Sixty-four. Sixty-three. Sixty-two...

Deep breaths. You got this. The shaking subsided and Mark opened his eyes again. His knuckles had turned white from holding onto the steering wheel tightly. He was going to be sick. He hated that. He hated the lack of control. He let go of the steering wheel, shook his hands, and grabbed his camera bag.

His legs moved on their own, his mind traveling years back. The world isn't a fucking trash can. Perhaps joining a club would help. I couldn't possibly not let you use it. Tell me one thing you can taste. You're fucking hilarious, huh? I think you might be in love with him. I think I feel those things for you. Admit it-you're obsessed with me.

He met up with one of the team's managers. He was acting mechanically, not even listening to what they were saying. I can't play if I have distractions. Well, you are about to...

Mark didn't actually pay attention to his surroundings. He knew he was at an open field, but his eyes were only focusing on the team that was warming up before him. He looked at every one of them, taking note of their distinguishing features so that he could remember them eventually. 

One had gray hair, but it was dyed and he didn't seem older than thirty, he also had some small tattoos and dimples. Another one had a tribal tattoo going up from his calf to his thigh. There was a guy with a short beard and a shaved head. One with green eyes. Two guys with huge muscles. A handful of guys who didn't have anything that stood out about themselves, but Mark was sure he'd remembered them after a few times of seeing them. Finally, his eyes fell on him.

Mark hadn't seen him for so long. He had kept himself from searching him up. The name did pop up around him every now and then, but he always blocked it out. Tried to ignore it.

Thomas Heissmann. He was a hard man to ignore. The world knew his name within the year of their breakup. He moved up from being a substitute to being a starting line-up striker pretty fast. Some people even called him one of the best –if not the best- strikers of the world. He deserved it.

Seeing him up close, after all these years, brought chills down Mark's spine. There was a huge smile on his face. He was more muscular and radiant than before. But Mark could recognize that broken look in one's eyes miles away. It was the same look he, himself, used to have. The same look he still had from time to time.

He was talking to another player -the guy in his thirties with dimples and tattoos- when his golden eyes fell on Mark. He did a double-take, his mouth stopped moving and he visibly paled.

"Everyone!" the team manager who had brought Mark in yelled. "This is Mark McGregor, he works for Fitness and Health alongside Lily," he said and nodded to the woman who stood by the sidelines with a notepad in her hand. "They will be present in some of your practices and most of your matches for the feature their magazine is doing for the team this year".

The guy who used to be talking to Thomas, who was still frozen in place, was the first one to go and greet Mark. His name was Frank and he was nicer than Mark had imagined. One by one he met everyone on the team. Thomas was the last one to go greet him. He contemplated not even approaching Mark. But finally decided against it, seeing as that would have been weird. He extended his hand and bit the inside of his cheek.

"Nice to meet you; my name's Thomas."

Mark frowned for a second but returned the hand gesture. There was no way Thomas hadn't recognized him. Was this his cover? Were they acting as if they didn't know each other? Mark didn't remember that being written in their confidentiality agreement.

"Nice to meet you too, Thomas," Mark replied with a fake smile. Their eyes lingered on each other, but snapping out of it, Thomas turned around and went on with his training.

As Mark snapped a couple of pictures of them every cuss word he had ever learned was swirling in his mind. He hated doing this. He wasn't a sports photographer. Technically, he didn't even work for "Fitness and Health". His boss, who owned "Fitness and Health", had assigned him this job and he couldn't say no. And it wasn't like he had any time to think about it. He had gotten the job offer one day ago.

"This must feel weird, right?" Lily asked him about an hour later. She pushed her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose and gathered her brown hair to the one side.

"What?" Mark asked back, not looking away from his viewfinder.

"Photographing a soccer team after all these years".

Mark pulled back with a frown. "What are you talking about?"

"I know more about you than you think, McGregor," she said with a playful wink. "I saw your portfolio. I know you used to photograph soccer players in your high school years".

"I was in the yearbook committee. I photographed a lot of people back then," he told her.

"I only saw one guy in your portfolio. That blond one," she said.

"Why were you looking at my portfolio?" Mark snapped back, lowering his camera. She shrugged.

"I wanted to know the guy that I was working with for the season," Lily replied.

"And checking out my past gives you the information you are looking for?" Mark asked and took another picture of the guy with the tribal leg tattoo.

"I didn't check out your past. I looked through some of your most notable pictures and saw that you used to photograph soccer," she said.

"Don't you have a manager or coach or someone else to talk to for your article?"

"I already have everything I need. I'd love to learn more about you, though," Lily said and put her notepad in her bag. Mark gave her a sideways glance.

"Why? Do you want to write a piece about me?"

"Maybe. If you're interesting enough..." she said and moved closer to him.

"Sorry, I've had enough articles written about me. Queer'd, Pink, XY, Attitude, and Gay Times have done pieces. Go read them if you want to know more," Mark replied.

"I already have. But there's more to you than your sexuality," Lily said. Mark frowned again and shed another sideways glance at her.

"Those articles aren't only about my sexuality," he told her.

"No, they aren't. But the people who read those magazines read them because of their sexualities. If you're ever interested in being in an article written for a broader demographic... this is my card," she said and offered him her card. Mark eyed the little piece of paper for a moment. Lily Weathers.

"You really don't know anything about me, do you?" he finally asked. Her sweet expression shifted into one of offense. "I don't associate with homophobes".

"I'm not a –"

"Save it for someone who cares. You Weathers' have a reputation," Mark said and packed his camera, as he had gotten everything he wanted for the day. Without another word, he started to leave.

The Weathers' were a family of journalists. Lily's mother –Mark guessed it was Tara Weathers- used to be a journalist who had her own morning talk show. Mark remembered going to high school and hearing Tara Weathers talk about how queer people were ruining the world. Jeremiah Weathers, Lily's father, used to be a newspaper journalist but had turned into a writer about two decades ago. His books were the only books Mark had ever wanted to burn. Homophobic trash.

"I'm nothing like my parents. I just want an interview with one of the most influential people of this day and age," Lily said following Mark. There was something in her tone and her body language that made Mark not believe her.

"I'll see you at their first game," Mark told her and completely left the field.

Once in his car, he took the camera out of his bag and went through the photos. Only three were blurry. He went one last time through his camera roll and he stopped on one of Thomas's pictures.

He bore that smile again. That wonderful, sunset smile. Mark thought back to the time he first photographed Thomas. During their practice, after he had convinced him to join the yearbook committee. Heissmann #9.

Letting out a heavy breath, Mark closed his camera, set it aside, and took out his phone. He quickly clicked on the second most called person, right after Reese. There were two rings before it was answered.

"Hey, can we meet? I need to talk to you about something..."