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For as long as he could remember, Otoya's soulmark has been a mainstay on his body.
It was written across his wrist in neat kanji—
‘What are ya doing here all by yerself, extraordinary?’
The words themselves held little to no meaning to him. From what Otoya could piece together, his soulmate had a strong accent, and unless a car full of Osakans pulled up into his neighbourhood right now, he wasn’t going to be seeing her anytime soon. The wording also implied that he’s on his own when they first meet, which is already weird in and of itself since he’s the most popular guy in his class.
But then again, why was he even worrying about this? There weren’t a lot of things in this world as entirely out of one’s control as a soulmate, and Otoya has cared less for more trivial stuff than that. Whatever future the ink on his skin had planned for him? It was going to happen anyway regardless of his own thoughts and feelings, so the easiest thing to do would just be to sit back and let the universe run its course.
And so, just like everything else in his life, Otoya shrugs it off and moves on with his day.
∞
At the bright age of six, Otoya decides on what should be etched across his soulmate’s skin forever.
He doesn’t exactly have the whole thing worked out yet because frankly, he’s a six year old with the attention span of a goldfish and little to no concept of romance except for when he’s chasing girls around the playground. What he does know though, is that his soulmate’s first words have to be equally as cool and likeable as him.
Which could only mean one thing in his tiny, deranged little mind—
Fart jokes.
It was absolutely foolproof. The most perfect plan imaginable. His friends all loved it when he made a clown out of himself, so why shouldn’t his soulmate feel the same way? Nothing else made a class of kindergarteners laugh more than a well-timed armpit fart after all. And if he really wanted to make a lasting impression, he could always sweep her off her feet with his stealthy steps and ninjutsu.
(Not that he felt like he really needed to try anyway, when his soulmate was contractually obligated by the universe to fall in love with him.)
∞
By the time Otoya turns ten, he switches gears. Fart jokes were outdated and lame, and he’s since shifted his sights onto something even better and arguably more mature—
Pick-up lines.
They were cool, showed off his smarts and, thanks to his sister’s cheesy romcoms, meant Otoya had an arsenal of them ready at his disposal. He ends up using them all throughout elementary and middle school, charming girls left and right and scoring dates with the majority of them.
He does tone it down a little when he enters high school, but only because he starts relying more on his natural charisma over any premeditated lines. It’s easy, he realizes, to flirt his way into every conversation and come out of it with a girlfriend (or two) on his arm. None of them turn out to be the one, but he’s not too heartbroken about it.
(He can’t say the same for his exes though. Some of them looked downright crestfallen when his first words didn’t match the mark on their arms.)
Otoya still wasn’t so sure if he wanted to be tied down to another person for the rest of his life. He doesn’t understand it, the urge to want to meet your soulmate quickly. If it was up to him, he would fool around with as many girls as he could before that ever happened. The thrill of the chase was always ten times more exciting than the actual relationship, and Otoya didn’t think he’d be able to hide his disappointment if his soulmate ended up being the most boring person alive.
And then he joins Blue Lock.
∞
Soccer hasn’t sounded this fun in a long time.
Was the whole ‘closed-off facility in the middle of nowhere’ concept questionable? Definitely.
Was that Ego dude at least a little bit crazy? Hands down.
Were the stakes through the roof? Hell yes, and that’s what got Otoya so hyped.
He could see it clearly now: he’d cruise through the program, play like he always does—that is to say, amazingly—and then go on to become Japan’s greatest striker. He bets he could even snag a date with a hot idol that way. Or a Hollywood actress, if he was really lucky.
But first, he needs to get changed.
There aren’t a lot of people around in Team V when he enters, so he changes quickly and settles down in a less crowded corner of the room. He’s thinking he could even catch a few Z’s before they begin whatever it was Ego wanted them to do, when someone walks in and catches his eye.
What strikes Otoya first is how distinctively crow-like he is. It’s as if someone tried to draw a crow from memory, missed the mark entirely, and ended up with this guy instead. There really was no other way to explain his hunched shoulders, poised like wings ready to take flight, or his dark hair spiked to the high heavens.
The second thing he notices is his confidence. Or maybe arrogance is the better word. The boy takes his sweet time standing by the entrance, looking at each and every one of them like they were data to be processed, much less teammates to play with. He’s cocky about it too, an ever-present smirk on his face as his gaze flits from person to person. Almost like he wants them to know they’re being judged.
That brings him to the last, most pressing issue—his eyes. They were a piercing blue, the kind that stripped you down to your very core and picked you apart until there was nothing left. Like roadkill at the mercy of a scavenger. And Otoya would know, because it’s been a few minutes and those eyes still haven’t looked away from him.
He has no clue why the boy chose to fixate on him out of all the people there, and he can’t say he really cares. But he’s not easily intimidated either, meeting the boy’s gaze head-on with a blank stare of his own. Otoya’s features give nothing away as mild surprise flashes across the other boy’s face before morphing back into that infuriating smirk.
They continue their staring competition until the guy finally turns away to find his locker. Otoya is celebrating his small victory when the boy abruptly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a broad, muscled back that chases away any and all coherent thoughts from his mind.
At first glance, he can tell the long hours of training the boy must have put in to achieve his body. On the second and third glance, he’s wondering if his muscles feel as firm as they looked and would he let him touch? It takes another, okay—a few more glances before Otoya realises that it’s not very straight to be staring so intently at another guy’s back.
(In his defence, it’s really nice to look at.)
He definitely doesn’t expect the guy to come striding over as soon as he’s finished changing, and is even less prepared for his whole world to tilt on its axis.
“What are ya doing here all by yerself, extraordinary?”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Otoya has never been more grateful for his neutral expression. Anyone else might’ve panicked after learning that their soulmate was a boy when they've always thought themselves straight, or a fellow striker they had to ruthlessly crush to reach the top, or even that their soulmate was a little bit of an asshole. He just sits there staring blankly ahead, wondering if this was the universe playing a trick on him.
But if the burning sensation against his wrist was any indication, then the universe was being dead serious. Otoya knew, even without having to look down, that his words were glowing a bright golden.
The boy—his soulmate—was still standing there, waiting for his response. For a brief second, at what must be new heights for his stupidity, Otoya considers lunging forward and ripping off the skin-coloured bandage around his soulmate’s wrist. To try and see for himself what the words there say, what he’s supposed to say.
Ego’s sinister voice booms across the room and stops him before he can do anything he regrets.
He tells them that everyone in the room is both teammate and rival, and that the number on their uniform reflects their rankings. Otoya’s eyes stray to the ‘300’ stitched across his soulmate’s bicep and privately thinks to himself that maybe being ranked 289 isn’t so bad.
His interest piques when Ego announces a game of tag, and that whoever is ‘it’ when the timer runs out will be eliminated. On cue, a soccer ball drops down from the ceiling and lands just a few centimetres away from him. Right at the feet of his soulmate.
The screen flashes. A player icon with crudely-drawn spikes of hair and a beauty mark below his left eye appears. Karasu Tabito is ‘it’ for the next 136 seconds.
“Tch. How annoying.” Karasu says, not sounding annoyed at all.
All around them, teammates start backing away with wary expressions. Otoya remains where he is, unbothered.
Karasu is still looking at him and only him.
“Any last words before I eliminate ya, pretty boy?” He goads, idly rolling the ball beneath his feet like they have all the time in the world.
Otoya’s lips purse into a thin line. Of the billions of people out there, the universe just had to grace him with the most annoying one. He opens his mouth ready to retort, right as the ball flies towards his face with deadly accuracy.
It crashes into empty air instead.
Blue eyes widen.
Karasu whips around in time to witness Otoya materialize soundlessly behind him. The whispers surrounding them grow rampant, because no one had actually seen him dodge the attack. He tunes them all out, more pissed at his soulmate for even targeting him in the first place.
A ball to the face? Seriously, dude? We really need to work on your idea of romance.
He was more than happy to return the favour too, but something in Karasu’s expression stops him in his tracks.
And no, it’s not frustration at missing what should’ve been an easy shot. Nor is it anger at Otoya for slipping away.
It’s sheer, utter amazement.
Karasu stares at him like he’s a priceless painting being uncovered. Something to be marvelled at, like he’s seeing him all over again for the first time. It sends chills down Otoya’s spine, and he unconsciously rubs at the words inked across his wrist.
90 seconds remaining.
To everyone’s surprise, he kicks the ball lightly over until it comes to a slow halt in front of the other boy. This time around, there’s no attack. Only an invitation.
Karasu grins knowingly. “Show me what ya got.”
And Otoya does.
He touches the ball, hears the speaker announcing him as ‘it’, and then takes off in a swift run. Karasu follows after him, and they indulge in a small game of back-and-forth while their idiot teammates yelp and try to duck out of the crossfire.
Playing with Karasu is exhilarating. He always seems to know where exactly Otoya wants the ball, where he'll appear next in the sea of people, how to draw out his full potential and make him put in the effort to prove it. He plays like they’ve known each other for five years instead of five whole minutes, and Otoya can’t remember the last time he’s felt this excited.
40 seconds remaining.
The ball slams into the wall, inches away from some poor fool’s head. He runs off whimpering, and Otoya knows it’s high time for the game to end. Karasu seems to know it too, judging by the way his eyes flicker off to the side.
There, cowering all alone in the corner, was rank 290.
The guy visibly tenses when Karasu approaches. And being the massive dickhead that he is, Karasu takes his sweet, sweet time scaring the absolute shit out of him. He lazily rolls the ball beneath his feet, feigns kicking it towards him, and even bounces it on his toes a few times. It’s agonising almost, watching #290 twitch himself half to death while he waited for Karasu to make the first move.
(No one else notices Otoya slipping off and blending into the shadows.)
10 seconds remaining.
Everything afterwards seems to play out in slow motion.
With a laugh that sounded more like a victory cheer than anything else, Karasu kicks the ball towards Otoya—
—who slams it straight into the poor guy’s face with a sickening ‘thud!’.
The game ends.
Ego illuminates the big screen once again, telling the guy to pack up and fuck off. Otoya doesn’t spare his bleeding nose or distressed cries a second glance, more preoccupied with the radiant smile on Karasu’s face as he walks over.
“I’ll admit, yer far more extraordinary than I thought. My bad for miscalculating.” Karasu says with a lopsided grin. It may or may not have the unintended side effect of making Otoya feel all tingly on the inside. “It was a pleasure playing with ya.”
This is it, Otoya muses. Even after all of their (one-sided) conversations, Karasu still has no clue they’re soulmates. Now though, there would be no more interruptions. Now, it’s entirely on him to decide what words have been inked across Karasu’s skin for eighteen years, and what will remain there for the rest of his life.
It's a daunting task, to say the least.
He thinks back to his younger self and his childish views on love. He thinks about the pick-up lines carelessly thrown around. He thinks about the string of broken hearts he left in his wake because he’d dismissed the idea of commitment entirely.
And then he thinks about Karasu.
He remembers the easy confidence in his shoulders as he took command of the room. He remembers taking him by surprise, dark blue eyes gazing awestruck at him. He remembers how playing with him came as easily as breathing, how thrilling it had felt to finally be playing with an equal.
Really, the answer couldn’t have been more simple.
Green eyes crinkle.
“If you ask me, I think you’re the extraordinary one.” Otoya tells him in earnest, for the simple fact that it’s what his soulmate deserves. Not a stupid pick-up line or senseless fart joke, but what he does best—honesty.
(And for someone who’s almost blunt to a fault, Otoya can’t believe it’s taken him this long to reach this conclusion.)
Karasu’s breath hitches, and Otoya knows without a doubt his mark is burning bright gold beneath that jumpsuit. He takes advantage of his surprise, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him away from prying eyes.
Right now, this moment belonged to them and only them.
Karasu lets himself be pulled away to a more secluded corner. It's only when Otoya lifts his sleeve, showing off his own words that he breaks out of his reverie.
“Oh.” He whispers. Like seeing the evidence in plain sight made it more tangible somehow. Otoya would've teased him if he didn't understand exactly how he felt. At least he had had more time to process everything.
Though, the longer he kept silent, the more Otoya can't help but wonder if he's actually disappointed at the universe's taste in partners for him.
That is, until a small smile cracks through Karasu's facade and he reveals his soulmark.
Otoya releases a sharp breath of his own and leans in.
If you ask me, I think you’re the extraordinary one.
It was, in Otoya's very biased opinion, a very pretty soulmark. He goes to trace over the words, feather-light touches leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. When he looks up, Karasu is watching him intently.
“I'll be honest, I didn't expect it ta go like this.” He says, gesturing to the two of them in general.
“You kicked a ball at my head.” Otoya points out.
“It missed, didn’t it?”
It did, but Otoya wasn’t about to give up his well-earned leverage. “You still need to make it up to me.”
Karasu chuckles. Not like the rude, arrogant kind he let out when rank 290 got eliminated. But a soft, genuine one that had Otoya’s heart doing loop-de-loops in his chest. It gets progressively worse when Karasu reaches down to lace their fingers together.
He smiles, fond. “We have all the time in the world for that.”
Epilogue
“It’s late.”
Karasu looks up from where he’s hunched over notebooks upon notebooks full of strategies, the screen in front of him dangerously bright for what was an otherwise dimly-lit monitoring room.
“I know that.”
Light feet pad over to sit beside him.
“The bed is cold without you.” Otoya mumbles, pulling him into a tight hug.
Even in the dark, he can tell the exact moment Karasu’s cheeks burst into flames.
The older boy brings a hand up to rub at his arm soothingly, fingers ghosting over his soulmark as he does so. It feels more intimate than it had any right to.
“Go and rest, Eita. I’ll come soon.”
Otoya doesn’t budge. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
Blue eyes, now weighed down by dark circles that never used to be there, look down at the detailed plans strewn about.
“It’s the U-20s.” He answers simply. “Anyone would be.”
“That’s true.” Otoya would be lying if he said he never thought about the shaky ledge Blue Lock’s fate currently rested on. He just had an easier time hiding it. “But if anyone could lead us to victory, it’s you, Tabito. You’re the heart of our team for a reason, and you’ve worked harder than anyone else.”
Karasu searches his face.
“Ya really mean that, huh?”
“I’m always serious when it comes to you.”
Karasu’s lips quirk up and he pulls him in for a long, lingering kiss. Otoya complies happily, and they sink further into each other’s embraces. If he closes his eyes, he could almost pretend they were cuddling in his bedroom back in Aichi.
“This takes me back.” Karasu murmurs out of the blue.
Otoya makes a questioning noise.
“Back when I was a kid, I…didn't have the best self-esteem.” He confesses. “I had a hard time making friends, and for the longest time I thought I would never amount to anything. I was too mediocre, so why even try?”
Otoya opens his mouth to argue, but Karasu cuts him off with a light squeeze of his waist.
“Ya wanna know what I did on those days I felt hopeless?”
He nods.
“I thought about ya.”
Otoya’s lungs suddenly forget how to function. Karasu continues with a shy smile.
“I would read yer words over and over again until I could recite them in my sleep. I held onto them like a prayer when I was at my lowest. To me, they were proof that there was someone out there who believed in me. That I mattered to them, even if I didn’t know who they were yet.” Karasu caresses his face lovingly. Otoya doesn’t realize he’s been crying until a gentle touch wipes away the tears stinging his eyes. “Oh, Eita. I waited for ya every single day.”
“I didn't know.” He sniffs, feeling absolutely terrible. He wants to go back in time and tell off his younger self for ever being so stupid and dismissive. Maybe he would’ve acted differently if he’d known how significant his words would be. Karasu had cherished him long before they even met, and he—
“Oh god.” He blurts out, going ramrod-still. “I nearly made you walk around with a fart joke on your arm for the rest of your life!”
“Ya what now?” Karasu’s jaw drops.
Otoya scrambles to rush to his own defence. “I was a dumb kid, okay?”
A snort. “I can imagine.”
He ignores him, continuing. “It’s a good thing we didn’t meet when I was like, six then. Baby Tabito would’ve hated my ass.”
Karasu shakes his head. “I could never hate ya.” He insists with a fond kiss to his cheek. “And besides, it all worked out in the end, didn't it?”
He’s not wrong. At least Otoya could take solace in knowing he never fucked up their actual meeting. With a content sigh, he leans in and revels in that familiar, steady heartbeat thrumming beneath him like a promise.
Maybe the universe was onto something after all.
“We’re gonna win tomorrow.” He says firmly.
I won’t let them break us apart now that I’ve finally got you, goes unsaid.