23. NEW ROOMIE

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LIVING

with Barou "King" Shoei is certainly an experience if you'd say so yourself. After gathering all your precious things in your previous room, you four had all successfully migrated back to where you had all begun. Now there were four beds—a bunk, a single mattress on the floor, and an actual nice-looking bed, with a dark wooden frame hoisting itself above ground.

You had easily claimed the mattress for yourself—while they were all showering, you set all your things down on it and for extra measures, yourself too. They came back with grim looks on their faces but dared not to say anything against you. You were kind of disappointed by this fact. You already thought of a good line to say in your head—are you seriously going to force a girl to bunk with you?

Quickly after, Barou and Nagi both claimed the nice-looking single bed at the same time, staring at each other dumbfounded when they heard the others' voice. 

Unsurprisingly, a fight had broken out between the two not too long after.

"I need both of you to chill, okay?" Isagi stands between them like he's the last force stopping the heavens from colliding with the earth—hands pressed on each of their chests so they don't get too close to each other (because, if they do, they might just pounce). "Let's talk this out like civilized people."

Barou snarls, that very same tic mark from before appearing on his forehead, and a deadly lilt to his tone, "Oh? You wanna go?"

Nagi points to the bed beside him, eyes narrowed, "Like I said—I'm crashing here, and that's final."

"The only one worthy of this bed is me," Barou growls back, voice deep and threatening. He does look about ready to start punching and kicking—and you don't doubt he'd do it, too. You decide, for the sake of your health and safety, to stay out of this and do your nightly ritual in peace.

You ignore the pleading gaze Isagi sends your way in favour of staring at yourself in the mirror while applying a soft cream on your forehead.

"Y—You know, you didn't ask, but I was hoping to claim it myself?" Poor, sweet Isagi pipes up with a quiet comment, voice too meek for any of the big bad geniuses to acknowledge him in this deadly verbal (might turn physical) battle.

"First off, the bunk beds are too narrow, secondly, the whole thing shakes when the guy above turns over. It sucks, I'm taking the single and that's that," Barou nitpicks the bunk beds with a degrading tone like he's freaking Gordon Ramsay in Kitchen Nightmares, and you wonder what his home life is like for him to have turned out this way. Living with him would be a nightmare.

Nagi cracks his knuckles and rolls his head to the side with a deadly aura seeping out from him, "We'll play rock-paper-scissors for it. Who said you get to decide the rules anyway?"

"Because, runt, I am the rules." 

You could almost faceplant your forehead right into a vat of Niacinamide from how stupid this conversation is getting.

"Slip your mind?" Nagi asked. He grabs the pillow from the single bed next to him and pelts it Barou's way—brows furrowed and lips turned down. "You lost—so stop barking orders!"

Barou dodges the pillow (even his ridiculous haircut survived the blow) with a ticked-off expression, eyes narrowed into slits at Nagi and a shadow casting over his eyes. "But I haven't lost individually. My word still holds absolute authority. So if you plan on living with me—"

Barou grabs the pillow and shoves it into Nagi's face, eyes a flaming red, "That means bending to me!"

Nagi deflects the tossed pillow and dodges gracefully, bare feet sliding around on the concrete floor. You watch—now completely invested in this glorified pillow fight. "You're right—you're royal! A royal pain!"

Unfortunately, that deflected cushion was deflected right at Isagi's face, and it hit him so hard that he crashed to the floor, slamming against the concrete.

You deadpan, tuning out the yelling and fighting and throwing things—now fully convinced this wouldn't turn physical. And if no hands were getting thrown, none of this was your problem anymore. At least you could—

You are thrown backwards from the sheer force of the cup that slams against your cheek. Okay, now you can't ignore this. They don't even react when you rise from your fetal position and stand up, eyes narrowed. "Don't throw those bottles around!"

I'm the one who's going to have to clean those up, jerks!

Another pillow slams into Isagi's face, and he grabs it with a flaming, furious expression, "Give it a rest!" Nagi—who was the one who had pelted the cushion at him—sneezes, eyes crinkled upwards and lips pursed when he rubs his nose. Isagi points at him with furrowed brows, "You see? That's what you get for kicking up dust!"

Barou's aura seems to darken, and a shadow is cast over his eyes when he talks, "Did you say dust?" He whips his hand behind him and shoves his finger towards the door. "Ventilate the room. Furthermore—"

He crouches down, and you peer over Isagi's shoulder to see what he's doing. Barou "King" Shoei is smoothing out the sheets on the bed and folding socks. "Don't leave your dirty towels and clothes lying on the floor. We aren't beasts."

You find yourself agreeing with him. You were the person who had to deal with said dirty towels and clothes anyway. Being a manager is hard... but being a caretaker is even worse.

Nagi switches on his phone and sits on the bed beside Barou—who is folding up the discarded clothes that were pelted at the snow-haired boy during their fight. "More like a maid, the birth of maid Barou."

"Clearly we don't see eye to eye, Mr Hassleman."

Nagi squints his eyes at Barou with a scrunched-up nose, "Huh? That's the best you could do? Lame."

Barou shoves Nagi away and tugs on a piece of clothing that Nagi was sitting on, upper lip curled in disgust, "Move, Mr Hassleman."

"Don't call me that," Nagi whines. "Man, you're the hassle. I'm gonna play a game... [name], wanna play a two-player sim?"

You pick up the now dirtied, discarded water bottles on the floor and hold them in your arms, looking down at them with misery. I had just cleaned them all yesterday... and now I'll have to do it all over again...

You don't even react when Isagi places a hand on your back in comfort, and your lips wobble when he says he'll help you clean them again.

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"Sorry about this, [name]," Isagi scrubs the lid of the bottle and rinses it thoroughly, patting it dry with a towel and placing it back in your bag after refilling it. "I bet we make your life a lot harder than it has to be sometimes."

You snort, but you quickly cover up the sound with a cough and you turn your head away. "You all do. But it's nothing I can't handle." You scrub down the inside of a water bottle, warm water running down your hands. "Besides, this is what I signed up for when I accepted this job. And it's not like I haven't dealt with a soccer team before."

"Right, you told me that a little while ago," he smiles, cheeks stretching up alongside his grin. But it falls, and soon, he twists his head towards you and switches the water off on his side of the sink. "You used to play, right? Sorry if I'm prying... but why did you stop?"

You don't bother to look back at him and only stare straight down at the bottle in your hands. You stay quiet for a bit, but Isagi doesn't lose interest in this topic. He asks quietly, once more—and you can feel his confusion pressing into you. Finally, you say, "I got an injury."

He scrunches his nose, and he says, "Like Chigiri?"

You couldn't look back at his confused stare, because if you did—you weren't too sure you could handle telling him this. You do everything in your power to keep your eyes on the water. "No. Worse."

You pause again, but Isagi doesn't say anything this time. You have to swallow thickly and think over the words in your mind before you speak. "I got into a car crash a while back. My legs were ruined. I can't shoot properly now, because my legs are so weak, nor can I even run properly. I could never really play again, so I just decided to quit. It was for the best."

The words you had previously thought over in your mind had turned into mush the longer you spoke, and you felt your heart tighten in your chest.

He doesn't respond for a little bit after, and you have a fleeting thought that maybe he regrets asking you. But the words fall like vomit out of your lips before you can stop them, "That's why I quit. Sorry if it wasn't what you wanted to hear."

You had never felt this emotional while talking about what happened before. You didn't care all that much—sure, it sucked, but you were usually more upset about the fact that you had to hobble instead of walk, and you couldn't make a living out of soccer now. The sport never mattered all that much, so why did you feel so conflicted?

Your stomach twists when Isagi opens his mouth, "I'm sorry," is all he says. You don't get mad at him, nor do you roll your eyes like you did before when that's all people ever told you. You only shove a water bottle into your bag and focus your gaze on the ground. 

"You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"No—I mean, I'm sorry that happened to you."

Everything is clean now. Everything is all clean, except your conscious. You sling your bag over your shoulder and you zip it up, heels clacking against the ground as you walk. His shoes were significantly quieter than yours', and you could barely hear them over the sound of your flats. "Well, it doesn't matter any more. What's done is done, I don't have any regrets. Soccer was never anything important to me, anyway. I've never grieved over it."

This seems to catch his attention—and Isagi speaks, with a brow raised, "Never?"

You shake your head, and keep your gaze focused in front of you, "Never."

Isagi takes one long look at your cloudy eyes, and he knows, instantly, that you are lying.

Silence fills the space between the two of you once more. You glance over at him, and he's staring down at the ground like there's something he wants to say. Once the two of you reach the hallways down to where your rooms are, he finally breaks the silent tension, "It's okay to grieve, [name]."

You scrutinize him with your expression, and he almost instinctively takes a step back from you. He avoids meeting your eyes, and he lowers his head, "I just mean—you don't have to lie to yourself and say it doesn't affect you. Things that happen out of your control suck, but sometimes, the best way to deal with it is to grieve."

It sounds like he's talking from experience, but you don't notice it.

"It doesn't matter to me, though," you squint your eyes, lips curled downwards. You don't like him telling you what you are feeling. You know yourself better than anybody—so why is Isagi acting like he knows you better than yourself? "How do you know how I even feel?"

He swallows thickly, and his Adam apple bobs with his words, "I didn't mean it like that, I was just trying—"

You shake your head and set your bag down once you both walk into the room. Barou and Nagi were soundly asleep (and it seemed like Barou had taken the single, while Nagi had claimed the top bunk). You turn your back to him and don't even glance over your shoulder while you talk, "I don't know what you said to Chigiri, but I don't need it. I'm fine with my life right now—and I don't need anyone to tell me what I need to do."

You know you sound dramatic and ridiculous when all he was trying to do was help—but you didn't want to hear that, at least, not right now. Your mind felt frazzled and your chest hurt painfully. You didn't want to think about it anymore, and you certainly didn't want to talk about it anymore.

The air in this room suddenly becomes too thick to breathe—and you don't let him say another single word to you before you and Isagi reach your room.

You and Isagi don't say anything to each other as you fall asleep.

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