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June 29th - 2010
Gojo Satoru looked down at his feet, in line with his teammates, two of whom were gripping onto his jersey. The blue fabric was sticking to his skin, drenched with sweat from the full 90 minutes of play, plus two periods of extra time. Satoru ignored the way his legs shook, the same legs that just couldn't connect with the ball, not once in the match had he scored. With Chelsea, Satoru would score in every game. He didn't know how he did it, and he didn't know why it just wasn't working during this game.
Did he forget to lace his boots right to left? Did he wash his kit the wrong way? Were all those dumb childhood superstitions really the reason he was going to get eliminated so early on in his first World Cup? Satoru balled up his neighbor's jersey, clinging on for his life as the first kicker from their team stepped up to take a penalty. The other team, Paraguay, seemed to be as antsy as they were, but their goalie was staring daggers into the player in blue jogging forward. He was a vet, Satoru recalled, a man who had been on the team for about 6 years.
Blood rushed to his head, Paraguay had already taken their shot and made it. The vet had to score, he had to keep it even if they were to have any semblance of a chance at progressing forward. Leather met a firm boot, and they were even. Satoru let out a scream, feeling his teammates on either side of him shriek and punch the air around them in relief.
The order of the kickers gave him some hope, another vet and then him. It was a risky move, he had never played in such a tournament for the national team, but his record spoke for itself. Satoru was the best striker on the field that day, he knew that, but it didn't stop the shaking in his legs. Even managing a starting position this early on was an accomplishment for most, but he wanted to do more, to do better.
The next Japanese player sent the ball too high, it ricocheted off the crossbar, and Satoru felt his stomach sink into his feet. It was a second after that before he glanced briefly at his team's goalie. The keeper slammed his right foot into the ground, his long black ponytail swaying. Satoru guessed them to be about the same height, but the goalkeeper was maybe four years older than him. He knew they both went to the same college, but that was about it. Actually, the keeper could be trying a bit harder to keep the ball out of their net, that was all he knew.
It was 2-1 for Paraguay. Satoru knew he was next in line after the next Paraguayan player, so he hoped their keeper would quit stomping his feet and save the ball. As the long-haired goalie made his way up to the net, Satoru read his name on the back of the grey keeper's jersey. Between strands of long black hair, Satoru could pick out the family name Geto. The whole team's future in this World Cup depended on Geto, and Satoru wondered if the keeper knew that.
Geto jumped on his feet, holding out his gloved hands, and Satoru held his breath. It was years before the Paraguayan striker approached the ball, or maybe it was just seconds, Satoru couldn't tell. His eyes never left the keeper, springing on his boots and Satoru wasn't even sure the other man was blinking. There was a quick run up, the striker swung his left foot, and Geto stretched to reach the top-right corner.
His neon green gloves just barely grazed the ball, but it made it past him nonetheless. Geto covered his mouth as the Paraguayan striker pumped his arms, running back to his line of teammates. Satoru bit into his cheek at the sight, knowing that he would be the next person to approach the spot. After the victory lap taken by the opposing player, Satoru adjusted his headband and walked forward, glancing at the Japanese keeper one last time before focusing on the task at hand.
The entirety of Loftus Versfield stadium was dead silent, aside from the rip of the grass underneath his boots. The most important penalty kick of his life up until now was a high school semi-final win, Satoru couldn't think about anything else besides what would happen if he missed. What people would think, whether his coach would make him a substitute, when his next big chance would be, if he would blow it then too.
The Paraguayan keeper was slightly off his line, watching his feet, his eyes. Satoru could feel his opponents gaze bare through his body. Part of him wanted to glance back at his teammates, just to be sure they were still there. Satoru was alone at this moment, no one was behind him, no one was by his side. The only other player wearing the Japanese crest was Geto, crouched on the grass with a solemn expression, scanning the field. Meeting his eyes, Satoru felt his feet go numb as the older player sharpened his eyes. He didn't know what Geto was saying to him. He turned to face the opposing keeper once more.
Satoru's feet popped off of the grass with each running step. All at once, he felt his body leave the ground as his foot touched the ball. The stadium went dark as he squeezed his eyes shut, the crowd screamed when he hit the ground. When he opened his eyes again, he was met by two of his line-mates sweeping him up in hugs. 3-2.
His stomach was sick, he would've thrown up if there was no one else there. Satoru found himself searching the field for the stern keeper, wondering why he didn't bother learning his name until then. It wasn't like the other man was friendly, and when Satoru caught his eyes once again he was proven right. Geto was covering his face with his gloves, pacing back and forth near the far post from Satoru, who was taking his spot in line again.
The Paraguay line seemed hopeful, Satoru hated it. He wanted to do more, take another kick though it made him feel faint.
That hope turned into confidence, as the score morphed into 4-3 against Japan. Paraguay needed to miss one, just one goal, for them to break even. Satoru tried to force his energy onto their keeper, who had lost his cool even more and had thrown his Gatorade bottle onto the grass in frustration. It was not the time to have a bad game, much less if you were the goalie.
Geto stepped up to the line, Satoru knew that, if this goal was not saved, they would lose. He was beginning to get frustrated himself, he had done his job, why couldn't the keeper do his? Satoru balled his hands into fists as the final kicker for Paraguay stepped up to the spot. Geto's eyes revealed it all, he was angry, which probably meant he was unsure, and Satoru was wondering why he didn't take a minute to calm down. The other man jumped in place, waiting for the striker to make his move. Satoru wanted to adjust his laces, fix his jersey, but he couldn't tear his eyes off of the men in front of him.
It happened too fast, this time. The striker couldn't get enough air, it was one moment and he had sent the ball right into Geto's arms. The keeper roared, pumping his fist in victory, and Satoru leaped into the air, hugging his teammates.
They had about five seconds to celebrate, before the referee nearby blew his whistle. Geto's eyes widened with outrage. He approached the ref, and Satoru looked at some of the older players, trying to gauge what had happened. Geto pointed to his feet angrily, then gesturing to his line. Satoru couldn't hear what was being said. Another whistle came from the ref, and Geto threw his arms up in disgust.
"He was off his line," the Japanese captain mumbled into Satoru's ear. "Fuck. They're going to let him retake the kick."
Satoru scoffed. He can't be serious, he thought, I saw his feet. He was on the line. Bullshit, the whole line of them knew it.
The kick was retaken. Geto couldn't reach it in time. Satoru's hands shook as he fell onto his knees. That was it. His first World Cup and they didn't even make it past the round of sixteen. Paraguay was probably celebrating, lifting up their kicker and carrying him off the field. Satoru's head was in his hands, on the ground, scratching against the dry grass. A teammate behind him was cursing, he even thought he heard the name "Geto" thrown around. It was not the time to turn on his countrymen, but Satoru couldn't help the anger he felt towards Geto. He didn't even know the man, but he wanted to scream at him.
After he felt a tap on his shoulder, Satoru realized how he looked at the moment. He shook his head, looking up to see who had touched him, before noticing that the field was completely empty, save for one goalkeeper making his way off of the field. Satoru's limbs were heavy as he wobbled towards the tunnel; he just wanted to shower and go back to the hotel. He could throw on the TV, just try to forget about the game, but, as he was approaching the locker room, he crashed into a strong arm.
Geto stopped him in his tracks. "Why were you looking at me so much?"
"I..." Satoru cursed himself for not knowing what to say. "I just was. It doesn't matter, we lost, dude."
"It does matter," Geto responded sharply, still not letting him through, "and we can't all be prodigies like you. I don't like being stared at, especially when I'm trying to do my job."
"You couldn't, though," Satoru was getting pissed off, "could you? You saved one try and it didn't even count."
Geto scoffed, responding, "You had to score once. One time. Then, you got to sit back and watch me try to save 6 penalty shots. You're an idiot if you don't see how unfair that comparison is."
When Satoru didn't respond, Geto stepped out of his way, mumbling, "Go ahead, asshole."
Satoru pushed past him into the locker room, gathering his kit into his bag and making a beeline for the showers before Geto joined him. The two of them were on opposite ends of the room, and Satoru just wanted to leave that joker by himself. Sure, he didn't score in the game, but he did what he could at the end. It wasn't good enough, but this game wasn't on him.
The warm water cleared his head, and after running a towel through his hair, Satoru left the locker room in a hurry. Bounding down the hallway, Satoru could only think of the deep ache in his feet, and the man he hoped would not be in the hotel lobby when he arrived. The bus had gone without them, it seemed his teammates knew to give him a moment to himself. He would've been by himself, save for the asshole intent on ruining his night even more. The hotel was only a few blocks from the stadium, luckily, so Satoru walked down the sunlit streets.
The few clouds in the sky were turning orange, and there was a small breeze which ensured that his hair dried quickly. Satoru kicked a pebble down the street, crossing to get to the hotel's main entrance. It was far too short of a walk, he thought, stepping inside the building. He recognized two of his teammates, one of whom he was sharing his hotel room with. Satoru waved, before making his way towards them.
"Ah, Satoru!" his roommate said. "I was looking for you, I wanted to ask you a question."
Satoru nodded, and the other man hesitated before spitting it out, "Can you swap rooms with Kenji for tonight?"
Kenji must have been the other player next to them, as he looked at Satoru expectantly. Satoru swallowed.
"Any reason?" he asked. "I mean, I will if you want but... your room isn't gross is it?"
Kenji shook his head, responding quickly, "Of course not, we just haven't had time to catch up, especially since this all ended so quickly."
"Yeah." Satoru's mouth went dry. He just wanted to go to sleep, so he dug through his jacket pockets, looking for his room key. When he found it, he dropped it in Kenji's hand and accepted his new key with a mumbled, "Thanks."
He sped towards the elevator, leaving the others behind and pressing the button rapidly. Satoru's hands fidgeted with his zipper, and he looked down at the silver key in his hands. Room 205. It would be on the right hand side, it looked like, and Satoru could hardly wait to collapse onto his bed. Hopefully it was made, or at least clean enough so that he could just sleep. Satoru didn't even think about who his new roommate would be. It would most likely be another teammate he didn't bother knowing.
The lock clicked open, and Satoru pushed the door open. Dropping his duffel and jacket on the ground, he walked into the main room but stopped in his tracks.
"Why are you in my room?" Geto responded, looking over a book. He was wearing glasses, Adidas shorts, and his hair was down and tucked behind his ears. Satoru could've screamed. "Did you steal a key?"
"No, what?" Satoru asked, not moving a muscle. "Your roommate wanted to trade. Don't worry, I won't bother you with the sound of my voice, so you can cut the complaining. I can see that you want to."
Geto held his tongue, shaking his head and going back to his book. Satoru noticed it was thick, probably some pretentious classic. The carpeted floor was scratchy underneath his sore feet, and Satoru slipped one of his spare t-shirts on. He didn't bother going back to his room, he would get his stuff in the morning. After jumping into a pair of shorts, Satoru fell into bed, turning over.
It took five minutes of tossing and turning for Geto to speak again.
"Do you need a massage-gun or something?" Satoru could tell he was being sarcastic, but he didn't care.
"Sure. D'you have one?" he asked.
Geto blinked. He thought for a moment, and Satoru could feel his eyes on his back though he stayed on his side. Without saying anything, the bed creaked behind him and Satoru heard Geto looking through his bag. Geto threw the machine onto Satoru's legs, and the white-haired man sat up. Huh, Satoru was the one surprised now, he didn't think Geto would actually give it to him.
Picking up the massage-gun, Satoru noticed it was battery powered and sighed with relief. He flicked it on, applying pressure to his right calf. It was a weird feeling for a moment, but then his muscles started to relax. If Geto was bothered by the sound, he didn't say it. The two of them sat in silence, Geto reading his pretentious classic (which turned out to actually be a classic, Crime and Punishment), and Satoru fixing up his legs.
He felt like he should say something, so he did, "Good book?"
"Great book," Geto simply replied.
"Oh, well," Satoru gestured vaguely, still holding the massage-gun, "I haven't read it."
Geto put the book down, "Are you trying to make up with me? Because I don't care about before, I literally haven't thought about it since-"
"No," Satoru responded. "Just curious."
With a swallow, Geto looked down, "Right then." Back to silence.
Satoru couldn't take it, boredom was cruel. "The book, is it about, like, crimes and punishments?"
He almost, almost, caught a glimpse of a smile on Geto's face. He could work with that.
"Sort of." Geto didn't even look up from the book.
Satoru learned that, when given a good book, Geto is much less irritable than say, when he's just lost a game for his team. They spent an hour like that, still having short conversations as Satoru placed the massage-gun onto the carpeted floor. Geto kept reading, running down the clock, and Satoru kept asking dumb questions that he didn't really mean.
"So what kind of criminal is he?" Satoru asked, staring at the ceiling. "The main character, I mean."
"Assuming it's a guy?" Geto turned a page. "He's a murderer, among other things."
"Nice." Satoru paused. "What's your first name?"
That caused Geto to look up from the book, over his glasses. "What?"
"Your whole name, what is it?" Satoru asked, it was sprinkled with curiosity and something more. He didn't know what the "something more" was quite yet.
Geto cleared his throat. "Um, it's Geto... Suguru."
Suguru. Satoru made a mental note, he wasn't very good with names as it was, but he felt like he was going to remember Geto's.
"Hey," Satoru said, trying to get the other man's attention once more, "just so you know, I'm not an idiot. I know how hard your position is and-"
"Just," this time it was Geto who interrupted him, "stop. I don't care."
Satoru was caught off guard, Geto's tone was cold and reminded him more of the keeper, not the man he had been talking to for an hour now. Did he really brush off his anger from hours ago so fast?
"I just think that," Satoru paused, trying again, "you're upset about the result. We all are, you don't have to blame yourself for it."
Geto put his book down completely. "Who says I blame myself?"
Satoru stayed silent, looking at him with a scowl. Geto continued.
"Who says I don't blame you?" Geto sat up. "World-class rookie couldn't even score against Paraguay, huh?"
Satoru scoffed, "You're one to talk. Do you know how hard it is to fucking-"
"It's supposed to be easy for you, that's the thing," Geto said, standing up. "God knows you act like it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Satoru was getting angry again, did their small talk mean nothing. "What, one bad game makes me a disappointment?"
"It does." Geto grabbed his shoes, slipping them on. "Who knows if you'll be starting the next game."
Maybe there wasn't anything more, maybe Geto wasn't worth remembering. Satoru stood up too.
"Where the hell are you going?" Satoru asked. "We have a flight tomorrow."
Geto paused. "I'm still going."
"Wait," Satoru said. As pissed off as he was, he didn't want Geto to leave. "Hey, what the fuck, come on."
"No," Geto replied harshly, "Fuck off."
Satoru grabbed Geto's arm, before he found himself being pushed forward into the cream colored wall of the hotel room. Well, Satoru thought, fuck this. He shoved back, pressing Geto into the wall and gripping onto the other man's t-shirt. He could feel his heart beating in his ears, the same way it had been hours earlier, watching Geto allow penalty kick after penalty kick.
Geto didn't move, scanning Satoru's face with wide eyes, but they weren't fearful. Satoru felt his face flush when Geto's eyes lingered on his lips. He let go, scratching the back of his head. What was that. Geto blinked at him, eyes softening.
"I'm still going," Geto said slowly. "Don't do that again."
Satoru scoffed, sitting back down on his bed and rubbing his face, partly to cover up the redness. He didn't hear Geto leave for another minute or so, and Satoru was only slightly disappointed when he heard the door close. It didn't slam, just a gentle click met his ears. Tapping his foot, Satoru looked around the room. Geto had left all of his belongings, even his wallet. Where on earth was he going? Would he be back that night? Why had he spent so long looking at Satoru's lips, the curve of his jaw, the shards of ice in his eyes?
The burning in his cheeks was back, brought on by the memory of their closeness, and Satoru thought of fights with kids in middle school. He thought of having feelings and not being able to deal with them and kicking them out onto the field, into a net. He thought of Geto slamming his gloved hands into the ground in frustration, blaming Satoru when something was obviously on his mind. Maybe it was his fault after all.
Before he decided to move, Satoru felt his legs pushing him out the door, into the carpeted hallway. Geto had only left moments ago, he would still be in the elevator, maybe even the lobby. He just needed to get Geto back to their room, he needed to see him again. No, Satoru thought, I just need to make sure he's safe. Their coach would kill him if he found out Geto had left in the middle of the night without Satoru stopping him.
The stairs echoed and cracked beneath his feet, Satoru bounded down, two at a time. Once he reached the bottom, he shoved through the doorway and turned his head frantically, scanning the lobby. A clerk was tying his shoes, two men were chatting on one of the couches, with no sign of Geto. A sharp creak from the revolving doors caught his attention, and Satoru saw a familiar black ponytail swish through it. He wasn't going to run, it would've drawn too much attention, he just had to talk to him. When he reached the doors, he pushed through and jogged up to Geto.
"Suguru!" Satoru shouted. "Hey!"
Geto turned around, eyes wide once more. "You-"
Satoru didn't let him finish, pulling him into a nearby alley, he didn't want anyone overhearing them. He pushed Geto so that he was between Satoru and the brick wall of the hotel.
"Listen," he started, "I don't know what the fuck is up with-"
Geto was giving him that look again, dark irises softening for just a moment. Satoru stepped closer, before Geto closed the gap between them, grabbing onto Satoru's shirt and switching their positions so that the white-haired man was being pressed into the wall. Satoru could feel Geto's breath on his nose. Thump, thump. His heart was in his throat.
"Don't..." Satoru began, Geto eased his grip on his shirt, "Don't do that again. Don't leave. Don't think you know about me, about whether things are easy or hard for me, and I won't pretend to know about you. Yeah?"
Geto swallowed, glancing down, still close enough for Satoru to see him wet his lips. Geto moved to place his other hand next to Satoru's head, leaning on the wall. Satoru wanted to ask him why he got so upset, why he couldn't stand being around him, why his staring had distracted him so much. But he knew. Slowly, Satoru moved his hand to the back of Geto's neck.
He didn't know Geto, not really. Satoru couldn't say where he had grown up, went to college, whether he was even single, but he knew that both of them had been beating themselves up since they were children. Satoru didn't sleep during tournaments, and the bags under Geto's eyes were as familiar as his own skin and bones. Geto clenched his jaw. Satoru took a risk, pressing their lips together harshly, but had to hold back a sigh when Geto kissed him back with fervor. His skin burned.
Satoru pulled back, only for Geto to take some initiative and pull him back in again. It was less violent now, Geto touched their lips together gently, just getting used to the feeling, Satoru guessed. He took another chance and slid his hand up into Geto's hair, knocking out his pony-tail. Geto stepped back, balling his hands into fists.
"You play for Chelsea, right?" Geto asked, looking back towards the street.
Satoru blinked, "Yeah, just signed there."
"So, you live in London?" Satoru nodded. Geto thought before speaking again, "We'll see each other again in a few weeks, then."
"Why are you-" Satoru was cut off by Geto kissing him again, and he remarked that his question really wasn't that important if he could feel Geto's lips again. Satoru kissed him until his mouth ached, until his back was beginning to smart, being rubbed against the brick wall. Satoru took Geto's face into his hands, pressing their foreheads together. "You're playing Chelsea in a few weeks?"
"Yeah," Geto pecked his mouth before stepping back, leaning on the opposite wall. "I play for Aston Villa, I'm the sub keeper."
Satoru nodded, he didn't know why the thought of seeing Geto again gave him a funny feeling in his chest. Before he agreed, however, he had to ask: "Is this going to be a secret kind of thing?"
Geto chewed on his tongue. "For now, whatever this is."
"Whatever this is." I want to know you. "You should really go back to the hotel room."
Stepping back towards Satoru, Geto gained a flicker in his eyes, something taunting. The dark haired man pulled him in once more, and Satoru got the feeling that Geto's kisses would always feel like this, like falling out of an airplane, like you've just realized your parachute wasn't working. Their mouths turned hungry quick, and Satoru grabbed onto Geto's shirt collar, pulling him impossibly close.
Satoru quickly realized that Geto would never be the one to make the first move, never let Satoru know how much he wanted him, but that was okay. Satoru pulled away but not really, practically breathing into Geto's mouth, touching their noses together.
"I want you to go back to the hotel room," Satoru mumbled into Geto's cheek.
Geto didn't leave much room for hesitation. "Okay."