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Day 01: Getting Together.
Someoka hated Fubuki.
He knew he was being irrational and maybe even a little bit childish. He had had a hard enough time conceding that yes, Raimon could have more than one ace striker and yes, he could work pretty well with Gouenji. He had even grown to like Gouenji and played along side him proudly. But Fubuki was completely different from Gouenji.
Gouenji could be a little standoffish, but it worked as part of his cool, stoic image. Gouenji had been shorter than Someoka but he was muscular and tan like Someoka. They would play together in the blazing fun, drenched in sweat and heaving with exhaustion but unwilling to admit to the other they were near collapsing.
Fubuki was quiet, so quiet that the first couple times that Fubuki spoke to him, Someoka had to ask him to speak up. When they sat next to one another on the bus, there was no idle chatter or gossiping about their favourite players. Instead, Fubuki would read or play word puzzles and Someoka would glare out the window. Fubuki was pale and thin, like a strong breeze could carry him away. He looked sickly with his sleepy expression and his washed out grey hair. His legs poked out of his shorts like twigs and his uniform hung so loosely on his shoulders, Someoka thought it might slip off. But despite how weak and useless Fubuki looked, everyone loved him! He played soccer and other sports exceptionally well and Endou praised him for his skills. Their teammates were consistently impressed and Fubuki was well liked. More than once Someoka had even overheard the girls whispering about how ‘handsome’ Fubuki was. For some reason, that was particularly irritating. Sure, everyone knew that Gouenji was handsome and Someoka had agreed. But for some reason putting this feeble, flimsy frame in the same grouping as Gouenji made Someoka scowl and huff. No one ever called him handsome.
“How am I supposed to pass to him! If I kick too hard, I’ll break his legs!”
Endou nodded, his brow furrowed in contemplation “Well, Someoka, why don’t you try practicing with him more so you can get a better grasp of his strength. Maybe you’ll even get to know one another better, too!”
Endou slapped Someoka on the shoulder and laughed. Someoka grunted in reply.
After dinner that night, Fubuki approached Someoka, holding a soccer ball.
“Someoka-kun.” Fubuki gave Someoka a dopey smile. “Would you like the practice together a little? Endou-kun said you were concerned about our passes connecting properly.”
Someoka was about to reject him when he saw Endou over Fubuki’s shoulder, watching and smiling at him encouragingly. Goddamn it.
“Yeah, I guess we could kick around for a bit...” Someoka stood and zipped his jacket up to the top of his throat “Let’s go.”
Fubuki followed Someoka out to the practice field silently. They were in some town Someoka couldn’t remember the name of in between stops, looking for people to join the caravan. Earlier in the day, they’d practiced out here with everyone. Someoka had carefully avoided Fubuki the entire day, focusing on his strength training and shooting his Wyvern Crash at Endou.
The sun was still peeking over the horizon and flooding the field with auburn light.
“Someoka-kun.” Someoka looked away from the sunset and at Fubuki, who was standing behind him. “I know you think I’m weak.”
Someoka said nothing. He just scowled and looked away.
“But I...” Fubuki’s voice faltered and Someoka looked at him again. His usually soft face hardened into something Someoka didn’t recognize. It wasn’t anger, but rather something closer to determination. When Fubuki spoke again, his voice was louder, clearer than Someoka could remember ever hearing. “I’m not weak. Please, let me show you.”
Fubuki was staring at Someoka so earnestly that Someoka felt embarrassed by both Fubuki’s honesty and his own judgement of Fubuki. Perhaps the kid wasn’t as listless has Someoka thought...
“Do whatever you want, but don’t think... Don’t think I’ll accept you just because you can play alright. You’ll never replace Gouenji--”
“I’m not trying to replace Gouenji-san. I don’t want to play like Gouenji-san. I want to play like myself.”
Again, so earnest, so honest.
Someoka thumbed his nose and shrugged, “Whatever, let’s just play.”
And they did. For hours. Someoka didn’t even notice someone came to turn the field lamp on after the sun had gone down.
Fubuki was small, but his movements with deft. No matter how intensely Someoka guarded, Fubuki’s foot could slip in a nudge the ball out of his reach.
Fubuki was spindly looking, but his body was deceivingly lithe. When Somoka wailed the ball in Fubuki’s direction, Fubuki caught it gracefully with his chest or forehead without recoiling. He didn’t shy away from Someoka passes or flinch when the ball hit his cleats.
They played until they couldn’t anymore and they both slumped against the goal posts, heaving and wiping away sweat with their forearms. When they’d finally caught their breath, the silence between them was tense.
Someoka stood first.
“You... you don’t play anything like Gouenji does.” He spoke tersely, avoiding eye contact and rubbing the back of his head with his huge, rough hand “But you’re... you’re alright.”
When Fubuki didn’t speak, Someoka stole a glance at him from the corner of his eye. Fubuki was smiling so broadly, so brightly that something in Someoka’s chest twinged and shuddered.
“You should eat more though,” he continued. “You’re so scrawny and small. And get more sun, you’re as pale as a sheet.”
Fubuki laughed and stood too. “Thank you, Someoka-kun.” His voice was so soft and so kind that it was embarrassing. Someoka grunted and picked up their ball.
They walked back to the caravan together in silence.