tw// slight panicking

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Today was game day.

This weekend was a mess to say the least, although when Victoria showed up in her pajamas the sadness seemed to fade away.

At the moment, Phil and I were outside practicing on the field with the other players. People were slowly starting to file up on the bleachers, cheerleaders began tossing their pom-poms in the air, and concession items began selling.

I adjusted my jersey, walking over to the bench to drink some water. I heard Tyler cackling and turned to see Troye at his side, giggling with him. I smiled to myself, then jumped at the tap on my shoulder.

Phil grinned once I looked at him. "Wanna practice, Howell?"

I smirked. "You know how that ended up last time."

"Hey, I'll play it safe. Promise," the boy in front of me told me. I sighed, giving up and following him out to the field. He reached his arm back then tossed it, and when I caught it, I froze.

It was flatter than my ass.

I furrowed my eyebrows, turning the soccer ball over in my hand. "Phil, there's no air in th-" I cut myself off when I noticed it was slit in the middle, and I blinked when I noticed a piece of paper in this. I looked up to Phil for an explanation but only saw a smile on his face as he trailed over. "What the hell is this?" I pulled out the sheet of paper and opened it.

Howell,

Roses are red, violets are blue,

My love for you is not new.

Okay, fuck this, I'm bad at poems.

What I'm trying to ask is: will you be my boyfriend?

I stared at the note, my jaw dropping as Phil reached forward and brushed a strand piece of curl from my sweaty hair.

"Too cliché, Dan?"

He giggled, a blush forming on his cheeks and I exhaled, dropping my hands then throwing them around his neck.

I then pressed my lips to his, hearing small whistles and gasps. Phil yelped in surprise but reacted soon after, moulding our mouths together. I pulled away, unable to hide my grin.

"Too cliche, Phil?" I mocked.

"Now that's too cliche."

We chuckled and I put the note in my shorts pocket for good luck, then the referee blew the whistle. I looked up and spotted my parents, waving. Then my eyes set on a certain figure.

The one and only Victoria.

She was covered in face paint and wore our team colors, flailing her arms wildly over at us. Tyler and Troye wandered over and I cleared my throat, flicking my gaze to Vic. They looked over and we all burst out laughing.

"Did your mom buy you that?" Phil called over the noise.

She rolled her eyes, flashing us the middle finger before laughing softly and sitting down.

"Welcome students, parents and relatives to the last socccer game of the season! We appreciate your coming. Concession stands are located on either side of you and bathrooms are through the back door. Now, since it is our last game, feel free to yell and scream as much as you want!"

I let out a breath, watching Tyler leave a quick peck on Troye's lips before the curly-haired brunette skipped back to the bleachers and next to Victoria. Tyler looked over at me.

"Good luck, Howell," Ty winked.

"I hope you get hit in the face so hard that all your attitude falls out of your ass," I snarled playfully.

"Ouch," he pretended to pout, jogging off before hitting me on the back.

"And remember, as much as I love you staring at me, today is about the ball. The soccer ball I mean, not my ba-"

"Phil!" I shrieked. He laughed, blowing me a kiss and hurrying over to his spot. I trudged over.

The game was on.

I began sprinting once the ball was kicked, passing by my teammates and jumping up in front of the opponent to steal it back.

The game went on with the same concept, and it was okay until a boy purposely tripped me and sent me sliding onto the ground.

Honestly it didn't hurt that bad, but I laid there, fearing how bad it would be if we lost this game. My dad finally coming would lose its value.

"Dan!" Phil shouted from off the field. Everything was so loud and so quiet at the same time. I clung to my bleeding knee and once I heard a ball hit the net, I stood and trudged off the field to be replaced. All I began to hear was similar to TV static as I felt tears coming down my cheeks.

"Howell?" He questioned, taking my face in his hands and shaking me lightly. "What's going on?" I sniffled, and he got the message. "Get him to the bleachers- somebody grab him some water. Coach, put in a different goalie until he feels better-"

"What? Phil, you're the best keeper this school's ever had- we can't afford to-"

"I am not playing until I know he's okay."

I gulped an intake of breath, clutching at my chest as my throat was burning. It felt like my lungs were on fire and every breath was just another drop of gasoline.

"Alright, fine. But only for a few minutes. We're winning, and you remember our deal."

"Our deal is the least of my worries right now, coach," Phil told him, running a hand through his sweaty hair as sat down next to me. I looked at him, trying not to cry. He placed his hand over mine and I leaned onto his shoulder.

"Phil, go play- I'm fine," I insisted, though my hoarse voice told him otherwise. He chuckled softly, sneaking a forehead kiss before replying.

"Drink some more water, you numpty."

I took a few more sips of water and looked at the time after awhile of silence, realizing it'd been five minutes of us sitting out. I stood up, steadying myself with my hands on Phil's shoulders before exhaling.

"I'm good," I said. "Now, we have to win so I can stare at you for another year, yeah?" We both laughed and Tyler headed over between plays.

"You alright?" He questioned. I nodded. "Well, the team isn't. Dan, we've got around a minute left of the game- we're in a tie. We've gotta do something."

"I'll do it. Just keep me open and I'll run it to the goal." I suggested, showing one of our previous plays.

"And that was the day Dan Howell didn't say something stupid," Tyler jokingly narrated. I punched him in the arm, giggling. I then ran over to Coach Will, looking up at him.

"Dan, we've only got a minute le-"

"Trust me. Please."

Coach sighed, looking down at his clipboard before nodding. "Huddle!" He shouted to our team. He explained the play and we said our chant, then the time was back on.

I can do this.

The ball was kicked and Phil's eyes flickered away from me as I began to follow. I watched in the corner of my eye as Tyler claimed it, then slid it to me. My teammates kept me surrounded to block me away from opponents.

I kept the ball close to my feet as I ran down the field, then everything slowly faded into slow-motion. I blocked every noise out, only listening to sounds of my feet and my feet padding against the grass. My cleats dug into the mud and my hair was in sweaty curls against my face.

I didn't stop running. I kept running as if it were the last time my feet would touch the ground. I ran as if it was the only way I could survive. I felt everything at once: determination to impress my father, fear that I'd mess up, sadness that this was my last time for the year, happy that Phil asked me out, and angry that we had so little time.

Then the sounds came back as I kicked it high in the air. I heard the cheering, and the buzzer rang, and I looked at Phil, and he looked at me and we smiled. It passed the opponent's keeper and made it into the net. I ran over to Phil and threw myself into his arms, hugging him tightly. Tyler joined in, and I looked over at my family, and they were smiling. Even my dad.

It was silent. Phil set me down and without a care in the world, I slammed my lips to his.

And then the applause erupted.

I realized then, that my life was just one big sappy event with a group of stereotypical friends: the sass, the cocky jock, the clumsy one with talent, and the one that always seems to bring smiles with them.

So, to answer your question, Phil Lester: this was, in fact, too cliché. 

But honestly, I kind of love it.

And I kind of love him.

Okay, nevermind. I really love him.

fin