Phantasmal Fear- Bachisagi (Blue Lock)

Ending 3: Wildcard

Bachira hung onto Isagi's arm; how had they never noticed how addicting his warmth was? Even through the darkness of the winner's gate, they made sure to burn this image of his tired, but excited grin– directed at them!-- into their mind. It numbed them in a way that they no longer knew how they were able to walk. Strange was the feeling of having no legs.

The corridor opened into a room with yet another hologram, who promptly launched into a speech about luck. Yeah, I'm pretty lucky to be here now, they thought as their gaze magnetised onto the figure in front of him. Even if his back was turned, he was still there. Sunbeams had never delved this deep into the pool. These tunnels had never heard laughter this true. Arches warped and twisted into strings hanging paint-soaked cloth draped from ceiling to tiles, bleeding into the water and overflowing the rims. Soon there would be nowhere to run to because there was no longer anything to search for, as crashing saltwater began to force itself through every crack they didn't realise existed. Certainly, it was enough to drown out every other stranger in the world. Froth crept up the staircases, and by the time evening fell, they lay suspended above a tiled pit, black and yellow eyes piercing through to the skylight.

In other words, they sat up in bed that night, perfectly still and staring at the bed opposite their's. Unblinking, focused on first the rise and fall of his chest, then the fall of his fringe covering his left eye. Maybe that was for days, but time flowed through their bones like seasons when you're immortal, or when you've returned from paying death a visit. Every hour and a half or so, he would flip to his other side, though never lay on his back. Curled like their belly snaked around his torso in secret. Inhale, exhale, they would make sure this cycle would never end. They tried communicating that to him as he groggily swung out of bed and the door swished open to the dark corridor without so much as casting a glance in their direction. Their eyes reflected pure white in the metal bolts keeping the walls outside together, as the lone set of footsteps slapped against the concrete floor.

They had already told him they would not speak to him again, and they weren't one to break a promise over a relationship. Which was why they could only allow themselves to merely stand by the back wall to admire with what little/artificial moonlight framed his human figure. He looked in the mirror whilst washing his hands, noticing this familiar shadow with a raised eyebrow. Must a mirror keep us at this distance, love? They attempted to tell to him, moving closer. He tilted his head,

"You're right in front of me, no?" Oh. In that case perhaps I'm everywhere.

"I thought you weren't gonna talk to me anymore," he frowned. "The next selection is already starting, so I thought maybe you'd..." Respect the narrative structure? You think I need to subject myself to that? He shrugged. You're just hearing what I'm thinking; that's not talking. He croaked out a laugh, before tousling their hair and exiting. They followed him back to the bedroom at a distance short enough to absorb his radiation but long enough to blend into air.

They slipped note after note to him, coming to the haunting realisation that they'd never done that before. Not that it was a particularly common thing when they were in school, and not that they were one to abide by rules, but it felt like something they'd read in a book as a child. Child may be an inaccurate term though, since they still were one; younger sounded better. He tapped on his headphones, flashing the device screen at them. Since when were you so serious about studying until now? Surely becoming the best can wait a while, they pouted.

"You could at least make these english," he waved a slip of paper in their face. "It's not like you to...well, maybe it is. Anyway, just leave me alone for a bit." Fine. A bit. I'll survive holding my breath for a bit.

"Maybe you should go do some extra practice to work off that energy," he looked to the others for support, one eyeing them worryingly and the other too busy attempting to tie back his hair. One who could not care less as long as it wasn't concerning him. Nothing seemed to breathe for the next few minutes. They stared at their empty notebook, the stock listening practice sentences going through one ear and out the other. A small voice in the back of their mind muffled something through metres of water; something maybe about regret. Their future. If you think about your future, you'll sacrifice your present, child, and you wouldn't want that. No, of course you wouldn't want that, so let me take the lead and you'll be alright.