Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The entire pitch went silent as Rin Itoshi’s foot connected with the ball. It curved almost perfectly, soaring elegantly through the air, and made contact with the net decisively.

Swish.

Sae’s eyes raised to the scoreboard, now reading 2-2.

The clock ticked down, 3 seconds left, 2 seconds left, 1 second left, zero. A whistle blew, signaling the end of the match.

Every player on the pitch seemed to exhale as one, some shocked and some elated. Except for Sae. He stared passively at the score, hand settling on his hip.

PXG had managed to tie against Re Al.

The crowd broke from their silent awe, the roaring of their cheers filling the air. The ground trembled with the intensity of their fervor. Cheers of ‘Rin! Rin! Rin!’ filled the air desperately, as if his name were the only cheer worthy of such a beautiful goal.

Even Spain’s fans seemed impressed rather than disappointed at the tie. Some even shouted ‘ITOSHI!!’ like they weren’t sure if they should be cheering for Sae or Rin– their beloved midfielder or the upstart striker on the opposing team.

The match had, after all, been an intense explosion of talent– one of the only reasons Sae was still basking in the echo of the whistle instead of making his way to the locker room immediately.

In a burst of motion, PXG was swarming Rin, who stood stock-still in the aftermath of his show-stopping goal. Shidou’s pink-tipped hair glowed in the stadium lights as he aggressively threw himself towards the other striker. Sae could hear his boisterous laughter join in with the childish sound of Charles’ joy. Even Loki was smiling, patting Rin on the back like a proud parent. Rin’s eyes, though, remained trained on Sae, his body rigid.

As if he were demanding from across the pitch that Sae look at him.

The realization had Sae turning his back to his brother indifferently, expression hardening into something resembling disappointment.

Had Rin ever listened to him?

Sae thought he’d been clear in declaring that their promise– naive, childish– would only hold Rin back. That he needed to break away from it, evolve his own relationship with soccer, something that wasn’t built upon being like his nii-chan. He had thought that telling Rin once would be enough, but it hadn’t. So he’d told him again, at the U-20 match, that to become the best, he had to stop acting like his little brother.

Yet, Rin still turned to him for a reason– a reason to play, a reason to evolve, a reason to become number one. It was foolish. It would ruin him.

So Sae turned away, though he felt Rin’s gaze burn into his back, demanding– look at me, Sae, look at me!– and faced his team.

Luna’s eyes met his, sharp and observant, an eyebrow raising in question, “Something wrong?”

He let out a noncommittal hum in response; Luna pried too much for his own good, his questions were unworthy of a reply.

The master striker was unbothered, and merely laughed at the half-response, “Alright, genius.”

Slowly, they began to file back to the locker rooms. The gentle chatter of his teammates was barely audible over the hum of the crowd– still loud in the stands, riding the high of the match along with the players.

As they entered the shade of the facility, Sae absently tugged at his jersey, which had started to cool against his sweaty skin, sticking to it unpleasantly. He needed a shower.

“So, Sae…” Luna’s voice cut through his peace once again, “You gonna party with us, later?”

“A party?” Sae asked, rather than answering. He’d been around Luna long enough for the man to know that he didn’t mean is there a party? but rather, a party for what?

“To celebrate such a historic tie, of course!” The striker’s green eyes flashed with something mischievous, “PXG will be there, too.”

As if that would pique Sae’s interest in the slightest. He scoffed as he reached for his locker, fingers brushing against the handle. Only for Luna to step in front of him, knocking his arm aside, an infernal smirk plastered on his face.

“Now, now. Ignoring people is rude, Sae. Are you coming to the party, or not?” Luna asked, though the tone was hardly questioning, edging much closer to demanding. As if he were trying to get it into Sae’s head that he was, in fact, coming to the party.

Which he would not be doing. He was going to take a shower, then leave. As always.

“Move.” Sae snapped. He resisted the urge to simply shove Luna out of the way. Their teammates buzzed like flies in the background, chattering aimlessly while remaining blissfully unaware of the situation at hand.

Luna doubled down, leaning his weight against the locker, “Say you’ll go.” He said the words with the same tone he’d used with Sae since he’d been bumped up to Re Al’s official team– the lilting tone an older brother might take with his younger sibling.

“I won’t.” He reached for the locker’s handle again, but Luna didn’t move out of his way. “Now move.”

Luna’s eyes narrowed playfully, “Come to the party, Sae.” He leaned his head against the locker, mock-resting, eyebrows raising comically as if to say I could do this all day.

Sae’s eye twitched, his skin crawling from dried sweat and the filthy jersey still plastered to his back– things that would have been remedied by now had Luna minded his own business.

He sighed, eyelids fluttering shut as he weighed the pros and cons of continuing to protest or giving in. Luna was most likely not going to move until he heard what he wanted– that is, Sae’s agreement– and Sae didn’t want to stand around in his dirty kit any longer.

So, he took a deep breath and acquiesced, “Fine. Now move.”

The Spaniard’s face split open in a wide smile, hand coming down to swiftly pat Sae’s shoulder before it could be swatted away, “See you there, then.”

As Luna walked away, Sae was left with the feeling that he’d just made one of the worst decisions of his life.

…

Sae blinked back tears as he downed another shot, the cheers of his mediocre teammates hardly audible over the sound of his heart in his ears. The oddly-colored liquor burned as it slid down his throat, only adding to the haziness in his head. If there was anything he was grateful for now, it was the tolerance he’d built to alcohol during his time in Spain. A night like this would've knocked him out already had he not been able to hold his liquor. As he was, it still managed to fill his brain with a thick, soupy kind of fog.

The bar’s music shook the room, a lively flamenco beat that filled the air with passion and set a rhythm for dance. It wasn’t even that late and the bar was already packed with sweaty, drunk bodies swaying to the music.

Sae reached for his beer– which might not have been his, but at this point he’d forgotten to care– and took a sip.

He wasn’t an avid fan of alcohol; he simply found himself with nothing better to do at a party than drink. He wasn’t there to talk, after all, or– he shuddered at the thought– dance.

“Steady there, Genius,” A bracing hand clapped him on the shoulder, stopping the tilting of his body that he hadn’t even realized was happening. Now that it had been corrected, though, he felt like the world had lost its axis. His knees trembled, his hip bumping into the bar’s counter painfully.

Yet when Sae looked up and saw blonde hair and bright-colored eyes, he didn’t hesitate to sneer. He snapped a quick “Hands off,” towards what must’ve been Luna, regardless of the fact that the man’s hand was the only thing keeping him from falling– and subsequently catching himself gracelessly– on the bar.

“Awww, that’s no way to talk to your favorite striker, Sae-chan! You wound me.” The hand on his shoulder tightened, almost concerned. If a hand could show concern.

“You,” Sae blinked, struggling to focus on the face of the blond-haired man through the half-light of the bar. He’d been wrong in assuming it was Luna who had steadied him. He leaned in close– close enough to smell alcohol on the man’s breath– and caught sight of tanned skin and bubblegum eyes. It was surprising, but not because of who it was– after all, there was only one person who dared to call him that nickname.

“Me!” Shidou Ryusei declared, way too chipper for his own good, teeth flashing brightly. From that action alone, he managed to give Sae a headache. It seemed that Shidou hadn’t changed much, even after Blue Lock’s end. “So, what’s crackin’?”

“Off,” Sae insisted, instead of answering. His head was hurting and he was honestly having trouble understanding what response was appropriate to ‘what’s crackin’. The beer in his hand sloshed, stray droplets pattering on the ground, as he pushed at Shidou with no success. More than a little frustrated– did the demon not understand basic commands, anymore?– Sae added a conditional “Now!” to his demand.

“Jeez, okay, sorry,” Shidou said, sounding far from apologetic and very close to amused.

The offending hand lifted from its stabilizing position. If he’d been sober, Sae would've been embarrassed by the way it sent him careening into the bar’s counter. The way he was now, he simply pushed himself back to standing and frowned at the loss of a precious few drops of his drink.

Unbidden, a quiet, “Rude,” escaped his lips.

“Wow,” Shidou chuckled, breath tickling Sae’s face as he inspected the midfielder with a mischievous smile, “Never took you for the life of the party.” Sae didn’t respond, but the demon didn’t seem too bothered– he had never particularly cared if anyone responded to him, anyways.

“So, that was a great match, huh? Rinrin really tied it up nicely. Haha! Tied it up! Get it? I know you do!” Shidou laughed, unrestrained, as if there was pure joy instead of blood flowing through his veins. His hand came down on Sae’s shoulder again, almost as an afterthought, shaking him as if to say relax, loosen up, laugh a little.

Sae shrugged off the hand– telling himself that Shidou was simply a touchy person to quell the flicker of anger stirring in the back of his mind– and took a step back. Or, tried to. He’d forgotten that the bar was behind him.

Wincing ever-so-slightly at what must’ve been his third altercation with the bar’s counter, he responded with a gentle hum, “That last goal was fraudulent. If the goalkeeper was half as good at his job as he was at picking up girls, he’d have caught it.” His eyes slid to his team’s goalkeeper, who was well into his cups and chatting up a group of star-struck women. The sight made him shudder. Disgusting.

Shidou’s eyes widened almost comically, “Fraudulent?” He said the word like he hadn’t believed what he’d heard.

Sae barely noticed, nodding along absently to the beat of flamenco music blaring joyfully in the background, “After all, the arc of the shot was centimeters off the best course for a goal. I’m surprised that it managed to–”

He cut off, blinking hard at the sight before him. His little brother stood not too far behind Shidou, face screwed up in anger as he began to stomp over to them.

Rin? Where had he come from? Had he been standing close by this entire time?

Sae had thought that Rin and Shidou were like fire and water, unable to come within six feet of each other. After all, they hadn’t even been able to play a match together in blue lock without some kind of altercation. But, apparently he'd thought wrong.

“Go on. Finish your sentence.” Rin’s voice cut through his thoughts, cold, rough, and taut with emotion. Anger, Sae assumed, what with the way his body trembled and his fists clenched at his sides. The young striker sidled in next to Shidou, too close, as if he’d lost a sense for the world around him. He swayed in place, but his aquamarine eyes remained fixed on Sae.

“Oh!” Shidou exclaimed, like he also hadn’t realized Rin was sticking so close to him, “Rinrin! We were just talking about you!” His tone held the saccharine sweetness of someone desperately trying to stop an impending argument.

“Shut it,” Rin snapped, shoving Shidou away from him despite the fact that he’d been the one to come in so close, “Finish. Your. Sentence.” He poked a finger at Sae, as if staring him down wasn’t enough to indicate who he was talking to.

Sae, to be honest, didn’t even recall the rant he’d been going on– something about Rin’s fraudulent goal– and certainly wasn't going to finish his sentence. So, like he’d done to Luna only hours before, he skirted the question.

Turning away from Rin as if he’d never heard him speak– nor seen him at all– he looked Shidou dead in the eye and continued on with his life like Rin had never spoken.

His beer was halfway to his lips when it was suddenly knocked out of his hand. Its contents sprayed– landing on his clothes, the floor, the bar, and many of its patrons– as it plummeted to the floor and broke with a violent shower of glass.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Rin’s voice rang out, loud in the sudden silence of the bar. Heads turned, and even as drunk as he was Sae felt a rush of embarrassment at the childish display. He could only imagine the headlines tomorrow– Trouble amongst brothers? Itoshi siblings caught exchanging vicious words after PXG and Re Al’s unexpected tie.

Wrinkling his nose at his ruined outfit, Sae fixed Rin with an unimpressed stare, “You better be paying for that.”

Shidou shuffled uncomfortably, raising an arm between the two of them hesitantly, “Hey, now, Itoshis, let’s take it down a notch, hmm?”

“I–” Rin’s voice cracked. He blinked violently, shaking his head, and took a step closer. He didn’t even seem to notice Shidou’s arm as it bumped against his waist. “You have the audacity to tell me my shot, my goal,” He sucked in a shaky breath, shoulders trembling as if under an invisible weight, “was fraudulent? As if it didn’t tie the game– as if– as if you could have done any better?” His eyes were shadowed by his hair, enough so that Sae could hardly tell whether or not he was being serious. Did he really think Sae was lying, when he said the goal could've been better?

“I could have,” Sae said, slowly, then clarified after a pause: “Done it better.”

That must've been the wrong thing to say, as Rin’s entire body went rigid in a heartbeat. His breath came out shallow, fast, in ragged pants. As if the bar had suddenly been sucked of viable air.

Shidou’s eyes flickered nervously towards Rin. He seemed a little– concerned? His arm moved from where it’d been holding Rin back, up to rest on Rin’s shoulder.

Sae was surprised when the young striker let it stay there, instead of pushing it away.

“Rin,” Shidou said, gently, tugging at Rin’s shoulder like he meant to pull him away– from Sae, and maybe even the bar itself. But Rin remained rigid as a statue, head bowed in what looked like a staring contest with the ground.

“Nii-chan… you…” Rin’s voice was soft, almost undetectable, building in volume with each breath, “You’re such an asshole of an older brother!” He raised his head, revealing the shine of tears in his eyes, the quiver of his lips as he swallowed back a sob.

Sae was struck with the sudden sensation of his heart dropping into his stomach– no matter how many times he saw his brother’s face crumble into despair, the pain it caused him would never lessen. Even if it was a necessary one.

“I tied the game!” Rin cried, straining against Shidou’s comforting arm, “I tied the game! Why– why do you still look at me like that?” As if he hadn’t said it enough, he reiterated it a third time: “I TIED THE GAME, SAE!”

Futilely, Shidou tried to salvage the situation, “Rin, let’s go find Loki…” His weak suggestion did nothing to ease the tension of the situation.

Sae rubbed at his temples. It was getting too late for this– his head was starting to feel like it might explode. It was hard for him to even think, let alone deal with someone else’s distress. The weight of Rin’s emotions were too much for him to bear– they always had been. It was easier to feign indifference, easier to provoke Rin to anger.

After all, Rin would never become a world-class striker if he continued to search for someone else's praise. No matter how many times Sae had to shut him down, he wouldn't let Rin fall into the same stagnant pool he found himself wallowing in. If that meant he had to become the villain in Rin’s eyes, so be it.

“Just shut up,” Sae stared at Rin, to ensure that he got the message and knew it was purposeful, “You’re so loud. Like a buzzing insect.” Just walk away, Rin. Don’t look at me.

“Damn.” Shidou’s jaw was slack, his eyes blinking rapidly as if he were trying to rewrite reality. His hand had fallen from Rin’s shoulder, now uselessly hanging at his side.

Rin looked at Sae. His eyes were wide, crystalline, suddenly empty of all tears. The wet tracks on his flushed face were the only signs of his sorrow. He swayed, minutely, feet dragging forward.

Sae only had a split second to quirk his eyebrow up in question before Rin’s fist was flying into his face.

The impact rattled his jaw, the force traveling up his skull and into his brain. His vision went blurry, then flashed white with agony as his back slammed against the cold stone of the bar’s counter. He coughed out a breath, tasting the sharp iron of blood on his tongue, and reached out a shaking hand to push himself off the bar. He blinked, felt the rattle of air in his lungs, the pitter-patter of his heart in his veins.

The world settled into a strange calm. He barely noticed the sound of the bar around him as he straightened up, eyes focusing on Rin.

His brother’s chest was heaving, his right hand trembling, knuckles already turning red. He seemed halfway to crying again. As if the punch he’d just thrown had hurt him more than it could've ever hurt Sae.

Shidou was standing there aimlessly, face scrunched up in confusion as if his brain couldn't quite grasp the situation in real time. Sae could almost hear the gears in his head clicking.

If Sae’s entire skull wasn't throbbing– from his own brother’s punch and his excessive drinking– he might’ve cared. Might've thought a little beyond his own pain, and might've thought of how fucking messed up the whole situation was.

Instead, he wiped the blood off his face, and delivered a punch straight into Rin’s jaw. He barely felt the impact.

The next few moments blurred together.

Rin stumbled, crashing into some strangers, a dazed expression overtaking his face. His nose dripped dark, ruby liquid onto the floor.

Sae instinctively took a step forward– to do what he wasn’t sure– before he caught himself. His hands hovered at his sides, uncertain. He had the sudden urge to rewind time.

A heartbeat passed and Rin was back up, pushing off of warm bodies to right himself, rushing at him and throwing another punch.

The floor wavered beneath Sae’s feet, far too unstable for him to dodge. The fist connected with his face again.

Fuck.

He hit Rin back. Something crunched. He wasn’t sure if it was his hand or Rin’s face. He didn’t bother to check.

Rin’s weight slammed into him.

He didn’t hesitate to grab at his hair and try to wrench him off.

Someone was yelling.

Rin’s head cracked into his chin, sending them both reeling.

A hand roughly jerked him back, followed by the sound of a familiar voice. It seemed panicked, shocked even.

Sae’s ears rang, vision spinning and spinning and spinning until he couldn't tell what was up or down. He thought, for a second, that he might throw up or pass out. He stared at the floor in a daze, tracing the sticky stains of beer, blood, and god knows what else as he struggled to stay upright.

“WHAT THE HELL, SAE??!!” Shidou’s voice made him flinch. He sounded livid. Like Sae had just killed a puppy and laughed. To be honest, the demon wasn’t too far off, if that was what he was thinking. Rin was a little bit like a dog that kept coming back to him even when he did his best to shoo him away.

Sae raised his head and immediately regretted it. Shidou’s bubblegum eyes were trained on him, filled with disappointment, anger, and maybe even disgust.

“What is going on here?” Luna’s voice was serious, for once, as he stepped towards them– breaching the ring that Sae hadn’t even realized had formed around him and Rin. “A fight?” His head swiveled between Sae– something shocked flashing in his gaze– and Rin, who was being supported by Julian Loki a couple feet away.

Luna stepped closer, examined Sae’s face like a disappointed mother, “Really, Sae? Not exactly what I expected from you.” His head cocked to the side, as if he were waiting for an answer. An explanation.

Sae found that he didn’t have any explanation to give him.

Rin struggled a little in Loki’s hold, spitting what might've been a tooth– Sae really hoped that wasn’t the case– onto the ground, eyes practically flaming with wrath, “Not gonna say anything, Sae?” He spat Sae’s name like it was a curse– malignant and vile. Like if he said it too much, it’d reduce him to an incurable state, fundamentally broken. Like it’d ruin his future just like it had ruined his dreams.

It made Sae’s breath hitch, catching on a lump in his throat.

“Calm down.” Loki placated, looking more bored than anything. Sae recalled that he had been Rin’s mentor since Blue Lock. It made sense that he’d be an expert at dealing with Rin.

He tried not to think about the time where he’d been considered the same.

Rin didn’t stop talking, “Have you finally realized that you’re a shitty older brother?” He laughed, bitter and sharp. No one else joined him. “Gonna apologize? Oh wait, I forgot, you can’t, because you’re a fucking robot that’s doing a shit job at pretending to be human.” The young striker’s chest was heaving, blood dripping down his face from his nose– his broken nose.

Sae sucked in a sharp breath, feeling dizzy. He’d done that. He’d fucked up his brother’s face. What the fuck was wrong with him? He felt like passing out.

Luna’s face swam in front of him, as if he were viewing it from underwater. It rippled, faintly, like he was speaking, but Sae couldn’t hear a word over the rushing in his ears.

He lurched forward– sudden enough that he elicited a surprised “Whoa!” from Shidou– and promptly threw up all over the floor. And Luna’s shoes, but he didn’t feel bad about that at all. The man deserved it for convincing him to come to this shitty party.

Faintly, Sae registered what sounded like the deep, long-suffering sigh of an exhausted parent (which was, most likely, Luna).

“Come on. You’re going home.” Luna’s hand grabbed at his arm, pulling him away from Shidou who reluctantly let go.

He let himself be dragged, head hanging, eyes resolutely fixed on the ground. It was easier that way. To ignore the feeling of Shidou’s disappointment, of Loki’s disappointed boredom, and most of all Rin’s angry, tearful eyes. They branded him with their anger, pinned him with their sorrow. As if even now, even after what he’d done, Rin was still begging him. Look at me, Sae.

And he almost did.

But then he remembered all that he’d done– for what purpose he’d done it– and steeled himself against the shattering of his heart. He wasn’t going to stop now, not when Rin was so close to the top, so close to breaking away from Sae’s dead weight to make a name for himself.

Rin would be fine in a few days. A week at most. Afterall, there was so little left between them that mattered, anymore. Sae had destroyed that himself, years ago on a soccer pitch, where snow fell like ash in the crisp night air.

He barely noticed when Luna dragged him through the bar’s door, exiting onto the busy streets of Madrid.

The Spaniard stopped, stared into the brightness of the city, and let out a deep, long-suffering sigh, “What am I going to do with you?” He shook his head, the movement jostling Sae from where he rested almost completely on his shoulder, a dead weight. “I’ve never asked what was going on between you and your brother… but… a fight? He’s your brother, Sae. You should act like it.” He paused again, running his free hand through his hair. “The one time you go out… of course this happens… can’t take you anywhere, huh, genius?”

Sae hummed noncommittally– he’d decided to refrain from answering Luna’s questions before he’d even started speaking. All his energy had drained away the second he’d seen Rin’s dazed expression, eyes wide as if he was thinking Did nii-chan really just punch me?

Fucking hell.

His eyes burned, throat closing up as he choked on a sob.

Luna flinched beside him, surprised, green eyes flashing with shock before shuttering into something more professional, “Sae.” Luna shifted both of his hands to Sae’s shoulders, bringing them face-to-face. “Tomorrow. Call Rin, okay? Apologize. Don’t be dumb. I know you started that fight, you’re an asshole, so take responsibility.”

Sae must've made a pathetic noise, as Luna paused to look at him like one might look at a poor, drenched cat on the side of the road. The striker briefly patted his head before he continued to speak, slowly and gently like he was comforting a spooked animal, “I called a car for you, so go home and sleep. Clear your head, sober up, and think about what you're going to say tomorrow. Got it?”

Sae blinked at him, through the tears in his eyes and the throbbing of his head.

Luna shook him– Sae could barely keep himself upright, even though the blonde was being gentle– and repeated himself, “Got it?” His green eyes pierced into Sae’s soul, fiercely, refusing to take his silence as an answer, insisting upon a verbal promise.

“Mhm,” Sae mumbled, if only to get Luna to relax and allow him to lean his full weight against his shoulder again.

They lulled into a comfortable silence– well, as silent as it could get in Madrid at night.

The city slowed down, but its motion never quite stopped. It was almost like a beating heart, never relaxing and always pumping. The humming din of the city– the slap of feet on pavement, the rush of traffic in the streets, the loud laughs of passersby– was so familiar to Sae it was akin to a lullaby. It soothed the ache in his head, the pain in his chest, and the buzzing of his thoughts.

Luna was steady as a rock beside him, a familiar presence that brought him comfort. He’d hated him, at first, for the ease with which he seemed to play– for his world-class talent as a striker. He’d been jealous, beyond words, beyond his own understanding, all those years ago. But now, he’d venture to say they were close to friends.

Sighing deeply, Sae’s eyes fluttered, and he relaxed fully onto Luna’s shoulder.

…

The next thing Sae knew, he was being gently shaken awake.

“Sae, the car’s here,” Luna said, voice ringing loudly in Sae’s ears. He stirred, eyes fluttering, and squinted against the bright city light. All the noise came flooding back at once, his head throbbing with a vengeance.

“Huh?” The word came out gravely and audibly confused. Sae could’ve sworn he’d only closed his eyes for a second.

“The car,” Luna clarified, wasting no time in pushing Sae back onto his own feet as he recovered from his groggy state. A gentle hand pushed the midfielder towards the edge of the sidewalk where a car waited impatiently, lights blinding.

As they approached, the driver rolled a window down, and began speaking in rapid-fire Spanish, “Estás Leonardo?” A couple other phrases fell from his lips, too fast for Sae to comprehend.

“Sí!” Luna responded, before rattling off some other words at an equally fast pace, smiling pleasantly. The language fell naturally off his lips, almost musical in its cadance.

Sae had gotten better at understanding Spanish over the years, but the alcohol and punches had taken a toll on his brain. He could only catch something along the lines of “aquí… dinero… Sae Itoshi… apartamento… doscientos… siete…”.

Once he was done with the conversation, Luna tapped him on the small of his back, “Alright, hop in. I told him where to go so don't worry your pretty little head, Itoshi.” He smiled after, like he hadn’t just done something so significantly kind for Sae that the midfielder nearly thanked him out loud, as out of it as he was.

Nodding awkwardly, Sae stumbled forward and struggled with the door for a few seconds before sliding into the car. The interior smelt fresh, a nice break from the stale, sweaty air surrounding the bar.

“See ya’ at practice!” Luna saluted him, still standing outside as if he were watching to make sure Sae got in the car without face planting. The thought made Sae feel a little bit less terrible. “Don’t forget to call your brother! Text me when you get home.”

Sae would've rolled his eyes if his head hadn’t been throbbing so badly, “Sure.”

The car swiftly pulled away, leaving Luna in its wake.

The driver’s finger’s tapped against the steering wheel cheerfully, following the beat of the music blaring from the radio. He glanced over his shoulder at Sae sympathetically, “Rough night?” His english was heavily accented.

Sae turned his eyes towards the window, biting back the sharp, What do you think? resting on the tip of his tongue. Luna was right– he was an asshole.

The driver didn’t seem to mind, though, and turned his attention back to the road. Somehow, that made Sae feel even worse, and his chest ached with guilt. He turned to the window to try and quell the feeling, but it wouldn't stop– in fact, it seemed to get worse with each passing second.

It sank in then, exactly what he’d done, as he breathed shakily in the back of some stranger’s car (albeit a stranger that Luna had hired to drive him home).

He’d punched his brother in the face with no remorse, like some fucking teenage sociopath hitting a dog just to hear it whine. He’d felt the impact of Rin’s jaw on his knuckles, and hadn’t thought “That was wrong, I should stop”. He’d only hesitated minutely, not even uttering an apology. He had acted like he wasn’t an adult who knew better.

At least Rin had the excuse of his short temper, younger age, and the fact that Sae had been the one to provoke him. But what did Sae have? The feeble excuse that he was drunk, that he wasn’t thinking, that he hadn’t meant to break Rin’s nose? The thought was pathetic, and it made him want to puke.

He really owed Rin an apology.

Sae’s fingers twitched, and he reached for his phone to text Rin, before remembering that the number in his phone was from when the striker was 11 years old. From before he’d left for Spain.

He almost laughed right then and there– he’d just hummed along to Luna’s requests when he didn’t even have his own brother’s number? God, he was a deplorable human being. If he even wanted to apologize (a voice in his head, parroting Luna’s words from earlier, told him that it was his responsibility. That he owed it to Rin for breaking his nose.) he’d have to ask someone to give Rin’s number to him.

Sae lowered his head into his hands, breathing shakily.

He knew why he’d acted that way– he was trying to help. Rin was talented. He took to soccer like a fish took to water. That being said, he was a natural. He was born for the world stage, and he’d already risen farther than Sae ever would.

Sae himself had known that he’d never be a striker quite like Rin when he’d first stepped foot in Spain at the tender age of 13. He’d been naive to think he even had a chance when strikers like Luna existed in the world. His heart had shattered at the sight of such seamless dribbling, such calculated shots. He remembered staring at the ceiling of his dorm, late into the night, and thinking that his soccer, Japanese soccer, would never be good enough. That he would never be good enough. No matter how much he wished it would be true, his destiny was preordained.

The process of realization had been painful, but he was glad it had been him. He felt sick at the very thought of Rin experiencing such soul-crushing revelations.

Part of him liked to think that if Rin had gone to Spain in his stead, the boy would’ve thrived. That he wouldn’t have crumbled under the pressure like Sae had. That he would've risen to the top and shown Japan what a true prodigy looked like.

But he knew that wasn’t true.

It was simply a childish fantasy that he desperately wanted to cling to. One that he wouldn’t let himself cling to. After all, Sae Itoshi was nothing but disciplined.

He strove for ultimate perfection. Something he would never achieve for himself, anymore, after realizing his limitations. But Rin had all that he lacked as a striker– his talent, his instinct, his ego far surpassed Sae’s. And Sae had realized, as he stood there, years ago, under the unforgiving lights of that snowy field in Japan, that he was the supporting actor to Rin’s story. That he was the midfielder to Rin’s striker.

Rin hadn’t accepted that notion. He’d been revolted. Caught up in the false reality of their dream.

So Sae had snapped at him, called him a defective product, a pain-in-the-ass, and told him that he made him puke.

It was all to push Rin away from attempting to realize their impossible dream, away from the harsh reality of Sae’s inadequate soccer, and towards his own perfection.

If Rin was able to let go of their dream– let go of being Rin Itoshi, younger brother of the number 1 striker in the world– Sae was almost certain that he’d achieve victory. That he’d be better off.

He just didn’t understand why Rin couldn’t see that.

Sae raised his head, resting it against the cool glass of the car’s window. The car’s engine made the entire car rumble, slightly, letting out a low, soothing purr.

The driver had the radio on, a slow, melancholy song playing. The lyrics washed over Sae like a harsh reflection of his own reality.

Ya no estás

Y esta noche tan callada me consume más

Sae felt the ache of sorrow build up in his throat, stir like a shadowy monster in the depths of his mind. The darkness of the night seemed to creep into the cracks of the car, clawing into his lungs, worming its way under his skin, infecting his heart.

Hay un fantasma que me acaricia con tu mirada

Y aquí estoy yo, deseando que otra vez sienta tu amor

He felt like clawing his organs out of his chest, like vomiting them onto the floor, “Turn it off.” His voice was thick, shaky, breathless.

The driver’s eyes darted to him in the mirror, maybe concerned, maybe annoyed. Sae didn't care, as the song carried on and each vocal, each note, took another stab at his heart.

Yo te amé

Tanto que te escribí canciones que nunca te enseñé

“TURN IT OFF!” He shouted, erratically, muscles tensing as he sat up from his relaxed position. His head aching and his fists throbbing as he dug his nails into his skin. He resisted the impulse to slap his hands over his ears or tug at his own hair.

Te amaba tanto que se me olvido como quererme

Quisiera ser feliz, pero aprendí que sin ti esto no es vivir

The driver flinched violently at his response, “Sorry, sir,” His right hand went to fiddle with the dial of the radio, the left place precariously on the steering wheel. The car swerved, slightly, at the sudden motion, before falling back into a straight line.

The volume turned down a little– not all the way yet– but Sae still couldn’t block out the sound of the song from his ears. It was like a parasite, burrowing its way into his brain.

He bit his tongue as the car’s radio continued to blare each sorrowful note of the song– the driver’s fingers fumbling with the volume as he steered the car with one hand– knowing it wouldn’t be right to yell at the man again, but fighting the urge to do so anyway.

Tal vez es necesario que sienta tanto daño

Este frío en el alma y el duro desengaño

Nunca pude expresarlo

The man glanced nervously backwards as the car entered a busy intersection, as if trying to convey to Sae that he was going to turn it off, he just had to focus on the upcoming traffic. His right hand hesitantly returned to the wheel.

It made Sae feel deplorable, rotten. Who was he to blame this kind man– who was driving him home at some ungodly hour– for something so completely out of his control? He didn't choose the songs that played on the radio, afterall. He wasn’t the one who’d made Sae break Rin’s nose, who’d made him act like a sociopath and tell his perfect, talented brother that he was imperfect and talentless.

The driver glanced at him again, right hand reaching for the dial once more. Sae saw his own face in the mirror– distorted in anger and disgust. It shattered something in him, that the driver must have thought the expression was directed towards him, when it was really because Sae was disgusted and angry at himself.

The song continued, in the background, the lyrics crystal clear even as the midfielder’s heart crumbled under the weight of his guilt.

Ya no estás

Y esta noche tan callada me consume más

“It’s fine–”

Sae’s head cracked against the window. He felt his skull rattle, heard a crunch that might've been the glass– or might’ve been his head.

His vision went white, thoughts fading into a foggy mist of jumbled impressions as he was hit with an overwhelming amount of pain.

His hands scrambled for purchase– on the car’s door, the front seat, anything– to ground him, but found nothing.

The world spun in a violent circle until he wasn't sure what was up or down, left or right.

Sae was a ping-pong ball caught in between two paddles as he was hit back and forth, back and forth, until his brain was turned to mush, until his body went numb and his ribs crack-ed under the pressure.

The car’s tumbling slowed, scraping against the ground as friction worked its magic.

He tried to take a deep breath, heart racing. What came out was halfway between a wheeze and a cough, more of a choke than a breath. It didn’t slow the pounding of his heart nor the racing of his blood in his veins.

Sae blinked, almost absently.

What the hell?

It seemed to be the only thing he could think– the only thing he could make of the situation.

He didn't want to believe what had undoubtedly occurred– didn’t want to think about it. Because it had been his fault. He’d caused this.

He stirred from his prone position. Or, tried to stir. His body didn’t feel like his, didn't feel real. Each of his muscles were tensed, trembling against a motion that had stopped, against pain that had sunk into his cells.

Sae blinked again.

Hay un fantasma que me acaricia con tu mirada

Amidst the quiet, buzzing sound of the still-working radio– could life be any less cruel to him? – there was a gentle plink, plink, plink. Like water dripping. It was barely audible over the static in his mind.

Y aquí estoy yo

He turned his head towards the front of the car. He paused.

Deseando que otra vez sienta tu amor

His eyes widened, pupils dilating. Some primal instinct within him fired, nerves instantly set on edge, his skin prickling with age-old caution.

Blood.

It painted the floor of the car a dark, ruby red. Was it wrong that it reminded him of Rin? Of the rivulets of carmine that fell from his nose? Of the crack of his nose as Sae’s fist kissed his face?

Tal vez es necesario que sienta tanto daño

His eyes followed the trail of blood upward. To a hand.

Este frío en el alma y el duro desengaño

Sae recalled something his father had said, once. ‘Bad luck comes in threes’.

He thought of his fight with Rin, the sudden crash of the car, and wondered: If this was his second dose of bad luck, what would be his third?

No pude expresarlo, pero me hiciste tanto daño

La idea de siempre estar solo ya no me sorprende

The steady plink of blood on the floor caught his attention, again. It pooled, stagnant, at his feet. It should have made him flinch, or maybe scream. It didn’t.

Sae stared at it, intensely, like taking his eyes off of it, even for a second, might end his life. Even so, he could see it, in the corner of his vision, lurking, reminding him of what he’d done.

Ya no estás

The radio crackled, mocking.

His heart constricted. His breaths stuttered.
His hands clenched into fists. His eyes traced each terrible drop of blood that fell to the floor, darting no further than the tips of the hand.

Don’t look.

Sae’s head spun. His body trembled.

Y esta noche tan callada

He blinked. Heard his uneven breaths rattle through his lungs. Felt his heart pound in his ears.

Like fire, his entire body throbbed. But his leg– his left leg– felt numb. He didn't look at it, couldn't look at it.

Was that pain the third and final consequence of his bad luck?

Me consume más, más

Sae wondered, briefly, if he’d die there, like that. Pathetic, beaten up, and shitty.

It made him think. Not of himself, not of soccer, not even of his parents. But of Rin. His little brother. Of the moment when Rin had stopped looking at him like he was a glimmering diamond and exchanged it with a look more reserved for a filthy cockroach.

How that was his fault– by his design– but it had hurt anyway.

How it had made him think– Was soccer really worth destroying their dream? Was Rin’s perfection really worth ruining their relationship?

At the time, he’d weighed the questions with a cold, precise calculation. Would their shared dream hold Rin back? Would it not?

The answer had been obvious. It would. 100%.

So, fresh off the rattling reality of his insufficiency, Sae had told Rin the truth– told him he was trashing their dream to become a midfielder, to fulfill a supporting role in Rin’s rise to stardom.

His selfish younger brother hadn’t liked that one bit. He’d yelled something at him, a phrase that still echoed in Sae’s brain: You’re not the older brother I shared a dream with!

It had pissed him off. It had hurt him. And he’d snapped at him. Called him trash, defective, a pain-in-the-ass.

Sae laughed, bitterly.

Rin was right. He was a shitty older brother.

Afterall, it was clear to him now, face-to-face with the culmination of his karma, of the final blows of his bad luck, that the answer had been no. To both questions.

No, it wasn’t worth throwing away their dream. No, it wasn’t worth ruining their relationship.

Hay un fantasma que me acaricia con tu mirada

The blood continued to drip steadily in front of his feet.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

His hand made an aborted motion for his phone, muscles trembling with weakness as they struggled to respond.

He needed to say sorry, before–

Sae didn’t have his own brother’s phone number, did he?

How could he keep forgetting?

No siento nada

“Rin–”

His plea was met with a void of silence.

No one was there.

Chapter Text

The first thing Rin registered when he woke was the revolting clamminess of an arm– that was not his– sticking to his skin.

The second thing he registered was the body of the insect it was attached to (that is, Shidou Ryusei). The other striker’s limbs were haphazardly thrown over Rin’s body like he’d mistaken it for a pillow. Which it was not, thank you very much.

Rin drew in a deep breath, blinked at the ceiling, and muttered to himself, “What the fuck…”

His eyebrows furrowed as he tried– and failed– to come up with a scenario that would see him and Shidou deciding to sleep in the same bed. And not immediately killing each other (regardless of who came up with the idea) for suggesting it.

Thinking about it harder only chased away the barely-there hints of his memory, adding to the pounding of his head. He just chalked it up to being blackout drunk– Rin would never admit that he reached that state quite easily (Shidou’s lilting voice echoed in the back of his mind “Lightweight~”)– even though there was no way that would be enough for him to sleep next to that filthy roach.

Rin brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes, bumping his nose as he did so. The motion sent a sharp spark of pain along what seemed to be every nerve in his face.

“Fuck!” He shouted, not bothering to lower his volume. There wasn’t any need for silence, as Shidou slept like a goddamn rock. It was one of his only redeeming qualities as a roommate.

Rin had never expected that he’d reach a stage of his life where Shidou’s presence wasn’t an immediate catalyst into conflict. They had clashed constantly in Blue Lock, had continued to do so in the Neo Egoist League, and had even fought well into their professional careers.

Somewhere along the line, though, all that fighting had brought them a little closer, and when Rin had been signed onto PXG officially, there wasn’t anyone else he’d have wanted for his roommate except Shidou.

Not that they didn’t fight still. It had just become something more playful, friendly, and less damaging.

So when Rin felt the swelling of his nose he knew that it hadn’t been Shidou who’d broken it. It had been someone else.

His head throbbed.

Shoving Shidou’s sweaty body off of him (gross), he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

He was still dressed in the black jeans and button-up he’d worn to the party– now wrinkled and disgusting, riding up in all the wrong places. Eugh. He desperately needed to shower.

Rin stood, surveying the room for his suitcase. He’d sworn that he’d placed it by the empty chair in the far corner of the room (something all hotel rooms seemed to sport). The room was much messier than it had been just the day before. His suitcase, which had been on the chair, now laid on the ground. It looked like it had heen haphazardly kicked to the floor.

And in the chair–

Julian Loki?

The man was dead asleep in the chair, neck at an awkward angle. The sight made him pause, another wave of confusion washing over him, before he remembered that Charles was Loki’s designated roommate.

PXG’s midfielder was still too young to drink, just a year shy of Spain’s age limit. If Loki had come stumbling into their shared room at some god forsaken hour of the night, Charles would have absolutely lost it. Rin had unfortunately witnessed the destruction such a situation had caused before. Loki’d come knocking at his and Shidou’s door with bite marks and scratches.

Needless to say, the boy was rabid.

It made sense, especially since Charles was like an eviler, tinier version of Shidou. And Shidou was certainly feral.

Rin stomped over to his suitcase– much softer than he might've if it’d been Shidou sleeping in the chair– and grabbed a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a few other necessities, then quickly made his way into the bathroom.

He threw his clothes onto the ground, and meant to start the water, but his gaze caught on the mirror. On what it reflected. On his face.

His nose was swollen, slightly bruised at the edges, crusted with a few flecks of dried blood. Someone must’ve set it for him, as it was surprisingly straight, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention. His eyes were puffy. Red. Like he’d been crying. Had he cried?

Rin asked himself the question, but he already knew the answer. The evidence was staring him straight in the face. There was only one reason his eyes would look like that. Only one reason he’d ever cried in his life.

Sae.

The memories came back to him in whispers, like faint mist that clung to the horizon after a night full of fog, the barest reminder.

Fraudulent. That fucking word, uttered from his brother’s lips like it was nothing. An insult that was made worse when Sae said it so flatly, like it was a fact and not a blatant lie.

Rin had almost believed it, when he’d heard it. That was how normal it had sounded, coming from Sae’s lips.

He’d still waited, though. Waited for him to take it back, to say to Shidou, “I was just joking. Rin was perfect.” though he knew it wouldn’t happen.

It made him want to punch himself. It made his chest ache. Was he still so naive to think that Sae actually cared about him? He knew the answer to that, too. Yes.

Rin traced the swollen lines of his face, the bruises under his skin. Recalled a fist connecting with his face, once, twice, more times than he could remember, then tangling in his hair.

Sae’s eyes, their eyes, fixed on him. Impassionate, unmoving. As if he was just completing another boring task (if that task had been bashing Rin’s face in).

He remembered yelling, remembered crying.

But Sae had just left, like he always did. Left without a backwards glance. Without an apology. Without remorse. Like a fucking robot.

Rin could almost imagine a little voice declaring, ‘mission completed!’ as Sae walked away, like he was a video game protagonist who’d just completed a quest.

His reflection in the mirror blinked at him. Even beaten up and misshapen, it was undeniable that he was an Itoshi. It made him sick. He didn't want to be associated with his brother anymore. He wanted to forget being an Itoshi and especially being the younger Itoshi. He wanted to be Rin. No Itoshi, no Sae’s younger brother. Nothing but Rin.

But It was near impossible when his own reflection reminded him so much that he was Sae’s little brother.

There was a time when he’d been proud of their similarities– their tourmaline eyes, their passion for soccer, and most of all their shared dream. That had been years ago. Before Sae had held the delicate promise of their dream in his hands and crushed it right before his eyes. Like it meant nothing. Like it didn’t matter to him. And it had meant everything to Rin. It had mattered the most to Rin.

Rin bit the inside of his cheek, blinking back tears. Why did he even care? He should've known Sae would’ve said something like that, about his goal. He always found something imperfect about Rin. He always said something cruel. He wasn’t going to change. He wasn’t going to apologize.

So why…

Why did it hurt so much when he didn’t?

Rin was brought back to reality by the unceremonious slam of the bathroom door hitting the wall.

“Rinrin…” Shidou stood in all his sleep-rumpled glory, one hand on the bathroom door frame while the other attempted to tame the wild mess of his hair, “Have you been smoking?”

“No? What the fuck?” Rin was too shocked to be outraged. The question was so confusing that his earlier emotions were shoved to the back of his mind while he tried to understand what the hell Shidou was going on about. “Why would I ever be smoking?” He spat the word with disgust. His lungs were a vital asset to his performance. Smoking would do nothing but destroy them, and the very thought of it made him want to vomit.

“Your eyes are red. You look high.” Shidou said as he waltzed into the bathroom, unbothered but most importantly uninvited.

Rin realized a second too late that this was not good for his plans to shower at all, “HEY! Get out!”

“No can do, lashes,” Shidou turned to him, blinking slowly with those pink bug eyes of his like some stupid fucking dog, “I have an appointment with the bathroom this morning.” Rin shouldn’t have even considered that the roach would come up with a reasonable excuse. He should've just shut the door on him as soon as he saw him.

“You’re insane if you think I’m letting you stink up this bathroom before I shower.” He glared at the blond, moving to block him from taking another step further. Shidou was already inside the bathroom, so it was a little futile but Rin wasn’t just going to let him in that easily.

Shidou pulled a weird face that had Rin backing up instinctively, “Umm, not that kinda appointment… more like, if you don’t get out of my way I’m going to puke all over you.”

Rin looked at him in disbelief, “That’s not going to work…” He stepped back hesitantly despite his words, scanning Shidou’s face. He did look a little pale.

“No, seriously. Move.” Shidou’s face paled even further, and before Rin could blink he was being shoved aside as Shidou vomited straight into the sink.

Fucking disgusting.

And he said as much.

“EWW, WHAT THE FUCK?” Rin had never exited a room faster in his life. Slamming the door behind him– which thankfully muffled the roach’s disgusting noises– he took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart.

Leave it to Shidou to cause trouble after the first few minutes he’d been awake. And throwing up in the sink? That was just criminal. Thinking of it made Rin want to jump out of the window.

He was living with a goddamn animal.

Shuddering, he abandoned his plan to take a shower and flopped onto the bed. Now void of Shidou, it was a lot more comfortable.

“He okay?” Loki’s voice made Rin flinch– he hadn’t noticed that the man had woken up in his haste to escape the bathroom. The golden-eyed striker had unfolded himself from his awkward position in the chair and was now standing in the middle of the room.

Rin shrugged noncommittally in response, leaving it to Loki to decide if the gesture meant How would I know? or Do I look like I care?

Loki seemed to take it as the former, straightening out his clothes and walking over to the bathroom, “You alive in there, Shidou?” He knocked on the door, politely. That was something Rin admired about Loki. He always managed to be kind, with every action he performed. Even on the field his condescension managed to come out polite– if you didn’t pay attention to the words you might blink and miss the insult.

Rin, on the other hand, had always been blunt, spitting out sharp, venomous words like magma sprayed from a volcano. He’d always been like that– like his brother, but more hot-headed. The thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

“Shidou?” Loki’s voice rang out again, louder.

“Uhh–” There was the sound of coughing and running water, “Let’s just say… Shidou, one. Sink, zero.”

Loki turned to Rin, one eyebrow raised, as if to say What the hell does that mean? before sighing deeply, “Alright… I’m going back to my room. Gonna check on Charles.” The french striker walked away from the bathroom door, tripping on Shidou’s hot-pink converse (which the blond must have carelessly strewn across the floor last night) as he went.

“Take him with you,” Rin blurted out, as close to begging as he could handle.

Loki only smiled at him before swiftly exiting the hotel room.

Ugh.

Rin rolled over on the bed, swiping his phone from the nightstand, and began to scroll through his messages mindlessly.

His parents hadn’t sent anything, as expected. Not even a “congratulations”. Maybe they would in a months’ time, or more likely never. It didn't really bother him. They’d been like that since he was young– it had always been Sae that he had looked to for praise, for guidance, for everything.

Even now, Rin couldn’t quite shake that habit, and found his eyes searching for the impossible possibility that Sae had messaged him. He knew that his brother had his number– it wouldn't make sense for him to not have it, after all– and therefore he knew Sae was ignoring him deliberately.

Still, he looked for a message. Something he found himself doing every morning of every day since Blue Lock. It only disappointed him, lighting a fire under his bubbling resentment for his older brother, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

After he had thoroughly sweeped his messages for any sign of Itoshi Sae and come up with nothing, he circled back to a few messages he’d left unchecked.

Isagi had sent him something, a brief “Congratulations on your tie! Looking forward to crushing you next week!” that Rin didn’t bother to respond to. It was amazing to him how that lukewarm bastard managed to be so confident on the pitch yet so awkward when doing anything else.

Bachira had sent something, too.

“RINNNNNNN!! YOUR GOAL WAS SO PRETYYY ( ˆ𐃷ˆ) .ᐟ.ᐟ I wish I coulda seen it in person :(((”

The message put a small smile on Rin’s face– he could almost imagine the bubbly joy with which Bachira would've said the words, had they been face-to-face.

He tapped back a quick response, “Thanks.”

A response came almost immediately, “OMG RIN YOU RESPONDED NO WAYYY ( •͈૦•͈ )” A flurry of texts followed, faster than Rin could respond.

“WAIT OMG!!”

“We should hang out while ur in Spain!!”

“Barcelona’s not too far away by train…”

“I could take one over to Madrid??”

Rin hated the way it made his heart race– hated the way it made him want to say yesyesyesyesyes like some lovesick idiot. Fingers trembling, he took a deep breath and typed out “Sure.”

“YAYYYYY! Later today?”

Before he could think too hard about it, Rin sent back a quick “Works for me.”

“YOU WONT REGRET THIS RINNN!”

“What are you smiling about, licky Rin?”

Rin flinched, then realized that it was Shidou breathing down his neck and sent an elbow straight into the other striker’s ribs.

“You stink. Don’t sit next to me.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, scooting away from the edge of the bed (where Shidou was lurking) for good measure. There was no way he was letting that cockroach anywhere near him after he’d vomited in the sink.

“Not answering me and hitting me? Not nice, rinnie.” Shidou pouted, “When your friends don’t feel good, you’re supposed to be kind.”

Rin scoffed, not looking up from his phone. He wasn’t doing anything but clicking on random apps, but he’d long since learned making eye contact with Shidou would only add fuel to the fire– that is, engage him enough that he wouldn’t stop bothering him anytime soon.

Shidou whined like a kicked dog, pawing at Rin’s arms (ew, freak),“Rinnnn, say sorryyy.”

“The fuck– no? Stop touching me you filthy insect!” Rin elbowed Shidou again, but the blond just kept poking him, “Stop it.” He paused again, drawing in a deep breath, a scowl overtaking his face, “Shidou. Stop.” Rin said it like one might command a dog. But Shidou wasn’t exactly a tame animal– moreso feral– and he didn’t take the fucking hint.

“I’m not even doing anything!” Shidou held up his hands in mock surrender, as if he was saying ‘see, I’m not touching you!’ though he’d just been doing it a few seconds before, “Plus, It’s my bed too. Let me up. I won’t even make us cuddle, I promise.” He looked at Rin, giving what might've been “puppy dog eyes”– though they were a lot closer to “feral crusty dog eyes” if you asked Rin.

Shidou blinked, once, twice. A stray eye booger clung to the outter corner of his left eye. “Uppies?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rin sat for a moment in disbelief, still as a statue, face wrinkled in a combination of disgust and confusion. Mostly disgust.

Apparently seeing that as an opportunity, Shidou hopped up onto the bed and got himself settled before Rin could so much as tell him no.

It was a testament to how far he’d come that Rin didn’t immediately kick the blond off the bed. He almost did, then figured Shidou was being respectful enough– sticking on his side of the bed, no cuddling, as promised– and left him alone.

The silence that fell between them was almost relaxed, friendly.

Rin was glad for it.

He’d never admit it out loud, but Shidou’s presence had become a welcome constant in his life. The other striker was dumb, yes, but he had the sort of brightness to his personality that Rin had always lacked. That Sae had always lacked.

It had lifted Rin out of the storm of his thoughts and brought him back to reality more times than he could count. Often, it happened without him even realizing it. Like earlier, when he’d been brooding in the bathroom. Shidou had entered, and suddenly he was caught up in the familiar push and pull of their banter instead of the clouds of his thoughts.

Rin would never thank him, but maybe letting the insect sit next to him on the bed (for now) was enough.

He’d still kick him off if he misbehaved, though.

Shidou hummed as he did… whatever the fuck he was trying to do. Turning on the TV, maybe. Though Rin didn’t remember that process involving the infuriating amount of movement Shidou seemed to be making.

“Quit squirming or I’ll kick you off.”

“Oh, for sure,” Shidou replied, unbothered. His eyes remained trained on the TV. There was a near 100% percent chance that he hadn’t heard a word of what Rin had just said.

There was the telltale sound of buttons clicking before the TV turned on. Immediately sound burst out– an incomprehensible rush of Spanish, accompanied by a symphony of city sounds– that Shidou was, apparently, in no rush to turn down.

Rin kicked him, “Hey. That’s loud.” He left it unspoken that the roach should turn it down. It was the obvious response to a complaint. But he should've known. Shidou wasn’t ever obvious. (How did he keep forgetting?)

The volume stayed high.

“Oi!” Rin kicked Shidou again, harder. His foot made contact with an eerily still leg. “Turn it down.”

Shidou didn’t respond, eyes fixed on the TV. The loud Spanish droned on– annoying, like the buzzing of flies. What Rin couldn't understand had always annoyed him.

“Shidou, turn it down.” Frustrated, Rin turned to look at Shidou’s face. The man was strangely still, eyes wide as they focused on the TV. Unbidden, Rin’s eyes followed his gaze– what could he be so focused on?– and found what looked like a news broadcast on the screen. “Why are you watching that? It’s in Spanish–”

His heart dropped as his eyes caught on a singular word. Or, rather, name.

Sae.

What the hell was Sae’s name doing on the news?

It had to be about the match. That’s what would make sense, after all. Or maybe…

Rin’s heart dropped, his stomach tightening into knots. Maybe it was their fight. He looked at the screen, scrutinizing the words of a language he couldn’t comprehend as if that would help him understand. It didn’t seem like the news anchor was talking about a fight.

It would be ridiculous. No one he saw in the bar had been holding a camera– and the fight had happened so quickly. It had to be about the match. Not their fight.

He drew a hand across his face, fingers trembling. God, he hoped so. He could only imagine the PR nightmare that would follow if their fight had gone public.

“What is it about?” Rin tapped Shidou on the shoulder, roughly, his phone forgotten in his lap. “Shidou, I’m asking you a question!” Any earlier relaxation in the room had been replaced with the kind of tension that could snap at the slightest pressure.

Shidou’s eyes finally ripped away from the TV, “I don’t know Spanish!” He said it like Rin should be the one figuring things out. But he didn’t know Spanish, either.

“THEN TRANSLATE IT, I DON’T KNOW??!” Rin felt something like panic crawling up his throat the longer the stupid news anchor on TV talked. His heart pounded in his ears. What was she talking about? For some reason (he refused to call it fear) he felt that it was important to know.

“MY PHONE’S DEAD!” Shidou screeched, hands flailing. He looked like he wanted to ask ‘Why are we yelling?’ but seemingly thought better of it. A flash of something– maybe a memory– flickered in his eyes. He froze, turned to Rin. “Oh.”

Then, Shidou burst into motion, “USE YOUR PHONE!!”

Rin felt a little ridiculous for not thinking of it first (especially considering that his phone was right there in his lap) but complied anyways.

He held up his phone, lining the camera up with the– thankfully– unmoving headline, and translated the phrase.

Rin blinked. Felt the blood drain from his face.

“What does it say?” Shidou leaned towards him, uncharacteristically quiet.

Rin could only stare at his phone, blinking again.

What the fuck?

It had to be wrong… there was no way– it must've translated wrong–

There was no way.

“Rin-chan?” Shidou’s eyes tracked his face, dissecting his expression. He reached forward, slowly, and took the phone from Rin’s hands. He seemed surprised by the lack of resistance.

The bug’s pink eyes traced the screen of the phone, “‘Superstar Sae Itoshi severely–” he paused, entire face seizing, before he continued, “‘severely injured in a car crash perpetrated by a drunk driver’?”

Rin felt his lungs collapse at the statement.

Shidou’s mouth was moving– he was saying something– but Rin couldn't hear him.

Sae had abandoned him. Discarded him like a child might discard its toy with a simple statement of “I don’t want to play with you anymore” that was somehow made even harsher by how little it seemed to matter to them.

He’d made it clear how little Rin mattered to him. He’d done it time and time again. On that frozen pitch years ago, after the U-20 match when his eyes had turned to Isagi, and again last night, when he’d socked Rin in the face with that sick, cold expression of his.

Sae had meant it all, done it with the calculated precision of a machine, and hadn’t even looked remorseful.

And now… now he had the audacity to pull such a stunt? To get himself wrecked in a car accident after he’d put Rin down yet another time, physically knocking him down a notch? After he’d told him his goal– and by association, he himself– was fraudulent?

He was going to leave Rin behind again– he always did.

It made Rin’s blood boil. It made his heart pound. It made his chest ache. He wanted to gnash his teeth like a wild animal and snarl to the world, Don’t you see? He’s the monster! Not me! I’m still waiting for him! He’s the one leaving me behind!

He felt like he was drowning. He felt like he was falling apart, dissolving into nothingness.

Sae Itoshi…

Just hearing his name made Rin angry, made him want to rip his hair out, made him want to shout obscenities. Who did his brother think he was?

Sae Itoshi… severely injured…

It made his heart stop to even think of those words in the same context. Sae was untouchable. Sae was unbreakable. He stood at the top of the world– always just out of Rin’s reach.

Sae and injured didn’t belong in the same sentence.

They didn’t belong.

Rin’s chest heaved, and he blinked back the fire in his eyes desperately.

… car crash… drunk driver…

There was no way–

Sae better be–

Rin was going to–

He felt something in his chest crack and shatter into a million pieces.

Sae hadn’t even apologized.

Sae might never apologize.

“RIN!”

Shidou’s voice was loud, overwhelming. Like the bright heat of the sun on a summer evening. It caught the edges of his attention, stopping his mind from spinning and pushed him back to reality.

“Rin,” Warm hands pressed against his shoulders, steadying him as he trembled, “I know I’m shit at this, but…” Shidou’s face was close enough that he could smell the acidity of bile on his breath, “...Look, we don’t know the whole story yet. So… it might not be that bad. It’s not like he’s dead, or anything.”

It was all true, but what loomed in Rin’s mind was the fact that he could be soon. Even if he hated his brother… even if he never wanted to see him again… he didn’t want him dead.

The very suggestion of it made him shudder.

“Shut the fuck up.” Rin’s voice was dangerously soft.

“Rin–”

“SHUT UP!” Rin clenched his fists hard enough that his knuckles turned white. Static buzzed in his ears. He felt insane. “JUST SHUT UP!!”

“Rin–”

“FUCKING–”

Rin’s face snapped to the side, neck straining, cheek stinging. He blinked, eyes watering, and turned to stare at Shidou. Had he just… slapped him?

“YOU–”

A sun-kissed hand slapped itself over his mouth, muffling the rest of his sentence. The bug it was attached to shook his head like a disappointed mother, tutting, “Ah, ah, ah. None of that now, Rin-chan.” Then Shidou’s face dropped into something more serious. “Pack your stuff. I’m driving.”

Rin managed to shove Shidou’s hand off his face, “You’re… what?” It was as if his brain had gone through a factory reset and Shidou’s slap had been the catalyst.

Shidou looked at him with a strange expression, his eyes calmer than Rin had ever seen them, “I’m taking you to see your brother, Rin.”

…

It was with shocking speed that they got themselves into the car and on the road. There was an unspoken gravity in the air– something laced with panic and urgency that had both of them functioning on instinct rather than logic.

They’d both fallen into silence– even Shidou– and not a comfortable one. A silence that gave away just how dire the situation was.

The car ride was strangely calm. The kind of calm one might find in a graveyard– quiet, eerie.

For once in his life Shidou seemed to be obeying traffic laws, staying a careful five miles per hour within the speed limit. He didn’t say anything, but from the nervous tap of his fingertips against the steering wheel Rin could tell that he, too, was freaking out.

Because that was, after all, what Rin was doing. Freaking out.

With each turn they made through Madrid’s crowded streets, he watched their ETA tick closer and closer to zero. To their arrival at the hospital. The hospital where his untouchable brother, Sae Itoshi was.

His body felt like it was on autopilot – hands trembling and legs bouncing with adrenaline– as the world spun by in a weird combo of slow-mo and double-time. He was stuck between thinking time was moving too fast or not fast enough.

The silence became stifling quickly.

Rin felt his emotions like a physical pressure on his lungs, on his shoulders, on his entire body. The entire situation was out of his control– out of his grasp, out of his understanding– and it made him feel weak. Made him feel just like he’d felt when Sae had socked him in the face, when he’d called him fraudulent. Made him feel just like he’d felt when Sae had abandoned him, naming him the equivalent of a piece of garbage at his feet, on that cold winter night.

“Why didn’t he call?” His voice came out reedy, thin. Trembling. The sound of It shocked him– he hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud.

Shidou glanced at him, fingers never stopping their gentle tap, tap, tap against the steering wheel, “I don’t know Rin.” He paused to focus on the road, turning the car at a steady speed, so careful it made goosebumps raise on Rin’s arms. Shidou was never careful. “He’s probably unconscious, after a crash like that.”

“The hospital should have at least called.” Rin insisted, hands twisting together in his lap. His eyes darted to the GPS– five minutes to the hospital. He couldn't tell if that made him feel worse or better.

“Why’s that?” Shidou asked. His voice sounded strangely clinical– clipped, like he was just barely able to act like this was a casual conversation and not something to do with Sae Itoshi and a car crash.

Rin barely even registered the question– his thoughts running a mile a minute. They should have called him.

“Our parents are his emergency contacts, but they wouldn't answer. They’re at work. So they’d call me.” He turned to look at Shidou, for what he didn’t know. “They would’ve called me, Shidou. They should've called me.”

Shidou looked at him, a flash of concern in his gaze, “Rin. I’m sure it’s fine. Maybe someone else is his emergency contact? If your parents wouldn't answer, they’d be shit emergency contacts.”

Rin choked on his own breath in his haste to answer, “But it doesn’t make sense–”

“Rin. Are they your emergency contacts?” The blond striker’s voice was steady. His eyes didn’t leave the road. They didn’t need to– his point came across well enough without eye contact.

Rin felt a rock settle into his stomach, a sinking feeling that had him looking at his lap, “...No.”

A voice in the back of his mind still screamed that it didn’t make sense but he knew it was just because he hated that it did.

Even though Sae had his number, why the hell would he have Rin as a back-up to his emergency contact? He despised Rin. He actively looked down on his existence. Had done so the last time they’d interacted. Did so every time they interacted.

What Shidou said pointed out all of this– that it wouldn’t make sense for a dysfunctional family like the Itoshis to have each other as their emergency contacts. Not just because his parents wouldn’t answer, but because Rin wasn’t good enough to be Sae’s emergency contact.

Rin took in a deep, shuddering breath.

Why was Shidou of all people the one explaining things to him? And why was he actually listening and finding it helpful?

It was a testament to how far he’d fallen.

Unaware of Rin’s inner turmoil, Shidou continued, “Your emergency contact… It’s Loki, right?” Absently, the younger striker nodded along, “So, Sae’s probably got Luna as his emergency contact. Or maybe someone else.” Shidou took a deep breath, his fingers still tapping against the wheel, “That’s probably why the hospital didn’t call you.”

“Okay,” Rin said. The response was automated, empty. His eyes were more focused on their destination– the looming hospital building in front of them– and the raging storm of his thoughts.

In the past 24 hours, he’d come to realize how insignificant he was to Sae. How little importance he held in his older brother’s eyes. But Sae… Sae was important to him like blood was important to the body, like air was important to the lungs.

And each and every time Sae stepped on their dream, crushed Rin’s fingers– that so desperately reached out to him– with that cold precision of his, Rin came crawling back.

Sae pushed him away.

I don’t need you in my life anymore, Rin.

And Rin came crawling back.

Nii-chan, please–

Every time. Like clockwork.

As Shidou parked the car, Rin felt that this might be the last time. That it might be his last chance to crawl back to his brother and beg him to take him back.

If Sae didn’t… If Sae couldn’t…

Rin didn’t know.

“Rinrin, we’re here.” Shidou poked his shoulder, not unkindly, and took the keys out of the ignition. His seatbelt clicked when he unbuckled it, retracting with a satisfying thunk.

Pink eyes blinked at Rin, expectant, “Earth to Rin,” He didn’t move.

A hand waved in front of his face, “Riiiin, time to go in.”

“Shut up,” Rin said, for the umpteenth time– it seemed to be all he could think of to say instead of ‘I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.’

“It’s okay, I’ll go with you,” Shidou patted his shoulder, offering Rin a small grin. It was uncharacteristically gentle.

Rin’s head throbbed mercilessly.

“I’ll just stay here.”

“What?” Shidou’s eyes widened, and the easy, comforting smile dropped from his face. “Rin…” Something crossed over the other striker’s face, a ripple of confusion and maybe disappointment. Rin wasn’t certain, but he’d definitely be very disappointed with himself right now. Was disappointed with himself, right now. So it’d make sense that Shidou was disappointed.

“Rin.” He said it again– Rin. Not Rinrin or Rin-chan or any other nickname– like it meant something, like he was serious.

Rin hated that it worked. That it made his panic die down, made his breaths calm, and focused his brain on what would inevitably follow. Because when Shidou said “Rin” it meant that he wasn’t joking, that he wanted Rin’s attention immediately and in full, that he was about to say something important. He’d said it more this morning than he had in months– Rin figured that spoke for itself.

“Your relationship with Sae is rough…” Shidou held up his hands to shush Rin before he could even start to protest, “I know. Understatement of the century. Regardless– you shouldn't let that stop you from visiting him. He’s in the hospital, Rin. Not to be that guy, but this could be your last chance to talk to him. It probably won’t be– don’t freak out on me– but still.” The blond paused, mouth opening and closing ridiculously as he tried (and failed, for at least a solid minute) to find the right words, “He’s your brother.”

“I know that,” Rin bit out, trying to pretend like Shidou’s stupid speech hadn’t been exactly what he needed. There was something comforting about the bug’s honest, tactless approach to motivation and comfort. “Shut up and get out of the car.”

Shidou tossed him a lopsided grin– a little nervous, a little shaky, but genuine– before he did just as Rin asked. And Shidou never listened.

He supposed that the whole situation had knocked them both out of their element– Rin, out of control and lost in his thoughts when he was usually orderly and focused; Shidou, quiet and obedient when he was usually loud and wild, almost feral.

They were quite a pair, but they worked well together.

It was all he thought about as they walked to the hospital’s entrance: How ridiculously grateful he was for Shidou standing by his side.

…

The hospital was surprisingly calm when they entered.

Rin didn’t know what he had expected– maybe the rush of nurses and doctors as they tried to save a dying patient, or the eerie stillness of a building full of the sick and injured. It wasn't any of that.

There was simply the quiet buzz of people, as if the hospital were a completely normal place to be, like a grocery store or a restaurant. He supposed this might be true, for some. But he’d never been to the hospital before. The environment was foreign and put him on edge.

In a way, it almost reminded him of Sae. Too-clean, strictly ordered, and colorless. He had a brief thought that the hospital was perfect for his brother, then realized it was in ill taste and quickly pushed it away.

Shidou did all the talking, when they approached the front desk.

The lady working there smiled at them, uttering a quick greeting that Rin was too slow to catch. She was a middle-aged woman, with a face that was easy to forget, but seemed kind enough.

Shidou must’ve said something about not speaking Spanish, as the woman had switched to accented English. The language caught at the edges of Rin’s attention, and he was struck with a sudden wave of relief that Shidou had become fluent in it. Rin really wasn’t in the mood for talking.

“Who are you visiting today?”

“Sae Itoshi.”

“Oh! Are you family? You look so alike!” Her eyes darted to Rin, and he knew she was analyzing his eyes and his face, “My husband is a big fan of Sae’s. I was very sorry to hear about his accident.” She paused to type away at a computer and rattled off some other questions that Rin didn’t hear and Shidou answered.

They had to give their names, show identification, and clarify what they were there for. Just boring formalities.

When she was finally done, she handed them visitor cards and smiled, “Follow the directions I gave you and you should find where he is. If you get lost don’t hesitate to ask for directions. Have a nice day!”

Rin was already turning to Shidou before she’d finished. Her cheery tone had doubled the pounding in his head. He wanted to say something, maybe ‘Shut up!’– a phrase that he'd become quite fond of– but he knew she was only trying to be kind. So he bit his tongue and didn’t say a word.

He hadn’t paid attention to any of her instructions when she’d given them. It left him feeling more than a little lost, forcing him to turn to Shidou for directions.

Thankfully, the older striker seemed to be just as present and focused as Rin was absent and drifting.

Shidou thanked the lady at the front desk and marched off to their destination, waving for Rin to follow. He knew better to grab him by the hand, when he was in such a state– that is, a state where teasing and jokes would lead to violence and yelling.

The sound of their shoes against the linoleum tiles felt loud, even though the buzz of quiet chatter and machines was a constant presence in the air.

Rin followed Shidou mindlessly, feeling a lot like he should've just stayed in the car. It would've been easier than facing his brother– and whatever state he was in.

For a moment, he thought that it’d be easier if Sae was unconscious. Then he wouldn’t have to wither under his brother’s cold gaze, or suffer his biting words. It was a terrible, selfish thought. But he couldn't let go of it, and as Shidou uttered a low, “Almost there,” Rin found himself hoping that it were true– that Sae was unconscious.

Then, he thought himself to be a fool.

Rin might not have a good relationship with Sae, but he knew his brother.

He’d be awake.

Even if he wasn't supposed to be– he would. The doctors would marvel at him.

After all, Sae was the perfect human. Almost robotic in nature.

A few more heartbeats passed, and Shidou stopped. Rin nearly stumbled into him, the motion was so sudden.

“Want me to go in first?” Shidou offered, quite gently, like Rin was some lukewarm coward who couldn’t even face his own brother. He ignored that there was, in fact, a lot of truth in that line of thought, if that's what the blond was thinking.

Not deigning to respond, Rin pushed open the door– ignoring the pounding of his blood in his veins, of his heart in his ears, of his brain in his skull– and stepped inside.

His eyes quickly surveyed the room– noting the odd off-white floor, the machines that whirred and beeped, the curtains shielding the bright light of the windows, the sickly green of the walls– before finally landing on the center of the room. Where the bed (and thus, his brother) was.

He couldn’t see Sae, just yet.

A man, dressed in a navy-blue sweater and black pants, blocked his view.

At the sound of the door click-ing shut behind them– Shidou had followed quickly behind him– the man turned his head.

“Oh! You must be Rin!” He exclaimed, quite pleasantly, as he adjusted the pair of glasses perched on his nose, “Sae-chan, your brother is here.”

Hearing his brother's name said so casually from a stranger’s lips lit a fire under Rin’s skin. ‘Sae-chan’? Who even was this man? He could feel his face pulling into a glare.

Shidou glanced at him, concerned.

Rin ignored him and stomped forward, shoving the strange man out of the way to stare at Sae.

He looked frail, sitting there– upright and awake like Rin knew he would be– with his pale skin, marked by a number of bruises and scrapes. There were bandages on his arms, wrapped around his head, and Rin suspected there were some on his legs– though they were out of sight, tucked neatly under a blanket.

His hair was all fucked up, matted and dirty, rusty in some places like blood had dried and become impossible to wash off completely. His face looked disgusting. It was covered in dark splatters of bruises– bruises Rin had nearly forgotten he’d put there– and tiny, inconsequential scrapes. That is, except for one gash on his left temple. Even stitched up, it looked bad enough Rin thought it might leave a scar.

But his eyes. They were unchanged. And they looked at Rin with some measure of clarity that he wasn’t sure was possible, for someone who almost surely had a head injury.

Sae didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The way he stared at Rin– Like one might stare at a piece of shit on their shoe as if to say ‘why the hell are you here?’– spoke enough.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The words slipped out of his lips as the thought crossed his mind. He’d come to the hospital, worried, concerned, stressed, only for Sae to look at him like that. Like he was worthless, and had no place there. Fuck that.

The stranger’s hands went up nervously, as if his instinct was to mediate, “Hey–”

But Rin wasn’t finished.

He jabbed a finger in Sae’s direction, “I found out about this from the news. Want to explain that to me, Sae? I–” Here, he paused to laugh, the sound almost manic, “I don’t understand. What is your fucking problem? I can understand not calling me for anything else– but this? You’ve got to be joking.” His voice shook, rising in volume with each word. He wasn’t quite sure if it was due to rage, fear, sorrow, or a twisted combination of all three. “And you’re awake, too. What the fuck were you doing, instead of telling me about this? Twiddling your thumbs? Staring at the goddamn wall? Sitting there, pleased with yourself for leaving me out of the fucking loop?”

Rin paused to take a breath, realizing in the sudden silence of the room– broken only by his heaving breaths– that he’d been yelling. Loudly.

Sae’s eyes were trained on him, unblinking, unreadable. It made him feel sick. He wanted to shout some more, yell at him to stop staring, but his voice was suddenly caught in his throat.

The room fell into a deep quiet.

His brother was the first to break it.

“I…” Sae’s voice sounded different than it had last night. Weathered. Rin was horrified to realize it was probably from screaming– or crying. Then he realized the last was a foolish notion. Sae Itoshi didn’t cry.

Sae coughed a little, then tried again, “I don’t have your number.” The words came out flat, with no inflection. As if he were stating a fact. But Rin knew it was a lie. He knew Sae had his number.

Even though his brother was using that convincing tone of his– that made it seem like he was the one who was correct, always– Rin knew better.

He opened his mouth to tell Sae that he was lying, that he was a liar and should quit this little game of his, only to be interrupted by the stranger (who had not stopped lurking by Sae’s bed).

“Perhaps we should all calm down?” The man suggested, though his use of “we” felt strangely targeted. “My name is Dabadie– I’m Sae-chan’s manager.” He held out a hand, presumably for Rin to shake, then lowered it once it became apparent that the younger Itoshi would not be doing so.

“Nice to meet you, too. My name’s Shidou,” Shidou said, quite mildly, in response. He was acting almost polite, as if to make up for Rin’s impoliteness. That is, until he tacked on a quick: “I’m Sae-chan’s demon.” that was declared so normally one might miss it.

Dabadie didn’t seem to take offense from the statement at all, nor from Rin’s silence. He simply adjusted his glasses, looked at Sae– who was staring impassively at the ceiling tiles (and perhaps counting them, for how little he seemed to pay attention to the conversation)– and sighed, deeply, as if he were questioning his career.

His eyes found Rin’s, almost suddenly, “I can already tell that you and your brother are very much alike.”

Rin hated the way the words speared his heart, stalled his lungs, and added to the storm of his emotions.

Him and Sae, very much alike?

He would have given up every little bone in his body to be told such a thing when he was younger. Now, he might even give up his dominant, right leg to simply hear the words from Sae’s lips.

The effect of the phrase was both poisonous and addictive.

On one hand, it gave Rin a rush of guilty pleasure to be associated with Sae in such a small manner. He wanted to hear it said again, wanted to ask why so that he could hear the similarities between him and his brother. But most of all, he wanted to prompt the admittance that they both played exquisite soccer.

On the other hand, it made him sick to think that he was tied to Sae. To think of the way that they were stuck together, bound together, by their blood. To think that he was the younger Itoshi– the second Itoshi, the lesser Itoshi– to Sae’s older, first, greater.

But the worst realization was that Dabadie probably meant they had similar personalities. That he was being associated with Sae like a teacher might associate a younger sibling with their older brother’s bratty behavior.

He wasn’t cold, like Sae. He wasn’t heartless. He wasn't robotic, or cruel.

Such a claim was simply false.

“What?” Rin’s voice came out sharp, defensive. He could see Sae’s lukewarm manager shiver under his gaze and look to Sae, as if that creature would do anything to help him. Sae didn’t help. He destroyed things beautifully. Like it was an art and not a terrible crime. It was what he was good at.

He had, after all, destroyed Rin so beautifully on that winter night. The snow-fall had been so divine, with each snowflake shining in the artificial light like diamonds. As if the world had recognized what Sae was about to do and had set the stage for him.

Rin was about to repeat himself– louder, sharper– when Shidou’s hand came down on his shoulder. The older striker’s nails dug into his skin even through the shirt, his fingers squeezing hard enough to leave marks. The small act of violence was enough to snap Rin’s attention away from Dabadie, away from Sae, and towards the stupid cockroach.

From Shidou’s small smirk, Rin could tell that was what he intended all along. To drag Rin’s attention onto him and away from starting another argument.

Sae’s eyes burned into them both, analyzing.

“Okay, rinrin. Cool it. Leave the poor man alone.” Shidou rolled his eyes before shaking his head and staring pointedly at Dabadie. The look seemed to say: ‘Itoshis, am I right?’

The man laughed nervously and seemed like he didn't understand. He probably didn’t, honestly. Shidou was a tough nut to crack. It took a while to get used to the patterns of his behaviors (or lack thereof).

Rin was sorry to say that he’d been around the roach long enough that he could decipher almost every action and reaction the blond made.

“Sooooo…” Shidou began, drawing the sound out childishly, “How’re ya feeling, Sae-chan? Any crazy injuries?” His voice sounded cheerful, and he seemed to be mostly back to normal– if Shidou’s regular state could be considered “normal”– save for the nervous taps of his fingers against Rin’s shoulder.

It was telling that he hadn’t moved his hand from Rin’s shoulder even after relaxing it. Shidou was a man who sought contact, especially when he was anxious.

The room fell into silence for the nth time, as they all waited on Sae’s response. The midfielder was looking at Shidou, with an odd look in his eyes. The bug merely blinked back at him, waiting.

Sae’s voice sounded small when he finally spoke, “I’m fine.”

It didn’t sound convincing.

Even to Rin.

And Rin excelled at falling for his brother’s lies.

“Really?” Shidou replied. He sounded so hopeful that Rin almost nailed him in the ribs and asked him if he was really that stupid.

Sae nodded.

It looked jerky. Robotic. Scripted. Fake.

Dabadie’s shoes squeaked nervously against the floor, and the man adjusted his glasses again. It seemed to be a frequent habit of his.

“Sae-chan.” The man admonished, like a parent might scold their child. Rin waited for Sae to snap at him to shut up, but he only stared at his hands silently. “Tell them.”

And although Sae didn’t have to– there was no law binding him to share his diagnosis– he opened his mouth and did.

“My left leg,” Sae uttered, softly enough that they all had to quiet to listen, but not so soft as to sound meek, “It was shattered.” At this, he moved the blankets to the side, exposing his left leg and– the sight made Rin’s heart stop. It was, like he said, broken. A white cast surrounded it like a tomb. His brother’s dominant leg, broken. No, shattered.

But it doesn’t look so bad, Rin thought. It’ll heal up fine.

“Oh.” Sae exhaled, gently, as if he’d forgotten something simple, “And the surgeon said they did their best, but I’ll never play soccer again. I may struggle to walk, even.” His voice was void of all emotion and any intonation. Like it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t change everything.

It pissed Rin off. More than anything had ever pissed him off before.

Sae’s life was soccer.

Rin’s memories of his brother had always been accompanied by the black-and-white of the boy’s soccer ball. He was stuck to it like glue, and it was all he talked about.

Rin, He’d say, with that sparkle in his eye, come watch me play!

And Rin would say, Okay! and watch him. There was something special in watching Sae work his magic, in seeing his brother on the field and being able to say “That’s my nii-chan” to impressed spectators.

Soccer became even more special when they’d started to play together.

Sae and Rin, Rin and Sae.

The unstoppable Itoshi brothers.

They were perfect together.

But soccer changed, for Sae, after Spain. He’d become better, stronger, and smarter than Rin. Had risen Leagues above him.

And he’d decided that Rin was worthless to him.

He’d ruined everything.

Beautifully. Concisely.

And now– now Sae had the audacity to act like soccer didn’t mean anything to him?

Like losing his leg wasn’t equivalent to losing his life?

It made Rin seethe, “I–” He took a deep breath, felt his anger burn like lava in his throat, in his lungs. Shidou’s hand was heavy where it sat on his shoulder. He opened his mouth again, to speak, but no words came out. He was at a loss.

Sae stared at him, blinking his fucking dead fish eyes slowly, like he hadn’t just said his career was over, his dreams crushed forever, and his life ruined beyond repair.

It made his anger falter and fade into something worse. Something weaker.

His eyes burned with it, his throat closing up, his lungs seizing. He must've been trembling, for Shidou’s hand tightened to steady him and the man gave him a concerned look.

Sae’s eyes remained on him. He raised a single eyebrow, like he was asking a question.

It was embarrassing, to be dissected so thoroughly. To be understood so easily.

Rin muttered an excuse– something along the lines of I’ll be back, going to call our parents– that he didn’t hear as it left his mouth.

No one stopped him as he exited the room.

The door clicked shut.

He let out a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

I want to go home.

I want my mom.

The thoughts were infantile, lukewarm. But he couldn’t stop them.

It didn’t matter that Sae had been more of a parent to him than his mother had ever been– humans were, after all, animals, and there was something instinctual in a child’s bond to its mother.

And it really was instinct, not logic, that drove Rin’s next actions.

For logic would’ve told him that calling his mother would amount to nothing. That she wouldn't answer because she never did.

But the impressionable, childlike part of his brain– to which he was reduced in such a moment of fear (for it was fear he had truly felt upon learning of Sae’s injury)– had hope that she would. Maybe she’d even offer a word of comfort, saying to him: “I’m so sorry, Rin-chan. Are you going to be alright? You can stay with us for a while, if you need to.”

Rin picked up his phone and dialed her number.

In the not-quite-silence of the hospital, he stood, and waited as the phone rang.

He felt his heart pounding in his chest, and hoped beyond reason that she’d answer.

He just wanted her to answer.

The phone kept ringing.

Rin didn’t look at the time. It would tell him something he didn’t want to know.

He kept his eyes on his phone.

It rang a couple more times, the buzz of it traveling through his fingers, into his bones.

Then it stopped.

He tried again, felt his fingers begin to tremble as it rang, and rang, and rang.

There was no answer.

Rin’s breath was loud to his own ears as he attempted to call for a third time.

He could barely see the contact on his phone– simply labeled mom– through the tears blurring his vision.

A few heartbeats passed.

He nodded awkwardly as a nurse walked by.

The call failed.

Rin’s heart shattered for what felt like the tenth time since he’d woken up.

He’d known she wouldn’t call. He’d known.

But the fact that she hadn’t– it still hurt anyway.

Just like it still hurt that Sae was so cold, that he wouldn’t apologize, that he didn’t care, even though Rin expected it from him.

Standing there, in the hospital’s hallway, Rin began to cry.

He cried violently– sobbing in a way that shook his entire body and left no air in his lungs to breathe– leaving a sick feeling in his stomach that made him want to puke.

He shuddered, gasping, tears streaming down his face.

He simply cried.

Alone.

He was back where Sae had left him, when he was just 11 years old.

Kneeling on the ground, pleading and crying with thin air to stop.

Because he hadn’t been crying to Sae for more than a few seconds. His older brother had walked away without a single backwards glance, ignoring him completely. And his cries had soon echoed into the void of the night, with naught but the stars to hear them.

Sae had left him then.

Now he’d left him again.

But this time, it was almost certainly for good.

Sae Itoshi, Japan’s Prodigy, would not return to the pitch.

He might heal, but even then he’d be weaker. Lesser. Secondary.

Just a midfielder from Japan. Or perhaps the “Former Genius”.

A rotten, bitter voice whispered that he’d finally be beating his brother.

Are you happy now? It hissed, This is what you wanted, isn’t it?

Rin only cried harder because he knew– recalling all the times he’d screamed for Sae's death and swore he’d do anything to see Sae’s downfall– that this was exactly what he’d begged for.

And he didn’t want it anymore.

Chapter Text

The first time Sae woke up it was with a fitful start and a plea stuttering halfway from his lips, a garbled imitation of “I’m sorry!” echoing throughout the room.

His heart was hammering, instincts urging him to run from a danger that was no longer present. His hands clenched in the sheets of the bed– it was the only movement his body could bear, with all its aches and pains.

Sae took a bracing breath, to calm himself. It caught in his throat and he coughed roughly, once, twice, the effort sending dull pain shooting from his ribs to his entire body. He clutched at his side and let out a low groan, blinking back tears.

A nurse who had been standing nearby rushed to his side. Her hand was gentle against his back as she eased him back against the pillows and murmured things he didn’t register.

His head felt filled with cotton, each sensation oddly different in a way that he could just barely recognize and not quite grasp. It made his eyes hurt.

A machine beeped steadily in the background.

The nurse said something more to him. He nodded as if he’d heard, but he was too stunned to grasp anything other than the word ‘doctor’.

She gave him a glass of water, examined a couple machines and nodded– with what seemed to be approval, or satisfaction– before leaving.

Sae didn’t touch the water, regardless of the burning dryness in his throat.

His entire body felt fuzzy and sore. Exhaustion pulled at his eyes, aided by the dim light of the room.

It wasn’t long before he fell into darkness again.

…

The second time he woke, it was to the gentle murmur of voices.

He felt calm, but in a strange, quiet kind of way.
It was a calm filled with unspoken possibilities of winning or losing– or ending in a draw, which was somehow worse in a variety of ways. The type of calm that created an atmosphere that was not panicked, but also not peaceful. Such that your thoughts whispered that you were going to lose something with a rationality that left little room for emotion.

It was the kind of calm that hung in Re Al’s locker room before an important match, each player tense and on edge as if ready for a battle they’d long trained for, knowing that even in victory there would be loss. Knowing that even those on the winning team could suffer in victory, falling behind the prowess of their teammates and landing themselves on the bench. A tie, in every sense of the word. A position not-quite-lost but also not-quite-won.

Sae felt this type of calm keenly. A not-quite-loss but also a not-quite-victory. An unsettled calm. He’d survived the car crash– he’d won– but he’d also been injured–he’d lost– and so, he’d ended the night in a draw.

Something in the air shifted. The murmurs grew a little louder, enough that they reached his ears, quite clearly.

“You are right to be worried, but he’s very stable as of now. The crash was bad, but the driver caught most of the impact.” The person who spoke had a deep voice, soft but firm– Sae thought it might be a doctor, with the way he was speaking.

The man continued after a brief pause, during which there was the rustling of what might've been papers, “Mr. Itoshi has a concussion, but the damage is limited and shouldn't affect him long-term. What we really need to discuss is the treatment for his other injuries, but we’ll wait until he’s awake.” Here his voice faded away, though it seemed intentional, as he soon prompted someone with a quiet: “Do you have any questions?”

The voice that replied was strangely familiar, “No, thank you. I’m just glad to hear he’ll be okay.”

“He’ll recover,” The doctor clarified, “But there may be complications and it will be a long process. I must warn you to be prepared for setbacks.”

The other man hummed, “I understand. I was just.. it was hard to hear that Sae-chan had–” Here he broke off, sounding choked by emotion, and it became clear to Sae who was speaking. It was his manager, Dabadie. He had forgotten to count Dabadie, his trusty emergency contact, in the list of the few people who called him by that nickname.

Before the crash, at the bar, he’d limited that honor to Shidou– who didn’t know when he should shut the fuck up– though in truth both his mother and Dabadie called him Sae-chan, as well. He simply thought of their use of his childhood nickname more fondly. In Shidou’s mouth it was made foul. In his mother’s, in Dabadie’s, it was soothing.

The conversation between the doctor and Dabadie continued.

“Sorry.” Dabadie’s voice was tight, a little watery. He sounded exhausted. It made Sae feel like shit. He wanted to say something, though he wasn’t sure what, but weariness kept him still, pulling at his limbs with a vengeance.

The doctor’s voice was closer when he next spoke, “Don't apologize. It’s natural to be upset, even if the patient is doing well.”

The chattering of the two men quieted, falling into whispers.

A machine whirred loudly.

Sae was barely able to make out their next words.

“... surgery went well. His leg…”

“That’s good… payment is… do you think… possible…”

“... uncertain. He may never… again. The… shattered…”

“I see. Would… aid him… recovery?”

“... may not… if he can… the pain… and… have to wait…”

Footsteps sounded closeby, and their voices shifted further away until they became so soft he couldn't hear them, once more.

The room fell back into its still not-calm.

Sae was too tired to think very hard about what they’d said, beyond the fact that it didn’t sound like he’d won the lottery of accidents. Something was wrong. But he was so, so exhausted, and the pain medication curbed the anxiety that he supposed he should've been feeling.

It wasn’t long before he was asleep again.

…

When Sae woke for the third time, it was to blinding pain in his skull. Bright light warmed his face and sent daggers straight into his eyes, even through the eyelids. His head throbbed mercilessly, a pressure building behind his eyes that had him wondering if they’d simply pop out of his skull.

His head twisted to the side, reflexively moving away from the light. It didn’t help much. Despite the pain, he opened his eyes halfway, an arm coming up to shield them from the worst of the light. A groan escaped his throat before he was able to swallow the sound.

Footsteps echoed throughout the room, clack-ing hurriedly.

“Mr. Itoshi?” A young woman’s voice asked, gently. A hand went to shake his shoulder. He forced his eyelids completely open to blink at her. His face scrunched up in a mixture of pain and confusion, the arm in front of his face wavering.

The nurse moved from his side briefly, and there was the sound of curtains being slid shut. The light faded away into something more bearable. His head still pounded, but it no longer felt like it was becoming exponentially worse.

“Mr. Itoshi, is that better?” The nurse had walked back to his bedside, and appeared to be in her late thirties.

“Yes.” Sae blinked and took a deep breath, “Why– Where did– What happened?” The question stumbled inelegantly out of his mouth. His thoughts were running faster than his body could keep up, asking more questions than it was possible to voice.

The nurse folded her hands neatly in front of herself and spoke in a rather polite manner, “You were in a car crash, Mr. Itoshi.”

“Yes,” Sae said. The word came out flat, inexpressive. Like he was simply agreeing with a fact. And he was.

He could remember the flashes of the crash– the sharp, stinging pain of his head against the glass, the agony in his leg, bad enough that his entire body tensed up– and he remembered the driver.

That poor driver.

His hand, dripping scarlet.

His body, unmoving, quiet.

Sae hadn’t dared to glance too long at him, for fear of what he might see. He couldn't even remember what the man’s face looked like.

The thought had him shaken, and it was near impossible for him to stop thinking about that poor driver– even though he’d just woken up around 10 minutes ago.

But most of all– above his injuries, above the tragedy of the driver– he remembered Rin.

And his little brother hadn’t even been there.

Yet Sae couldn't stop thinking about him, as that melody played in the background, as his world spun rapidly even after the car had stopped flipping.

He remembered the bar. That floating, absent feeling of having too much to drink. Shidou’s bubblegum eyes, blinking at him. Rin’s face, emerging from the crowd, twisted in disbelief and anger.

He remembered yelling– sharp, loud, cutting words– that echoed in his ears. The exact words escaped him, but Rin’s distress and rage were clear.

He remembered saying something to him. Something cruel. Something necessary. Rin had punched him in response, and Sae had punched him right back.

He remembered Rin’s eyes glimmering with unshed tears, his nose broken, his face already bruising, his body trembling as if under duress, his hands beaten and bloody, and his voice as he cried.

He remembered the way Rin had taunted him, after. Each word had been all bark and no bite. Of course, there had been a bite when Rin’s fist had met Sae’s face, but his eyes weren’t filled with hate, like Sae had expected.

Rin had been looking at him with those eyes– the eyes he turned to Sae as if begging for him to look at him– and it had broken Sae’s heart.

He’d thought more than twice about the words leaving his mouth– he wasn’t oblivious, he knew exactly what he was doing– but the cost was worth it. They were for Rin’s benefit, afterall. If Sae had to make his brother hate him for him to succeed as a striker, he’d do it. He had done it. He was doing it.

But he’d regretted throwing that punch the moment his fist had snapped Rin’s nose.

They’d never gotten physical before, outside of soccer. And that was merely pushing and shoving. The solid punch Sae had thrown was worlds away from that.

It was different.

It was visceral, the feeling of bone– His baby brother’s bone– cracking under the force of his fist. It had sent a shiver down his spine, made a sick feeling bubble up his throat, and had stopped his body in its tracks.

He remembered stopping, for a second. Hesitating. Not-quite stepping forward but also not-quite standing still.

It came to him, then, what exactly he’d meant to do, in that lull after the punch.

The word had been on his lips.

The action had been in the forefront of his brain.

But Sae was too scared to say it. Too scared to say that he was sorry. That he didn’t mean it. That it was all a lie. That Rin’s goal had been divine, not fraudulent.

Yet… If he had said all that he meant– that he was sorry– what had all of his efforts been for?

The thought had held him back.

He had been doing this for too long to quit now. He had to wait until the time was right. Maybe when he’d healed. Maybe once Rin had won the World Cup. Once he’d reached his full potential.

Sae ignored the shame that built up in his chest, hot and uncomfortable, at the knowledge that he’d promised Luna he’d apologize.

He’d promised people a lot of things. Himself. Rin. Luna. Shidou.

Sae had come to detest promises– the binding nature of telling someone you’d do something, be something, win something, because you promised– and how illogical they were. Promises were built on nothing but hopes and dreams. Promises were childish. Promises didn’t make you a better striker. Promises didn’t make talent. Promises were meant to be broken. Promises were weak.

If only Rin could understand–

Promises weren’t meant to last.

Their promise wasn’t meant to last.

It was just a poor facade masking the truth of reality, a childish dream that would never survive in the face of true soccer.

He came back to reality at the gentle clearing of the nurse’s throat. She was regarding him with an odd look– one that made him shrink back into his pillows, feeling a lot like a specimen under a microscope.

“Well, Mr. Itoshi, the crash was pretty severe. I’ve just called for the doctor. He should be here to explain everything in depth for you momentarily.” The nurse smiled at him, politely, though she seemed to be pitying him, a little. “Any questions? Concerns?”

Sae looked at her for a moment, “My head hurts.” The nurse looked at him like she expected him to elaborate. He didn't. What he’d said was clear enough.

“That would be the concussion. Common side effects include headaches.” She explained, then paused to ask: “Anything else?”

“No.”

“Alright, then.” She gave him one last glance before turning towards the machines tucked next to the bed. They hummed quietly, filling the otherwise silent air with noise.

Sae sunk into his pillows and sighed.

Was it wrong that he was already wishing he could just go back to sleep?

A part of him (that sounded a lot like Rin) taunted him: Trying to run away again?

And it was undeniable that he wanted to run, that he would have run.

Except with each passing moment the weight of exhaustion pressed its hands more heavily onto his shoulders, and the sharp pain in his left leg increased.

He’d almost forgotten about it– his leg.

But now, it was practically screaming for his attention– yelling that it was hurt– so much that the throbbing of his head began to pale in comparison.

And Sae knew, suddenly, that there wouldn’t be any running, this time.

…

By the time the doctor entered the room, Sae was drained. He hadn’t even done anything, and his leg was killing him, his head was killing him– and, fuck it, who was he kidding? Everything was killing him.

The nurse had given him more painkillers a few moments ago, but they had yet to kick in.

“It still hurts.” He’d said, shortly after she’d put the medicine into his IV drip.

She’d fixed him with a long-suffering look, one that asked him if he’d ever lived a day on earth.

Sae had been too embarrassed to admit that he had absolutely no knowledge of medicine. Re Al’s team doctor simply took care of that for him. And Dabadie, his manager, handled all his appointments, all the instructions.

After sighing deeply, the nurse had said “It will take a while before you feel the effects, since I just gave it to you.”

“Give me more.”

“Are you–” She’d sighed again, the unspoken ‘Kidding me?’ petering off into nothing as she blinked at him, astonished yet trying to remain professional, “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Itoshi. I’ve already administered the recommended dose. I assure you it will kick in soon.”

Soon? He’d thought. Fuck that.

But he hadn’t had a chance to say anything more, as the doctor had arrived.

“How are you today, Mr. Itoshi?” The doctor asked. His voice snapped Sae back to reality. It was quiet yet serious. The man himself seemed to be around forty or fifty years old. He carried himself with a kind of relaxed confidence that told Sae he’d been working at the hospital for a long time.

Unfazed by any lack of response, the man smiled and continued to speak, “Looking better than the last time I saw you.”

“... Get to the point already.” Sae said, before he could stop himself.

If the doctor was offended by his response, he didn’t show it, “Okay, then! There’s a lot we need to go over with you. I’ve already discussed things with your manager, but it’s very important that you understand your situation.”

“My manager?” He blinked a little, feeling sluggish.

The doctor nodded, slowly, “Yes. He was here earlier.” His fingers tapped gently against a clipboard Sae only just realized he was holding. “He was contacted right after your crash. I’ve already discussed your condition with him, as well as the costs of your stay.”

Sae hummed, somewhere in the back of his throat, “Where is he.” He’d meant to add more inflection to his voice, but it had fallen flat and had come out as a statement rather than a question.

“I believe he went to grab lunch, but he should be back shortly. He’s been told that you’re awake.” The man smiled at him, gently, reassuring.

Sae just nodded absently to show he was listening. He’d almost forgotten that Dabadie was his emergency contact. It was nice to know he was here, in the hospital. That he’d be back.

The doctor cleared his throat, “Now, Mr. Itoshi, let’s discuss your injuries. Would you like me to start with the good news, or the bad news?” The man’s eyes flickered across the pages on his clipboard, fingers tapping absently as he waited for a response.

Sae drew in a slow, deep breath, blinking.

Part of him wanted to ask the doctor to leave. Tell him that he didn’t want to know anything at all– good news or bad news. Because any news was bad.

And despite the pain he was feeling (Which had dulled significantly. The nurse wasn’t lying when she had said the medicine would kick in soon.) there was something secure in not knowing what it meant.

Yes, it hurt, but for now it was an unlabeled hurt.

It meant nothing.

But a diagnosis?

It wasn’t a reality that he could run from. That he could pretend didn’t exist.

And that scared him.

He didn’t want to hear what he suspected might fall from the doctor’s mouth.

He didn’t want to hear that he couldn’t–

Because what was he without–

Sae’s breath stuttered. A machine spiked along with his heartbeat.

He couldn’t bear to think about it.

The doctor gave him a pitying look– it made his insides twist with something rotten that made him want to rip his skin off– and stilled his page-flipping, “Good news, then.”

He paused for a moment.

Sae hated the way his eyes darted to the machine tracking his pulse– with readings high enough to expose his stress, despite his efforts to keep a calm exterior. It felt a little like how he imagined having one’s mind read might feel– violating, embarrassing, repulsive.

“Overall, your injuries are surprisingly mild. A moderate concussion, bruises and scrapes, a couple broken ribs, and some minor swelling. Most of this should disappear within a few weeks, and even the concussion will resolve itself within a similar time period.” The doctor smiled, as if to say ‘isn’t that just wonderful?’, before he continued, “The force of the crash was mostly absorbed by the front of the car. One might say you are quite lucky, Mr. Itoshi!”

The midfielder frowned.

Lucky? Him?

He had the sudden urge to ask the doctor if he was talking to the right patient.

Lucky and Sae Itoshi didn’t belong in the same sentence.

Unbothered by his lack of joy, the doctor kept speaking, “There is one issue, though. The bad news.” He frowned, and the expression on the doctor’s face had Sae tensing, unbidden.

Was it really that bad?

“I know soccer’s important to you…”

He felt his heart drop into his stomach. The beeping of his heart rate spiked, and he could see the way it made the nurse (who was still lurking close by) tense, too.

The doctor sighed, deeply, and looked at Sae with a serious expression, “I regret to inform you that your left leg was fractured quite severely in the accident. Our surgeons did their best to repair it, but you won’t be playing soccer anytime soon. Perhaps not even in the future. You may even struggle to walk. You’ll have to undergo an extensive recovery process.”

The words turned Sae’s world upside down.

The doctor’s voice sounded muffled, as if Sae were being spoken to through a layer of cotton instead of air.

He felt himself inhale.

“… years of physical therapy…”

He exhaled– unsteady– and the action seemed to take not just the carbon dioxide out of his lungs but also his mind out of his body.

His fingertips felt fuzzy. The doctor’s voice faded, drowned by a ringing in his ears. His heartbeat thundered its symphony in his ears, thrumming like a ticking bomb within his chest.

It felt like a switch had been pressed– a wire cut, a plug pulled– as his heart started to tick, tick, tick towards explosion.

Sae hadn’t really expected it.

He supposed he should have. It was his leg. He felt the way it throbbed unnaturally– more painful than any sprain, strain, or tear he’d felt before. He should've known it wasn’t just an issue with his tendons, his muscles, his joints.

But to hear it so plainly–

To hear that his left leg, his dominant leg, was shattered?

Not broken. Not fractured. Not snapped. Shattered.

Shattered like his mother’s fine china, when Rin had teetered on a stool to reach the ‘pretty plates’ tucked high away in a cabinet. Sae could still remember the way his heart had stopped, when he’d heard the unmistakable sound of porcelain dashing against the floor and his brother’s cries.

He could still remember Rin standing on a stool, surrounded by a sea of tiny pieces of sharp milky-white glass. He’d been sobbing so harshly Sae had feared he’d fall and cut his body to pieces.

He could still remember Rin’s tiny voice, “I– mama’s gonna b-be so–” He had sniffled, breathless and red-faced from his cries, “mad at me.”

And the plate had been truly broken beyond repair.

It had been shattered.

Sae sucked in a breath, lungs seizing.

Would he really be unable to play?

“...the pain… chronic…”

The doctor’s voice droned on in the background and with each passing word Sae felt his heart pound further and further towards explosion.

He could remember the first time he’d played soccer.

His first contact with the sport had been a local match between two Japanese teams. Why his parents had even taken him there, he wasn’t sure, but that didn’t matter. The entire experience was colored in a light and joy that only came from childhood memories– everything had just seemed so much better at that age, more interesting and new. More alive.

The pitch had been bright green, the lights an unforgiving white. The players had looked like ants on the field, they were so far away. It was hot, and not the forgiving type of heat. The summer sun beat down on them with a vengeance. Sae could barely see between the rows of seats, filled with warm bodies much bigger than his own. None of it had mattered once the whistle blew, starting the kick-off.

Sae had been enamored. With as much excitement as his small body had been able to contain, he’d sat on the edge of his seat and watched the entire match.

Each pass had been precise, as if the ball followed a rhythm only the players could conduct. It had tap-ped audibly against their cleats, the sound in and of itself almost like music.

Never had something seemed so beautiful to him before.

Sae had gotten his first soccer ball that week, then his first cleats, and then his first uniform.

And the feeling of the ball under his foot had been heaven.

And now–

Now–

“...retirement is probably… best option…”

Sae trembled, looked down at his lap to see his hands fisted in the sheets– hands that he knew were attached to his arms but didn’t feel like his, anyway– and his legs, covered by the thin blankets.

He felt a rush of bitterness flood his mouth, a mix of anger and the sharp tang of bile.

Retirement?

Players retired in their thirties, at the earliest. Some even lasted until their forties.

Sae was twenty three.

He still had at least seven years left of playing soccer.

It was all he knew, he couldn’t just stop–

He didn’t deserve–

No. He knew that this was all his fault, that all those years looking down on players, looking down on Rin, were catching up to him.

That he was just a colossal asshole finally getting the punishment he was due for.

That this was the universe’s final blow.

He wouldn't have cared, if it had been anything else.

An eye. A hand. An arm.

His life.

But soccer–

“...I’m truly sorry…”

Was Sae Itoshi really Sae Itoshi if he wasn’t playing soccer?

He certainly wasn’t a genius at anything else.

All his life, it’d been soccer. Sleep, eat, soccer, repeat. He hadn't paid attention in school. He’d barely attended. His grades had been worse than piss-poor. He wasn’t even sure how he’d remained on the team– that was a lie. It was because there hadn’t been anyone better– and at the time, he hadn’t given a single thought to it.

All he’d ever thought about was soccer, soccer, soccer.

It had almost made his heart burst when Rin had expressed interest in the sport, too. And when his teammates had muttered in annoyance, he’d not hesitated to tell them to back off. Because there was nothing in the world better than playing soccer as the lesser half of the Itoshi Brothers.

He’d been so happy–

He’d been so free–

“...you… beautifully… last match…”

Sae choked on an exhale. Felt his body float somewhere between reality and nothing. He blinked.

He saw the arch of Rin’s goal, burning behind his eyelids.

He’d said it was fraudulent. Near-perfect, but sub-par.

What he hadn’t said was that it was elegant despite its flaws. That he had seen Rin’s improvement, his talent.

What he hadn’t said was that his eyes and his brain had just barely followed the shot, just barely predicted its course, and just barely kept up.

What he hadn’t said was that he’d always been looking at Rin.

What he hadn’t said was sorry.

“... good ending… career…”

Sae shook his head. Felt a few words leave his lips, muffled, “I’m not quitting.”

He’d meant it to be a statement, but his voice came out desperate and trembling in a tone he couldn't quite connect to his own body.

He didn’t sound like himself.

Sae didn’t feel like himself, either, as the doctor’s gaze softened with pity. The man said something that was probably meant to be reassuring. He didn’t listen.

Instead, he kept repeating the phrase like a prayer in his head: I’m not quitting, I’m not quitting, I’m not quitting.

As if it could stop the inevitable– because it was inevitable. His leg was already shattered. They’d already tried to glue it back together. But something shattered didn’t just get put back together. Shattered meant beyond repair. Shattered meant tiny, ill-fitting pieces that would never find their place again.

He thought of his mother’s fine china. Thought of his bleeding fingers after he’d tried– and failed– to piece the shattered plate back together. His mother had been so mad.

And Rin’s face had been so pale. Stained with tears and bloodless, he’d been struck by silence as their mother had asked in a too-calm voice, “Who broke it?”

Rin had trembled, eyes blown wide, half-caught between sobbing and speaking, “Mama–”

Sae hadn’t been able to bear such a look on his baby brother’s face.

So he’d taken the blame.

Sae barely noticed the doctor excusing himself from the room, the door clicking shut. Barely noticed the nurse fiddling with his IV, checking machines.

Because what was Rin going to do, when he found out about his leg?

He already knew the answer.

Rin would be devastated.

And somehow, that was worse than anything else.

…

When Dabadie finally entered the room Sae felt numb. The truth of his reality had sunk in, and it left no room for sorrow, or even anger. He simply felt blank, like he had been rebooted. In a sense, he had. Soccer was– or, he corrected himself had been– his life. It had been the baseline for everything he’d ever done. Without it, he’d be forced to rebuild from the ground up. The task was exhausting to think of. So he had chosen to think of nothing, and had simply stared at the sickly green walls of the hospital room.

“Sae-chan!” Dabadie’s voice sounded choked with tears. Sae didn’t have it in him to look at the man’s face, a sudden rush of guilt overwhelming him. He’d been wallowing in his own misery while Dabadie had been worrying away for who-knows-how-long.

Unaware, Dabadie continued forward until he was right next to Sae. There was a chair for visitors nearby, but he didn’t sit down. It was with relief that he finally spoke again, after a few moments of silence, “I’m so glad you’re awake! When they called me last night, I feared the worst.”

Again, Sae responded with silence. His eyes flickered from the wall to the linoleum tiles of the floor. His hands twisted in his lap.

Dabadie’s kindness was like a bullet straight to his heart– unexpected and fatal. He didn’t know what to do with it. He hadn’t even thought that someone might’ve shown up for him, until the doctor had mentioned talking to his manager.

The thought that Dabadie had even been inconvenienced with such a call made him feel embarrassed.

Afterall, he ended up fine.

For the most part.

Or so he tried to convince himself.

“The doctor stopped me on my way back– said they discussed your injuries with you. I mean, they’d already told me most of it but…” Dabadie broke off, hands clenching and unclenching nervously before he continued, “... are you alright?”

The question caught Sae off guard. He’d expected the man to go off on some tangent about soccer– simply thinking of the sport now made his heart ache, threatening the numb shield of nothing he’d built around himself– and the fact that he hadn’t was frankly disconcerting.

Sae blinked, and drew his gaze away from the linoleum tiles he’d subconsciously started to count. Numbers had always grounded him.

Dabadie stared at him as he looked up, eyes wide and filled with concern. Real concern. Not the sickening pity the doctor’s gaze had held, nor the sad look in the nurse’s eyes as she tended to him. Just concern– honest and so, so terrible for it.

“Yes. The surgeons did well.” Sae answered, short and clipped. It felt like something was blocking his throat, and he couldn’t say more.

Dabadie startled at the answer, hands coming up defensively and head shaking as if to say ‘You’ve got it all wrong’. And apparently Sae had, because what he said next was: “No, Sae-chan, I don’t mean your leg. I mean– How do you feel? I know how important soccer is to you, Sae-chan.”

He said the words so innocently, blinking down at Sae through his glasses like it didn’t mean anything. Like it didn’t take a weight off of his shoulders. Like it didn’t knock the breath from his lungs. Like Dabadie, his manager, the one who supported him for soccer wasn’t asking him about his leg or his ruined career. Like his feelings were more valuable than that.

Sae did his best to breathe, “It doesn’t matter.” The lie left his mouth so quickly he was almost able to believe it himself. In a sense, it was true. Nothing he felt would change the fact that he couldn’t play soccer. It was childish to think so. But to him– it did matter that his leg was fucked up. It did matter that he couldn’t play anymore. “My career is over, Dabadie.”

His manager’s expression morphed from a mixture of relief and panic into shock, “Don’t say that. There’s still rehab, and the doctor said–”

“Dabadie.” Sae’s voice was sharp enough to cut steel, trembling at the edges with an emotion even he couldn't identify. “It’s over.”

And he couldn't even be embarrassed at how childish he sounded. How small his voice seemed in the hospital room.

Because it was true. It really was over for him.

Sae felt his thoughts start to race, that horrid question burning itself into his mind on repeat: Without soccer, could he even call himself Sae Itoshi?

“Sae-chan.” Dabadie’s voice was uncharacteristically stern. “I know this injury has ended your professional career as Re Al’s midfielder, but that doesn’t mean your entire career is over. You will recover. I truly believe that. And when you do, you can still play soccer.” Dabadie paused for a breath, “It might be low-level, it might be in the paralympics. But it won’t be over. It’s not over. You can still play soccer.”

The words stopped Sae’s thoughts in their tracks, each gear that had been turning in his head screeching to a stop. He knew that Dabadie was right. It was, after all, a fact that he could still be involved in soccer. Even if he retired from his professional career, he might be able to play at a lower level. Even if that didn’t work out, he could still play for fun.

But that wasn’t the problem.

Sae swallowed, opened his mouth. Tried to come up with something that wasn’t a whiny statement like ‘But it’s not professional soccer’ or ‘You want me to play low-level soccer? Don’t joke with me’. A simple, decisive, “Shut up.” was what left his mouth instead.

Because what else was he supposed to say?

That suddenly, the idea of playing soccer at any level that wasn’t professional– that wasn’t world class– made him sick to his stomach? Made him want to shake his head and say ‘Fuck that’?

And it wasn’t because he didn’t love soccer. Sae’s whole life was soccer. If he didn’t love it, what the hell was he even doing with his life? Such a notion was ridiculous. It was, afterall, an undeniable fact that Sae Itoshi loved soccer.

It was simply because everything that was worth it in soccer couldn’t be found in the lower leagues. It was the reason why he’d refused to join any Japanese teams. Why he’d refused to represent his country. With no true sense for soccer, those second-rate teams were playing a different game. And it wasn’t soccer.

That was a fact, also.

So Sae tried not to feel guilty when Dabadie’s face fell at his reaction.

“Sae-chan…” The man tried, but his voice fell off into an awkward silence that neither of them tried to fill with words. In the background, the hospital sang with its distinct sounds– the beeping of machines, the clacking of shoes against linoleum, the quiet murmurs of voices, and the tapping of pens against clipboards.

Dabadie cleared his throat. Tried again.

“Sae-chan, I mean it. Retirement is a drastic option that we simply need to consider. The doctor has outlined a recovery plan for you, and it’s quite promising. So long as you stick to it–”

“Dabadie.” Sae cut him off, hating the way his voice sounded worn and thin, like it was fraying at the edges– more so because he sounded exactly like he felt rather than anything else.

It was nice, having someone care for him so deeply. Dabadie’s presence was warming. When he’d first gone to Spain– impressionable, naive, and so, so painfully alone– his manager had been there. He’d shown him the city, taught him useful phrases, and smiled at him even when he snapped and snarled back.

Sae had always thought that he didn’t deserve Dabadie. The man was too kind to be dealing with him. To be dealing with a cold-hearted asshole.

And now, with his life turned upside down, it felt like he didn’t deserve anything at all.

A voice in his mind whispered that Dabadie should just leave. He was wasting his time on him. Wasting his time on the irredeemable. Wasting his time on something that was broken beyond repair.

Sae felt his heart squeeze in his chest– a tangible weight pushing the breath out of his lungs.

His leg was fucking shattered. His soccer career was over. His life was, officially, ruined.

What did he have left? Hopes and dreams? Those would get him nowhere. Hopes were irrational wishes that would never come true, and dreams were impossible things only the naive could believe in. Sae was neither irrational nor naive. He hadn’t been for a long time.

So he knew what his future held: Nothing.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, it crossed his mind that maybe a deplorable person like him– whose only use in life was soccer– would be better off dead. That the crash should have killed him. That his skull should have shattered instead of his leg.

The destruction of his dominant leg wasn’t too far off from death, after all.

Then Sae felt himself shudder, full-body, at the prospect. He almost laughed. How revolting was it, that he was wishing for death, when he’d been lucky enough to get away with his life and the driver hadn’t. Because he wasn’t stupid. The doctor had said that the brunt of the crash had been on the front of the car.

He truly was a monster.

If he were Rin, he would've hated himself too.

…

The violent boom of the door slamming behind Rin echoed in Sae’s ears. The room fell as silent as death. Even Shidou stilled completely, eyes trained on the door with a torn expression.

Sae refused to give in to the urge to do so as well. What would he do, anyway? Run after Rin? He couldn’t even stand, let alone talk to his brother correctly (or so Rin thought, with the way he’d stormed out of the room like he had a personal vendetta against Sae).

He didn’t understand. He’d just stated the truth. Told Rin that the surgeon did their best, but he’d never play soccer again. That he may struggle to walk, even. Perhaps it had been harsh, but his brother wasn’t a baby anymore. He could handle hard truths. Or, Sae thought he could handle them.

He blinked at the tiled ceiling, and absently began to count each tile again. When Rin had been talking to him, his words sparking tension in the air, he’d begun to count them.

Calculations had always run through Sae’s head smoothly, like water might flow down a stream. He wasn’t good in school. But math wasn’t the only thing that fell under calculations, under numbers. Soccer was full of numbers. And numbers were constant. Predictable. Calming.

The counting slowed his heartbeat, kept his lungs working at an appropriate pace, and stopped rash thoughts from exiting his mouth as words.

Stopped rash thoughts like, Why are you here Rin? To tell me how pathetic I am? To measure me by my now-nonexistent skill in soccer, like I have measured you? To declare me worthless? Because none of it would be wrong. All thoughts that left Sae with a nagging, unsure feeling in his stomach. Like the anticipation of waiting for a blow that would never come.

Yet, the counting still wasn’t enough to distract him from the strange feeling in his chest that he’d just lost something irreplaceable.

He had a feeling that it wasn’t his leg.

Sae’s eyes drifted past Shidou– now stepping towards his bedside– and Dabadie, to gaze at the door. He’d been trying not to look, but he couldn’t help himself. His eyes found the small window, and he squinted against the harsh light to try and see Rin.

But it quickly became apparent that he couldn’t see Rin. Not from the low angle he was laying at.

Sae fought back the urge to lean forward, straining at his wounds, to try and see him. It probably wouldn’t work. So he turned his eyes to the tiles again. He already knew they numbered 16. He counted them anyway.

“Sae.” Shidou’s voice was sharp. It broke the silence that had formed when Rin left with the same subtlety that a hammer might use to break a window. That is: no subtlety at all.

Sae didn’t look down from the ceiling. His hands trembled, and he clenched them in his blankets to make them still. He didn’t want to look down and see the disappointment in the demon’s eyes. He could already feel them burning into his face.

Shidou’s voice rang out another time, sounding very close, “Sae, stop looking at the damn ceiling and listen.” His words were loud and grating. Harsh as Sae had ever heard him, harsh enough that it was impossible to pretend to ignore him.

He turned his head to the striker, feeling his muscles tighten, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Fuck you.” Shidou’s voice trembled, but not in weakness. No. His face had morphed into something terrible– eyes narrowed, pupils dilated, nose wrinkled, lip curled. Something that was more animal than man. “Rin was really worried, you know?”

He paused, and Sae opened his mouth to speak– maybe to tell him to get out, he didn’t know– but his heart was suddenly in his throat, pounding. He trembled helplessly under Shidou’s gaze as the striker continued.

“Rin was worried. And you– you just sit there and act like that? He’s your brother, for fuck’s sake. Not some guy who showed up for an autograph!” Here Shidou stared at him incredulously, throwing his hands up as if to say ‘It’s just ridiculous!’ before he kept ranting, “When he saw the news… he freaked, Sae. And he came as soon as he could to see you.”

Sae didn’t respond, even as Shidou took a deep breath, trembling. He couldn’t respond, for fear that something honest might leave his mouth– like I don’t want Rin to see me like this instead of Why would I want trash to visit me?

“I just–” Shidou broke off awkwardly, bubblegum eyes turning to glare at the ceiling as if the mere sight of Sae’s face was too much for him to bear. “How could you say that to him? Tell him you can’t play soccer anymore, like your dreams never meant anything.”

“They didn’t.” Sae wavered, minutely, as he said it. Because he knew, logically, playing soccer had once been a dream. A hope. And for the longest time, that had meant becoming the world’s number one striker. That had been his dream. His hope. Rin’s dream. Rin’s hope. Something that belonged to both of them.

But it defied logic. So Sae had crushed it to pieces, watching it fall apart in his hands as he did so. Had watched Rin’s face fall into sickening, pale-faced despair. Logically, it hadn’t ever mattered to him. Not truly. And yet–

“Don’t be a dick, Sae. Even if your dreams never mattered to you, they’ve always mattered to Rin. You would have to be blind to not see that. He spent all of Blue Lock chasing you.” Shidou inhaled, deep, once more. His gaze shifted back to Sae.

He was surprised to see more than just anger in the striker’s gaze. Maybe it was pity that accompanied Shidou’s rage. It was easier to think that way, to scorn him for his words, then.

But Sae knew Shidou. The man was straightforward, eccentric, and most importantly always said what he meant. And his actions followed that. It left a foul feeling in his stomach, thinking that Shidou still managed to have sympathy for him.

Suddenly, shockingly, Shidou’s hand came up to rest on his shoulder, like it had for Rin, earlier.

“Sae,” He said. Not Sae-chan. Not Lashes. Not Genius. Just Sae. There was a seriousness that settled over his features, something that washed away his rash anger and even the small amount of sympathy in his eyes. “Rin loves you. Stop acting like such an asshole and talk to him like you’re brothers. He doesn’t give two shits if you can play soccer– that’s not what he’s upset about.”

Sae felt frozen in time.

Shidou’s touch was too-warm on his skin, burning with an intensity he didn’t know how to address. Because there was nothing logical about the way the tan hand on his shoulder made his pulse jump, or the way those sincere, bubblegum eyes made him tremble and fall just a few inches closer to tears.

The striker’s voice echoed in his thoughts.

“He doesn’t give two shits if you can play soccer”

And–

That had to be wrong.

Sae couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t heard his name from his brother’s lips not accompanied by a promise that the younger would kill him in a soccer match.

They were the Itoshi brothers, soccer prodigies that had risen to the top leagues of the world.

Sae was never not followed by Itoshi, Japan’s Genius Midfielder.

And Rin was never not followed by Itoshi, Blue Lock’s Destroyer Prodigy.

Itoshi was never not followed by soccer.

So it had to be wrong, when Shidou said so casually that Rin didn’t care if he couldn’t play. The notion was foolish, hopeful.

Yet–

Sae’s thoughts spiraled into something resembling a tornado. There was nothing that he could define– everything was such a jumbled mess– and that made him feel lost. Like he was a stranger trying to interpret the fleeting emotions flashing across another’s face. Except it was his body, his thoughts, his emotions, and it didn’t make sense to misunderstand himself.

Unconcerned, Shidou leaned closer, raising goosebumps along Sae’s neck, “It’s pathetic…” He began, and the ghost of his breath had Sae tensing, waiting for something, “...how you sit here and pretend like this mess isn’t something you created.”

Something built up in Sae’s throat, thick, vile, and bitter. “Get off of me.”

Shidou stilled, the pressure of his hand on Sae’s shoulder lifting, like he was handling something delicate. Like Sae was something about to crack. It hovered in that state– almost leaving, recklessly remaining– as if unsure of how to proceed but unwilling to back down.

Sae felt his shoulders heave with his next breath, body shaking with emotions he couldn't quite define, “Don’t make me ask twice.” He blinked, staring at Shidou in disbelief as the man refused to back off, ignoring his blatant order.

Was he deaf?

The striker didn’t glance away, eyes wide and staring intensely at him. His hand remained on Sae’s shoulder, and he didn’t back up.

“You and Rin–” Shidou broke off with a sound that was halfway between a chuckle and a sharp, bitter laugh, “You’re more similar than you realize.” His face became more serious. “Stop avoiding the conversation, Sae. I know what you’re doing.”

“Shidou–” Sae hissed as he tried to shrug off the striker’s hand– wanting to be rid of the oppressive closeness– but was unable to muster the strength to do so. His attempts only jostled Shidou’s hand, and added to the boiling pressure of the dark, pulsing anger filling his veins.

Shidou’s voice was mocking as he, without a moment of hesitation, cut Sae off, “Sae.” His hand tightened on the midfielder’s shoulder, and he stared intensely into his tourmaline eyes. “I know I don’t understand how it feels– how you feel after being told you probably won’t be playing soccer professionally anymore. But I do know that this isn’t an excuse to fight. In fact, it’s an excuse to stop fighting. You need to get your shit together and talk to Rin.”

Shidou’s voice faded off into silence, and for a moment, the hospital room was as still as it had been when Rin had first left.

The striker’s words echoed in Sae’s mind, split into tiny fractures of thoughts.

‘…I don’t understand…’

And Shidou didn’t. Sae felt that knowledge bubble up like tar in his throat and just barely kept a childish ‘You’re right. You don’t understand’ from leaving his lips.

Because Shidou didn’t understand, didn’t know, what it was like to have soccer taken from him.

And Sae felt it like a yawning pit in his chest– a gap within him that he’d never be able to place. Felt it in the quiet whisper of his thoughts that asked, hesitantly, gently: Without soccer, does life even matter? Am I Sae Itoshi, anymore?

‘…not an excuse to fight…’

Were they fighting? Sae supposed Rin might think they were. They had fought, physically, verbally, just the other day.

But Sae had never thought of it that way– never considered his interactions with Rin to be fights. Afterall, fighting served no purpose, and Sae’s endeavors with his brother always served a purpose.

There was no fight. There was no excuse.

It made him want to dig his nails into Shidou’s skin and shake him, shouting all the while, ‘I’m doing this for Rin– for his dream, for his future! Do you really think I want him to hate me?’

Because Sae had never been fighting with Rin.

He was just trying to save Rin from the reality he’d had no one to save himself from.

‘…get your shit together…’

Sae had his shit together.

Shidou didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

He had sat there, unmoving, as Rin had trembled and shook like it was his leg that had been shattered. Like it was his career that had been ruined. Like it was him who had seen the driver. Like it was him who was damaged beyond repair.

Sae hadn’t said ‘Leave.’ when Rin had walked in. Hadn’t shouted ‘I didn’t ask you to come here.’ when acid had bubbled up his throat and it’d taken everything in him to stop his hands from shaking.

Because how was it that he didn’t have his baby brother’s number, and Rin had thought he’d had it all along?

Maybe it was better that way.

It was too late to apologize, anyway.

‘…talk to Rin…’

He stifled a laugh– or maybe it was a sob– that built up in his throat at the suggestion.

Talking wouldn’t fix either of them.

“We’re not fighting. Mind your own business and get lost.” Sae managed, hoping Shidou would receive it well and just leave.

Needless to say, it wasn’t received well. Shidou never reacted predictably, and the demand had him recoiling. His face twisted, and he drew his hand away from Sae’s shoulder. Like he was disgusted. And he should be– Sae was abhorrent. But he couldn't help his nature, and there was something hurtful in it anyway.

“I’ve just told you that Rin’s worried for you, even after all you’ve done to him, and you still have the audacity to act like an asshole?” Shidou practically snarled at him, “You need to grow up.”

Sae clenched his fists, felt his body tremble. Felt the anger sizzling in his veins, threatening to burst at the seams. Felt it like a parasite, digging into his skin and burrowing deep until he couldn’t see anything but red.

Shidou kept talking, each word filled with agitating venom, “Or are you just going to keep acting like soccer is more important to you than your brother?”

He felt the parasitic anger writhe, stretching his skin until it snapped.

“Get out.” Sae’s voice left his body and it didn’t sound like his own. It was too loud, too sharp, too unstable. Trembling with each emotion that rose and fell with the breath in his lungs. Each emotion that pounded in his chest along with his heart. Trembling with all his rage, despair, and agony.

Shidou backed up an awkward half-step. Not-quite-leaving but not-quite-staying. Caught in between fight and flight, he stood with his bubblegum eyes blown wide, body stock-still like a deer caught in headlights.

Sae felt something build in his throat, “Get. Out.”

“Sae-chan,” Shidou admonished, tried to take back the half-step of his retreat, but it didn’t mean anything, anymore. He’d already taken that half-step away. Sae had already watched him take it.

“JUST GET OUT!!” Sae shouted, against the pressure in his lungs, against the lump building in his throat, against the burning in his eyes. Against time itself, which always slipped like water through his fingers when all he wanted it to do was stop. For it to rewind.

Because he’d give anything to see Rin’s wonder-filled eyes staring up at him again as the boy finally asked: ‘Nii-chan? Play?’ While holding Sae’s soccer ball up to him like it was a mundane request and not everything Sae had ever dreamed of.

Because he’d give anything to feel the solid touch of a soccer ball against his cleats as he sent it soaring to his baby brother’s feet in a faulty yet near-perfect arc for the last time.

Because he’d give anything to look down at Rin’s pale, tear-streaked face on that unforgiving snowy night and take everything back.

But time would never stop for Sae and the universe kept spinning mercilessly.

Such thoughts would always remain as hopes and dreams– weak things that revealed his flawed perfection.

And as Shidou walked out of the room with naught but a small glance, Sae supposed that the world was better for it.

He’d just fuck up any second chance the universe gave him, anyway.

Chapter Text

The last precious minute of a soccer match could decide everything.

A minute would be too little, one might say. But time slowed down in those last 60 seconds, as if God himself had put a hand to the world’s clock to stop its rhythmic ticking. As if the world itself was holding its breath, wanting for more.

And that god-given minute quickly turned into a lot of time on the pitch. A minute was, after all, a lot of time on the battlefield. A goal can be made in a minute, a shot can be fired in a minute. A game can be won, a game can be lost– and so, too, might a life be saved, or a life be lost.

And for Rin, time slowed in a similar manner over the next few weeks he sat stationed at Sae’s bedside.

Because that is what he felt– stationed, like some goddamned soldier– as he was forced to sit stoically at his brother’s bedside. Like all that they’d said to each other amounted to nothing. Like he wouldn’t take the first opportunity to shirk the responsibility and force Sae’s care into someone else's hands.

(Rin had pondered this enough to consider that perhaps Shidou would be a willing candidate. Then he had shivered with an intense and sudden wave of guilt, and foregone the thought completely. He would just have to wait until his parents responded, beyond the brief ‘We heard about Sae. Sending well-wishes! Will visit when possible.’ he had received. He tried not to think about the very real possibility that they simply wouldn’t take over the responsibility.)

As it was, Rin was just about ready to leave. It would be so easy to leave.

His eyes caught on the taunting handle of the door, the shine of it in the sharp, fluorescent hospital lights. It almost seemed to call his name, with the way it shone.

The door clicked, and Rin snapped back to reality as a man walked in, all dressed in white. He recognized the man immediately– it was hard not to, as he had been the doctor caring for Sae for the past few weeks.

That restless feeling rose in his throat again– the desire to leave pounding at his temples– as the man strode to Sae’s beside.

Please, Rin wanted to say, but didn’t dare, Say I can go.

(And wasn’t it terrible that his first thought wasn’t to beg for Sae’s recovery? To plead for Sae to be well again?)

Sae was still as the doctor approached, staring at the man indifferently from his throne– for anywhere that the midfielder sat seemed to become regal– atop the rickety hospital bed.

“Good news!” The man exclaimed, cheerfully. Rin had learned that this was the norm for him, yet was still astonished– and, quite frankly, jealous– at his ability to remain so joyful as Sae stared him down. “You're able to be discharged today.”

Sae made no motion to respond. He simply cocked his head to the side, faintly, as if to ask, ‘And?’

“Of course, you’ll have to keep that leg elevated to reduce pain and swelling.” The doctor tapped a finger against his clipboard, seeming to consult it for a moment before turning his gaze back to Sae, “You’ll be taking a variety of medicine to manage the pain and you’ll need to be punctual in taking it. I would recommend that you take it easy, as well. Being discharged does not mean you’re out of the danger zone yet. Complications could still occur.”

“Mmm.” The midfielder hummed, noncommittal. Rin glared in his direction, noting the glazed-over look in his eyes. It was clear that he wasn’t paying attention.

The very thought that Sae wasn’t listening, wasn’t even trying to care, summoned something dark and unforgiving from deep within Rin’s chest. When he swallowed convulsively against the asshole and do you even care? that nearly exploded out of his mouth, the taste of the emotion was thick, vile, in the back of his throat.

It made him want to scream

It made him want to walk out of the room, so that Sae could call him back with a panicked, ‘Wait, I’m sorry, I need you here!’. So that he could feel appreciated. Wanted. Needed. So that Sae could see all the ways that he was wrong. (But that would never happen, because Sae didn’t make mistakes, and Sae never said sorry.)

But Rin stayed, because there was no one else to listen to the doctor for his brother, and damn him if he didn’t want Sae’s recovery more than anything in the world.

…

The next few hours saw them standing in the lobby. It wasn’t very busy, but the hospital was always filled with noise, with movement. Very busy meant packed, not very busy simply meant crowded. If he’d been anywhere else, Rin would've wanted to peel his skin off at the disgusting closeness brought on by the crowd of people milling about like npcs, talking like it was their job. But with the childish argument occurring in front of him between Sae and a nurse, the sound became bearable. Appreciated, even.

Rin shifted, and his shoe squeaked on the linoleum floor, loud enough that it sent a tiny wince through his body. He had half a mind to take the offending shoe off and hurl it at Sae. Sae, genius midfielder, who was locked in a pointless argument with a nurse like the asshole he was.

He sucked in a bracing breath and did his best not to scream as the nurse’s pleading reached a fever-pitch. The lady at the front desk looked at him in what might've been solidarity, but was much too close to pity to make him feel anything but embarrassed.

“Mr. Itoshi,” The nurse’s tone was stern but fraying at the edges with annoyance and exhaustion, “Please sit down.”

Her pleas fell upon deaf ears. Sae remained half-propped against the front desk as if the effort of doing so wasn’t making him shake. His face was pale and scrunched up in pain, but he still shook his head. He didn’t need to speak to make it obvious that his answer to her request was ‘no’.

The nurse’s hand hovered closeby, “Mr. Itoshi–” She was hesitant to touch him, and Rin really couldn't blame her– his brother had been acting like an asshole all morning, and had snapped at her many times before for lesser offenses (such as offering a helping hand when he almost plummeted to the floor because he was refusing to do anything but walk).

Rin sighed. It was a sharp, frustrated sound.

Sae refusing to exit the hospital in a wheelchair was the last thing he’d been worried about. Now, it was at the forefront of his problems.

The whole situation was a hell in and of itself, somehow managing to reflect his mental state almost perfectly. As if the universe had carefully crafted the moment to allow his mind and body to match. To allow each of his senses to be assaulted at once by exhaustion, rage, and confusion.

Did Sae even care?

The thought flickered through his brain, and only added to his rising irritation.

After surgery just over a week ago, Sae was attempting to force himself to walk around. It was frankly bizarre and something he’d never thought his logical brother would do. Afterall, he was aggravating his injury. Didn’t he want to recover?

Rin supposed the answer might be ‘no’ as his brother snapped at the nurse for what seemed to be the millionth time.

“Stop it.” Sae looked like he would've said more if it wasn’t taking so much of his energy to keep himself upright. Venom laced his tone. Rin wasn’t sure if his brother was talking to his shaking limbs or the nurse– it was hard to tell, what with his eyes being fixed somewhere between reality and an imperceptible plane of existence.

The nurse looked affronted at the demand, and her gaze sought out Rin as if to plead with him. ‘Do something.’ Her eyes seemed to say, rimmed by dark circles that spoke of many hours of work and not nearly enough compensation, ‘He’s your family.’

And it might've been sympathy that moved Rin to intervene. It might’ve also been his oncoming headache, or the fact that he was sick and tired of Sae causing a scene. Maybe it was simply because no one else would do it. Not many people were experienced, like he was, at withstanding Sae’s presence. That is– withstanding the highest concentration of bluntness and arrogance that walked the planet.

“Don’t be lukewarm. Sit down or I’m leaving you.” Rin said, casually, taking a page out of Sae’s book and doing his best to seem unaffected. As if he didn't care that Sae was relying on him, or that he was causing a scene.

(As if it wasn’t something that had him internally screaming, because what the fuck do you mean he had to deal with this asshole for over a month? It had Rin thinking that bones shouldn’t take nearly that long to heal. It was fucked. Clearly, the universe hated him.)

Surprisingly enough, Sae sat down. His face was carefully blank, even as his limbs shook and something stormy loomed in his eyes.

Rin had long been unable to read his brother, and couldn’t make heads or tails of what the hell he was thinking.

In the now-quiet lobby, the nurse’s grateful sigh was loud. The sound broke an unspoken barrier of tension and the hospital seemed to release a great breath all at once, murmurs and beeps resuming like nothing had been wrong at all. Like super star Sae Itoshi hadn’t just been causing a scene in the hospital's lobby like he was 7 years old.

Rin took a deep breath in an attempt to brace himself, only to stop halfway with a frown. The hospital air made him feel sick. He couldn’t stand the smell of linoleum and harsh antiseptic.

The nurse cleared her throat politely, “Mr. Itoshi is all clear to leave. Would you like me to assist you?” Her hands rested on the handles of the wheelchair. Sae’s gaze was fixed on the ground. He looked a bit lost. Maybe scorned. Like a dog that had been yelled at by its owner for something that wasn’t its fault. Which, for the record, didn't make sense because everything Sae was doing was his fault. Nobody was telling him to act like an asshole, afterall.

“No.” Rin said, curtly. Then: “Thanks.” He tacked the last word on as an afterthought– when a mocking voice in his head whispered, ‘you’re sounding a lot like Sae, right now’.

“Alright. Have a good day, you two!” The nurse stepped back and flashed a quick smile. It made him jealous to think that she was able to smile so easily at Sae, even after he’d been so rude to her. He couldn't find it in himself to do that, even after all these years.

He nodded a response, watching for any change in Sae’s expression as he stepped behind him to wheel him out the front doors.

Sae didn’t say anything.

The nurse's shoes clacked against the linoleum floors, growing softer by the second.

Rin turned his head away from Sae with a click of his tongue and began to push him out the doors.

…

The week before, Rin had been caught in an endless loop of tears. In hindsight, he felt stupid for crying. He’d simply wasted tears on something lukewarm. It had been foolish to think his mother would answer him. He’d known that. He’d called anyway. Reality had slapped him in the face– brutal, cold, unforgiving.

He should’ve known the universe would curse him like it had– curse him to be the one available when his brother was hurt, and not his parents. Curse him to provide care to the one who’d done everything but care for him. It made him want to scream until his throat bled, scream at deaf ears– because who would ever listen to the younger, the lesser?– that he didn’t deserve this. That it wasn’t his responsibility.

But Rin had no choice.

The world didn’t care whose fault it was. Who it was fair to give responsibility to.

And Rin had just drawn the short end of the stick. It was something he couldn’t run from, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Because who else was available to take care of Sae? Not their parents (the thought left a bitter taste in the back of his throat). He tried not to think of the reason why his throat felt raw, his body ached, and his head pounded. Tried not to think of the empty hospital corridor and his calls that weren’t answered. Tried not to think of the rush of embarrassment that had consumed him when Shidou had found him– slumped against the wall outside Sae’s room, eyes puffy and face wet with tears– and asked ‘Want me to break his other leg?’

Rin felt, suddenly, that Shidou was too good for him. Their friendship had started off rough, yes, but it was a friendship nonetheless. He even thought such a start had made it stronger– it was easier to get along with someone when they knew you at your worst, at your most vulnerable. And Shidou had seen it all– had seen him rage and snap like a muzzled dog, had seen him shatter and sob until he couldn’t breathe. Yet, Shidou still offered a hand and set him right back on his feet.

He’d done it that fateful night, when Rin had been drunk and crying, face throbbing from Sae’s merciless punches. Because who else would have set his nose? Who else would have guided him home? Who else would have done anything but turn away and call him lukewarm?

Shidou had done it a week ago– in a flash, like the act was as easy as breathing– when he’d told Rin to pack his stuff, that he was taking him to see his brother.

And he’d done it again, a few days ago, when he’d woken up early and told Rin, ‘You worry about Sae, I’ll get your stuff,’ before proceeding to drive all the way back to the hotel (unprompted) and take Rin’s essentials to Sae’s apartment. He’d even come back to drop off the car (a rental that they’d been sharing) then taken a taxi back to the hotel.

Rin was thankful beyond words, almost to the point of shame. Shidou shouldn’t have done all of those things– Rin could've done them by himself.

When he’d said as much, Shidou had scoffed dramatically and asked ‘You sure Sae-chan didn’t give you a concussion?’ before sobering up and saying ‘It was nothing, so don’t worry ‘bout it too much’. He’d ruffled Rin’s hair, then, before leaving. The feeling had taken him back to when he was younger, when Sae’s touch had still been delicate and the world had been perfect.

Rin really didn’t deserve such a good friend. But there was nothing he could do to shake Shidou’s grubby hands off of him (where they remained attached like the sticky fingers of a toddler declaring that a toy was theirs and no, they weren’t sharing).

Now, as he pulled the car up to the front of Sae’s apartment, that fact became especially clear. God knows he wouldn't have been able to handle Sae on top of himself. Shidou had seen right through the lie that he could.

(If he hadn't, Rin wasn’t even sure where he’d have been, right now. Perhaps still falling apart in the hallway. Perhaps simply abandoning Sae like an asshoke.)

Rin had thought that maybe the drive to Sae’s would serve to lighten the atmosphere– or at least allow him to pretend to feel a sense of normalcy– but it had done quite the opposite. It had only made him feel less and less attached to reality. He could practically hear the tick tick of the muscle in his jaw at the very thought of it.

The car ride had been awkwardly quiet, save for a few remarks that slipped past Sae’s lips– such as ‘careful’ or ‘turn here’ – that had Rin’s hands clenching against the steering wheel. The last thing he needed to hear was his absent older brother backseat driving.

That hadn’t even been the worst of it. Sae’s face had twisted oddly with every motion, as if to ask ‘should you really be driving?’. Maybe it made sense– what with the recent car crash– but did Sae really think so little of him that he thought he didn’t know how to drive? He wasn’t a teenager anymore, afterall, and being likened to one (with an expression that questioned his driving skill, labeling him reckless) wasn’t warranted.

Rin almost scoffed at the thought– him? a reckless driver? No. That was all Shidou. He tried not to shudder as he remembered all the instances he’d mistakenly let the bug sit behind the wheel.

It was honestly a miracle that he’d driven so safely last week– it had scared Rin more than anything else, at the time, but maybe the change was a good thing. One of the only good things that had happened that day, actually.

“Are we going to sit here all day?” Sae’s apathetic drawl shocked him back to reality. It immediately put a scowl on his face, straining the already aching muscles.

Sae, contrary to logic, had only gotten more annoying after a week of treatment in the hospital. Rin was starting to think the only benefit of him being out of the hospital was the fact that the poor nurses didn’t have to deal with his asshole attitude anymore. He’d been growing tired of watching his older brother snap at the kind ladies like they weren't half the reason he was still alive.

(Although, now Sae’s ire was turned towards him, and that was making his life a special kind of hell.)

“Rin.” Sae snapped, as if even a moment’s delay to his schedule– his because there was no real schedule, only Sae’s manic need for one that Rin, frankly, didn’t give a shit about– would surely break his leg all over again.

In response to Sae’s words, Rin stepped on the gas (maybe a little bit harder than normal on purpose, but he was only human) and the car jerked back into motion. He would’ve been lying if Sae’s tiny half-breath of annoyed surprise at the motion wasn’t satisfying.

It wasn’t long before he’d found a parking spot and begun the arduous task of getting Sae to his apartment. An apartment that, mind you, was not on a lower floor (because that would be too simple, too kind, for someone like Rin) but instead on the sixteenth floor. Which didn’t really seem like that high up, to the average person, let alone an athlete like Rin or Sae– except for the fact that Sae couldn’t fucking walk properly anymore, let alone scale steps.

So, they’d use the wheelchair, right? They’d take the elevator, surely? That was logical, afterall.

Wrong, apparently. Because refusing to use the wheelchair and hobbling about on crutches was so much safer and made a perfect amount of sense.

In reality, Rin thought it was much more likely that said decision would land Sae right back in the hospital and that it made exactly zero sense.

He’d tried to tell Sae as much, with a tone of voice as close to yelling as he could get without garnering attention, saying that “Sae, are you fucking joking? Sit back down. The doctor said you should avoid walking for your first two weeks back.”

Rin should've expected to be hit with Sae’s flat, shark-like stare and an exclamation of, “Do I joke?” that had him both close to tears and laughter because what the fuck was Sae talking like that for?

But it was more than sobering to hear, anyways. It made him wonder– Did he even know Sae? Was the brother from his childhood truly gone?

Perhaps he’d never known Sae at all. That thought was more than Rin could handle, and he quickly shoved it away before it could trigger something. (He wasn’t going to cry those wretched tears again. He wasn’t a baby. He needed to get his shit together and face reality.)

Rin watched as his elder brother huffed a distinctly angry breath at the staircase in front of him. As if they were a particularly bothersome striker that just wouldn’t perform on the pitch properly. As if he was planning to have to do it himself– put in some effort to score a goal. Or, in the case of the stairs, climb them.

Climb them for sixteen flights. On crutches.

Yeah, like hell Rin was letting that happen.

“Sae,” Rin said, and the name felt wrong on his lips. But nothing would feel worse than saying something so childish, so familiar, as nii-chan, so he let the poisonous feeling settle in his mouth. It was a testament to his will that he didn't grimace as Sae’s head snapped towards him.

His brother was pale-faced, sweaty. He still looked worse-for-wear, even without bandages on his face, on his limbs.

Rin was struck, suddenly, by the thought that Sae didn’t look like himself. A few weeks in the hospital had slimmed the midfielder down, made him look almost delicate.

Once (Once, as if it had been years ago, as if it hadn’t been mere weeks since Sae’s top form.) his brother had been one of the top athletes in the world. Each movement of his body was full of power, his muscles rippling and guiding each limb in a perfect harmony of motion. Now, his body was weakness, and what muscle remained lifted his limbs in shaky, unbalanced movements

It made Rin sick to his stomach. It made it hard to look at Sae– or, rather, at the pale imitation of his brother before him.

It felt wrong to think it– to think that this new Sae was an imposter.

But to Rin, Sae had always been untouchable. Perfect. And the man trembling beside him, glaring like it meant everything to him that he was being stopped from performing the most illogical act he could possibly dare to try, leaning more heavily on his crutches by the second, was anything but perfect.

Flawed, is what he was now. Imperfect.

Rin swallowed, shook his head a little. This is wrong, he told himself. Heard the words echo through his head like they’d been spoken. Felt them vibrate through his bones.

Yet, it was hard to shake the feeling of annoyance, the feeling of hatred, the feeling of disgust, for the man before him. Hard to shake the urge to bite out, ‘This is pathetic. Take your display of pride elsewhere. I didn’t agree to take care of you to watch you drown in something so lukewarm as your own emotions. You’re an Itoshi. Act like it.’

“What?” Sae snapped, with such force that he wobbled a little, crutches rattling with the motion. The sound of it snapped Rin back to reality.

His older brother managed to keep himself steady, but not without effort. When he’d stabilized himself, he spoke again, “What.” It was less of a question now, more of a demand. Sae’s eyes remained trained on his face, unforgiving.

Rin tried to pretend like he hadn’t flinched, made to move forward, and aborted the motion halfway when he realized Sae wasn’t going to fall, “The elevator is that way.” He pointed vaguely to the right.

The simple correction– because that was what Rin was doing, correcting Sae’s illogical behavior– had the midfielder’s face twisting into something nasty.

Sae practically spat out his next words, “I know that.” His face twisted again, as if he was trying to compartmentalize his rage into something manageable, before it settled back into a nasty, open glare.

It was expressive– more so than Rin may have ever considered possible for his brother just a few weeks ago.

Perhaps it was the stress, perhaps it was the medication, or perhaps it was something entirely different. Rin didn’t care. The expressions served as a window into Sae’s soul– and the longer that the window stayed open, the more Rin wanted to slam the damn thing closed.

It was enough dealing with his own shattered perceptions of reality, knowing that he’d never beat his brother in soccer, ever. He didn’t need to see just how wrong he was about Sae’s cold, arrogant, aloof personality.

Because the Sae in front of him wasn’t any of those things. He was just… normal. Just another pathetic, angry npc who thought he was the main character.

“Sae.” Rin repeated, harsher, louder, since apparently a simple correction wasn’t enough. Subtlety had its time and place– and it wasn’t now. “We're taking the elevator. Move.” He enunciated each syllable slowly. Watched Sae’s face twist again, almost seizing, in that way it seemed to do so often recently.

(Rin thought it was very much like a real life glitch, or lag, as if Sae was some robot with faulty programming who bugged out when he couldn’t compute something. The idea was almost funny enough to make him laugh, and almost real enough to make him cry. Because Sae really was like a robot who couldn’t quite comprehend the information he was being fed.)

“Sae.” Rin insisted, instead of saying something stupid like ‘If you hurt yourself even more, I’ll kill you myself’ that would make it sound like he cared.

Sae’s tourmaline eyes flashed, darting from the stairs to the elevator as something akin to disgust settled over his expression. Then he turned his head towards Rin, his lips parting ever-so-slightly, and the striker feared that he might say something as stupid as ‘I’m taking the stairs’.

But then, his brother’s jaw clicked shut. It was with painful awkwardness that he turned around, as unbalanced as a newborn foal.

Rin tried not to look, biting back the sorrow that rose in his throat at the pitiful image. Afterall, Sae had so gracefully pivoted around defenders on the pitch mere weeks ago.

And that thought was almost more than he could bear.

…

Sae’s apartment was nothing like Rin had thought it would look like.

When he had finally managed to open the door (Sae had been adamant that it wasn’t so hard, that Rin just had to put pressure on the handle just so and turn the key this way and then that way, but he remained unconvinced. No lock should be so finicky. The first thing he was going to do was get the damned thing fixed) he had expected something grand. Something worth the struggle of opening the faulty lock barring them from Sae’s apartment. Something that lived up to the name of Sae Itoshi, Genius Midfielder.

In reality, Sae’s apartment was what could only be described as bleak.

Not empty. Empty had implications of something to be filled. Sae’s apartment had been lived in long enough that all his personal affects had found their place. Everything was settled neatly on surfaces or tucked away and unseen. And it was clear to Rin that there was nothing more to be put into the apartment.

But it wasn’t simply blank, either. Because a blank apartment was akin to a blank canvas– it encouraged one to fill it with color, to create something more. Sae’s apartment was dull, monotone, but the air was filled with an intangible pressure, and nothing about it seemed to beg for color, for decoration.

No. It was bleak because it was lived in but it didn’t feel lived in. Nothing about the furniture, the walls, or the air so much as whispering of home. It reminded him more of a prison cell than an actual apartment. It had him wondering, incredulously, how Sae even managed to live there. He had money. He could move.

(And wasn’t it odd to think that perhaps he didn’t want to move? Rin felt an odd ache in his chest at the thought of his brother choosing to live in such a place. If Shidou hadn’t confirmed earlier that no, Sae was not lying about where he lived, he might've even called Sae a liar to his face and demanded to be shown his real apartment.)

Sae didn’t seem to care that Rin had stopped to stare at the wasteland of his apartment. He hobbled past the striker with a vaguely annoyed look– eyebrows pulled together, nose scrunched slightly, a frown pulling at the edges of his mouth– without speaking.

He didn’t say ‘welcome to my apartment!’ or ‘make yourself comfortable!’

The midfielder simply took himself to the couch and, quite unexpectedly, flopped onto it. The resulting clatter of his crutches as they were carelessly flung to the floor had Rin grinding his teeth together. A cloud of dust hung in the air, the particles swirling up, up, up in a disturbed swarm.

Sae made a muffled sound, something that wavered between a groan and a sob, and to hear such a noise from his brother’s mouth sent flame down the back of Rin’s neck.

Embarrassing.

The thought fleeted through his mind– it was embarrassing that Sae was acting like this.

Rin took a deep breath, sniffled, and willed himself not to sneeze. The sound of it was deafening, and he couldn’t quite get his pulse to stop echoing a staccato beat in his ears.

Sae’s breath rasped, unsteady, from where he had buried his face in the couch cushions.

Words rested on his lips, ‘What the hell are you doing? Stop acting like that’, but he was suddenly trembling too violently for his tongue to safely form the words in his mouth.

The apartment felt too small, too bleak, too cold. Too quiet.

He had to say something.

Say something.

Rin’s mouth remained glued shut.

Sae shuffled on the couch, jostled his leg with the motion, and let out a groan before he stilled. Notably, his left leg was laid flat– significant because the doctor had strictly ordered him to keep it elevated.

It almost made Rin angry enough to say something, but his lips seemed to be super-glued together, and remained so even as the thought to scorn his brother with a quick, ‘Your leg is meant to be elevated, or do you want to stay injured?’ passed through his mind. He could almost hear the words out loud.

But he knew how Sae would respond. That is– with no response. He would simply turn his head (or not even give Rin that much attention, remaining stock-still) and drawl, ‘Did you say something?’ like a fucking brat. Because apparently Sae was the world’s biggest child in the face of his career’s downfall.

If Rin hadn’t been sacrificing so much of his own precious time, he might have felt bad. If he couldn't imagine the echoes of the crowd in his ears, the distinct scent of the pitch in his nose, the flash of too-bright lights in his eyes, and the taste of sweat in his mouth as Isagi’s eyes turned towards him– always Isagi, always his rival, always, always, always– he might have felt downright awful.

As it was, he felt the call to the pitch in his chest, a tangible beast that cared for nothing but playing the game. It beat violently, painfully, like a twisted kind of heart, hammering in his chest and making it impossible to ignore the fact that he was missing the rest of the season for Sae. That he was missing PXG’s match against Bastard München for Sae. For a brother that he didn’t even care for– who he’d denounced any connection to (beyond that of a predator chasing down his prey) years ago.

(His phone burned a hole in his pocket, Isagi’s cheerful message, ‘Congratulations on your tie! Looking forward to crushing you next week!’ hovering in the back of his mind. He’d left him on read, and hadn’t checked his phone for weeks.)

So he didn’t say the words, didn’t move, just stood, caught in a limbo between action and inaction.

Rin felt something bubbling up in his throat– hot and burning like magma. He swallowed it down, feeling watched despite the fact that Sae’s gaze was still turned away, focused on the couch cushions like they offered salvation.

And Sae really was just laying there. He was sprawled out, limbs askew like they’d landed awkwardly but he was too lazy to fix them. (Wasn’t that funny? Japan’s Genius, lazy?)

The sight was the opposite of comforting. It sent a shiver down Rin’s spine, animal unease prickling his skin and leaving a feeling of anxiety behind. He’d never seen Sae sprawl before. Sae Itoshi didn’t sprawl. He was always poised, proper, composed. Like an uncanny rendition of a human carved out of stone.

Suddenly, Rin couldn’t bear to look at Sae. The midfielder (or former midfielder, he supposed. The thought made his stomach churn) seemed so different from before that he was practically a stranger.

He had the unbidden thought that the man in front of him wasn’t Sae Itoshi at all. That perhaps he’d taken the wrong person home.

It almost made Rin want to point a finger at Sae and ask ‘Who are you? What did you do with my brother?’ until he got a satisfactory response.

The notion was childish. Lukewarm. He knew, logically, that the man on the couch was Sae. But the very sight of him made him feel sick, because even with all of that logic, Rin couldn't quite believe that he’d taken home his brother and not some sort of imposter.

The burning in his throat returned tenfold, and his eyes were suddenly searching for anything other than what was in front of him. Anything, that is, but Sae.

The door’s open, his brain provided, most helpfully. As if that was the solution. As if closing the door would seal away all of his problems. Yet he found it easy to forget his thoughts as he slammed the door behind him, watching Sae flinch.

He hadn’t meant to slam it so hard, if he was being honest.

It didn’t change the fact that it sent a sick shiver of satisfaction up his spine, to see his brother’s stone-cold mask wavering at the sound. Even if he knew that Sae was being forced to trust him in such a vulnerable state, and it was hardly right to torture him.

But Rin couldn't help himself– he’d always had a cruel, animal streak. Something that had brought him closer to Shidou, Isagi, or Bachira than it could ever bring him to anyone else. They, too, understood what it was to be a predator amongst prey. A monster amongst humans.

They understood that there was a forbidden, black pleasure to be had from crushing your enemies– on or off the pitch. And to crush Sae, even weakened as he was, in this small manner made that vile feeling bubble up his throat.

And was it wrong that he still did it, knowing it was wrong? Was it wrong that the tiny jerk of the midfielder’s body had him thinking ‘Good, I hope he’s fucking scared, I hope he’s fucking sorry’, instead of something more kind? Instead of the normal ‘Shit, my bad?’

But that predatory desire was rising in him, and Rin felt half-mad with the desire to wrap his fingers around Sae’s injured leg and dig into the flesh just to see him writhe. Just to watch, and see if he’d run like the prey-animal he was showing himself to be. Just to prove that Sae had been pretending to be a predator this whole time, pretending to be the main character, when he was really just prey to be caught, just another npc to be cut down on the battlefield. And he was suddenly not thinking of the morality of it at all, just the possible satisfaction that might follow.

Maybe Rin was the bad brother. Then again– he hadn’t started it. Sae’s actions had been the catalyst for their war of words, of actions, of emotions. Rin had simply followed his lead.

It was with shaking hands that he began to tidy up Sae’s small apartment, though it was sterile save for dust. There was no clutter to be moved, no things to be rearranged, no true dirt to be cleaned. He scrubbed at each surface like it was filthy, anyways.

When Rin finally got to the task of organizing all of Sae’s medications, he didn’t bother to mention it to Sae. He’d meant to say something– afterall, it was his brother’s responsibility to deal with his own health– but opening his mouth to speak with the midfielder seemed to be a monumental task.

Sae had done nothing but argue with Rin since he’d first visited. And Rin really didn’t want to argue anymore. He was so tired of arguing. Yet he couldn't seem to stop– and Sae couldn’t seem to, either.

It was as if their personalities had been designed to repel each other, to be mismatched. As if they were fated to argue and argue and argue and argue until one of them decided to leave, or one of them died.

The endless frustration between them left Rin’s skin prickling, his muscles tensing even in silence as he waited for the moments of peace to be broken by shouting. Because Sae had taken to something adjacent to shouting– something Rin had never thought his brother would do. It was a tone of voice pitched louder than speaking, lower than a yell, but full of ire and nonetheless intense. Like a mother’s low snarl at her child to stop acting like a fool.

The very sound of it made Rin’s blood chill and his body tremble. Made him feel like he was young again, crying as his mother demanded to know why her favorite porcelain was dashed to pieces on the ground.

A fight with Sae wasn’t like a normal argument. It wasn’t even really a fight. Closer to humiliation or scolding.

Because Rin argued with Shidou all the time. They’d punch and kick at each other until their heads cleared, if it got bad enough. Mostly, they’d just shout over each other until their throats were raw and they were out of breath. It worked well enough. Afterall, there was a basis of understanding, of connection, in those moments. Shidou and Rin would snap and snarl until both of them felt settled, secure with the results of the argument. Until a compromise or something close was made.

With Sae and Rin, things were different. Rin snapped. Sae shut him down, like it was easy. Like it was logic. Like Rin didn’t know anything and was as worthless as a kid.

Because Sae always seemed to know exactly what to say to destroy Rin– and he’d say it in that calm, flat way of his like he was stating a fact. In that way that had Rin damn near nodding along at whatever he said, even if it was downright wrong.

Rin was jerked violently out of his thoughts by his phone ringing.

He flinched at the sound– knocking something over with the movement– and immediately fumbled for the offending device.

It seemed, for a moment, that his heart was beating out of his chest.

It was an unwarranted reaction that had him glancing around the room in embarrassment. He was overreacting, that much he knew. But the prospect of a phone call was suddenly more complicated than he could handle– anyone could be waiting at the end of the line. He didn’t want to talk about Sae’s crash anymore.

(The very thought of his brother had an anxious pressure settling beneath his sternum and pushing his organs bodily out of the way until he felt like ripping his own skin apart, if only to get rid of the feeling.)

The phone continued its plaintive ringing.

Rin’s heart continued to race against time. At some point, he would have to answer, or simply let the ringing fade into silence.

Hopefully, naively, he wished for it to be his parents. Wished that perhaps they’d finally decided to call, that maybe they had been busy up to this point and had finally made room for him. For Sae, and for all the responsibility that came with taking care of the broken remains of his brother.

Unlikely.

Rin shook his head, and the phone shook in his hand in a sick parody of the motion. As if it, too, was scorning him for his foolishness. The phone was still facing downwards– the bright light of the screen illuminating the floor with its harsh flow– so he couldn’t see who was calling.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but found himself still unable to face the screen.

If he didn’t look, it would be so easy to pretend that his parents had called. That they were thinking of him– thinking of Sae.

No. Rin didn’t care if they called just for Sae. He’d take anything that would get him out of this mess. Anything that would allow him to return to the pitch and pretend like that night, that crash, had never occurred.

The phone rang, insistent, and he began to tremble. His hand flexed around the damned thing, halfway to releasing it and relishing in the crash it would make against the tiled floor, but also halfway to pulling it closer and viewing the screen.

Rin didn’t look at it.

The phone rang, once, twice more, then fell silent. The screen’s light painted the ground with an eerie glow. He waited until it flickered off and plunged the room into darkness once more.

His breath rattle in his lungs, in and out. His pulse hammered in his head.

And when had the day slipped so silently through his fingers?

He could've sworn it was just midday–

He rationalized that he’d waited too long, anyways. It hadn’t made sense to pick up. They’d probably just think he was busy. If whoever it was confronted him about it, he’d just lie to them. It would be easy.

(Easy, like Sae had so easily lied to him about their dream?)

Rin inhaled sharply, felt the air like shards of glass against his lungs, felt the pressure beneath his sternum expand with the action.

“Who was it?” Sae’s voice was small, colored with sleep.

Rin opened his mouth to say ‘No one’ but the words lodged in his throat when the phone lit up in his hand again, resuming its intense ringing.

There was the sound of shifting fabric, a low groan of stifled pain, and his brother’s head was poking over the back of the couch. His hair was mussed, stray pieces sticking to the sides of his face as he squinted against the light.

Rin could only stare at him in a moment of weakness, pleading for something he couldn’t quite name. Perhaps permission to drop the phone and be done with it.

Sae, naturally, did the exact opposite of helping him.

“Are you going to answer?” He raised an eyebrow in that lazy, unbothered way of his.

And suddenly, Rin’s fingers were scrambling to answer before the thought to comply had even reached his brain. Like he was a child again and Sae had just asked him if he was going to stand there all day, or come play soccer– the question had always jump-started him into manic motion, before he could even think, because how could he do anything to risk a frown on his older brother’s face?

He flipped the phone around, squinting against the light, and answered the call before he could even see that caller’s ID.

In hindsight, he probably should have read it.

The phone instantly blared with overwhelming sound.

“RIN-CHAN!!!! Let me in!!!!!”

And then there was an obnoxious sound of banging at the door, as if a hoard of animals were trying to break in.

…

The next few minutes had Rin sitting in a daze at one of the few chairs at Sae’s quaint dining table, facing none other than Meguru Bachira.

The man in question was smiling that broad, toothy smile of his like nothing was amiss– like he hadn’t just burst out of nowhere and demanded to be let inside Sae’s apartment. Which, now that Rin thought about it, he shouldn’t even know the location of.

Over the years, Rin had learned that sometimes, with Bachira, you just had to stop thinking. Pondering his actions got you nothing except a headache and confusion beyond remedy. And that is exactly what he’d done. What he was doing. Not thinking.

(Or at least, that’s what he was trying to do.)

“Mmm, you’re less chatty than usual, Rin-chan. Cat got your tongue?” Bachira chirped, somehow managing to lilt his tone playfully but also convey concern in the tilt of his head. His honey eyes were wide, fixed on Rin. Like he was watching for some slip-up. It sent a shiver down his spine.

Rin tried not to seem too nervous with his response, “Something like that,” His eyes flickered to the shadowed figure of his brother, who had yet to stand from the couch. He didn’t let his gaze linger for too long, lest his staring become obvious.

Bachira nodded like he’d given a real response, “I see, I see. Don’t worry, I’ll talk enough for the both of us. Or, I guess, the three of us.” He paused to crane his neck in Sae’s direction, waving a little despite the fact that the midfielder’s back was turned to them, “Hi, Sae-san!”

Naturally, Sae did not respond. He hadn’t said a word, nor moved, since Bachira had entered the apartment. One might almost forget he was there, if not for the occasional awkward shuffle as he repositioned himself. (Or perhaps considered relocating, only to find that his leg was aching something terrible– which Rin suspected it was, what with the way he’d only just begun to elevate it. What an idiot.)

“So, Rin-chan…” Bachira slipped back into casual conversation easily, fluidly, like it was instinct. Rin imagined such a feat was as familiar to the other striker as a curve shot was to Rin himself. Bachira steepled his hands under his chin, settling his elbows on the table, miming the serious expression of a detective. “Gonna share with the class?”

And– wow. That really wasn’t what Rin had thought would exit Bachira’s mouth.

The last few turns of phrases that had exited Bachira’s mouth were distinctly separate from his usual vocabulary. Maybe he’d learned a few things from his FC Barcha teammates. Or worse, Shidou. The notion was a little unsettling.

It made him falter– long enough that Bachira cocked his head and hummed in that curious manner of his, as if to ask ‘Whatcha thinkin’ about?’.

He supposed that it was his fault, though, for being caught off guard. With Bachira, the unexpected always became the expected. He should've known better.

That didn’t exactly change that he had no fucking clue what Bachira was asking him for.

Instead of admitting defeat in displaying such honesty– it would be ridiculous to just say ‘Bachira, what the hell are you asking me?’– Rin settled on a simple question.

“What do you mean?” He stared at Bachira with what he hoped was a convincing flat affect. Thankfully, his voice managed to stay pitched in a low calm that made him seem less confused and more blunt. As if he was asking Bachira to get to the point already and not asking what the fuck he meant.

Smiling again– that godforsaken tooth-baring half-mad joyful smile of his– Bachira leaned forward with that mock-seriousness of his. Somehow it managed to both lighten the blow of the words that followed but also make Rin feel thoroughly lectured. “Remember? We were gonna hang out, then you kinda just disappeared off the map. I figured something had come up… I saw the news. I tried to call. You weren’t answering.” His molten-gold eyes traced the lines of Rin’s face, brows furrowing.

After a moment’s pause, Bachira continued, “Yo-chan said he tried to get a hold of you. And Hiori, too. You haven’t answered anyone.” He leaned forward, shedding each layer of faux-seriousness for something much more guarded and intense. “We were worried. I was worried.”

They settled into some uncomfortable silence, Bachira’s eyes as sharp as daggers, digging under Rin’s skin and ripping until the raw flesh underneath was exposed. Talking and talking and talking when all Rin wanted to do was sit and listen and not have to deal with something so delicate as communication.

If it were Sae, I would not have to talk, he thought, in a moment of half-madness (for when was it ever a good idea to think of Sae as an example?). His fingers twitched, that uncomfortable ache in his chest magnifying until all he could think was, I shouldn’t have answered that call, I should’ve shut the door in his face, pretended I wasn’t here–

Faintly, over the rapid pitter-patter of his own heart, Rin registered the heavy, limping steps of Sae as he left the room.

“Rin-chan,” Bachira’s voice was both a tether to reality and the sharp knife cutting him away from it. A manic push-and-pull in opposite directions that made his head spin and the world crash around him until he wasn’t sure if he was right or wrong, if the sun rose in the east– or was he wrong? Was it really the west? Something beyond his comprehension that had him questioning if up was truly up or if it had actually been down the entire time.

He hated it.

He hated things he didn’t understand.

“Rin-chan,” Bachira placated, eyes softening across the table until Rin didn’t feel as dissected or analyzed as he had before, “I’m sorry.” And then: “For what happened to Sae. To you.”

Rin tried to speak, but let out an embarrassing choked kind of laugh instead. He blinked, suddenly feeling humiliated, like he’d been caught in a lie. Like he’d just broken something and tried to hide it, but failed miserably. (Again, he thought of fine porcelain, the paleness of his brother’s face, the feeling of breathlessness that came from crying too hard, and the harsh look in his mother’s eyes.)

From the other side of the table– the distance suddenly seemed cavernous, impossible– Bachira simply watched, his bright honey-gold eyes still in the half-light. Waiting. Not sharp, but not soft either. Not-quite-predator, not-quite-prey. An expression that could fall in either direction, should it be prompted to.

It reminded Rin of Sae, in some kind of way. But where Sae’s expression had been cold as a winter night, sharp as glass, Bachira’s managed to settle into safe neutrality. Something calming because it was clear that his gaze held no anger, nor sorrow.

But it could– it could be angry, it could be sorrowful.

Sae’s gaze could never be anything but cold, dead. Like the eyes of a zombie as it traced the lines of some horror movie’s poor protagonist, itching to dig its teeth in. Mindless, uncaring.

Maybe that was why Rin was able to steady himself, to push past that aching in his chest– that animal urge to bite, to snap against pain– and respond honestly.

“I don’t– Bachira, nothing’s happened to me.” His voice was weak, sounding less like his own than it ever had, but he didn’t care. Sae couldn’t hear him. He wasn’t there to call him names. There was a kind of confidence to be had in his absence.

Bachira raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair until it teetered precariously, “Doesn’t seem that way to me. You’re not in France right now, are you? You missed the big match against Yo-chan.” He wobbled in his chair, knees knocking against the table and shaking it in a way that sent panic racing up Rin’s spine.

“Stop that.” Rin snapped, before he could stop himself. He wasn’t sure if he meant stop talking or stop playing with the chair.

The wild striker steadied himself with his hands, letting the chair’s front legs slammed against the ground, grinning sheepishly, “My bad, Rin-chan.”

Bachira let the words rest in the air for a moment before he continued, “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I think it’s pretty bad for you too. Sae-san’s injury, I mean. You’ve gotta watch him, so you can’t play for the rest of the season.”

Rin rolled his eyes, tried to soften his voice– because Bachira really meant well, even if he was being annoying– and spoke, “I know that.”

“Okay,” Bachira smiled, clapping his hands together like they’d just cracked a particularly difficult case, “Wanna play soccer with me?” His eyes flashed fever-bright in the half-light of the room.

“What.” Rin said, in lieu of ‘Do I look like I want to play soccer at fuck-o-clock at night??!’

Bachira nodded his head emphatically as if to say ‘Yes, I asked you to play soccer, and yes, I mean right now’. His golden eyes shone with something mischievous and excited– as if he were watching the finest arch of a teammate’s pass fall right at his feet.

The chair creak-ed in protest as Bachira rocked it back again, cocking his head in the curious manner that a bird of prey might eye its next victim, “What’s it gonna be, Rin-chan?”

Rin opened his mouth to say ‘No’, but his body betrayed him and it came out sounding a lot more like, “Yes,”

(And maybe he didn’t hate that answer too much, not with the way that Bachira’s face lit up, eyes like twin beacons of his mad joy.)

The chair’s legs slammed down again, but it didn’t rattle him so much. The world seemed to fade just a bit more into darkness against the sudden brightness of Bachira’s motions.

The other striker was standing, moving before Rin could so much as blink– or correct his misstep and say ‘I meant no’– and began to drag him out the door with his hands.

The warmth from Bachira’s hands, from his smile, was infectious.

And for a moment, that ache beneath his sternum became muted, secondary. His frustration with Sae became background noise.

All Rin could think of was the freeing feeling that came with a ball under his foot, the goal ahead.

Even as Bachira tugged them through the door (fumbling with the unfamiliar lock), a ball somehow procured and now in his hands, neither of them dressed properly, Rin could not bring himself to care.

Rin hadn’t touched a ball in weeks, and they were going to play soccer.

And when they finally reached the unassuming field in some run-down park, Rin felt like he’d taken the first fresh breath of air that he’d had in weeks. Like he was an addict who’d been denied his addiction until he was shaking for it, dying for it, and he’d finally been appeased.

Because that was how soccer was for Rin– he didn’t love it. He didn’t simply live for it. He breathed it. He needed it on some visceral level, like a predator needs to hunt its prey.

Bachira’s eyes were wide in the darkness of the pitch– the dirty, faded lights providing little more illumination than the moon itself could provide– shining. It sent a shiver down Rin’s spine.

He should have been afraid, should have shivered in fear– but all he could feel was excitement. That surge of adrenaline before a competition that left you feeling shaky and almost high on endorphins.

“Ready, Rin-chan?” Bachira’s voice was playful, his mouth curving into a wicked smile, teeth flashing. His joyful honey-gold eyes had fallen into something deeper, something darker, something like madness.

Rin rolled the ball under his foot, just to feel the curve of it against his skin– cleats or any form of shoes had been forsaken in Bachira’s hurried escape from Sae’s apartment– and felt a small smile of his own pull against the sides of his lips, “Tch. Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

And as he arched his foot back to curve the ball perfectly, gracefully, artfully into the goal, he could’ve sworn Bachira whispered, “Wouldn't dream of it.”

Chapter Text

There’s blood on the floor.

Sae blinked and the world seemed to shift, narrowing in on deep, endless red. Before, he wasn’t quite sure what he saw– in his mind, the impression of leather, a taste of metal, the dark shine of an indistinct color– but now the pool of sanguine liquid at his feet was all he could see.

He took in a shaky breath, felt the seat of a car under his fingertips, felt sweat drip down the back of his neck.

Sae couldn't remember how he’d gotten there, how he knew it was a car, not a bus, not a truck. He just knew, like one knew to pull their hand away from hot metal. It was a kind of infallible feeling. He was certainly correct.

There was an odd stillness to the scene. A perfection that put Sae off kilter, leaving him with the vague sense that something should be happening but wasn’t.

The blood shimmered under a pale light that he couldn't quite understand– was it yellow, was it blue, was it orange, was it gray, maybe?

The faint sound of his own voice echoed in his head, I can’t remember? Is that weird?

Sae didn’t dwell on it.

There was a buzzing in his ears, a sick parody of a melody. He knew at once it was from the car’s radio, and that there was nothing that he wanted more in the world than for it to turn off. He knew the song, even if he didn’t hear the words. Knew that it was in Spanish, knew that it was slow, sad, and way too real. Almost unbearable.

It’s too loud. I want to leave.

He was suddenly aware of the size of his own body, taking up the left seat of the car. He was sitting in the back. He knew that in front of him was the driver– felt in his heart the vague impressions of the left, right, front, back, inside, and outside of the car.

But the driver wasn’t speaking.

What did his voice sound like?

The scene around him wavered, grew fuzzy. The driver was driving. Front left, at the wheel. Sae was sitting. Back left, by the door. He could feel the cold kiss of glass against his head, the sticky leather against his hands, the weight of his phone in his pocket.

What direction is the car facing? He paused to consider the thought– because something felt odd, like maybe the car had been in a different–

With a sudden certainty, a thought echoed through his head; I should call Rin.

Sae reached for his phone, felt the slide of his hand into his pocket, felt the hum of the car’s motor beneath him, anticipated the cold metal of his phone against his fingertips.

He reached, and felt nothing.

Sae dug his nails into his legs and felt it like fire.

Where is my phone?

It seemed imperative that he found it immediately. He knew in his bones that something was going to happen (his left leg ached with a certainty that felt more real than anything ever had). He absolutely needed to call Rin.

But Sae was forgetting something, wasn’t he?

“Are you alright, sir?”

The words echoed through the air, somehow soundless, yet still able to be heard. It was the driver speaking– who else would it be? Though from the man came no voice, no movement.

Sae shifted in his seat, felt a spark of pain light the nerves of his left leg on fire (and that seemed oddly specific, didn’t it? Yet at the same time it felt exactly right. Certain in the same way he knew he was in a car.)

He tried to speak and was suddenly struck by his inability to do so. His throat was tight, clogged up with an unspoken emotion. Yet he felt calm. There was nothing wrong in the car, was there?

No, Sae paused, glancing at his feet, at the crimson puddle that was much bigger than he remembered, There’s blood on the floor.

There was the feeling of water on his hands now, steady drops. Like light rain.

In the background, the staticky, haunted sound of the radio. A gentle drip, drip, drip as the puddle grew.

It was then that Sae’s eyes caught on a hand, the driver’s hand, hanging at an odd angle from the front left of the car. Wrong, was what he wanted to say, but the scene somehow felt right. Like a perfect transition.

The car had stopped, but he couldn’t have told you when.

There’s blood on the floor.

His leg throbbed. He thought of Rin again. Wanted to call.

But his phone–

Sae didn’t remember where his phone was. Hadn’t it just been in his pocket?

Maybe he–

“I need to borrow your phone.” Sae forced the words from his throat, turning towards the driver. He looked up at the man’s face, knew that he was seeing a face yet could only imagine the blurry parody of one.

He was struck by a distant confusion. What did the driver look like, exactly? In his mind, the blurred suggestion of a face that could have belonged to anyone. Why can’t I remember?

The driver’s not-face turned at an odd angle, neck twisting in a way that seemed wrong, “Okay. But how will that help you?” Sae knew that in this moment the man was staring, eyes (Had they been brown? Green? Blue? Why can’t I remember?) wide with a kind of confusion or astonishment.

Sae sniffed, frowned when the air smelled vaguely burnt and metallic, then cocked his head to the side, “Excuse me?” The words rolled off his tongue flatly, with no inflection. He found that he’d spoken more to have something to answer with rather than due to any offense at the driver’s question.

“Oh, no.” The driver panicked for a moment in a way that he’d seen many times. In a way that told Sae he seemed offended at the other man’s words, and the driver cared enough to stress over this. “No. I just find it kind of silly that you're trying to call your brother.”

This made him pause. He’d never said anything about calling Rin.

Or had he?

While he chewed on that thought, the driver’s neck craned some more, cracking dreadfully, to focus the man’s gaze better on the backseat of the car.

“You don’t know his number, afterall.” The driver continued to speak, yet not speak. There was no sound to associate with him, no voice. Yet Sae knew he was speaking, knew that he was saying these strange words. “So even if you could call him, you really couldn't, could you?”

And–

Sae couldn’t deny the truth of that. But instead of saying something so damning as ‘That’s correct.’ he turned his gaze back to his feet. He didn’t want to stare at the man’s blurred face anymore. It was easier to focus on the hand, the blood. They were rendered in such clear detail that he felt a kind of safety in seeing them. A safety in knowing, for certain.

It was predictable, the way light illuminated the blood. It was calming, to watch the slight ripple of motion of the puddle as drops of blood trickled down the hand’s fingertips. It was easy to see the hand’s structure and acknowledge its five fingers, the red coating its surface, the scrapes scattered along its length and its hair and the texture of its skin.

Sae found it much easier than looking at the driver, whose face he could not recall.

Again, he was struck with a deep confusion. What am I forgetting?

“You don’t have it.” The driver said, and this time he had a voice, except it wasn’t his. It sounded a lot like–

Rin?

Sae’s head snapped up.

In the driver’s place was none other than his younger brother, his face defined with a stark clarity. The sculpted lines of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the familiar curve of his lashes, the tourmaline of his eyes. He was wearing the driver’s clothes, but standing now.

It made Sae blink, and realize he was standing as well. Realize that the driver must have been Rin all along. Realize that they weren’t in the car anymore, but were standing in a bar. And that made sense, too. Again, he knew it with a specific certainty.

“Rin–” His body felt heavy, and he reached through what felt like tar for– for something to grasp. He needed to… there was something he had to hold on to.

Rin’s face twisted into a frown, “Why don’t you have it?” Asking this seemed to distress him deeply. Like it was a question he shouldn’t have to pose.

“Have what?” Sae looked at his brother’s face, saw how his words shattered the striker like glass. His leg throbbed like the question had hurt it, too.

Summoning what courage he had left, Sae asked the question again; “Rin, have what?”

Instead of responding, Rin worked his jaw once, twice. Like he was chewing on something, or perhaps grinding his teeth. The thought made Sae uneasy. He had to swallow down the urge to scold his brother with a gentle ‘that could damage your teeth, you know’. (It hurt to think that once they had been close enough for him to utter such a remark.)

Silence continued to stretch between them. Sae tried to ask the question again with his eyes, staring intently to prompt Rin’s answer, but his brother just looked at him with this sad expression. Like he was watching him dig his own grave. It made his skin itch. His leg throbbed.

“Have what?” He stressed, each syllable falling from his mouth desperately. It seemed certain that the answer to this question was of the utmost importance– perhaps as important as lungs are for breathing, or a heart for pumping blood.

Yet, Rin continued with his silence.

Sae stepped forward, unable to stop himself, but Rin only seemed to grow farther away. He stepped forward again, again, again, but his brother only seemed to fall further out of his sight.

There was a crowd now, in the bar, creating a droning sound like rushing water that drowned out any and all conversation.

Rin was moving, still, ever more distant. The crowd seemed to swallow him with each passing second.

A clock chimed.

“Wait, I’m sorry–” Sae choked on his own breath, tried to run after Rin but found that all the strength had been sapped from his limbs. He was moving as fast as he could, gravity weighing heavy on his body, and he just couldn’t keep up.

He stumbled, left leg buckling with a sharp pain, and nearly fell to the floor. He’d taken his gaze off the crowd for no more than a few seconds, but Rin was already so much further ahead. It was hard to even see him, amongst the crushing hoard of bodies.

For a fearful moment, Sae thought he’d lost sight of Rin completely.

But then he caught the flash of his near-black hair amongst dozens of heads, defined in the half-light of the bar, and sprung back into motion.

He tried to move faster, heart pounding in his ears, and opened his mouth to say ‘Answer me!’ or ‘Stop acting foolish, Rin! Come back!’ but instead found himself crying out almost desperately in a voice that didn’t sound like his own; “I’m sorry!”

But it was too late. Rin had disappeared in the unforgiving tide of the crowd.

The bar suddenly seemed to be at once too full and too quiet, the crowd pushing up uncomfortably against its edges and overflowing the space dangerously, all without sound. An eerie feeling settled in the atmosphere, something coming off as not quite right.

There was a kind of tension in the air that made Sae’s chest ache– an uneasiness that filled the room with sludge until his heart pounded under its weight, significantly slowed.

It made him want to leave. To run. Except he couldn’t do that anymore, could he? As he tried frantically to step away, his left leg throbbed mercilessly in protest, threatening to buckle again.

Sae felt himself grow irrationally angry at himself. So angry that his hands were curling into fists, his jaw clenching, his fingers itching to dig into something and tear until he couldn’t think–

He paused, took in a shaky breath, and swallowed in something between disgust and disbelief.

Japan’s Genius was cool-headed, unflappable.

And Sae wasn’t a genius anymore.

He was a second-rate loser (a voice in his head whispered that he was beneath even that, the scum found at the bottom of a child’s cleats, the worst of the worst midfielders in the world).

Sae felt something inexplicable drain out of him.

The press of bodies suddenly became all he was aware of. They’d been tolerable, before, in the midst of his mad dash, but now the sweaty, hot, sticky feeling of their skin made him tremble in place.

The crowd ebbed and flowed like a tide, pushing him in one direction only to pull him in another.

At once, the floor felt less than solid, and Sae felt adrift.

Like the world was turning to dust beneath his feet, and he would be left to stare desolately at the aftermath.

He was grounded back in reality as a stranger’s body slammed into his weaker left side.

Sae’s vision went white-hot, and the bar faded into a blur of color and sound. Before the agony fully hit him, he distantly wondered if this is what it felt like to be in a fever-fueled delirium, because nothing seemed to make sense in his life right now.

There was a sharper, more insistent ripple of pain as the crowd began to shove against him, prone on the floor as he was.

He shut his eyes tight and tried to breathe, to stand, but found himself trembling so hard that he could barely prop himself up.

Make it stop make it stop make it stop–

I’m sorry–

Rin–

He writhed– a futile attempt to ease the pain– and found himself blinking at the ceiling of his apartment. His left leg continued to throb. The blankets were twisted around him like a vice.

He blinked again. Felt his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

It came to him all at once, in a rush.

Dreaming.

He’d been dreaming.

Sae lay still for a moment, staring at nothing. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, though a glance at the clock on his nightstand told him he’d slept in well past noon.

He’d been dreaming.

It was hard to believe. It had felt so real in a way that dreams had never felt to him before. The shine of the light against the surface of the puddle of blood, the smell of smoke and iron, the feeling of leather against his fingers, the sound of Rin’s voice echoing in his ears.

Sae’s heart was still pounding. His confusion, his frustration, the driver, Rin’s face, the car, lingered in the forefront of his mind.

He didn’t dream often. Closer to never. To dream at all, to remember the dream, and for it to be something so disconcerting–

It was impossible to dismiss.

(In the back of his mind, the feeling that his luck was running out, that there was a clock ticking closer and closer to zero, an endless countdown to his next doom. The distinct feeling of dread and impending loss, of an uncertain future.)

Sae shook himself violently, and resolved to think of the dream no longer. It had probably just been a side effect of his medication, or perhaps the pain itself.

With a jerk, he rolled out of bed, feeling the firey pain in his leg spike in a now-familiar way that meant his meds were wearing off. It was a painfully damning sensation, one that reminded him deeply of the fact that his leg would never be the same again. (That he was no longer Japan’s Genius, simply Sae.)

In the background, there was the sound of rushing water. No doubt it was Rin taking a shower. He had a tact for choosing to occupy the bathroom at the most inconvenient times possible. The prime example being now, when Sae’s medicine was located in the bathroom– mind you, the only bathroom his apartment hosted– and Rin would certainly not let him in until he was finished showering.

Which would not be for a while. The thought sent Sae into a silent kind of rage, and he gritted his teeth in annoyance.

During their unfortunate time together, Sae had discovered that Rin was fond of taking showers so long as to make one wonder if the bathroom was flooding. Sometimes, Sae even grew worried, wondering if his younger brother was attempting to drown, or somehow utilize the shower curtain to hang himself.

Such things weren’t founded in reality, however, and he’d come to the inevitable conclusion that Rin was doing this simply to get on his nerves.

Afterall, that seemed to be the striker’s favorite activity.

(Needless to say, the past few weeks had been more than hellish for the both of them. Sae was more than ready to be healed, if only to have his younger brother gone from his house.)

With an exhaled huff of breath that was more of a snarl than anything else, Sae resolved to busy himself with breakfast– or, rather, a really late brunch, what with the time– while he waited for access to the bathroom.

He stood, and was immediately frustrated. He’d healed a lot in the last few weeks. Enough that weight on his leg caused more of a dull, fiery ache rather than a sharp, overwhelming, white-lightning kind of sensation. Yet still, there was pain. There was still weakness.

Sae was aware that it might eventually go away, with work. He’d seen countless athletes in his league bounce back from injuries to play close to their original caliber of soccer.

But–

It was different for him.

He didn’t want to be close to his previous level of success. He didn’t want a ‘it might happen’ in response to his return to soccer. He wouldn’t settle for it.

(A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe he didn’t want anything at all anymore. Maybe it was better to fall out of the limelight and sink slowly into the desolate darkness of his new life. To accept his failure without pretending success was possible. To simply give up.)

Sae paused to blink at himself in the mirror placed neatly in the corner of his room. A horrible gift Shidou had bought him years ago so he could 'Appreciate his beautiful self’ that now seemed more mocking than anything else. Because the man that stared back at him wasn’t beautiful anymore.

No.

He wasn’t even Sae Itoshi.

The man before him was a sick parody of Japan’s Genius Midfielder. Haunting in his disgustingly soft physique, his horrid posture, his visibly weakened leg. There was nothing that was even adjacent to the midfielder in this stranger’s body.

It was hard to even associate the image with himself– easier to think of it as a separate person.

Sae just couldn’t accept how he was now.

…

When the sound of the shower cut off, Sae found himself staring listlessly at the blank screen of the TV.

He’d gotten himself through the motions of the morning– getting dressed, eating breakfast, leaving his room– only to find himself unable to move past that.

He told himself it was due to Rin’s occupation of the bathroom, but deep down he knew it wasn’t. He’d been slipping, in the past few weeks, into a kind of numbness. He didn’t do his skin care anymore. Didn’t care to follow his diet. Didn’t bother with most of the treatments he should be doing for his leg.

Sae felt this feeling– this misery, this desolation– settling in his chest like poison, until he stopped all motion and simply sat down to do absolutely nothing.

(Wasn’t it horrible that doing nothing still made him exhausted?)

Rin’s footsteps echoed in the hall, dull thuds against wood, made slightly less offensive by the fact that his brother refused to go anywhere without wearing socks.

And he knew this meant he should turn the TV on– that he should look busy before Rin was able to witness his pathetic display and comment on it– yet he didn’t move.

It wasn’t long before Rin entered the main living space.

Sae could just barely catch the odd twist of Rin’s face in the corner of his eye– In his mind, Rin’s face on the driver’s body, angry, unwilling to explain– before the striker was stomping over to him.

Placing himself directly in front of his line of sight, Rin managed to look absolutely livid even with the limp quality of his still-damp hair, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Sae blinked, felt his face scrunch up in confusion in what seemed like slow motion, “Is there something you want from me?” There was a part of him that absolutely refused to admit that he had been doing nothing, and it was so easy to meet Rin’s barbed words with a question of his own that he knew would provoke another argument.

And it was so easy to argue. In the past few weeks, it seemed to be all that they could do with each other. Sae had started to believe that maybe his real brother had been swapped out for an imposter– It was hard to believe that the same Rin who had looked up at him with those wide, curious eyes with so much admiration could ever be so angry.

If they were really brothers, weren't they supposed to get along?

He’d begun to think that sentiment was something closer to a fairytale. A tool to be used by parents in an attempt to foster goodwill between their hopeless children.

(Clearly, such attempts were not made by their parents. Although Sae couldn’t blame them. They were a pretty hopeless match-up. An intervention probably wouldn't have changed anything.)

In front of him, Rin had spent the last few heartbeats spluttering like Sae had asked him about his crush, “Do– Do I want something from you? Sae, are you fucking kidding me? Do I– Oh my God.” At this point, Rin seemed to lose himself a little, reaching to tug on the limp strands of his hair like he was grasping at the straws of his sanity.

Sae apathetically watched his face morph from my-brother-is-so-fucking-annoying to you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me to have-you-thought-for-a-single-day-in-your-life to I-can’t-take-it-anymore in the span of a few seconds.

He’d never been very good at reading people, but Rin was so expressive that all of these expressions had become quite familiar to him now. Especially since he was the one who most often caused them.

“Rin.” Sae prompted– instead of saying what or why– and this seemed to be the absolute worst thing to say.

His brother’s expression twisted for the nth time in what seemed to be a particularly painful manner. It was a testament to how far he’d come that Sae was able to catch the confusion beneath the raw anger of his brother’s expression.

“Sae–” Rin hissed, a mocking imitation of the way Sae had said his own name mere seconds earlier, then paused, as if the word had been reflexive and he didn’t quite favor its taste in his mouth. As if Sae was too distant but nii-chan was too familiar. As if there was still something between them that called for a name but it was too fragile for any form of fond address.

The striker sucked in a breath, began to stumble over his words anew, “I just don’t understand…” There was a defeated quality to his voice, and the anger seemed to at once drain out of him as his shoulders slumped. “What is wrong with you?”

And Sae blinked.

Hard.

Because that last phrase—

It was childish. Tactless. Something he should have expected to fall from Rin’s mouth (He’d never quite aged past his teenage years, had he?) but somehow managed to hurt nonetheless.

Sae felt his lips curl, unbidden, as he was overwhelmed with a sudden and intense urge to retaliate. To snap back.

You’re so uptight, Sae-chan, A voice that sounded much like Shidou’s whispered in the back of his mind, No need to be so defensive. I’m not tryna bite.

And Sae knew he shouldn't.

But the past month had been… rough, for lack of a better term. All he wanted was for things to be back to normal. For the crash to never have happened and for his leg to be healed. For Rin to leave him alone so that he could stop feeling so hurt every time the striker looked at him like he was–

Like he was broken.

Like he was nothing if he wasn't Japan’s Genius.

Like he was disappointing him in a visceral, irreversible way.

(Looking at him like he had looked at him all those years ago, on that fateful night. Snow falling like frozen tears from the weeping sky, breath frosting in the air in white puffs, the unforgiving lights of the pitch contrasting with the ebony of night. Rin’s eyes, wide and frightened, tears clinging to his lashes. Sae’s eyes shattered, his face iced over with a detached expression. Sharp words cutting the tension between them like a knife. Both of them walking away, bleeding and wounded, yet baring no true physical damage)

And so, Sae did what he did best. He settled his expression into disdain and stared at Rin like it was his fault they were arguing. Like he was above the entire situation.

It didn't even occur to him to ask what the hell Rin was talking about anymore. He was so uncharacteristically angry that he didn’t care.

“Don’t be like this, Rin.” He tried not to feel too guilty as Rin froze in place.

“No. Don’t you turn this on me. Don’t play dumb.” Here Rin trembled almost violently, like a child wracked with fever, before continuing, “You were supposed to leave for your physical therapy 20 minutes ago. You promised you would go this time. You promised.”

Sae felt a shiver of embarrassment make its way down his spine at the tone of Rin’s voice. He sounded desperate– no, wounded– over this broken promise.

“Oh,” The soft sound slipped out of Sae’s mouth before he could stop it. He swallowed around what felt like shards of glass.

For all he knew, he hadn’t made any promise. Or at least, he didn’t remember making one.

(Part of him considered that Rin was making it all up, assuming things he hadn’t said, but for all he didn’t know about his brother, he knew Rin wasn’t lying. Not about this. Not when his voice wavered with the same intensity that it had when he’d fallen to his knees, begging for Sae to stop as he slowly, meticulously ripped their dream to pieces.)

But the worst of it was– he had known about his physical therapy. And he hadn’t gone. In fact, he hadn’t been going at all.

Each time he’d seen the notification pop up on his phone, he’d swipe it away. Every call from his doctor, every appointment, he’d lie through his teeth. He knew it wasn’t believable, saw it in the way the doctor’s mouth would twist with disapproval so obvious even he could catch it. But he kept doing it.

Just like he kept ignoring every text, call, or attempt to reach out from his teammates, from Luna, from his few friends.

‘Missed you at practice today. Team’s not the same without you.’

‘We could use your help as a coach, if you’re up to it.’

‘Don’t lock yourself away forever, Genius.’

‘Get well soon, Itoshi-san!’

‘Lashes, I know you’re ignoring me. Don’t make me break into your house. I swear I’ll climb into your window. No cap.’

‘Play nice with Rin-chan, Sae-san.’

He ignored it all. He’d even stopped reading what the news articles were saying about him. But he still saw the titles.

‘Itoshi Out For The Season, Or Maybe For Life?

‘Japan’s Fallen Genius: Sae Itoshi’s Descent From Stardom.’

‘Will Japanese Midfielder Sae Itoshi Ever Set Foot On The Pitch Again?’

He didn’t give a shit about what they said. Not the doctors. Not his teammates. Not Luna. Not Shidou, not Rin, and certainly not any of their half-baked friends.

But he especially didn’t care about any of the articles.

(Or at least, that’s what he told himself)

Yet Rin cared. Sae could see it in the twist of his face as he stood in front of him, waiting for something. Maybe he was waiting for Sae to apologize, to say ‘Oh,’ with a little more clarity, like waking up from a dream, and to follow with ‘I didn’t realize. I’m sorry. I’ll go to my PT right away.’

Which Sae wouldn't do.

His leg was ruined. It wasn’t going to be the same. Physical therapy wouldn’t magically heal it, and certainly wouldn't allow him to play soccer again. He might as well do nothing with it. It was better than chasing the shadow of his previous self, of his previous leg.

Deep down, some sick part of him was filled with some kind of security knowing that a lack of PT might lead to a permanent limp, or an inability to walk.

At least then, the world would stop watching him– would stop their clamour over his possible return. They would accept he was useless and leave him the fuck alone. As the truth set in, Rin would stop looking at him with those sad, yearning eyes of his. With those eyes that hoped he could still be the striker he’d been all those years ago. That hoped he could be even close to his old level of skill.

It would be kinder.

Then Sae wouldn’t have to put into words how much he hated–

“Are you even listening to me?” Rin shouted, sudden and snappish. Like he'd been talking for a while, realized he was being given no response, and finally reached his breaking point. “You’re not even going to try to get ready? To show up?” He made to grab for something– maybe Sae’s crutches, maybe Sae himself– but was quickly stopped in his tracks as Sae broke his silence.

“I’m not.” The midfielder stated, plainly, wondering why his throat suddenly felt so tight as he forced the words out. At Rin’s dead stare (perhaps of confusion, or shock, or something else, he wasn’t sure) he added: “Going to show up.”

The clarification didn’t help. In fact, it seemed to flip a switch.

Rin’s expression rebooted. Like a calculator being reset, his muscles loosened until his face was no longer angry, no longer confused, no longer shocked. He blinked, once, twice, as if in a stupor. He shook his head, tilted it to the side a little like he was trying to shake water out of his ears, as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

“You’re really not going to try?” His voice was pitifully small– and not in a quiet, meek way. Rather, he was speaking with no inflection, just a neutral voice, a neutral face. His eyes were fixed on some unknowable point in the distance. Like all the fight had drained out of his body, leaving behind an empty shell of himself.

(It was sickening to think that this was exactly what Sae saw in his own face when he looked in the mirror.)

Sae trembled, opened his mouth– in a reflexive motion to comfort, something he hadn’t done for years– before he caught himself.

What was he even going to say?

Nothing could breach the gap between them. If he’d learned anything from their constant fighting it was that.

They were hopeless.

Sae was hopeless.

And he was dragging Rin down with him.

“Stop it.” Sae said, praying his voice wouldn’t tremble, “You don’t have to.” Care, bother, stay was left unspoken.

He took a deep breath as Rin continued to stare at him blankly with that sick, robotic look, and tried to make his heart stop beating so violently that it hurt. Afterall, this was better for Rin.

Sae could see the toll taking care of him was taking. He had seen the horrible expression on his face when he learned about his shattered leg, his ruined career (as if that hurt him more than anything else– as if he was worthless were he not Japan’s Genius Midfielder) He had seen the angry yet stressful trembles of Rin’s limbs when their parents told him not so long ago that ‘You don’t mind caring for your older brother, do you Rin?’ and left it at that.

He hated it.

Rin was poisoned by his presence.

Yet he wouldn’t leave. Why wouldn’t he leave? He just needed to leave–

“I don’t…” Rin’s voice was still flat, still soft. It echoed ominously throughout the small apartment. There wasn’t much furnishing, and all sounds seemed magnified in its emptiness. “I don’t understand.” Here his voice rose, pitched in a tone that suggested anger yet was so stern it sounded foreign on his lips.

Sae waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

The room fell into a silence like death. Too still and too cold, the air misty with the thick smell of fear, of rage, of despair. An atmosphere that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

Maybe that was why he ignored the instinctive, animal part of his hind-brain that encouraged stillness, silence, until the tension in the air was broken by Rin’s inevitable departure. Maybe that was why, despite the tension, despite that sick, unsettled feeling in his stomach, he broke the silence. Maybe that was why Sae let the next words slip out his mouth.

“I forgot to grab my medicine earlier. You were in the shower.” He said, and found that pretending nothing had happened was much easier than it should have been. “Could you grab it for me?” He ignored the lingering ache in his chest at the thought that he was doing it again.

Shidou’s voice, in his mind.

You’re so uptight, Sae-chan.

Why are you always pretending, Lashes? Life ain’t a movie, and you’re not an actor.

Hmm, tell me whatcha really think. I know you're lying.

And– why did he always think of his words?

But Sae already knew the answer. He was a difficult person. Snappish, with venom-laced words accompanied by a face that refused to express much more than boredom. Or perhaps disdain. Maybe disgust. He was good at showing those emotions, too.

Simply put, he was an asshole. An apathetic bastard.

But Shidou had never cared about that. He’d wormed his way into Sae’s life, unwanted, and rooted himself there until his presence had become comfort. Until seeing him, bantering with him, became enough to make Sae crack a small smile. To feel a little bit of warmth in his chest.

(To enjoy playing soccer, again, after years of seeing it as nothing more than a job. To feel the atmosphere of the pitch like sunlight and freedom rather than a desolate land ice and blood. To find calm in numbers and calculations that he’d lost touch with, that he’d placed in the same category as the thrice-damned equations and numbers he had struggled with in school.)

And Sae hadn’t had many friends before him.

So maybe that was why–

Maybe that was why Shidou’s words mattered so much, hurt so much. Why his actions and voice left unwelcome memories in Sae’s brain.

(In his mind, infinite snapshots of memories. The bar. Rin’s voice, loud. The buzz of voices, of his thoughts. Ringing in his ears. Blood spraying. Swaying on his feet. The crack of bone. The disgust painting Shidou’s face. And then, the sickly colors of the hospital. Rin’s desperate eyes, his angry face. The sad look of disbelief, of disappointment, of shallow hope, in Shidou’s eyes. His uncertain smile. Words, thrown at each other like knives, drawing blood. Shidou’s half-step back. His choice to leave.)

Rin’s gaze was suddenly too much to bear, imperious and intimidating, as he turned his head with a robotic jerk. The motion was delayed, long after Sae’s words had echoed throughout the air. As if he was a puppet being moved by a puppeteer and the motion wasn’t quite his own. Like he’d lost autonomy over himself.

Sae’s heart was suddenly racing and he felt sweat drip down his neck.

Fuck.

There was the feeling that his luck had run out, the clock had stopped ticking. The timer that had been counting down the seconds to his end had finally stilled.

Now, a part of himself was saying, It’s happening now.

Rin opened his mouth to speak, seemed to snap back into himself with a trembling rush of anger, “Are you fucking messing with me? Seriously? I can’t believe you.” He shook his head so violently it seemed to make him dizzy, and he stumbled. Took a step back. Sae felt his nails dig into his palms, drawing blood. “Why are you always acting like this? Like someone’s fucking child? You’re older than me– I just…” He paused, grasping for words in the apartment’s eerie silence.

Sae didn’t speak. Watched Rin blink desperately as he stared around the apartment, like someone might jump out and help him make sense of the mess between them.

No one did.

Shakily, Rin seemed to find his footing again, “You’re such an asshole, you know?” He let his words sink into the air, eyes lingering on Sae.

As if he was waiting for something.

As if he thought Sae might fill the silence between them with ‘I know. I’m sorry, Rin.’

But he didn’t.

Because it was better if Rin left.

(Not because his heart was pounding, aching, so violently he thought he might die. Not because he’d tried to force any words out of his lips, only to find that his throat was tight with shame, with fear. Not because he was a coward who didn’t know how to apologize, or how to stop lying if Rin wasn’t far away from him. Not because the truth– about how he felt, about what he wanted for his future– would hurt Rin more than anything, and he couldn’t bear it.)

Rin shuddered, face twisting as he backed up another half-step as if Sae was an abhorrent creature. “So you’re just going to give up? To quit soccer? Just like that?”

Sae flinched at the harsh words, felt his blood chill under the barrage of questions.

Like a shark swarming blood, like a predator smelling weakness, Rin dug in with his teeth, “If you don’t try, you’re going to lose your career. Your fame. Everything that makes you special. Everything that matters.”

Everything that–

Sae felt his chest tighten with anger, with fear.

Was that what his brother really cared about? His career?

“So what? Maybe I want to quit soccer. Maybe I don’t give a shit. Just stay out of my fucking life, Rin.” The words came out harsher, louder, than he’d ever intended.

Rin stilled.

Sae’s body trembled.

His brother’s next words were like a death knell.

“You know what? See if I care. Don’t take care of yourself and let your life fall into pieces.” He took a deep breath, tourmaline eyes flashing with an undefined swirl of emotions, “I’m leaving.”

And–

Rin had said similar things many times.

I’m sick of your bullshit, Sae.

Fuck you. Help yourself, then.

I’m leaving.

But he never did. At least, not for long. Not forever.

Yet–

It felt different, this time.

Final.

The door clicked softly behind Rin as he left, like he hadn’t even had enough fight left in him to slam it.

Sae blinked, stared listlessly at the view of the city from his apartment’s windows. It was bright, lively, loud.

His leg suddenly felt on fire.

My medicine, he recalled dimly.

But he didn’t move to get it.

Chapter Text

As the door clicked shut gently behind him, Rin came to a standstill. Then, in a moment of weakness, he wavered on his feet, caught between falling against the door for support or giving in to gravity’s clutches and simply face-planting on the ground. Eventually he settled for neither, and continued to stand.

Uncertain.

Lost.

He felt a lot like he was poised on the edge of a cliff. Or perhaps like he’d already tumbled off of it.

Thinking of Sae’s face, of the words that left his mouth in that unhurried, patronizing way of his, of the anger that had begun to burn in the midfielder’s eyes, of the numbness that had settled in his own heart, Rin figured the latter was the truth.

He’d fallen off the cliff’s edge, and there was no way to return to the top. His feet had left the rock, he’d already hit the water. His fingers had already scrabbled desperately for purchase against the unforgiving sharpness of the rocks at the cliff’s base, and he’d already found it to be hopeless. And now, he was sinking into the ocean’s icy depths, drowning in the aftermath of his choices. Drowning in the realization that there was nothing for him to hold onto anymore.

(That there was nothing that could bridge the gaping wound that had been rendered between him and his brother.)

Standing in the hallway, clinging to the sound of his own stuttering breath in the otherwise silent air, trying not to feel so alone, Rin knew there wasn’t a way to take back what he’d said– to forget what Sae had said.

He couldn’t turn around and open that door again.

He’d said he was leaving, and for once it was final.

I really meant it this time. I left. The thought was so foreign as to bring goosebumps to his arms, and he felt at once like he was drowning but also like he’d been shocked back to life.

And wasn’t it terrible that he felt happier than he had in months? That finally being free of Sae left him with enough room to breathe, to feel like himself again? Wasn’t it terrible that, despite the rage, the sorrow, the numbness, a part of him was whispering that he should've left a long time ago?

Rin’s chest was suddenly aching with a vengeance, his lungs burning in a way that felt like drowning.

The muscles in his jaw ticked, his teeth clenching, as the ache intensified even as he tried to breathe through it. The door at his back seemed as once too close and too far away– a cliff he couldn’t climb but was still swept against by the unforgiving tide, a cliff that was jagged yet promised solid land, a cliff that made him tremble for fear of being dashed to pieces yet grounded him in the landless, bottomless ocean he’d descended into.

It was all he could do to tremble desperately in its shadow.

For all his confidence that he’d fallen off the cliff’s edge– that he was leaving– he couldn’t seem to step away. Nor could he bear to step back.

Rin shoved a shaking hand over his mouth before he could embarrass himself with something as lukewarm as crying aloud.

What will the neighbors think? A part of him, distant yet insistent, asked.

Then: They’ll probably be glad the fighting’s over. All you did with Sae was argue.

And–

Rin bit down on his hand to stifle the swell of pain in his chest. He bit down until he tasted metal, because that was better than tasting salt. That was better than letting a sound escape his mouth that might carry through the door.

He would not cry over this.

Sae didn’t deserve his tears.

Sae didn’t deserve anything from him anymore.

He didn’t–

He didn’t deserve to have Rin’s care, Rin’s love.

He was nothing but an ungrateful narcissistic bastard. Afterall, he was too busy wallowing in his own self-pity to see just how much Rin was giving up to see him better. How much of his own fucking soccer season he was throwing away for a shitty brother who’d done nothing but waste away.

So why was it so hard to strip that away from him?

It should’ve been easy.

It should’ve been the easiest decision of his life.

(And yet, Rin felt like leaving had torn him in two. For when had Rin Itoshi ever not been a half of Sae Itoshi? What had happened to them? When had they gone from the Itoshi brothers to just Rin and just Sae? Didn’t they love each other? Rin loved Sae. Maybe Sae had always hated Rin.)

He bit down harder, feeling bone beneath his flesh, when the ache in his chest seemed to freeze all the air in his lungs.

Then, with a sudden clarity, he pulled his hand away from his mouth. Stared at the darkening impressions of his teeth on his hand. Watched the revolting sheen of his own spit slathered on his skin.

“What the fuck am I doing?” The words echoed through the empty hall.

Maybe he was crazy.

Maybe he’d hung out with Bachira too much lately and had contracted part of his disease.

That being said, maybe he was hallucinating this. Maybe this was a dream. Everything had seemed so surreal lately, since Sae’s crash. Since he’d seen it on the news and felt the life he knew crumble to dust within seconds.

But Rin knew better.

If he’d been dreaming, Sae would have said something pathetic like “I’m sorry” or “Don’t, Rin–” in a way that meant “Please stay” more than it meant “Forgive me” because Rin knew, deep down, he’d never be able to forgive his brother.

But maybe he could have stayed.

Could have.

Not anymore, though.

Not when he’d tried so hard to convince Sae to go to therapy, only to be met with apathy and then anger.

Not when Sae had the audacity to say that he was giving up– that maybe he didn’t give a shit anymore.

He wasn’t–

He wasn’t allowed to give up.

Not after everything.

Sae giving up soccer was– it didn’t make sense. Soccer was everything to him. Everything to both of them.

Itoshi and Soccer went together like Rin went with Prodigy and Sae went with Genius.

Sae saying he was quitting… that was like renouncing who he was as a person. Like throwing down his hands and saying, “I’m done living this life. I’m done being an Itoshi.”

And Rin wouldn’t have that.

He wouldn’t fucking have that.

Or at least–

Rin took a shuddering breath, felt cold water lapping at his chest and pulling him down, down, down with sodden fingers.

He had insisted he wouldn’t have that.

But Sae wasn’t his problem anymore. He was leaving.

So why was he still standing in front of the goddamn door?

…

The heat was oppressive that morning, the sun glaring down like it had a personal vendetta against Rin.

As he walked down the street– the air shimmering across cars and pavement alike, everything seeming like an illusion in the too-bright midday heat– it felt very much like the world was against him.

Now, instead of feeling like he was drowning in the cold clutches of the ocean, he got to experience what it felt like to be washed ashore on foreign lands and boiled under an unforgiving sky.

(That is, Rin had the pleasure of no longer being in peace with his own turmoil. Now, he was able to view just how much he mattered in the grand scheme of things– which was very little, apparently, what with the way the world kept turning, and the happiness all the citizens of Madrid seemed to radiate. Where was his happiness? Lost somewhere between that snowy night and his decision to care for his brother, he supposed.)

It was starting to become painfully obvious to Rin that anyone cursed with the surname Itoshi was doomed to have bad luck.

As he walked aimlessly down the street away from Sae’s apartment– though he had no clue where he was going to do once he made it “far enough” away, whatever that meant– Madrid bustled with a tireless energy that couldn’t help but feel offensive.

In a moment where he wanted nothing but silence, the city’s clamour filled the stagnant air. People’s voices rose and fell with the musical cadence of the native language, and it was beautiful even without understanding. Cars and trucks honked urgently as traffic slowed to a crawl. Parents, children, siblings, and couples alike went on with daily routines like nothing was wrong.

Like there was no other place in the world where they could be so happy, even on this brutally hot day.

Like the city itself was shoving in his face that no matter what he was feeling, no matter what Sae had said, the world would keep spinning. It wouldn’t wait for Sae’s recovery. It wouldn’t wait for Rin to learn how to live in the aftermath of their fight.

If they didn’t do something, it was clear what would happen.

They’d get left behind.

Or, rather– Sae would get left behind.

Because the world wasn’t waiting for them, and Rin was tired of dragging them forward to keep up. Sae’s dead weight was his own problem now. It was up to him whether he sank or swam– Rin couldn’t keep them both afloat anymore.

And if there was one thing he knew, it was that he wasn’t going to drown with Sae.

So he’d let go.

He was leaving.

Full stop.

And maybe, leaving like this would teach Sae a lesson. Show him how much Rin had been doing, how much he had been caring. Maybe he’d finally blink and snap out of the illusion he was in, tuning back into reality. Tuning back into soccer and stopping his endless descent into despair. Perhaps he would learn how to swim again, how to live.

Rin startled at the sudden and incessant honking of a horn close by.

His gaze jerked upwards, and the world seemed to snap back into place all at once, flooding him with information he’d been ignoring. The hot pavement underneath his feet, the bright, shining white of the crosswalk. A car, sleek and sparkling, close to his side. The driver, face contorted half by rage, half by fear. The sound of a window rolling down.

Then, a flood of panic and shame as he registered words being spoken, recognizing none.

But the anger was clear enough.

“Um–” Rin ducked his head, almost reflexively, trying (and probably failing) to relax his face enough from its scowl to convey his apologies, “Sorry…”

The driver made a dramatic motion with their hand as he hurriedly finished crossing the street, heart pounding in his ears.

He quickly merged with the crowd again, deeply disturbed at the reminder of the city’s life.

It was overwhelming even compared to the cities he’d visited in Japan, and he’d never really gone sightseeing in Paris. He’d been too busy training, and hadn’t ever favored cities anyway.

They were always too much. Too many noises, too many distractions, too many occurrences, too many people– too many eyes. Even submerged in the traffic of the sidewalk, he could feel gazes brush against his skin like unwanted insects, leaving behind a feeling of disgust. Of uncleanliness.

Absently, Rin itched at the back of his neck, muscles tensing as he ducked his head and tried not to get too close to anyone. It was hard, in such a crowded place. The city was flooded with mindless npcs that seemed at once judgemental and indifferent.

Not one of them seemed to care for personal space, and Rin was left to feel the revolting touch of sweaty skin as he continued to navigate the clogged sidewalks.

He felt boxed in, trapped, despite having left the unbearable confines of Sae’s apartment.

No matter how far he walked, Madrid itself seemed to cling to him with heavy, barbed fingers. As if even free from Sae, he wasn’t being allowed to truly escape from anything.

(His taste of freedom hadn’t lasted very long. A voice in his mind, playful and lilting, ‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh, Rin-chan?’)

It made him long for easier days– for the gentle caress of the ocean breeze as the last rays of the dying sun sparkled across rocks and for softly stirring waves of cerulean water. For the feeling of a hand clinging to his own despite the heat of the day lingering, more desperate for continued contact than it cared for the sticky feeling of sweat.

(For Sae’s wide, hopeful eyes as they gazed down at him, delighted simply by his presence. As if he’d never been so happy with anything else in his life. As if he thought the two of them truly could become the world’s best strikers.)

Beside him, a woman passed, blissfully unaware, hand entwined with a little boy who couldn't have been any older than 10.

And the boy clung to a child even smaller than himself.

“Stay near me.” The woman said, sternly, as she paved a way for her and the boys.

“I will mama,” The elder said, in that high, optimistic, childish tone that would one day be forever lost. His hand tightened minutely around the smaller boy’s.

The woman glanced down at them both, “And make sure your brother stays with you. Don’t let him go.”

At that, the little boy gave her a wide, gap-toothed smile that was near-blinding in the midday sun, “I won’t mama.”

And the boy turned to his brother, “You heard mama, I’m in charge today!” He practically vibrated at this declaration.

As if taking care of his younger brother was the greatest honor in the world.

And the younger boy blinked with wide, light-filled eyes, and said, “No fair!” But his tone was bright, and he barely seemed to care at all.

And–

Rin had to get out of this city.

…

As the train pulled away from the station all Rin could think of was how much it sounded like the rushing of waves agitated by a storm.

The very notion threatened to sweep him off his feet and pull him under.

Rin could only blink at the train’s departure and movement of the crowd around him. The tide ebbed– men and women alike stepped off the train, onto the station’s platform, and began to walk confidently like there wasn’t any doubt in the world. The tide flowed– a new crowd flooded the station, checking watches in varying states of boredom as they waited for the next train.

He stood like some awkward rock in the midst of it all, jagged and dark and oddly out of place. The tide flowed around him, unbothered if a bit miffed at his placement.

The world, afterall, kept flowing, and it seemed that all Itoshis could ever do was stay at a standstill.

Rin felt sick.

A sound like rushing water filled his ears. He looked for a train, but nothing was on the tracks. The crowd remained relaxed and waiting.

He forced his legs to move.

Rin was halfway out of the train station when he realized he had absolutely no idea where he was going.

Like clockwork, he came to a standstill again. As an Itoshi, it was inevitable, wasn’t it? To be stuck in the same way he always was?

The crowd flowed around him, rushing like water around a rock.

His fingers trembled as he reached for his phone.

God, he was hopeless.

Isagi’s contact stared at him with large, seemingly innocent eyes. But Rin knew better. Knew enough that even the profile picture made him itch to dig his nails into something, to sink his teeth into flesh and feel it burn. Isagi always managed to look kind until the moment his cleats stepped into the boundaries of the pitch.

And at that moment, it seemed for all the world that phone-Isagi was judging him.

“Just try to keep up, genius.”

Rin gritted his teeth, just barely able to stop himself from screaming ‘I AM TRYING!’ and throwing his phone as far away as possible.

Yeah, on second thought, he wasn’t going to ask Isagi for any help.

He could just imagine the grating messages that would flood his phone: “Rin! A ‘hello’ would’ve been nice. How's Sae been? Everyone’s been asking how you guys are doing.”

Rin shuddered at the very thought.

He pocketed his phone and began to wade through the crowd once again.

He’d find what he was looking for one way or another.

(Itoshis, afterall, excel at being stubborn.)

…

Rin wasn’t so certain, anymore, when the sight of FC Barcha’s training center looming on the horizon finally met him.

As he stepped out of the taxi, he felt a lot like he’d been plunged into another dimension.

(Off the cliff, hitting the water and sinking down, down, down into the ocean’s gaping maw. The roaring of raging waves against the cliff’s face muffled with each passing moment until no sound remained. The rays of the sun, unable to permeate the ebony of such darkness, such calm. Too deep, now, to feel much more than cold and the unforgiving pressure of all the waters above. To see much more than infinite black.)

The sky had sunk into a deep navy, stars twinkling dully while the city shone with all its brilliance. He could've sworn it had been bright out mere hours ago.

Am I really doing this?

Uncertainty weighed down on him as he grew closer to the training facilities.

But where else was he going to go? To whom would he turn?

Shidou was his friend, yes, but Shidou was always, at his core, Sae’s. That was something that Rin knew deeply, something that he knew even though Shidou denied it.

From the time Shidou had first seen Sae, Rin had lost a piece of his friend (and at that time, enemy) to his older brother.

(It seemed like Rin was always losing something to Sae. His dream. His happiness. His empathy. His freedom. His mind, even.)

Shidou was irrevocably obsessed with Sae, with soccer, giving all and more of himself into everything that caught his eye. As the wild striker might put it himself, he was always committing himself wholeheartedly into anything that ‘tickled his fancy’.

He was always putting himself in Sae’s path, even if he didn’t mean to.

Shidou took wide strides forward and never glanced back, always plowing forward towards his dreams savagely, following his instincts wildly and being free in an animal kind of way.

A little bug being drawn instinctively to the light of Sae’s talent despite himself.

Because that was what it meant to be Shidou Ryusei.

But Bachira–

Bachira was different.

He’d known Rin first in a way Shidou never had.

Shidou and Rin had been enemies long before they’d been friends, and Shidou had known Sae long before even that.

Bachira had only ever known Itoshi as Rin.

To him, Itoshi meant Rin and Rin meant Itoshi in a way it never had to most anyone else.

It seemed stupid but– Rin had been hit with more than his fair share of phrases along the lines of “Itoshi? Like Sae Itoshi Itoshi??” or nicknames such as “Little Itoshi” that clearly defined him as second to his brother.

He had always been the lesser, the younger, the weaker.

But in Blue Lock, he’d had the chance to be the better, the stronger, the only Itoshi that those boys truly knew. Of course, they’d heard of his brother, but they were so daunted by Rin’s own strength that there was no time to compare him to the midfielder.

For once, he’d been at the top of the food chain and strikers cowered at his feet like prey animals, noses twitching at the scent of danger, chests heaving from fear.

(Like he’d cowered at Sae’s feet all those years before, his blood turning to ice in his veins as his brother’s words dug their teeth into his neck for the kill.)

It was a sick, divine pleasure.

Rin wouldn’t have traded it for the world, no matter how twisted that made him.

That macabre euphoria of crushing other strikers, of fighting to the death on the battlefield of a soccer pitch, was the one thing Sae had never been able to take from him.

And he’d tried, almost desperately. Sae had thought Rin couldn’t see the looks of concern or outright fear that had crossed his face– but he had.

He knew that he was a monster.

It was what made him so ruthlessly powerful as a striker.

And when he’d seen Isagi play, when he’d seen Shidou play, when he’d seen Bachira play–

Monster recognizes monster.

And so Rin had recognized Bachira.

(Of course, he’d seen Isagi’s potential, too, but enough about Isagi. That incessantly joyful bastard pissed Rin the fuck off. And Shidou didn’t need another thing to add to his list of ‘Top 10 reasons why Rin would be my perfect brother-in-law’.)

Maybe that was why Rin was drawn to him now, at his lowest point, sinking beneath even the rocky bottom of the cliff and into the ocean’s deepest, darkest depths.

Bachira’s eyes had already seen through him before.

(The darkness of night pooling above his head, nothing but the sound of his own breath in his ears. A ball beneath his feet. A flash of yellow at his heels, jeering that he wasn’t going to be able to score. A leg snaking through his own, flicking the ball away as Bachira snarked, ‘Not so fast, Rin-chan~’ in that musical way of his. A feeling that maybe he and Sae would never get along, but at least he could stand to play soccer forever with someone.)

Rin breathed in the ebony air of the night into his lungs– felt it settle like tar– and breathed it out again with tremendous effort.

FC Barcha’s training center was now looming closer than ever– lit eerily by lamplight like one of those haunted houses from a horror movie– and he took each step towards it, even though it felt a little like drowning.

When Rin finally reached the doors, he paused. The training facility loomed above him, waiting. The whole world seemed to take a breath for a moment– as if it sensed that this was significant. As if it sensed that opening these doors would push him into unknown waters that he couldn’t return from.

He ground his teeth together, felt the bones grate together horribly, his jaw muscles aching.

There was an odd sense of finality in the air as his fingers ghosted the handle of the door, the metal feeling like ice against his skin.

If he turned back right now– if he started walking back to the train station, if he went back to Madrid– he might be able to pretend that none of this was happening. That he hadn’t fought with Sae, and that he wasn’t stuck in his brother’s shitty apartment, out for the rest of the season.

(As if that wasn’t the biggest lie of the century– he’d never be able to forget that fight. Sae’s words, Sae’s face, his own emotions, the bland colors of the apartment, would always come back to him. Moments like that– charged with electric emotion, with anger, with fear, with pain– had always latched onto him like leeches. Never letting go, always draining him. Burning like fire and not leaving even with the sharpest tug. It was a curse, and one that left him forever with the sight of falling snow, the feeling of frostbite nipping at his fingers, and the twisted parody of his brother’s face– that inhuman thing that had come crawling back from Spain.)

Rin shook his head.

He knew better.

His brother– his real brother, not the stranger that returned from Spain, nor the stranger he’d been taking care of for so many months– was never going to return.

So Rin had decided to leave– he would not suffer the shame of crawling back. Not this time. Not again. Never again.

Because he was never going to find what he was looking for.

Or rather, who he was looking for.

And that fight, that decision, had been final in a way nothing had been for a long time.

His fingers tightened around the handle of the door, and pulled.

The resulting clang of metal on metal shuddered through the clearing and he flinched back. Hard. His heart jack-rabbited in his chest, and he whipped his head around to squint at the darkness, praying that nobody had heard that– and especially that they hadn’t seen that.

Okay…

So maybe he hadn’t thought about what his so-called “plan” had entailed.

The door was, of course, locked.

Why wouldn’t it have been?

“You fucking idiot!” Rin hissed, feeling his chest tighten as he desperately resisted the urge to do something even more embarrassing like ripping all his hair out.

Even so, his hands drifted up to his head, tugging at the limp strands like maybe they were the lifelines that could drag him out of his state of submersion.

The locked door seemed to mock him: Now what?

He honestly didn’t know.

Again, he felt a rush of frustration, of course the place was locked.

Why wouldn’t it have been?

But he’d honestly not been doing a lot of logical thinking in the past few hours– or maybe the past day, it was getting so dark he wasn’t sure– and he didn’t even know where Bachira lived.

So, naturally, he’d come to Barcha’s training facility, but of course he had forgotten that professional soccer clubs didn’t just let anyone waltz into their buildings.

God, he was a mess.

Maybe he should've just sucked it up and stayed with Sae.

Maybe he was overreacting.

A little voice in his head that sounded a lot like Sae whispered: “And you think I’m not acting logically?”

It made him so upset to even think of how lukewarm Sae would think he was acting if he knew what was going on that he almost started screaming.

Yeah– he was absolutely glad he wasn’t around Sae right now.

At least here, stuck outside Barcha’s training center with a phone on questionable battery percentage, no way home, and no way inside, he was free from the midfielder’s icy, suffocating gaze.

And wasn’t that sad?

Rin couldn’t recall when he’d last seen Sae’s eyes soften in that distinct manner of his that meant kindness, that meant compassion. A look so fleeting, so precious, and so, so rare.

Perhaps the last moment Sae had felt such emotion was before Spain– before his descent into something not-quite human and far too automatic.

He didn’t know.

Sae had been so closed off towards him for so long– long enough that recently he’d almost begun to think that he had done something wrong. That Sae’s words were justified and he really was disgusting enough to make someone puke.

And with Sae’s injury, with the hollowness that seemed to overtake him, the lack of care–

Rin had almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

But of course, nothing good could ever last between them. If “good” even began to describe the battlefield they lived in for those few months. The apartment had been a minefield, and they’d walked on it as if they hadn’t known– or, rather, were pretending it wasn’t– miraculously managing to scrape by without any casualties.

Until Sae stepped on a mine and blew everything apart.

The tension between them had shattered.

Rin’s almost of an apology, his ghost of pity, had shattered with it.

Broken into so many pieces like Sae’s leg, like their mother’s fine china, like everything else had ever fallen apart in their life.

Into so many pieces it was beyond repair.

Rin suddenly felt very tired. The night pressed down on him like the entire weight of the ocean until it was all he could do to sit down and pray that Bachira would leave the facility and see him waiting.

…

“Rin!?”

The striker in question jerked forwards from his slumped position against the wall, muscles protesting.

He blinked, felt a heavy weight on his eyes that told of restless sleep, and blinked again, slowly adjusting to the sensations of the world.

The streetlights were near blinding in the pitch-black of the night.

It made his head ache.

“Hey! Earth to Rin-chan!” A hand waved itself in front of his face, insistent, before drawing back. A sigh sounded somewhere in front of him, and then golden eyes were mere inches from his face.

“Rin?” Bachira’s eyes were wide, the question slipping out of his mouth so fast, so uncharacteristically bland– no nickname, no sing-song cadance– that it sounded foreign, “What are you doing here?”

That woke him up.

“I–” Rin took in a breath but it seemed like the air was suddenly liquid, and it caught awkwardly in his throat.

He–

He wasn’t really sure what he was doing there. But did it even matter? Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it did. He honestly didn’t know.

Instead of speaking, Rin shrugged, swallowing back the flood of words that seemed at once eager and unwilling to burst forth from his mouth– a swirling hurricane of ‘I don’t know’ and ‘We fought’ and ‘I feel like I’m drowning’ and ‘Can I have a hug?’ and ‘Am I the reason he quit?’ and ‘Did our dream ever matter?’

“You’re not sure?” Bachira’s eyes blinked, cat-like and glowing as he craned his neck awkwardly to meet Rin’s gaze– his head was turned halfway to upside down, and the sight would have been funny if he hadn’t seemed so concerned. “Okay.”

Rin felt a rush of shame pool like bile under his tongue at the lackluster tone.

Maybe it was wrong–

“Hey. It’s really fine, Rin-chan.” Bachira shook his head, then winced as if the motion at such an angle had pulled something in his neck. It probably had. He smiled awkwardly, teeth flashing in the lamplight. “You don’t have to have a reason to visit a friend, right? And if I’m being honest– I was about to crash your place again if you didn’t visit me soon anyway, so let’s just call it even.”

Rin inhaled awkwardly to avoid letting out a strange, strangled sound at the sudden tightness in his chest, “Sure.”

Bachira smiled, his eyes squinting with the motion, joy despite all circumstances displayed brazenly across his face. As if he was announcing to all the world that no matter what, he’d shine as bright as a thousand suns.

(In the dark of midnight, the deepest depths of the ocean, an anchor descending, the sweet kiss of metal stirring up ancient sand for the first time in centuries, the promise of a surface, somewhere beyond, somewhere above. Memories of the golden-crowned sun as it rose over the horizon, the ocean basking under its gaze. Warm. Bright.)

Rin blinked at the sight of the wild striker before him, feeling blinded. Feeling as if he’d been lifted to the surface of the depths he’d sunk into, if only briefly. Thinking that maybe this was a dream, and he’d wake up to nothing but darkness again.

But then, Bachira reached out a sun-kissed hand, the tan of his skin practically glowing gold in the lamplight as if he were divine, “Well, C’mon then, sleepyhead.”

Untouchable, Rin thought with a reverence that had, before this time, only ever belonged to one person in his life.

He reached for the offered hand, and let himself be pulled.

…

After months in Sae’s apartment, entering Bachira’s home felt like drifting through a false reality.

The place was teeming with life– personal affects crammed on every available surface, furniture of all shades that miraculously managed to look homey and not hideous, pictures of friends and family hung up like trophies on the walls, and a tiny easel in the corner with a half-finished scene, paint splatters decorating the nearby wall, half smudged as if Bachira had tried (and failed) to remove them.

Even the air felt different. Clearer. Warmer. Lighter. Softer, somehow.

As Rin stepped further and further into Bachira’s home, he felt the water’s ever-so-steady pressure on his bones ease, settling into something more bearable.

Humming quietly, Bachira bounced ahead of him, excited despite the hour. As the striker milled around, he talked about nothing and everything at once. Soccer drills, Lavinho’s latest moves, what he ate for breakfast, and why that photo of him and Isagi on a beach– sitting innocently on a side table– was his favorite because they’d both been knocked over by a wave seconds after.

He even laughed over the very real possibility of pulling an all-nighter– as if it wasn’t Rin’s fault and was instead a fun decision they'd made together, like two giggling teenagers having a sleepover.

(Lukewarm is what Sae might’ve called it. And maybe Rin would have, once. But now– maybe warm was all that it truly was.)

After quickly setting his stuff down, Bachira ushered Rin to sit down and choose a movie while he went to grab snacks from the kitchen. The striker’s chatter had never stopped, even as he entered and exited various rooms.

Logically, Rin knew that it was for him. Bachira was talking, filling the silence with his joy and sound in an attempt to calm him.

(And was it so wrong if that was part of the reason he’d come here? To let Bachira’s voice fill the emptiness around him in a way that made him feel a little less like he was drowning?)

“Back, Rin-chan!” Bachira chirped, plopping himself down closer to Rin than was truly necessary. He didn’t mind, though. There was a part of him that longed to be close to something real. Something warm.

When Rin didn’t inch away, Bachira smiled up at him in that cheshire way of his that said he understood.

“So…” The elder striker drew out the ‘o’ in that easy, playful way of his, “What’re we watching tonight?”

Bachira’s eyes shone like mini suns in the darkness as they fixed on Rin, waiting for a response.

One of the first things he’d done while preparing for their spontaneous movie night was shut off all the lights, save a little bee-shaped nightlight (“Isagi gave that one to me for Christmas.”) in the far corner of the room.

‘To keep the monsters away’, Bachira had said, after Rin had stared at the ridiculous little nightlight for what must've been a second too long.

He guessed that was a valid enough response.

There was something undeniably warm about the yellowish light cast from the small light that made the darkness a little less deep. A little less damning. A little less like drowning.

“Riiiiin…” A finger poking at his forehead startled him out of his thoughts.

He blinked, refocused on the sight of bright golden eyes and the feeling of the TV remote in his hand, and blinked again.

The echo of spoken words in his mind, smooth as honey, What’re we watching tonight?

“I don’t know,” Rin muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “Do you think that it really matters?” The question came out strained, muffled by the water sloshing in his lungs. He wasn’t sure if he’d meant to ask about the movie, or something else.

And that–

He knew that was a lie.

But wasn’t it easier to pretend he didn’t know?

Bachira blinked at him slowly, head tilting to the side, “I think it does.” His words weighed heavy, sinking into the air like rocks into the ocean’s depths.

Silence stretched between them.

The TV remained off.

Rin’s hand was loose around the remote.

“Then why can’t I make up my mind?” His voice trembled, pathetic even to his own ears. As soon as the words had left his mouth, he tensed, regretting them. Expecting ridicule, or some kind of backlash.

(Sae’s voice in the back of his mind, “If you’re so indecisive, you should quit soccer. It’s not a useful trait.”)

But Bachira just let out a quiet hum, calming and warm where Sae would have been harsh and cold, “Sometimes our hearts can be divided, Rin-chan. You can want two things at once, or even three, or even five hundred. It doesn’t have to make sense.”

“But it does. And I just don’t understand why he keeps leaving me–” Rin broke off, felt the damp, cold, endless waters lapping at his neck. His hand clenched around the remote, felt it creak under the pressure.

The feeling of cold pressed its fingers against his throat, suffocating.

(The faint buzzing of wind in his ears, the snowstorm secondary to the scene in front of him, the robotic rendition of his brother staring at him like he was revolting. Tears welling in his eyes, burning against the cold of his frostbitten cheeks, as Sae continued with his voicelines, his programmed responses. His brother was so blank, so cold, so angry. The thought that this wasn’t real– that this couldn’t be happening, not to him, not to them, not to their dream.)

“Rin-chan,” Bachira’s voice was steady as an anchor, and Rin latched onto the sound of it, “I know you love your brother, but do you hear yourself?” His eyebrows wrinkled, and he took in a small breath, as if bracing himself for a violent response. But Rin didn’t move, barely blinked, as he tried to process the other striker’s words.

There was the sound of crinkling as Bachira set his snacks to the side before shifting even closer– if that was even possible with how little space was left between them.

“Rin,” He continued, voice soft like honey, “When I was a kid, nobody ever wanted to play soccer with me. Nobody wanted to play with the weird kid. It was just me and my monster, until I met Isagi and the other guys in blue lock. Until I met you.” Bachira turned away, and Rin could feel the trembling intake of his next breath, “But then, you two began evolving and left me behind. I didn’t know what to do. I had selfishly thought that Isagi wouldn’t be able to surpass me– that how I was playing was good enough to stay on par with you monsters.”

A strange look crossed over the elder striker’s face– hazy and lost in thought. As if he was remembering his story as he told it, and even now the distress of it wasn’t something he could shake.

“Bachira,” Rin interrupted, something tight and horrible strangling his throat at the thought that he’d left someone behind just like Sae had left him, “You can keep up with us–”

A hand clapped itself over his mouth, muffling his words, “Ah-ah. Be nice. I’m not done talking, Rin-chan.” Bachira’s words were playful, but there was something oddly serious about his demeanor that had Rin unconsciously obeying.

Unbothered, Bachira continued, keeping his hand over Rin’s mouth like it was natural, “You left me, and I realized something. If I wanted to catch up to you– If I wanted to play soccer my way, it couldn’t be based on the condition of having someone else. Of being beside you. I needed to have my own ego.” He paused for a few seconds, a small frown taking over his face at Rin’s complacency, “I guess what I mean is, revolving around a relationship isn’t good. Obviously that doesn’t mean you should hate Sae-san, but he isn’t your life. And you’re not his.”

Rin felt a frown pulling at his face, brows furrowing until he felt his muscles protest, “I never said that. All I wanted was for us to follow our dream together.” His voice trembled, dangerously close to breaking.

It felt like a current had swept his feet out from under him and tossed him out to sea just as he was beginning to see dry land.

“That’s just it, Rin.” Bachira said, and in the darkness his eyes seemed to dim, “Our dream. But maybe that was never his dream. Maybe it was just yours.”