Being in a stadium was a million times different from a regular turf with fake grass that sent electricity running up your arms whenever you touched someone. And not in the good way. The fake grass did have its perks, though. Like mud not splashing all over me whenever I played in the rain or being able to face plant on the ground without dirt settling in my molars.

The university did a good job with its football stadium. With blinding floodlights and large towering stands circling the immaculate green pitch, it stood like a majestic mosaic of concrete and steel. If only the team did as good, perhaps the stadium wouldn't be open on Sundays for any and all to play to make the board feel they didn't just waste millions of dollars on a losing team.

Some of the guys were re-marking the football pitch with aerosol, spraying it on each other more than on the field. The scent of freshly cut grass loomed as I walked along the side, my eyes strictly on Beck, who was on his feet talking to Diego and a couple of the other players lacing their boots. He looked radiant as ever, hair messy from the wind, hands snug in his jacket pockets, magenta tinted nose and cheeks, undone shoe laces, a lazy smile just stuck on his face like it belonged there. It did belong there. I stood a few feet away, just taking him in. He was so relaxed and at ease; I wanted to imprint him in my mind's eye so I could imprint him on paper later in the night.

"Hey hey!" I bumped fists with Diego and Nakamura. And gave a cheeky As-salamu alaykum to Ahmed, who returned the sentiment.

"And here we thought you forgot about us," Chen said when I plopped down beside him on the unsturdy bench to lace up.

"Nah, bro, just been busy. This sem is crazy, plus I've got work. Only on Sunday evenings I can pretend the world's gone to shit and sleep like a log."

"D'Costa just doesn't want to let us see how rusty he's gotten, eh?" Diego hollered from the other end. "I had to call the fucking hockey player to get him down here."

Speaking of the hockey player, I was deliberately ignoring Beck.

And I succeeded.

For a grand total of five seconds before he sat down beside me and pulled on my sleeve. "Dude! You know these guys? How? What? And why do I not know this?"

"I've been playing with these losers since freshman year."

"Man, can't believe we're almost halfway through our third year," Nakamura said, bouncing on his toes.

"And I can't believe you all still suck. Some would say having such a good player," I gestured to myself, "in your vicinity would make you wanna work harder. Instead, you all are just moving backwards."

Ahmed flung his head back and had a hearty laugh, as though he wasn't part of the university team that lost almost every match they played.

"Let your skills do the talking, bro," Chen said, slapping me on the back. "Light up the field and then we'll have a chat, eh?"

"My skills don't just talk, Chen." I lunged for him and pulled him in a headlock. "They scream."

One holler, more than a few boos and a lot of fuck-offs made their way to me. Chen wrestled out of my hold, shoved me and then went for laps with the rest of the guys who came to play, leaving me and Beck.

"Twenty-one," he said, referring to the number on my back.

Yeah, Beck. 21. Our number.

I was wearing my school jersey. It looked just as old as it was with its tattered hem, weathered dye, fading print, and the school crest that was almost ripped. But it was the only non-cricket jersey I had with my name on it. When I was in the eleventh grade, one of the forwards had broken his ankle and was out for the district championships. I didn't mind filling in the empty spot, as long as the number 21 was mine. It was just for two weeks and I was travelling with the rest of the squad for the cricket league anyway, so it made sense for them to take me in.

"You owe me an explanation." He pulled me closer by grabbing the front of my jersey. He had yanked a little harder than either of expected and it left us almost nose to nose, sharing one breath. Just one of us needed to move an inch and our lips would touch.

I swallowed and stepped back. His hand dropped from my chest. Did he feel how my heart sped up?

"There's nothing to explain." I shrugged. "This is the first time I'm stepping onto this field this semester."

"You said you didn't know Diego."

"Bah." I waved a hand. "I didn't know you meant Ruiz."

"Dude! I introduced you guys, and both of you acted like strangers."

"I mean, outside this pitch, none of us talk to each other. We don't even acknowledge each other."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Because the sky is so high?" I shimmied out of the track pants I'd thrown on over my shorts.

He scoffed, that lazy smile returning to those wet lips. "You soccer players are a different breed."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment." I gave him a loud pat him on the back and breezed past him, going for my warm up laps.

"Only a soccer player would take it as a compliment," he muttered to himself.

"I heard that!"

"You were meant to!"

~

It took us longer than it should've to divide ourselves into two teams, and when we were finally done, a slight drizzle had begun to pour. All the waiting around made me snappy, which only got me even more riled up thanks to the rain.

We were at the centre of the field, and I was about to start the kick-off when I spotted a familiar little something at the defence end of the other team. A crown of coils on a man. A man who was responsible for getting me banned from the cafe in front of H&P. A man who made me walk the added mile just to get good coffee.

I went to Lee and asked, "Who is that guy?" I jutted out a finger in coffee-mishandler's direction. "The one with the dreadlocks?"

"Him? I don't know, I've never seen him before. I think Hiro brought him."

"Yo, Nakamura, get your unwashed ass here!" I yelled.

"Eh?" He jogged to the centre.

"That gu—"

"The fuck you princesses gossiping about?" someone bellowed from the other team.

I didn't turn around and held my middle finger in the air for them.

"That guy. Who is he?"

"A junior in my department. Crazy good at tackling."

"I've never seen him before."

"He pops by from time to time. If he wasn't already playing tennis, I'd have tricked him into signing up for soccer a long time back."

I stared at him standing with his hands akimbo, waiting for the game to start. Yeah, that was him alright. The tapestry of hues he had coloured his hair in was difficult to forget. Shades of ebony, chestnut and copper mingled together to create a magnificent work of art. If I didn't hate him so much, I'd have considered trying to sketch the way he'd bundled his locs together with a scrunchie. "What's his name?"

"Kofi Osuwu."

I bit back the remark that hung on the edge of my tongue. Because of course the guy who spilt coffee on me in a coffee shop was named Kofi. Was the Big Guy having a good laugh up there?

We started the kick-off. Lee passed the ball to me and I took off, dodging tackles and wading off shoves. I found a free player and passed. He received it with controlled precision before sending it flying to Lee, who was already present in the box. Lee out-dribbled a defender and was about to shoot, but spotted the keeper preparing to ambush him, so instead did a back heel, and the post was clear for a free shot. I ran to the ball and was about to shoot when a body slid right in front of me. I tripped over him and fall flat on my face, my cheekbone taking the brunt of my weight.

My jersey was soaked with mud and I spat out wet grass. I looked up to see fucking Kofi with a smug expression. This was the part where I'd be bursting my lungs at a referee for a penalty. But this wasn't an actual match, and no one here bothered enough to fight for a penalty. My watch decided it a good time to start beeping manically.

Breathe.

I would've walked away had he not opened his big fucking mouth. "Still can't watch where you're going, eh?"

That fucker was just begging to be punched. I almost grabbed him by the jersey and knocked him out, but Lee dragged me back.

"It's our corner," he said.

No, it wasn't ours. Some new guy who I'd never seen before took the corner. The ball flew above all our heads and skittered away beyond the boundary on the other side, converting it into a very nice goal kick for the other team.

I groaned. We were headed nowhere.

Half time and I was covered in mud from head to toe. Thanks to my sweat, all sorts of particles from the pitch stuck to my skin like glue. My cheeks, my forehead, my forearms, my shins, and a little had entered my butt crack as well. I had spent more time making out with the grass than on my feet. Fucking Kofi and the other defender made sure of that. I tasted blood on my lips each time I spat out dirt and something warm dripped down my face. It was almost like the other team was out to get me. They spared nothing. I was tackled, kicked, shoved, and bodyslammed.

On the bright side, the game was still nil-nil, so we still had a chance to turn it around. My team and I stomped, more like limped, to one side of the field while the other team took the opposite side.

"You said this is the first time you played soccer all sem," Beck said, handing me a water bottle.

"No. I said this is the first time I'm playing on this field all sem." I let the water dribble over my lips, taking in micro sips.

"Then make that practice count, man. What the fuck is going on there?"

I pushed off the bench and got up in Beck's face. "Oh, so you're a big-ass pro now? Why don't you lace up and give it a go?"

"I'm down, dude."

"You go on that pitch, and I'll break that other leg of yours too." When he scoffed, I repeated. "I mean it." Then, right in his ear, I yelled, "Yo, everyone, huddle up." And grinned shamelessly when he flinched.

We all crowded into a small circle, arms thrown over each other's shoulders.

"We're playing like shit," I said. "But the good news is even they're playing like shit, so we just need to play a tiny bit less like shit. Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna scrap the 4-4-2 formation. It's bullshit and we're going nowhere with it. Instead, we're gonna go ahead with short passes."

"Tiki-taka!" some kid said.

"Yep. Gonna take a page from Pep's handbook."

"More like a scrap from the last page used for rough work," Lee butted in.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. We suck, I know, but our passes are precise, so make it count. Lee is gonna be the ringmaster, like a sort of conductor, okay? We're gonna go through him. So, Nakamura and I are front, midfielders support Lee from the back. Defenders, you guys are golden, keep it up. Lee, my dude, my man, think of Ashley's dad chasing you, 'kay? Run like your life depends on it. And guys, remember the formation. Remember the geometry, keep moving. Don't stick to your positions. KEEP. MOVING. Short passes, one or two touches. Good?"

I heard a cacophony of good, all uncoordinated and confused. Jesus, we sucked even in this. Lord, help this bunch.

"Okay, Pep, on three. One, two, three. PEP! Let's go, let's go!"

Beck pulled me back, my back to his chest, and every molecule of aggression I'd cultivated inside me left. My bones turned to jelly and my breathing turned haywire.

He whispered in my ear, "Enough with the showing off. Now, win this game."

"The game is ours."

"Mmm." He turned me so I was facing him. "Take care of this," he rubbed my chest. "You can stop with the aggression."

"Aggression? Honey, I haven't even started." I pulled away from him and jogged backwards. "Now, watch how I win this."

The other team started the kick off. I watched Diego dribbling the ball, out-manoeuvring the midfielders, but our defence had put up a good screen and the other forward was too slow to receive his pass. The ball crossed the boundary, and it was a goal kick for us. The keeper sent the ball flying. Lee received it with his chest from the mid-line and passed it to a midfielder. The midfielder sent it soaring across the field to Johnson at the other end. Johnson to Lee, Lee to Nakamura, Nakamura to me, me to Lee, Lee back to Nakamura, Nakamura to me in the box. I ran towards the ball, ready for a shot, but jumped over it as Kofi almost bodyslammed into me and the ball went rolling over to Johnson, who shot it into the net, but the keeper was faster.

Still. It was a brilliant attempt, and the other team was left reeling from what he had just pulled.

Maybe we weren't so hopeless after all.

Beck had his hands cupped around his mouth and screamed for a goal, clapping his hands and jumping. I smiled until fucking Kofi appeared in front of me.

"Easy, man," I said. "You keep sticking to me all the time, and people might get the wrong idea."

"Called good marking. A sub-par newbie like you wouldn't know."

"Sub-par? Ouch. Trying to burn me again, huh, Kofi?"

"No. I don't deal with tarnished goods." He started to walk away.

"Just say you can't keep with me, man. No need to protect your ego all that much. Be a man and take it. Isn't that your motto?" I was pushing it. Oh, I was pushing it way too hard, and it was almost like I was inviting my death sentence closer. This guy was a good six inches taller than me, and the next time he tackled me, he could break my bones. But I was enjoying the rise I got out of him a little too much.

"You think I can't keep up with you?" He turned around and came closer.

I shrugged. "Isn't that why you hang behind, just screening and trying to take out my players?"

"Not my fault your players are experts at diving instead of shooting."

"Come forward, then. Show us how it's done, eh?"

I jogged away from him and to Johnson, telling him to switch positions with me. I snuck a peek at Beck and stored all his cheers in my veins. It fuelled me. Drove me.

Our keeper shot the ball into the air. As expected, Kofi was by my side, marking me, trying to shove me behind him. "Now, watch how a sub-par newbie outruns you," I said.

I took off. The defender passed the ball to me. I forfeited the short pass method and dribbled every player who tried to snatch from me. My watch beeped and vibrated, air whooshed past my ears. Along with Kofi, another midfielder was stuck on my heels, but I handled the ball at a significant distance from both of them. A defender put his body on the line and blocked me. I nutmegged him and passed it to Lee, who waited inside the box. Lee faked a shot that had the keeper sliding in front of him for a tackle. He passed the ball with a back-heel and I sent it flying into the nets with no intercepts.

I pumped my fists in the air and faced Beck, who screamed his heart out from the stands. The guys jumped on my back and ruffled my hair and also cursed me for being the one to forgo the strategy we'd decided on. Whatever. We got a goal thanks to me.

I went up to Kofi and stood with a hand caressing my chin. "If I'm a sub-par newbie, then I wonder what that makes yo—"

He caught hold of a fistful of my jersey and yanked me so hard, it gave me whiplash. A punch almost landed, but soon other players were pulling us apart. I couldn't wipe the smug grin on my face and even opened my mouth wide to stick my tongue out.

Kofi riled up did wondrous things to my nerve endings. I couldn't get enough of it.

The game ended with us winning 1-0, and I would've joined in on the huddled celebration, but I was too busy curled over, getting my heart rate to come down. All good things just had to have a negative effect on me.

My watch beeped furiously.

Over two hundred bpm and climbing.

Jesus fuck.

My head spun, and I was close to vomiting all the acid my stomach produced. Honestly, sometimes it felt like I had been doing better without the diagnosis. Since I found out what was wrong with me, these sudden bouts of dizziness seemed to increase no matter what I did. When I was still in the dark, it was easier to just shake it off and pretend it didn't matter.

By the time I straightened, everyone—both teams—was at the benches, gulping down water, messing around with each other, talking and laughing at the top of their voices, and some started towards the communal showers.

Beck stood, waiting for me to come to him.

I spread my arms, feeling every bit the winner I was.

"How're you doing?" he asked.

"Aweso—"

"Not you," he said and crouched a little till he was face to face with my chest. He tapped on the spot where my heart rested. "I was asking this little dude. How's it going, my man?"

I barked a laugh and shoved him.

"Come here." He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me up in a big bear hug. I inhaled his scent. The leather deodorant he used, the subtle smell his shampoo gave out, his aftershave, and him.

He let go, and I refrained from chasing a path back into his arms.

"You're a totally different person on the pitch. Shit, it's like you activated beast mode," he said.

"I wanna say it's just football, but it's actually with any sport. What can I say? I'm pretty competitive."

"And you're fast." A slow smile peeked from his lips. "Like me."

"Maybe faster," I teased.

"Just you wait, D'Costa. Just you wait."

We laughed, walking towards the rest of the guys. I moved a little to the side and observed them. I watched Beck talk with ease to every single person present, including everyone in the conversation going on, congratulating, joking, listening. Jesus, he was perfect. He was everything anyone could ever want or be. I wanted to hold him tight, hold him like he was perfect and precious and too good for this world.

Because he was. In that moment, beneath the booming floodlights and last rays of the sun under my skin and inside my veins, Beck was everything I had waited my entire life for.