Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night didn’t announce itself with urgency; it unfolded slowly, almost deceptively calm, as though it were giving them one last chance to step back.

Kaiser’s room was dim in that soft, in-between way - light slipping through the curtains, catching on the edges of furniture as it painted everything in muted blues and golds.

The older moved first, not with the sharp confidence he wore in public, but with something quieter, and more deliberate. His hand found Isagi’s hoodie at the collar, fingers curling into the fabric as if testing the weight of it, and then he tugged - just enough to bare skin, and just enough to make Isagi inhale sharply.

Their kiss began at Isagi’s mouth, lingering, unhurried; it wasn’t hungry yet, just searching, as though Kaiser were memorising the shape of him - alongside his warmth, and the way Isagi responded without thinking.

When his lips drifted to Isagi’s neck, a place Kaiser had grown to enjoy using to please the man - it felt less like conquest, and more like surrender, each press of his mouth an unspoken question he didn’t dare voice.

Isagi’s breath hitched, a sound caught between restraint and instinct, and Kaiser felt it like a confession whispered directly against his skin. His hand slipped beneath the hem of the hoodie, palm warm against Isagi’s side, tracing the unfamiliar map of muscle and heat as if grounding himself there.

It should have felt good - and it did - but threaded through the sensation was something heavier, and that something clawed at Kaiser’s chest with every second that passed.

Love.

The word came as an uninvited, unwanted ghost of a thing he’d learned to fear long before he learned to want.

With every kiss, with every breath shared in that narrow space between them, the thought grew louder: that he didn’t deserve this softness, this closeness; that if he let himself believe in it, it would only be ripped away.

He hated how easily his body betrayed him, how desperately he wanted to stay right here, even as another part of him wanted to tear the feeling out by the root before it could take hold.

Isagi’s groan against his ear sent a shiver through him, uncontrolled and unmistakable, and Kaiser had to close his eyes for a moment, forehead brushing Isagi’s temple, as if bracing himself.

He was painfully aware of the contradiction unraveling inside him: the urge to protect this moment, to be gentle that it wars with the instinct to sabotage it before it could mean anything at all.

His grip tightened briefly, then loosened it, fingers splaying as though he were afraid of leaving marks that couldn’t be erased.

‘This isn’t right,’ he told himself - not because of rules or cameras or consequences, but because wanting this meant wanting more, and more had always been the thing that ruined him.

Nevertheless, despite every warning his past screamed at him, he stayed there, breathing Isagi in, letting the feeling exist for just a little longer. Because destroying it would hurt; but letting himself feel it, even for a moment, was somehow worse… And infinitely harder to resist.

Kaiser felt it most acutely in the way Isagi reacted without trying to hide it: how his breath stuttered, how his body leaned in instead of away, how there was no calculation in the sounds he made… There was no performance layered over instinct, and it was unbearably pure, that response of his. It was raw in a way Kaiser hadn’t encountered in years, if ever.

Every small reaction landed like a quiet blow to his chest, because it wasn’t sharpened by expectation or demand - it was simply there, offered for him to take.

He had spent so long reading people as angles and advantages, tells and tells-of-tells, that being met with something so unguarded made his hands tremble where they rested against Isagi’s side. He could feel the warmth of his skin, the way Isagi’s muscles tensed and relaxed beneath his touch, and it made something ugly and tender coil together inside him.

This - he - wasn’t something Kaiser had earned. It felt borrowed, like a moment he was trespassing in, like a kindness granted by mistake.

The more Isagi responded, the worse it became. Kaiser’s kisses slowed, not because he wanted distance, but because he was afraid of what would happen if he let himself move faster - afraid that hunger would eclipse restraint, afraid that want would turn into need.

Pressing his forehead briefly against Isagi’s shoulder, he breathed him in, rooting himself in the familiar scent of detergent and skin, while his thoughts fractured. Isagi’s reactions were honest in a way Kaiser didn’t know how to return. There was no edge of cruelty in them, no attempt to control or provoke; just a quiet, instinctive acceptance that made Kaiser feel painfully seen.

And being seen - truly seen - had always been the most dangerous thing of all.

His fingers flexed for a moment, then stilled, as if he were reminding himself that this wasn’t something he could keep. That if he leaned into it, if he allowed himself to believe that this softness was meant for him, it would only be a matter of time before it shattered.

He hated how much he wanted to protect Isagi from himself - hated that the urge came wrapped in affection instead of disdain, that it wasn’t about dominance or victory but about care.

Kaiser had built himself on the certainty that attachment was a weakness, that wanting anything beyond control was an invitation to be hurt - and yet here he was, caught in the gravity of someone who reacted like every touch mattered.

Every breath Isagi let out against his ear felt like an accusation: ‘see? you’re capable of this’. The thought made Kaiser’s jaw tighten.

He didn’t deserve to be someone’s softness. He didn’t deserve to be trusted with reactions that were honest. If love was anything like this - this… Quiet, consuming, and absolutely terrifying in its sincerity - then it was something he had learned too late, and at too great a cost, to accept without flinching.

However, he still stayed. He lingered in the space between movement and stillness, kisses feather-light now, almost reverent, as though he were trying to memorise the sensation before forcing himself to let go.

Every part of him screamed to ruin it, to turn it into something sharp or dismissive or temporary - something he knew how to survive. But another part, smaller and far more perilous, whispered that this feeling, however unbearable, was real; that Isagi’s unguarded reactions were not a trap, but an invitation.

Kaiser didn’t know which instinct would win.

All he knew was that the more Isagi responded like this, open and earnest, the harder it became to convince himself that destroying the feeling would hurt less than holding onto it.

The memory came unwelcome, as it always did when Kaiser felt himself soften too much - when touch stopped being a weapon and became something else entirely.

His father’s hands had never been gentle. They had been heavy, punishing things; corrective, measuring worth in bruises and silence and the constant reminder that affection was conditional. That love, if it existed at all, was something you earned through obedience or excellence, and lost the moment you faltered.

Kaiser learned early that being wanted was dangerous, that warmth was a precursor to pain, and that closeness was only ever a prelude to being broken down again. Standing there now, feeling Isagi’s breath hitch beneath him, feeling the way Isagi leaned instinctively into his touch instead of shrinking away from it, the contrast struck him so violently it almost made him pull back.

This was wrong. This was not how touch was supposed to feel...

BecauseIsagi didn’t flinch. He didn’t brace himself, nor didn’t tense in anticipation of being hurt. Instead, he responded: softly, honestly, with a trust that felt recklessly undeserved.

To Kaiser, that trust burned.

‘Love,’ he thought dimly, had to feel like this: like standing too close to a flame you knew would scorch you, even as you reached toward it anyway.

Every reaction Isagi gave him felt like an indictment of everything Kaiser had learned growing up, everything he had built himself into. It hurt in a way that was dull and sharp all at once, a deep ache behind the ribs that made his chest feel too tight.

Love wasn’t supposed to feel like guilt - but all Kaiser could feel was guilt. Guilt for wanting this. Guilt for wanting him. Guilt for the way his pulse jumped when Isagi reacted to his touch, for how intoxicating it was to see that honesty unravel in real time.

He hated himself for how much he liked it. For how much he wanted to keep going - not to take, not to dominate, but simply to feel.

To exist in that space where Isagi responded to him like Kaiser was safe, like Kaiser was someone worth leaning into.

Maybe that was the cruelest part of all: Isagi made him want things he had long since convinced himself he was better off without.

Affection without strings.

Touch without punishment.

Want without violence.

Kaiser’s fingers curled, as though holding himself back were a form of penance. He could feel the desire humming through him, undeniable and insistent, but layered beneath it was something heavier - fear, and maybe even shame, and the certainty that if he let himself have this, truly have it, he would ruin it.

After all, he always did.

So he lingered in that impossible in-between, suspended between wanting and restraint.

He let himself feel Isagi’s warmth, his reactions, the sincerity of them, even as every instinct screamed that this was a mistake - that love, if this was love, only ever hurt in the end.

Kaiser wanted Isagi in a way that terrified him; not as a conquest, and not just as a rival, but as something fragile and bright that he didn’t know how to hold without breaking.

With that knowledge - that wanting didn’t come with the ability to deserve - was what finally made him hesitate.

No matter how much he craved those reactions, no matter how deeply he felt himself drawn in, a part of him remained convinced that the kindest thing he could do was stop… Even as another part, far more anguished, begged him not to let go.

Kaiser’s attention narrowed until there was nothing left in the room but Isagi - his warmth, his breath, and that quiet, trusting way he stayed close...

He kept touching him without thinking about it: small, almost absent gestures that were meant to soothe rather than provoke. A hand at Isagi’s wrist, thumb brushing over pulse. Fingers sliding to lace briefly with his, then tightening as if grounding himself there.

It was affection in its most perilous form for Kaiser - not theatrical, nor meant to influence or impress…

Just there. Constant. Unguarded. And that, somehow, was what unraveled him the most.

The more he focused on Isagi, the more everything else faded. All that existed was the way Isagi looked up at him, confused but not afraid, and the way Kaiser felt something warm and awful bloom in his chest in response.

He didn’t even register that he was still moving, still holding on, or still giving without realising it. His thoughts spiraled inward, folding over themselves: Don’t get used to this. Don’t want this. Don’t ruin him.

The irony was cruel as every warning came too late, because wanting had already taken root.

And then the memory slipped in.

Hands around his neck - too big and too tight.

His father’s grip, not to kill, but to remind.

To control. To teach.

The pressure that stole breath without leaving marks; the voice close to his ear, low and disgusted.

You’re useless. You’re nothing. You think you deserve more than this?

Kaiser felt it again, vivid and nauseating, the way his body had gone rigid even as his mind screamed. The helplessness. The shame. The certainty that he was a piece of shit for needing anything at all.

Love, affection, comfort - those were lies people told you before they hurt you. And if you reached for them first, then you deserved what came next.

He didn’t hear Isagi at first.

“—Kaiser?”

The voice barely registered, drowned out by the echo of the past.

His hands tightened instead - without intention, without awareness - pulling Isagi’s hands up, disintertwining them from his, before pressing them instinctively against his own throat as if his body were trying to recreate the memory, to prove something to itself.

This is what touch really is. This is what it becomes.

The thought was bitter, automatic.

You ruin everything you touch.

“Ka— Kaiser?”

Still nothing. He was too deep, too stuck inside his own head, replaying pain like it was a truth he couldn’t escape.

“KAISER.”

The third time cut through him like a blade.

He snapped back to the present with a sharp inhale, eyes refocusing all at once - and suddenly he saw it. Saw Isagi’s hands in his own, pinned there. Saw the way Isagi was staring at him, startled and breathing hard, bewilderment written plainly across his face.

Kaiser froze, horror blooming cold and heavy in his stomach as he realised what he was doing - what he had almost done without even meaning to.

His grip loosened immediately, hands dropping as if burned.

“…Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough, not looking at Isagi at first. His chest rose and fell unevenly, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

For a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to meet Isagi’s eyes - not because he feared anger, but because he feared the opposite: that Isagi would still be there. Still concerned. Still reaching.

Kaiser finally looked up.

And there it was - that same softness, unsettled now, edged with worry instead of trust.

The sight hit harder than any memory ever had.

Kaiser realised, dimly, that Isagi was still beneath him, and nothing about their positions had changed except the sudden, brittle distance that had cracked open inside his own chest.

Suddenly, the room felt too quiet again, the kind of quiet that pressed in on his ears until every breath sounded too loud, too exposed.

Isagi didn’t move him away, didn’t shove or laugh it off, either. Instead, he stayed still, eyes searching Kaiser’s face with that same unbearable integrity that always made something twist wrong in him.

“…What happened?” Isagi asked softly. In English.

The question landed like a blow.

Kaiser’s thoughts detonated all at once - too fast to catch, and way too tangled to sort.

I did it again. I’m fucking shit.

The assurance was immediate and merciless.

He’d crossed some invisible line, let something rot and ugly bleed through, taken a moment that had been fragile and warm and turned it into something warped.

He could already feel it happening: the way people always looked at him when they noticed he was wrong in ways that weren’t charming, weren’t sharp or impressive - just broken.

The panic rose hot and choking, his pulse roaring in his ears as he stared down at Isagi and saw not fear, but confusion; not disgust, but concern. That somehow made it worse.

“I—,” His voice caught, useless.

He swallowed hard and looked away, jaw tightening as if he could physically lock the words back inside himself.

Talking about it meant naming it.

Naming it meant letting it exist in the open, where Isagi could see it clearly - and Kaiser didn’t trust himself to survive that.

Shifting back just enough to put space between them, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore.

“It’s… nothing.” He said it in German.

The lie tasted thin, even to him. And Isagi couldn’t understand him.

The boy still took it as a wave-off and didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t interrupt either. That patience - God, that patience - only made the shame crawl deeper under Kaiser’s skin.

He dragged a hand through his hair, breath uneven, the edges of his composure fraying in ways he wasn’t used to letting anyone see. “I’m not—,” He stopped, exhaled sharply through his nose.

‘Without the earphones, he doesn’t understand,’ he reminded himself. He tried again, quieter. “I’m not very good at this.”

At this. At closeness. At softness. At moments that asked something of him he didn’t know how to give without breaking it.

“I’m sorry,” he added quickly, the words tumbling out before he could rethink them, before pride could clamp down and smother them like it usually did. He still wouldn’t meet Isagi’s eyes.

His shoulders felt tight, drawn inward, like he was bracing for impact that never quite came. Every second stretched unbearably long as he waited for Isagi’s reaction - anger, discomfort, disappointment… Anything that would confirm what Kaiser already believed about himself.

That he ruined things.

That he always went too far or not far enough, never landing in the right place.

That whatever fragile thread they’d been walking along had finally snapped.

And beneath all of it, thrumming like an exposed nerve, was the fear he refused to name Would Isagi look at him differently now? Not as a rival, not even as a complicated fake partner, but as something wrong? Something to be careful around?

Kaiser stayed half-withdrawn, half-frozen, caught between the urge to retreat entirely and the equally terrifying desire to stay right where he was, suspended in that unbearable moment where nothing had been decided yet.

He stayed suspended over him like that for far too long, caught in the aftermath of something he didn’t have the language for.

His thoughts spiraled, vicious and relentless, each one latching onto the next with sickening ease. It felt like his skin no longer fit him properly - as if something crawled just beneath it, an invisible swarm of discomfort and wrongness that he couldn’t scratch away.

Every place Isagi had touched him earlier burned now, not with want, but with a sharp, aching awareness of how undeserved it all felt.

Gentleness had never been meant for him; it was something other people received, something he learned early to flinch away from before it could be ripped out of his hands.

This - whatever this was - felt like standing barefoot on glass.

He could feel his heartbeat everywhere: in his throat, in his palms… Even behind his eyes.

He hated that his body still remembered the warmth, the softness of Isagi beneath him, the way it had felt so natural for a few dangerous seconds.

Hated that a part of him had wanted to sink into it, to stay there and pretend he was someone who could accept care without poisoning it.

The thought alone made his stomach churn. Love, if that’s what truly this was even brushing against, had always come with conditions and pain, with hands that hurt more than they held. His body remembered that too, no matter how much he tried to bury it under arrogance and polish and teeth-bared confidence.

He told himself, distantly, that he should pull away completely; put space between them - rebuild the mask.

Say something witty, something easy, something that would reset the balance back into familiar territory where nothing mattered this much.

But he couldn’t move. His limbs felt heavy, as though gravity itself had doubled, pinning him there with the weight of everything he didn’t want to feel and couldn’t escape.

Then, unexpectedly, Isagi moved.

A hand rose, tentative but sure, fingers brushing against Kaiser’s cheek as if testing whether he was real, whether he’d shatter. The touch was gentle in a way that felt almost unbearable; it made Kaiser’s breath hitch despite himself, every instinct screaming that this was precarious, that this was how it always started.

Isagi’s thumb lingered there, warm and grounding, and Kaiser barely registered the quiet whisper that followed - words spoken softly, meant to soothe.

He didn’t understand them.

Japanese slid past his ears, meaningless in content but devastating in tone. He couldn’t tell what Isagi was saying, only that it wasn’t accusation, nor was it fear. And something in him cracked anyway.

His vision blurred at the edges. Not tears - he refused that - but the pressure behind his eyes grew pointed and insistent, his body trembling despite his best efforts to keep still. He swallowed, hard, and without quite knowing why, reached up. His hand closed around Isagi’s wrist, guiding it back to his own face as if keeping it there mattered, as if letting it go would undo him entirely. His grip tightened, too tight, maybe - but he didn’t loosen it. Couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words spilling out in German, raw and fractured. “Ich— I’m sorry.” Isagi wouldn’t understand that either.

It didn’t matter. Kaiser’s voice shook anyway as he said his name next, quieter, like a confession he wasn’t meant to speak aloud. “Yoichi.”

He didn’t know what Isagi was saying in return. Didn’t even know if he was responding at all. All Kaiser could see was the concern etched into his face with the way his eyes softened instead of hardening, and the fact he didn’t pull back from the shaking hands or the broken moment. And then Isagi moved again, closer this time, arms wrapping around him with a decisiveness that left no room for argument.

Kaiser froze.

His body locked up instantly, years of instinct screaming at him to resist, to escape, to not let himself be held like this.

Affection sat heavy and foreign in his chest, something he didn’t know how to carry without dropping it. He stayed stiff in Isagi’s arms, breathing shallow, eyes unfocused, as though accepting the hug might be a promise he wasn’t allowed to make.

However, he didn’t pull away.

He laid there, rigid and trembling, caught between reflex and want, letting Isagi hold him while every part of him insisted he didn’t deserve it.

The contrast was unbearable. He had spent years constructing himself into something untouchable - layers of arrogance, cruelty sharpened into wit, with confidence that shone like a shield so thick nothing could ever reach what it protected underneath.

And yet here he was, lying half on top of someone who had dismantled all of that without even trying with just measly warmth. Arms that didn’t hurt. A presence that didn’t demand he become something else to be allowed to stay.

It scared him more than anything his father ever did.

In that, violence had been simple. Pain had been predictable. You learned how to brace for it, how to survive it, or how to turn it into something useful.

Anger. Hunger. Ambition.

Kaiser had built himself from that fire.

But this?

This was quiet.

Gentle.

Risky in a way he had never prepared for.

Feelings didn’t strike all at once; they seeped in slowly, eroding foundations he thought were unbreakable.

He could feel it happening now, the way everything he’d built threatened to collapse under the sheer weight of caring - about a person. A person like Isagi Yoichi.

He hated that. God, he hated it.

Hated that something as fragile and uncontrollable as emotion could make him want to ruin himself.

Hated that when he thought about walking away - really walking away - his chest tightened painfully, like something essential was being ripped out.

He told himself this was stupid. That this was just proximity, adrenaline… Or even circumstance. That he could still pull back, still laugh it off, or even still turn this into another game he controlled.

Yet the truth pressed down on him relentlessly: this was the first time anything had ever reached him like this. The first time someone hadn’t demanded pain in exchange for closeness. The first time he’d felt safe enough to stop fighting for even a moment.

And that seriously, seriously terrified him.

Without fully deciding to, Kaiser shifted. His arms. Hesitant at first, then desperate - came up around Isagi’s back, pulling him closer with a quiet urgency that surprised even himself. He tucked his face down, pressing his forehead briefly against Isagi’s shoulder, breathing softly.

The warmth there was steady and real. Isagi’s breathing was slow and even against his chest, each rise and fall a small reminder that this moment wasn’t a trap, wasn’t a prelude to cruelty.

His touch remained constant - firm but careful, and his hands rested where they were as if to say, ‘I’m here. I’m not going anywhere’.

Kaiser clung to that sensation shamelessly.

His grip tightened, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to balance himself. As if letting go would mean losing the fragile calm settling over him now. His body still trembled faintly, but it wasn’t panic anymore; it was release, the kind that came when you stopped holding yourself together by force alone.

He listened to Isagi’s breathing, let it guide his own, matched rhythm to rhythm until the noise in his head dulled into something manageable. The crawling unease beneath his skin receded, replaced by something unfamiliar and fragile: comfort in a form that didn’t come from force.

He didn’t have a word for it. He didn’t want one.

All he knew was that Isagi’s touch was simple, unassuming, and destructively kind - and made the world feel quieter than it ever had before. Furthermore, for the first time in his life, Kaiser didn’t want to run from that silence.

He told himself firmly that this was the line. That whatever this fragile stillness was, whatever warmth had crept into his chest and lodged there like a foreign body, he wasn’t ready for it. He had never been.

Affection was a language he didn’t speak without flinching; tenderness felt like a debt he could never repay. He hadn’t expected Isagi to like him back - really like him, beyond the rivalry, beyond the sharp exchanges and the performative closeness demanded by cameras and contracts…

If anything, Kaiser had assumed his teasing would be tolerated at best, resented at worst. That it would remain what it had always been: provocation, dominance, and just a way to keep the upper hand without ever revealing how desperately he watched Isagi, how obsessively he measured himself against him. He hadn’t expected this - hadn’t expected Isagi’s hands to feel steady instead of uncertain, hadn’t expected his presence to soothe rather than ignite. It made everything treacherous.

Selfish, even.

The thought dug in deep. Kaiser had taken enough.
Attention, admiration, control - he had learned to survive by taking first, by never waiting to be chosen.

Yet, this felt different.

This felt like something that could break if handled carelessly. And Kaiser, with his history, his instincts, his tendency to ruin anything soft by gripping it too hard - he didn’t trust himself not to destroy it.

Not to destroy him.

The realisation stung harshly enough that he shifted, muscles tightening as he began to pull back, carefully, deliberately, as if withdrawing his weight alone could undo the intimacy of the moment. He loosened his arms, his fingers hesitating where they rested against Isagi’s back, already preparing for the space to rush in and fill the void with something safer: distance.

But Isagi didn’t let him.

The change was subtle, almost unconscious, but unmistakable.

As Kaiser drew away, Isagi’s arms tightened instead, firm and sure, pulling him closer with a quiet insistence that made Kaiser’s breath catch. There was no force in it, no demand - just a refusal to let go. Like Isagi had felt the shift before it fully happened, as if he’d sensed the retreat and answered it instinctively.

Kaiser froze, eyes widening slightly, his body betraying him by stilling completely. No one had ever stopped him like that before. No one had ever chosen closeness when he offered distance.

Then Isagi whispered something - hushed, and directly against the space between Kaiser’s ear and shoulder.

It was Japanese, unfiltered, unprocessed by any device. Raw sound, intimate in a way translation never could be. Kaiser didn’t understand the words - not their meaning, not their grammar - but the cadence of it went straight through him. The way Isagi’s voice dipped, the warmth carried in each syllable, the faint tremor beneath it that felt achingly sincere. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t teasing. It was something meant only for this moment, for him.

Impossibly, it had anchored Kaiser in place.

He stopped pulling away.

His hands hovered uncertainly before settling again, slower this time, as if he were afraid to startle something delicate.

The urge to flee dulled, replaced by a tight, unfamiliar ache in his chest - one that whispered of longing rather than fear. He swallowed hard, eyes closing for a brief second as he focused on the sound of Isagi’s breathing, the press of his arms, the undeniable truth settling in despite his resistance: whatever he was afraid of, whatever he believed he didn’t deserve, Isagi was choosing him anyway. Not because of bravado or image or rivalry - but because he wanted to.

And Kaiser, for all his resolve, didn’t know how to push that away.

———-————— ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ —————————

Morning came quietly - too quietly, Isagi thought later, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

He woke to warmth first. Not the abstract kind, not sunlight or blankets, but weight. An arm was hooked around his waist, tight enough to be possessive without intention, and a body lay half on top of his, heavy and warm against his chest.

For one disoriented second, his mind refused to catch up; his thoughts drifted in the hazy space between sleep and awareness, where nothing had consequences yet. Then he blinked, focused, and his gaze landed on a familiar shock of blonde hair resting far too close to his chin.

Kaiser.

Isagi went perfectly still.

The German was asleep. His face was turned slightly inward, cheek pressed against Isagi’s collarbone, lashes casting faint shadows beneath closed eyes. One of his hands was fisted into the fabric of Isagi’s shirt at the back, fingers curled like he’d latched on sometime during the night and never let go. The other arm was draped across Isagi’s torso, embedding him there.

He was hugging Isagi - subconsciously, like this was the safest configuration his body could find. The realisation sent a slow, stunned heat creeping up Isagi’s spine.

Seriously, what… What could’ve led to this?

The question echoed dully in his head as fragments of the night before surfaced uninvited: the way Kaiser had kissed him - hesitant at first, then unsteady, then almost desperate; the way Isagi had responded without thinking, without logic, like his body had already decided something his brain hadn’t caught up to yet. The memory made his chest tighten. His pulse kicked up, loud in his ears, and he swallowed hard, careful not to move too much.

His eyes drifted down, almost despite himself, to where his own hands were resting awkwardly between them. For a brief, unwanted second, another memory surfaced: Kaiser’s hands guiding his, the pressure against his neck, and the unspoken intent behind it. Isagi’s fingers twitched reflexively, and he sucked in a quiet breath.

He didn’t linger on the memory, at least, not really - but it left behind a hollow ache, a sense that there was something fragile and unresolved tangled up in everything they hadn’t said.

Slowly, carefully, Isagi let his gaze return to Kaiser’s face.

Up close, stripped of smirks and sharp words and that ever-present mask of control, Kaiser looked… Younger. Softer. The tension that usually lived in his brow was gone, replaced by something almost vulnerable. His mouth was slack with sleep, no practiced curve to it, nor that usual teasing edge.

Isagi found himself studying him in silence, cataloguing details he’d never been allowed to see before… Like that faint crease at the corner of his eyes, the steady rhythm of his breathing, or the way his grip tightened imperceptibly every time Isagi shifted even a fraction.

There’s so much I don’t know about you.

The thought settled heavy in his chest, not accusing - just honest.

He had always thought of Kaiser as something sharp and blinding, a rival to be crushed or surpassed. He’d never considered the quiet spaces between those moments, or ever imagined the kind of history that could shape someone into this contradiction: arrogant yet brittle, provoking yet careful, holding on in his sleep like he was afraid of falling.

Isagi stared at the ceiling, heart thudding with his mind racing in slow, overlapping circles. Whatever this was - whatever they’d crossed into sometime last night - it wasn’t simple anymore. And judging by the way Kaiser clung to him now, utterly unaware, Isagi had a sinking feeling that neither of them was walking away unchanged.

It was Monday today. The notice arrived unceremoniously, cutting through the haze in his head like a whistle he didn’t want to hear. Monday meant routine; it meant schedules, training blocks, video analysis, strategy meetings… It meant reality snapping back into place after everything had blurred too close and too personal.

More than that, it meant the countdown had officially begun. Until their match against PXG, and his match-up with Rin.

The name alone was enough to ground him, to pull his thoughts back onto the pitch where they belonged. With Rin on their team especially, who was ever so calculating, and terrifyingly adaptable to him - PXG wasn’t going to be an easy feat. In fact, it might be the hardest one yet.

Isagi could already feel the pressure building, the familiar itch at the base of his skull that told him it was time to start dissecting footage, mapping tendencies, and predicting patterns.

He’d need Hiori’s vision, Kurona’s link-up speed, Raichi’s relentless pressure with every cog turning perfectly, and every weakness accounted for.

There wasn’t room for distraction. There couldn’t be.

…

His gaze slid back down almost involuntarily, to the weight still curled against him.

Kaiser hadn’t moved much. If anything, he’d shifted closer sometime during Isagi’s spiral of thoughts, his forehead now resting just beneath Isagi’s chin, breath warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

The grip around Isagi’s waist was firm, like his body had decided on Isagi as a fixed point sometime during the night and refused to reconsider. The contrast was jarring: the world Isagi needed to prepare for versus this quiet, suspended moment where Kaiser - Michael Kaiser, the Emperor himself - looked like he belonged right here.

The idea crept in unexpected, dangerous in its curiosity.

What would happen if they worked together?

Not in this fabricated, media-trained sense. Not fake smiles and choreographed closeness, but on the field.

Truly.

Two strikers, both obsessively driven, both with vision sharp enough to cut through defenses - one who bent the game to his will through calculation, the other through sheer dominance and instinct…

For half a heartbeat, Isagi’s mind sketched it out anyway: Kaiser’s ruthless finishing synced with his own spatial awareness, lanes opening where none should exist, defenses collapsing under pressure they couldn’t categorise…

He almost scoffed aloud.

“Yeah, right,” he thought dryly, the irony not lost on him.

The idea was ridiculous - borderline laughable. They’d clash before they ever clicked; egos didn’t just dissolve because a scenario looked good on paper. Kaiser wasn’t someone who shared the spotlight. Neither was Isagi, not anymore. Cooperation like that would demand trust, an alignment neither of them had ever shown the other on the field.

However, as Kaiser stirred faintly and tightened his hold, Isagi felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest. Maybe that was the most risky part - not the tactical impossibility, not the rivalry, not even the media circus - but the fact that for the first time, the thought didn’t feel entirely impossible.

It just felt… Brittle. Like something that could either become devastatingly powerful or shatter the moment it was tested.

Isagi stared at the wall beyond Kaiser’s shoulder, jaw tightening slightly as he let the thought fade.

PXG came first. Rin came first. Football always came first.

Whatever this was between them - it would have to wait.

Still, he didn’t move.

Not yet.

Isagi decided, very reasonably, he thought, that the first step toward being a functional human being on a Monday morning was checking his phone. Time, messages, maybe a reminder of who he was supposed to be today. The problem was just the very real, very warm, very heavy obstacle currently draped over him.

Kaiser’s weight wasn’t crushing, but it certainly was committed.

Seriously, he had one arm hooked around Isagi’s waist like it had grown there overnight, with his thigh slotted carelessly between Isagi’s legs, chest rising and falling in an infuriatingly steady rhythm that suggested he was still fast asleep.

Of course he was. Of course Isagi was the one awake, brain sprinting laps while Kaiser got to exist peacefully, unconscious of the absolute mess he’d left behind. Isagi stared at the ceiling for a moment, then slowly angled his eyes down, assessing the situation like it was a puzzle he hadn’t signed up to solve.

Okay. Options.

Option one: shove him off.

Immediately discarded - too loud, and too likely to result in Kaiser waking up confused and defensive and doing something stupidly intimate, or rather, annoying, again.

Option two: wriggle out.

Isagi shifted a millimeter experimentally. Kaiser responded by tightening his grip, forehead pressing more firmly into Isagi’s collarbone, a quiet sound leaving his throat - half sigh, half hum. Isagi froze.

…Option three: suffer.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, lips pressing into a thin line. ‘You’ve gotta be kidding me,’ he thought flatly, eyes flicking toward the bedside table where his phone sat just out of reach.

It wasn’t far. Maybe - maybe - if he moved slowly enough, carefully enough, like he was disarming a bomb rather than attempting basic morning tasks, he could—.

He inched his free arm outward, muscles protesting as he tried not to disturb the man on top of him. Though, his shoulder complained. And his wrist bent at an awkward angle. Kaiser shifted again, nose brushing Isagi’s neck this time, and Isagi’s entire body locked up like a faulty engine.

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not thinking about that.

“Okay, okay, just— just grab it and we’re done,” he told himself quietly, tone somewhere between motivational speech and hostage negotiation. His fingers stretched, trembling slightly, grazing the edge of the table. Yes. Progress. He curled them, blind, fumbling—.

—and the phone slid.

Isagi watched in slow, horrified silence as it tipped over the edge, bounced once against the frame of the bed, and smacked face-down onto the floor with a dull, final thud.

There was a long pause.

Isagi stared at the spot where it had fallen, eyes blank, his mind empty except for one eloquent, all-encompassing thought:

For fucks sake.

He let his arm drop back onto the bed and flopped his head to the side, cheek pressing into the pillow in defeat.

That was it. That was the universe’s verdict. No phone. Just him, stuck under Michael Kaiser like some kind of cosmic joke.

He resisted the urge to laugh hysterically or scream into the mattress - settling instead for a quiet, long-suffering sigh.

Kaiser didn’t wake.

If anything, he relaxed further, body melting more fully against Isagi’s. It was distracting in a way he didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. His thoughts, which had been sprinting earlier, slowed into something heavier, more treacherous.

This was bad. Objectively. Strategically. Emotionally.

FOR HIM.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to look down at Kaiser’s sleeping face. Up close like this, stripped of smirks and sharp words and carefully curated expressions, Kaiser looked…

…

To the heavens, moon and back, can his mind shut up for a minute?

His brows were relaxed, lashes casting faint shadows under his eyes, lips parted just a fraction as he breathed.

Isagi swallowed.

‘So this is my life now,’ he thought weakly. ‘Pinned down and questioning life’.

He let his eyes fall shut again, if only for a second, letting the warmth sink in despite himself. Monday could wait a few minutes longer. PXG wasn’t here yet. Rin wasn’t in front of him yet. Right now, there was only this… Quiet, confusing, and entirely too intimate scene for someone who was supposed to have things figured out.

And as much as Isagi hated to admit it, as much as his rational brain protested—.

He didn’t move Kaiser away, and frankly, he didn’t want to.

The quiet didn’t feel peaceful anymore. It pressed in on Isagi’s ears, thick and suffocating, every second stretching longer as awareness fully settled into his body. The warmth against him - it all stopped being something he could ignore.

His chest felt tight, like if he breathed too deeply he might disturb something frail, something he didn’t know how to name. He stared at the ceiling again, jaw tightening, thoughts circling back to the same impossible point he’d been avoiding since waking up.

He really, seriously, wanted, needed to know the time.

Carefully, so carefully, Isagi shifted just enough to free one arm. Kaiser stirred faintly but didn’t wake, his grip loosening only a fraction, like his body trusted Isagi not to disappear.

The thought made Isagi’s stomach twist.

He turned his head toward the bedside table again, then stopped. His phone was still on the floor, useless. Instead, his eyes drifted to the other device lying closer, partially tucked beneath Kaiser’s pillow.

Kaiser’s phone.

Isagi hesitated. Not out of guilt - this wasn’t about snooping. He didn’t want messages, didn’t want names or notifications or anything personal. He just needed the time.

He slid his fingers beneath the edge of the phone and drew it out slowly, holding it awkwardly so the movement wouldn’t jostle Kaiser too much.

The screen lit up. Locked, of course. He didn’t expect otherwise. The wallpaper was something abstract - dark, sharp lines cutting across blue and silver - and for a moment Isagi found himself staring at it, mind blank. Then his eyes shifted to the corner of the screen.

12:03 PM.

The number didn’t register at first. It sat there, absurd and unreal, like a typo.

Noon. Not early morning. Not barely past breakfast.

Noon.

His breath caught sharply, and the weight of the circumstances slammed into him all at once.

“What the—.” He jolted upright instinctively, the words tearing out of him before he could stop them. “What the fuck—?!”

The sudden movement broke everything.

Kaiser made a low sound of protest as he was dragged partially awake, his arms tightening reflexively before slipping loose. His head rolled against Isagi’s shoulder, brows knitting together as if the world had personally offended him. He murmured something rough and slurred, voice still buried in sleep - disoriented, but unmistakably German.

Isagi froze.

He didn’t understand a single word.

His heart was hammering now, not just from the shock of the time but from the way the moment shattered so abruptly, like glass cracking under pressure. He looked around wildly, half-expecting the Mikage earphones to be somewhere obvious, tangled in sheets or discarded on the floor.

They weren’t. Of course they weren’t. He had no idea where Kaiser had put them last night. Or when last night had ended. Or how they’d even fallen asleep like this…

Sorta.

Kaiser shifted again, eyes still closed, face turned toward Isagi as he continued mumbling, slower now, deeper, words blurring together in a tempo Isagi couldn’t follow.

It made something in his chest twinge in a way he didn’t understand. He swallowed hard, clutching Kaiser’s phone too tightly in his hand.

“It’s— it’s noon,” Isagi said under his breath, more to himself than to Kaiser. His voice sounded strange in the quiet room. “We slept through the morning.”

Kaiser didn’t answer - couldn’t - but his brow creased even more as if he’d sensed the tension anyway, his grip brushing Isagi’s waist again in a half-conscious, instinctive motion. Isagi stayed still, pulse racing, staring down at him with too many thoughts colliding at once.

Isagi’s face burned before he could stop it.

Absent-mindedly, Kaiser’s hand had drifted again, resting against Isagi’s side like it belonged there, fingers warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. It wasn’t even on purpose, which somehow made it worse. Isagi swallowed and shifted, the movement small but stiff, and when that didn’t dislodge Kaiser, he poked him instead, sharper this time, right in the shoulder.

“K— hey,” Isagi muttered, voice low and strained, and he shoved Kaiser’s phone toward him, tilting the screen so the time was impossible to miss.

Kaiser squinted at it, eyes barely open, then stilled.

For half a second, he just stared. Then he pushed himself up properly, one arm braced beside Isagi’s head, looming over him without seeming to realise he was doing it. His hair was a mess - worse than usual - blonde strands sticking up at strange angles, falling into his eyes, the sharpness of his features softened by sleep. Isagi noticed all of it against his will, heat creeping further up his neck.

Kaiser said something then - incredulous, but the tone was of annoyance - and Isagi caught none of it. Not a word.

The language barrier hit him all over again like a wall, and he lifted one hand, flustered, pointing awkwardly at his own ears.

“Wait— earphones,” he said, even though Kaiser couldn’t understand him yet, the gesture doing most of the work.

Kaiser blinked. Once. Twice.

Then his expression shifted, and he let out a short laugh, rough with sleep, something genuinely amused slipping through his usual composure. The sound sent an unwelcome jolt through Isagi’s chest.

Without saying anything else, Kaiser leaned past him, close enough that Isagi could feel the heat of his body due to the weight of him hovering there.

Isagi’s breath caught.

Kaiser reached over him toward the desk, bracing one hand on the mattress near Isagi’s shoulder as he did. The proximity was ridiculous, unnecessary, and Isagi knew it - hell, he bet KAISER knew it, but his body reacted anyway, face flushing as his gaze fixed stubbornly on the wall instead of the man above him. He could hear Kaiser shifting through something, the faint clink of plastic, and then—.

A laugh again. Softer this time. Almost fond.

Isagi barely had time to react before he felt fingers brush his ear, careful but firm, and something was pressed into place. The world tilted as the Mikage earphones slid in, cool against his skin., the matching one then being placed in the other ear. His eyes widened, snapping back up just as Kaiser pulled away, already placing his own pieces into his own ears.

The connection clicked on.

Kaiser looked down at him, lips curved in something dangerously close to a grin, sleep still heavy in his eyes.

“You know,” Kaiser said, voice suddenly clear, smooth, and infuriatingly composed now that Isagi could understand him, “Waking me up like that is a crime.”

Isagi stared at him, heart still racing, blush refusing to fade, very aware of how close they still were - and of how much harder it suddenly was to pretend this was normal.

He clicked his tongue and shoved at Kaiser’s shoulder, the contact firmer than necessary, more to ground himself than to actually move the weight off his chest.

“Shut up,” he muttered, eyes darting away as if that might cool the heat crawling up his face. “And, get off me!”

The words came out sharper than he intended, edged with embarrassment and something more tangled beneath it, and when Kaiser finally shifted his weight away, the sudden absence felt just as disorienting as the closeness had been. Isagi sat up halfway, sheets bunching around his waist, heart still thudding too loudly in his ears as the room settled back into its quiet morning stillness.

For a moment, he just breathed, trying to convince himself that this was fine, that nothing about waking up tangled like that meant anything more than circumstance, exhaustion, and poor boundaries. But alas, his eyes kept betraying him, flicking back to Kaiser’s back as he stood, broad shoulders tense in a way Isagi recognised too well now.

The memory of last night surfaced uninvited: the way Kaiser had gone still, the way his hands had shaken, the way something unspoken and raw had cracked through his usual bravado. Isagi swallowed. Hesitated. Then, against his better judgment, he spoke anyway.

“…Hey,” he started, voice quieter now, uncertain. “Are you—.” He paused, fingers curling into the sheets. “Are you okay? I mean. From before.”

Kaiser stiffened.

It was immediate and unmistakable, like a switch had been flipped. His shoulders locked, his posture straightening as though bracing for impact, and for several seconds he didn’t turn around at all. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, filling the space between them until Isagi almost regretted asking - almost opened his mouth to backtrack, to pretend he hadn’t meant it. Then Kaiser finally spoke, his voice flat, clipped.

“Just forget about it.”

Isagi blinked. “…Uh,” he said, eloquent as ever, the word falling uselessly between them.

Kaiser turned then, only halfway, enough for Isagi to catch the conflicted look on his face - the tension around his eyes, the tight line of his mouth that didn’t quite manage to pass for indifference. “Yoichi,” he said, more firmly now, like he was drawing a boundary with the sound of his name alone. “Don’t think too hard about it. It’s none of your business.”

The words landed heavier than Isagi expected. He looked away almost instinctively, jaw tightening, nodding once in a way that felt both obedient and bitter. “Right,” he murmured. “Yeah. Okay.”

Kaiser didn’t linger after that. He stepped past the edge of the bed and walked toward the bathroom doorway, movements controlled but not relaxed, every line of his body screaming restraint. Just before disappearing inside, he paused - only for a fraction of a second - and Isagi caught the flicker of friction that crossed his face again, like something he wanted to say but wouldn’t allow himself to. Then Kaiser turned away completely, the doorframe swallowing him up, leaving Isagi alone with the quiet, the crumpled sheets, and the growing, uncomfortable understanding that some things, once noticed, couldn’t be unseen.

Isagi sat there for a few seconds longer than necessary, staring at the space Kaiser had vacated as if the air itself might explain something to him if he waited long enough.

It didn’t.

Eventually, he exhaled through his nose and let his shoulders drop, the tension easing just enough for a familiar, rational thought to settle in.

‘Well… I don’t want to be pushy’.

The conclusion felt sensible and adult enough - even if it left a faint, uncomfortable ache behind his ribs. Whatever Kaiser was dealing with, whatever that moment last night had been, it’s not like forcing answers out of him wouldn’t help. Isagi swung his legs off the bed and stood, grounding himself in movement before his thoughts could spiral again.

He smoothed the sheets out almost automatically, tugging the corners straight, pressing his palms flat against the mattress as if restoring order to the bed might do the same to his head.

The routine helped. It was familiar, after all.

After that, he stepped back and went through a few quick stretches, arms raised above his head, spine twisting side to side, calves stretching against the floor. It was muscle memory at this point, something drilled into him over years of early mornings. Even if the morning had very clearly passed - by several hours, apparently - his body still demanded the ritual. Each stretch pulled him further out of last night and closer to something he could understand: preparation, discipline and control.

He was halfway through rolling out his shoulders when movement caught his eye.

The bathroom door opened.

Isagi froze.

Kaiser stepped out like it was the most normal thing in the world, clearly having just finished whatever his own routine entailed.

He was naked.

Nothing about it was sexual in intent (not that Isagi was thinking about it in that way, of course…), and somehow that made it worse.

He was naked????!!?!?!?

His posture was half-relaxed, skin still faintly damp from the shower, droplets tracing lazy paths down the defined lines of his chest and abdomen, drawing the eye lower to where his body hung heavy and unshielded between his thighs. His gaze drifted toward the long mirror as if Isagi weren’t even there, as if this wasn’t objectively insane given the circumstances.

???????????????????

Kaiser stopped mid-step, eyes flicking to the mirror - and then, belatedly, to Isagi. There was a pause. A beat. Then: “Ah,” he said calmly, as if remembering he’d left the stove on. “Forgot you were here.”

Isagi stared. Paused for a moment. Then stared harder, his pulse quickening as his gaze dipped involuntarily, tracing the subtle shift and weight of Kaiser’s form with a heat he couldn’t quite suppress.

“Forgot? You were in there for barely thirty minutes,” he said, voice climbing despite himself.

Humming, Kaiser rested a hand against his desk counter as if this were a philosophical discussion rather than a personal attack. “Well,” he replied, glancing at his reflection, “The mind takes you places when you’re having fun.”

Isagi’s gaze betrayed him again, sliding very briefly but insistently up and down Kaiser’s bare form, lingering just a fraction too long on the shadowed curve below his hips before he forcibly snapped his eyes back up and nodded like he’d just been given a weather report. “Mm. Yeah. Makes sense.”

There was a half-second of silence before reality came crashing back down on him all at once. His spine straightened. His eyes widened.

“I’m—,” He spun toward the door, panic flooding his system. “I’m going back to my room. People are probably waiting for m—,” He stopped dead, horror dawning. “Holy shit. People are waiting for me.”

The words tumbled out as the full weight of it hit him: the night gone, the morning gone, his phone unanswered somewhere on the floor. His teammates. Training. The very real possibility that someone had noticed his absence and was already asking questions.

Isagi ran a hand through his hair, heart kicking into overdrive, already halfway out the door in his mind - while behind him, Kaiser remained standing in the middle of the room, watching him with an expression Isagi didn’t see, too busy trying not to completely implode.

After picking up his phone, he properly ran out, the door clicked shut with a soft, final sound, and the room fell into a strange, ringing quiet - one that seemed louder for how abruptly Isagi had left it behind. Kaiser stood there for a second too long, eyes fixed on the empty doorway as if Yoichi might reappear, flustered and apologetic, or not at all, or somehow both. When nothing happened, when the hallway remained stubbornly silent, his shoulders sagged in a way that felt almost humiliating in its honesty.

“…Michael,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand down his face. The laugh that followed was breathless, thin, edged with disbelief. “That was certainly a way of getting someone out of your room...”

The words were meant to be sardonic and self-aware, but they didn’t land. They dissolved in the air instead, leaving behind something warmer and far more dangerous.

Because the more he thought about Isagi, and the way he’d jolted awake, the way his voice had pitched in panic, the way his eyes had flicked anywhere but Kaiser when he was overwhelmed - the hotter Kaiser’s face grew. Annoyingly so. His ears burned; his chest felt tight. He swallowed once, then twice, and finally gave up on standing altogether.

Kaiser slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, forearms resting against them as he stared blankly ahead. The polished confidence, the practiced ease he wore like armor in public, cracked quietly in the privacy of the room.

His mind raced in tight, merciless circles - replaying moments he shouldn’t want to replay, cataloguing reactions he absolutely shouldn’t be memorising. Isagi’s hands. Isagi’s voice. The way he’d held on.

I really do not deserve this.

The thought came unbidden, sharp and immediate, like a reflex honed over years. He pressed his lips together, jaw tightening as if he could physically hold the feeling back - this ache, this pull, this ridiculous, fragile yearning that had no place in the life he’d built.

He’d survived by not wanting. By taking, by winning, by standing above everyone else so no one could ever look down on him again. Wanting something soft - someone soft - felt like a liability he couldn’t afford.

And yet…

Kaiser dropped his head back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut as his breath stuttered.

But can this shitty life of mine just… Make it last a little longer?

The question wasn’t hopeful so much as desperate, barely held together by stubbornness and habit. He didn’t ask for forever. He didn’t even ask for answers. Just a little more time before the universe remembered who he was and took it all away again.

The room stayed silent, offering no judgment, no reassurance - only the echo of a presence that had already left. And Kaiser, cheeks still warm, heart still unruly, stayed on the floor a moment longer than he should have, letting himself want something he was convinced would eventually ruin him.

———-————— ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ —————————

By the time Isagi made it back down the corridor toward his own room, his thoughts were a complete mess. His steps were automatic, muscle memory carrying him forward while his mind spiralled somewhere entirely unhelpful.

What the hell is wrong with Kaiser!?!?!?!?!??!?!?

The question repeated itself, not sharp with anger but dulled by confusion, by something almost worried for his wellbeing. He replayed fragments he didn’t want to replay: Kaiser’s voice in German, low and unreadable; the way he’d looked at him like he was standing at the edge of something he didn’t know how to cross; the sheer absurdity of that man’s actions that make no fucking sense to him.

Then there was the other, far more inconvenient thought, slipping in no matter how hard he tried to shove it away: are all Germans… This shameless?

The idea was ridiculous, and yet his face heated instantly as if his body had decided to betray him on principle alone. Isagi brought a hand up to his cheek, grimacing as he felt how warm it was.

“I need to stop,” he muttered under his breath, half mortified, half exasperated with himself. His heart was still beating too fast - stupidly fast - for someone who was supposedly just fake-dating a rival he wanted to crush under his heel.

He stopped walking for a second, leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes.

Deep breath in. Hold. Out. Again.

He forced himself to count it out, grounding himself the way he did before matches when his head threatened to run ahead of his body.

Stop thinking about it. About him; about bare skin, about closeness, about the way Kaiser’s composure had fractured so easily when it mattered most.

The more he tried to shut it down, the louder it got - his brain rebelling, dragging his attention right back to the source like it was determined to prove a point.

By the time he reached his door, his thoughts were still tangled, but at least his breathing had evened out. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, and immediately froze.

Hiori and Kurona both looked up at the same time.

Heavy and assessing, there was a beat of silence. Hiori’s expression was calm but suspicious, eyes flicking over Isagi in that way he had - taking in everything without saying a word. Kurona, perched half-sideways on his bed, blinked once, then tilted his head slightly, curiosity written plainly across his face.

Isagi became acutely aware, all at once, of how disheveled he probably looked: rumpled clothes, hair a mess, that lingering flush he knew hadn’t gone away yet - the whole lot. His brain scrambled belatedly for something normal to say, something that didn’t immediately raise questions he absolutely was not prepared to answer.

“…Morning,” he managed, voice a fraction too stiff.

Neither of them replied right away. They just kept looking at him, the room suddenly feeling much smaller than it had a moment ago.

Hiori’s eyebrow lifted. It wasn’t accusatory, not outright, but it carried the full weight of ‘I know something is off and I’m giving you one chance to explain it yourself’.

Kurona, on the other hand, squinted at the light streaming in through the window, then back at Isagi, entirely too casual as he spoke.

“It’s the afternoon.”

The words landed with a dull thud.

Isagi exhaled through his nose. “…Yeah.” There was no point denying it. The silence that followed stretched, uncomfortable and thick, settling into the room like a fog that refused to lift. He could feel it pressing in on him from all sides, every second amplifying the fact that he’d disappeared for an entire night without a word. His shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly.

Hiori was the one to break it.

“So,” he said evenly, tone mild in that way that always made it worse.

Isagi’s gaze dropped instantly - not in panic, or in guilt so much as self-preservation. Looking Hiori in the eye felt like stepping directly into a spotlight he wasn’t ready to stand under. He fixed his attention on the floor instead, on a scuff mark near the edge of Kurona’s bed, on anything that wasn’t Hiori’s perceptive stare. His heart picked up again, but his voice stayed steady; he refused to let it crack, refused to give himself away with something as obvious as a stutter.

“I’m going to go get food,” he said after a beat, tone carefully neutral, like it was a perfectly reasonable response and not the most transparent deflection imaginable.

There was the briefest pause, half a second, before Hiori replied.

“I’ll come with you.”

Isagi’s stomach dropped.

He looked up then, just enough to catch Hiori already standing, expression unchanged but intent unmistakable. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even framed as a concern. It was a quiet declaration: ‘I’m not letting this go’.

Kurona glanced between the two of them, eyes narrowing slightly as if sensing the shift in the air, but he didn’t say anything - just leaned back on his hands, watching. Isagi swallowed, nodded once, and turned toward the door, acutely aware that whatever inner-tranquil he’d managed to scrape together was about to be tested.

The walk down the corridor was quiet in a way that felt deliberate, like the silence itself was a choice Hiori was making rather than an absence of words. Their footsteps echoed faintly against the floors, the rhythm uneven: Isagi a half-step ahead, then slowing without meaning to, then matching pace again; he kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, gaze fixed forward as if the end of the hallway might offer some kind of escape if he stared at it hard enough.

And of course - because his brain had apparently decided to betray him at every possible opportunity - Kaiser surfaced anyway.

Unavoidable.

The memories made Isagi’s ears burn instantly. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, jaw tightening as he willed the thought away.

Stop. Stop thinking about that.

He risked a glance sideways.

Hiori was walking beside him with the same relaxed posture as always, hands loosely at his sides, eyes forward. No rush. No pressure. No questions - yet. Isagi could feel himself bracing for it, waiting for the inevitable ‘so’ or ‘you know’, or ‘you want to explain?’. Every step stretched the tension tighter, coiling it low in his chest.

Nothing.

The silence dragged on, growing heavier with each turn of the corridor, each passing doorway. Isagi’s thoughts kept looping back on themselves - on Kaiser’s voice, on the way he’d laughed, on the strange, awful gentleness of that morning, on how none of it made sense and how that somehow made it stick harder. He hated how easily his mind slipped there, hated the heat that crept back into his face no matter how much he tried to focus on anything else.

The floor tiles? The exit signs? The distant hum of voices drifting from the cafeteria? Literally anything.

Still, Hiori said nothing.

By the time they reached the cafeteria doors, the noise hit them all at once. The sound of clattering trays, or overlapping conversations. The normalcy of it all felt jarring after the quiet stretch they’d just walked through. Isagi exhaled slowly as they stepped inside, tension still curled tight in his chest, painfully aware that the questions hadn’t gone away.

They’d just been postponed.

Isagi went through the motions of grabbing food like he was on autopilot - tray sliding along the rail, eyes skimming over options without really registering them, hands moving out of habit more than intent.

Rice, protein, and something green he barely looked at.

The cafeteria was loud in that familiar Blue Lock way. He sat down at the first open table he saw, shoulders finally slumping a fraction as if the simple act of sitting had drained what little energy he had left.

He barely had time to adjust his tray before Hiori sat down across from him.

Hiori set his own tray down slowly, then looked up at Isagi with that mild, unreadable smile - the one that always meant he’d already noticed everything. Isagi felt his spine straighten instinctively, chopsticks pausing mid-air. That smile lingered a second too long.

“…Are you going to say something?” Isagi asked, voice a little too flat, a little too defensive.

Hiori tilted his head, still smiling. “Yeah,” he said easily. “Where were you last night?”

The question landed soft and clean and catastrophic all at once.

Isagi’s mouth opened - and closed again. His brain scrambled, thoughts tripping over each other in a chaotic rush.

Last night. Kaiser’s room. The bus. The bathroom. The offer. Fan-fiction?

Didn’t even get to read that fan-fiction… Not like it matters. I feel like I’m in one!!!!!

He stared down at his tray like the answer might be written in the rice.

Hiori hummed thoughtfully when Isagi didn’t respond. “Considering you’re not saying anything,” he continued, tone casual, almost amused, “I’ll just assume you were with your boyfriend.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

Boyfriend.

Heat rushed up Isagi’s neck in a way he couldn’t control, his ears burning as his grip tightened around his chopsticks.

‘Not really my boyfriend,’ his mind snapped back automatically, almost offended. ‘What even are we?’ The thought didn’t settle, it only opened the door to everything else he’d been desperately trying not to touch.

Are we dating?

The question slipped in before he could stop it, coiling tight under his skin, setting off a low, creeping panic. People who hate each other don’t kiss.

Except - do they? Could they? He didn’t know. He really didn’t. Rivalry, fake dating, fanservice, teasing that went too far, touches that lingered too long, a makeout session that definitely hadn’t felt fake in the moment no matter how hard he tried to reframe it afterward… His thoughts spiraled faster, overlapping and contradicting each other, heart beating just a little too loud in his chest as his sense of footing slipped.

Hiori’s voice cut clean through the mess. “With all the emotions that just ran across your face,” he said, eyes sharp now, smile turning knowingly smug, “I’m guessing I was right.”

Isagi jerked his head up, panic flaring, words tumbling out on instinct before he could filter them. “It’s not like that.”

The sentence came out strained, almost choked, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Hiori. He stared back down at his tray immediately after, jaw tight, pulse still racing and painfully aware that even if he said it out loud, nothing about the situation felt simple anymore.

Isagi shook his head quickly, more force than necessary, as if he could physically dislodge the thought from Hiori’s mind. “It’s really not like that,” he insisted, voice firmer now, clinging to the denial because it was the only solid thing he had left.

Saying it out loud felt like drawing a line in sand that was already collapsing, but he kept going anyway, repeating himself in different words, circling the same point over and over because if he stopped talking, he might actually have to think. Hiori just watched him the whole time, composed and unbothered, eyes soft but sharp in that way that made Isagi feel like he was being gently dissected.

“Sure,” Hiori said at last, simple and easy.

The word somehow felt worse than an argument.

Isagi’s gaze dropped instantly, embarrassment crawling up his spine as he stared down at his untouched food. His ears burned again, heat pooling in his cheeks as that single syllable echoed in his head. Isagi swallowed, jaw tightening, and when he finally looked away - more to escape Hiori’s knowing stare than anything else - his eyes snagged on a familiar flash of blonde across the cafeteria.

Kaiser had just walked in.

He stood out the way he always did, posture loose and confident even in something as mundane as the cafeteria, Ness walking half a step behind him, chattering about something with animated gestures.

Immediately, Isagi’s chest tightened, his brain betraying him as images from last night surged forward - Kaiser’s weight, his breath, and the way everything had shifted so suddenly from teasing to something frighteningly real. His throat felt dry as his thoughts veered, darker and quieter now, circling around that moment he hadn’t fully processed yet.

‘That thing,’ he thought, unease prickling under his skin.

The way Kaiser had grabbed his hands. Pressed them there. The way he’d gone distant, as if he was lost.

Did that happen often?

The question slid in unwanted, followed quickly by others that made his stomach churn. Did Ness know about it? About any of it? Did Ness know why Kaiser had done that, what had driven him there in the first place? Or was Ness just… That smiling, loyal dog that was completely unaware of the cracks underneath the surface Isagi had accidentally glimpsed?

“Isagi.”

Hiori’s fingers caught the collar of his hoodie before Isagi could spiral any further, tugging it up just slightly, just enough to draw his attention back. Hiori leaned in a fraction, voice low but amused, eyes flicking meaningfully toward Isagi’s neck. “If you don’t want people to know you two are together,” he said lightly, “Maybe you should cover up those hickies he gave you.”

Isagi froze.

“…What?” he breathed.

His hand flew up instinctively, fingers brushing his neck as his eyes widened in genuine horror. Hickies? His brain scrambled, rewinding through hazy memories of the night before, sensations blurring together in a way that made his pulse spike. “He… He left marks?” he hissed quietly, half-mortified, half-panicked.

Chuckling, Hiori leaned back in his chair like he’d just delivered the punchline to a joke only he was in on. Isagi let out a strangled groan and dropped his face into his hands, elbows on the table, wishing - desperately - that the cafeteria floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“I also saw a recording of the fan-meets you two did,” Hiori added, far too casually. “You two are so obvious. I don’t get how no one’s realised it yet.”

Isagi groaned even louder, fingers digging into his hair as his shoulders slumped. He could still see it in his mind - the way Kaiser had leaned in, the way he’d smiled, the way Isagi himself hadn’t pulled away fast enough…

“We’re not dating,” Isagi muttered weakly into his palms, voice muffled and strained that Hiori couldn’t hear him. “Everyone just… Thinks we are.”

But even as he said it to himself out loud, the words felt thin and fragile, like they might crack apart if anyone, including himself, pushed them just a little harder.

Hiori let out a soft laugh, the kind that wasn’t mocking so much as quietly entertained, as Isagi continued to mumble under his breath, words tangling together in a way that barely made sense even to himself. It was a stream of half-finished thoughts and denials, small fragments slipping out before he could stop them, as if his brain had short-circuited and left him stuck on the same broken loop.

His shoulders were tense, hunched forward protectively, and Hiori didn’t interrupt him; he just watched, amused and a little fond, like he was observing a girl fluster over her new boyfriend.

In a way, he was somewhat on the right line…

Not that Isagi would ever admit that.

Eventually, Isagi’s muttering trailed off, more out of exhaustion than resolution, and his gaze drifted back across the cafeteria without him fully meaning to. His eyes found Kaiser again almost immediately, like some kind of gravitational pull he couldn’t fight. Kaiser was standing near one of the tables now, posture still relaxed, expression unreadable - but the moment their eyes met, something subtle shifted.

Isagi saw it clearly this time: the brief widening of Kaiser’s eyes, the barely-there pause, and the way his attention snapped into sharp focus before he turned away far too quickly, chin lifting as if he hadn’t been caught staring at all.

The reaction hit Isagi harder than he expected.

His chest tightened, a strange mix of relief and panic blooming all at once as he kept watching, unable to look away. Kaiser’s movements were a little too precise as he walked towards a table, like he was consciously arranging himself back into place, rebuilding that familiar composure piece by piece. Ness, who had been mid-sentence about something - training schedules, maybe, or tactics - noticed the shift a beat later. His voice faltered, and he glanced over his shoulder, following Kaiser’s line of sight back to Isagi.

Their eyes didn’t meet.

Ness frowned slightly instead, confusion creasing his brow as he took in Isagi’s rigid posture, the way he’d gone quiet all of a sudden. He lingered for a second, like he might say something or wave or even just acknowledge the moment, but then Kaiser was already pulling out a chair, already sitting down, already looking anywhere but back. Ness hesitated, then followed him to the table, the frown still there as he sat across from him, concern flickering through his expression as he leaned in to speak again.

Isagi swallowed, his throat tight, and forced himself to look away at last, staring down at his tray like it might offer answers if he just focused hard enough. His heart was beating too fast, thoughts crashing into each other in a way that left him dizzy. That split second of eye contact refused to leave him alone.

‘He looked first,’ Isagi thought, the realisation settling uncomfortably in his chest. ‘And worse - he looked away. The expression on his face was… Different? Than usual…’.

Hiori watched him quietly from across the table, his smile softening just a little as he took in Isagi’s expression, the way his fingers curled unconsciously into the fabric of his hoodie.

He didn’t say anything this time. The silence itself felt loaded, heavy with everything Isagi wasn’t ready to admit yet, even as the distance between him and Kaiser suddenly felt much smaller than it had before.

Evenly, Hiori finally spoke, cutting through the mess in Isagi’s head with the same precision he used on the field. “I’m happy you’re happy, Isagi,” he said, not teasing this time, not smiling like he had been earlier - just honest.

Then, after a beat, he continued, tone sharpening just slightly. “And I’m sure you already know this, but make sure this… Relationship doesn’t affect your game. We’re against PXG next Wednesday. You and Kaiser are meant to be rivals. Don’t let your feelings come into play when it comes to football—,” his lips curved, just barely, “—or I’ll dump you if you don’t meet my expectations.”

Isagi blinked, then let out a quiet breath through his nose, nodding before Hiori even finished. “I know that,” he said immediately, voice steady despite the way his chest still felt tight. “I wouldn’t mix those two things. Football comes first. Securing the win comes first.” The words came out firm, practiced, like a creed he’d carved into himself a long time ago.

As if to reinforce it, he added silently, ‘We’re not even dating anyway,’ clinging to that thought like it could anchor him back into something solid.

Next Wednesday. The weight of it settled over him almost instantly, familiar and grounding in a way nothing else had been lately. That match wasn’t just another game - it was critical, a test of everything he’d been building toward, everything he’d sharpened himself into since Blue Lock began.

His mind began to shift gears automatically, thoughts sliding into formations, patterns, counters. Kaiser was still a variable in that equation, but not in the way his heart kept trying to make him. On the field, Kaiser wasn’t this. He was an obstacle. A rival. Someone Isagi fully intended to surpass, to outread, and to crush beneath his own vision of the game.

‘I’ll beat him,’ Isagi thought, jaw tightening slightly as resolve settled back into place. ‘No matter what’.

Kaiser was still someone he wanted to dominate in football, someone he wanted to prove himself against again and again until there was no room left for doubt about who stood above whom. That rivalry hadn’t disappeared just because things had gotten… Complicated. If anything, it burned hotter, and rather, it became more fatal.

Kill him.

Devour him.

Bring him to his knees.

Pin him to the ground!!!!

…

Isagi stiffened, heat rushing up his neck as he forcefully shoved the thought away, almost physically recoiling from it. He picked up his fork like it was an act of discipline, staring down at his food as if concentration alone could erase the image that had flashed through his mind.

‘Idiot,’ he scolded himself. ‘Focus’.

They were rivals. Rivals heading toward one of the most important matches yet. Whatever was happening outside the pitch, it had no place in the game. Isagi straightened slightly, grounding himself in that truth, even as his heart stubbornly refused to fully calm.

Across from him, Hiori watched in silence, expression thoughtful once more and saying nothing. He didn’t need to. Isagi had already convinced himself.

Isagi stared down at his food, fork hovering uselessly over the tray as his thoughts kept spiraling in directions he very deliberately did not want them to go.

‘Kissing and seeing your rival… Naked probably isn’t a normal thing,’ he thought, almost clinically, as if framing it that way might make it less mortifying. His mind, unhelpfully thorough, kept going anyway. ‘But… It could be a normal thing’.

The idea slipped in so smoothly it startled him. If he treated it like something casual, something unimportant, then maybe stuff like this wouldn’t sit so heavily in his chest.

Make it normal. Make it something he didn’t have to tiptoe around or overthink or…

He’d seen plenty of Bachira’s bare body over the time he was in Blue Lock - and that had never meant anything. They were friends, after all.

‘Though,’ Isagi thought in annoyance. Him and Kaiser weren’t friends. They weren’t anything, really. This was supposed to be a fake dating arrangement, a convenient lie, and a performance. And sure, maybe - accidentally - they’d both fallen for each other a little, but that didn’t mean it had to be serious. It didn’t have to mean anything at all. It could just be physical, situational, or temporary… Is that what he wants?

“You know,” Hiori said suddenly, flat and immediate, cutting straight through the mental ramble like a blade through fog.

Isagi flinched, snapping back into his body, realising he’d been staring blankly at the same piece of food for far too long. Hiori leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes half-lidded, studying him with the calm curiosity of someone watching a storm form from a safe distance. “You really are head over heels,” he added casually. “I can actually feel your love for him from here.”

‘Not helping, Hiori,’ he thought weakly, heat flooding his face as he finally shoved food into his mouth just to have something else to focus on. He opened his mouth to protest, to deny it or to say something coherent, but Hiori wasn’t done.

“So,” Hiori continued, far too relaxed, “Are you ever going to tell me how you two got together?”

Isagi choked.

It wasn’t a graceful cough. It was immediate, violent, and humiliating as food went down the wrong pipe - his body reacting before his mind could even process the question. He bent forward, hand slamming lightly against the table as he coughed hard, eyes watering, lungs burning in protest.

Hiori burst out laughing, the sound bright and genuinely entertained. “Okay, okay,” he said between chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender as Isagi continued his coughing fit. “…Another time then?”

Isagi couldn’t answer. He was too busy trying not to die in the Blue Lock cafeteria, coughing so hard it felt like his soul might eject from his body, face fully on fire as Hiori’s laughter rang in his ears as he watched the boy stand up (which Isagi hopes is so he can get him water).

Isagi kept coughing, the kind that rattled deep in his chest and made his vision blur at the edges, his body stubbornly refusing to cooperate no matter how many times he tried to inhale slowly and regain control. His shoulders shook, head bowed, one hand braced on the table as if that alone could keep him upright, and for a split second he was dimly aware of the cafeteria noise dulling around him, sounds warping as his focus narrowed to the burning in his throat and the sheer embarrassment clawing up his spine.

He barely registered the movement beside him until a firm hand settled on his shoulder - and the weight of it alone startled him into looking up.

Kaiser stood beside him, close enough that Isagi could smell him, holding out a cup of water like this was the most natural thing in the world. Their eyes met for half a second too long, Kaiser’s expression twisted into something caught between irritation and concern, his brows faintly knit as if he’d walked over on instinct before his pride could stop him.

Behind him, Isagi caught the briefest glimpse of Ness turning around at their table, freezing mid-motion. Ness’s mouth fell open, shock written plainly across his face, his eyes darkening as the scene registered - Kaiser here, touching Isagi, offering him water. It was the kind of look that lingered, unsettled, before Ness slowly looked away again, jaw tight.

“Yoichi,” Kaiser said, voice low, almost dry, pressing the cup into Isagi’s hand. “Don’t die before I destroy you on the field.”

And then - just like that - he was gone. Kaiser turned on his heel and walked out of the cafeteria with quick, decisive strides, shoulders stiff as if he’d grasped too late what he’d done and refused to acknowledge it.

Isagi barely had time to react before he brought the cup to his lips, gulping down the water greedily, the coolness finally easing the burn in his throat as his coughing tapered off into shallow, rattled breaths.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ness stand abruptly. Without a word, Ness grabbed both his own tray and Kaiser’s abandoned one, dumping them unceremoniously, setting them aside with a sharp clatter before stalking out after Kaiser, his movements tense and clipped. The space they left behind felt charged, like static after lightning, and the surrounding tables buzzed with quiet whispers that Isagi desperately pretended not to hear.

Across from him, Hiori had gone very still. He watched the entire exchange with an expression that was far too knowing, eyes following the path Kaiser and Ness had taken before flicking back to Isagi. After a moment, he leaned his chin into his hand and said coolly, almost thoughtfully, “Yeah. You two are going to have to be less obvious.”

Isagi slumped back in his chair, letting his forehead drop forward as he groaned softly to himself, mortification pooling heavy in his chest. He tightened his grip on the empty cup, heart still racing - not from the coughing anymore, but from the way Kaiser’s hand had felt on his shoulder, and the way everything seemed to spiral out of control no matter how hard he tried to pretend it wasn’t.

———-————— ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ —————————

Kaiser walked fast through the corridors, long strides eating up the distance as the echo of his own footsteps chased him down the halls. His jaw was tight, teeth clenched hard enough that his temples ached, and no matter how much he told himself to focus - focus, focus, focus - his mind refused to cooperate. Isagi’s stupid coughing. Isagi’s stupid face when he looked up at him. The warmth of his shoulder under Kaiser’s hand; the way his body had reacted before his pride could intervene.

It made his stomach twist with something ugly and sharp, something dangerously close to disgust, but not at Isagi.

At himself.

At the way he kept letting this happen, letting his attention drift, and letting his instincts betray him like a cracked blade snapping under pressure.

He hated how easily it slipped past his defenses; how caring crept in sideways, very much uninvited, curling its fingers around his ribs and squeezing until breathing felt wrong. He shoved the feeling down as hard as he could, burying it under irritation, ambition, and the familiar burn of competition.

He needed to move.

He needed to do something.

By the time he reached his room, he was already tearing at his clothes, switching into his training gear with sharp, mechanical motions, hands moving on autopilot while his thoughts spiraled.

A new goal formula he had been working on recently. He’d been refining it, adjusting angles, timing, visual cues - something ruthless and clean.

Something that didn’t feel. At least, not in the way Kaiser disliked.

Football made sense. Football didn’t look at him like Isagi did, open and earnest and far too willing to stay.

A sudden knock at the door came, and as Kaiser opened it, he saw Ness stood there. Seemingly after he left, the boy had tried to catch up to him, considering now that he is standing before him, the man’s breathing was slightly uneven.

Kaiser didn’t hesitate, just threw the words over his shoulder like an order carved in stone. “Training room five. Now.”

Ness opened his mouth - probably to ask, probably to say something he shouldn’t - but Kaiser shut him out before a single sound could escape. The door to his room slammed with enough force to rattle the frame, the finality of it echoing loud in the silence that followed.

He leaned back against it for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, chest rising too fast. ‘Focusing on love won’t get you anywhere. Why are you even trying?

He’d told himself this from the beginning - this ‘pretending to have something between rivals’ nonsense, this arrangement, this ridiculous proximity - it was supposed to be an outlet. A way to burn off excess emotion that he knew he felt towards Isagi without consequences.

Didn’t you tell yourself that, Michael?

His lip curled as another thought surfaced, meaner, and more frantic.

Why did the stupid Blue Lock striker have to like you back?

Why did Kaiser even like him, anyway?

The answer came too easily. Too many answers: Isagi’s focus; his honesty… His determination. The way he looked at the world like it was a puzzle worth solving alongside a battlefield meant to crush him….

Kaiser exhaled sharply, fingers digging into his own forearm as if grounding himself through pressure. His skin felt wrong, too tight - like something was skittering just out of reach. The sensation made his stomach churn, panic licking at the edges of his control.

‘I need him away,’ The thought landed heavy, and almost anguished. ‘I feel bugs crawling around my skin. I need him gone’.

He pushed off the door and grabbed his bag, forcing his body into motion again. Training room five. Goals. Numbers. Precision. Anything but Yoichi. Anything but the way his name felt when it slipped into Kaiser’s thoughts like it belonged there.

Kaiser left his room with the same restless momentum, the door clicking shut behind him this time instead of slamming, like he didn’t trust himself to make noise without cracking something open inside his chest.

The corridor felt narrower than before, the lights too bright, too clinical, as if exposing the thoughts he wanted buried. His footsteps echoed again, a rhythm he clung to as his mind kept spiraling anyway.

Love comes with a price. He’d learned that early - learned it the hard way. Nothing warm ever came without teeth, without a cost that dug in deeper the longer you let it linger. Attachment was interest, and interest was leverage - he knew this. He’d always known this, which only made it worse that he’d still agreed to this stupid arrangement in the first place.

What the hell had he been thinking, listening to his coach, and to that glasses-wearing freak who talked about ‘image’ and ‘marketability’ like players were products for sale?

Fake dating. Controlled exposure. Public appeal. It was supposed to be harmless, at least in retrospect. Just a role he and Yoichi had to play, not that Kaiser needed to act much from the start.

Annoyingly, he already had his eyes on the guy…

Kaiser scoffed under his breath, fingers curling into his palm. He absolutely should’ve known better. He always did. Every time he let something go on for too long, every time he indulged even a fraction more than necessary, it turned rotten. If you get too much of something, you’ll get used to it. He’d lived by that rule: starve yourself of softness and it stops hurting; give yourself just enough to function and no more.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he’d miscalculated. He’d never thought Isagi would like him back, or that anything would go this far…

That thought stopped him mid-step for half a second, chest tightening before he forced himself to keep walking.

No, that was exactly it.

That was the misstep. The fatal assumption. Kaiser had always been good at reading the field, at predicting reactions, or at understanding angles and outcomes. He’d assumed Isagi’s reactions would follow logic: rivalry, resentment, tension that stayed sharp and competitive. He hadn’t accounted for this. For sincerity. For the way Isagi looked at him like he was trying to understand him for more than just defeating him.

His jaw clenched.

Why did he decide to like me back?

The question felt almost accusatory, like Isagi had committed some unforgivable error in judgment. Kaiser’s thoughts turned harsher, crueler, because cruelty was easier than panic.

Why did Yoichi ever have to fall for a piece of shit like me?

The training wing doors came into view, and Kaiser welcomed the burn in his legs, the familiar tightness in his chest that came from exertion instead of emotion. Football demanded everything and gave nothing back. It was clean like that. As he pushed the doors open, he told himself, again, that this was the answer - if he could just put enough space between himself and Yoichi, if he could drown the static under drills and numbers and goals, then maybe the feeling would fade.

But even as he stepped inside, even as he forced his breathing to steady, Isagi’s face lingered in the back of his mind - soft with concern, flushed with embarrassment, and unbearably real. And Kaiser hated that no matter how far he walked, no matter how fast he tried to move forward, that presence followed like a shadow he couldn’t outrun.

I need a way out. An end. I hate this. I hate feeling like this.

———-————— ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ —————————

The screening room was dim except for the massive screen dominating the far wall, its glow washing over Isagi and the others as PXG versus Manshine City played out in sharp, unforgiving clarity. The air smelled faintly of energy drinks and recycled ventilation, the kind of space that always made Isagi’s brain lock in, gears clicking into place whether he wanted them to or not. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, eyes tracking every off-ball movement with almost painful focus.

“There,” Isagi said suddenly, voice cutting through the low hum of the room as PXG transitioned from defense to attack with unnerving smoothness. He paused the footage with a click, the frame freezing on a moment that most people would’ve overlooked. “Charles.”

He leaned closer to the screen, pointing not at Rin or Shidou, but at the blonde midfielder hovering just behind the chaos, eyes sharp, posture relaxed like he already knew what was about to happen. “Everything routes through him,” Isagi swallowed, eyes narrowing. “He’s the heart.”

The video resumed, and almost on cue, Charles slipped a pass through a seam that barely existed, splitting Manshine’s defense open like it had been planned ten steps ago. Isagi exhaled slowly.

PXG was dangerous because of individual monsters who carried the pitch like they owned it. Devoured it.

His gaze flicked to Rin as he received the ball next, movements precise to the point of being inhuman. Isagi felt a familiar chill crawl up his spine. ‘Rin is insane,’ he thought flatly, with awe and with a kind of wary respect that bordered on dread. Rin didn’t just want to win - he wanted to dominate, to erase the opposition’s will entirely. Every decision he made felt like it came from a place that didn’t tolerate hesitation or mercy.

“And then there’s that problem,” Hiori muttered as Shidou came barreling into frame moments later, pure aggression incarnate, movement feral and unpredictable. The contrast between Rin and Shidou was almost absurd - one cold, and suffocating; the other explosive, and violently creative.

It’s like PXG had two entirely different disasters sharing the same pitch.

Isagi leaned back slightly, hands clasping together as his thoughts raced. “We have to be ready to defend depending on each formation they have.”

The screen showed a moment where Rin and Shidou crossed paths briefly, not collaborating so much as coexisting, and Isagi felt his pulse quicken.

The footage kept rolling, PXG’s movements looping back on themselves in hypnotic patterns, and for a moment no one spoke. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but crowded - packed with unspoken observations, calculations lining up behind everyone’s eyes. Isagi tracked the off-ball runs again, watched how the field split almost invisibly into zones of influence, how Rin’s presence warped space differently than Shidou’s did. It was then that Hiori spoke once more, level-headed, cutting through the low ambient noise of the screen.

“Two incompatible strikers,” he said, tilting his head slightly as if viewing the match from above rather than straight on. “Two separate teams.”

Isagi felt something click at that. He nodded slowly, eyes still glued to the screen. “Yeah,” he murmured. “They don’t overlap, so they avoid each other. Same goal. Totally different philosophies.” His fingers twitched against his knee, already imagining the pressure points, the moments where PXG would fracture under stress if pushed the right way.

Scoffing from his seat, Raichi’s arms crossed tight over his chest. “Tch. So basically they’re a mess that somehow works because that Charles guy keeps them on a leash.” He leaned forward, glaring at the screen like it had personally offended him.

Yukimiya, who’d been quiet until now, finally spoke up, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “It’s kinda like Bastard,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care. “Except Isagi and Kaiser are actually on the field at the same time.”

The room shifted subtly, but it was unmistakable. Isagi felt it immediately, a tightening in his chest he didn’t quite react to fast enough. Yukimiya continued, deliberately unbothered. “Two systems. Two kings. Constant friction.”

Hiori hummed softly, considering that. Then, with an almost casual tone that felt anything but casual, he added, “I bet if Kaiser and Isagi really worked together - like the media keeps saying - they’d be unstoppable.”

Raichi barked out a laugh, sharp and disbelieving. “Hah! In what world are those two working together?” He shook his head like the very idea offended him on a moral level. “I’d love to see that though. Indulge in the idea, Isagi!”

“Maybe,” Hiori said lightly, glancing sideways at Isagi with a knowing look, “It’ll happen.”

The word maybe landed heavier than it had any right to. Isagi didn’t look away from the screen, didn’t give himself time to overthink it, to feel that heat crawl up his spine again. His response came quick, clipped, but absolute.

“No.”

The room went quiet again, but this time it wasn’t analytical. Isagi’s jaw tightened as PXG scored another goal, the screen flashing white for a split second before returning to motion. He told himself he meant it tactically. Logically. That he and Kaiser working together didn’t make sense in the circumstances they were in on the field. It doesn’t matter what happened off of it.

Besides, technically they were just opponents forced into proximity, nothing more.

And yet, as the game continued and Isagi’s eyes followed the flow of play, that thought kept echoing back anyway.

Unstoppable.

He pushed it down, harder this time, and leaned forward again, refocusing on PXG. Next week was coming fast. Feelings or not, rivals or whatever, he couldn’t afford to let anything blur his vision now.

His goal is to become number one, no matter what.

The match dragged itself toward its conclusion with a kind of violent inevitability, PXG tightening their grip as Manshine’s movements grew more desperate and fractured. No one spoke much after that, only the low hum of the screen, the occasional sharp inhale when Rin did something unhinged or when Charles threaded another impossible pass through traffic. By the time the final whistle blew and the screen faded out, Isagi felt like his head was buzzing, overloaded with information and noise and things he very deliberately didn’t want to sit with right now.

Kurona was the one who broke the silence, stretching his arms over his head as if shaking off the tension. “We should probably pull up PXG’s earlier matches too,” he said, practical as ever. “Get a better read on their patterns before Rin and Shidou started fully clashing like this, this.”

Raichi grunted in agreement, already reaching for the remote, and Yukimiya nodded, eyes still sharp with focus. Isagi, though, barely registered it. He stood a little too quickly, chair scraping softly against the floor.

“I’m gonna take a breather,” he said, voice even, and controlled. No one questioned it. Hiori just gave him a quick look - one of those looks that said I know your brain is overheating - and let him go.

The hallway outside the screening room was quieter, cooler, the air less heavy. Isagi leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes closed, letting the noise in his head slowly settle. PXG. Rin. Shidou. Charles. Kaiser. The thoughts kept circling, but he forced his breathing to slow, in through his nose, out through his mouth, grounding himself the way he always did before a match.

Next week mattered. Everything hinged on that. Strategy. Execution. Winning. He could handle that. He always could.

And yet - Kaiser kept slipping in anyway, persistent as always. Kaiser’s face when he was caught off guard, when the smug confidence cracked just enough to reveal something raw underneath. Kaiser when he slept, surprisingly peaceful, all sharp edges dulled in rest. Kaiser in skin-tight training gear, movements precise and effortless, body honed for dominance on the field. Isagi exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, annoyed at himself for how easily those images surfaced.

Then his mind snagged on something else - something darker. The memory of Kaiser in his room, hands pressed to his own throat like he was trying to anchor himself to something painful and familiar.

Isagi swallowed. Kaiser probably wasn’t very good at sharing his feelings. Not really. And the thought sat strangely heavy in Isagi’s chest, because, well, it wasn’t like Isagi was good at relying on others for comfort either.

Two people who didn’t know how to talk about what they felt, circling each other through rivalry and half-truths and a fake relationship that felt less fake by the day. Isagi pushed off the wall and opened his eyes, staring down the empty hallway like it might give him answers. He told himself - again - that none of this mattered more than football. That whatever was happening between him and Kaiser would stay contained, controlled, secondary.

But even as he turned back toward the screening room, heart still beating a little too fast, he couldn’t shake the quiet, unsettling thought that maybe - just maybe - this wasn’t something he could strategise his way out of.

All of sudden, he heard someone stalking down the hall with a sharpness to their stride that immediately set something off in Isagi’s chest. Turning, he saw as Kaiser was walking with a small tension to his movement that immediately pulled Isagi’s attention, the kind of presence that was impossible to ignore even when he desperately wanted to. Isagi felt it before he fully registered it - his heart giving a sudden, violent thump against his ribs, then another, then another, like his body had reacted on instinct before his mind could catch up.

He looked… Irritated, shoulders drawn back like he was bracing against something invisible. Isagi slowed without meaning to, heart giving an unpleasant little jolt as the familiar presence registered far too easily.

‘It’s like he appears at times I don’t want him to,’ Isagi thought, the bitterness of it surprising him with its edge.

Kaiser noticed him almost instantly. Their eyes met briefly, and Isagi caught it, the split-second hesitation before Kaiser looked away as if he’d been caught doing something he didn’t want to be seen doing. The shift was subtle, but Isagi had gotten very good at noticing subtle things where Kaiser was concerned.

Still, Kaiser recovered fast, lips curling into something that resembled a smirk as he slowed his pace just enough to fall into Isagi’s space. “Slacking off before the final game, Yoichi?” he drawled, tone light, almost lazy.

Isagi scoffed. “You wish. I’m doing anything but slacking off.” He crossed his arms, eyes sharp, daring Kaiser to say something else. Kaiser’s smile widened by a fraction, all teeth and no warmth.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said simply.

Isagi stared at him for a beat, then rolled his eyes, turning his head away like that would somehow put distance between them. The silence that followed was heavy, stretching, filled with everything neither of them seemed willing to say. It pressed in on Isagi’s ears until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Our contract ends this week,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

Kaiser hummed in acknowledgment, a low, noncommittal sound, eyes flicking somewhere over Isagi’s shoulder. Encouraged - or maybe unsettled - by the lack of immediate deflection, Isagi was going to continue, but he was cut off.

“We shouldn’t carry this on. After the deal, I mean.”

The interruption was clean, precise, like a blade slicing straight through the sentence. Isagi blinked. “…What?”

Kaiser finally looked at him properly then, expression unreadable. “We got what we wanted out of this contract,” he said evenly. “Leverage. Media attention. There’s no need to continue.” His voice didn’t waver. That, more than anything, made Isagi’s stomach drop.

“What are you saying?” Isagi asked, a crease forming between his brows. He hated how small the question sounded, how it exposed something he hadn’t meant to bare.

Kaiser tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a touch. “Yoichi, is it that hard to understand? Doesn’t this entire deal just ruin our focus for the next match, anyway?” When Isagi didn’t respond, jaw slacking, he added, quieter: “I did tell you not to fall in love with me, back then, didn’t I?

For a second, Isagi genuinely couldn’t speak. He just stared, disbelief flooding his face unfiltered.

He wasn’t… Completely wrong about the focus thing.

But…

“Are you serious?” The words came out flat, stunned. His throat felt tight, but he forced himself to keep going. “It’s not easy to just end it just like this. Didn’t you say you weren’t joking around with your feelings?”

Kaiser stepped closer, close enough that Isagi could feel the warmth of him, close enough that it felt intentional. He leaned in, mouth brushing alarmingly near Isagi’s ear, his breath a faux feather-light. “Haven’t you learned not to listen to me by now?” he murmured. Then he pulled away just as stiffly, the space between them snapping back into place like nothing had happened. “When our contract ends on Sunday,” Kaiser continued, voice cool but slightly shaky, “We go back to how things were before.”

He met Isagi’s gaze fully this time, blue eyes sharp, assessing. “That was our deal, was it not?”

Isagi’s jaw tightened. He held the look, refusing to look away even as something hot and painful twisted in his chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It was.”

Kaiser’s mouth thinned, the smallest crack in his composure flashing across his face before it vanished. “Glad we’re on the same page.” And then - before Isagi could react, and way before he could brace himself - Kaiser leaned in and pressed a brief, yet calamitous peck on Isagi's cheek.

Isagi froze.

Stepping back immediately, Kaiser was already turning away. “You were a wonderful distraction, Yoichi,” he said over his shoulder, his gaze diverting completely, before walking off down the corridor without another glance. “See you on Saturday.”

Isagi stood there, staring at Kaiser’s retreating back, chest aching in a way he didn’t quite know how to process. It hurt - more than he’d expected, more than he wanted to admit.

He told himself not to cry. There was no reason to.

This was exactly what they’d agreed to.

Exactly what was supposed to happen.

Yet, his eyes burned anyway as he clenched his fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms to keep himself grounded.

He’s right. He was just a distraction, anyway.

…

The world could offer him endless distractions, taunting him as he wandered every corridor of thought, but his mind will always return - each time more thoroughly undone - to Michael Kaiser.

Admittedly to himself, not like it mattered now, Isagi preferred it that way.