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“What do you want?”
The sound of a boy’s voice booms off empty walls of the hotel corridor. There is a sharp edge that suggests a hint of annoyance and a sense of detachment that seems to keep the other person at arm’s length. The door stands ajar, revealing a sliver of the room beyond as Rin’s voice carries through the gap and he glares daggers at the shorter male.
“Came to greet my little brother, of course.” Rin fights the urge to abruptly slam the door right in the smug face. Fortunately or not, the other continues before he can do so. “And to remind him not to be late for the gala tonight.”
“He won’t,” Rin clarifies, huffing a sharp breath of air. “You can piss off now.”
Sae hums, whether in approval or for the sake to fill in the silence that had settled, Rin doesn’t bother to care. The crisp white shirt Sae’s wearing stretches and creases with the movement of his body. Quite too formal attire just yet, but Rin keeps silent. There is a glint of something familiar that he hasn’t seen for a long time when Sae speaks next.
“You’re bringing someone as your plus-one?”
Rin’s expression is carefully neutral as he answers. “No.”
It’s a small gesture, but one that speaks volumes. He knows that look well, or used to, at least, – it’s his brother’s way of signalling that he’s onto something. It’s a challenge, of sorts, and Rin can’t help but feel a twinge of memories from years ago squeezing his chest tight.
A sly smile tugs at the corners of Sae’s lips, and green eyes narrow ever so slightly and shift to the room beyond Rin’s back. “I see.” They focus just as instantly back on him.
“Where are you off to?” Rin shifts his weight from foot to foot, clearing his throat, clearly not interested to bother. He takes in his brother’s attire again. A fancy shirt and fancier trousers, and too early morning hours for such clothing.
“To fetch a date of my own, little brother.” Sae says, and Rin almost arches a brow.
It’s weird to be reminded of their old ways now, back when they were just kids, and their biggest concern was who got to the ball first. He’d almost forgotten what it’s like to be teased by him, when so much has changed between them. It’s a bittersweet feeling, and for this moment, they’re just two brothers again.
Rin shuts the door quietly behind him after Sae leaves.
-
“Who was it?”
“Sae.” Rin says, voice even and very much neutral as he steps into the bedroom.
The dim light filters through the sheer curtains, the thin fabric now officially held responsible for the lack of sleep during the night. Or maybe the half naked boy still tangled in the white bed sheets. The air is thick with the scent of citrus, mingling with the sound of the kettle’s rumbling in the tiny kitchenette, like a thunderstorm in not so far distance.
Teal eyes travel up the bed, taking in the rumpled sheets and discarded clothing strewn across the floor. As they reach the top of the bed, they meet messy hair and yellow eyes peering back at him with mischief and that lingering amusement. They shimmer. “Gonna make some coffee, do you want some too?” Rin asks.
The other boy emits a satisfied hum. “Don’t skimp on the sugar, Rin-chan!” The sheets muffle the giggle when the boy nuzzles the soft comforters. “What did he want?”
“Nothing.” Rin gives a curt shrug of his shoulders, as if dismissing the conversation like waving off an annoying fly. He throws him a look. “Get dressed.”
The command rings out forcefully, echoing in the otherwise silent room and brooking no argument or hesitation. He turns to leave, movements firm and almost clinical as he spares no second glance; there is a sense of stillness that lingers in the air once the boy walks out, back straight and shoulders squared.
Rin makes two cups of coffee, the rich aroma fills the air and mingles with the gentle steam that rises from the mugs. His back is turned as he works, his attention focused solely on the task at hand. He ignores the shuffling in the background, whether purposely or not, it doesn’t matter.
He adds two spoonfuls of sugar to one cup, the sound of the spoon clinking against the ceramic drowns out the soft noises in the background. Rin doesn’t flinch when two lanky arms wrap around his waist. His movements remain fluid and unhurried, his body relaxed despite the sudden embrace, as though this is nothing new, expected almost.
The arms around his waist tighten as the boy behind him nuzzles his face into the fabric of his shirt. Rin can feel the rise and fall of the other boy’s chest against his back and tries his hardest to drown out the warm contrast of another body pressed against his own in the cool air of the kitchenette.
“Bachira,” he breathes out, the sound barely more than a breath, the spoon stirring the coffee now still. There’s a hint of a warning pressed onto the edge of his voice, and the other boy – Bachira – instantly pulls away, his arms falling to his sides.
Rin’s gaze remains fixed on some point in the distance for some time, teal eyes intense and unyielding. There is a momentary sense of unspoken weight in its wake before the taller boy finally turns around.
His gaze travels slowly over the other one’s body before him. He’s smaller, with a more delicate frame, not as defined, less pronounced than Rin’s own. Rin easily towers over the boy, as if purposely casting a shadow. He notices the sweatpants and the oversized shirt, both of which he recognises as his own. But it’s the boy’s eyes that hold Rin’s attention for a little longer or perhaps even the markings and the bruises left behind just beneath the thin fabric of the shirt.
Bachira’s eyes are soft, with a warm light in them, framed just by a stark contrast of messy dark hair and soft waves. Rin reaches out, one hand firmly grasps onto the boy’s chin, fingers pressing gently against the back of Bachira’s neck. Rin tilts his head to the side, examining, eyes drawing everything in.
There is a flicker of something in teal eyes that Rin’s not sure he can mask, a twinge of pride mixed with a hint of something darker, as if he’s pleased. His fingers twitch with a barely restrained urge as he takes in the sight before him.
“Was pretty rough yesterday.” Rin murmurs almost, a soft exhale escaping past his lips, as if caught in the realisation of dark bruises nestled just beneath the sheer fabric of the shirt, just beneath the collarbone.
He’s daring, but just behind closed curtains. His fingers brush against the tender flesh, over the deep purplish-blue marks against the pale canvas of Bachira’s skin, their presence all the more pronounced like midnight clouds, almost shy, as if hesitant to reveal their form.
The touch is of a lover’s, but one far away from truth.
“I wanted it.” Rin’s eyes flicker over the smaller boy’s face as the boy speaks softly. Rin extracts his touch. Bachira looks up at him with a warm smile, the corners of his lips pulling upwards in a genuine emotion.
Rin doesn’t say a thing, rather with a simple glance, a shared breath it goes unspoken. But it’s there, clear. And Bachira says, “I’ll hide it.” It’s a whisper promised.
The boy’s laughter rings out in the cramped room; it’s a sound that’s uniquely his, always offering no bother. The silly laugh lines up perfectly with the goofy character, whether it’s actually honest or not – it’s always there.
“I’ll be wearing dark blue tonight.” He says then, eyes still crinkling at the corners as he peers at the taller boy through dark lashes. It’s an unsaid offer to match, hidden in a cheerful sound, as if it’s caught in a moment of timid hesitation, teetering on edge even when the words don’t seem to carry such thought, only peeking out because they had been caught in the intimacy of night.
“Bachira.” There’s this tone again, and the smaller boy’s mouth clamps shut, eyes continue to crinkle, but there’s no toothy grin anymore, and the corners of his mouth are pulled slightly downward. “I don’t need a plus-one.” Rin says.
The other boy tilts his chin to the side. “Silly me.” He smiles, and steps forward to the counter, letting his focus strain on two mugs of steaming coffee. “Which one is mine?” Instead, he asks because that’s what they do.
“The left one.” Rin sighs, shoulders drooping slightly.
Nevertheless, Bachira reaches for two mugs and lifts them both carefully, the heat of the steaming coffee warming his skin. He places them on the tiny table squeezed near an open window, and pulls out a chair to sit down. Rin follows suit.
He also closes the window after a sudden gust of wind or maybe after a particular shiver of the smaller boy or his bare feet on the cold floor. Bachira watches him silently, the unspoken gesture not lost on him, but Rin remains quiet, and the other boy does too, never mentioning a thing.
He stirs the coffee before taking a small sip. “Your brother seems to be trying to make amends, Rin-chan.” His voice is lighthearted, with a genuine happiness that trickles off with each word, but the cheerful tone doesn’t faze the other boy. Rin remains stoic, eyes hard.
“No one asked him to do so.”
“But isn’t that sweet, Rin-chan?” Bachira calls out again, his name rolling off the tongue with ease and honey, and Rin hates how sweet it rings.
“I don’t care.” His eyes bore holes into the very soul, and he presses his lips to the cup, hissing slightly as the hot liquid burns on his tongue. But what’s not burning for him isn’t hot enough. Rin leans back in the chair, restlessly savouring the moment and the company.
Bachira’s eyes soften as he utters the next thing, picking up the spoon again and gently swirling it around in his mug. “Maybe he just wants to make up for leaving you back then.” He doesn’t dare to meet Rin’s gaze, casting his own eyes downwards.
“Shut it.” Rin’s stare holds a great weight, and the harsh words slice through the air like a sharp knife, heavy upon him. “You don’t know anything.” Rin snaps, and Bachira’s fingers slightly clench around the warm mug.
The air between them thickens; it’s a heavy silence that encloses around them, with each passing moment feeling longer than the last. The smaller boy remains composed, yet when he slowly turns his gaze towards the other, his smile seems somewhat forced, lips stretched into a thin line that’s almost too close to a grimace. The smile doesn’t quite reach those golden eyes, but even if Rin does pick up on the slight tension, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Mm,” Bachira offers a low hum, breaking the stillness and scanning Rin’s features. He doesn’t dwell on it too much, nor does he press further. “Only if you score against me.”
-
They end up playing soccer in a nearby soccer field close to the hotel.
The field is a patch of lush green grass. The grass is freshly cut, the smell of it mixing with a cool breeze. The lines marking the edges and boundaries are faded and worn from years of use, with small patches of brown and mud scattered here and there. Nearby trees bend with the wind tousling around both of the boys’ hair.
It’s smaller than the normal field they’re used to playing in, but it’s enough to make the most out of it and kill the time being. The sound of car horns and distant chatter drifts in from the city, but the open field and the sound of feet pounding against the ground offer a sense of freedom that draws everything out without so much of a hitch.
The blades of grass brush against Rin’s sneakers as he deftly weaves the ball between his feet, evading the other boy with effortless, swift movements, as if taunting. With a quick feint to the left, he sends Bachira off balance, then darts to the right leaving him grasping at empty air.
It’d be an easy goal after, but the ball kicks at the end of Rin’s toes, and he surveys the field with a cool and calculating gaze, then fixes his stare on the panting boy blocking the goal. He leaves the ball stiff, pressing a foot firmly atop, as if holding Bachira’s defeat with just the brush of his fingertips, as though taunting.
He beckons Bachira to make a move, and the latter charges towards him, with the same smile that always seems to be there. Bachira steals the ball with a swift dribble, evading Rin’s reach with a twist of his body, and Rin doesn’t expect anything less.
But this time, Rin is more cruel, more skilled, with the earlier conversation still ringing in his head, as if fueling him further. He’s quick to follow, jostling for the ball. With a clench of his jaw, he shoves past the smaller boy, his foot sweeping out to knock the ball from Bachira’s grasp, sending the other tumbling harshly to the ground, his body landing with a thud on the grass and jolting him with a shock of pain.
With one swift and precise kick, the ball soars towards the goal, effortlessly slipping over Bachira’s head and into the net. Rin’s sweatshirt creases with the force of his movement. His gaze locks onto Bachira, now unwavering and burning; the unbothered eyes pale in comparison to those that are now staring down at Bachira.
“Next time,” his words are hissed, laced with unease as Rin’s face hardens, twisting all the wrong muscles. “mind your own business.” Rin doesn’t lend Bachira a hand to pull him up. Instead, he just watches the smaller boy, fixing him with a hard glare.
The boy blinks rapidly, eyelashes fluttering at the harshness that’s a little harder to take in. “Sorry, Rin-chan.” Bachira finally manages, his chest heaves with a heavy breath, and his mouth slightly parts when he stares at the taller boy with gaping golden eyes.
He struggles to his feet, panting a breath of cool air and steadying himself. His one arm clamps around his elbow and he tries to suppress a slight wince at a sharp jab of pain shooting through his body.
Rin squints his eyes, gaze flicking over the spot Bachira’s tenderly holding as he pants too. Both for different reasons, one deeper than the other. With a single stride, he looms over the smaller boy, casting a shadow almost, his tone commanding and his voice brooking no argument. “Show.” He barks evenly and looks down at the boy with a stern look, not giving an inch in his stance.
And maybe his eyes become a little bothered too.
Bachira’s gaze flickers up to Rin’s face before reaching out with an almost hesitant touch. Carefully, Rin watches as he rolls up the sleeve of the grey hoodie, the fabric bunching up around his elbow, revealing the pale skin of the boy’s forearm. He hears a slight hiss through grinding teeth as the tender spot is exposed where the other boy’s earlier tackle had bruised.
Rin’s lips purse and a soft clicking noise escapes his mouth. The skin is discoloured, a deep shade of purple and blue, with hints of red at the edges. It’s tender to the touch, and Bachira shifts somewhat away when Rin reaches out, but avoids bending his elbow. There’s a slight discomfort that lingers, like a dull ache, and Bachira grimaces in somewhat of apology once he sees the disapproving look on the taller boy’s face.
The tender spot feels warm to the touch, and Bachira holds his arm stiffly as Rin gently brushes his thumb against the damaged skin, fingers closing gently around the elbow. “You bruise so easily.” Rin finds himself saying, words surprisingly muttered, as though out of breath. There’s still frustration present in his tone. But now furrowed brow relaxed, and the tense lines around his mouth softened.
The tips of Bachira’s ears flush, golden eyes dart to Rin’s lips. “You like it,” He whispers because when Bachira isn’t smiling, he is provoking, with the same ghost of a grin at the corners of his mouth.
Rin’s there, Bachira’s there. They’re both here, surrounded only by the ether of the field, a gentle swaying of the trees alone with the wind. Bachira wants this, and maybe Rin does too.
Like a moth drawn to a flame, he’s caught in a moment of weakness, Bachira drastically thins the distance between them, and harshly crashes his lips right onto Rin’s. The boy’s heart pounds angry beats against Rin’s chest, he can feel his breath thicken and his arms wrap tightly around him, the dull ache be damned as Rin pulls him closer.
For a brief moment, they’re lost in each other, consumed by the sensation, the taste and the heat of their bodies. Then, the kiss gets lazy, begins to slow and, within the seconds, Rin pulls away, his eyes lock onto Bachira’s, and Bachira’s onto Rin’s.
He distances himself, words hang in the air. “We can’t.” Rin shakes his head, it’s a firm gesture, loudly telling. His hair sways with the movement. “Not in public.” He repeats, and Bachira nods.
They’ve talked about it; it’s okay.
“Yeah.” What is left for him, anyway?
-
The gala is held in a posh building, in an open space with many others who claim themselves as those of importance and class. The air is charged with unneeded anticipation, thick with glittering lights and murmured voices emanating from within the entrance.
The day slightly fades into twilight, like a velvet cloak settling on the shoulders of the earth, and the air grows cooler as a gentle breeze stirs the leaves of the trees. The crisp air nips at Rin’s cheeks and nose, painting them rosy pink as he makes his way along the darkened space.
The elegant black jacket and trousers fit him like a second skin. He can feel the soft fabric of his shirt against his skin, the smoothness of the silk tie at his throat. Everything about this night and the building, and the people, and the tuxedo speak of refinement, of a life carefully crafted to perfectly fit in, belong at the top and this aristocracy.
But Rin doesn’t bring himself to bother with the glitz and glamour. Didn’t you hear, it’s lonely at the top?
Stepping inside, Rin holds his head high, his shoulders back, and his gaze steady. He’s met with the opulence of space, walls adorned with rich tapestries and ornate chandeliers hanging from higher ceilings. The floor is polished to the highest shine, reflecting light and glowing underneath.
He sees people mingling and chatting, their voices hushed and irrelevant. There are men and women dressed in excessive gowns and suits, with jewelries that add an extra touch of wealth and sophistication. There are waitresses with glasses of champagne atop pallets, weaving their way through the throngs of guests, with movements trained and graceful, never spilling a drop of the golden liquid.
Teal eyes scan over the crowd, darting over from face to face, searching for a hint of recognition before he spots a few familiar faces. A flash of reddish-pink hair in the corner of the room, and a preeminent figure that stands out taller than the most with a mop of spiky orange hair.
Chigiri and Kunigami
They’re standing close to each other, lost in conversation with other people. Kunigami has one arm loosely draped over Chigiri’s waist in a gentle manner, drawing the princess even closer to him, and Rin almost rolls his eyes at the obvious display of affection as the other leans into embrace, eyes crinkling at the edges as they continue to chat.
He averts his gaze and looks over the room once again, past ornate chandeliers casting a warm light over the floor and tops of faceless heads. He spots Barou taking a glass of champagne from a passing waitress. He sees Nagi and Mikage making small talk, both dressed in white, both a tad bit awkward.
There’s a pang of annoyance sparkling as he nearly huffs a breath under his nose as darting eyes don’t seem to find what they’re searching for. Why are they even searching?
“He’s over there, little brother.” A sudden voice draws in his attention, and Rin swirls around, having come face to face with annoyingly reddish-brown hair.
Sae stands close, with a rather smug grin on display as he tilts his head in the direction forward, as if gesturing where that other is. Rin’s chest tightens with a stirring up resentment beneath all, like a pebble in his shoe that he can’t quite shake loose. But nonetheless he follows his older brother’s gaze with a curled up lip.
Exactly there he finds him.
Bachira is standing close to Isagi, surrounded by a couple more people. He’s laughing, grinning from ear to ear, and, if listening closely, Rin can actually make out the sound of the other boy’s laughter above everything else. His curled up lip is replaced by a sudden rush of emotion, softening into a slight parting of his lips as it completely catches Rin off guard. Bachira looks like he belongs there and maybe he does, with a dark blue tuxedo like he’d promised this morning.
Rin’s gaze lingers longer, drawing in the details, the rich, deep colour of a midnight sky on a clear night. The garment fits him like a glove, the fabric drapes over his form, showcasing the natural grace and confident poise and the curves, giving Bachira an air of sophistication that is hard to ignore.
In one particular second, when the smaller boy’s hair sways with a sudden movement, and he tilts his head in the direction of Rin, their eyes meet. It’s a heart that skips a beat. It takes another second for Bachira to take it all in, and Rin to see a sudden recognition flicker in the other boy’s eyes.
For a moment, they just stand there, locked in each other’s gaze, like the world around them has faded away. Bachira’s eyes crinkle just as quickly and he sends a soft smile Rin’s way, more genuine, more pronounced than when he laughed together with the strangers. But spoiler ahead… The world is still turning, and Rin-chan withdraws, disregarding every bit of there is and completely turns his head away.
Because the world is still turning and watching.
His attention shifts to his brother, and the world can watch, and laugh even if Rin’s chest suddenly feels tight.
Sae isn’t alone, Rin notices. There’s still the lingering feeling of Bachira’s eyes on him, but he shifts his focus on the other male, standing taller than his brother, broader in shoulders, with tan skin and a joker-like grin, with a violent presence that demands a leash. This time, Rin can’t help but arch a brow of his own at the sight of Shidou.
“This is who you took as a date?” Rin’s eyes flicker between Sae and Shidou, voice laced with a hint of disbelief. Or disapproval. He’d prefer if it was the former though. He lingers on Sae, as if searching for some sort of explanation, but he seems perfectly at ease in the company of his date.
“At least I have the guts to ask.” He shrugs, and Rin almost sneers at his brother.
“He tops too.”
Both of the brothers’ eyes almost bulge out at the comment.
The night wears on.
People move, exchange empty words and fake smiles, glances thrown back and forth with rumours spread on a whisper and gossip about another, while the glasses clunk together in a never-ending chorus. Rin exchanges small talk with others, sharing a quick word. Nagi. Isagi even. The other affectionate couple besides Shidou and his brother. Ew.
Other than that he watches from the sidelines.
He doesn’t go to find Bachira.
The air is thick with strong cologne, a scent of unpleasing perfume, mingling with the rich aroma of the feast laid out before them. The music slightly fades; it’s an endless parade of speeches and formalities. Presenters make their appearance, striding confidently with microphones in hand, dressed in sleek suits and dazzling gowns.
“Tonight’s gala is not just a celebration of the soccer team’s achievement, but a celebration of the spirit of our community.” The man says, his voice carrying throughout the room that has fallen nearly silent, only with a hiss of whispers heard every now and then. “We come together to support and uplift one another.”
Rin doesn’t bother to listen to a scripted dialogue.
Photographers catch every moment, their cameras flashing in a frenzy to capture a forced smile, a twirl of the body. Every mistake worth a word of gossip or a flashy headline. Here, the atmosphere is heavy, thicker, weighing down like a wet blanket.
It makes Rin’s nose turn up, urging for a breeze of crisp air.
People approach him. Complete strangers, with faces shiny with inhumanly many layers of makeup and sweat underneath the lights of ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, seeking for their 15 minutes of fame, a chance to squeeze a smile out of a stoic boy. Rin disregards them with an unbothered not interested. He doesn’t even spare them a distant smile or a polite shake of a hand. A cold shoulder is plenty.
None of them are worth his time.
He refuses a drink, maybe keeps a closer eye on Sae who doesn’t. Somewhat the presence of Shidou near his brother, with a loose arm slid around his waist in a possessive manner or a harsh glare to the persistent, calms him.
Their relationship is strained. With Sae. But maybe Bachira is right saying that he’s trying.
As the presenters step down the stage, the music gets louder, playing a lively tune, a vibrant rhythm resonating through the air, and the room fills with obnoxious laughter and chatter again, each voice vying for attention.
“Rin.”
Sae calls out, his voice slicing through the air like a knife, cutting through the noise and clamour. This time, there is an edge to it, a sense of urgency that was not there before, pressing.
He turns to look at his brother, tilting his head to the side with a slightly furrowed brow. But Sae’s gaze isn’t fixed on him, rather somewhere further, on a certain point in the distance. He follows Sae’s line of sight, and neither of them says a word, his silence only adds to Rin’s confusion. He scans the area, looking over the heads of the people around them. And then he sees it, and his frown deepens as he strains to make sense of what he’s seeing, his mind racing to try and piece it together.
It’s a flash of yellow and black hair. Of rich dark blue like a midnight sky on a clear night.
He sees Bachira.
He’s speaking to two men, both taller and broader in shoulders, with chiselled features and sharp angles, both never seen before. Both strangers. Rin feels his muscles tightening, maybe his heart drops to his shoes too. But it’s clear that he’s uncomfortable. Bachira that is. He’s fidgeting, golden eyes dart around nervously, and his smile– it’s nowhere near sincere, but rather afraid.
Rin’s jaw clenches in an effort to calm his body.
He can see him shaking his head, tensing slightly under sly hands grazing his body as their mouths move. But there’s something else off, too, as Rin watches him for a moment. He’s swaying slightly, almost as if uneasy on his feet. It’s a subtle quiver in his limbs too, figure bending as if to a song. And there are golden eyes, glazed over, softer and more dreamy, almost distant.
Bachira is tipsy.
Fists clench at Rin’s sides, nails digging into his palms, and without a second thought, Rin starts moving. It’s as if the world has become smaller, and the only thing that matters is what is happening in front of him.
He’s there in no time, an arm-reach away from Bachira. The air around him crackles, and he’s sure the other two have already taken notice of him, but that’s only what he needs. He sees their body language shifting, their muscles tensing by the new presence alone, appearing just behind the smaller boy’s figure.
Teal eyes hardly fix on them, piercing right through the both men, sharp and biting, clearly showing he’s not happy.
He reaches out a hand, placing it on the small of Bachira’s back gently, grounding, so as not to startle the boy when his voice booms from behind him, his words carrying the weight of his presence. Deep, forceful.
“Is there a problem?”
Rin feels the exact moment when Bachira tenses ever so slightly under his touch and senses the tension gradually melting away after Rin speaks. The boy tilts his chin upwards, as if to confirm it was indeed him standing behind him, that now he is in control of the situation.
It’s a small gesture, but one that Rin understands perfectly. A recognition that Bachira was putting himself in Rin’s hands, a moment of peace, a lull in the storm.
But the world is still watching.
His own eyes flicker to Bachira’s for a split second, gazing into wild ones, dilating ever so slightly.
“Rin-chan,”
A burning heat spreads through his body like wildfire as he hears Meguru’s voice. It’s the kind of voice that is relieved, holding a quiver, as if realising a breath that’s been held back for too long.
Rin doesn’t like it one bit.
“We were just talking.” Suddenly, one of the men speaks up, voice slightly faltering as he glances at the new presence, ever so cautiously, as though worrying about the latter’s reaction. And he probably is. And probably for good reason.
Rin’s eyes thin to a glare. He isn’t dumb. He also isn’t dumb enough to cause a scene. “Let’s go, Meguru.” He tightens his hold, guiding the boy to go first, then following suit. They leave without a single word, but Rin spares them a last warning.
They make their way past the crowd of people, Rin staying alert as he keeps a close eye on Bachira’s swaying form. Nobody pays them any attention, absorbed by their own conversations, busy with their own stuff.
The taller boy scans over the crowd, teal eyes spotting a familiar mop of reddish-brown hair, and with a gentle hand, Rin redirects the boy slightly to the right. As they draw closer, further away from the scene, Bachira’s steps cease a little in speed, purposely letting them bump bodies. Rin casts him a questioning look, but doesn’t let go.
The smaller boy shyly looks up, eyes a little dazed, a little timid. They flicker with uncertainty as pink lips part open, only to trail off mid-sentence, Rin’s brows furrow only so slightly.
“Did you-” his words fading, a faint blush tinges his cheeks, as if Bachira’s embarrassed by his own hesitancy, by the still lingering touch.
Rin heaves a sigh. It’s not really filled with irritation, but somewhat close. His warm touch now gone too, leaving the other boy oddly exposed. “How much did you have to drink?”
He stands before Bachira, both so close to each other, their bodies almost pressing together, but Rin appears aloof, distant, as though dismissing Bachira and falling deaf to the words spoken, instead, posing a question of his own.
As the moment lingers, the silence does too; the alcohol pulses in Bachira’s veins, making it harder to conceal a small frown settling on soft features, making him foolish, rely on crumbling emotions. “Dunno,” the boy slurs. “They kept them coming.” He adds it reluctantly like he owes an explanation, as if hesitant too.
Rin pinches the bridge of his nose. His chest feels so annoyingly tight. “Where was Isagi?” He asks, his tone edged with exasperation. “I saw you earlier with him.”
Maybe at this point he indeed does owe something as Rin continues to push.
“We split up.”
The taller man looks at him sharply. “Do you even realise how foolish this was of you?”
But Rin doesn’t get an answer for quite a time, and the boy doesn’t look at him anymore either, golden eyes glued to the ground beneath him. Rin’s hand rests upon the small of his back once more, but this time the touch lingers differently. It’s as if the weight of obligation and frustration are imbued within the pressure of Rin’s fingertips, rather than grounding, reassuring with subtle touches of warmth like it had the effect before.
Bachira doesn’t want it.
“I’m sorry.” Maybe he trembles a little when he says this too.
The apology settles unnerving within Rin’s bones. He leads him towards where Sae and Shidou are standing; he doesn’t trust himself with words. It’s as if he can feel Bachira’s heart racing, just as capable of feeling emotion; the silence heavy with unspoken words and perhaps, unexpressed feelings.
Sae notices them approaching first. Eyes falling onto Bachira first, then Rin. A small frown creases his features.
Bachira stumbles a little, wobbly feet finding it hard to keep up, but Rin pushes forwards, with an almost forceful tug, so Bachira forces as well, with a lump in his throat – god forbid he falls behind.
Sae sees Rin’s jaw clench and thinks it’s a good thing that Bachira’s walking first. Whatever the reason, there’s a sense of urgency around them, a palpable tension that only seems to thicken, blurring the lines between support and control.
It’s rather unsettling, and Sae feels an arm wrap around him. Shidou holds a fresh glass of champagne in the other that’s probably meant for him. Sae’s getting drunk tonight, is what he knows for sure.
Rin’s tense, he can tell that as well. “I’m taking him home.” His brother informs when they’re within reach for them to hear.
“Are you-” sober?
Rin cuts in. “Didn’t have a drop.”
Of course, he hasn’t had a drink. He came by car and he prepared to drive himself back by the same car too.
What’s even with the stupid question.
His words are devoid of warmth, response clipped to only what is necessary, anything but casual as he looks down at his brother. There’s a prickling heat waking today more than usual and burning, and Sae’s lost the right, and Rin resents every moment he inquires just to fill in years of gaps.
“Just,” Sae purses his lips. “Text me when you’re there.”
Rin opens his mouth, possibly to tell him off, and rightfully so, but Bachira’s also there, with Rin’s fingers pressing on his back, and a tad bit too tipsy. “‘Course he will.” The boy pulls a tight smile because Bachira is Bachira. Tipsy or not, always smiling.
“We’re leaving.”
Definitely, Rin’s angry.
At Sae. Bachira even. Maybe. As his chest is tight again, or maybe it never stopped being. And yet, he still shoots a pointed look at Shidou, who’s strangely quiet tonight, apart from that one – unnecessary – comment (and a few unnecessary others later on), but he’s guilty with a drink in hand and possibly the second to sober here.
He better fucking stay that way, is what Rin means to say, and Sae clears his throat as if knowing.
“I’ll stop by in the morning?”
“Please don’t.”
-
Outside, the city seems to have taken a deep breath, the usual cacophony of cars turning and screeching, prattle of passengers-by replaced with a momentary hush that seems almost deafening in comparison to the grand building. The streetlights cast a warm glow on empty sidewalks, distant sound of footsteps and laughter from a group of revellers drifts through the air, a reminder that the world is still turning.
Rin keeps close.
Above, where the sky stretches wide and vast, a deep, rich blue canvas is only stopped by mesmerising stars twinkling in clear night, seemingly undisturbed by the burdens below, blankly shining down upon the world that’s holding its breath.
“It’s quite a trek from where you parked!”
Bachira exclaims, unusually cheerful given the circumstances. But that’s somewhat expected by now. From the corner of his eyes, Rin sees him gazing up at the skies, drawing everything in, every detail, every starry pebble, then up to Rin’s own gaze, almost as if trying to distract them or as if to cut in a light word to not linger in silence.
The gentle breeze carries through with a crisp air, tugging at Rin’s hair, tousling stray strands over teal eyes. Reminding. “The last thing I wanted was to deal with post-gala traffic.”
That would’ve been a pain. Sometimes Rin catches himself wondering if it’s actually Nagi rubbing off on him that now everything’s a pain, but a waste of time is still a waste of time never to be returned. So, Rin doesn’t bother.
Ha. So ironic.
There’s something chilly, cold that has settled deep in Rin’s bones and turned his gaze to stone, impossible to reach. Rin doesn’t bother to meet Bachira’s eyes, instead he keeps his focus on a certain point somewhere beyond. And this time, the boy too falls silent, with his thoughts kept close to his chest.
He doesn’t force a smile, doesn’t wait for the world to shift once more because Rin is walking next to him, but they’re both so far apart.
They reach the car in even more pronounced silence, and Rin searches his pocket for the keys sitting uncomfortably against the fabric and his leg. He stands on the other side of the car, but when carefully looking up, he can still make out the silhouette of the smaller boy swaying every so often, eyes glued to the ground.
Just on the other side of the car. Within arms reach.
Despite the gloom surroundings and occasional breeze of the wind, the light finds its way to the smaller boy, it plays upon his features, casting shadows across his figure and soft features of his face, as though crafted from darkness, put together by light. There’s the faintest hint of golden beneath the rich brown and warm tones seemingly aglow, adding to its canvas.
Rin tears his gaze away, lips pulling taut into a thin line. He unlocks the car. But it isn’t until the engine starts rumbling and the car pulls away from the parking lot that Rin finally speaks.
“You don’t drink with strangers.”
It’s an unwritten rule that should be etched into blood.
His voice comes out clipped, with a sharp edge to the words. It’s far away from being a statement, but rather an order spat out from Rin’s mouth.
Here’s a thing.
Rin doesn’t care who his supposed teammates pick in the second selection after they win, nor does it matter. As long as they move forward and carry their own weight, he’s perfectly fine playing on his own – he scores a goal straight from the kick off, just to show how real he is, and how easy of a game it will be.
(I might actually die of boredom)
So, from the corner of his eye, he watches them pick a scrawny kid, and they move forward.
The same evening, they’re assigned a room with four beds, two on each side, and yet the scrawny kid unknowingly chooses the one closest to Rin’s. After that, it’s a team of four. The same evening, the kid walks out of the shower completely nude, with a towel draped around his neck and the water still dripping off his skin.
The panic guy looks like he’s having a mental crisis, the glam guy is just there also, opening his mouth perhaps to lecture.
Rin doesn’t bat an eye.
He does, however, call him out after having had enough, and the scrawny kid almost shrinks back on to himself.
Later, nobody wants to play their team. (Who’s stupid enough to play the top 3, that's just a death sentence.) So, turns out, it’s just another hassle, and Rin doesn’t bring himself to care. If they’re too intimidated to even consider challenging them, then they simply aren’t worth his time.
Eventually, they fall into a familiar routine. They spend their days training, eating or sleeping. The panic guy still panics, fretting about the most useless things and worrying louder than he can stay silent. The other guy is there too, glamouring how not glam it is to be not glam. But none of it is Rin’s business, so he simply turns a blind eye.
He has a goal in mind, and that’s crushing his brother.
Is all that matters.
So, they train to the bone, until every muscle in their body is aching and sweat drenches their clothes. They pause to eat, rest for a little before training again.
But Rin’s still the best, and nothing can even come close.
Throughout it all, the scrawny kid is a constant presence, like a pebble in the shoe, always seemingly clinging, always there and smiling. He bounces around as if with boundless energy, jumping on other’s backs and laughing at the simplest of things.
Yet, the scrawny kid no longer comes out from the shower completely nude.
Either way, Rin makes sure the other keeps his distance. Teal eyes harden, narrowing with disdain and cool detachment whenever the other boy approaches. After a few pushes and unnecessary rough shoves, the scrawny kid doesn’t dare to touch him.
The boy’s plain, obnoxious; there is nothing special about him, and Rin doesn’t care about the ordinary.
In the end, Rin watches from the sidelines. As if seeing a play unfold for the first time and be put together with flaws and cracks until a masterpiece is formed.
As the scrawny kid moves through the world with a childlike abandon, bouncing from person to person, object to object, as though he can’t bear to be still, can’t stand the thought of just existing alone. He touches and clings, hands itching for anything within his reach, as if desperate for a connection, yearning for someone to return this touch. As though starved for a human touch.
And that’s exactly that. Bachira is the kid who might just as well go out drinking with complete strangers.
Rin doesn’t really vibe with that, if asked. Nope. That’s a no no.
Rin bites into the air with a sharp intake of breath, eyes focused on the road, his lips purse into a thin line. He can’t stop replaying what’s happened, as if trapped in an endless loop. The frustration he feels is palpable, a seething anger that simmers just below the surface, but it pales in comparison to the tightness in his chest that makes it hard to breathe.
“I know.”
But despite your better judgement, you found yourself alone with two men that you barely knew. Or at all.
He grips the steering wheel, knuckles turning a ghostly shade of white. The silence is heavy, but this– this takes it to another level.
The passing street lights cast shifting shadows on their features, illuminating, then disappearing.
One night, Rin catches him staring.
Everyone’s gone to bed, but Rin cannot stop turning. He remembers Sae texting him; he jokes he’s back in town, says he’s been for a couple of weeks now. Rin replies he doesn’t care. Yet, he tosses and twists in the bed the same night.
The air is thick with stillness, save for the restless rustling of the sheets and light snoring coming out from Aryu – so much of being glam.
Rin shifts his weight and turns over onto his side, teal eyes gazing absently into the darkened space around him. He doesn’t know what comes over him, a strange impulse or a spur of the moment, he looks over at Bachira.
The scrawny kid is already staring, golden glowing in the peak of night.
The boy’s eyes widen instantly. For a fleeting moment, they gaze over each other before Bachira ducks his head down. He curls in on himself, clutching the duvets tighter around him, his body betraying the sudden shyness, if not timidness. The boy retreats, and Rin imagines a soft flush of rosy pink that must have spread across Bachira’s cheeks, like the first blush of dawn breaking over the sky.
Rin’s own eyes slightly gape open.
The next morning, Bachira tags along to practise.
(Are you and your brother close?)
The next second, the ball at Rin’s feet is kicked forcefully into the net.
Many times, Rin wonders whether this was what led them to where they are now.
“You don’t go wandering off alone.” Rin snaps.
It’s biting, harsh, but his jaw clenches and his teeth grit tightly together. Because you don’t get drunk with complete strangers and no one to watch over, where crowds of people linger, but never lift their eyes to see beyond themselves. No matter how he puts this with anger seeping into words, the ache doesn’t fade; it just aches.
His thoughts are the same. Heavy and bitter, almost as black as the coffee he drinks in the morning. Like his soul, he imagines Bachira laughing with the high-pitched sound that is so stubbornly his. And so stubbornly clinging to his memory.
But obviously, they aren’t fine, and everything’s banally black. “How can you be so stupid? So careless?” There’s no alcohol buzzing through Rin’s system, but at this point that he’s going, it’s clear he cannot think rationally. He cannot think clearly.
Like Bachira sometimes cannot keep his mouth shut.
His breathing heaves, and Bachira still doesn’t speak. Rin’s own words like a solid chain of anger and frustration that he takes out on the shrinking boy.
So many times Rin would have preferred if Bachira kept his mouth shut.
Like that time.
The scrawny kid is persistent. More and more times he clings to Rin’s side after that night. He’s eager to train together, practise or eat side by side, and Rin doesn’t say shit. So, he hardly bears his presence and they kick the ball together from time to time, and the boy is so overly confident, challenging Rin’s every move, every twist of the body even if proved there is no outcome he can ever come out on top.
Then every time he gets kicked down, he pulls himself up smiling. Rin almost sneers. Then Bachira blurts he has a monster inside him. And Rin says that is childish and Bachira’s soccer doesn’t excite him.
Rin watches the smile fall from the boy’s face too.
Familiar streets and buildings come into view, stretching out in all directions, and just a little ahead, there is a familiar turn to the left he’ll take. A brief moment in a form of distraction, mind focusing elsewhere as Rin glances over his shoulder, eyes quickly scanning the area behind him before changing lanes, the soft tick of the turn contrasting sharply with the tense of his voice.
He huffs out a breath, an exasperated exhale, as if to mock, to taunt. Because he doesn’t understand why his chest feels so tight or why his heart pounds angry beats within his rib cage, threatening to jump.
“Always so blabbery and now you got nothing to say?”
Taut muscles strain against too tight clothes, his hand clenching against the steering wheel as he speaks, as though back to his senses, but so far off. Impatience flits from one thought to another, never settling, never finding peace.
Bachira’s a scrawny kid.
That isn’t something that is not immediately noticeable like the other things that would require weeks to catch on to. Rin reluctantly notices those other things, too, by the way. It doesn’t take him a couple of weeks either.
Regardless… That happens reluctantly, and Rin will bare his teeth if stated otherwise.
Either way, besides Bachira being annoyingly attached to a human’s touch and imperceptibly lonely, Bachira’s still a scrawny kid, who ogles at the yoghurt with canned pineapples that Rin gets together with his lunch.
It’s not a lie that Rin’s number one in Blue Lock, which just means he gets better fucking food too, out of all of them, as if he deserved anything less. That was his sweat and his hours poured into his skills. So yes, often does he get various vegetables and the sweetest of fruits, and juicy meat served on a silver plate like he’s the king.
So, the scrawny kid stares at him (or rather the yoghurt with canned pineapples), and Rin can’t help but roll his eyes.
(Stop staring and take it already. It’s annoying)
Bachira does, a little bit reluctantly too, but he takes the desert before Rin has to repeat himself that he doesn’t want it. Maybe he also watches the scrawny kid eat it, maybe a tad bit too amused too by the other’s reluctance with each bite that becomes more aggressive with time.
But he bites into the pineapples with an edge of a moan, and Rin listens with almost perking up ears. The silence longs, and Rins says. (We’re not.) And Bachira’s eyes widen, and he stops munching. Rin doesn’t say anything else, but the other understands.
Sae and Rin were not close.
Bachira is a scrawny kid, Rin finally decides.
With high-pitched laughter echoing out of time, out of place, in the most ridiculous timings. But now, it’s just silence that fills what’s supposed to be them talking, the same unnecessary bothersome that tells everything is fine. But if deemed for the better, and if Rin’s that desperate (and he kind of is) , he’d cling into such nothingness – strands of time or that bothersome laughter.
Anything but silence that he could cling onto.
“I said I’m sorry –” Bachira spews out in a frenzied rush, his breathing almost shallow, with a fevered intensity struggling to keep in check that Rin recognises, but that’s good. It’s good. Because this is what he asked for. “What else do you want me to say?”
There’s desperation that clings tightly together with alcohol in the boy’s blood too, driving him to speak without restrain, without pause.
The first time Rin realises he doesn’t like Bachira’s silence is the unusual stillness in an empty field when he kicks the ball into the net. And kicks it again, and again, and one more time after that. He’s acutely aware of his own breathing, the thud of his footsteps as he chases after, the thump of the ball hitting the ground.
Every time the ball comes to a halt, silence follows, and Bachira doesn’t come.
Rin finds him in the cafeteria. He sees him at the table, but he isn’t eating. It isn’t lunch time either. He’s alone. Hunching over the table, with his head buried in his arms, mop of hair covering his face. Isagi is nowhere to be seen. The space feels heavy and still.
He doesn’t know what changed, but the scrawny kid looks small.
(Let’s go)
Rin kicks at his chair, and Bachira almost startles. He looks at him with those huge eyes and slightly parting lips; the boy finds himself nodding.
(Steal the ball from me.
I thought you weren’t a team player, Rin-chan~
I’m not. Rin says. Now take the ball.)
Bachira stands there, surrounded by two men. Bachira looks small then too.
Before Rin’s very own eyes, the boy he calls scrawny in Blue Lock stands in a crowded room, fidgeting and eyes nervously darting, surrounded by two strangers and out of Rin’s reach.
Drunk.
Rin cannot shake this loose.
“You could have said no to them for fuck’s sake.” He snaps and maybe he doesn’t mean to actually snap, but he’s so angry, and his chest feels so goddamn tight. His hands curl into fists. He’s so focused ahead he doesn’t see Bachira.
“-what?”
He doesn’t see and he doesn’t hear it, and so there isn’t a problem.
“You didn’t have to drink with them.” He clarifies, maybe Bachira’s gone deaf. So he speaks, as if he were carving the words out of stone.
There’s a palpable pause as it seems to take a second for Bachira to hear. Suddenly, the boy feels like he’s burning, Rin’s words stubbornly clinging. “I didn’t know how.”
Bachira was all out of Rin’s reach. And the world was still watching.
It’s always watching.
I still don’t know how. Bachira’s voice echoes in endless voids of memories, Rin pays it no mind.
“Ok then, so you could have found me– ” Rin almost flips, and his chest heaves with rigid breaths. Yet it sounds more like he’s pushing his truth upon him, but it sounds so plain, so obvious and palpable because he was there within arms reach and Bachira still–
Later, Rin finds out he doesn’t like Isagi.
Bachira is close to him, and Rin knows this because the scrawny kid always went and grinned because he was so sure Isagi would steal him back, so Bachira spoke, golden eyes so huge and wide. They shimmered when Isagi leaned against the wall and said he’d been looking for him.
(They got you, Rin-chan) Bachira later says.
They don’t, however, get him, and Isagi loses.
Rin learns he doesn’t like Isagi very much. Especially after he learnt Bachira’s silence that day in the cafeteria. Also, Isagi might not like him back either that much as he looks at Rin like he regrets the latter is not 6 feet under yet. Rin just glares harder.
The road ahead twists and turns, revealing glimpses of the surrounding landscape in fleeting moments of light, before plunging them back into the darkness once again.
In the end, it’s just worry turned to anger. And that dull ache pressing down on Rin’s lungs is only the feeling he tries to shove off.
Alcohol grips at the smaller boy’s senses, and he’s suddenly angry too, snapping at Rin through tightly gritted teeth, vision blurred and thoughts becoming muddled as something close to disbelief washes over his words, devouring, taking.
And Rin feels it all.
“Aren’t you the one who keeps telling me you don’t want to be seen in public together?”
Rin doesn’t know when exactly it happens. Or how.
But one minute they’re practising in the same fake field; the scrawny kid is trying to take the ball away from him, and the next – all Rin knows is that they’re tumbling on the ground with Bachira’s mouth pressed against his.
Rin kisses back, just as hungrily.
They end up in the nearest locker room. Rin is panting, and Bachira is too. Teal eyes flicker to a scrawny kid’s lips, now swollen and red. When Bachira bites it, cheeks flushed, the boy’s flustered. Rin pushes himself off the locker and roughly crashes their lips together.
So, no.
Rin doesn’t know exactly when it happens or how, but the next next minute Rin’s dick is in Bachira’s ass. Golden eyes dreamy, looking up at him.
They shimmer. At him.
The next morning Rin slams the scrawny kid against the locker once they find a piece of stillness, elbow pressing nearly harshly against the other boy’s chest. He fixes him a hard glare, almost hissing in his ear.
(What do you mean you hadn’t done it before?)
The scrawny kid wouldn’t meet his eyes. Rin pushes more, words vulgar and not at all shy. It doesn’t take long – maybe flushed cheeks or timid eyes casted down, or stammering words in Bachira’s mouth. In the end, it gives him out, and Rin pieces everything together.
He recoils from the boy as if he’s burned.
Rin curses. (Why didn’t you– He falters. I wouldn’t have–) he pinches the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t that much of an asshole.
(Next time, Rin breathes out. You communicate with me.
Next time? Bachira asks, and Rin glares.
Shut it.)
Rin’s head snaps like a whip in the direction of Bachira, eyes widening, narrowing. Focusing but not seeing.
He can still make out Bachira flinching, he can feel the tremble just beneath the tips of his fingers, Bachira’s body tensing under his touch– his touch, and it drives Rin up the wall.
“So it’s my fault now that you can’t handle yourself?” It feels like he’s ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. Or perhaps already has. “Is this what you’re trying to achieve? A flashy headline of a star soccer player raped in a poor ass party ? Hope I’d take pity?”
The memory is etched into his very core, and Rin can’t shake loose this feeling under his palm of a scrawny body trembling, tensing under the brush of his touch. It doesn’t feel right. It’s so far off from the way Bachira tenses from underneath him, writhing and arching. Soft and responsive.
This touch doesn’t feel anything like that. It doesn’t feel right.
Rin doesn’t want Bachira to ever recoil from his touch the way that he did. Not ever again.
After the Japan U-20 match, Sae stops him. He tells him he’s planning on staying; he asks if Rin wants to ever meet up. The answer no is on the verge of spilling, Rin’s so ready to give him a piece of his mind – been for so long, ready and itching. Even his brows furrow, and lips pull up in a harsh sneer when Bachira jumps onto his back, cheerful and grinning – of course, Rin catches him – and hands press firmly against the boy’s thighs, just so as not to let the boy fall.
Just so to steady him. By then, it’s almost as an instinct, etched into him, his muscles. As if Rin’s body is almost instinctively trained to catch him. Still, every time he’s taken aback.
Sae, too, startles, brows astonishingly arching. But he huffs out a chuckle, ever so slightly eyes crinkling.
(Of course Rin-chan will meet you! You’re his Nii-chan!)
Rin instantly drops him.
Later, they get into a fight. Rin tells Bachira to never interfere like that ever again, that it’s none of his business, he has no right. And Bachira smiles, even if his eyes don’t shimmer, he looks up at Rin and answers okay.
“How can you say something like that?”
Bachira’s voice is soft, as if afraid to be heard. His words come in a hesitant whisper, barely there above the surrounding silence. Vulnerable. Small. It makes Rin look at the boy, but this time he actually sees the scrawny boy’s eyes.
When a person is drunk, you can tell.
They not just stumble, body swaying and speech slurring, gait faltering. It’s not just the strong smell of alcohol on their breath and impaired coordination. Their face changes, eyes become more dreamy. Features soften, become sloppy, not so drastic.
Bachira’s eyes are dreamy. Glazed. And Rin’s chest tightens. Not the good kind either.
One night, when they’re lying in bed after. Rin says there cannot be anything between them.
It’s just sex. And lingering touches, and from time to time kisses.
Rin says he doesn’t want to be seen together. He doesn’t want to make them official; simply, there is nothing to be made official. They’re both frustrated, with bodily needs, so they kiss and more. But that’s all there is. To him, at least.
So, it is what it is. Rin repeats because he doesn’t need more. He’s fine by himself, he learnt to wake in the mornings in complete silence and fall asleep surrounded by the same coolness. So, if Bachira isn’t okay with this, if he wants more than just sex, than soft touches hidden behind shadows, Rin won’t give him that.
Yet, the scrawny kid stays, and they share kisses now and then. In the shadows, away from all seeing world. Then Rin wakes in the mornings with a sunken side of the bed that isn’t his and falls asleep with a clinging presence next to him.
Within the heart, a tempest starts to brew.
“Just stop the car,” Bachira says. “And I’ll get off your shoulders for good.”
Rin always locks the car door after he gets in. Is it a habit or just something he grew to do, he’s glad he did because the next stupid thing Bachira does is reach for the door of a fucking moving vehicle and harshly pulls at the handle.
Rin’s muscles grow stiff.
“What the hell are you trying to do?” He hisses, sudden panic gripping at his bones. His heart hammers, each beat filling his ears and drowning everything out, threatening to leap out of his chest.
Rin looks at him, expression etched with the strain of emotions, pulled taut with harsh words, eyes wide and unblinking. His breathing grows shallow and he grabs onto Batchira tightly, left arm stretched taut across the boy’s chest, pressing, holding him pinned as he struggles to open the door.
“Stop this.” Rin growls. He glares at the drunk boy, muscles straining against the resistance. His other arm remains firmly on the steering wheel, eyes darting back and forth between the road and the boy.
Bachira doesn’t look at him, and Rin never knew his chest could ever feel so tight when a certain scrawny kid wouldn’t meet his eyes.
The movements eventually slope as the boy easily tires, alcohol gripping his senses, muting his strength. Rin sees this, and Bachira struggles to breathe, the pressure constricting his lungs. Or the betrayal heavily settling onto his shoulders. The boy slumps in his seat, utterly defeated. His head held low. Alcohol surges his body, he’s limp even as Rin loosens his grip, but still holding him in place.
He’s drunk, and Rin simply is stronger.
“I was scared.” Bachira murmurs in a stretching silence then. Rin feels his chest squeeze. “And they wouldn’t– they just wouldn’t– ” leave me alone.
But Bachira can’t force himself to finish the sentence, his words as if choking, as if clipping his freedom. The silence that follows feels like nothing but a bird unable to soar. Bachira doesn’t feel safe to let Rin know.
So. Here’s a thing.
Underneath his palm, Rin feels a pounding heart. He feels a trembling body and makes out a smaller whimper. In a crowded room, he sees a scrawny kid whose eyes no longer shimmer.
Bachira is within his reach, but Rin doesn’t reach out.
-
There is a slight shift in everything. Between then and now, between tomorrow’s yesterday and today’s tomorrow.
The world beneath Rin’s feet shifts and tilts, too, as the present and past collide, and the colours take on a different hue.
He knows he never chased after fame and glory, but he no longer wants to come out on top and surpass his brother. It’s not like he loses his purpose because it’s still there, within a beat of his heartbeat. And the world is still watching, but it slightly has shifted.
Maybe now he looks at Sae with only softer eyes, and soccer is a little more fun to play, and he learns how to let go of this hurt. He looks forward to practise, and he looks forward to sharing this stupid yoghurt with canned pineapples that looks so damn unappetising. And maybe these mornings and nights if he plays this right.
He must.
The first time Rin learns the weight of silence is the first time his person is quiet.
“Let me help you.” He says.
Rin stands in the doorway to the bathroom, heavily leaning against it, with arms folded against his chest. He takes a deep breath as his eyes follow Bachira, watching him swaying, his fingers clumsily fumbling at the bow tie neatly wrapped around his neck.
The scrawny kid grunts in frustration, the knot refusing to budge. “There’s no need–” the words halt in mid-breath when his movements become more erratic and he tugs harshly at the fabric.
Rin’s arms fall at his sides as he pushes himself off the wall. “Here,” the taller boy offers calmly, his voice low. There’s a patient look on his face, but Bachira’s hands shake and he can’t bring himself to look into the taller boy’s eyes.
He shifts uneasily when Rin reaches out. But he lets him tug on the ends of the bow tie and slowly work the knot loose. It falls away mere seconds later.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, watching it crumble to the ground. He takes a step back.
“Bachira,” Rin calls out because the boy is retreating, slowly closing off as his walls pull up. His touch still lingers on the other boy ever so lightly. “Let me help you.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Bachira’s chest heaves. Before a lie comes a pause. “You’ll get wet.”
“See if I care.” Rin’s response comes immediately and he takes those few remaining steps until the air between them thins. There is nowhere to run, and Rin craves to reach out. He knows he can’t, at least not yet. “Meguru–”
“Please don’t.” It’s a mere plea, and Rin’s heart tightens when Bachira’s face twists, golden eyes squint tightly shut as his arm shoots up and he forcefully presses the flat of his palm onto Rin’s chest. With a swift motion, Bachira pushes him away, making teal eyes widen in surprise.
Yet, Rin doesn’t budge, and the scrawny kid grips the soft fabric of his shirt, weakly pushing, wobbly on two feet. As Rin remains rooted in place, Bachira’s hand slumps against his solid chest, fingers limp, almost shaky as they press just above the quickened rhythm of the taller boy’s heart, the heat of his skin radiating through the slightly unbuttoned white shirt.
Bachira’s head droops downward, bowing under the weight of exhaustion. “I know I’m not Isagi,” the boy suddenly talks, Rin’s chest feels hot under the pads of his fingers. As he listens, Rin’s heart continues to race. “Or Nagi, or… I- I know my soccer just doesn’t excite you.” He wetly hiccups, alcohol running freely in his system lets emotions burst forth.
Rin watches frozen.
“But I promise I can pull my weight. I won’t– I will train harder if I need to. I won’t– get in your way.” Bachira’s voice quivers, a wet tremble that reverberates through the air, and Rin can feel the boy’s emotions seeping into his own, rising up like a wave crashing against the shore. Bachira’s grip on his shirt tightens, shaky fingers clench the soft fabric as if letting go means forever.
It would be pathetic, if not tragic. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Rin clamps his hand on the scrawny kid’s mouth. He feels the boy stiffen, words dying at the back of his throat. “Shut it,” Rin grits out, his own eyes squeezing shut for a fleeting moment. “Shut it. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says it again. More forcefully this time, just to get through that bird brain that’s talking.
He forces Bachira to look at him, palm still firmly pressing against the boy’s mouth. It’s his heart that tightens at the sight. Tears shimmer in golden eyes like tiny crystals, clinging to the lashes like delicate droplets on blades of grass. But the scrawny kid’s eyes don’t shimmer, they’re watery and vulnerable, wide and hazy, like a dewy garden on a misty morning.
“You’re fine,” Rin says. He doesn’t know what else to say. It mustn’t be surprising – Itoshi brothers are born to suck at feelings, huh. “Stop spouting this bullshit, be obedient and let me wash you.” So, he almost hisses, ever so slightly loosening his grip on the boy’s jaw, watching as golden eyes grow even wider. He cannot fuck up. There is no way he can afford to, so Rin takes in a sharp breath, maybe his voice wavers a little bit too as he adds. Softly, barely there.
“I’m not trying to get rid of you, bob-cut.”
Rin quietly whispers, as if his voice would teeter on the edge of despair if otherwise. He stares intensely into his eyes, watching the boy blink away the tears, feeling his mouth slightly parting against the skin of his palm.
Then, Rin’s touch turns into tender caress, and suddenly he lets go.
“Let’s get you to shower.”
As the water flows from the spout, and the sound of droplets hitting the tiles echoes in the small bathroom, Rin gently guides Bachira into the shower. Rin, ever attentive, rolls up his sleeves and plunges his hand into the flowing down water, checking its temperature before it can hit the smaller boy’s skin. When pleased, having adjusted it to a slightly cooler tone, he steadies Bachira’s wobbling frame directly under the gentle downpour.
The warmth seeps into his skin, hoping for it to wash away all worries. All the while, the steam rises, slowly filling the room, and enveloping the duo in a hazy mist. Rin takes the washcloth and begins to carefully clean the grime and sweat from the boy’s skin. With each stroke of the cloth, Rin’s watching Bachira’s face, calculating every small frown, listening to the boy’s heavily breathing. His touch is nothing but tender yet firm, as the water washes away remains of long night.
He’s mindful of the tender places where the bruises linger. Touch lighter than a feather’s caress as he gently washes over the bruised skin, soothing the pain away and worry.
“I need you to hold onto my arms, I’m going to wash your hair now,” the taller boy says. “Can you do that?” His voice is low, firm. Rin locks his gaze with Bachira, searching golden eyes for somewhat reluctance. There is none. “Don’t slip. And don’t open your eyes either.”
As Bachira surrenders to Rin’s touch, his head tilts back and his eyes close, for a fleeting moment, Rin finds himself staring. He takes in every feature of the boy’s face, eyes softening ever so slightly, and his hands hovering a little in mid-air. Every detail seems to come into focus, the sound of the shower fading away. Rin can’t help but marvel at the softness of his skin, the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips.
This is the scrawny kid Rin chose to see.
It’s a tender moment, one that is soon over as Bachira squirms ever so lightly, and Rin refocuses on the task at hand.
He pours a dollop of shampoo into his palms, creating a fragrant lather that fills the air with the sweet scent of fresh flowers before gently massaging it into the smaller boy’s scalp. With practised movements, he works through the tangles and knots, all the while careful not to accidentally pull on his hair.
They’ve taken showers together before. Rin would carry him, and Bachira would slump against him, whining and clinging when he tried to pull away, as though Rin would disappear. All those times, he kept cursing himself that he knew the scent of Bachira’s favourite soap, that the unappetising looking yoghurt with canned pineapples was his favourite food or that he would curl up into dozens of blankets because he felt lonely.
Rin cursed the way he knew.
“Rin-chan?”
The scrawny kid snaps him out of his thoughts, teal eyes focusing. “Mm,” he hums, the gentle downpour carrying the sound.
“Is this the time we have hate sex?”
Rin’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head, hands still. He can feel the way Bachira’s body shakes with amusement for having caught him off guard. “No,” he clears his throat, collecting himself. “Now stop wiggling.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re making it harder for me to wash you.”
“No, silly!” Bachira giggles, and Rin has to keep him steady, so no shampoo seeps into his still closed eyes. Or he slips and dies. “Have sex with me–”
“You’re drunk.” His voice rings out forcefully and stern, cutting through the steam and the sound of running water. The smaller boy stills, a little unsteady on his feet as he leans a little more heavily into the taller boy. Rin takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure as he gently rinses the shampoo out of soft locks. “That would be taking advantage.” He quietly adds, brows slightly furrowed. It feels like explaining. It probably is.
“You’re no fun.” The smaller boy tries to whine, but the words come out sloppy and slurred, a garbled mess, barely comprehensible.
A lazy smile plays at the corner of his lips, and Rin takes half a step back to take a better look at Bachira’s unsteady form. He looks absolutely carefree, with softened features, relaxed brow – more so now and in his drunken state. Golden eyes remain closed, even though Rin’s done, the boy swaying slightly on his feet. Rin’s arms instinctively reach out, poised to catch him if he falls. And indeed, the scrawny kid collapses right into Rin’s embrace.
Rin catches him gently, with practised ease, teal eyes widening in surprise and concern. “Thank you.” The words are muffled against his chest, but Rin still understands it, and sudden warmth fills his chest. He feels the smaller boy nuzzle his cheek against his chest, and Rin unconsciously tightens his grip around the smaller boy’s frame.
There is a surge of protectiveness and tenderness that leaps in his chest when Rin looks down at the slumped boy in his arms. He can see the exhaustion written all over his face, chest rising and falling with each breath shallow and slow, and Rin knows Bachira’s completely drained.
The water droplets cling to his skin and Rin’s clothes, the room humid and warm. But Rin doesn’t move. Suddenly, he wants to hold him. For as long as he needs to. He gives his scrawny boy a small smile and tenderly brushes a wet strand of hair away from his forehead.
“I’m sorry I was arrogant enough to not see you.”
Still, after what seems like a tender moment – it is, – Rin groans because Bachira’s dead passed out in his arms and like a noodle.
-
His eyelids flutter open, revealing golden eyes that are still a little dazed and unfocused. He blinks away the remnants of dreams and adjusts to the gentle morning light. But as he reaches over to the other side of bed, his hand finds nothing but empty sheets, crumpled and tangled, they cling to him like an illusion of a lover’s embrace. Now, empty and cold, like a cruel joke.
When Bachira wakes, the first thing he notices are empty sheets.
Suddenly, panic seizes within him. For a moment, he can’t breathe. His heart races, and a sense of dread settles in the pit of his stomach. Bare feet touch cold floors, cool air wraps around him, depriving him of warmth, but he stumbles to the kitchenette on sloppy feet, in a careless manner. But he finds it empty too, devoid of any trace of him.
Bachira’s breath catches in his throat, heart drops like a stone.
He takes in the empty mugs, the lack of kettle buzzing, air devoid of the bitter smell of coffee. Could he have left him, after having opened his heart? Like a cruel joke, mocking what there is and used to be. Gambling the future over the past.
So lost in thought, Bachira’s oblivious to the sound of soft footsteps looming from behind him.
“Bachira?”
The boy startles, he whips around. Rin stands behind him, traces of worry etched onto his features. Damp hair falls in loose tendrils around his face, the dark green accentuating the depth of his eyes. The water droplets drip, leaving a glistening trail down his neck and bare chest. Sweatpants cling to Rin’s body, and Bachira’s lips part, wide eyes gazing at the sight before him.
“I thought you left.” He says, voice tinged with a held breath, somewhat that is close to relief.
Rin takes a step closer, eyes never leaving Bachira’s. “Why would I leave?” His voice comes out raspy, but his features soften as the gap between them thins. The question is rhetorical but there’s something else behind it, and those honey golden eyes shimmer ever so slightly. “How’s your head?” Though, this one requires an answer.
Bachira then offers a toothy grin, smiling sheepishly as his gaze lingers on Rin’s chest for a split second, embarrassed. “It’s good,” he says. And it’s as if nothing has happened. But it has, and they’re both a tad bit awkward.
Next words loom over the air with quite the hesitation there, carrying memories of yesterday, remnants of disaster, dramatic and not. “Sorry you had to see me like this.” Bachira nervously fidgets with his hands, expression turned apologetic.
“No. There’s nothing wrong with you.” Rin shakes his head, making Bachira perk up, curiously almost. “I was–” and so, the stoic boy grimaces, words faltering, unable to meet his eyes. “–inadequate. I said–” pretty messed up shit.
Yet, all the while, Bachira finds the so mighty boy’s stuttering cute. He tilts his head with a carefree smile. “All’s forgotten.”
“How can you–” he pinches the bridge of his nose, a frown settling upon his features. “It was wrong. What I said…” Rin’s chest heaves heavily. “It was cruel.”
“Can’t even remember–”
“Just let me apologise to you!” Rin cuts in, and Bachira zips it, mouth parting as he takes in what seems– a pained expression. The boy stills. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel shit. I saw it in your eyes.” Rin’s own eyes bore into his, glazed with a look of disappointment, with a heavy heart that pleads with regret. And Bachira understands, like Rin saw it in a hue of golden, Bachira sees it in a shade of deep blue and green.
“I used to hate it.” He admits, head held low, it’s almost as if shameful. He’s being completely honest in front of the person he hurt. Whose eyes always shimmer, and that night it didn’t. It is only fair. “Cursed it even. The way I knew you, and you knew me. It made my heart race with fear.” His shoulders slump forward, and Bachira wants to reach out. But he freezes mid-air.
“But yesterday’s night scared me more.” Rin says and he lifts his eyes. “When I saw you there… I didn’t know what to do with myself, with this– whatever this was.” These are fragments of words, stiff and lost deep in banks of memories. Teal eyes focus and unfocus, one second here and the next not. Elsewhere.
“I hope you can–” forgive me. Rin purses his lips because he’s so utterly vulnerable and so in the open. It’s almost hilarious. A king brought down to its knees by love. “Because the thing is,” he says without so much of a breath. “ I want to see you. Sober or drunk, happy or sad. I want to see you.”
Bachira watches, eyes large, with pink lips slightly parting. He’s not sure he’s breathing. He must be, probably. He’s just lost in a shade of deep blue and green.
“Be mine.”
Has he gone deaf too? “What?”
“Be mine,” Rin repeats. Bachira knows then that he must be breathing because his chest feels like it’s on fire. Good. He might just live another day then. He’s quite eager too. “Be mine with the world looking and without the world knowing.”
Rin takes another step, there is so little distance between them. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, as if the world had come to a halt. Because this meant– this meant that–
“Are you sure–” Bachira stammers, eyes gazing at the other’s, heart thudding. He swallows, suddenly eyes dropping, unable to hold this fierce intensity that sears into his soul. Suddenly, he feels self-conscious. “–you want.. me?”
Rin’s eyes never waver, and Bachira feels a flush rising to his cheeks when a warm hand cups his cheek, tilting to meet their owner’s eyes. “Yes.” Rin simply says because Rin is a man of few words. Eyes don’t lie, yes? In the end, simple and tranquil, they carry a weight that belies their brevity.
And so, Bachira nods, smile growing larger and brighter, breaking through. Eagerly and earnestly. He almost misses the way Rin lets out a held breath. A glint appears in that hue of deep blue and green, and the corners of his mouth lift too.
Rin leans over, there’s nowhere to go now. Bachira’s back hits the counter and he gasps a little as a warm breath tickles his cheek, and Rin pushes a knee in between the smaller boy’s legs. When he looks back at Rin, hungry eyes stare back.
“I want you in every way.” Rin says, voice husky, it sends shivers down the smaller boy’s spine. “But now,” damp lips brush the tip of his ear, whispering. “I want you writhing and arching beneath me.”
Bachira feels the actual heat radiating from Rin’s body and he feels a flush rising to his cheeks. His hands don’t stay at his sides any longer, daring that they are, press softly against those hips that these sweatpants are loosely clinging onto, he feels the soft, burning skin beneath the pads of his fingers. Bachira sucks in a sharp breath when he feels teeth grazing against his neck, fingers curl into his hair, drawing him in. He bites down on his lip to hold back a moan, not wanting to let go of this moment too soon.
This, however, doesn’t go unnoticed, and Bachira almost freezes when Rin pulls on his hair and their eyes lock. “I want to hear you.” It’s an order growled, and golden eyes widen with surprise.
In a moment’s notice, their lips crash together in a blurring line between passion and desire. Bachira feels as though his heart will leap out his chest, hammering that quickly. They kiss hungrily, almost greedily. Lips messy, teeth awkwardly clattering against each other in eagerness of not having enough.
Rin’s fingers move deftly down Bachira’s sleeping pants, untying the laces that are holding his pants snugly around his waist. He feels a surge of arousal build within him, feeling the heat of Rin’s touch against his skin and the boy softly moans as Rin’s fingers trace lightly over his bare skin.
He knows that he’s completely in the moment, lost in arousal that’s building, locked in each other’s embrace. Just then, the moment is shattered and there’s a loud knocking at the door. They pull away from each other, their eyes blown wide with surprise, lips swollen and bitten.
For a moment, they gaze at each other, caught between the greed to continue and the need to answer the door. And then the knocking comes again, sharp and insistent. Bachira almost doubles in laughter after he sees the murderous look on the taller boy’s face.
“That cockblock–” Rin hisses through tightly clenched teeth.