Olive Branch - Part 10
Pairings. Isagi Yoichi x reader
Featuring. Isagi Yoichi, Bachira Meguru, OCs and reader insert
Tags. fluff, crack, angst, seperation arc, estranged friendship, forced proximity, pining, unrequited love, burnt house & marriage
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"How is she?"
Exhausted. Looking like she hadn't slept properly for weeks.
Beautiful despite it all.
"...in bad shape." Isagi eventually answered, phone against his ear.
A sigh from the other end. "That girl is hopeless."
A muscle ticked in Isagi's jaw. Hopeless? You? The team leader who was responsible for Japan's football matches?
You? Who had shown up at work for consecutive weeks, handling people with egos the size of Jupiter and making sure everything was perfect for the fans and the players?
"She's just hardworking!" Isagi snapped. "Things are quite rough at the moment, with the match and her we--we" Isagi clenched his eyes shut. "Wedding."
Silence.
"Have you tried talking with her about that yet?"
Isagi chewed his lip. He glanced sideways, his gaze falling on you, laying peacefully in bed, the seemingly permanent crease in your forehead smoothened out.
When Isagi took too long to answer, a smug "Just like I though, you scaredy cat!" came from the other end.
"Shut up, Bachira." Isagi hissed, his face flushing red.
A murmur rose from the bed.
Isagi froze. Had he woken you up?
The sound stopped.
Isagi let out a relieved breath.
Without making any noise, Isagi tiptoed out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him.
"I can't afford to push it!" Isagi rose his volume a little, now that he was out of hearing distance. "You know that we hardly even speak now."
"Yeah, yeah. I've heard that excuse a gazillion times already." Isagi could actually hear the eyeroll.
"But maybe you can help her, you know? Just like friends do."
Isagi blanched. "Helping? What makes you think that I'd be privy to helping her with her wedding?!"
"No, you dumb roll." Bachira admonished. "Help her with her work! She mentioned something with sponsors right?"
Isagi bristled. "The only reason why she has to overwork and commute so damn much, is because that stupid, asshole, motherfucking grass chewing--"
"Alright, alright. Spare me the tangent." Bachira interjected. "Jeez, you sure are still at each other's throats."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Isagi flexed his hand. "I lost her because he had to butt in and--and--"
"Okaaaay. Let's unpack that later. What's more important now, is providing her a place that at least will allow her some reasonable travel time. Just ask her to stay. Your food is so delicious, no one could say no to that."
Frowning, Isagi countered, "But she has a hotel."
"She, or her fiancé? She won't say no if you're the one offering, you know?"
Isagi squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sting of hope to fade away. "How do you know that? What if-- what if I drive her away again?" The thought made Isagi's heart crack, as if someone had singlehandedly wrangled the organ.
"Or worse," Isagi spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "What if there's a repeat of last time?" His fingers trembled. His voice egging on desperation. "You know that I never have been able to control my emotions when it came to her."
"Okay. Breathe, Isagi." Bachira hastily cut in. "You don't know if that'll happen. Remember the ice rink? That went well, didn't it? You're mending things. Have faith in your friendship, if it can withstand time then surely it can withstand an impromptu sleepover."
Isagi pursed his lips, contemplating. After a moment, he let out a deep breath, the iron grip on his phone lessening. "...okay. I'll--I'll try. For her."
"That's the spirit! Aw, you're all grown up now! Just remember to make me your first man when you're marrying!"
Isagi's eyes widened, his face flushing crimson. "Wha--you--"
But Bachira had already hung up.
Defeatedly, Isagi stared at his phone screen.
He blew out a sigh, furrowing his brows. His eyes slid over to the door, the door behind which you were, just mere metres from him.
His hand wavered, a tremor in his fingers before he wrapped them around the knob.
"And as long as I'll care, I'll look after you, okay? So don't do something as reckless as this again."
"Alright. But next time, I'm returning the favour."
Isagi's grip on the knob tightened.
It was about time he made good on his promise.
A second passed.
Two. Five. Ten.
He puffed out a breath, trying in vain to control his traiterous heart.
He opened the door.
When you opened your eyes, the blue blob was right in front of you again.
You blinked.
Wow. Guess it didn't kill me.
Or I'm in heaven, because these sheets are wonderful.
With a contented sigh, you melted into your pillows, wrapping the covers a bit tighter around you.
The blob moved.
A blurry object moved towards you.
You blinked slowly.
It was put onto your forehead. It was cool, the sensation soft.
But then it removed itself, taking the coolness with it. You almost let out a whine upon loss of contact, but something wet and wrinkly had replaced it.
You pursed your lips. It felt... wringly. Like a sponge. Yuk. Where was that cool object?
Blindly, you reached out towards the blob.
Your hand touched something steady, lightly tracing the object. Was it the same freshening sensation?
Well, one way to figure that out.
You pulled.
Faintly, you could hear a noise coming from the blob that distinctly sounded like an oof, but the crisp object was more important now.
Had it worked?
Your visage was still fuzzy, so the only thing you could make out was the blob, now seemingly grown in size.
Eyes silently roaming over the blob, your hand hesitatently reached out, placing itself onto the blob.
You frowned. It was scalding hot.
Just as you were about to pat the place, a cool thing latched onto your wrist.
Your eyes widened.
With your other hand you took a hold of the cool object, bringing it closer to your face.
A sharp inhale.
You lightly traced a circle onto the fresh thing. It was so soft.
And cool.
You tugged.
The cool thing settled into your hair.
Your eyes fluttered shut in content.
This heaven wasn't so bad after all.
Isagi Yoichi stared at the sight before him.
His heart was pounding in his chest, his face aflame.
He could only blink, as his fingers lightly played with your locks, a privilege he hadn't had since years ago.
From up this close, he could see the little details engraved into your face. The smoothened out worry lines, the upturn of your nose, the light dusting of pink on your cheeks.
The small smile playing on your lips, so beautiful, so lovely, so inviting--
Isagi's heart pounded in his ears.
His face and chest were still burning from where you had touched him.
He swallowed, wondering how his arms were still able to uphold him.
Returning the favour might be more difficult than he'd thought.
The next time you woke, the blue blob was gone.
Instead, there was a food plate next to your bed, on it a bowl of rice with chopsticks and a cup of steaming soup.
The aroma was mouth-watering, so you didn't waver, immediately digging into the food.
"Holy shit." You stared disbelievingly at the food, wondering if there was some sort of witchcraft involved in making the broth.
The flavour was sweet, all of the herbs used in good proportions. The chicken was cooked to perfection, crispy on the outside, but soft on the inside, so that it would break apart the moment it touched your tongue.
The rice balanced the sweet chicken soup well, giving it an additional taste of earthiness and mildness.
After being done with it, you sank down in the heavenly sheets.
This was great.
Waking up to the smell of a well-prepared meal, while simultaneously laying in a king-sized bed with plush pillows and fluffy covers, was already enough to make your day.
Especially because of yesterday. You had come out of work completely drained to the bone, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness--
You shot up, almost knocking the plate off the bed.
You didn't remember what had happened after work.
You did recall staggering towards the train station, but that didn't explain how you had ended up--
Where exactly?
You had been so distracted by the food, you had completely disregarded your surroundings.
Curiously, you stepped out of your bed, letting your eyes trace the added touches of the room.
The theme was royal blue.
You could see it in the blue undertones of the mahogany wardrobe, in the blue patterns adorning the paint job of the walls.
The blue woolen slippers beside your bed.
No one would notice, right?
You slid into the slippers, letting out a sigh at the plush feeling. It was walking on cotton clouds.
You lightly traced the lacquered wooden desk, marvelling at the smooth sensations meeting the pads of your fingertips. The desk was enormous, which, granted, was very useful, considering there was a full get-up of three monitors and a laptop installed.
You moved towards the other corner of the room, the shelves hung against the wall supporting several books and potted plants, all of which were real, and by the looks of it, recently watered.
Curiously, you opened one of the books.
Your mouth fell open.
Pictures of beautiful landscapes. Images of cities in the nightfall, beaches in sunrise, and football stadiums in sunset.
Spain. You realised with a jolt.
But there was more.
France. England. Germany. China.
All of them demonstrated varying aspects of nature-- from forests rich in green, and towering mountains, to coastal areas and rolling hills.
But there was one thing in common with them.
There was always a football stadium.
You narrowed your eyes at the few scribbles in the margins.
"Salary terrible, staff commendable, team sucks. Fuck Chris Prince." You read aloud from the book of England.
Intrigue sparked, you grabbed another book.
This one was Spain.
"Highest bids, administration prestigious, unrivalled team." Huh. That seemed already much better than England.
You grabbed the German one.
Your mouth fell open.
"Stupid shit, fuckass team, conniving--" Your eyes widened at the string of curse words, eyes following the long, long trail that seemed to take up the whole page.
You quickly placed the book down.
Having explored the room, you tailed back to the bed, flumping down onto the covers.
It was a wonderful room.
It had everything you could've possibly asked for. An enormous desk, a high wardrobe, and a humongous bed.
You took a mental note to make your future room look at least a little bit like this one.
But the question still remained; where were you? Aside from a place that had been styled with impeccable taste.
You grabbed for your phone. Maybe your current location could provide you with further information.
You unlocked your phone.
"What--"
Your phone was charged. It was now at full power.
Huh. How thoughtful.
Though, checking your location reaped no fruits; you only knew it was probably a fifteen minute drive from JFU, which meant that wherever you where, you where somewhere in a wealthy neighbourhood.
You opened your messages. Still no response.
Well, that was to be expected.
With a sigh, you threw your phone on the nightstand.
But with the motion, a yellow squared piece of paper drifted to the ground.
What was that?
Curiously, you scrambled after it, turning the paper to see what was scrabbled onto it.
"Please meet me downstairs."
You raised an eyebrow. Notes.
Just like then.
Just like with your necklace.
But if these notes were here, then that could only mean...
You threw open the door, ran through the elongated hallway, flew down the stairs, burst into the kitchen.
"Mi--" Your voice faltered.
Windswept hair that just curled around the ears, muscled arms supporting the lean body underneath.
Beautiful blue eyes gazing at you in that uncanny see-through way of his.
In all of his glory, stood the last person you had expected.
Isagi Yoichi.
The difference between some actions are that some get noticed and some not.
A small discrepancy with big consequences.
But maybe, just maybe, those consequences could be revoked.
With the tucking of fate and the pulling of the universe, there was a possibility, even if only a slim one.
That things could start anew.
Just like then.
With a note. A message. And no sender.
But this time, there was no doubt who the bearer of the message was.
Isagi Yoichi.
The world's number one striker. Japan's poster boy.
Your former friend.
Who had known your deepest secrets and insecurities, who had been by your side through hardships and upsides.
Who had returned to extend an olive branch.
© Do not copy my works, use it in AI or ChatGPT, or for other nefarious means.
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