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“If you were a dog, your tail would be going a hundred miles an hour.”
“Shut up, Max,” Ilia said through clenched teeth. He peered over to the tree at the edge of the field, and the boy sitting under it, trying to glean whether or not his tight dribbling and smooth pass had gotten noticed. The boy appeared completely absorbed in his book. Ilia huffed and jogged towards the action on the other side of the field.
“Stop puffing your chest out. You look ridiculous,” Maxim said.
Ilia decided that telling Maxim to shut up again would be a waste of energy, so he opted for a sharp glare over his shoulder. He got into position for Petr to be able to pass the ball back to him. He looked over to see that the boy had looked up from his reading and was watching them with mild interest.
Petr’s pass went higher than expected and Ilia made a split decision. He had seen the move on TV about two months ago and had been practicing ever since. He still got it wrong more than he got it right, but the feeling of the dark haired boy’s eyes on him made him feel confident and buzzing with energy.
He jumped up, falling backwards with one leg extended into the air. He felt a thrill of delight as his foot smacked perfectly into the ball, sending it towards the goal. His triumph was cut short by smacking into the ground, neck first.
He let out a yelp and flushed at the scattered laughter from around him.
“Nice backflip.”
Ilia rolled over on his stomach to see Alysa grinning at him, ball safely clasped against her chest.
“Shit.” Ilia was afraid to look, but curiosity won out. The boy was still looking, now leaning slightly to the side to see around Maxim. Maxim was looking at him too, arms crossed and shaking his head in exasperation. Ilia’s face got impossibly hotter and he buried his face in the unevenly cut grass.
“He’s smiling,” Alysa said in a sing-song tone as she sauntered over to look down at Ilia.
“Obviously,” Ilia mumbled. “That must’ve looked hilarious.”
“Y’know, you could just go over there and say ‘hi’.”
“Yeah, ‘cause that won’t make me look like a total dork.”
“That ship’s already sailed.”
“Are we still playing or what?” Amber shouted.
Ilia stood and brushed himself off. He didn’t look over at the boy again, not wanting to make it too obvious that he cared. They started playing again, but Ilia’s head was not in the game. Loathed as he was to admit it, Alysa was right. He needed a reason to go over and talk to the boy by the tree. Something casual, with plausible deniability.
The answer came to him with a pass from Amber. He stopped on the ball and placed his foot onto of it. It was so obvious! He’d just kick the ball over, as though he’d misjudged his strength or the position of a team-mate. The boy was concentrating on his book again, so he wouldn’t be able to tell that the move had been intentional. He was certain he could have the ball land right next to the boy; close enough to draw his attention, maybe startle him a bit.
“Ilia,” Maxim warned, but Ilia had already wound up for the kick.
The ball sailed through the air in a perfect bow. Ilia watched it with a grin as it plummeted towards the boy by his tree. Too close, he realised, about half a second before the ball bounced against the top of the boy’s head with a springy smack.
Ilia inhaled through clenched teeth. Alysa stifled a laugh and Maxim sighed.
“I can still save this,” Ilia mumbled, more to himself than his friends.
He jogged over. The boy was rubbing the top of his head, a frown wrinkling his – adorable, gorgeous – face. He looked up as Ilia got near and his frown deepened. Ilia tried his most winning smile.
“Hey, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to hit you.”
“I should hope so,” the boy said in a luscious, accented voice, still frowning.
Ilia moved to lean casually against the tree, but he misjudged the distance slightly and ended up stumbling over the uneven ground around the roots. “Uhm,” he said, leaning his elbow against the tree and his head on his hand. No, that made him look silly, so he moved to lean on his shoulder instead. “Do you want to play with us?” Stupid word-choice. What was he, four? “I mean, there’s always room for one more.”
The boy wasn’t frowning any more, but he was looking at Ilia as if he was an idiot and Ilia thought he might be right. God, but he was lovely; pale skin, dark hair, long, lanky limps and graceful hands. His eyes were sparkling and Ilia wondered if this was what people meant when they talked about drowning in someone’s eyes.
A tiny smile spread across the boy’s lips and his eyes crinkled slightly. “I’m not very good at football.”
“That’s okay,” Ilia said quickly. “It’s all for fun.”
The boy scratched his ear. “I’m really bad.”
“I’ll teach you then. I’m a pretty amazing teacher.” Ilia was probably showing his interest a bit too much, but the boy was smiling shyly and Ilia thought that maybe he had a good chance here.
The boy shut his book and tucked it into his bag. “Okay, fine.”
“Ilia,”
The boy got to his feet – he was slightly taller than Ilia but still somehow managed to peer at him through his dark eyelashes. “Mikhail – or Misha,” he said.
“Well, Misha, why don’t you put your stuff over there with ours? Wouldn’t want anyone to snatch that book of yours.”
Misha hummed and pressed the ball into Ilia’s chest, lingering a bit longer than strictly necessary. He moved past Ilia, towards the pile of bags and jackets on the other side of the field, brushing Ilia’s shoulder, even though there was no need to move so close. He glanced at Ilia over his shoulder. He looked like he was about to say something, but changed his mind and just gave him a cheeky grin. Ilia was eternally grateful that he didn’t have a tail.
Misha really was quite bad, but Ilia thought he did a pretty good job teaching him. And he got to catch Misha by the waist once, when he managed to trip over his own feet, which made Misha let out the best laugh in the entire universe. Ilia ignored Amber’s and Alysa’s amused looks.
They kept playing until the sun started to set, and Ilia realized that he’d been too distracted by the way the orange light of the late afternoon made Misha’s face glow to come up with a casual way to ask for Misha’s number. He had a few seconds of panic before it occurred to him: he could just pretend that it was about football. He’d ask just as they parted, as though it only occurred to him just then, as an afterthought.
Misha was moving over to the bag-pile; quite slowly, Ilia noted with great satisfaction, as if he was hoping somebody would ask him for his number, or something. Oh yeah, Ilia was so in it.
“Hey, Misha,” Maxim called. He jogged over to wrap an arm around Misha’s shoulder, completely ignoring the death glare Ilia was aiming at the back of his head. “Why don’t you ask Ilia here for his number?”
“Max!” Ilia screeched.
“Only, he’s quite shy and is probably gonna chicken out, and then we’re going to have to deal with his bad mood for the next month or so.”
Ilia was going to die. He was going to die and it would be way better than being alive to deal with the aftermath of his horrible, traitorous friend’s shitty idea of a joke.
Then Misha was standing in-front of him, bag slung over his shoulder. He leaned forward to peer up at Ilia’s lowered face. He smiled crookedly, eyes glittering with amusement. “Is that right?” he said.
“I…” Ilia choked out, trying to regain his footing even as his face was going tomato-red. He cleared his throat. “I was gonna ask…” He straightened, trying to look unbothered. “I mean it’d be good to have each other's numbers if you want to play football with us again.”
Misha pouted slightly. “Football is really not my thing. You guys saw it.” Here he turned around to address Maxim and Petr. Maxim was grinning like the stupid turd he was, and Petr wasn’t much better. Ilia resolved to kick the shit out of both of them.
Misha turned back to him with a bright grin. “But if you want to meet up, or something…”
Ilia’s heart jumped into his throat and he had to swallow twice before he regained his voice enough to answer. “Yeah. Cool. That sounds fine. Let’s, uh…” He shoved his hand into his pocket, before remembering that he had put his phone in his bag.
When he looked up, Misha was holding his own phone out, ‘new contact’ page already open. Ilia carefully typed his number in, checking it twice to make sure he’d gotten it right, before handing the phone back.
Misha fired away a quick text and Ilia’s bag gave a ’ping’ sound.
“Shmawesome,” Misha said, like that wasn’t a ridiculous thing to say. “I’ll see you around.”
Before Ilia could answer, Misha leaned close and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.
“Bye. The bus is here.”
And with that, he was off. He turned to wave before he disappeared out of the park. Ilia waved back, perhaps a bit dopily. His heart was fluttering like a butterfly and he was feeling a bit weak in the knees.
“C’mon, Goldie. Can’t stand around here all day.” Alysa threw her arm around his neck and dragged him towards their bags.
Ilia dodged out from under Alysa’s arm. He got his phone out of his bag and pressed the home button. The screen lit up and he saw the text Misha had sent him.
‘ur cute - M’
Ilia wondered if his face was just going to be permanently red from now on. He quickly locked the phone and shoved it into his pocket before Alysa, or one of the others could snatch it out of his hand. Then he realized he should probably reply, so that Misha wouldn't think that he had ignored him. He pulled the phone back out, hesitated for a second before deciding to throw caution to the wind rather than make Misha wait.
‘ur cuter’
He hit send and for a moment he almost regretted it. Maybe it was too cutesy, or coming on too strong? But Misha had already called him cute and kissed him, so really, if anything, he was being the more laid back person here.
His phone buzzed again as he turned onto his home-street. The message on the locked-screen read: ‘Pic for contact’. He would be eternally grateful that no one was around to see him open up the selfie of Misha on the bus, lit in golden afternoon light, a goofy grin on his lips and a jaunty – maybe ironic – peace-sign shoved into the frame. Because Ilia may have let out an actual whine. The picture was almost too cute to bare to look at. It really was fortunate he didn’t have a tail to wag.