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“Don’t talk about Reo like that, you pain in the ass.”
It’s late, and Nagi is tired. The only reason he’s here so late is because he figured Reo would be pleased when he learned Nagi put in a few extra practice hours. Not that Nagi is doing it just for Reo’s praise, but it’s not not like that either.
Either way, none of his plans for the night involved dealing with the arrogant asshole Reo dragged in from the Second Selection. You could not pay Nagi to deal with the hassle that is Shidou Ryusei. Yet, here he is.
And Nagi wouldn’t care, honestly. People talk, and the sounds of chatter are annoying, but Nagi knows to willfully ignore it all. But then the freak decided to bring up Reo. And it’s not so easy to ignore anymore.
“Hah! That’s it, isn’t it? What a pain! That’s your tagline? I was hearing it from Purple Bun and the others, but I didn’t think it was legit! Holy shit, you're like a character from some shitty sitcom. That’s hilarious."
Nagi says nothing.
"Purple Bun has such strange taste."
He tenses.
"But I guess I should be grateful for that, all things considered, huh?”
“Can you fuck off?” Nagi’s threat isn’t helped by the way he fires the ball straight into the goalpost, sending it ricocheting through the air and landing on the other side of the touchline.
"What, it's not my fault your boy has a thing for geniuses. I could show him a real one," Shidou cackles like a cheap B-tier action movie villain, “Ooh, you think maybe I can get him to call me his treasure? ”
Something in Nagi stretches and snaps like a rubber band—at the phrase, at the implications, at the dripping combined exaggerated lechery and arrogance dripping from his tone, as if Reo is a commodity, as if Reo isn’t the most precious thing in the world, as if he’s not the color that paints Nagi’s world, his dream, as if Shidou isn’t lucky he even gets the chance to look at Reo—
Nagi Seishiro is not a violent person. But today, today, Nagi is going to kill Shidou Ryusei.
But, well. There’s only one problem with that. It’s that Nagi has never been in a fight in his fucking life.
As it turns out, the thing about fighting is that it requires physicality and technical knowledge, which Nagi does have, okay—from soccer and video games respectively.
But what he forgot to take into account until this moment is proper practical application also requires prior experience. Essentially—practice. And see, unlike Reo, aside from soccer, he didn’t practice anything.
And you see—Shidou has been in many, many fights.
So it’s unfortunate, but not at all surprising when Shidou dodges his first swing with complete ease before cracking him in the jaw with enough force to make his skull rattle.
Nagi groans, detached from the dull, throbbing pain. This is why he never bothered with provocation. It’s all such a fucking drag.
Nagi prepares for his inevitable fall backward, planning to hit the ground and accept defeat or whatever beating Shidou had in mind, but the demonic fucker clearly didn’t find this as incredibly boring as Nagi did.
The demon’s hand darts out to grab Nagi’s collar and yank him, forcibly keeping him upright.
Nagi tastes blood on the inside of his cheek. Reo isn’t going to be pleased with him, is he?
He glances to the sidelines, where he has an almost unobstructed view (his fucking bangs have gotten long again) of Isagi, Chigiri, and Bachira, who watch the encounter apprehensively. They know better than to try and interfere, though—they all know what Shidou is capable of when provoked. They also know that Nagi picked this fight with that same knowledge.
Actions and consequences, or whatever.
The funny thing is, before this altercation, Nagi felt nothing but apathy toward the blonde. He doesn’t feel much regarding most of the Blue Lock players. Except Barou. Because fuck Barou.
Shidou places a well-aimed kick to Nagi’s side, and pain explodes out from the point of impact in every direction. Ah, I really hope that didn’t break any ribs.
He couldn’t afford to sit out any games because of injuries.
He attempts to block the next strike to no avail—he’s still standing, though. A plus, considering he no longer has any doubt that Shidou would simply continue kicking the shit out of him if he dropped onto the field.
Vaguely, Nagi registers a commotion from the sidelines.
“For fuck’s sake, Shidou!”
A head of purple steps around Shidou’s frame, forcibly inserting itself into the situation. The voice rings in Nagi’s head like an instant playback.
Ah, it’s Reo.
Reo’s dominant hand reaches across his chest to grab Shidou’s wrist. His other hand wraps around the arm wound up to hit Nagi again, misdirecting it from Nagi’s face.
And Nagi isn’t sure what’s happening, but Shidou lets out an elated yelp at the hold on his wrist, equal parts pained and excited.
Either way, it gets Shidou to promptly release Nagi’s collar, sending him crashing onto his ass with an unceremonious thud.
Nagi lifts his chin—Reo looks tall from down here.
He notices Reo’s loose and messy hair at the same time that Shidou reaches for it.
Nagi readies himself to jump to his feet, but Reo doesn’t falter, roughly pulling his other arm down, effectively locking Shidou in position as he deflects the hand reaching for his hair with a sharp and unpleasant thwack.
It’s like he’s dancing, Nagi thinks belatedly, each move performed with a practiced and easy grace, like it’s not a fight at all. In several fractions of a second, Reo manages to destabilize Shidou, with the gathered momentum from his previous movement, and a hand finds Shidou’s chest—his exact center of balance—
And Reo slams Shidou into the dirt. Shidou heaves when his back hits the ground, air knocked out of his lungs on impact.
Reo, still standing, straightens slowly and pushes his hair out of his face with an exasperated grunt, panting at the sudden exertion. “I swear, it’s every five fucking seconds with you.”
His eyes finally flit over to Nagi, and Nagi feels something in his ribs preen with satisfaction as Reo’s gaze instantly softens; he doesn’t hesitate a second to make his way over to Nagi, immediately crouching by his side and wiping a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth with a thumb, voice tired yet gentle, “You alright, treasure?”
Nagi just nods once before closing his eyes, leaning into Reo’s hand, his touch, feeling extra happy when Reo sighs fondly and opens his palm, gently caressing the bruised side of Nagi’s face.
A grating barrage of overlapping voices pulls Nagi from his pleasant stupor and sure enough—Things One, Two, and Three have decided it’s safe to make their way over.
Nagi groans and pushes harder into Reo’s hand. “Loud.”
Sprawled out a few meters away, Shidou starts cackling.
“Holy shit, purple bun, hah, I didn’t think you had that in you—fuck, that was hot.”
Reo rolls his eyes. “Don’t pick fights this late,” he doesn’t acknowledge Shidou’s shameless flirting. “The infirmary staff leave at nine.”
“I didn’t think a sheltered rich boy like you’d be able to fight like that.”
“Well, I’m full of surprises,” Reo returns, voice deadpan. He swiftly returns to checking over Nagi (thank God), the knuckle of his index finger hooking under Nagi’s chin to tilt his face.
Watching him through his sweaty, matted bangs, Nagi lets Reo tilt his head this way and that. He scrunches his nose semi-apologetically when Reo clicks his tongue in a verbal wince as he releases Nagi’s chin and threads his fingers through his white, damp hair, pushing it up and out of his face.
Nagi is perfectly content drowning himself in the other-worldly purple ocean of Reo’s eyes, but he’s unfortunately ripped out of the cool, refreshing water by the irritating, insectile, ticking noise.
Surely enough, a blue-eyed, constipated beetle’s head pops into Nagi’s peripheral. He cautiously takes a wide circle around Shidou, as if afraid of catching strays.
Isagi scans Nagi, expression twisted into an awkward grimace, stilted as he asks, “Shit—Nagi, you alright? That looked nasty; what were you thinking?”
Nagi doesn’t bother with a response, instead opting to turn his gaze back to his partner.
“Yo, Reo,” the soccer-junkie changes tactics—successfully, much to Nagi’s disdain, as Reo’s head turns to look over his shoulder at the call of his name.
“Yeah?”
“Catch,” and an unused microfiber towel materializes in Reo’s hands.
Reo wastes no time in pressing the cloth over Nagi’s nose and mouth, his free hand tangling with a set of Nagi’s clammy fingers and tugging it up to hold the towel against his face.
Nagi begrudgingly obeys, although he was enjoying the warmth of Reo’s hand against his skin. Reo releases his hold on Nagi’s palm when Nagi squeezes the towel in earnest, slumping in a makeshift pout to express his dissatisfaction.
Call him a weirdo, but it works, and Reo laughs, shaking his head lightly. He licks his thumb before gently swiping it across a damaged patch of skin by Nagi’s lips, not covered by the towel. Would Reo hit him if Nagi asked him to kiss it better?
He flinches, you know, like a fucking liar, whining as he leans into Reo, “Hurts.”
“No shit, you little idiot.”
Nagi frowns. He’s a hundred and ninety centimeters. He’s hardly little. He’s taller than Reo, at least.
“What did you think it felt like to get punched?”
“Christ, Reo,” Chigiri slips out from behind Isagi, “What the hell were you thinking, charging in like that?”
“Chill, Princess. Everything’s fine.”
Apparently fed up with the lack of attention, Shidou makes a show of sitting up halfway before throwing himself back onto the grass, clutching his wrist with an exaggerated yowl. Clearly faux, because while Reo may have exerted a decent amount of force for him, Shidou is built like a piece of fucking obsidian.
Like a set of ducklings following their mother, Bachira bounds up as the last of the three, and in typical Bachira fashion, hops over Shidou’s body to scamper up to Reo, “Woah, Reo!”
Nagi half expects Shidou to grab the bumblebee, or at the least trip him, but Shidou just huffs in amusement.
“You do martial arts?”
Reo takes in Bachira’s excited floundering and he softens, “I used to. Kind of?”
Bachira nods, but Chigiri snorts at the non-answer. “D’you have anger issues when you were younger? Needed an outlet? Because we all know you’ve got hella rage, Reo.”
“Shut up,” Reo would have swiped at Chigiri if the redhead was within range, but alas. “You suck.”
“Were you a delinquent or something?” Isagi shifts his weight to his back foot.
Nagi glares at him at the insinuation. Reo was—is perfect. It’s obvious someone as good as Reo would never engage with those kinds of people—people like—ugh, people like Shidou.
“I’m the sole heir to a fucking conglomerate empire,” Reo raises an eyebrow, incredulous. Isagi shrinks back sheepishly. Yeah, that’s right, Nagi snorts internally, feel stupid, you idiot beetle. “I grew up with a target on my back. You don’t think my parents would invest in some basic self-defense training?”
When Isagi doesn’t respond, Chigiri chimes in, clearly more amused by the situation, “That didn’t look all like self-defense, I’m gonna be honest, Reo.”
It’s not, that’s why. Nagi recognizes it—he can’t remember exactly what clarifies it in his mind, but whatever. Nagi gazes in awe at Reo, “It’s Aikido, isn’t it?”
Reo’s head turns, eyes widening in surprise. “How’d you figure?”
Nagi pats his pocket, where his phone would normally be, only to remember he left it in his room. He shrugs, opting for the simplest answer, “Games.”
Reo blinks. And he lights up, tipping his head back to laugh—a bright twinkling sound that makes Nagi feel like there are thousands of little bells being rattled around in his chest, “You can be so observant sometimes, treasure.”
Only with you, Nagi thinks. Only when you’re the one I’m observing.
“I can’t imagine why you idiots think Purple Bun wouldn’t be strong,” Shidou interjects, sitting up and leaning back to rest his weight on his uninjured wrist. “He carries a hundred and ninety centimeters walrus backpack of pure muscle around half the time.”
Ah, he’s talking about me. Nagi tries to picture himself as a backpack Reo wears. Hm. Reo would wear a backpack with Nagi’s face on it, if Nagi asked him to.
“—but shit, you gotta show me that again, I thought you were gonna snap my wrist.”
Reo glances over his shoulder at Shidou, who grins wolfishly in return. Reo shrugs. “I was going to,” he admits plainly, “I just didn’t want to be locked up and muzzled like a dog in a kennel like someone else I know.”
“Low blow, kitten,” Shidou whistles, nothing but amusement in his voice. “Low blow. You know that wasn’t even my fault, RinRin set me up!”
Nagi is tired. He wants all of them to leave—rather, to promptly disappear—no, vaporize—into the air and leave him and Reo alone on the field.
Maybe the Nagi would feel less annoyed. Less tired. Maybe he could leverage his wounds into getting Reo to press his lips to Nagi’s forehead the way he does sometimes when he thinks Nagi’s asleep. Maybe he could convince Reo to let Nagi hold him, just for a bit.
But he can’t say any of that, so instead, he says, “Reo.”
But Reo is still going back and forth with Shidou, Chigiri joining in with a wicked grin, nudging Shidou’s calf with the toe of his shoe. Nagi wants to reach out and grab the sleeve of Reo’s shirt, but his whole body kind of hurts, and it’s too much of a pain (literal) to try.
Maybe his voice wasn’t loud enough the first time, muffled by the towel on his face. “Reo.”
When Reo still doesn’t glance back at him, Nagi’s fingers twitch against the rag, and he squeezes accidentally. Which is admittedly, a bad idea, voluntary or involuntary, because it sends another gush of blood avalanching down Nagi’s poor nostrils, clumps of blood clots shooting into the towel as warning before the cloth begins to swirl red alarmingly fast.
Ah—yeah, bad idea—Nagi’s dizzy. His vision fuzzes before refocusing, a vignette of dark purple at the corners coloring his sight. Unable to say Reo’s name again without blood spilling into his mouth, he resorts to whining loudly.
Reo turns (as do the rest of them, at the pathetic noise) and swears loudly, reaching for Nagi with both hands this time, shuffling over until Nagi’s knees can knock against Reo’s sharp hip bones.
Reo snatches the towel from Nagi while mumbling unintelligibly, folding and pressing the cleaner side back to Nagi’s face. “Fuck—shit, what the hell. God—Nagi, what did you do?”
You weren’t listening to me, Nagi is tempted to retort, but decides Reo wouldn’t be pleased with that response. So, he just hums, closing his eyes.
“Ugh—okay, I’m taking Nagi back to our room. You guys can keep practicing, or, uh, arguing, whatever you were doing.”
Isagi says something in response, but Nagi can’t be bothered to pay attention, because all he can focus on is that thank God, he’ll be back in his bed soon enough, tucked under the covers, his head nestled on Reo’s stomach as the other boy strokes his hair until he falls asleep.
“Nagi, can you stand?”
Nagi nods. With the bleeding of his nose seemingly temporarily staunched, he lets Reo maneuver him into a standing position, squishing him around like he’s a lump of clay. He only opens his eyes when Shidou opens his stupid mouth again. “The favoritism is appalling.”
No, it’s not. Nagi is Reo’s favorite, he’s Reo’s partner.
Reo turns back to glare at him disdainfully, “Okay first of all, Nagi is my favorite, and on top of that, Nagi isn’t the one who nearly got me killed during the scrimmage earlier by demanding I copy one of Sae’s passes. In front of his brother.”
“Aw, c’mon, RinRin wouldn’t have actually killed you, and now I know for sure he doesn’t stand a chance against you.”
Reo sighs, wholly exasperated, “Let’s go, Nagi.”
“Shit, how lucky. C’mon, bun, what do I gotta do to get you to take me back to your room?”
“Eat a dick, Shidou,” Reo rolls his eyes.
“Kinky. Can it be yours?”
Ugh, can’t he just die already? Nagi actually wishes he was better at fighting because he really needs to kill Shidou at this point. Seriously.
Nagi only realizes he said that first part out loud when Bachira and Chigiri burst into laughter, with Chigiri wheezing so loudly he has to curl his arms over his stomach to calm down.
Even Shidou cackles, “No way I’m dying before you, sloth.”
“Don’t provoke him,” Reo bristles.
“Why’re you blaming me? C’mon babe, you don’t even know what happened!”
“Yeah, well, there’s a good eighty percent chance you started it, so I’ll take my chances guessing.”
“Tough crowd, tough crowd.”
Nagi wobbles, his balance iffy with his eyes mostly shut, but Reo’s body is a firm, warm, and consistent pressure against his side, determined to keep him upright as Reo begins to walk him off the field and to the exit.
He wants to ask Reo to carry him back to the rooms, but he already knows he’ll be gently refused. The time at Blue Lock has been kind (or rather, very unkind ) to Nagi’s body, and the muscle he’s gained recently has rendered him, apparently, a bit too heavy for Reo to carry comfortably (Reo had broken the news with an apologetic, guilty smile and a promise to get stronger to be able to carry him again).
“Jesus—how many times did he hit you?” Reo’s voice is hot against the shell of his ear as he tugs Nagi’s arm more securely over his shoulder.
Nagi tries to think back, squeezing his eyes shut to try and get his eyelashes unstuck from his bangs. “Uh—like, five times? I think?”
Reo just bristles at that. Purple hair brushes flies and brushes against Nagi’s cheek as Reo shakes his head.
“Now, why the hell would you pick a fight with him of all people, hm?”
Gingerly and reluctantly, Nagi blinks his eyes open, where he and Reo are now in one of the facility’s familiar monochrome hallways. It’s empty and quiet at this time of night, save for the whirring of the ventilation system.
With a displeased but inquisitive frown, he asks, “Do you think I could win?”
Reo laughs at him, which only adds to the uncomfortable, thick perturbation rising and churning in his stomach like sticky sourdough bread dough. He leans a little harder against Reo as punishment, but Reo doesn’t seem to mind, accommodating him without mentioning it, “Do you want me to encourage you, or tell the truth?”
“You just did,” Nagi pouts.
Reo just laughs again, beautiful and bright, “You’re not a fighter, my treasure. And that’s fine—you don’t need to be, so continue being Mr. Pacifist, okay?”
Well, obviously. Nagi sighs. Reo misunderstood his question. It’s fine, though, it’s not too much of a hassle to rephrase it—not in proportion to how important the answer is. He glances over at Reo’s profile. “D’you think he’s good at soccer?”
“Shidou? He’s more than good, he’s a beast ,” Reo asseverates, glancing up at the signs to make sure they’re heading to the correct stratum. “Unpredictable and insanely creative. Watching him play is like tripping on hard drugs, and actually playing with him is like being forced into a life-or-death field sobriety test while on the worst, most nightmare trip of your fucking life, but, yeah, nonetheless.”
Nagi feels his heart sink a bit. He glances at the slightly ajar of their bedroom just a few meters ahead.
“Okay, hang on—what the hell, don’t change the subject, Nagi. That doesn’t answer my question—why did you pick a fight with him out of the blue?”
“It wasn’t out of the blue,” Nagi mutters defensively, feeling none of the relief that he expected once they pass through the door frame into the comfort of their shared rest space. Reo gently deposits his Nagi cargo onto his bed before making a quick trip to the bathroom for the first-aid kit under the sink.
Nagi finds himself spiraling irrationally. Somewhere in the background, the water turns on. Do you like playing with him? Do you like playing with him better than me?
He rapidly blinks the cloudy haze from his eyes when Reo returns, shuffling back from the background holding the handle of a small, white plastic box in one hand and a set of dampened towels in the other.
“Do you think he,” Nagi fights the urge to curl his arms around Reo’s waist and sink to the floor, burying his face into Reo’s chest until physics allows him to crawl into Reo’s ribcage and live there. But Reo joins him on the bed instead, placing the box on the Blue Lock standard duvet and turning to Nagi with one of the wet towels. “Is he a better player than me?”
Please say no. Please keep playing with me. Please only ever play with me. Stay. Stay with me.
“What?” Reo stops, surprised. His hand freezes and hovers in air, halfway between their bodies. It’s fine, though—Nagi meets him where he is, scooting forward until their knees knock together awkwardly and pushing his bloody face into the warm towel clenched in Reo’s fist.
“Nagi?” Nagi grunts in response and rubs his face against the square towel. The crusted blood has gotten itchy and uncomfortable. Or course, Reo notices and pulls the towel away a few inches before reaching his free hand out.
Holding his chin between his thumb and index finger, Reo begins to circumspectly wipe his face with the damp towel. The water cools on Nagi’s skin pleasantly as Reo gently cleans his face.
“Is that why—did Shidou say something about your soccer? Is that why you fought him?” Reo continues, half talking to himself, “But you don’t get provoked easily even when people taunt you—did Shidou insult you? What did he say?”
Nagi just shakes his head.
“Ah,” Reo’s expression melts into a small, sad smile, looking down into Nagi’s wide, apprehensive eyes as he hooks their ankles together. “Did he say something about me?”
Nagi doesn’t reply, but a slight, almost imperceptible flinch of his shoulders proves Reo right.
Reo sighs, placing the towel in his lap. “You don’t have to defend me—especially not to Shidou, you know. He and I on good terms; anything he says about me he says just because he knows it riles you up.”
“It’s such a pain,” says Nagi, and he regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth Reo flinches, plastering a tight smile over the momentary falter.
He opens his mouth to take it back, but Reo is already assuring him, “Just ignore him next time, okay? You shouldn’t feel obligated to defend me. Save your energy.”
Dammit. Why is it so hard for Reo to understand that Nagi wants to defend Reo because he cares? Because he loves him?
“That’s not—that’s not it,” Nagi argues almost desperately, angry because why doesn’t Reo get it? “Everyone keeps saying we’re not good for each other. They keep saying it makes us weak, and I hate it, Reo, I hate it.”
Reo stares at him for a moment, wide-eyed and dumbfounded.
“I mean, they’re right,” he says after a beat with a soft laugh, but it’s not quite sad. He continues, and his next words make Nagi’s heart drop out of his chest and roll onto the floor, “We’re not good for each other, Nagi.”
“What?” Nagi can’t help but feel like crying. “Huh? But we—why would you—we’re—”
Why would you say that?
“We’re not,” Reo shrugs, and instead of taking it back, he doubles down, “I’m not a genius, or a prodigy. I’m not a miracle, like you, treasure. And I’m not like Isagi, either.”
“Reo—”
“Part of me still—I still hate you a bit for what you did, you know,” Reo interrupts, but his voice is conversational, nostalgic, lacking any sense of bitterness. “But at the same time, I’m not the same person I was when we walked into this cursed fucking facility. And neither are you. You don’t need me. And I don’t need you. I’m—I’m still trying to prove that, but I’m going to get there. But soon, I’ll say it, and it’ll be true.”
“No.”
Reo’s face turns bewildered, “What do you mean, no?”
“No,” Nagi finally snaps, “you don’t fucking get it, Reo, I don’t give a shit what they say, I don’t give a shit about being free, about proving anything—I’ll go along with your plans, whatever you say, separate, together, whatever, as long as I’m with you at the end of the day. I don’t care what’s good or what’s bad, Reo, as long as it’s us. It needs to be us. It has to be us.”
Reo stares at him, mouth agape at the outburst, “Nagi?”
“No,” Nagi repeats. “No, you keep deciding all this shit on your own, all without me, with Agi, with Isagi, with everyone but me, not asking what I want, you just assume—you’re a hypocrite, Reo, you just—you just assume I’ll be happy with every sacrifice you make for me, every decision you make for my own good, I’m not. I’m not happy without you. None of this means anything without you, don’t you get it?”
The air finally runs out from his lungs, and Nagi feels exhausted, more so than before. He’s ready to collapse right here, sleep for another decade. But instead, he takes a deep breath and clenches the top of the duvet between his blood-stained fingers, uncaring how Reo will scold him later for it. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t hesitate, so he can be brave.
“Even if you’re not good for me, I still want you, Reo, I want you anyway. I’ve never wanted anything in my life, really wanted, but you, Reo, you make me want, without you, I can’t—you make me want things.”
Reo inhales sharply, loud in the empty room. Unless—
Then quietly, a bit insecure, Nagi asks, “Do you…not want me?”
Silence.
Nagi grips the sheets tighter to stop himself from shaking. Is this Reo’s answer? He’s about to open his eyes when a warm weight crashes into him, a pair of arms looping over his shoulders and he’s being pulled forward and pushed backward, the scent of lemon shampoo filling his nose as Reo crushes him in a hug.
“Of course, I want you, you fucking asshole,” Reo hisses into his hair, but his voice is so, so fond. “I’ll always want you.”
Nagi melts into the embrace, his own arms circling Reo’s waist before pulling the shorter boy practically into his lap, his hands finding their way around a slim, firm waist, fingers crawling underneath the hem of his nylon shirt, struck with the intense, unignorable exigency to touch, touch, touch .
And when Nagi pulls his head back, he presses his lips against Reo’s. Salt, metal, and tang explode on his tongue, hot like fireworks, wet like water balloons, electric like lightning over the surface of a chlorine pool. Reo tastes of mint and tears, and Nagi tastes of blood and sweat, and the non-existence space between their mouths tastes like one single dream.
Reo melts into him with so much pure relief that Nagi has to reach up and hold him to keep them both upright.
Reo's lips are so, so impossibly soft, and Nagi has never done this before, but he thinks he could happily spend the next forever kissing Reo.
I love you, Nagi tries to say, gently biting down on Reo’s lower lip until he gasps.
I love you, Nagi croons against Reo’s lips as he records the soft, intimate sounds of their breathless kisses connecting and clicking, the desperate gasps between each short disconnection.
I love you, Nagi begs as he traces his tongue over the roof of Reo’s mouth, pulling Reo closer with his hands that fit perfectly in the arch at the small of Reo’s back. I love you, Nagi begs, drinking down Reo’s broken whimper, please stay with me. Please don’t leave me.
I love you, Nagi hears the echo in the way Reo’s arms tighten where they’re looped around his neck, resting their weight against his shoulders. I love you, Nagi hears in the way Reo holds him like he’s afraid he’ll disappear, like Nagi’s his anchor, like he’s afraid of letting go.
“Stay with me ‘till the end,” he finally whispers.
And Reo smiles, and it feels like a bloody sunset has been replaced by a burning pink dawn. “As long as you want, treasure, I’m here.”