He was watching. 

Dashing across the muddy field with the ball at his feet, and Josh of the other team practically breathing down his neck, Issa Afwerki barely had enough time to even glance. But he could tell he was looking at him play, his gaze practically burning into Issa's back. He couldn't mess up. 

Not in front of him.

Sliding to a halt, Issa positioned himself and kicked the ball at Nick. Too hard: right past the intended target. Nick promptly sprinted after the ball in pursuit, and Issa scowled, roughly wiping his sweaty tight curls out of his face. His eyes darted to the fence that seperated the football fields from the footpath. 

He was still there on the other side of the fence, casually sitting down a bench positioned just a few centimeters from the fence, his eyes darting around at the football game. Issa saw him walking past the football fields almost every practice, a badge-covered backpack alway slung over his right shoulder. But this was the first time he'd ever sat down on one of the benches and watched the match. 

His dark eyes were squeezed to slits in the late summer sun, and as always it almost seemed like he was trying to blend into the rest of the world unnoticed. His straight black hair was cut short and simple, he wore loose yet neatly pressed black clothes and scuffed yellow converses that contrasted to the rest of his outfit. The way he sat was almost too casual for the attitude that he gave off and he pretended to be on a phone call every time someone walked past him on the footpath. His plan to go unnoticed was almost perfect, if only for the occasional loud shutter sound that his camera made every so often, which would immediately make Issa's head turn.

"Issa!" Nick's voice rang out, with thinly veiled annoyance. Issa's head snapped back into the game and he immediately got why his teammate sounded so ticked off. The ball had already been played to the other side of the field whilst Issa was off in la-la land. Cursing under his breath, Issa rushed forward to join his team. 

"Open on your left!"

Almost instantly, the ball came Issa's way. But as he twisted his head around to recieve, he slipped on the wet grass, nearly losing his balance and struggling to even keep himself standing. Josh-of-the-other-team easily stole the ball and ran off, his teammates right behind him. Matthew, the boy who'd passed the ball to Issa, gave him a glare as he stomped past, his grey eyes flashing with anger. Matthew hated losing, especially if it was someone else's fault. Issa just glared right back. Whatever, Issa didn't care about this troubled youth's opinion. 

"Okay, what are you doing?" A firm shove on the shoulder made Issa turn around. 

Nick was jogging alongside him. WIth his light blonde hair and pale skin, he had the tendency to burn up. Heck, he was already looking like a bright red tomato. Nick cared way more about football than their actual team coach did. He was often left in charge of the game and Issa could feel a stern scolding from him coming up. 

"What?"

Nick's forehead crinkled as both eyebrows raised, and Issa let out an exasperated sigh. "It's not me, it's this stupid field and the rain from last night! Not my fault!"

"No," Nick started slowly, "You suck. Stop sucking." 

Issa rolled his eyes. "Yeah, thanks. Any other great advice you have to offer me?"

"Yes, I do." Matthew stormed up to Issa and shoved him, causing Issa to fall into the mud. He heard a soft shutter click in the distance and groaned. "How about you hand in your kit, because if you can't pay attention in the middle of a crucial match, you don't deserve to wear it!"

"Stupid mud." Issa muttered to himself. His shoes were all covered in the stuff, too. Their original color wasn't even visible anymore. Why the hell was it raining so much anyways? It was late summer, which meant hot sunshine only. He hated cleaning hs shoes. He hated mud. And most of all, he hated Nick being right.

He was sucking at football, and that's exactly what he was going to think. So far, all Issa had achieved was making absolute sh*tty passes, only topped by awkwardly stumbling around, and not even hitting the ball. That was some FIFA world cup material right there. Who knew when he was going to stop by again, if ever he'd forever think that Issa sucked at football after today.

No, that was bullsh*t. He would forget about that super-bad football player's very existence the moment he walked away, and never think about him again. He'd get up from that bench and...and he had just gotten up from the bench.

He was leaving. 

Issa's heart drummed in a way that had nothing to do with running up and down a field. 'No, don't leave.' He had to do something. Something big, no, huge, to revert the damage, and fast. Think, no, don't think. No time, idiot. Issa just needed to go for it, whatever the hell 'it' was. 

For anything to happen, Issa first needed to get his feet on that ball. Where the hell was the ball? Issa looked around the mad, angry Matthew that was currently shouting at him to find the ball. Jason had it. Pfft, he could take on Jason, piece of cake. Issa jumped to his feet and pushed Matthew out of the way, charging right at Jason without hesitation.

"What on god's green Earth does that boy think he's doing?" Nick said behind him, raising an eyebrow and putting his hands on his hips.

Issa leapt in-between Jason and Percy, just after Jason tried to pass to the latter. And then he ran, the wind in his ears, and the precious ball securely at his feet. The goal was straight ahead, but as if there were little strings attached to his eyes, they were pulled to the footpath next to the fence. To him.

A jolt went down his spine as was met by a pair of dark brown eyes, and Issa instantly lost control over the lower half of his face. He just couldn't help it: his lips automatically curled up into a wide grin. That's right, you watch. Wait-was he smiling back? It was subtle, but the corner of his lips tugged up too. He was smiling back at Issa.

As his stomach did a series of loops and backflips, Issa instantly forgot about his tired limbs, his burning lungs, and even about the stupid wet mud on his shoes. He sped up, legs moving faster and faster by the second, until it felt like he was no longer touching the ground.

He was, no longer touching the ground.

Issa's right foot slid away from below him as he stepped on something. Something harder and far more slippery than the field. In a flash Issa saw his smile dissappear and eyes widening, before he went down, face first, into the mud.