(no subject)

[yaysoccer.livejournal.com]

[ having decided that meeting anthony half-way would be best for this particular... conversation, he walks a bit slowly, quite aware that his dorm was closer to the school than his friend-slash-goalie's house. (that and he would probably have to struggle with his mode of transportation for a while.) so instead of the usual ten minutes it takes him to arrive to this particular destination, he gives himself thirty, casually making his way to one of the benches underneath a tree.

takes a seat, pulls out his cellphone, then begins to check his messages as he waits; it would be at least another fifteen minute wait, one he was finally willing to be patient for. after all, he wasn't expecting much, anyway. when it came to feelings, expectations were the worst things to have, or so he had logically deducted throughout his childhood. besides, it wouldn't be the end of the world if anything negative happened. this was anthony, after all, the boy who clucked and bawked louder than he spoke or made any semblance of sense with his words.

... it almost made him second-guess himself. almost.

pockets his phone and tilts his head backwards instead, letting it rest against the top of the bench. just simply stares up into the branches and leaves of the tree, allowing himself to show a rare display of being lost in some non-thoughts for the time being. ]

Comments

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

[ right on cue, on the dot of the minute that they're supposed to meet, he's strolling toward michael. looks a bit tense, actually, because tinkerbell had started up without trouble today. he'd rolled out of bed with minimal difficulty today. he hadn't even burnt his toast today, and his dad had agreed to a blt salad. everything had been going so spectacularly against routine today (in that life was being good to him) that he feels entirely justified in staring up at the sky once or twice to check for falling meteors. or elephants. or anything heavier than an acorn.

this thought is so pervasive that upon reaching earshot of his cap-i-tan captain, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is: ]

The sky might be falling. Have you been hit by an walnut yet?

[yaysoccer.livejournal.com]

[ blinks out of his stupor once the words reach his ears, tilting his head towards anthony. seems to be considering it, and then: ]

Rest assured, I have been thinking the same as of late.

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

[ takes a moment to process and get over the fact that yes that was probably a joke.

then nods solemnly. ]

We should build a Gundam. And name it Fifa.

[yaysoccer.livejournal.com]

[ sits up straight, raising an eyebrow. ]

Is that the activity you expected us to partake in today?

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

Now, now, cap-i-tan. In the face of adversity, we must be adaptable.

[yaysoccer.livejournal.com]

You aren't the least bit interested in what I called you out here for, are you.

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

We can only continue to be cap-i-tan and meatshield if we survive the apocalypse.

some time later, at night.

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

[ between michael's confession & tony's ultimatum, there's so much to think about that he decides that it's probably best not to think. so he's doing just that, lying spread-eagle on his bed with his favourite gundam model resting on his chest. on the right of his head is the haro wallet & on the left is the peter pan movie. even he knows he's being pathetic right now, so he doesn't think about that either.

("going back to france (to clara; this is unsaid, of course)" is just as good as saying "i'll never like you back", isn't it? probably. some part of him wants to run to his boss & cry it out as usual 'cause his boss can make him feel better in ways that no one else can these days. but his boss has never experienced rejection either & he doesn't really want to explain it, so that's probably out.

there are other people he can talk to. maybe. but alyssa was out of the question for obvious reasons. his little brother was in japan & didn't deserve his melodrama. his dad would look at him awkwardly & feed him good food, but that's not what he needs right now. can't go to sparta either & he doesn't want to bother anne with this.

which probably only leaves one choice: ignore the tony subject & deal with the michael one. which ties into the tony subject. drat.)

he dazes off for a few hours. but when he wakes, he's struck by eureka, kind of, so he's grabbing his cell from the floor to dial a number he's never dialed out of free will before.

ring ring. ]

[littlebitharder.livejournal.com]

[ sometimes being an adult sucked. the job market sucked (she had a job, but not one that she particularly cared to have for the rest of her life) and most people sucked (unless they were drunk) and her stupid jackass childhood friend sucked, too (he went off to stupid sweden for the weekend and took pretty little anne with him; even if it was their parent's idea, she still blamed michael for it).

but it didn't mean that the night had to suck. she enjoyed her own company well enough to not always need to hang out with people, even if being a social butterfly was much better than renting movies and popping by that hole in the wall chinese restaurant on the way home. or maybe not. their food was fucking delicious. or so she says, anyway.

though to be quite honest, all she really wanted to do was stay in for the night despite the urge to go out and drink (she had her social interaction for the day, after all; those asian guys who made her food were a riot). so after changing into something more comfortable, she waltzed out of the kitchen with a bottle of red wine in one hand and a glass in the other. with a satisfied sound she flops down on her couch and spreads herself out, grabbing the remote to turn on the tv after popping in a movie.

it's only five seconds later that her cellphone rings, groaning loudly and pawing for the annoying object with her foot (though it was playing one of her favorite songs, much to her usual enjoyment). doesn't bother taking the time to look at who it is, flipping it open before saying, in a thick asian accent: ]

Ni hao! Dis Rachel Chinese Food Services. Want some kung pao chicken? Five dollah, one time only! You buy, yes?

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

[ ...

...

... okay , he can't not respond to this. ]

Five dollah? Make it four and we have deal.

[littlebitharder.livejournal.com]

[ perks up at the familiar voice, grinning widely. ]

Hey! Long time no talk, chicken-head! Didn't think you'd ever call me, ya jerk.

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

I am being held at gunpoint. Please sign the lease to your illegal Chinese operation when it shows up in the mail.

[littlebitharder.livejournal.com]

Huh. Well, this is a toughie. On one hand, I really like my illegal Chinese operation. It's like my baby, you get me? Buuut I think your cap-i-tan would kill me if I didn't save your ass. [ pauses, humming loudly. ] Eh, guess he can find another goalie in time. Sorry, bro!

[yaysoccer.livejournal.com]

[ after taking his trip with anne to visit their relatives in sweden, the following weeks back on campus were dedicated to the upcoming soccer match. as usual, he was vigilant and extra tough on his team when they met up for practice, though was rather satisfied when they overcame the obstacles he put them through with little-to-no complaints.

well. most of them, anyway.

so thinking about the confession and anthony (as an individual) was the last thing on his mind, which is why he didn't give the boy any special attention or mention the conversation they had weeks ago. if anthony had approached him, he'd barely take his eyes off of his clipboard and cellphone long enough to reply. (then again, it was like that with everyone. he was a busy person, especially on these two specific weeks.)

it's only when the game had finally come did he have less to think about (less to do), but, to nobody's surprise, his attention was completely and utterly focused on soccer. screaming, shouting, cheering; it was his norm, something that would never change when observing (yelling at) his team.

everything is the same when they win, too: the words of praise, everyone congratulating one another, then the slow descent where he sends them off to the locker room, still looking quite pleased as they all walk off (more like "hobble", but if they're well enough to hold a conversation, he doesn't think they have room to complain) and away from the field. but he stays, taking out his ever-famous clipboard to look over his notes (who needs more practice, where their weak point(s) were in the game) in silence, even after the guests on the bleachers begin to file out one-by-one. ]

[bawkmajor.livejournal.com]

[ he's not really sure what he's been expecting, but for weeks, he's waiting for it. no ideas on the specifics, of course (he's rarely good with specifics), but just -- the ballpark of feelings & such. if they're still there, if he'd made his mind up on time. that kind of thing; that would've been enough. but then sparta michael had a trip, which had induced non-too-pleasant flashbacks & then he had gotten drunk several more times with (sometimes with rachel, sometimes without) in response.

& then michael had come back & things had been... normal. too normal? too normal. (but there was no amnesia or even more scary feeling-sharing moments, so there'd been that.) nothing seemed to have changed since the ground-breaking, sky-shattering, galaxy-exploding confession (slight exaggeration) so it'd been awkward to simply bring it up out of nowhere. then the days had turned into weeks & here they were. at a soccer match. with him looking so pathetic (apparently) that the opposing team seemed reluctant to kick soccer balls at his face like they usually did.

still, it'd been great luck that they'd won at all, especially with their goalie spaced out as he currently feels.

as soon as the finishing whistle blows, he promptly crumbles to his rear, staring down at the grass miserably. a thought's tickling him from the back of his head, but he can't -- won't? -- look into it more deeply than the fact that it makes him droopy. doesn't move until one of his teammates hesitantly ruffle his hair & rouses him to his feet, making him follow into the locker room where he can droop on the benches instead. ]

[yaysoccer.livejournal.com]

[ while he continues to do his work, staring at the empty field while the match still plays over and over in his mind. he'll typically give a pep talk in the locker room, something that's unlike himself until they've won a match, but he thought he did enough of that on the field. besides, there's only a handful of people he needed to talk to about their performance anyway (a few to congratulate, another two or three to question). so it's only when he nods to himself does he tuck the clipboard underneath an arm, strolling leisurely into the locker room where he knew he'd find at least a handful of them still lingering around.

he passes by anthony when he spots the first person he wished to speak to, reaching out a hand to shake it and voice his utmost approval for their hard work. firmly nods and goes on with his conversation despite the person's obvious embarrassment, telling them to keep up the good work, that perhaps they could talk later. go out to eat. perhaps practice on days off. (it's not like he doesn't want to get to know them on a personal level, after all. it just typically doesn't go very far past the basics.)

one, two, three more people and it seems like he's finished, eyes planted firmly on his clipboard with a borderline-pleased look on his face. he steps to the side, right next to the benches, saying a quick farewell to someone who passes him by before going back to work, completely oblivious to his chicken goalie at his side. as usual. ]

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

[ instinctively reaches over to grab onto the hem of michael's shirt. then, after a moment of hesitance, tugs a bit. ]

. . . Are you out of oil. Why aren't you celebrating?

[yaysoccer.livejournal.com]

[ blinks in surprise at the tug, turning his attention to anthony. after a short pause: ]

I have celebrated enough already. [ eyes go back to his papers, nodding to himself. ] Now it is time to prepare for the next match.

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

[ tightens his grip on the shirt. ]

Celebrations take 24 hours.

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

[ if anyone asks? he just took his nap early, not roll around on his bed like a teenage girl going on her first date. he's amused himself with his gundams, pokemon black, etcetra & not thinking about or waiting for his (...!!) robot's text or call. he's still not sure if he should be feeling excited or anxious when he does get the text.

probably best not to think about it as usual. he does manage to look into the future (as much as he ever could, anyway) to grab a hoodie from the closet though, for those pesky 'just in case' scenarios.

giving himself a pleased nod, he waves & yells out going out! to his dad in passing. doesn't quite hear his dad's answer, but that's okay. it's probably just be careful or bring me back a cheeseburger or something.

on tinkerbell, it takes less than ten minutes to arrive at their designated meeting spot. he's somewhat relieved to find that he's arrived before michael -- it gives him time to breath & calm down. & of course, in his typical fashion, he ends up doing neither, too busy folding his arms against tinker's handles to use as a pillow as he waits. ]

[yaysoccer.livejournal.com]

[ per usual he is not late nor early, deciding to park his car far away enough so he can take a small stroll for himself. it's not surprising that he's not thinking much of anything at the moment (there was nothing to think about) so he's quick to notice anthony, stepping up right beside him quietly. ]

... ? [ cocks his head to the side when he's aware that the boy isn't looking his way, sighing quietly through his nose as he sees the chicken's anthony's eyes closed. straightens again, clearing his throat to get his companion's attention. ] And you were so certain that you would not fall asleep on our outing. I suppose I will have to turn my cellphone back on.

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

[ tenses, but doesn't open his eyes out of his special (read: annoying) brand of stubbornness. ]

I didn't fall asleep.

[yaysoccer.livejournal.com]

It looks as if you were planning to. Though your mode of transportation is hardly the safest object to sleep on.

[cutemajor.livejournal.com]

[ opens his eyes & stares up at him without straightening. ]

That's what you think. Tinkerbell is good to me.

[yaysoccer.livejournal.com]

I am certain there are others who wish to be good to you as well. But if you enjoy your scooter's company more, well...