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It’s just the two of them on the field; the rest of their team’s gotten to leave, but Reo wanted to keep practicing. They have a game in two weeks, which sounds like a long time to Nagi, but Reo says it’s not.
Nagi stays, because Reo’s his ride home (and something about Reo’s sad face makes it hard to turn away), but he’s exhausted, so he’s laying on the ground, watching Reo hit the ball from different distances on the field.
Won’t the sun set soon? Nagi wants to go home. He calls out to Reo, who immediately turns those big, pleading eyes on him. “One more shot, and then we’ll go.”
The sky is a soft gold, all around Reo; he really is like a manga protagonist. Nagi watches him line up the shot, and absently thinks about how it’s a rather warm day, isn’t it?
Maybe Reo will buy him lemonade on the way home —
“Ah, fuck.”
Reo scores the goal, but he tumbles — even from where he is, Nagi hears Reo suck in a sharp breath, sees his ankle twist underneath him.
Nagi’s up and running before he knows it, but he can’t catch Reo, can only cushion his fall as he slides into place — Reo’s head lands on Nagi’s chest instead of on the ground, and Nagi’s arms wrap around him, trying to steady them both as the world spins.
I saved Reo, a small, pleased part of him whispers.
Reo turns over and immediately starts to fret over him.
“Nagi, are you okay?” Reo says. “Why would you get yourself hurt?! When our game is in two weeks—”
“Reo,” Nagi interrupts plaintively. He doesn’t know how to explain it: his body just moved, and shouldn’t Reo be happy? Wouldn’t it be worse if Reo hit his head and couldn’t plan their plays?
(Really, something about Reo’s sad face makes it hard to turn away.)
Reo softens.
“Thank you, Nagi,” he says, ruffling Nagi’s hair gently, and the movement makes Nagi suddenly aware of how close Reo is, how Nagi’s hands feel against the small of Reo’s back. He can see the faint sunspots on the bridge of Reo’s nose, feel his breathing — close, they’re too close —
“Buy me a lemonade,” Nagi mumbles, because the day really is warm, isn’t it?
“Anything for my treasure,” Reo says fondly, brushing Nagi’s hair once more time. It makes Nagi’s stomach twist.
He never knows how to feel when Reo says that. He’s never been anyone’s treasure, anyone’s first choice — anyone’s friend.
He had been fine with that. Reo’s ruined him.
“Help me up?” Reo says, wincing.
Oh. Right.
Nagi hoists Reo up, perhaps a bit roughly — Reo almost tumbles again, used to putting his weight on his ankle, and Nagi dips to catch him, throwing his arms back around Reo’s waist.
He’s so close to Reo’s face again; it almost feels like a movie scene, something his mom would see and laugh at.
Reo flushes pink, and he looks away.
“I can’t take us home like this,” Reo says. “I’ll call Ba-ya to pick us up. We can put the bike in the car, and we’ll stop for your lemonade.”
“I’ll bike,” Nagi says suddenly. Reo’s gaze snaps back to him.
“What?” Reo says. “Did you hit your head, Nagi?”
“I’ll bike,” Nagi repeats firmly. “I can do it.”
Not only can he do that, he’ll do this — he hoists Reo up in his arms, bracing his hands underneath Reo’s torso and knees, and begins to walk them back to the locker room. He can wrap Reo’s ankle, the way he’s seen Reo do for their teammates, and then they can go home.
He has to walk slowly, so he doesn’t jostle Reo too much.
“Nagi, this is too much,” Reo protests. His arms are resting tentatively around Nagi’s neck; his face is still pink. Embarrassment isn’t a look seen on Reo Mikage often; Nagi thinks it’s funny, but it’s also making his heart pound for some reason.
“Why?” Nagi says. “You do this all the time.”
Reo purses his lips. “Isn’t this a hassle?”
It is, but when it comes to Reo, the cost for doing such things just seems to shrink. Like leveling up in a game for a reward, at the end of it all is the promise of Reo’s smile.
You trusted someone like me with your dream. So let me protect it.
“You’re buying lemonade,” Nagi reminds him, because Reo seems happy when he gets to gift Nagi things.
“Ah, right,” Reo sighs, amusement and relief bleeding into his voice. “Ugh, I hope I didn’t sprain my ankle.”
“You definitely did,” Nagi says bluntly. Reo lets his head flop back, groaning.
When they get back to the locker room, Nagi puts Reo’s foot in his lap and binds his ankle as carefully as he can while Reo talks to Ba-ya on the phone, updating her on the situation. Ba-ya says she’ll schedule a doctor’s appointment, and that it should be fine if Reo takes care of himself.
Reo gets off the phone, and bursts out laughing once he sees Nagi’s attempt.
“Reo,” Nagi huffs defensively. “I did whatever you always do.”
“Nagi,” Reo says, laughing so hard that he tears up. “Nagi, it looks like a dog mauled my bandages.”
“Not all of us can be the protagonist,” Nagi pouts. Reo bends down to fix the bandages, and then reaches over to thumb at Nagi’s puffed out cheek.
“Good boy,” Reo croons.
“You suck, boss,” Nagi grumbles. “Let’s go.”
Reo tries to stand by himself, but Nagi ducks to pick him up again. This time, he puts Reo on his back, hoping that’ll be more comfortable for Reo. He can hide back there.
Surprisingly, Reo tucks his chin onto Nagi’s shoulder. “Today I have the Nagi limousine, huh?”
“It’s a one-time deal, so don’t get hurt again.”
“Nagi, are you scolding me?”
Nagi doesn’t know. Maybe. Yes. It’s Reo’s fault, that everything is about Reo now: coming and going to school with Reo, being able to sleep against Reo’s back, listening to Reo’s laugh, reading Reo’s messages, sharing Reo’s food. Reo, leaping onto him after they’ve scored a goal. Reo’s fingers in his hair. Reo’s soft palms cupping his cheeks. Reo’s sharp, crooked grin, and his fond, helpless smile. Reo, saying Nagi, my treasure.
“Nagi,” Reo drawls.
“I’m scolding you,” Nagi says, then adds, “For your own good,” because that’s what Reo always says.
“Nagi’s playing prince,” Reo teases. “So noble.”
“But Reo isn’t a princess,” Nagi replies. “Too bossy.”
Reo flutters his eyelashes. “Oh, really?”
“Really.” They reach Reo’s bike; Nagi carefully deposits Reo into the back seat.
“I can still call Ba-ya,” Reo says suddenly, something strange about his expression.
It feels like a test, like Reo’s waiting to see if he’ll escape.
But how can he ever turn away from Reo’s sad face?
Nagi says, “You can just give me this time off from practice tomorrow.”
Reo bursts into laughter. “Not a chance!”
Even as Nagi playfully huffs in annoyance, it’s Reo’s ringing, lovely voice that wills his legs to move, to pedal, to propel them towards tomorrow.
They melt into the darkening horizon, carried by the wind, and Nagi thinks that this isn’t so bad.