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It should be illegal. They should handcuff him and lock him up. Twenty-five to life, no chance of parole. For the use of a deadly weapon, the court should find him guilty. He’s a threat to public safety. Look at the knife in Ryuusei’s chest, plunged and twisted, creating an opening out of which his heart will beat.
Don’t be fooled by the closed eyes, sleepy pout and unconscious twitch of the nose. Itoshi Rin is a serial killer and Ryuusei is his present victim. How many others have fallen by his hand, tucked between his cheek and the pillow? Ryuusei ponders the kind of creases that will leave on Rin’s face. A red mark, at least, like a blush of embarrassment or a fist to the face. He knows a thing or two about those, having embarrassed and punched Rin numerous times over the years. If only he had known that Rin has been plotting his revenge, enacting it in this very moment that he has Ryuusei in his bed.
Oh, Rin is cunning, and Ryuusei curses himself for not knowing better. He’s always going on about battlefields and killings. Ryuusei was fooled into thinking they were simple metaphors and now he pays the price, clutching at his chest with incredulous eyes on Rin, slumbering peacefully.
The football world can see that Rin’s legs are a weapon. Die-hard fans know that it is Rin’s mind. It reads the field, identifies its prey and sends his body in for the kill. It knows that the real weapon is his face, its expression of feigned indifference, unsuspecting and deceptively innocent, even when twisted in a scowl or ready to burst with rage. Ryuusei knows that there is a flower underneath, alluring and delicate, pollen so sweet, calling to Ryuusei, a bee, drunk enough to swim in the nectar and drown, unravelling like this metaphor.
At what point does Ryuusei’s willingness efface his victimhood? Rin made him his victim last night, in the middle of the dance floor, moving like he had known all along that Ryuusei’s eyes were on him. It’s a game that is no longer a game. Infinity to one odds. There is never a moment that he is looking away, that his heart is not in his gaze, thrown Rin’s way like a ball to the face, Ryuusei’s cleat to Rin’s cheek. That happened once. Remember? Better than a kiss. He knows Rin could feel it, too.
He wishes his lips could touch Rin like that, bruising, fracturing. He was born with lips where he should have had knuckles. In the dark of the club, Rin looked at him, shirt riding up while he serpentined, like he wanted the same. And then he put a dent in Ryuusei’s shape in the bathroom door.
“You’re killing me,” Ryuusei told him last night, crushing Rin’s wrists beneath the weight of his palms.
A look of disbelief befell Rin’s face, and he huffed with disbelief as he glanced to where they remained connected. “You’re the one who is stabbing me.”
Except it wasn’t last night. Last night’s moon is still in the sky, yet to be replaced by the sun, and Ryuusei has yet to sleep. How can he? Rin has made false accusations. Ryuusei is the one exsanguinating, heart racing to make up for the blood loss, adrenaline in his veins like a sextuple shot of espresso. (Ha-ha. Sex.) Still, he can’t look away.
Rin fell asleep almost as soon as they were finished. He curled himself into Ryuusei like he had done it before. It was Ryuusei who restored the space between them, once Rin’s gentle snoring filled the room. Screw the sunrise. Its crimson blush has nothing on Rin’s cheeks. Ryuusei needs only this.
Would it be wrong to give Rin a kiss? He’s done it already and Rin’s lips are asking for it, drool dripping from the corner, onto the pillowcase and in an illegible puddle that spells “Kiss me, kiss me.” It could save him. Rin, the blade, the killing blow, and also the salve and bandage, the needle and thread connecting torn flesh. Ryuusei is only just discovering his duality. His multitudes. There is so much else that he knows Rin can be.
The other night, he had a dream that Rin was a monster, a creature of unfathomable stature. At that size, he didn’t have much speed. Still, people ran for their lives and failed, their remains embedded in his footprints. Only Ryuusei could bring an end to the terror and destruction. In this dream, Ryuusei could fly. Or, at least, he got as close to it as he could, swinging through the air on metal cables. ‘Go for the nape.’ He had this memory, a voice of a mentor or instructor of some kind. He anchored himself with a cable shot into Rin’s shoulder. Rin recoiled in large motion from the impact. It couldn’t have been anything more than a bee sting to him.
Ryuusei remembers feeling cold, the rush of air against his face as he dove in for the kill. And then, he remembers the heat, the burst of steam after he slashed skin. He maneuvered his way onto a nearby tree. The way he landed with grace was how he knew it was all a dream. He could have woken himself in that moment, reached across experiential planes and opened his eyes. He was in a world of deadly giants and death by crushing. He should wake up, but…
But there. On the ground. At the centre of the smoke, rising out of the wound that Ryuusei made. Rin. A smaller Rin. Human-sized and, as his evaporating colossal form revealed, naked apparently. It was looking more like a Ryuusei dream, though he had never dreamt about Rin before. Ryuusei dropped down from his perch and he caught Rin with his arms. Rin’s body felt almost feverish, and it was cooling rapidly as their decomposing surroundings dissipated.
It is possible that he had burnt the midnight oil in the preceding week devouring chapters of a manga he swore he’d never read. Perhaps the story’s conclusion brought a tear or two to his eyes. In his dream, Rin had the titan marks under his eyes and everything, his bottom eyelashes sitting above them, their forms flowing seamlessly into each other. It made and did not make sense why his subconscious had led him here. Rin can flatten any soccer field with the weight of his talent. His ego is as uncontainable as it is large. Ryuusei’s cells can only hope to fly close enough to touch. And they’ve brought him to Rin’s side before, ablaze with intent to kill. Perhaps that’s what their egos are like when placed side-by-side. Maybe Blue Lock’s walls were erected to defend against Rin’s enormity, with Ryuusei’s destiny as set as the very first stone in Wall Maria, to try, again and again, to take Rin down. Is it also his duty? Will it be the two of them at the precipice of the end of the world, Ryuusei with a blade in his hand and his heart in a killing blow?
In real life, Rin is cold to the touch, radiating heat from only his lips and between his legs. Ryuusei was overwhelmed. By all that he felt and all that it meant. By the things that signify fucking Itoshi Rin and all the things that fucking Itoshi Rin signified. An eye for an eye. A war at the end of the world. A tragic romantic epic.
He’s never fucked a hole so good it left him contemplating a media detox. But… maybe… he’s watching too much TV. Getting all of these ideas. Thinking all of these thoughts. Dreaming all of these dreams. It’s a simple act, knowing Rin, and he’s blown it to titanic proportions, his brain rotating the question of what they could be. He could fall deeper into it, whatever it is. Swim in it, maybe. Wade in the water, the blood. It might not even be liquid. It’s Rin. Ryuusei can’t help but get lost. But also:
“Hey.”
It’s Rin.
“What are you doing watching me sleep like a panty-sniffing thief?”
Ryuusei can never get too lost.
“I’m sorry,” Ryuusei tells him, unable to stifle a laugh. There’s a rhythm between them that is easy to step into. “I sniffed aaaaaaall your underwear.”
“Impossible,” says Rin. “You’d need a key and I’ve hidden it well.”
“Locking up your undies is insane even for you.”
“Shut up” he grumbles. “I’m obviously joking.”
“I dunno…” Ryuusei teases. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Rin smacks him, just shy of hurting. “I said ‘shut up,’ perv. Or I’m pushing you out of bed.”
“No, please, I’ve been holding in a fart. If I hit the floor, it’s coming out!”
“Ew, gross! Get lost!” He gives Ryuusei a shove, but counters it immediately by cuddling into him.
“Didn’t take you for a snuggler,” Ryuusei observes.
Rin replies in the most deadpanned voice. “It’s because my mom never hugged me.”
Ryuusei thinks it’s funny because it might just be true. “Oh, are you gonna start calling me ‘Mommy’ now?”
“You wish.” He swears Rin starts nuzzling him. “There’s nothing maternal about you.”
“You got that right.” Ryuusei beats his chest. “It’s all DILF up in here.”
Rin sighs. “I miss when I was asleep and couldn’t hear you speak,”
“You love it,” says Ryuusei.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“You like it?”
“Maybe.”
“And maybe…” Ryuusei starts, dragging out the syllables, “also…” and the spaces between his words, “you like… me?”
Rin pauses as if to think, as if to run calculations in his head about what he says next. Or maybe time just slows because Ryuusei’s heart is on the line and time is just cruel that way.
Until, “You could go further than that.”
Ryuusei doesn’t say it, because he wants Rin to. Doesn’t have to be right now. But.. eventually…
“Maybe you could go further than that, too.”
Rin scowls and hides his face in his hands. “Don’t say ‘maybe.’”
“Fine, no maybe. Maybe is dead to me.”
Rin’s face reappears and the little smile on his face is absolutely world-ending. It’s the kind of apocalypse that Ryuusei is ready to face, facedown on the ground, welcoming his fate.
“You hungry?” Rin asks, sitting himself up. “I’ve got popsicles.”
Ryuusei follows him into the kitchen. Rin doesn’t turn any lights on and Ryuusei doesn’t know where the switches are to even try. But he becomes so acclimated to the dark that when the refrigerator door swings open, it blinds more than it illuminates. Rin leaves it ajar, using it to brighten the space as he reaches into the freezer. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for. Rin doesn’t appear to have Ryuusei’s propensity for hoarding frozen food. He turns and faces Ryuusei with a box of popsicles in his hands. It’s the brand Ryuusei hates.
“I love these,” Rin tells him, taking out two and handing one to Ryuusei.
Ryuusei accepts it (because he wants to get laid again) (because he was thinking too hard to react) and he stares it down. His childhood was marked by spending his pocket change on these. He would sit outside the convenience store, on the edge of the sidewalk and eat his favourite treat. He would let it sit in his mouth until he tasted wood, take it out, and come face to face with the same two words.
“I never won,” he says.
The unwrapped popsicle is hanging out of Rin’s mouth while he places the box back. “Oh yeah?” Rin says through his teeth.
“Not even once,” Ryuusei confirms. “And I’d have one every day, basically.”
Rin shrugs in response. “My brother always said I was wasting my luck whenever I won.”
Ryuusei fakes a dreamy sigh. “Sae-chan is wise beyond his years.”
That makes Rin frown. “Alright, keep it in your pants.” He opens the popsicle with a little too much force.
“Don’t worry,” Ryuusei says. “I only want to keep it in your pants.”
He swears Rin blushes. So hard. He can see it in the shitty refrigerator light.
“Anyways,” Rin continues, as far from nonchalant as can be, “that just means you have a lot of luck saved up.” He gives his popsicle a lick. “And besides, it’s a piece of wood. Who even cares, right?”
“Right…” Ryuusei nods. “Who even cares…”
“Yeah, so be a nice guest and eat the popsicle I’ve kindly given you. Or I will.”
He can’t argue with that logic. In truth, his days of arguing with Rin are long behind him. The only war between them is imaginary. Flying fists in real life have long given way to slashing blades and murderous plots that exist solely in Ryuusei’s head. Karasu would say it means Ryuusei is clinically insane. Ryuusei thinks it means he wants more of this. Standing in Rin’s kitchen at quarter to three in the morning, watching Rin finish a popsicle and getting struck with both déjà vu and longing.
Fuck you, piece of wood.
Ryuusei feels like a winner tonight.