Tastes Like Home | Various!Blue Lock

Seventeen

(Y/n) (L/n)'s arrival at Tokyo could not have been any more of a life-altering moment to her—well, other than when she found out her boyfriend was actually a chronic womanizer, of course.

The moment she and Meguru had disembarked the homely Japanese bus which had housed them for literally about a forth of the day, her (h/c)-colored eyes instantly locked onto the tall infrastructures and the hordes of Japanese people pushing past one another to get to the exit.

The Tokyo Bus Station was not at all impressive—at least to Meguru—yet the mountain girl's eyes shone with such amazement that the boy wondered if she'd pass out upon laying eyes on the actual Tokyo.

"Careful, (L/n)! You might get lost and carried away by the crowd!" Meguru pursed his lips, grabbing hold of her—well, his jacket sleeve—before she could disappear into the ocean of people.

Meguru sighed as (Y/n) sheepishly snapped back to her sentence.

"... Sorry, I've just never been to Tokyo before!"

"Well, yeah, I can tell, very much." Meguru nodded thoughtfully. "Just uh... Here—" He hastily slips his fingers through hers. "... It's how mama makes sure I don't get lost in crowds and get stepped all over."

(Y/n) looked down at their intertwined hands, then back up at Meguru's genuine golden eyes.

"Stepped over? You and your tall self?" She chuckled, breathing out a frosty breath. "... your hands are warm, Mr. Bachira. Perhaps it runs in your genes?"

Meguru felt a slight shiver that could not have possibly come from the cold rush through his body.

He subtly shifted his body to shield her from the flow of people.

"Maybe." He shrugged, shifting his gaze away with unexpected haste. "But anyway, it's kind of cold here. We should get out of this station before you die—either from freezing or getting trampled on."

_______

Meguru watched the girl's figure bustle around the clothing shop with the excitement of a toddler on her birthday. You'd think she'd never gone shopping for clothes before (she probably hadn't).

In all the days Meguru had known (Y/n), she had never truly been an object of his curiosity.

He was no stranger to fixation—once something caught his interest, he could latch onto it with startling intensity. Football had been the clearest example of that, a constant pull that shaped his thoughts and routines.

Yet people had never worked that way for him. They drifted in and out of his orbit, familiar but unexamined, never demanding more than passing attention.

(Y/n) was different, and that difference unsettled him in a way he couldn't immediately name.

It wasn't obsession, not quite, but a quiet, persistent awareness—an urge to notice the way she spoke, the pauses she left behind, the aura of her gaze as she skipped around an unfamiliar place with nothing to warm her but his jacket.

For the first time, his curiosity had found its way to a person rather than a thing, and he didn't know what to do with it.

His pants pocket vibrated, snapping him out of his thoughtful daze.

When he pulled it out of his pocket to see who could be calling him at such a late hour into the night, only then did he realize the graveness of his actions.

It was one thing for Meguru Bachira to ditch the week long vacation his Blue Lock friends had painstakingly planned for their break—but it was another thing to spontaneously drag (Y/n) (L/n) along with him with nothing but her clothes on.