an ego of his own has led him down an unexpected path, but where it takes him now is inevitable.

Back to Reo, to the start of his dream, to the next step in achieving their goal.

—

Despite things having returned to a somewhat normal state, Nagi can’t shake the unease stirring his gut. Reo is back to spoiling him with his attention and being his friend, but they haven’t properly talked about anything. Part of him is relieved that Reo still cares enough about him, seems to want to return to how some things were. Another part of him fears Reo only wants this if Nagi can produce results in soccer.

It’s strange. He hasn’t doubted Reo’s sincerity since they first met. After a straight week of consistent pestering and bribery with snacks, Nagi accepted Reo’s presence in his life as a new constant. He didn’t really understand what Reo saw in him, why he took interest in a slacker like him, but now he wonders if it really was just his soccer skill all along. The thought makes him want to sink into oblivion.

Their performance quickly worsens after the game with Bastard. The final game with Barcha will be the determining factor in the next step of their careers. Nagi knows something has to change, and Reo knows it too. He’s not scared to try something new, but there’s too much uncertainty about how it will affect his relationship with Reo.

Now has to be the time for a talk. He has to know where he stands with Reo, understand what he’s thinking and how he feels. Nagi doesn’t want soccer to be a condition in their relationship anymore; he thought they were well past that, even before Blue Lock.

The only way to get that across is to talk. If not now, Nagi might not get another chance. It has to be now.

After lunch, Nagi accompanies Reo back to the locker room to grab his notebook. The room is empty, silent save for the low hum of the overhead lights. Nagi slumps onto a bench while he waits, hands fidgeting in his hoodie pocket. He doesn’t know how to start this conversation. Despite spending much of his free time mulling over what to say, Nagi is still at a loss for how to go about this. He can’t afford to slip up like last time.

But he’s running out of time; Reo is putting his things away and getting ready to leave. Nagi has to be brave, even if it’s a pain.

“Reo,” he starts. Reo hums in response as he zips up his bag. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Reo stands and turns to face him. “What’s up?”

Nagi’s resolve falters under Reo’s expectant gaze. “It’s, um, kinda important. Could you sit down?”

Reo’s brows furrow slightly, but he complies, sitting on the bench across from Nagi. “Is everything alright?”

Nagi inhales slowly, steadying himself. It’s now or never. The question burns at the tip of his tongue. “Reo, do you think we can only be together with soccer?”

He has to know—does Reo really care about him?

Reo looks at him with wide eyes, mouth agape. “I—what? Where is this coming from, Nagi?” He tries to laugh as he says it, but his voice is going high, and there’s no mirth in his eyes.

Nagi frowns. Reo is playing dumb. “Does Reo think we can’t be friends if we don’t play soccer together?”

Now, he has no room to shy away from it. Nagi has him cornered. Reo bites at his lip and fiddles with his shirt hem. “I mean, you—we only became friends because I made you play soccer. If it weren’t for soccer, we wouldn’t have even known each other.”

“Maybe, but we do know each other. What if I said I was done with soccer? Would you still be my friend?”

Reo’s face flushes pink. “Of course I’d still want to be your friend! You’re my treasure, after all.” Relief washes over Nagi, shoulders relaxing as Reo continues, “But if we’re not playing soccer together, then you don’t need to put up with me.”

“Why’s that?” Nagi asks.

“Well, because…” Reo is growing more and more flustered as he talks. “Before, you only played soccer with me because I did stuff for you in exchange. Now that you have your own passion for it, you don’t need me to do anything.” His grin falters, then he holds up his hands defensively. “Not that that’s a bad thing! I’m glad you’re into soccer for yourself, really!”

Nagi takes a moment to consider his next words. Reo is starting to look pale with panic, so he needs to act fast. “I played soccer with you because I wanted to,” he says carefully. “At first, I thought you would get bored of me after a few days, so I just went along for the snacks and stuff. But you never left, and I realized… it wasn’t a pain to be with you, and even though soccer was a hassle, it still felt good. I liked playing soccer with you.”

Reo smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “What are you trying to get at, Nagi?”

“I’m glad we’re playing together again, but what I really missed was just having you around.”

“I’ve always been around,” Reo says, quirking a brow.

Nagi shakes his head. “No, I mean, around me, talking to me, eating with me, sitting around doing nothing with me. I just missed being with you. And I want to understand why we couldn’t be like this before we played on the field together again. Because to me, it feels like you think if we don’t have each other in soccer, we can’t have each other at all.”

Reo laughs, short and bitter. “Nagi. You left me. I wasn’t going to just forget that.”

Nagi’s instinct is to defend his actions, to explain why he did it, but Reo already knows. Nagi, however, isn’t sure how Reo felt in the moment. He understands Reo was hurt by his choice, but doesn’t know why. It’s easy to justify his behavior when he doesn’t know how it affects others. So instead of rehashing their encounter from the Bastard match, Nagi asks, gently, “How did you feel when I joined Isagi’s team in the second selection?”

It’s an old wound to pick at, but they have no other choice if they want to move forward. Reo’s face darkens, and Nagi gets up from the bench to kneel in front of him. Nagi looks up at him, eyes focused solely upon Reo. “I want to understand how I hurt you so I can make it better. Please.”

Reo’s expression shifts, softening the slightest bit. He takes a breath and avoids meeting Nagi’s gaze as he begins. “I was… confused. I didn’t understand what you saw in Isagi that made him a better teammate than me. I guess I get it now, guy’s a fucking monster on the field, but at the time, it felt like you were just ditching me because we lost. I felt abandoned.”

He grimaces at the floor, brows furrowing. “And I know you were right, we needed to get stronger, and I wanted to tell you I’d see you again, but I thought… if I accepted it outwardly, you’d never come back to me.”

Reo’s lower lip begins to tremble, and Nagi places a hand on his knee, a gesture he hopes is soothing. Thankfully, it seems to help Reo settle.

“When I saw you playing with him, I knew you’d made the right choice. But I was so torn. I was proud of you for how much you’d grown and how passionate you’d become for soccer, but I was also pissed that I wasn’t the one who made you feel that way. Soccer was something we shared, but now you had someone else.

“But I wasn’t ready to accept the change. You were shining so bright and working hard, and I wanted to take that from you. I thought I’d rather have you to myself, even at the cost of our goals. And then, I realized I sounded just like my goddamn father. I was trying to control you.” Reo pauses to laugh pitifully at himself. Now, he turns to look at Nagi, and Nagi has never seen him look so defeated. “I wanted to die.”

Nagi’s breath catches in his throat at the confession. Reo had suffered in the confines of his own mind all on his own. An avalanche of anguish set off by Nagi’s actions. He brushes his thumb over the curve of Reo’s kneecap, looking at him patiently, waiting for him to continue.

Reo sighs, shoulders beginning to slump. “And when you didn’t choose me again, I figured that was really the end of it. So I wanted you to tell me yourself you were done. I thought it’d be easier to accept that way. From there, I… I don’t know. Before the U20 match, I realized I had to start changing too if I wanted to catch up with you. Soccer was the only way I knew how to be with you, so until I was strong enough to stand by you, I couldn’t let myself be near you.”

A beat of silence. Then, Reo brings a hand to the back of his neck and puts on a weak smile. “But it’s alright. We’re playing together again, now. I’ve just gotta come up with a way for us to get our groove back before the last game—”

“Reo, I’m sorry.”

Reo blinks. “Huh?”

“I’m sorry I made you feel abandoned. I’m sorry for changing without you and not telling you what I was thinking.” Nagi bows his head. “I’m sorry I made you think I don’t care about you, because I care about you so much.”

When he lifts his head again, Reo only looks at him, speechless. Nagi waits a moment, then another, before Reo speaks.

“Don’t—” he starts, his voice breaking slightly. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.” Nagi doesn’t miss a beat. “And I want you to know that it doesn’t matter if we’re on the field together or not; you’re my partner. Nothing will change that.”

Reo’s eyes go glossy, his nose scrunching as he sniffles. “Even if I’m a hassle?” he whispers.

Nagi reaches for his hands and gives them a gentle squeeze. “You’re not a hassle, Reo. I’m sorry I said that. Any hassle is worth it if it’s for you.”

Reo’s face flushes pink, and he turns his gaze to the side with a laugh that borders on a sob. “You say the most embarrassing things sometimes…” he mutters under his breath. He takes a breath before meeting Nagi’s eyes again. “I’m sorry for being…like this. I know I probably overreacted to everything.”

Nagi shakes his head, holding Reo’s hands tighter. “I like your big feelings. We just need to be more clear with each other about them. I always assumed I knew what you were thinking, but that’s not possible all the time. And that scared me a little at first, but now I want to be the first to learn every new thing about you.”

Reo tries to hide his face in his shoulder, but with both his hands occupied, he finds little success. Collecting himself, he braves an attempt at flustering Nagi instead: “You know, Nagi, this is almost starting to sound like a love confession.”

Nagi hums thoughtfully. “It could be.”

Reo gapes. “What?”

“It’s like one, isn’t it? I said you’ll be my partner even when we’re not playing soccer, and we made a promise to stay together until the end. And I want to know you better than anyone. That’s kind of like a confession.”

Reo gawks at him, eyes wide and face burning pink. Nagi delights in feeling Reo’s pulse quicken where their hands touch. “But—those could all just be friendship things!”

“Maybe.” Nagi shrugs. “But I don’t mean them in a friendship way.”

Reo’s jaw opens and shuts like a nutcracker as he stutters, “You—I—what happened to talking clearly about our feelings?!”

Oh, good point. “I’ll say it, then: I love you, Reo.”

Reo’s smile is somewhat delirious and doubtful. “Nagi, are you sure you know what you’re saying?”

Reo doesn’t believe him. Nagi supposes that makes sense given they’ve only just made up, but Nagi has loved Reo longer than he even knows. Luckily, Nagi has a plethora of things that he loves about Reo to communicate this.

Nagi brings Reo’s hands closer to his face, demanding all his focus as he prepares to pour his heart out.

“I think I’ve loved you since the day you first collapsed and still offered to carry me. I love that you indulge me with the little things even if our friends think you spoil me too much. I love that you shared soccer with me and let me be part of your dream. I love it when you cheer for me after a goal and celebrate each one like it’s a miracle. I love your smile and the way your nose wrinkles when you laugh. I love getting to be your treasure and calling you my partner. I love how passionate and hardworking you are with everything you do. I love that your heart still beats and that you’re still here. I love that you were stubborn enough to stay with me, even though I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you. I love that you’re my first friend and my first love.” Nagi exhales, then pulls Reo’s hands to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I love you,” he whispers against his skin.

He peeks up at Reo, who is fighting back tears and losing, his face pink and splotchy. Reo is pretty even when he cries, Nagi thinks. Then he wonders if that’s weird.

Reo hiccups, the sound surprising a laugh out of him. He doubles over until his forehead rests against Nagi’s, giggling and crying at the same time. “Sorry, I’m just—hic—feeling a lot of emotions right now,” he says. He smiles, and from this close Nagi can trace the shape of his mouth with his eyes. “I don’t think—hic—I’ve ever heard you say so much at once.”

Nagi agrees. Usually, talking is a bother. Having to think about what to say or how to reply is difficult, especially when Nagi gets distracted so easily. Somehow, though, listing out things he loves about Reo felt natural. His chest is lighter, bubbly with fondness for Reo, even if all this talking has worn him out.

Reo waits for his hiccups to subside before leaning back to look at Nagi properly. “Okay,” he breathes. His eyes are still puffy and red, tears still slipping down his cheeks. “I—thank you. I know talking is a pain, but it means a lot to me to hear you say that. You might be the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Nagi pouts. “Might?” he teases.

Reo frees a hand and pinches Nagi’s cheek. “It’s a tie between you and soccer, actually!”

“Does that mean Reo loves me too?”

Reo sighs through his nose, a fond smile tugging at his lips. He caresses Nagi’s face, and Nagi practically melts on the spot. “Yeah, I do. I love you.”

Nagi closes his eyes as he relaxes against Reo’s palm. “Thank goodness,” he mumbles. “I think it’s time for a nap…”

Reo laughs and combs through Nagi’s hair with his other hand. “It’s the middle of the day, Nagi.”

“The Spanish came up with this cool thing called the siesta,” Nagi mutters with a yawn. “We should adopt this tradition.”

The sigh Reo lets out is an indicator of Nagi’s victory. “Alright, a quick nap won’t hurt. Let’s get you to your room, come on.”

He coaxes Nagi to his feet, and Nagi takes the chance to envelop Reo in a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of Reo’s neck. Reo freezes for a moment before returning the gesture, arms warm around Nagi’s shoulders.

They linger like this, gently swaying in the comfort of each other’s embrace. Nagi sighs contentedly against Reo’s neck. “I missed you,” he admits quietly.

One of Reo’s hands slides up to gently scratch the short hairs at the base of Nagi’s head. “Missed getting spoiled?” he teases.

“I missed hearing Reo’s voice.” He can feel Reo’s heartbeat against his cheek, echoing through his body until his own heart matches the rhythm. “And Reo’s heartbeat.”

Reo lets out a slow breath. “I missed you too, treasure.” He turns to nuzzle his nose against Nagi’s jaw. “And my heart is fine. You don’t need to worry.”

Reo saw through him immediately, though Nagi shouldn’t be surprised. Reo does know him best, after all. “I can’t help it.”

“I know, it’s okay. But I’m going to be alright. We’ve still got a lot left to do, remember?”

Nagi hums in agreement. “Together until the end,” he whispers.

He feels Reo’s smile against his skin as he echoes, “Together until the end.”

—

The change isn’t drastic; things are similar to how they were before the second selection, before Blue Lock, but now, the weight on Nagi’s chest is gone.

Knowing that he loves Reo—and that Reo loves him in turn—makes each day something to look forward to. He’s free to lean against Reo unprompted during practice, shamelessly demand his attention, and even drag him to bed for nightly cuddles.

On the field, they’re still developing their own individual play styles that let them fight alone, but Nagi happily indulges in the chances for combinations. More than once he’s caught himself distracted watching Reo take control of the field when he was supposed to be focused on the drill. Chigiri says they’re even worse than they were before, but Nagi can tell he’s glad they’ve talked things through.

And when something happens, they talk about it. Reo has always worn his heart on his sleeve, but now Nagi has the courage to pry, to take on some of Reo’s hurt so they can share the burden. He tells Reo what he’s thinking and how he feels when a hum or grunt alone won’t suffice. Little by little, they’re figuring out how to mold back together with respect to new curves and edges.

Nagi wouldn’t say their relationship is different now—rather, it’s grown into something stronger under proper care. But their friends each have varying perceptions of them.

“I always thought you guys were dating, to be honest,” Isagi admits one day.

“Your souls are intertwined! You complement one another,” chirps Bachira at lunch.

Chigiri sighs with a dull expression during practice. “You’re the most obvious losers I’ve ever met. I can’t believe it took you this long to get together.”

And Nagi deduces that “It’s a miracle anyone would date you, you fucking slob,” is Barou’s way of saying he’s happy for them.

Though their verbiage makes Nagi wonder: are they actually dating? They haven’t discussed what their mutual feelings mean for their relationship.

Nagi is content with not having a label on it. Reo is his partner, and he is Reo’s treasure. Nothing about that needs to change.

Nagi wouldn’t change anything about what they do, either; they hang out, eat together, take naps, watch movies… he couldn’t ask for more.

Except, maybe…

“Reo, are we a couple?” he asks one night. They’re lounging on Nagi’s bed, Nagi on his phone and Reo writing in his notebook.

The scratch of Reo’s pencil abruptly stops, and Nagi hears a squeak escape his throat. “Well—uh, we never really talked about that, did we?” Nagi turns to look at him; Reo is staring across the room, face hidden from view. “I mean, if you want to be, then I wouldn’t mind…”

Shutting off his phone, Nagi sits up only to lay his head on Reo’s lap. This gets Reo to finally look at him, setting aside his notebook and letting a hand find its way to Nagi’s hair. Nagi closes his eyes with a content hum. “I want to,” he says. “Should we do more couple-y things, too?”

Reo laughs softly. “Like what?”

When Nagi opens his eyes, he recognizes the feel of nervousness tickling his gut. Reo’s eyes crease at the corners when he smiles like that, and Nagi wishes he could capture its essence to tuck away inside his heart, keep it all to himself for the rest of time. Whatever he had planned to say is thrown out the window, and instead he simply says, “Kiss me?”

Oh, that probably sounded super lame. Nagi barely stops himself from making a sour face at his own words. Maybe they need to stop watching romcoms for a while.

But the look on Reo’s face hardly changes. His brows lift, lips parting with a short gasp, before his smile returns full force, and he’s brushing Nagi’s bangs away from eyes.

“Sure thing, treasure,” he croons, leaning down to place a short kiss on Nagi’s forehead.

A pleasant chill runs through his body, though he misses the warmth of Reo’s lips as soon as they’re gone. “Reo…” he draws out his name in a whine.

“Yes?” Reo asks innocently.

“Not there…” he grumbles.

“Hmm, how about here?” Reo pecks his nose, and Nagi’s heart flutters. “Or here?” He presses kisses to both his cheeks. Nagi thinks he might overheat at this rate.

“Reo…” He puts on his best pout.

“What is it, my treasure?”

Nagi sits up, reaching to cradle Reo’s face with one hand. “Come here.”

He’d hoped he could get Reo to initiate their first kiss, but if Nagi has to put some effort in to make it happen, so be it.

Nagi doesn’t know what he’s doing as he brings Reo’s face closer to his, but they’ve watched enough movies with make out scenes for him to get the main idea. He tilts his head before their noses can bump awkwardly, and he can feel Reo’s breath on his lips. Nagi hesitates for a moment, then pushes aside arbitrary worries and shuts his eyes, closing the gap between them.

Something new Nagi learns about Reo is that he tastes sweet, a subtle hint of sugar in the back of the throat. Nagi takes a moment to revel in the warmth building in his chest, the way his heart seems to sing with Reo so near. Reo’s arms sneak up around his neck, pulling him in closer. Then he remembers people usually move their mouths when kissing and tries to emulate it, which earns him a giggle from Reo.

“Open your mouth a bit more,” he says against Nagi’s lips. Nagi happily obliges.

It starts to click for Nagi, then. The feeling is similar to trapping the ball mid stride and looking up to find the net. His sights are set on the goal, and there are endless ways to get there.

Reo sighs into the kiss, one hand tangling in Nagi’s hair. The give and take is slow as they find a rhythm, soft breaths and gentle hums filling the space in between each kiss. Nagi would be content to just sit here and be kissed stupid, let Reo take care of him like always, but he wants to show Reo the love and affection he deserves. He grows bold when he holds Reo’s face in both hands, letting his kisses slowly stray from his lips. His chin, his forehead, the corner of his mouth, his nose, his jaw, his cheeks—Nagi leaves kisses wherever he can reach. He only pauses when Reo starts to laugh, the sound warming him inside out.

Nagi presses one more kiss to his top lip and opens his eyes. Reo is beautiful, face flushed pink and eyes crinkled with delight. Pride swells in Nagi’s chest knowing he’s the cause of Reo’s joy. He wants to make him smile like that until the end of time.

Reo catches him staring and raises his eyebrows playfully. This close, Nagi can see faint freckles scattered across Reo’s face, hardly visible with all the time spent indoors. Another thing to love about Reo. Nagi continues to marvel at his beauty in reverent silence until Reo pecks his nose.

“What’re you thinking about?” Reo murmurs.

Nagi hums, thumb brushing under Reo’s eye. “Reo’s a good kisser,” he says.

“You’re not too bad yourself, for a beginner,” Reo teases.

“Mm, Reo should teach me how to kiss better.” Nagi pulls Reo’s face closer until their noses touch.

“You’ll surpass me in no time.” His voice carries a faint trace of worry. Nagi is nothing if not a quick learner. Both of them struggle with getting bored too quickly.

But Nagi could never get bored of Reo, not when there’s still so much to know about him. Not when they’ve already promised each other forever.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Nagi assures him. “I want to be the only one who knows how to kiss you the way you like.”

Reo’s cheeks are hot beneath Nagi’s palms, his smile sweet and giddy. “You’ll have to come here and find out, then.”

And Nagi does, sealing their lips in a kiss, the first of countless more yet to come.