HEART TO HEART. blue lock

10. WHAT COMES AFTER RAIN IS MORE RAIN

hyouma wished they didn't build the centre near a park, then perhaps y/n would look at him.

it didn't matter if it didn't have any more stars, he just wanted to be seen again. he wanted to be nine and feel secure under a gaze that once looked at him as if he was the treasure he'd been looking for in this lifetime; in this universe that had y/n looking for one. that made hyouma the one and only.

it may be that y/n wished he was nine too, frolicking in a field round and about a soccer ball.

if that was the case, then was hyouma in that perfect view? was hyouma the person he thinks of first when the object of their shared ambition springs up to mind?

anyway, seeing children run around with a soccer ball, in a different window in a different physical therapy centre, hyouma gets why y/n's gaze is overflowing with so much compassion it can be yearning.

seeing it for himself now, in the same damned situation and exercising the same damned quad sets, hyouma finally understands.

it's a different type of pain, one no amount of surgeries and therapies can manage. it doesn't get more swollen or relieved, but it's a numbing prompt for a spiral about failing to become the person his nine-year-old self had wished to be.

numb. it's all rehab beginning to feel like.

but at least y/n had hyouma during it.

☆✮☆

"hyouma, do you want me to put on the premier league?" his mom asks, going through channel after channel with the tv remote.

"no, it's fine," hyouma mumbles, picking on the salmon roe in his rice bowl.

watching or doing anything related to soccer pierces him a different tear from his knee: he's impaled by the probability that he won't be able to play the same, if not, ever.

and hyouma doesn't know if he's allowed to feel that way when he underplayed y/n's injuries before. it may be out of fear, but that doesn't justify how he would brush off y/n's concerns about it, even if the latter didn't exactly express them.

plus, y/n tore two ligaments, whereas hyouma only tore one. it's clear to him who has it worse.

hyouma doesn't even remember what those ligaments are, so he doesn't think he deserves to be butthurt over some acl.

his mom only hums in response. she settles on the couch as she decides on a random drama.

hyouma resumes poking at the reddish-orange roes with his chopsticks mindlessly. as he stabs at the hardened rice underneath, he briefly sees a glimpse of y/n in his mind, and how he would've found a way to soften the rice for him.

similar to how there could've been a way around their friendship. perhaps there was.

his poking ceases.

pain isn't a competition.

sure, it could've been worse or whatever, but his suffering is still valid. 'cause his career was at risk. 'cause that shit was painful. 'cause it was him who was hurt, too.

it's easy to belittle his problems, but hyouma has gotten the cues and triggers to stop doing it. and this is one of them.

i shouldn't ignore how something hurts me, he reminds himself. it's not helping anyone, not even y/n.

just because someone has it worse, doesn't mean that your issues don't matter. if it hurts you, then it matters. you're still valid, you know. so go be butthurt over your shit like you deserve to. you were hurt by it.