Nate's POV

My chosen spot was far back enough that even if by any chance either of them were to look for me in the crowd, spotting me would prove on the positive side of impossible. Wearing a baseball cap and a pair of aviator sunglasses, I had no qualms with the burning sun as I watched the stadium gradually fill with an astounding variety of people.

From family members of the team players standing out with painful obviousness decked head to toe in their son's team colours like miniature mascots, to football enthusiasts eager to witness the debut game in the Champions league and even a couple notable people who seemed to mean business, flocking together in their box seats, undoubtedly cursing their decisions to wear custom made suits to a clammy stadium but nonetheless acting as if our superiors, too high up for us to hear more than their hearty practiced laughs.

But my attention wasn't focused on the enthusiast, families, agents or the baby girl wailing on the far side of my row about dropping her cotton candy. Numb from my lack of movement, I shifted, scooting lower into the slightly rotten plastic chair, which not only gave me the prefect view of the goal keeper's gate Gage would be defending in approximately fifteen minutes from now, but also the front row seat which despite the onrush, had remained stubbornly empty.

Not for much longer now though, as I watched a lithe figure make its way through the settling sea of sweat and anticipation, which paid little heed to a head of long hair shyly parting the crowd with moonstone arms, hair a thousands shades of gold, copper and silver as it caught the light of the setting sun and cast a kaleidoscope of colours reflecting on every available surface. The ghost of a smile shadowed my lips but was quickly stopped from taking root lest I split my lip any further than I want it to. The point is to elicit sympathy for a handsome and unfairly beaten up man, not pity for my mangled face. Thin line to walk.

Gingerly, I brought a hand to my swollen eye, now ugly and blackened, trailing it down to the cut hazardously cut by my pocket knife two days prior and satisfied with the swollen sensation, brought it to massage the tender spot at the back of my head, a full fledged bump hidden under my precariously placed baseball cap.

The sudden roar erupting from the crowd made me refocus my attention on the field, where the teams had both just made their appearance. It wasn't difficult to spot Gage, easily towering over a good part of his teammates and seeming busier searching the crowd for a certain someone than paying attention too his coaches last minute motivational glib. Let gage be the one to put personal matter over team morale. I scoffed loud enough to earn myself a side eye from the man sitting to my right, sporting a potbelly and a salt and pepper moustache. As for the generic foam nb. 1 oversized index finger, I had slightly more creative ideas for its use than nonsense and uncoordinated air waggles.

Gage's POV

I've never felt such jitters during a match before. Even when placed for the first time in front of a cheering and jeering crowd, there was no cold sweat, or tremors. I had always been considered a crowd swooner and had never felt any kind of stage fright. But today, quakes of anxiety and anticipation rose under my skin as I searched for the designated seat, praying for her to be there.

Despite having her confirm she'd come, I couldn't help but loose a sight of relief when I saw her small figure in the crowd, standing out starkly in monochrome, clashing with the sea of red and greens around her. I could faintly hear coach give us some last minute memo, instead allowing myself to take her in, and solidify my resolve. Those amber eyes flecked with gentle gold flakes that had always reminded me of something curious yet dainty and fragile, yearning to be uncovered. I wasn't sure I'd see them again. I had felt her pulling away, turning cold and resolute.

Too frightened of what her voice might sound, I limited myself to text, which allowed my imagination to roam unchecked, and of course, in my detriment. Imagining her in Nate's arms, looking at him with the same yearning she used to look at me, the same vulnerability, was enough to make nausea roll through me in waves. Ari was the one who had told me that something unvoiced isn't truly real, but wasn't believing it to be real just as bad? Seeing her here, like so long ago, when I first invited her to watch me play on a dreary November morning, gave me hope.

  It was only much later after my falling out with Nathan that I realised my mistake. How it might look through her eyes. But for some reason, it seems that Nate had kept it quiet and kept his distance. Although I had given my all to scaring him away, I was still surprised to have actually worked. Or perhaps he was planning something grander. Nate had always been one for grand elaborate schemes I had no interest in. But never with you as the central pawn.

A piercing whistle brought me back to the present, and I found myself running toward the keeper's gate, moving on autopilot, dodging and blocking, kicking and rolling, with only one thought in mind. The promise ring safe in my locker, steadily gathering dust. Win her back.

Ari's POV

I had forgotten how much I loved to watch him play. Sitting here again, on the same seat I did the very first time he had invited me to watch him play, made it feel like no time had passed at all. Hearing some girls behind me swoon over a particularly impressive blocking even stirred the sae familiar burn of jealousy, sharpening my senses and making my blood pound, a steady thrum in my ears. The score was indecisive, and with 5 minutes left of the official time it was either one of the teams scoring a third goal or overtime.

However, I found myself hoping for the latter, so I could have more time to myself in the peaceful bubble I had built myself in the past 2 hours, free of obligations or choices. Suddenly, I felt my phone buzz in against my leg. Rolling my eyes fondly at Kay's exaggerated care, I took it out prepared, to turn it off so I could continue enjoying the game, only to be pleasantly surprised by a text from Nate. Eager that it seemed to be longer than a couple words, I opened it up and found myself giggling uncontrollably.

Before I could even think about typing out a response, a deafening whistle blew, signalling the end of the game. But where I expected the crowd to erupt in a roar of cheers and cries, my side of the stadium remained deathly quiet, while the other side's laughter and cheering seemed to echo throughout, amplified by the vast space.

"And so Arsenal wins the game and qualifies for the championship" a series of unintelligible words followed, marked by a solemn tone. This seemed to spur the supporters into action, a wave of booing and jeers addressed to the home team punctuated by the opposing cheers and hurray's clashed like two notes out of tune, a cacophony of broken sounds making my head spin, blocking out my own thoughts.

All I could bring into focus was Gage's stare, incredulous and devastated as he searched my face, as if soundlessly looking for the explanation his teammates where trying to prod out of him with shouts and sharp and angry remarks, if their defensive stances where anything to go by. As if suddenly regaining his strength, in the blink of on eye he turned and practically sprinted towards the team lockers.

Slightly shocked and perhaps confused, his teammates followed, seemingly in various states of forbearance, despite some of them seeming much more eager to take gage's example and sprint away from the crowd steadily morphing into something resembling an angry mob, throwing empty beer cans and Styrofoam merchandise onto the playing field, despite the security's  attempts to calm them down.

Watching more guards come forward to restrain the mob, I quickly jumped to my feet, quietly but purposefully slipping through the crowd and towards the same door I'd just seen the home team go through. I couldn't remember if I was even allowed in, and frankly I couldn't find it in myself to care. I slipped past a security guard and though the double doors which opened into a long blank corridor, its overhead neon lights flickering. In the semi darkness, I ran towards its far end, angry voices coming into focus, and pushed the single door open, revealing a classroom sized room, decked with red lockers on both sides, split by a long wooden bench.

To my right, I could see a tall girl around my age, dressed in a skimpy red dress and sporting luscious black hair, trying to console one of Gage's teammates by snogging him senseless, display in which some other teammates seemed to take consolation in as well, staring  smugly. This only left a handful angry stares directed toward Gage, or rather his hunched back, some of them even going as far as shoving him as they left. But he seemed to pay them no heed as he stood motionless, forehead pressed against what I assumed to be his locker, breathing raggedly and clutching something to his chest, as if debating whether to throw it against the nearest wall or tuck it in his pocket for safekeeping.

"Gage?" I murmured, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. Tense chorded muscle contracted under my palm, the only sign he'd registered my presence. Wondering if my voice was too low to hear, I repeated his name a little louder, allowing some  of my concern slip through. "Ari, leave." The sound was almost inhuman, something between a snarl and a growl, made through gritted teeth. Normally, I would've backed away, afraid of standing in range lest he turn violent. But I was done being afraid of men. So mustering all the conviction I could, I gave him a defiant "No", adding just the slightest edge to it, as to hopefully get his full attention. "Ariana, please leave" Sometime in the meanwhile he had started shaking, and I felt a strange desire to comfort him, something he normally did for me. How the tide had turned. "Gage, it isn't your faul-"

The next seconds were a blur. One moment  I was trying to console him, tentatively wrapping my arms around his midriff. The next, I was violently pushed against a locker, head banging against it hard enough to blur my vision, a hand wrapping around my throat with viciousness. Struggling to breathe, I looked up to him, trying and failing to say something, anything to make his hand loosen. But it wasn't my earlier determination that settled in my stomach as I took in his face; it was pure terror.

The previously devastated look had morphed into something horrendous, terrifying, a veins bulging on his temples and eyes crazed, almost feral. He was screaming, yet I could only make out a select few words. "Of course..... your fault.........because I love you......ungrateful little bitch" Panic flared up in my every cell as I felt my consciousness slipping like quicksand, pulling me under as black spots darkened my vision. This is how I die. That one thought was stuck in a loop, and I was overtaken by a strange urge to laugh, as my brain started to experience the first signs of oxygen deprivation. Then, nothing.