Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nagi’s life boils down to two eras: before soccer and with soccer. Or, and more accurately, with Reo and without Reo. When Reo quits Blue Lock, Nagi circles back around to a point of her life she figured she’d eventually have to revisit—but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be this soon. Really, she’d hoped it’d never come to be.

Their match in the second selection had sucked. She’d thought it’d be fun to play against Reo, it’d be a surefire way to improvement, to being reborn—but all it had done was make Reo mad and throw a fit. It had been annoying because, and Nagi maintains this, it was totally unfair. Reo had been the one to drag her into soccer and show her what a dream could be. Shamelessly, she’d grabbed Nagi’s hand and refused to let go—and now, suddenly, she’d decided to start slapping it away. 

Nagi doesn’t get her at all. Really. All she’s getting is: wow, Reo’s selfish .

(That, and one other thing that keeps her up at night, tossing and turning in a cold and unforgiving bed—Chigiri’s calling it withdrawals , but what does she know, that would mean Reo’s gone and she’s not . Reo wouldn’t leave her or their dream behind.

It was simple—if Nagi had known there would be a last night, she’d never have ever bothered letting there be a first one.)

At some point, she’s called away. She walks wherever Anri leads her—which just happens to be Ego’s room. It’s a little weird, but whatever. The door shuts behind them, which is even weirder, but still whatever.

“Hey, Ego,” she asks. “Where’s Reo?”

With a flourish, Ego gestures to the door. “Mikage Reo is no longer part of the Blue Lock program. She’s Locked Off and won’t be coming back again.”

“You’re lying,” Nagi says. “You’re lying. Where’s Reo?”

Anri rummages through a little vault and pulls out her phone. She hesitates a little, but hands it to Nagi and jumps when Nagi takes it, looking away all too quickly. 

“It never buzzes, y’know,” Anri says, using way too many hand gestures for too few words. “But then, suddenly, it lit up, and started playing this obnoxious sound, and I was like—”

Ego sighs. “ Anri. ”

“Right, whatever, brevity, sure,” Anri mutters, rolling her eyes. “Who cares about the person who’s pretty much keeping everything afloat, yep. Anyways, Nagi—you’ve got a message from Reo. I think it’s the only message you’ve got during your entire stay here so far, actually.”

Nagi blinks, turning her phone over in her hands. “We’re going to meet after the selection’s done. Why would Reo message me?”

“Reo’s, uhmmm,” Anri winces, chewing her lip. Ego rolls his wrist in a gesture that signals ‘ get on with it’ in every language. Antri tries again. “About Reo! She didn’t…make it through the second selection. Her dad came to pick her up after, though! So!”

Nagi’s head whips around to stare at Anri, who jumps a little at the sudden movement.

“What?” Nagi snaps. “No.”

Ego groans. “Listen, you half-baked genius,” he says, voice deadly sharp. Nagi doesn’t care. “Reo has left. If your time here has taught you nothing and this pathetic mess is all you have left to offer, take your non-existent ego and lock off .”

Nagi shrugs. “Sure,” she concedes. “This stuff’s still a pain. Do I need to sign anyth—”

“I can’t do this!” Anri yells, jumping in between before Nagi has the chance to ask for a pen. Rude. “Nagi, check your damn phone!”

Nagi’s fairly startled by her outburst, thank you very much, but it’s easier to do as she says than to push against the tides, and so she does. Her phone’s charged to full power when she opens it and her lock screen (an old photo of Reo and Choki) flashes with a single unread message from the only person who ever messages her. It feels wrong; Reo’s usually a double-triple-quadruple texter. But Reo’s silly contact photo winks at her as she opens up their chat window and she can’t help but sigh.

There’s just one message with perfect punctuation and no cactus-themed stickers—universal code for Reo’s not doing too well right now—and it sears itself into Nagi’s heart. 

If you abandon our dream , I'll kill you. 

The words burn like a brand claiming the soft flesh of Nagi’s heart, beating and bubbling and burning. Nagi can feel her head ringing. God, what had she done? She’d crushed it, hadn’t she? She’d totally and completely crushed Reo’s dream. 

I’m sorry, Reo, Nagi thinks. I’ve done the unforgivable, so I don’t deserve to run after you. 

It’s Anri who breaks the silence. “Will you…reconsider leaving, then…?”

Nagi swallows the agony that claws its way up her throat, nodding. Ego shrugs and turns his chair back to his monitors. 

“You fucking geniuses are all the same,” Ego sighs. “You’ll be eaten alive if you don’t kill that baseless confidence of yours. What can you even do with your own ego, so-called genius Nagi Seishiro?”

Nagi storms off. “Shut the fuck up, Ego. I’m going to win the World Cup.”

*

Practice drags on the whole day. The gruelling evening sun casts shadows stretched in funny lines across the practice field as Nagi runs drills. 

Playing football had gotten harder, and then Nagi had gotten better, so it got easier. And then it got harder again. It seemed like that was how improving worked—you had to change, again and again. She'd seen the light of being reborn, once, but it hadn't come to her in a long, long time. Some days, she chases the idea of a feeling. On others, she submerged herself in her memories to try and find something to drag her feet onto the pitch. 

Still, today, Nagi's body moves on its own. Usually, she should put a little more of her brain into these plays—but she'd done her best through the big part of practice, and that should be good enough, right? She's too tired to think, or it's too much of a pain, or something along those lines. Soccer isn't easy, but these wind-down drills are, if you do enough of them. 

A simple one-two. A long pass across the midfield. An intercept and a trap. Whatever. Someone passes to her and she passes it on to Isagi. 

Isagi immediately turns the pass into a direct shot that slams into the top corner of the goal. She pumps her fist, grinning. She says something, cheers, or whatever—but that's the whistle that signals the end of practice, and Nagi's mind is already halfway off the pitch. Nagi just hums something hopefully incomprehensible in response, already shuffling back to the bench to collect her stuff. 

(She remembers different passes, different celebrations. A sharp laugh; soft hands grabbing her shoulders, shaking her excitedly after every good play. The weight of their victories was easy and fun. 

Hey, Reo , Nagi thinks. What do I do now? Playing soccer isn’t fun anymore. ) 

Nagi doesn’t get much time to wallow. Rin taps her foot against the pitch, glaring daggers at her. Or maybe that was just her normal face, Nagi wasn’t one to judge. Rin’s impatient and irritated—she always is. Nagi doesn't have it in her to care. 

"You're slower today," Rin says. Blunt . Then, as if helpful, she keeps adding to it. “Your reaction time was off by 0.3 seconds."

"Ahhhhh," Nagi hums, flopping down onto the grass. "Is that so..."

The bug-eyed one kicks at her side as she lays there. “Is she dead? Seriously? Eugh, totally lame…”

“Yep,” Nagi says, rolling over so she’s face down in the grass. “That’s me, Nagi of the dead.”

The bug-eyed one kicks her again for good measure before she gets too distracted arguing with Rin at a ridiculous volume to keep at it. Nagi sighs—probably in relief for her poor sides that didn’t really do anything. The grass of the pitch is soft (but not wet, so its ideal form), and Nagi curls up into a little ball, soaking up the last rays of the evening sunshine before the harsh floodlights kick in.

She doesn’t get much before Barou snaps her fingers in front of her face. “Get up ,” she demands, and Nagi sighs with every bone in her body.

I want the Reo limousine , Nagi thinks, then kicks herself for thinking that.

“…walking’s a pain,” Nagi mumbles instead. 

Barou has no sympathy for her plight, glaring at her until she manages to rise to her feet and actually collect her things this time. As she shoves her things in her standard-issue duffel bag, Isagi offers to walk her back (she’s doing a weird and pointless thing where she jogs half the way home) and Nagi shrugs (which counts as a yes), and before she can remember to start her brain up, they’re on their way back. 

“Hey, uhm,” Isagi tries. Nagi keeps forgetting that off the field, Isagi has a pretty weak personality, so she hums to indicate she’s listening—and also to tell Isagi to get on with whatever she needs to say. “About…recently. You’ve been sort of down in the dumps, y’know? Is something up?”

“Reo’s not here,” Nagi huffs.

Isagi shoots her a look that’s equal parts incredulous and inscrutable. “You miss... Mikage Reo?”

Nagi nods. “Not Mikage,” she says. Reo doesn’t like that. “Just Reo.”

“Right,” Isagi says. “Just Reo, then. Well, is… Reo what’s on your mind these days…?”

“Yeah,” Nagi hums. “Always.”

Isagi stumbles over a crack in the concrete, arms flailing. Nagi catches her with a lazy elbow so she doesn’t slam into the pavement. That’d be bad. They had plenty of practice to get through. 

“Reo’s a good player,” Nagi continues. “Smart and talented and stuff. Even with practice, I guess I need to study more. Reo liked practising a lot, you know, so I guess that means I’ve gotta put in more effort there, too. It’s a pain—but things like these can’t be helped, right?”

Isagi wobbles to her feet. “Yeah, exactly, about practice—”

“I’ll do better at tomorrow’s, I know. Ah—that’s mine,” Nagi points to her house in the distance. “I’ve got to go. Reo’s opening a new branch overseas, so I’ve gotta watch that.”

With that, Nagi waves bye to Isagi, and Isagi approximates some sort of mumble in response that Nagi doesn’t really care to decipher.

*

Three monitors are all that light up Nagi’s dingy apartment. She’d had the money for a bigger place—but more space meant more work to clean, and really, who had the energy? It was easier to move back into the flat she’d lived in during high school. It was close enough to the practice arena, and on Isagi’s way, so either she or Chigiri would wake Nagi up on her worst days. 

It isn’t the same, though. It didn’t make sense—she’d been without Reo now longer than she’d been with her. This Reo-less life should’ve turned into something like normalcy, but it still felt like a major pain. There was an itch that would never get scratched, no matter how many balls she kicked or how many matches she played in or how many goals she scored; being alive sort of felt like putting on a cheap acrylic sweater on backwards (so, like hell, essentially). 

Gracelessly, Nagi sweeps away the trash accumulating on her table. The cups that littered her table this week formerly housed high-protein instant ramen (which Nagi really doubted actually had any of the necessary vitamins or minerals or whatever it was that kept a person alive, but it’d come in bulk, so that was that), and the rest were all jelly pouches (grape, on discount last week). Reo would’ve thrown a fit if she saw the state of Nagi’s room now. 

But, Nagi thinks. Reo isn’t here.

Nagi’s character dies on screen. It felt pretty appropriate, given that she’s feeling like Nagi of the Dead again. She’s won, hasn’t she? So, that should be that. One super-important dream complete, courtesy of Nagi Seishiro.

Then again, it doesn’t feel like she’d managed to accomplish anything. Whenever she’d dreamed about winning—or even thought about it in passing—Reo had always been there by her side. That was a given—or it was supposed to be. When Nagi had won, the space by her side was hauntingly empty, and she kept reaching out to rest her head against the hollow air. She’s sure the news has some stupid photos of her stumbling around, but that was neither her business nor her problem. Her agent could handle that if it even needed to be handled.  

She wants water. A quick glance at her table makes it very clear she isn’t going to find any, so she settles for an energy drink within a hand’s distance instead. It turns out to be one of the bad flavours, but it would be too much of a pain to go searching for another anything else now, so Nagi resigns herself to her strawberry-fizz-flavoured fate. 

Nagi has been awfully distracted these days. The World Cup had come and gone, and a week out from her victory, here she is, twisted into her too-small gaming chair and sighing at her screens. Gaming wasn’t working anymore, and though her friends had invited her out with kind smiles and welcoming hands, even Nagi knew that there was only so much they could take without having anything to give. She’d said no to the third afterparty-to-an-afterparty in a series of afterparty-ceptions, and they’d relented, aware enough of Nagi’s general Nagi-ness to let it slide. Still, her phone buzzes every few minutes with another picture. Nagi glares at the little vibrating thing. It’s never a text from the one person she’s been waiting for a response from for years .

Reo, as it turns out, is the cruel type. After all, she’d left Nagi with nothing but a direct order and promptly followed that up with radio silence for years on end. Nagi thinks she probably has the world’s cruellest boss—because, really, what else explains this? Nagi certainly doesn’t know. She’s given it as much thought as she can—mulling over every moment over and over and over again but there’s nothing. No matter how far she dives or how far she drowns, Nagi always seems to come up dry. 

It’s no surprise. Reo’s the one who’s better at putting her thoughts into words and actions. Reo’s better at a lot of things. Nowadays, Nagi can’t even sleep without some kind of buzzing in her ears—noise to cancel out noise, or something. Reo was better at science-y things too. 

Nagi clicks at her computer aimlessly, shaking it out of sleep mode and onto whatever shitty stream it was last on. She’s found that business channels worked unfortunately well—she didn’t really care about anything that was being said, and men in suits loved the sound of their own voices. Lots of talking, very little substance. Good noise. 

Unfortunately, when the screen rouses itself and the audio flickers into existence, Nagi’s face-to-face (or face-to-screen, technically) with an agonisingly familiar face. 

Nagi’s head shoots up, peering a little closer at the screen—as if squinting would make the pixel count go up. Reo Mikage sits pristine in a tailored suit, laughing politely at something some interviewer had said. Reo’s sitting there , beautiful and shining. Her hair is styled to perfection—it usually is, but she's grown it out again, just a little bit, and Nagi supposes that makes a difference. It feels a little uncanny not to see Reo with her usual Reo-style cut, but she’s Reo, so it still looks good. 

Her eyes still crinkle the same way when she laughs , Nagi thinks. 

It’s a little funny, maybe, because Nagi recognises that laugh. It’s a little too gentle, a little too metered. It’s one Reo uses when she’s uncomfortable—the one she'd use whenever talking about her parents to Nagi, when she’d pause after a quip expecting Nagi to laugh, but would be left to fill it in herself.

Nagi had always found that laugh a little too grating.

Nagi notices that she's butted into the tail end of the conversation because it seems like they were shifting the topic from business to Reo. Which is good, because that's Nagi's favourite topic too. Still, the interviewer is a young guy with a gaudy blazer who smiles at Reo too much. Nagi already doesn't like him. 

"Mikage!" His voice is too shrill, too. "The secret to your tech's success must be your soccer success, right?"

Ah, he'd stepped on a landmine and didn't even know it. Reo raises an eyebrow, smiling good-naturedly. "Hmm? What makes you think that?"

"Well," the guy continues. "You had a pretty successful soccer record back in high school, right? You were an undefeated champion there!"

She waves him off. "What, like you've never had a hobby you were good at? Shame..."

The studio audience laughs, and the guy looks suitably embarrassed. Good , Nagi thinks, as he should be. 

"Okay, okay," he sighs. "But you were better than good, weren't you? Did you ever dream of being a soccer player as a kid?"

Reo laughs. Nagi wants to reach through the screen and throttle the guy. 

"Hmm, well," Reo says, taking her time as if she had to think about it. "I did, once. But everyone has those childish dreams, you know? High school is full of phases."

Not fair, Nagi thinks. Reo, you're so not fair.  

It hadn't been 'a phase'. Everyone who knew Reo had known that—everyone including Reo—and yet here she was, just lying. Nagi doesn't get it. Reo doesn't get to just throw that time away like this. Reo doesn't get to throw Nagi away like this. 

Reo shrugs nonchalantly. "Having fun during your teenage years is important—you've got to live it up before you become an adult!"

"Speaking of living it up," the guy asks. "You've seen the U-20 World Cup, haven't you?"

"Sponsored it, too," Reo says, winking at the camera. It sends a little jolt through Nagi. her heart flopping about in a funny way. Reo always looked so pretty when she was being cocky.

"Sponsored it too!" He laughs, and Nagi decides she really doesn't like this guy. "Maybe that's why our Japanese U-20 team won this year!”

Reo rolls her eyes. “Have you seen the new team? Those are the kinds of players that never stop winning. Unless you’re cocky, you’ll never get anywhere. Whether it’s sports or business or anything, really, you have to be willing to devour whatever stands ahead.”

“Woah…Mikage, you’re…” the guy pauses—probably for dramatic effect, but he really just looks stupid. “Seriously intense! Isn’t that a crazy philosophy?”

“Well, it’s the one I used,” Reo hums. “So you tell me—doesn’t it work out great?”

You didn’t use that one at all , Nagi thinks, something in her head buzzing incessantly. Your motto is ‘I get what I want’. Seriously, Reo—when did you become such a liar?

The interview keeps going. The guy laughs a little, then keeps drilling Reo about the recent World Cup. Nagi isn’t concerned about the details of the match—she played it, after all—and Reo doesn’t seem to be too interested in that guy’s words either, if the way she nods politely is any signal. He doesn’t seem to get the hint, leaning closer as he talks. 

When he’s done rambling, he hits Reo with what Nagi hopes is the last question for his own sake. “What was your favourite goal of the match?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Nagi sort of wants to punch him.

Reo doesn’t think before answering. “The last one.”

“Nagi’s goal?” Nagi blinks at the screen. That one?

“C’mon, there’s no denying it—that trap was practically godlike,” Reo says, laughing. A real laugh , Nagi realises with a start. “Honestly, her movement throughout the game was fascinating. If you’d seen her over a season or two ago, you’d never think she’d be the type to have such intense eyes—but she’s really found a passion for the sport, you know?”

“A season or two…? But Nagi’s barely been playing for…” the guy trails off, quickly shuffling through some papers of his. Shamefully unprepared. Reo would’ve never fumbled like this if she was taking an interview. His eyes shoot open as he finds something. “Oh! You’re both Hakuho alumnus!”

Reo rolls her eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t know! I figured that was a part of why you asked for me, actually.”

“You were the soccer club captain back then, weren’t you?” He asks, and Reo nods, to which he laughs. “Can’t imagine Mikage Reo being anything else! Does that mean you recruited her?”

“I found her with my own two hands,” Reo says, smiling softly. Nagi doesn’t miss the way the little divot between her brows crinkles or the way she gently tugs at the sleeves of her suit jacket. Nagi doesn’t miss the millisecond where her eyes widen like she’s been caught red-handed. “I’ve always thought that if anyone was to be blessed by the god of soccer, it would have to be her.”

Nagi nearly knocks over her whole setup with the speed she shoots to her feet. Fuck, she’s got to pack a suitcase, stat , she thinks, tripping over her chair and slamming her toes into the wall. It smarts, and Nagi’s pretty sure it’ll bruise, but that’s not the point right now. The point is, as it’s always been, Reo. 

Reo said always . That means then. That means now. That means tomorrow, too. 

"Seriously, you’re such an idiot, Reo," Nagi mutters, grabbing whatever clothes look like they least needed a wash and throwing them into the still-unemptied suitcase by her bed. Her World Cup medal gleams in the harsh light of screens, sitting neglected on her desk. She'd achieved their dream, but it felt hollow without Reo's arms around her, without Reo's voice screaming her name with joy. Nagi sighs again.

Grabbing her phone, Nagi scrolls through the flight schedule for whatever’s available last-minute. Grabbing her bag and slipping her feet into her sneakers, she pauses at her door, looking back at her apartment. The mess of takeout containers, the unmade bed, the game still running on her monitors—all evidence of a life half-lived, waiting for something. 

Waiting for someone , Nagi thinks, grabbing her keys. 

“Hold on, Reo,” Nagi whispers to herself, setting off. “I’m coming.”

*

Nagi can't sleep a wink—which sucks because the flight is terribly long. All she can do is stare out the window and hope there's some shortcut in the sky the pilot can take that gets her to her destination faster. 

She books a seat supremely last minute, so the flight is full—and she's been saddled with a seat where the in-flight entertainment doesn't work. Nagi wonders if Reo's ever had to fly in anything that wasn't her private jet with fancy champagne. Probably not. It's probably for the better, though. Nagi's legs are horrifically cramped in this tiny space—she can barely breathe, really. Maybe it’s her fault for growing too tall. Now that the flight's moving, she can probably stick one leg in the aisle, though. It's not better , Nagi realises, but it's something.  

At this point, she's tried a bunch of things—wearing an eye mask, counting Chokis, even thinking about maths—but nothing’s working. Her thoughts are running a mile a minute, and it's pissing her off; Nagi isn't really fond of any form of unnecessary exertion, and mental exertion is no different. 

But, then again, Nagi supposes she can't help but think about Reo's words. Reo was being weird. She wasn't mad (most probably), but she was being weird. Or maybe it was just a weird feeling to know Reo wasn’t mad at her. Nagi wasn’t sure of the finer details—all she knew was that there was a thrumming in her chest that wouldn’t subside no matter what. An anticipation that buzzed with life for the first time in years. 

The airport is surprisingly busy at the time she lands. A quick glance at her phone tells her it’s four in the morning around here, and while it’s not the latest Nagi’s been up, it still feels like a weird time. Still, it means the little shops that litter the airport foyer are open, and Nagi makes a beeline for a tired-looking florist by the baggage carousel.

“Uhm,” she says, knocking gently against the wall of the shop. “Excuse me, do you sell flowers here?”

The person at the register—an old woman, old enough to be her grandmother—takes a slow look around her shop full of flowers, then turns her gaze back to Nagi, raising a thoroughly unimpressed eyebrow.

“Right, uhm,” Nagi fumbles her words, looking away. “You do. Obviously.”

The old lady takes pity on her, beckoning her closer. “You’re too used to being the one receiving the flowers,” she says, shaking her head at Nagi in disapproval. “You must give them out more freely. They’re meant to be shared.”

Nagi has no idea what she means, but nods anyway. The lady looks at her and sighs again. 

“You’re getting these for someone important to you,” she says, gesturing at the flowers

“Yeah.” Nagi nods quickly. “Super important.”

“And you're trying to get them to forgive you, aren't you?” She huffs. 

Nagi squints at her. “How'd you know?”

“I've seen enough of your ilk to last me a lifetime,” she says, chuckling to herself. “But you're better than those who don't try at all, and I've seen even more of those. So don't worry too much about it—if you're honest, they'll see it.”

Nagi nods and lets the old lady help her through the different kinds of flowers in her shops and the little things they mean. She seems to brighten up when she shakes her head at the mention of roses, and laughs when Nagi admits that she’s only ever managed a cactus before. Eventually, she sends Nagi on her way, arms full of flowers—bright pink carnations, little white lily-of-the-valleys, and startlingly purple anemones. Nagi thanks her, and the lady shoves her out of the shop, motioning for her to hurry on her way, before she can thank her again.

Standing there, half-empty suitcase in one hand and too-big bouquet in the other, Nagi doesn't know what to do next. When all the rush has settled and the adrenaline of landing fizzles to a low hum, a sobering truth wraps its icy fingers Nagi around Nagi's throat. 

Nagi has no clue where Reo is right now. 

It should've been fairly obvious. They haven't talked in years. All she has to go off of is Reo's old number and...wherever Google Maps says Mikage Corp. offices are. 

She's close enough to the glass doors of the exit to look outside. The sky is a deep, inky blue—moonless, starless—with the only lights being the many, many stores crowding around the city outside. From here, the skyline is almost like the sight she'd seen from Reo's room in high school. 

(Back when it was just her and Reo. Back when Reo had shown her the world and handed it to her. Back when they had promised their lives to each other.) 

There's a flicker of light in her periphery. Over near the parking area, Nagi sees that one of the shops has a bad neon sign—it's phasing in and out of existence. It looks sort of dingy, like it's clinging to life a little too desperately. In a way, it reminds Nagi of the little stores on her way back to the student dorms. 

Nagi is halfway through wondering if they sell jelly pouches there when the doors to the convenience store open. The customer who steps out is obnoxiously well-dressed for the time of day and the location she’s in—dressed to the nines in a sinfully well-tailored pinstriped suit and sharp black heels. For all her grandeur, she lingers outside the store, flimsy plastic bag in tow, and stares blankly at the night sky, sighing wistfully as the moonless night tousles her once-neat purple hair. 

“Reo…?” Her name falls from Nagi’s lips before she can help herself, and really, between the panes of glass and the many feet of distance in between them, it should be impossible for her to hear, but Reo’s head snaps like a startled animal, glancing around for something. And then, for one magical moment, her eyes catch Nagi’s—

(And it’s like falling in love again, Reo’s hands in her hair, her voice in her ear. Reo’s gentle touch and kind chiding and her weightless barbs and constant, constant presence. Reo’s bright smile and effervescent presence dragging her towards something to call a home, the ever-setting afternoon sun warm against their backs and golden against their hearts.)

—and Reo runs.

Nagi feels her blood run cold, but her body is moving before her mind can catch up, pushing past the automatic doors, stumbling past another airport-goer, tearing through the city with her heartbeat thumping in her ears, chasing a beautiful purple comet trailing through the night sky. 

“Reo—” she calls, throat straining. “ Reo , it’s me! ”

“Fuck you! Why are you even here?!” The words cast over Reo’s shoulder are sharp and accusatory. She doesn’t even look over at Nagi (which sort of stings). With every step, her heels click against the pavement, the sound grating on Nagi’s ears. Who wore heels this late, anyway?

Nagi thinks that’s a dumb question. “For you , obviously!”

Reo lets out a shriek that ricochets off the empty streets and picks up speed. "That's—! That’s not a real answer!"

"It's the only answer I have, Reo!" Nagi yells, because she doesn’t have another one. "It’s my answer! You said I was fine as I was, Reo, and so, I’m—"

"Don't you dare quote me to me!" Reo interrupts, taking a sharp turn down an alley. "And stop bringing up the past! It’s the past for a reason, you know! You abandoned me, you know! You don’t get to just come back , you—! You—! You asshole! "

"Remember when..." Nagi calls out between breaths. "You used to…carry me to practice?"

Reo’s breath hitches, but she slaps her hands over her ears with an indignant gasp. " Lalalalala—! I’m not listening!"

"You'd give me...piggyback rides...because I was too sleepy to walk!"

"That was years ago!" Reo's voice cracks slightly. "We're not teenagers anymore!"

"Still sleepy though," Nagi mutters, mostly to herself. “It’s…it’s not the same without you, Reo!”

Reo huffs. “I said I’m not listening!”

For someone who claims to have quit soccer, Reo still runs as if her life depended on it. Never in her life has Nagi been more thankful for her professional training—she keeps pace, watching Reo's suit jacket flutter in the night air as they weave through the streets. It’s surreal—after years and years and years of desperately chasing a mirage of Reo’s shadow in crowds, here she was, just close enough to reach out and touch Reo if she pushed on a little more. 

With a loud thud, Reo kicks a trashcan over, sending it rolling straight down Nagi’s path. Nagi blinks at it, as if that’ll stop it from hurtling her way. Reo flinches at the sound it makes as it smacks into a big rock in the pathway just before Nagi’s leg.

“Ah! Reo, that’s cheating…” Nagi whines. She half-stumbles, half-jumps, all slams-her-shoulder into the wall, grimacing as Reo picks up speed again, wincing at the sight of her. 

“Well—!” Reo bristles, ducking into an empty street. It looks like a pretty abandoned area, save for a few cats. “What do you expect, Nagi? You’re—! Well—! Listen , I work in an office all day! You’re a world-class soccer player, for fuck’s sake! That’s cheating! You’re, what, six-foot-four, now?”

“Six-foot-five, actually!”

“ Fuck you! ”

“Wait, Reo, just because you haven’t grown doesn’t make this my fault, does it?” 

They pass a late-night café, its warm lights spilling onto the street. For a moment, it reminds Nagi of all the times Reo had dragged her out for proper meals, refusing to let her survive on convenience store snacks and energy drinks. Reo zips past it without paying it a second thought. Nagi groans. 

“Reo,” Nagi tries. “I’m sorry!”

“For what ?” Reo snaps.

“I don’t know! But Reo’s mad, so I’m sorry!”

“What? Don’t say pointless shit like that! ”

"I miss..." Nagi tries again, scrambling to find words. "Miss when you used to touch me!"

"I did not—! " Reo's squeaks indignantly. "That was— that was just— don’t phrase it like that , you idiot!"

“How am I an idiot? You used to play with my hair and hold my hand and feed me! You did touch me!”

“ Jesus fucking christ— ”

Nagi's confusion only grows. She'd thought Reo hated her, then the interview made her think maybe she didn't, and now...now Reo was acting like a child, running through the streets at midnight with her fingers in her ears and screaming at Nagi. It would be funny if it didn't make Nagi's chest ache with how much she'd missed even something as stupid as this—Reo's ridiculous reactions, her complete inability to be casual about anything or keep proper distances from people. 

"The World Cup…!" Nagi switches tracks. "I looked for you...in the crowd..."

"Of course you did!" Reo doesn’t turn around, but her voice shakes. "You always look around after scoring! It's your thing!"

" No ," Nagi huffs. "Looking for you was my thing! I was…always... only looking for you."

Reo makes a janky little strangled sound, stumbling a little. She catches herself, but she’s starting to wear down—in the stamina department, at least. "You can't—! You can't just say things like that!"

"Why not? It's true."

"Because!" Reo's voice cracks again. "Because you're supposed to hate me! I left you! I never called! I—!"

They turn into a park, their footsteps muffled by wet grass. It sort of crunches beneath their feet, and Nagi can feel the moisture soaking into her sneakers, gross. Reo, more focused on her words than where she’s going, catches her heel on the higher-than-standard curb. She goes down with a yelp, falling face-first into the grass. 

Nagi jumps, reaching out to catch her. “Reo! Are you—” she manages, and then promptly slips, flailing her arms uselessly as she eats the dirt. 

Nagi can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse that she ends up entirely on top of Reo, the two of them chest-to-chest, heaving for breath. The grass is damp (with rain) and squelchy (with mud) and Nagi’s forearms are slathered with the stuff. She’s sure Reo’s back isn’t doing much better. Still, Reo’s shaking with some barely-contained emotion that Nagi can’t place—but Nagi can hear the way her heartbeat thuds, so frantically Nagi wonders, for a moment, if it’s trying to escape from Reo’s chest and sink itself into her own. 

“Reo,” Nagi whispers, pressing closer. “Reo.”

“Shut it,” Reo says, turning her face away from Nagi. Dutifully, obediently, like clockwork Nagi shuts her mouth. She watches, then, as Reo shakes, pulling herself together with a barely-there facsimile of confidence, willing her breaths to a slow, easy pace. Even with all that, Reo’s traitorous heartbeat still beats heavily against Nagi’s fingers; warmth blooming somewhere between her stomach and chest, Nagi takes some sort of joy in feeling the indelible proof of Reo flutter under her hand. 

And then, Reo speaks—bottom lip wobbling ever-so slightly, tears beading in the corners of fiery eyes raised to meet Nagi’s with all the ferocity she can muster—but with the coldest tone Nagi’s ever heard from her. 

“Nagi Seishiro,” Reo says, tone perfectly metered. Nagi’s shivers; she’s being doused by a bucket of ice-cold water, tendrils of dread extinguishing the gentle heat of the moment. “What business do you have with me now ?”

“Reo, I—” Nagi swallows. Don’t use your business tone with me , she wants to say. Maybe, we’ll always have business with each other until you die, you know. Or even, please, be nice to me again, I’m begging you. None of those are right, though. Reo’s cold gaze makes her tongue hang useless and heavy with shame in her mouth, frostbite spreading down into her lungs. 

She’d practised , too. She was useless, it seemed, only when it actually counted. 

"I—" Nagi's mind blanks. The flowers. She'd left the flowers at the airport. And her suitcase. But mostly the flowers. That nice old lady had spent so much time helping Nagi pick them out, letting her stumble over her indecision and ineptitude with gift-giving. She’d done her best to pick them out for Reo—and now they were probably being thrown in the trash by airport security.

Shame burns in Nagi’s throat. “Reo, I bought flowers,” she rushes the words, shoving them too close to each other. They’re barely comprehensible. “Flowers…for you, but I—”

Nagi’s stomach chooses that moment to make its presence known, tearing through the silence with a loud, inopportune growl. And there, in that moment, she sees the Reo she’s always known.

Reo’s eyes are blown comically wide, eyelashes fluttering rapidly. She nearly slips in her haste to sit up straighter, to get a better look at Nagi, the words god, haven’t you eaten yet halfway parting her lips with a soft inhale before she becomes horribly, terribly aware of herself and shoves the back of her hand against her mouth, glaring at Nagi. 

It sort of stings a little. Hell, it sort of stings a lot. Nagi’s head spins—there’s a familiar, comforting worry in Reo’s eyes, but it pairs with a cold, vitriolic look—she doesn’t get it, she doesn’t get it at all. She’d never quite gotten the grasp of tearing apart and picking at the mangled web of human emotions but Reo, at least, had been easy, once. She’d understood Reo. Reo had understood her . 

Her eyes burn red-hot prickling at their edges, and then run cold. Something wet and cold and sort of sticky trickles down her cheeks and pools uncomfortably under her chin. Salt splatters itself against her lips. It’s too much—the flickering light of the city, the roar of the wind against her ear, the cold of the weather against her fingertips, and the burn of emotion in her chest. It’s too much, and so Nagi tumbles forward into solace—burying her face in the crook of Reo’s neck. For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Reo doesn’t pull away from her. 

“I love you, Reo,” Nagi whispers hoarsely into Reo’s too-hot skin, voice breaking. Empty seats in stadiums. Food that never tasted right. Victories that felt hollow. No one to gentle card their hands through her hair. No one to carry her when she was tired. No one who knew her, really knew her, the way Reo did. “I love you, Reo. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The words spill out of her like a prayer—like if she says them enough times they’ll bridge the years between them. Like they’d fill all the bitingly cold, achingly empty spaces Reo had left behind—the quiet mornings without her voice, the lonely nights without her warmth, the achievements that meant nothing without her smile. Nagi’s voice grows more brittle with each repetition, but the floodgates have been irrevocably thrown open, and Nagi finds with growing horror that she can’t stop the words that flow past her lips. 

‘I love you, Reo. I love you, I—” Each word is weighty, carrying years of waiting. Of scanning crowds for any sight of purple. Of tying up her own hair until the weight on her heart had been too much to bear. Of winning and winning and winning and having no one to win for. “God, Reo, I— I love you. I need you, I’ve— I’ve always needed you.”

Nagi feels Reo’s sigh more than she hears it, warmth expanding and tension falling and shaky, shaky hands coming to rest on her back, one thumb rubbing an almost-not-there circle into the small of her back. Nagi feels herself melt into the touch, letting her body weight slump against Reo once more, arms winding under Reo’s and gripping her back like a vice.

“I miss you,” Nagi exhales. “I missed you. You’re here now. Reo’s here now.”

Reo's hand stills against her. “That’s—!” Reo sucks in a shaky breath past her teeth. "You’re just tired. Jetlagged, even, and so you’re talking nonsense. You’re probably hun—"

Nagi hears the stilted panic in Reo’s voice. “I looked for you,” Nagi interrupts instead. “Every time I scored. I kept thinking…maybe this goal would be enough. Maybe this win would make you come back.”

“You…” Reo's voice cracks miserably.

It’s an act of blindingly violent kindness when Reo reaches up to thread her fingers through Nagi’s hair. Nagi's throat makes a strangled little noise and she finds she can’t breathe at all. The agonisingly gentle touch burns, searing its way through her every bone and muscle and vein and with a jolt, Nagi realises just how cold she’s been all these years. Empty and aching and submerged in icy waters, numb to the world and herself and everything in between—but now Nagi burns. Reo’s touch burns—every brush of her body against Nagi’s, every breath that drags past Nagi’s skin, every squirm and shiver and shake is an iron brand searing its teeth into Nagi’s skin, a visceral, veritable mark that proves that Nagi is alive and loved. 

“I won," she whispers into Reo's neck, voice cracking. “Like you said…I won the World Cup.” Her fingers clutch desperately at Reo's suit jacket, wrinkling the expensive fabric. "But Reo wasn't…Reo wasn't there.”

The stadium had been so cold after that final match. So empty, despite the crowds. Nagi’s gazed had burned a hole into the sea of faces like she always did, searching for bright, glowing eyes, for a lopsided and blindingly brilliant smile—but come up alone despite her every wish. The trophy in her hands had felt like a block of ice.

Reo's laugh is bitter, cutting through the night air. "I saw. You were amazing."

“ No , not like that, no— ” Reo’s laugh hurts. Nagi chokes on her own tears; and scrambles for something, struggling to find words. She draws in another shaky breath, pulling herself away to sit up straight and look Reo in the eyes. "It wasn't…wasn't amazing. Was just…playing soccer. Like Reo told me."

"I didn't..." Nagi's voice breaks as she swallows the lump in her throat that threatens to burst any moment. "Didn't want to win without you. But...since you said to keep holding on to that dream, I thought that maybe if I won...maybe then Reo would come back. But Reo didn’t."

Reo shivers a full-body shiver, blood draining out of her face, expression twisted into a grimace. With rash and wobbly movements, she hastily turns away from Nagi. When Reo pulls away, Nagi feels the panic rising in her chest. No, not again, not now. Her hands shake as they cup Reo's face, clumsy and desperate. She's never been good at this—at touching, at comforting, at being human and warm. Reo was always better at holding her in a way that mattered. But Nagi’s want is a black hole in her chest, and so she fumbles her way to Reo’s face, gently pulling her gaze back to Nagi. 

“Please,” Nagi exhales, voice shivering. “ Please, Reo. Let me tell you I love you, I’m…I’m begging you. I still love you, I’ve always loved you. Even when...even when I thought you hated me. Even when soccer felt empty. Even when winning felt wrong. I did it for you, Reo. So… please . Please tell me you won’t run off and die before I do.”

“You…” Reo stutters. Her face is some deadly amalgam of emotions Nagi doesn’t dare look into but she knows it’s something bad. “I— you —”

“Not ‘you,’” Nagi whispers. “It’s Nagi . I’m Nagi, you’re Reo. We’re Nagi and Reo. We’re partners, so…you have to say my name, alright? You have to.”

With that, something shatters in Reo's. The tears come suddenly—silently at first, then in great heaving sobs that shake Reo’s whole body. She yanks Nagi closer, shoving her face into Nagi’s chest—hiding, Nagi realizes. Even now, Reo doesn't want her to see her cry.

Nagi's hands hover uncertainly before settling again on Reo's back. Is she allowed this? To hold Reo like this again? To love her like this again? Her fingers tremble with the weight of something in between her sin and her sorrow—she tries to mirror what Reo used to do for her. Gentle circles on lazy Sunday afternoons, Nagi sprawled across Reo's lap, half-asleep as Reo read her textbooks aloud, a hand pressed close to Nagi’s heart. 

"I used to dream about this," Nagi confesses, mumbling into Reo's soft hair. "About holding Reo again. And about telling Reo that every goal was for her. That I…I kept our promise. I Became the best striker in the world. I did what you said. But it's…it's not right without you."

Nagi’s movements are awkward and unpracticed. She's never been the one doing the comforting before. But Reo doesn't seem to mind, nosing closer as her tears soak into Nagi's shirt. Nagi can feel her trembling, can feel her stiff shoulders melt into a trembling, quivering mess.

"The trophy is…uhm, it’s somewhere," Nagi continues, too many words spilling out now that she's started. "Didn't want to look at it. Reminded me too much of the fact that you weren’t there. It felt like I…like I broke our promise. We were supposed to win together. It was supposed to be us ."

Reo's sobs grow harder, her fingernails digging raw anguish into Nagi's back even through her clothes. Nagi holds her tighter, afraid she'll disappear again to somewhere she can’t reach. Afraid this is just another dream, another fragile mirage where she thinks she's found Reo only to wake up pitifully alone.

“Please,” Nagi whispers again, and she doesn't even know what she's begging for. For Reo to stay? For this to be real? For a chance to do it all over again, this time together? 

“Please, Reo,” she tries again. “I... I can't... I can't do this without you anymore.”

Reo only bawls louder, clenching Nagi with weak, shaky hands. She cries, and she cries, and Nagi can only wonder when the last time was that she’d managed to let it all out. Where did she store so much grief in her tiny frame? When the sobs finally quell, quietened into hiccups, Reo pulls back just enough to look at Nagi's face again. Her makeup is smeared, her eyes red, and there’s a little bit of snot at the edge of her nose—and Nagi thinks she's never looked more beautiful. This Reo is looking right at her. 

“I’m sorry,” Reo whispers. “I’m so sorry for running away.”

“I love you,” Nagi sighs; easy as breathing. “Please stay.”

Reo half-laughs, half-sobs, and all-kisses Nagi, sending them both tumbling into the grass again. Nagi’s back is pressed flat against the ground and it’s wet and it’s cold and it’s muddy and soggy—but Reo’s hands tug at her hair and her lips press demandingly against Nagi’s and even when she gasps for air, she doesn’t dare pull away. There’s no need for space between them, and so Nagi kisses her again—teeth clicking lips clashing and Nagi clumsily chasing after the warmth in her arms. 

“Nagi,” Reo sighs, pressing her lips against the corner of Nagi’s mouth.

“Seishiro,” Nagi whispers. “It’s only fair.”

Reo laughs, kissing her again. “Okay,” she relents, sighing into the touch. “ Seishiro .”

Nagi blinks, pulling her closer. “Again.”

“Seishiro,” Reo hums, pressing her lips to Nagi’s forehead.

“Again,” Nagi whispers.

“Seishiro,” Reo sighs, pressing her lips to Nagi’s nose. 

“Again.”

“ Seishiro, ” Reo whispers, pressing her lips to Nagi’s again. “I love you. I really do.”

Nagi swallows, shakily exhaling against Reo’s mouth. “Love you too…” she whispers. “Love you so much, Reo. Wanna stay like this forever and ever. I don’t ever wanna be apart from you, Reo, I— ah, no, Reo’s crying again. ‘M sorry, Reo.”

Reo laughs, her tears pooling on Nagi’s face. “What are you sorry for, you big baby? I’m happy, you know. You make me happy.”

Before she knows it, Nagi’s smiling. “Reo’s happy? You promise?”

Reo nods, resting her chin on Nagi’s chest, grinning at her. “I promise, Seishirou.”

Nagi sighs contentedly, reaching up to wrap her arms around Reo, who instinctively cosies into the touch, laughing breathlessly. Nagi nudges her head against hers, clumsily bumping their noses together and smiling when Reo giggles at her. Everywhere Reo touches, warmth pools under Nagi’s skin—the sun on her body, liquid gold dripping into her veins. Nagi’s never felt more human.

Reo shivers—and only then does Nagi realise the weather’s chilly, and they’re both sort of wet from rolling around in the grass, and the light breeze that’s just started to pick up isn’t making for a kind accompaniment. 

“Ah, Reo, I’ve got a jacket somewhere in my s—” The words are halfway out of her mouth before she realises. “Oh. Forgot it…”

Reo’s face scrunches up in confusion, staring down at Nagi as she blinks slowly, the pieces clicking together in her head. Reo tries, really tries, to keep herself from laughing at Nagi’s plight—Nagi can see the way she desperately presses her lips together, the corners of her mouth twitching as she tries to look at anything that isn’t Nagi’s face. She snickers behind her hand, and then laughs with her whole heart as Nagi huffs indignantly at her slight. 

“Reo…” Nagi whines. “Don’t laugh…it’s your fault, you know.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m—” Reo chokes out in between laughs. “Seriously—! I know, I just— pfffft—oh, if you could only see your face right now!”

Nagi doesn’t have any response, content with simply pouting at Reo, who gets the last of the giggles out of her system before pulling away and sitting up straight. 

"Come on," she says, voice still wavering but slipping into a terribly fond tone that makes Nagi's heart ache with recognition. "We need to get your suitcase before someone steals it."

She stands, pulling Nagi up with her, and starts marching them back across the city like she hasn't just spent the last hour running away. Like she hasn't just cried her heart out in Nagi's arms. Like everything is normal and she's just dragging Nagi around like she used to, to and from practice and the shopping square and wherever her heart desires and Nagi, being Nagi, is content to go wherever Reo is. And so, Nagi follows, fingers tangled in the sleeve of Reo's jacket. She can't let go. Won't let go. Not again.

They find the suitcase in lost baggage, and beneath it, somewhat crushed but still intact, is Nagi’s bouquet. Nagi extricates them from the pile with all the care she can exercise, throwing a sheepish glance at Reo. The petals are drooping and several stems are bent at odd angles—but all the flowers are there. 

Just like her heart , Nagi thinks. Just like their promise. A little crushed, a little broken, but still here. Still trying.

"They're…um. They looked better before." Nagi shifts awkwardly. 

Reo takes them carefully, fingers brushing against Nagi’s with trepidation, but she’s cradling the battered flowers like they're precious. Like they weren’t ridiculously banged-up from being thoughtlessly abandoned. Like they're perfect just as they are. Her fingers brush over the wrinkled petals, and Nagi sees tears gather in her eyes again.

"You got flowers for me…" Reo’s voice is small. Nagi wouldn’t have known she was talking if she wasn’t staring so intently at her. 

“You had a lot of books on flower arranging, at some point,” Nagi mumbles. “And you’d always talk about the different kinds we’d see on the bike trail to and from practice.”

“Ah, what the hell,” Reo whispers. “You remembered pointless things like that about me?”

"It’s not pointless to me. I want to remember everything about you," Nagi admits quietly. "I remember a lot about Reo. What Reo likes. What Reo hates. How Reo looks when she's happy. When she's sad. When she's pretending to be okay."

Like now, when Reo's trying to hold back more tears by focusing on straightening the bent stems. Like how some things never change. Like how Reo’s something a little kinder than a perfectionist—someone who still tries to fix everything, especially the things that are beyond saving. Like those flowers, and like Nagi. 

(And maybe, Nagi thinks, just maybe they don’t need saving. And maybe, it’s okay if every flower isn’t perfect—and it’s just in the nature of times to twist and bend and break things. And maybe, things aren’t broken, but they’re just changed. Like Nagi—and like Reo, too. There’s a reason, probably, that neither of them would manage to fit into their old school uniforms. How much of them remained the ‘them’ who’d met in the stairwell all those years ago? And, surely, there would always be a part of Nagi’s heart that lived in that beautifully perfect moment from their past—but today, and now, they were here, in a slightly wonky present.)

“Reo,” Nagi says, surprising herself. “Let’s start living, together.”

Reo looks at her, eyes wide with surprise. She laughs, sniffles, and then wipes the tears that begin to fill her eyes again. “Ah, you’re so troublesome,” she huffs. 

“I already told you,” Reo says, eyes shining with something brighter than bright. “I won’t die before you do.”

And, faced with the sun before her, Nagi does the only thing she can think of and flings herself into Reo’s arms. Reo grins, pressing her lips to Nagi’s cheek and letting Nagi greedily chase her mouth, peppering her with kisses. It’s a lot messy and a little all-over-the-place—-but who else knows Nagi other than Reo, and who else knows Reo other than Nagi? They slot together, two puzzle pieces of destiny, as Nagi rubs her cheeks against Reo, and Reo smiles warmly at her, ruffling her hair. 

And there, in that bright moment, Nagi knows that she can swallow the world.