On a Scale of One to Even: For the Boys, #1

Breathing. It was one of those things you had to keep forcing yourself to do sometimes no matter how hard it became. One of those things you just did without wanting to do, like placing one step in front of the other and passing by strangers. Strangers with their own stories, and their own reasons for having difficulty breathing. Maybe that’s why he’d been running around on the soccer field for the past thirty minutes, kicking around a ball as if it would make his breathing easier. In its own way it probably did, for his mind was forced to focus on one thing: that ball. The very ball, that during a game, was his job to keep out of the net several yards away. There was a time he played Sweeper, and then the older he got the larger he grew. The larger he grew the more that box of a net felt like home. No one came in his box, no one bothered him in his box, and best of all? He could forcibly keep everything outside of his box.

No one wanted to mess with the 6’5", 197 pounds, half Italian goalkeeper. He liked it that way as well, for if his size didn’t scare people off his resting bitch face did. It wasn’t so much that he was unattractive, honestly, he had girls coming to bother him left and right; it was annoying. He’d never had a thing for girls, guys, people ... they were all noise. The noise he interacted with and spoke to, noise that he filtered and found a good song within on a rare occasion. Granted he’d only found three good songs in all his 26 years on the Earth; everything else just wasn’t his type of tune. Some were tunes he could tolerate, he could listen to, and give feedback on and others? Well, others he just flat out ignored or forcibly got rid of. Not that he was the type to pick fights, for if anything he was a Pacifist. Though, there were a few things that really ticked him off.

Like people being mistreated, like women being used, like people being made to feel small. Yes, there were very specific things that set off the Psychology major and once set off he used the gifts he’d been given to handle the situations. He had an uncanny ability to read people like open books, and if you took that with his knowledge in his field of study he could usually get rid of a problem without even breaking another’s nose. Sometimes it did come to that sadly, but usually only if a specific button was pushed - a button pertaining to his late Mother. She and his Father were two of the reasons he’d ended up going into Psychology. His Mother had problems, and the woman she’d gone to speak with once a week kept her alive seven years longer than she’d have been otherwise. The woman that his Mother spoke with even came to the funeral, just as lost and messed up as they’d been when his Mom finally committed suicide.

That was when he was sixteen after they’d come to America. After she’d spiraled and his Dad stopped traveling for work. After he’d started going to talk to a shrink for tiptoeing down the same fine line as his Mother. Granted her depression, and anxiety, were way worse and his had been brought on by stress. All the stress of his family slowly falling apart and watching his Father pull every thread possible to simply keep his Mother there. Stress ... that’s probably why he’d ended up this asexual, robotic, mess when it came to emotions and deeper social connections. Probably why he only had three friends and more acquaintances than he could ever wish to count. Why he was that guy that slipped from clique to clique and never really had a home away from home outside of the soccer team.

Mateo!

The raven nearly tripped over his own feet, brought from his focus by a familiar voice. Instantly the light browns which had been boring into the sphere on the grass lifted and landed upon a blonde wandering over across the field. Mateo shifted, lifting his shirt to wipe his face as the other approached with a grin. Noah - the blonde - was the team’s Captain, and had been his best friend since he was a Freshman in Highschool. He was an attractive guy, three inches shorter than him, and had thick shoulders and stocky legs. They were quite the pair for Noah had bright blonde hair, cropped short and large blue eyes; while Mateo had layered black hair, looking as if it were permanently in a state of bedhead, and smaller light brown eyes. They looked like walking contradictions of one another for Noah was energetic and looked cheerful, and Mateo looked uninterested and stoic. Personality wise? Well, Noah was indeed cheerful ... but he had a short temper as well so he could quickly lose his cheerful demeanor. Mateo however was far more laid back than his face appeared and liked to diffuse situations versus fuel them.

All in all, they were a good pair both on and off the field.

Noah stretched before passing by his friend so he could place his bag beside the goal post, How long have you been out here? He started meandering back, hands threw behind his head leisurely. He was trying to understand the other’s dress for it was late November, so late they would be going on Winter break next week. Feel like blocking a few?

Thirty minutes or so? Mateo seemed to think it over as if he were unsure, for honestly, he’d lost track of time. That was bad in itself for he had a class soon. His eyes wandered to his watch, shoulders shrugging as he kicked the ball up, bounced it off his knee and caught it. Sure. He tossed it over to the blonde before breaking into a small jog towards the goal. Noah was the team’s Forward and one of the only two on it who managed to get a ball past the raven usually. Mateo took a breath, settling into the box comfortably; he felt calmer in that box.

Noah was already dribbling the ball, warming his legs a bit before taking a stride and rushing for his teammate. He shot, it was blocked and thrown back, and so started their intricate dance. The Fall Tournament was next week so the team had been pushing itself a bit more, set on winning this year for they’d fallen short for the past two. Ever since one of their rival teams got a few new players they’d gotten more aggressive. It was something they encountered terribly last year for the whole of the game the score was tied ... until Mateo got tired. Tired of blocking countless attacks while his own team failed to make it to the other half of the field for nearly thirty minutes straight.

In the end he had gotten worn out, and his reaction time slipped. Slipped right on out the fucking window and he let a ball get past. One single ball and it cost them the whole fucking Tournament. He was still sore about it, still upset with not only himself but the rest of the team. He was good at his part, good at keeping the ball and other players away from his box. What he had no control over though was the ball making it into the other team’s goal. He got tired and they failed to play aggressively enough to make goals to catch up. It ended up being a spiral of death for them as a team last year.

This year? They had to win. It was Noah’s last year for he was graduating in the Spring, and as such Mateo was set on them winning. He had gone as far as to remind them that they had to deal with him for four more years thanks to his degree, and should they fail their Captain he wouldn’t let them live it down. Mateo grit his teeth, stopping himself from diving for the ball for the third time now. He got the feeling that Noah was doing it on purpose - making shots just out of his reach so he would have to jump for them. Usually, he wouldn’t care, but he wore a white shirt today and would rather not have another one ruined with