Inspired by Numb by Linkin Park.

I don't own Inazuma Eleven or any of its characters.

Fubuki was tired of all this. He was tired of standing at the back of the field at the beginning of the match, defending his team's goal from Aliea Academy's strong strikers, waiting for the chance to steal the ball and hand control over to Atsuya. He was tired of his younger brother taking over him. He was tired of walking in Atsuya's shoes. He was tired of Atsuya not trusting him he was able to shoot just as well as Atsuya.

He was so tired of all this.

Tired of the pressure, tired of having no control over his other personality, tired of switching around. He'd become so numb, that he almost didn't realize his own feelings for all of this.

There were these brief moments when he could still feel Atsuya pushing into his mind, but other times, he'd become so numb about this. It had become almost natural. Defend goal. Steal ball. Atsuya in. Shirou out. Atsuya shoot. Atsuya score.

Fubuki Shirou was slowly disappearing under all the pressure. The pressure from Coach Hitomiko; Coach Hibiki. The pressure from his teammates. Go! Fubuki! Score for us! They'd all shout.

It was a subconscious thing, when he realized that he himself was sinking under the weight of Japan's safety, and Atsuya was taking over him with every chance he had.

He sometimes wished that he could be more like himself: meek, shy defender Shirou; not the bragger and striker Atsuya.

Atsuya was literally smothering his existence. With every match, with every possession, with every sentence in his head, with every time he unconsciously reached out to clutch at Atsuya's scarf, Atsuya pushed up against his mental barriers, forcing his way into his mind. It was as if Atsuya feared that he would lose control over him. No. It was the other way around. Fubuki Shirou was afraid he would lose control over himself.

Atsuya wanted him to be able to switch. Anytime. Anywhere. Anyhow. But Fubuki just… couldn't. It was just too much.

Everyday, his head pounded as he tried to hold Atsuya back. But all those mental barriers he'd set up against his brother a few weeks ago, all those blocks he'd tried to create to shut Atsuya out, were all falling apart.

It wasn't as if he didn't want Atsuya around anymore. Yes. He missed his twin terribly. It was like losing part of himself, when that accident happened. But now, even with Atsuya constantly barging into his mind, he couldn't really feel his brother there. He was so tired of this; so aware that he was losing control over himself; losing his identity; losing his sanity.

He wished he could just be more like himself, less like Atsuya.

But he was breaking.

Everything about him was breaking; His mind; his sanity; his identity.

Fubuki knew he would probably screw this up. He may not be strong enough to hold off the Aliens. He may not be strong enough to score and win match after match.

Then it would be the end of the world.

Everyone was disappointed in him. His teammates; his coaches… his twin too. But at the same time, everyone was disappointed in Atsuya too. His teammates; his coaches… and yes. Fubuki himself, too, as much as he didn't want to admit.

These feelings were just too much: the mix of confusion of wanting Atsuya by his side, and at the same time wanting Atsuya's personality taking over him.

It was angering, but comforting at the same time, in a way.

He'd become so numb. So so numb to everything.

He was tired of everything. Absolutely everything.

He knew that everyone was trying to help him. Someoka. Aphrodi. Endou. Gouenji. Kidou. Everyone else.

But he was letting them down. Atsuya was letting them down. They were letting them down.

Perhaps, Fubuki thought wryly. Perfection is just impossible to achieve for me.

He let the blade of the cutter sink into his left wrist, watching blood well out of the cut. He couldn't feel the pain. He was being numb to everything. Even physical pain.

He was numb.

Absolutely numb.


This was deleted a few months ago due to use copyrighted lyrics. Edited and reuploaded. Reviews are welcomed.