☆Ami

Synopsis: You were never really big into football… until you saw his face plastered across your tv screen.

The walk home from school was a long one. Your tired feet pad against the cobbled pavement as you stroll down the usual route back home, music blasting in your ears to occupy you from the boringly windy roads you’d seen a million times before.

Eventually, you round a corner into the slightly run-down neighbourhood you call home. It’s not the worst place to live in the city, but it could definitely use some work; the paint peeling off the aged wooden walls, the water that more often than not gets shut off due to the poor plumbing systems.

Each step up towards your front door reminds you of the importance to focus on your studies, your future—to make sure you get you and your family out of the draining living situation you’re currently in.

Making your way up the front steps, sighing softly, your hand lightly closes around the rusty metal handle—pushing it open and walking inside.

“Bro, I’m home!” You call out, locking the door behind you.

You step into the house, the familiar space around you slightly more comforting than the busy street outside. Dusty carpets, the scent of cigarettes in air; you were used to it all. Blurred childhood photos lined the pasted brick walls, taunting memories of when things used to be much, much simpler.

Your spiralling thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the loud buzz of the old tv your younger brother currently has his eyes glued to.

“Watcha’ watching?” You ask with a smile, sliding your backpack off and resting it on the floor against the worn, tattered couch.

“Football!” His little voice rings out, a little slurred due to his mouth being half-stuffed with popcorn.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, tilting your head as you take a seat next to him on the couch. He immediately reaches out, a tiny hand shaking your arm as the other points directly towards the tv.

“Look, look! It’s the Blue Lock 11 vs Under 20’s Japan! Isn’t that awesome?!” He squeals, eyes sparkling; his young, youthful face practically beaming with excitement.

“Blue… Lock? Isn’t that the crazy project made to find Japan a new world’s best striker…?”

Your 8-year-old brother turns to you with a smile wide enough to rival the Cheshires. “Mhm! The one that’s been in the news all year! I’ve been waiting weeks to watch it!”

His sheer devotion to this one match makes your eyes turn towards the tv. The screen flickers slightly, showcasing the match currently being broadcasted live on the old hunk of technology. Small blue and white dots stand out against the bright green grass of the field, moving and whizzing around way too fast for you to keep up.

The pitch is a whirlwind of activity; players passing the ball between each other, attacks and plays being made to get the tiny sphere of plastic up to the opposite end of the field and into the oppositions goal. The U-20s defence are skilled, a standout being the 6’3, green and blue haired brick wall at the centre of the back line; the name “AIKU” spread proudly across his back. He blocks play after play, leaping high during every corner and deflecting the ball away from his net. ‘He’s a real machine,’ you think. How will Blue Lock’s 11 be able to get past such a man?

You find yourself getting more into the game than you’d expected. Your eyes track every movement on the screen, over-analysing each and every move the players make. The flick of their ankles, the way their bodies move as the ball gets kicked between their feet—they’re certainly skilled, you can’t deny that.

But you find one of them in particular catching your eye more often than the others.

He’s quick but agile, dribbling past the defenders on the opposite team and making them look more like U-10’s than U-20’s. He’s so fast you find yourself being unable to keep track of him, his mind working in tandem with his legs and accumulating some of the most beautiful moves you’d ever seen from a singular person. It’s like you’re being hypnotised, drawn to the flick of his heels and the shift of his feet as he sends yet another opponent to the shops.

Before you know it, a counter attack is in play. The Blue Lock 11 are racing up the pitch, a sea of navy-coloured jerseys swarming in the midfield and bee-lining straight for the U-20s goal box. One, two, three passes between their attackers, and you feel your mind go blank. The gameplay is so fast, you can hardly keep track; and before you know it, that one particular player is bolting towards the penalty area, screaming his teammates name in request (demand) for the ball. The one with the black and yellow hair and the grin so wide it sends chills down your spine.

A flurry of movement, a pass, a shot and a—

“GGGOOOOOAAAAALLLL!!!”

The commentator roars, and the stadium on the tv erupts with cheers so loud you can practically feel it from your house on the other side of the damn country. Your brother leaps out of his chair, running around the room and screaming like a madman as if he were the one that scored the goal.

Cue the camera pointing directly at the goal-scorers face.

“With a spectacular pass from Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira comes bursting through the defence with a magnificent finish! Blue Lock’s eleven are now in the lead!”

Meguru Bachira, what a pretty name.

It’s like the ground disappears from beneath your feet, feeling a little light-headed as you lean back in your seat. This random footballer your brother watches just happens to be the most handsome man on the face of the earth. You feel butterflies in your stomach, your mind racing a mile a minute—did you just fall in love at first sight? To a random footballer you didn’t even know the name of 20 seconds ago?

Your brother finally calms down enough to stop screaming, turning around to head back to his seat. Once he takes in your dazed expression, his little head turns in confusion.

“…Sis?” A tiny hand shakes you back to reality, and your eyes flick down to your brother. He seems worried over the fact you just completely spaced out for a solid minute—but in his 8-year-old brain, he thinks you must just really enjoy the match going on.

Oh, if only he knew it was because you felt your heart do a triple front-flip right there and then.

All over the sight of a certain bee-haired footballer.

Notice: Im well aware Bachira doesn’t actually score in the match between the U-20’s, but let’s just pretend he does okay?

The job you and Enjin had been sent out for was a particularly tough one. A few unidentified trash beasts had been lurking in a nearby polluted zone; wreaking havoc amongst the people and ending in a few minor injuries. The two of you were the best suited for the mission, fully equipped with the necessary skills needed for a quick cleaning. It was going to be difficult, which you both knew, but you’d faced worse before.

As expected, the monsters were no match for Enjin—or you, for that matter. You’re strong and fully capable of taking down a few trash beasts on your own, and Enjin just loves to sit back and admire you as you work. The way you move with such effortless grace, each punch you hit calculated and precise to deal as much damage to your opponent as possible.

The whole altercation went by extremely slowly, with both you and Enjin taking a few hits; a bruise here, an ache there… and a particularly sore looking cut to the right of your boyfriend’s lip. It makes you wince even looking at it, a small trickle of blood escaping and dripping down his chin. You reach your hand out, lightly cupping his cheek, using your thumb to wipe away the bright pool of cherry-red currently staining his pale skin.

“Are you alright?” You ask softly, wiping the blood away on the raggedy old fabric of your work pants.

He glances down at your hand, noticing the slight tremble in it as your fingers lightly brush against his face. He completely ignores your question, a slight smirk tugging at that infuriatingly handsome face of his.

“Are you shivering?”

You pause, an immediate flush creeping up the back of your neck at the smug tone in his voice. It’s so annoying, how attractive his voice is—even when he’s trying not to chuckle under his breath at how stubborn you’re being right now.

“No! I’m fine!”

You huff petulantly, folding your arms and turning your head away like a pouting child. You were a cleaner—a group of the strongest, most powerful beings in the entire underground… you wouldn’t let something like the weather get to you.

Queue another shiver. Dammit, even your own body is betraying you.

“Hah! I knew it!”

God, you want to punch him. He’s outright laughing now, resting a massive hand on your shoulder to keep himself upright. You simply let out another agitated grumble, shoving him off you and keeping your gaze away from him. You’re not giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to you.

He’s laughing for a few more moments before it eventually dies down. His prior howling turns into a playful smile, nudging you lightly in the side with his elbow.

“Hey, babe?”

The change in his tone makes your head turn. It’s softer, more… affectionate than his usually playful self. When you move to fully face him, he’s shrugging off his cleaner jacket and extending it out to you. The thing is huge—fitting his broad shoulders and bulky arms like a glove, but on your smaller, slimmer frame? You’ll look like a toddler in a grown man’s clothing.

Eventually, after swallowing your pride for the sake of your body currently screaming at you for some sort of heat, you reach your arms out and allow him to slide the jacket onto your body.

The warmth envelopes you like a cozy blanket, the familiar scent of cigarettes still lingering to the collar. You nuzzle your nose into the fabric, hugging the jacket closer to you, almost as if you were trying to drown yourself in it. Enjin may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but you find yourself cherishing these softer moments; just you and him, the warmth of your bodies and the sync of your heartbeats thumping together as one.

The blanket-like effect of his jacket has you nodding slightly, your eyes fluttering and eyelashes casting shadows against your cheeks under the heat of the setting sun. Enjin wraps a heavy arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him—easing you to lean your head against his chest. He smiles softly to himself, watching the way you lean into him so easily.

Pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, he settles his face in your hair as he leans down to whisper gently into your ear:

“C’mon, let’s get you back to HQ.”

Boyfriend!Kaiser who was hesitant in dating you at first. He’d never felt such… foreign feelings to another human being before, not even his own family (for obvious reasons). Whenever he’s with you, he feels alive—like he can be himself without the constant weight of the expectations for him laying on his shoulders, like he can finally take a breath of fresh air. You’re his breath of fresh air.

Boyfriend!Kaiser who never fails to make sure you know you’re loved. With the way he had grown up, he wants to make sure you’re given all the love and care you deserve—he knows what it feels like to be neglected, and the last person he’d want that to happen to is you.

Boyfriend!Kaiser who won’t go out of his way to give any grand, overdramatic gestures to prove his love—no. His devotion to you is kept quiet, private; but you know it’s there. From the way he touches you, worships every inch of your body like it’s a sacred temple needed to be kept all to himself, untouched by the lingering terrors of the world he knows.

Boyfriend!Kaiser who loves spoiling you by buying you gifts. Smaller ones; like a plushie of your favourite character or a new food trend you’ve been dying to try. To more expensive ones; a brand new designer handbag or an all-expenses-paid trip to the Maldives. Those are his favourite—hidden getaways where he can keep you all to himself on some remote island, watching as your smooth, tanned skin bakes under the sun while your pretty lips wrap around the straw of whatever drink you’re sipping on.

Boyfriend!Kaiser who loves taking you out on dates. From an extravagant Italian restaurant in the heart of the city to a night in cuddling on the couch, watching Netflix and eating popcorn (your idea). He enjoys taking time to relax between matches, letting the stress of the football world be forgotten for a few sacred moments as he rests his head between your thighs, long eyelashes fluttering closed and casting shadows on his cheeks as he lets himself melt into the embrace of the one person he trusts most in this world. You.