#yes we r going nonchronological I am throwing chronological out the window it's about the vibes

[seoafin]

“There he is!” You exclaim as Mikage ducks into the izakaya. He’s too tall, you think, attracting stares even though he’s dressed as inconspicuous as possible. It’s a far cry from the high school boy whose wealth practically dripped off of him. It’s impossible to completely hide though, and on Mikage Reo, it shows. You wonder if he’s easily recognized. If people often stop him on the streets for an autograph. The explosion of Blue Lock’s popularity had made soccer a cultural phenomena, its popularity rivaling baseball, and now soccer is all the rage.

He meets your gaze immediately and you can see the confusion in his gaze. Why you’ve called him to an izakaya this late at night. You’ve always been a lightweight, and now four drinks in, you’re teetering on the edge of oblivion. If you’re being honest, you hadn’t expected him to come. You had only sent him a location text.

“This is Mi—Reo!” You say with a clap on his back as he reaches your small crowded longtable, full of your fellow younger musicians from the Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra. They eye him curiously. “He plays soccer!”

It strikes you that this is the first time you’ve called him by his first name. That must be why he’s looking at you strangely. It’s odd. The two of you have kissed, yet you’ve never called him by his name until now. You’ve felt the heat, all the hard lines of his body pressed uncomfortable close against you. And if you hadn’t been interrupted—

Mikage smiles, and it’s charming enough that even the more prissy members of the orchestra look somewhat awed. Despite the way they had upturned their noses when you had said that he played soccer. To them, a less esteemed profession.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” he says, with a small bow of his head. And then he says your name. Your first name. You are taken aback. You almost miss Mikage telling them that he’ll take you off their hands, that he apologizes for your rowdy behavior. You frown, but then he turns to you, smiling, and you see the twitch of his eyebrow. Oh. He’s mad.

That makes you mad. Well, if he didn’t have to come now did he? Who does he think he is—

He deftly takes you by the arm and takes advantage of your uneven sense of balance to propel you forward. If it weren’t for his body steadying you, you would’ve twisted your ankle.

“My violin—”

“I have it.”

You briefly glance down. Your violin case is in his hands. You wonder when he grabbed it. 

The two of you walk out into the cold weather.

“Where are we going,” you mumble as he leads down the black. “It’s cold out.” Thank god you don’t have rehearsal in the morning. Your head is pounding. He lets you take your violin from him and you clutch it to your chest.

He stops, raising a daring eyebrow that you find yourself naturally narrowing your eyes at, antagonism flaring up in you like an old friend. “You’re the one that called me,” he lets go of you to cross his arms. “You tell me.”

Why had you texted him? He had made it clear it had all been for Nagi, and you screwed it all up anyway. But then again, Mikage had kissed you first, hadn’t he? He had taken you by the neck, pinned you against the wall, and kissed you while you had been frozen in shock. That hadn’t been for Nagi. 

In the end, you still hadn’t been able to say a word to Nagi. The two of you, in that cafe. You hadn’t been able to take that disinterested gaze. You hadn’t been able to bear it one second longer. Your heart sank. The words had died on your tongue. 

What did you want from Mikage anyway? He did his job. It’s pointless to dwell on do-overs. In the world of competitive music, there was no such thing as a do-over audition, a do-over performance. It was all or nothing, and you had failed.

“I…” your lips warble. In the end you hadn’t been able to tell him you were sorry. That it had weighed on you heavily ever since. So many things. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

But now, in the silence of the night with no witnesses, maybe you could at least say these words now.

Mikage looks ill. “Uhh—” He raises a hand, hand poised in the air as if he actually intends on doing something.

“No,” you say, suddenly weepy, and then tears are clouding your eyes. “I didn’t see Nagi. Not like you did. I thought everything would be okay…the way he was. As long as he was there. With me. But you…made him better. In a way I didn’t. I was so jealous.”

You knew Nagi was a genius, destined for great things you would inevitably never be a part of. You were jealous and scared, terrified about being left alone. In the end, you had still been left alone. 

“I…still don’t know if I like you. And I still don’t know why you kissed me—” or why you kissed him back “—but I just…wanted to…” you trail off, the cold biting your cheeks in the wake of your tears. You don’t hate him. You don’t think you ever really did.

Reo stares at you as if he’s bewildered. But you can’t tell, not in this lighting, not when everything’s dark, not when you’re already trying your best to keep in a straight line. But one thing you can tell is that there’s a bright red flush on his face.

It’s as honest of an admission he’ll ever get from you. Your stomach churns, twisting into knots. You don’t know what else to say to him. You think he should be pleased, gleeful even. He should lord it over you. But instead he just looks worried. He snaps to activity, draping his coat around your shoulders and waving over a sleek, black car.

“Let’s…get you home.”

Home ends up being Nagi’s high rise apartment.

You change your mind. You kinda hate Mikage Reo all over again.

You dozed off in the car, then let Mikage shuffle you onto an elevator. Mikage had unlocked the apartment door. Some fancy fingerprint setup. You hadn’t realized it at first, until you had stumbled to the living room and seen the unmistakable game station setup.

Feeling suddenly emboldened, you march down the hall, right into Nagi’s room. 

He’s sleeping. Of course he is. He sleeps just like he did young. Blanket pulled over his figure, over his head, leaving any visitor wondering how he doesn’t suffocate to death. You can make out the silhouette of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

And then you’re sixteen all over again, barreling into Nagi’s room next door and waking him up in time for school. The nostalgia grips you fast and hard, and you’re free falling, experiencing every single emotion from your earlier years all over again. The elation and heartbreak of your first friendship. You feel your eyes going wet all over again.

You tear the blanket off of him.

There’s a handheld console in his hand. Figures. And his white hair is even more tousled than usual. He’s always been a restless sleeper. He slowly stirs, eyes blinking drowsily until he sees you. He stares up at you from the bed in silence. You don’t know why his eyes are so soft, and you don’t know why a hand reaches up for you, why his hand brushes your face—

“Wake up!” You bark, pushing at his chest.

Mikage rushes in from behind you and chokes. “W-wait—”

Nagi blinks, eyes suddenly alert enough. He says your name, once.

Your hands are on his chest as you hover over him. “I have…so many things I want to talk to you about.” Your tears land on his face, while he stares at you, eyes marginally wide. “But first. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

You sink to the floor, and cover your face with your arms on his bed. You hear the rustling as he rises, but you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I watched your games,” you sniffle into his sheets. “I watched a lot of them.”

Resounding silence ensues. 

He pokes your cheek with a finger. He says your name again. You raise your face. You see the slightest hint of a lazy smile tugging at his lips, right before he kisses you.