Chapter Text
Alexis Ness was in love.
This was a commonly known fact for every minimally observant soccer fan in the world. Hell, you didn’t even have to be a soccer fan to know this — it was clear in every interview he had, every word he spoke, every thought he shared with the world.
What would I take to a deserted island? Kaiser. Oh, I can’t choose a person? Well, then I don’t need anything else.
Because, truly, he didn’t. Kaiser gave him everything. The melancholy, the pain, the frustration, the fear, the neediness and— and the love. Because despite it all, Kaiser did love him.
He loved him in a way that hurt, that stung, the type of love that’s addictive because he can relish in it without any guilt; this is the love Ness deserves. The pain balances out the affection and makes it bearable for both of them.
Because Ness understands Kaiser like nobody else does — and that in itself is not a commonly known fact. What they felt for each other was, in itself, the proof of the existence of magic — of the impossible. Kaiser knew this, and so did Ness.
They both were just as desperate for each other, and that thought comforted Ness in nights where he imagined the ghost of Kaiser’s warmth still there, still lingering, still willing.
The nights where he did have it were rare, but the pleasure they brought Ness could last for years, decades, lives. They usually happened after hours spent exploring and, in Ness’ case, worshipping each other’s bodies.
They happened for reasons Ness struggled to explain. He didn’t know if Kaiser slept with him out of love or out of pure physical enjoyment, because Ness was easy for him. He was always good, always pliant and willing, always available.
But he loved it. Despite crying — a lot, he loved being close to Kaiser, fantasizing that the striker loved him and was trying to express it, fantasizing that when Kaiser bit, groped, scratched and sucked wherever he wanted to, it was out of love for the person that Ness is.
But he struggled to fantasize when it was over, and he found himself wrapped oh-so gently around Kaiser’s arms, face pressed into the other’s chest and the ghost of a lingering kiss on his forehead. Every time it happens, Ness fails to differentiate fantasy and reality each day more.
When searching for another book in the library Ness loved to visit, he found himself drifting away from the “fiction” and “fairytales” categories, and instead towards romance books. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it?
Ness bought five. Five romance books, and every page he flipped, he switched the character’s names with his and Kaiser’s, twisting and distorting dialogues to fit them better. It— it wasn’t weird, right? For Alexis Ness standards, it was one of the most normal things he’d done in regards to his friend.
He often pictured that when Kaiser hugged him after having sex, he’d press a kiss to his forehead and say “I love you, Alexis.” Alexis. Not Ness, because he wasn’t talking to the soccer player. He was talking to his friend, his partner, his one and only. He imagined he’d say it in a sweet way — as sweet as his voice can be inside Ness’ head, and would really mean every word of it. He’d hide his smile on Ness’ curly hair and his hands would wrap around Ness’ neck — hah, because it’s Kaiser, of course he can’t be nice without a twist — as a vague threat. But in the midfielder’s head, the touch was comforting, in an odd and twisted way, perfectly fit to how he and Kaiser are.
He’d inhale sharply and Kaiser wouldn’t tighten his grip, no. He’d stroke his thumb gently over Ness’ throat, and the fact that he was threatening to choke him but not doing it made Ness roll his eyes to the back of his head in extasis. Fuck. If Kaiser cared enough to deliberately not hurt him when he had the chance, it means he at least likes him, right?
The thing is, Ness knows Kaiser needs him. He does! But at the same time, the gap in his chest just won’t fill up unless he keeps imagining that Kaiser would show true love, allow himself to be sincerely affectionate.
Sometimes, his fantasies get out of hand, though. Ness has a very fertile imagination, and he himself can’t stop it from wandering sometimes. It’s inevitable. He’ll imagine Kaiser hurting him — actually hurting him on purpose, like he did during the Neo Egoist League. Splashing vodka in his face, pulling his hair and degrading him. It even drifted to scenarios where Kaiser would hit him — slap his cheek or break his wrist, and Ness would let him. He cried when those thoughts came to mind. Ness was rotten. Disgusting and not even dignified enough to be called a human being.
While Kaiser — he wasn’t a piece of shit, they’d established that, he was a flesh and blood human being. But was Ness truly one? He read these books — filthy romantic novels, or even pornographic ones, and actually had the courage to grab his pen and risk off the character’s names, writing his and Kaiser’s instead. He’d get off to the words, to the fantasies he made up in his head. This wasn’t an idol he was being creepy towards, this was Michael Kaiser. His friend. His loved one. The striker who showed him the impossible could happen and saved his life. The one he cut the hair of, the one he kissed.
He soon found himself being more satisfied with his thoughts than with Kaiser himself. Imagining that Kaiser was hugging him was more comforting than the blonde actually, truly hugging him. That’s because fantasy Kaiser could be read, could be understood. And as much as Ness did understand real Kaiser, he didn’t understand why he’d kiss him, have sex with him.
So he thrived in his comfort zone. After he made breakfast for them both and sat down at the dinner table, waiting for the blonde to wake up, he’d read these books. Even when Kaiser arrived and sat down, he’d serve him and go back to reading, his thumb’s nail in between his teeth.
Like the filthy dog he is, Ness would carefully and quietly put his book down when the other got up, trying to avoid him seeing the contents of it. Not that he was ashamed of reading romance or even sex scenes — he wasn’t. He was afraid Kaiser would somehow climb inside of his brain and find out just why he was reading that, ask him about the weird notes on the previous pages and the words that got crossed with a pen.
It got to the point where even looking at Kaiser brought him shame without the striker having to say anything. The thought piercing blue gaze and silky blonde-blue hair made Ness curl up in himself and hum pleasantly at night, but the actual sight of it made his heart hammer in anxiety. He’s disgusting — always has been.
Once Ness realized he could never feel the same comfort fantasy Kaiser offered when facing real Kaiser, he felt terrified. He wondered if Kaiser noticed it, because he’d wake up an hour early to make the other breakfast and avoid eating with him, text him most things instead of just talking to him.
Meanwhile, fantasy Kaiser would hold him, kiss his temple and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. He’d slide his hands down Ness’ body and nuzzle his neck, wrapping his arms around him as he pleads for him to come back to bed when they wake up. Meanwhile, fantasy Kaiser yearned for his love. Meanwhile, fantasy Kaiser was fantasy.
Ness avoided sleeping with Kaiser when the other initiated anything in the now rare moments they were together so as to not break the illusion he was creating. He avoided interacting, avoided Kaiser altogether because he couldn’t take his fantasy being shattered by the soul crushing reality that the emperor merely needs him, and does not love him.
That used to be enough. But since he’s started reading these books, imagining and thinking and spiraling, Kaiser’s want was not enough to quiet Ness’ aching and agonizing desire to be Kaiser’s one and only, just like the other is to him.
Since he’s almost stopped having sex with Kaiser altogether, he hears the front door open often when he lays awake at night, gobbling up his novels. He’s sure he’s found someone new to fuck. Could it be Yoichi? Or that model he used to date? Or that girly-looking redhead from Manshine he called beautiful? It doesn’t really matter, does it? Because the Kaiser he pictures wants him and only him, doesn’t even think about soccer, rivals or pain. He loves Ness and only Ness exclusively.
Ahh, yeah. His Kaiser. That one can never disappoint him, never let him down and never make him upset. Ness sighs, picturing two strong arms wrapping around him from behind and pulling him flush against a familiar broad chest. Pictures a chin resting atop his head protectively as he’s carefully cradled to sleep by the hands of his real Kaiser.