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fandomweekly2025-04-21 06:25 pm
quicksilverfox3) wrote in fandomweekly2025-04-21 06:25 pm
Entry tags:
[#257] together again and always (Blue Lock)
Theme Prompt: 257 - Chemistry
Title: together again and always
Fandom: Blue Lock
Rating/Warnings: General
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 984
Summary: Early in their time in Blue Lock, Isagi wakes and Bachira has wandered off.
They’ve only known each other for a few weeks now—feels longer than that, an easy coming together of puzzle pieces until the seam between them is invisible—but it already seems like an impossibility that Isagi wakes and Bachira is not there.
The other boy’s absence doesn’t dawn on him for a long moment, the sprawled form of Igarashi visible just beyond and the mass of Iemon’’s shoulders beyond him. Bachira’s pyjama top lies amongst the sheets, his shorts mercifully absent, and there are no feet pressed against Isagi’s belly or along the line of bruises on his thighs, his calves; no arm thrown across his chest to claw him closer until they’re breathing the same air.
Yoichi Isagi has slept alone for over a decade of his life. He cannot imagine sleeping alone again.
The clock above the door flashes some early hour; too early to consider waking fully, but Isagi pushes himself to his feet all the same. His legs ache, the sensation concentrated behind his left knee, his right ankle, and he staggers as he steps off of his futon and heads towards the door. His throat closes on a groan, the newly ignited fear of a permanent injury flashing down his spine, but he shakes it off. Chigiri is still here, his knee wrapped into a brace while he sleeps, Kunigami’s pillow tucked beneath it as the pair sleep side by side. Isagi can do this, it’s just typical aches and pains.
The bathrooms are empty, same as the training grounds and the endless stretch of blocked corridors between them. Isagi bounces on the balls of his feet as he walks, lengthens his stride to stretch his legs as he circles back to the room, peering through the cracked door. Empty sheets, Igarashi now upside up with his feet resting on Isagi’s pillow, Gagamaru’s legs stretched over the edge of his futon with his blanket tangled around his hips. No choice except to wander, sleep a distant memory.
Isagi walks towards the kitchen. No form behind the idea, except some age-old impulse for something sweet or salty after midnight, a snack to be forgotten about as soon as the sun rises. Not a lot of options at Blue Lock with its carefully tracked point system but he could craft something close enough to the junk food he’s craving out of rice or whatever is available.
“Isagi!”
No time to think, arms up, around, jaw slack so he doesn’t chip a tooth again. Bachira smacks into his chest, his legs tight around Isagi’s waist, his grin wide and bright. “You found me.”
“I sure did.” Isagi hooks one arm under Bachira’s legs, keeps the other around his waist, the bare skin beneath his arm near fever-hot, distracting. It’s easier to hold him up like that, especially as he starts waving his arms as he speaks, kicking his feet behind Isagi’s back.
“You’d be the only one who would.” Bachira leans back and Isagi starts walking without needing to be told. There’s one table littered with the remnants of Bachira’s existence; a single plate and a collection of glasses, all filled with different flavours of the sports drink they’re given after training. “I would have woken you up to come with me, but you looked sweet. Made me hungry.”
Makes sense. Isagi stoops slightly to allow Bachira to slide into the end seat and moves around the back to swings his legs over into the seat next to him. Bachira’s hand remains locked in Isagi’s t-shirt, a moving point of contact between them. “What are you making?”
“Not sure.” Bachira tips himself sideways into Isagi’s shoulder, his hands clasped in his lap before he extends his arms, pressing his palms out. “Something new.”
Isagi leans his head on top of Bachira’s, peering at the glasses through the haze of his dark hair. He can recognise some of the colours, red for a vague strawberry flavour, green for something that passes as cucumber, blue for chemicals. Others, not so much.
“What’s that one? Should it be turning that colour?”
Bachira hums, leaning further into Isagi. He’s a line of warmth against him, a nice contrast to the frigid tiles beneath his feet, the cool metal of the bench beneath him. “Looks funny. Reminds me of Kuon.”
“Brown, like his hair?” The drink bubbles under their close attention, the two, three, four drinks poured together mixing sluggishly. It could be described as brown under the harsh flare of the lights, closer to the mysterious bubbling liquid that’s used for background shots in cheap horror films.
Another shrug, more felt than seen. “Do I need a reason?”
“Nope.” They lapse into a comfortable silence, the lights humming overhead and the distant buzz of the fridges against the back wall. Bachira’s breathing deepens, slowing to every other blink as his weight presses against Isagi’s chest, Isagi letting his head settle on Bachira’s hair. The other boy’s hair smells faintly fruity, a far cry from the generic bottles they had been given at the start of Blue Lock.
“Want to try it?”
Isagi opens his eyes, shifts his head to the side to meet Bachira’s gaze. He’s awake once more, golden eyes bright, and Isagi would walk until his feet bled if he could keep Bachira at his side. It’s a new feeling, shimmering and sharp in his chest and he wants to experience it everyday.
“Sure.”
Bachira sits up, skimming beneath Isagi’s jaw, and he grabs for an empty glass, pouring them both half. It doesn’t look any better.
“Together?” Isagi reaches for his glass with one hand, Bachira with his other. It feels right; he can do anything with Bachira at his side, even if it’s only conquering some odd flavoured drink.
Bachira grins, wide and easy. “Together.”
It’s bad, really bad, but Isagi leans into Bachira as they laugh and everything is fine, it’s good.
Title: together again and always
Fandom: Blue Lock
Rating/Warnings: General
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 984
Summary: Early in their time in Blue Lock, Isagi wakes and Bachira has wandered off.
They’ve only known each other for a few weeks now—feels longer than that, an easy coming together of puzzle pieces until the seam between them is invisible—but it already seems like an impossibility that Isagi wakes and Bachira is not there.
The other boy’s absence doesn’t dawn on him for a long moment, the sprawled form of Igarashi visible just beyond and the mass of Iemon’’s shoulders beyond him. Bachira’s pyjama top lies amongst the sheets, his shorts mercifully absent, and there are no feet pressed against Isagi’s belly or along the line of bruises on his thighs, his calves; no arm thrown across his chest to claw him closer until they’re breathing the same air.
Yoichi Isagi has slept alone for over a decade of his life. He cannot imagine sleeping alone again.
The clock above the door flashes some early hour; too early to consider waking fully, but Isagi pushes himself to his feet all the same. His legs ache, the sensation concentrated behind his left knee, his right ankle, and he staggers as he steps off of his futon and heads towards the door. His throat closes on a groan, the newly ignited fear of a permanent injury flashing down his spine, but he shakes it off. Chigiri is still here, his knee wrapped into a brace while he sleeps, Kunigami’s pillow tucked beneath it as the pair sleep side by side. Isagi can do this, it’s just typical aches and pains.
The bathrooms are empty, same as the training grounds and the endless stretch of blocked corridors between them. Isagi bounces on the balls of his feet as he walks, lengthens his stride to stretch his legs as he circles back to the room, peering through the cracked door. Empty sheets, Igarashi now upside up with his feet resting on Isagi’s pillow, Gagamaru’s legs stretched over the edge of his futon with his blanket tangled around his hips. No choice except to wander, sleep a distant memory.
Isagi walks towards the kitchen. No form behind the idea, except some age-old impulse for something sweet or salty after midnight, a snack to be forgotten about as soon as the sun rises. Not a lot of options at Blue Lock with its carefully tracked point system but he could craft something close enough to the junk food he’s craving out of rice or whatever is available.
“Isagi!”
No time to think, arms up, around, jaw slack so he doesn’t chip a tooth again. Bachira smacks into his chest, his legs tight around Isagi’s waist, his grin wide and bright. “You found me.”
“I sure did.” Isagi hooks one arm under Bachira’s legs, keeps the other around his waist, the bare skin beneath his arm near fever-hot, distracting. It’s easier to hold him up like that, especially as he starts waving his arms as he speaks, kicking his feet behind Isagi’s back.
“You’d be the only one who would.” Bachira leans back and Isagi starts walking without needing to be told. There’s one table littered with the remnants of Bachira’s existence; a single plate and a collection of glasses, all filled with different flavours of the sports drink they’re given after training. “I would have woken you up to come with me, but you looked sweet. Made me hungry.”
Makes sense. Isagi stoops slightly to allow Bachira to slide into the end seat and moves around the back to swings his legs over into the seat next to him. Bachira’s hand remains locked in Isagi’s t-shirt, a moving point of contact between them. “What are you making?”
“Not sure.” Bachira tips himself sideways into Isagi’s shoulder, his hands clasped in his lap before he extends his arms, pressing his palms out. “Something new.”
Isagi leans his head on top of Bachira’s, peering at the glasses through the haze of his dark hair. He can recognise some of the colours, red for a vague strawberry flavour, green for something that passes as cucumber, blue for chemicals. Others, not so much.
“What’s that one? Should it be turning that colour?”
Bachira hums, leaning further into Isagi. He’s a line of warmth against him, a nice contrast to the frigid tiles beneath his feet, the cool metal of the bench beneath him. “Looks funny. Reminds me of Kuon.”
“Brown, like his hair?” The drink bubbles under their close attention, the two, three, four drinks poured together mixing sluggishly. It could be described as brown under the harsh flare of the lights, closer to the mysterious bubbling liquid that’s used for background shots in cheap horror films.
Another shrug, more felt than seen. “Do I need a reason?”
“Nope.” They lapse into a comfortable silence, the lights humming overhead and the distant buzz of the fridges against the back wall. Bachira’s breathing deepens, slowing to every other blink as his weight presses against Isagi’s chest, Isagi letting his head settle on Bachira’s hair. The other boy’s hair smells faintly fruity, a far cry from the generic bottles they had been given at the start of Blue Lock.
“Want to try it?”
Isagi opens his eyes, shifts his head to the side to meet Bachira’s gaze. He’s awake once more, golden eyes bright, and Isagi would walk until his feet bled if he could keep Bachira at his side. It’s a new feeling, shimmering and sharp in his chest and he wants to experience it everyday.
“Sure.”
Bachira sits up, skimming beneath Isagi’s jaw, and he grabs for an empty glass, pouring them both half. It doesn’t look any better.
“Together?” Isagi reaches for his glass with one hand, Bachira with his other. It feels right; he can do anything with Bachira at his side, even if it’s only conquering some odd flavoured drink.
Bachira grins, wide and easy. “Together.”
It’s bad, really bad, but Isagi leans into Bachira as they laugh and everything is fine, it’s good.