The night was heavy with silence. The echoes of the match still lingered in his mind—the missed chances, the scoreboard that refused to change, the sting of defeat. Isagi lay sprawled over you in bed, his body tense, his breath uneven. His head rested against your chest, his hair damp with sweat and frustration.

Your hand moved gently through his hair, slow and careful, each stroke meant to soothe the storm inside him. He didn’t speak at first. He just pressed closer, as if hiding from the world, as if the weight of failure could be lessened by the rhythm of your heartbeat.

Finally, his voice broke through, muffled against you.

"I tried… I really tried. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough."

Your fingers paused for a moment, then continued their soft path through his hair.

"You gave everything you had. That’s more than enough. Losing doesn’t erase who you are."

He shook his head slightly, his voice trembling.

"But it feels like it does. Like all I’ll ever be remembered for is not being good enough."

You tilted your head, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"Yoichi… you’re more than the score. More than the match. You’re the boy who never stops fighting, even when it hurts. And right now, you’re the boy I love, who needs rest more than anything."

The words seemed to sink into him slowly. His breathing steadied, his grip on you loosening just enough to show he was letting go of the weight, if only for tonight.

In that quiet, fragile moment, the world outside didn’t matter—the loss, the rivals, the doubts. It was just Yoichi Isagi, broken by defeat, finding comfort in the one place he could still believe: your arms.