Chapter Text
“allllright, Mei-chan…” Bachira drawls as he smoothens his son’s wavy hair, gathering him into his arms and smiling brightly to his face. “are you ready to see daddy?”
Koumei chirps with that adorable baby voice of his, clapping his small hands with that genetic excitement he’s inherited from Bachira.
“Daddy!!” He repeats, and his happiness about seeing Isagi almost makes Bachira forget about his own annoyance with the alpha. He remembers just in time to school his face back to neutral before opening the door, said alpha standing tall behind it.
He lights up just in time with Koumei, two (practically identical) pair of blue eyes widening in joy at the sight of each other. A wide smile plasters all over Isagi’s face just as his son launches forward in Bachira’s hold, impatient to jump in his dad’s arms.
“Woah… Kou-kun!” he’s quick to take the toddler from Bachira, laughing charmingly at his boy’s jumpy movements—clinging to Isagi and biting his face and kicking his little legs, like he just can’t help but pour out all his emotions in loud and bright waves like the little sun that he is. They won’t fit in that small body of his, after all. He inherited that too from Bachira.
Bachira barely holds back the fond smile and soft look that’s seeping onto his face at Koumei’s repeated chants of “Daddy! Daddy!” and Isagi’s affectionate caresses as he immediately starts scenting his little pup. He leans on the door frame, waiting until the father and son’s reunion is over. As pissed as he is with Isagi, the alpha still deserves this after weeks of not seeing their child. Plus, Koumei also misses him more these days. He’s at that age, Bachira assumes, when he’s starting to understand feelings like attachment and missing.
Isagi finally acknowledges his presence after Koumei settles down on his shoulders, having climbed up the alpha’s masculine body like a tree, scoffing to clear out his throat before saying hi.
“You’re late…” Bachira groans, not even answering Isagi’s greeting.
“yeah, sorry… lost track of—” he excuses while scratching his chin awkwardly, and he looks ridiculous with Koumei swinging his legs on his chest and pulling harshly on his hair.
Bachira waves him off, stepping out of the house and making way for Isagi to enter. Really, Isagi is so lucky Koumei is melting Bachira’s heart enough for him to let his father slide off the hook so easily!
“Rucchi is asleep now, but don’t forget to take her on her afternoon walk.” He instructs while tying up the laces of his sneakers, Isagi’s scent filling up his nostrils after the single step he took forward. This will definitely last... “I already put Mei-chan in his outdoor clothes, so be careful not to dirty them until you go out. make sure he pees before you go. and…”
He gets up suddenly, searching Isagi (who flinches in surprise) and Koumei’s face before humming. “that’s it, I guess. You know the rest better.”
“uhh- yeah. Thanks…” Isagi mumbles awkwardly, eyes simmering between Bachira’s.
“well then…” the omega exclaims after a few long seconds, reaching up on his tip-toes to kiss his son and instinctively rubbing his wrists against the toddler’s. “I’m off… be a good boy, Mei-chan, okay?”
“Good boy! aboooff-” Koumei mocks, laughing at his own sound as his spit splatters everywhere. Bachira shakes his head adoringly before hitting the elevator button.
A rough hand wraps around his wrist before he can get in.
He blinks confusedly, turning back to Isagi with question in his eyes. Isagi scoffs again, subtly pulling the omega closer and tightening his grip around the delicate wrist.
“where are you—” he starts, eating up the rest of his sentence at Bachira’s raised eyebrows. They don’t ask each other questions. At least, not ones unrelated to Koumei.
(And they don’t scent each other, but Isagi’s thick scent is wrapping tightly around Bachira’s senses, clinging to his wrist and making his head go dizzy…)
“—um, I mean when will you be back?”
“Same time as usual.” Bachira answers flatly, but his own warm scent is rising from under the alpha’s touch, marking him in his own furtive way.
“oh. Okay.” He lets go slowly, almost reluctantly, and Bachira steps into the elevator in the same manner.
Isagi and Koumei’s big almond eyes remain on him until the elevator door closes, the smaller waving at him with a smiley face (one that looks ridiculously boyish and charming like his father’s) that Bachira mirrors, and it’s only when those deep blues are finally out of his sight that Bachira let go of the breath he was holding.
……
Summer is Bachira’s favorite season. Has been, for as long as he remembers. It’s pleasantly hot and sunny, and it’s the season of games and fireworks and holidays. Just the sound of summer calls for fun. It rings like kids’ laughter, tastes like melted ice cream and smells like the beach. Plus, it’s the season Bachira was born in. Now, Koumei too.
Bachira finds that he’s been looking forward to his son’s birthday more than his own lately, and he likes summer’s hotness because it doesn’t get Koumei sick, and not because it lets him wear shorter shorts and hit the pool at a heart’s whim. Bachira thinks about it as he kicks the ball on his toes, trapping it with his chest and then hitting it up again with his knee.
It’s been so long since he’s gotten to dribble his way around the neighborhood streets this freely. So long since he took his time, leisurely drinking with his friends without worrying about rushing home to his waiting kid. So long since he had any time to ponder on things in that silly, nonsensical way of his that’s both deep and ridiculous, that runs on the engine of feelings but works as a solid problem-solving mechanism for him anyway.
He takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with summer, and smiling stupidly to himself as he savors the moment, like he used to do, when he was younger.
Which isn’t that long ago.
It actually isn’t any time ago. Bachira is still young. Only turned 27 last month. But it feels like he’s been rushed through a few years of his life, (three, to be exact) suddenly loaded with responsibilities and hardships of managing a life for not one but two people, while maintaining a professional alpha-dominated carrier, and working through whatever strange aversion of a relationship he has with Isagi. Feels like he’s been tossed around by life, full force, until he loses himself. but oh.
Here is Bachira, strange and wild and unhinged, dancing with his monster while dribbling past wide-eyed strangers, not even wiping his tears as he laughs through his cries.
It fills him with as much happiness as it does with melancholy. He loves Koumei beyond any words can describe, and he’s long forgotten about the time he wished this never happened to him. If he could go back in time and make a conscious decision of having him this time, he’d do it all over again. but he’s also usually hit by an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia whenever he gets to be free like this, letting tears run down his cheeks because as blessed as he is, he has lost many things on the way.
He wonders if he’s fallen behind others, or ahead of himself.
Who knows how long he’d have stayed the childish, carefree and sloppy boy that he was if it wasn’t for Koumei and everything that came with him? Sometimes he looks at his past self’s fantasies and wonders if he’d aged too fast. but then he looks around himself and see everyone figuring their lives out—slowing down on climbing the ladder of whatever profession they’re pursuing, finding love, starting a family and settling down, seeking satisfaction—without swirling back on all the things they fucked up, or paths they went wrong, and wonders if he’s all but a fake façade; successful and mated and blessed with a healthy kid, but still wanting more. still greedy. still honing his ego, wanting to fight, and push and Run, like he hasn’t grown at all since that first day he stepped onto Blue Lock, or maybe even before that, when he first touched a soccer ball.
He’s beyond sweaty once he reaches home, looking at his messy figure in the elevator mirror and chuckling. He looks worse than when he wrestles with Koumei for hours. Something warms up his entire chest at the thought of his son; his beautiful smile and his tiny hands that will surely reach for Bachira upon his entrance, holding onto his neck and pressing as tightly as he can…
He already can’t wait to get home.
“MOMYY!” comes Koumei’s excited cheer, the little boy running sloppily towards him the moment Bachira opens the door. Thanks to his sharp ears, he usually notices Bachira’s presence as soon as he takes out his keys, already starting for the door before Bachira even enters.
“MEI-CHAN!!” he answers back with as much energy, spinning him in the air, smiling brightly from ear to ear at his son’s laughter.
Right after him comes Mamoru, running around Bachira with her tail wagging and her tongue out. Bachira pats her head before instinctively sniffing the air, his mouth watering at the smell of something delicious and warm.
“hey.” Isagi greets softly, standing by the kitchen counter with an apron on. “welcome back.”
Bachira turns to him after squeezing the life out of his baby, kissing his cheeks and nuzzling his hair and scenting his neck, feeling kind of domestic about the sight in front of him.
Isagi’s wearing a half-smile, like he’s not sure how familiar he can act with Bachira, spatula still in hand, the yellow light of kitchen mellowing out his sharp alpha features and reducing him to a loving household husband. (and the pink apron doesn’t help either.)
“hey.” Bachira finds himself answering, just as softly, the content expression Koumei brought upon his face remaining even as he walks towards Isagi.
“Daddy made Humbergs!” the little alpha exclaims excitedly, still getting carried in Bachira’s arms.
“ah- sorry, didn’t mean to use your kitchen without permission, Kou said he was hungry and I—” Isagi rushes to explain, like he hasn’t cooked in Bachira’s house before.
(well, he might have. when it was just the two of them, only never for Koumei.)
“oh! So your favorite!” Bachira chirps to Koumei, ending Isagi’s stuttering with an easy smile. “did you say thank you?”
“Thank youuuuuu!!” the kid drawls while bending back in Bachira’s arms, treating his parents as playing tools like usual. Isagi catches him with a smile before he falls, kissing his forehead before muttering a ‘you’re welcome’.
His eyes then find Bachira’s, their scent mingling with how close they’re standing to each other. Almost touching, if not for Koumei in between.
A pause, deliberate and cautious. “I’ve made enough for all of us. Go change, I’ll set the table.”
Huh.
So he invited himself over for the night.
Well, not that Bachira minds it enough to confront him about it. doesn’t have the energy anyway, and he’s a bit thankful for the warm meal after such a long day to kick Isagi out without letting him get a taste himself. it wouldn’t look good in Koumei’s eyes either. he’s starting to pay more attention to his surroundings—and to Bachira and Isagi’s relationship especially. (he even asked the other day why they weren’t all living together for the first time. Not that Bachira wasn’t ready for him to ask the inevitable one day, but he was still caught off when it happened so soon, feeling awful for lying to those innocently curious eyes.)
The dinner goes by as uneventfully as one expects, Isagi taking upon the duty of feeding Koumei (who’s the only reason this entire setting isn’t as awkward as it should be) and then brushing his teeth for him. The pup gets sleepy after eating almost immediately, a habit he had since he was younger, so Bachira safely tucks him in, kissing his head once he dozes off in the middle of listening to his bed-time story.
They almost look like a normal family. And a healthy, loving one at that.
But Bachira knows better.
A heavy silence falls between them the moment Koumei is out, both of them standing still in the living room with nothing to talk about.
“…do you need me to call you a cab?” He asks, not unkindly, but certainly not looking anywhere near the direction of the alpha either.
“ah- no. my hotel is within walking distance.”
“hm. Okay.”
“hey, Meg—” Isagi reaches out before Bachira can walk away to busy himself with cleaning, the omega stopping with a surprised jolt.
This is the second time! Bachira could swear Isagi deliberately chose to hold his wrist when there was a whole ass limb for him to grab onto!
(Wrist; where it’s the easiest to scent someone or be scented by them…)
“Yoichi?”
“Yeah,…” he breathes, softly, pulling Bachira closer until they’re standing face to face. “I– I’m sorry if I’m prying too much but… your eyes… I noticed they were red when you came back. did you– cry?”
Something wells up inside Bachira. a balloon, maybe, swelling with an unwanted amount of emotions that threaten to suffocate him, so warm and twirling and blue. Deep blue, like the night, quiet and never-ending, staring down at him with small tweaking stars somewhere far within it, genuine in all its confidentiality and safe in it’s dark and veiling heart.
He feels his eyes tinge with more tears, even though he was sure he dried up his tear sacks with how much he bawled earlier.
Isagi’s brows furrow immediately, the worry in his eyes blowing more air into the balloon that’s already on the verge of bursting. He touches Bachira’s cheek with his free hand, unbearably tender and cautious, like he’d hurt Bachira if he so much as brushed his skin with the tip of his nail.
“oh no, sorry-! I’m so sorry! please don’t cry? We can talk about it if you want—?”
Bachira sniffs, chest tight and lips quivering from the effort to not fall apart. He shakes his head, holding onto the palm against his cheek with both hands and burying his face into it as tears start quietly running down his face. he wants Isagi close, but this is probably as close as they’ll get nowadays. It makes him tear up even more, clinging to the alpha’s hand tightly.
This is brutal. Isagi standing here, right in front of him, sweet and oblivious and a bit panicking, not knowing what to do with the mess that’s Bachira Meguru, when he used to— was supposed to know him the best. As Bachira’s mate. Bachira’s alpha. Bachira’s Partner. Bachira’s Best friend.
As the man that Bachira carried his baby for.
But he doesn’t, shivering alongside Bachira like this is all too much for him as well, holding back from even breathing in fear of doing something wrong when everything he did used to be right, back when he wasn’t the main reason Bachira cried himself to sleep every night. Somehow, that breaks Bachira’s heart worse than the actual reason he cried today.
“hey, hey— Meg?” Isagi coaxes, so genuinely worried it hurts. His scent is as soothing as ever, vanilla clinging onto Bachira’s senses like a soft blanket, coffee spreading around them in anxiety but also protectiveness. It makes him sob. Isagi has always been good at this; keeping his own negative feelings at bay, controlling his scent in a way that’s most comforting for Bachira.
This is so fucking brutal!!
“it’s—” he starts, breaths coming shallow as he unconsciously sticks his nose to the alpha’s wrist, craving more of his grounding pheromones. “it’s nothing. I’m just a little tired…”
Isagi frowns. Harder. “it’s not nothing. You’re crying, Meguru. That’s not nothing!”
Oh sweet, sweet boy... it draws out a low chuckle out of Bachira.
“it really is, Yoichi. You’ve probably forgotten, but I cry all the time. With or without reason.”
Isagi’s face twist in guilt, eyes softening with sadness. They don’t need a reminder of what they used to be, three years ago, with no soccer and publicity and a kid coming in between them—all the things that should’ve made their lives sweeter. the cuts are still fresh, bleeding even. at least for Bachira. No need to twist the knife any deeper.
Isagi moves his hand and Bachira jostles thinking he’s trying to pull away. He doesn’t though, only caressing the wet skin until his thumb finds magnetic yellow eyes, big and round and bright even while raining. His face has naturally gravitated closer too, his breaths giving the omega goosebumps as they directly blow air against his lips.
“that’s—” Isagi starts, stuttering through his words as he searches Bachira’s face helplessly. “…–I’m so sorry. I still don’t know what to do when you do that,” then softer, almost to himself. “I could never get used to you crying…”
Bachira stares into his eyes, and he must look pathetic, desperate, because Isagi almost kisses him. like Bachira would die if he doesn’t.
Their noses bump gently, but they leave it at that. Isagi is not the one crying his eyes out because he suddenly got hit by an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia, and Bachira is not the one that would initiate these sort of things. so that’s that.
“you don’t need to apologize…” Bachira’s voice quivers, and he shakes his head like that would help clear out the fog in his mind. It’s not Isagi’s duty to comfort him. It’s Not...
…and yet he asks. (because he's always been a helpless fool. always hoping, hoping, hoping...) “are you—are you worried about me?”
He breaks a little on the breath he lets out, and with it cut the tension laying so raw and heavy between them. (They’re only inches apart, needing so little as a tilt of a head and an extending neck, smelling like a mix of honey and vanilla…)
Oh what an awful question to ask someone you’re walking a very, very thin line with, and on the verge of a cliff, at that. Bachira is a fool, letting a few soft whispers and sweet looks get to his head, getting his hopes up when he knows he’s only going to be let down later. but in his defense, Isagi is playing his part better than ever.
Because he shuts his eyes for a second, taking in a deep breath as if inhaling Bachira’s wavering scent, and then looking almost dizzy when he opens his eyes on the exhale, drowning Bachira in that deep deep blue that’s clear of any ill-intention. He grabs Bachira’s head with both hands, like it’s the dearest thing he’s ever hold, and God he sounds so damn soft it almost works as a sedative, or a lullaby.
“of course I am.” His scent grows thicker, and he firmly holds Bachira’s weight when his knees give in, falling on the alpha. “if there’s anything I can help you with, please say it right away, Meguru. please.”
“why?” he murmurs, almost drunkenly, but he shouldn’t. he really shouldn’t.
The alpha frowns, not unkindly, but as a clear sign of assertiveness.
“because– I care about you!” He lets go of Bachira’s face to swing his hands in the air, a little exasperated. “and you’re my mate! Why do I got to need a reason? I want to do things for you.”
Oh. That hit a spot. And a soft one, at that.
Fuck.
He should’ve known better. He gets affected too easily when it comes to Isagi. One more line like that and Bachira might just fall to his knees, kissing the ground under the alpha’s feet.
He detangles himself, barely keeping his balance but still refusing Isagi’s assist, putting as much space between their bodies as his broken will allows. (a single step.)
“thanks.” He sniffs, wiping one last tear rolling down his cheek. “But it’s really nothing… I’m mostly surprised you noticed. you’re still as observant as ever, Yoichi.”
He avoids Isagi’s gaze, has to, his quiet chuckles sounding fake even to his own ear. The boy has melted more than enough of his brain (and heart) for him to risk anything anymore. Isagi could’ve pinned him down and bit him –like that first time he did during his heat to own him– right this instant, and Bachira would’ve said thank you.
“for you, always.” The alpha whispers, and shit, Bachira needs him out of his house before anything stupid happens between them.
He lets the silence linger for a long second, feeling overwhelmed under that protective and caring gaze. Isagi is not a patient guy, but he’s waiting for Bachira to say something so earnestly now that it feels almost cruel to end the moment.
But Bachira might just be able to live with it if he knows it’s just as cruel to himself.
They’ve been clear about their relationship ever since departing in Tokyo—there’s nothing to misunderstand, much less hope for. Bachira was the one who asked for them to mate for safety and convenience, and Isagi only agreed as a form of accepting responsibility (and a bit of pettiness, Bachira isn’t stupid).
Except, it’s never quite felt like that.
Not back when Isagi marked him and let Bachira mark him in return, nor when he traveled countries–continents, to soothe his omega in heat, in rain or snow or boiling temperatures every time without fail. (all those angry, repressed emotions between them be damned.)
Bachira’s not oblivious. He sees Isagi’s lustful looks and possessive hands. He revels in them. feels delighted to the bone whenever he dials the alpha’s number on the 5th of every month, burning from the inside out and panting needily, getting wetter at the thought of hearing Isagi’s voice—coming through the phone breathless and raspy at the edges because he’s always in a hurry to meet Bachira at times like these, but soft and caring at the very core like the sweet boy that he is, and confident and grounding like the alpha that’s inside.
Bachira knows something is there, building slowly (back) up in the way they clash onto each other under the pretense of being sex-drunk, driven by pheromones and not a decade’s worth of feelings—anger and jealousy and loneliness and yearning…
And it’s so cruel to Bachira’s heart that it’s all going to break down again by the smallest of winds. It’s inevitable. To begin with, they’d started building this on a shaky ground, and there was never really a heart-felt commitment. Desire and passion aren’t enough; they’ll add up to the height, but not to the strength. the more they keep at this, the further they’ll fall.
“um, Yoichi, I’m sorry but it’s really late, and we have a match tomorrow…” he bites the corner of his mouth, still avoiding the other’s gaze as he forces the words out.
Isagi jolts back like he was shot, wide eyes blinking rapidly at a guilty-looking Bachira.
“O-Oh right… yeah, sorry. Yeah I’ll–… I’ll get going now...” he stutters while stepping back, rubbing his hands at his side and embarrassedly looking around as if wanting to disappear into thin air. Bachira’s defense breaks a little at the sight.
“sorry. Take care.” Bachira mumbles apologetically after he walks him to the door, still avoiding looking into those oceanic eyes. Isagi pauses at his door for a few seconds again, seeming like he wants to say something.
Bachira hopes he wouldn’t, already barely holding back his body from latching onto Isagi’s and consuming more of his scent. He feels his whole body relax when the alpha complies, like he can read Bachira’s mind, and leaves after mumbling a quiet goodbye.
If Bachira collapses behind the door right after his mate walks out and inhales the lingering scent of him on his shirt with unmatched hunger, then that’s only between him and his breaking heart.