Chapter Text
Chapter One:
Ray was always the guy to never play up to stupid Hispanic stereotypes. In Michael’s experience, Ray was the pastiest Puerto Rican ever, he hated spicy foods and he couldn’t dance for shit. He didn’t speak a lick of Spanish past a very Americanised “Hola!” and ate Pizza Rolls more often than he did quesadilla.
So why he was so fucking interested in Soccer, Michael would never understand. Ray wasn’t even sporty himself, way more likely to be seen holed up in his apartment playing on his Xbox rather than out on greenery of any kind. Michael had never even seen the dude hold a fucking ball. However, Ray was his best friend and didn’t have many others, so Michael was the one who got dragged out to Ray’s team’s first game of the soccer season.
The Red Bull arena, home of the New York Red Bulls was really just a commercial piece of shit building funded by a horrifically unhealthy energy drink that Michael couldn’t stop himself from consuming. The team was okay, they weren’t LA Galaxy or anything (a team that was supposedly good, according to Ray) but they weren’t too awful either.
The arena wasn’t packed as the first game commenced, and Michael watched uninterestedly as the players made their way out onto the field, lined up and sung the national anthem off key, before jogging to their places in their red shirts and their nylon shorts.
“Dude,” Ray pointed out to the field. “That’s our new transfer. Hopefully he’s really gonna help us get through this season better than last years.”
Michael squinted, scanning the field for whoever-the-fuck it was Ray was talking about. “Where?” he asked. The whole team was, to him, a murky sea of red and white kit- players only distinguishable by their varying dramatic hairstyles. None of them seemed particularly remarkable to him, so he frowned as Ray bounced in his fold-up plastic seat excitedly.
“He’s from England- soccer’s huge out there.” Ray explained, not tearing his eyes from the pitch. “But, we broke the bank and bought him from his home team. He’s called Free- Gavin Free.” He pointed again. “Number 10.”
Michael followed the line of Ray’s finger to the back of a red shirt, the number ten in big white letters with ‘Free’ written in block capitals across the wearer’s shoulder blades. As Michael spotted him he turned, almost as if he could sense the fact that he was being watched and when he looked over in their general direction, Michael’s breath hitched.
Gavin Free wasn’t a pasty English guy with dark hair and short, stout limbs.
Gavin Free was tanned for starters which threw him off. In Michael’s experience, English people were pale and they burned in a lick of sunlight, just like he did. But no- Gavin Free had brown hair that sparkled in the winter sun and pretty green eyes and a casual sort of smirk on his face as it blew up on the big screen and he stood, face to face with the opposing team captain.
When Free turned, eyes cast briefly back to the bleachers Michael could’ve sworn his gaze was aimed right at him. It was brief, but it was real- Gavin Free’s pretty green eyes shot him like a bullet, making a collapsing weight settle on his chest and hold him to his seat. Ray just stared from beside him with a wicked smirk.
“Alright, I’m not taking you to games if you’re just gonna drool at the new player the whole time.”
“No, no- I’m interested in Soccer!” Michael shrugged. It was a pathetic excuse, but he knew better than to try and lie to Ray- his oldest friend. They knew each other far too well for lying. Ray didn’t say anything else, and Michael leant forwards in his seat as the whistle blew and the game began- number ten darting down the pitch. He leant forwards in his seat as from that moment on, his eyes were fixated on the number 10 shirt.
“Oh, and by the way-” Ray leant over to speak lowly, right in his ear with a dark sparkle in his eye. “Keep your pants firmly zipped until you get into the comfort of your own apartment.”
By the time Gavin had sent a few balls sailing into the white net, Michael was starting to understand where this apparent Latino obsession with football came from. It was an atmosphere in the stadium he’d never felt with any other sport, fans genuinely passionate about the game rather than the fanfare. There was no halftime show, no cheerleaders and confetti cannons or elaborate bands. Just the game, a short break, and then more of the game. It was fast paced, like basketball, but didn’t stop every five minutes to reset. Ninety minutes flew by in a blur of red and white, and by the time the final whistle blew the Red Bulls had won, four to zero- or nil as Ray called it.
“Come on.” Ray tugged at Michael’s wrist as they headed around the back of the stadium where a small group of soccer fans were gathered with signs and autograph books waiting for the players to file out. “I wanna at least see the team after their first game and congratulate fucking someone. We haven’t had a game like that in a long fucking time.”
“I guess Gavin Free just has that magic touch.” Michael said with a smirk. Ray scoffed, folding his arms across his chest.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Ray glared at his best friend. “Just figures, I take you to a soccer game and you fall in love with a player. Nice one, dude.”
“Shut up, I’m not in love with him.” Michael argued. “I just think he seems cool, that’s all. I’ll probably never fucking see him or talk to him in real life. Or even if I do, he’ll never remember me and I’ll never exist in his little world. It’s no big deal.”
“Never say never.” Ray nudged him with a grin, just as the players filed out, one by one. They signed autograph books and took countless photos, particularly Gavin- the hot new player that everyone seemingly wanted a chance to touch. Ray teased that he’d call the new Brit over for a selfie if Michael really begged him. Michael’s response was to elbow Ray sharply in the ribs until he wheezed.
By the time the players made their way over to where Michael and Ray were standing, Gavin Free was heading into the back of a sleek black car. Ray was distracted by a different player, nodding and smiling as Ray congratulated him, so he didn’t notice the way Gavin Free scanned the crowd with an odd curiosity, before his eyes fell on Michael again.
He grinned, winked and then turned away, slipping into the back of the car and being driven away before Michael even had the chance to wave.
It turned out, that Gavin Free was actually a giant asshole- and Michael was super into it. He accompanied Ray to every game for the next few weeks, not just due to his sudden infatuation. It was a mix of having the hots for Gavin Free and being genuinely interested in the sport. He’d sat up for hours googling and youtubing famous soccer moments and lingo and the way the game worked. When he correctly relayed the coveted off-side rule, Ray actually looked proud.
Over the next three games, Gavin Free continued to be a tease. He looked across into Michael and Ray’s usual spot at the start of every game and every time without fail, he would make direct eye contact. Sometimes he’d smile and occasionally he’d wink, but it didn’t go much further than that. Once the starting whistle went, he was focused on the game and approximately nothing else- not even Michael.
Occasionally, if Michael could convince Ray to wait outside the players exit, Gavin would catch his eyes again and grin or wink. It was odd, to Michael, how easily a stranger could make him blush. Apart from their prolonged eye contact and occasional smile, they hadn’t even spoken. Gavin Free didn’t even know his name and he already had him under his thumb.
It wasn’t until after the fourth game of the season, stood outside in the cool February air that Gavin approached him. It was Valentine’s Day. An odd day to schedule a game, sure- but neither Ray nor Michael were in a relationship so it didn’t inconvenience them in the slightest.
Gavin Free walked right up to the barriers separating the crowd from the players after his usual rounds of photos and autographs. He walked right up to Michael, and stood toe-to-toe with him and smiled. Not like an I’m-so-excited-to-finally-talk-to-you smile, more of a lazy I-couldn’t-give-a-shit-but-I-know-you-love-it smirk. It was infuriatingly attractive.
“Football fan?” he asked.
Michael wrinkled his nose. “Football? Nah. Soccer’s pretty alright though.”
Gavin laughed at that, head tilted back in casual amusement. The people around them were talking excitedly at the prospects of the Gavin Free standing barely a few feet from them. Gavin smiled briefly at them all, basking nonchalantly in the fleeting glory of his adoring fans.
“I’m Gavin.”
“I know.” Michael bit his lip furiously as soon as he said it, cheeks burning red in the cold. Gavin only grinned at him. “And your name is?” he asked.
“Michael. Michael Jones.”
“Bit crowded here, Michael Jones.” Gavin said, rolling Michael’s name off his tongue like it was as sweet as the honey he probably stirred into his fucking tea or whatever it was British people drank for fun. He was the essence of cool, hands tucked away into the pockets of his tiny shorts, shoulders thrown back and head tilted up confidently. “You should meet me somewhere, maybe one evening?”
“Yeah?” Despite his pathetic attempt at remaining nonchalant Michael nodded like a flabbergasted child who had just been asked if he wanted to go to Disneyland. He was more or less speechless, nodding like a fucking moron as Gavin Free slowly won him over with barely a flash of pearly white straight teeth.
“Here.” Then, Gavin’s hand had been extended to his and hesitantly, Michael leant forwards to accept the limp handshake. His confusion dissolved when he felt a piece of paper slip into his hand. Gavin didn’t say anything else- only grinned, and let his hand drop back to his side. He left Michael with a wink, before he turned and disappeared back into the crowd.
Ray pulled him out of the group of fans, to the busy street outside the stadium. “Dude, come on- the romantic tension is killing me.” He teased. “What’d he say to you?”
Michael unfolded the paper in his hands and smiled to himself.
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Happy Valentines Day – Gav x