projectroxas | (no subject)

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[ 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. ]

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[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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?

[ 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.

[ tightens his grip on the shirt. ]

Celebrations take 24 hours.

[ oblivious to this shirt-gripping, per usual. ]

You may celebrate with your teammates, if you so wish. I am certain they will invite you to one of their parties.

It's not the same without our cap-i-tan, cap-i-tan.

I'll pass. I have more work to do, after all.

Denied. At least come monitor our alcohol level.

[ raises an eyebrow down at him, sighing before placing the clipboard underneath an arm again. turns to him fully. ]

You are obviously troubled by something. I highly suggest that you express your concerns immediately in the future, rather than give a less-than-stellar performance on the field again.

[ that makes him let go of the shirt, drooping again. ]

. . . Sorry.

[ stands there in silence for a moment. after a while of patiently waiting: ]

Well?

[ waves at the rest of the team. ]

Too much potential for audience participation.

Then hurry home and speak to your friends about it, if you absolutely must.

Can't. You're eloping with a clipboard.

For work-related matters, yes.

[ long pause. then: ]

When would it be done?

[ lifts an arm, glancing at his watch. puts it to his side again. ]

It depends. Do you need to speak to me in private?

Yeah. [ a beat. ] I can shower while you intimidate the team.

[ considers this for a moment. eventually sighs. ]

Very well, then. [ glances at the team briefly. ] Would the locker room really suffice for whatever important business you would like to discuss?

[ ... probably not. ]

We could go to Anne's again. Is she in today?

She was observing the match, but she should be back to work by now.

Then there's good. I want a smoothie.

[ nods, turning towards the exit. ]

Would half an hour give you enough time?