You and Yoichi were the kind of cliche that your classmates rooted for: best friends who danced around each other for years, all nervous glances and privately shared moments until one day in your first year of high school, he finally made the move and confessed. After that, it was like something clicked, the puzzle piece that fit his perfectly.

Holding hands felt natural, falling asleep on the phone became routine, and every "good luck" before a test of yours or a match of his was almost sacred. You were always present at his games, home or away, and he always waited outside your cram school with a crooked smile. Your relationship was as perfect as it could get. It made sense, until it didn't.

By the time second year came around, your lives were shifting at different speeds. You were neck deep in AP classes and study groups, programs for sports medicine while he was swallowed whole by the intense pressure of soccer, longer practices, later hours. Even weekends were claimed. You had seminars about physical therapy and extra practice for him.

It wasn't anyone's fault, not really. No one cheated, no one lied. There was just no time for each other, and pretending otherwise became exhausing. So, you sat down together one evening, half-laughing, half-heartbroken and decided it would be smarter to focus on your goals. It ended off on decent terms, and Yoichi hugged you like it would be that last tame, and like he knew it'd haunt him in the near future.

He thought that throwing himself into Blue Lock would help. With rivals, rankings, and overall competition, surely there wouldn't be space in his mind for the person who used to patch up scrapes on his knees and massaged areas where he was sore. But every time he has to place pain relief patches on himself reminds him of how you kept extras on you, just for him.

Blue Lock is supposed to keep his mind off you. It's not working. Every time Ego gets on the intercom and says something about injury prevention, he hears your voice over his. Nobody carries an extra pack of pain relief patches. He can't reach his back and it's difficult to put them on the back of his legs.

The irony of missing someone while chasing the very thing you both thought was more important isn't lost on him. So, seeing you walk through Blue Lock's halls in that sleek training jacket, clipboard tucked under your arm like it belonged there, nearly knocks the wind out of him. Right, you wanted to pursue sports medicine. Your desired careers clashed perfectly, it makes his heart ache when he thinks about how, even still, it didn't worked out.

When his eye caught you first, he thought his mind was messing with him again. Another hallucination dressed up as a memory. But then you make eye contact, and Yoichi's stomach drops to his toes, because it really isn't imagination. You were really there, in the same room as him. A real-world reminder of everything he once had and still wants terribly.

And you look good. Confident, sharper in a way, like you've carved yourself out of the late-night studying. Fresher, like study group isn't beating you up. And still so, so pretty. He wonders if you still drink as much coffee as he remembers. Or if you still mumble anatomy under your breath when you studied. He wonders if you think about him.

You’re about to walk past him, clearly here on some official assignment, clipboard and all. He should let you go. You’ve got work. So does he. That’s why the breakup happened in the first place, right? But there's something about having you so close again, existing in the same place. That short circuits every bit of logic he's ever had.

So he stops you when you're lagging behind your group, fingers twitching at his sides. "Uh, wait," he speaks up just enough for you to turn your head. "Can we, like, talk? Just for a second. I didn't think seeing you here would hit me like this." His smile barely reaches his eyes as he speaks.