Clearly.

It wasn't a sport Lucas had ever been into, and if he was honest, he wasn't sure he understood it at all.

But he was here, basically freezing his ass off as the whole school waited for the game to start.

Jazaiah and Apollo hadn't shown up yet, and Lucas wasn't going anywhere without them, especially since they had promised to explain how the game worked in real time. He wasn't about to look like an idiot in front of a school as aggressive about their football team as this one.

He kinda wished that they were like this about basketball.

Either way, Lucas had been actually shocked when he'd seen the crowd that had gathered on the bleachers, hurling insults at the comparatively sullen opposing school. At his old school, nobody cared about their baseball team. The guys on there were only popular because they had big houses and allowances that went on for miles, with his brothers only popular because they were twins and friends with the rich kids. 

But here?

Even Lucas was compelled to yell a “Fuck off” or two, the mood was that infectious.

And it wasn't as if it was a few people that were crazy loyal to their football team. Apollo, who usually didn't care about any sport Jazaiah wasn’t in, had been just as passionate about this as everyone else seemed to be when he'd been explaining to Lucas the importance of this game.

Apparently, this game was against their main rivals, the West High Wildebeests. The Beasts (aptly named, according to Jazaiah) were the only team the Hawks had never beaten, made more excruciating by the fact that the games were always super close. Apollo said that any time they would have the upper hand, something would happen to make them lose — most recently a pretty devastating injury to the team’s old quarterback. They called it the curse of the Beest, and Jazaiah thought that it was because the Hawks were the only team whose main running back was white.

“Fucking Feigle,” Apollo had muttered under his breath, when Jazaiah explained his theory, before adding that he didn't think it was because their running back was white, but purely because Danny Feigle moved like he was “being drowned by the mafia.” 

From what Lucas could grasp, the issue was that Danny Feigle was a senior who wasn't good at what he did, but they thought Jamari was too inexperienced to put him on the field. Jazaiah thought it was ‘literally insane’ that they refused to allow Jamari to play. Apollo wished that the Wildebeest curse would only affect Danny Feigle.

(It had been an interesting conversation to have after a particularly excruciating practice, Lucas sweaty and exhausted, trying his hardest to listen as Jazaiah and Apollo gave him a crash course in East High football. He'd barely been able to pay attention over the fact that Jazaiah had been shirtless the entire time they'd been talking, and the fact that he was trying to get dressed at the same time as trying not to look.)

Lucas heaved a sigh. His muscles hurt from practice, and his brain was struggling to keep up with all the information he'd been given. Plus, he was struggling to brave the din of the crowd’s yelling without the noise cancelling headphones he'd left at home. And with the way the scarf his auntie had forced on him tickled his chin, the threat of him embarrassing himself by freaking out at his… tutee’s football game was definitely real.

He leaned against the railing of the bleachers, wrinkling his nose at the smell that wafted out from under the seats. Definitely weed. Probably the newer strain that seemed to be popular around here, since the grassy, thick scent was way more pronounced in a way the weed back in his hometown hadn’t been. A small part of him wished he was down there with them, with the way that his hands were shaking.

Deku and Francis had always been able to get their hands on the best shit.

Lucas shook his head to clear it, holding his eyes closed for a moment as he dragged a breath into his lungs and pushed it out, pretending the acrid smell of cannabis was a real thing. He hoped it was enough of a placebo to get him through.

The moment his eyes blinked back open again, a rush of sweet, sweet relief washed over him as he saw the bob of bright red dreads and the unmistakable silhouette of one of the tallest guys in the school.

Jazaiah and Apollo were finally here.

When they came into full view of the floodlights, every part of Lucas that had been raised well flagged with alarm at Apollo’s bare arms coming out of what was a pretty threadbare looking Michael Jackson tour t-shirt. From the way his shoulders had come up around his ears, the shakiness of his breathing, and the way his hands were fisted in the black jeans that Lucas really, really wanted, Apollo knew he wasn't dressed for the weather, and for some reason had just decided to grit his teeth and bear it.

Despite everything in him wanting to, Lucas didn't ask about it. 

By contrast, Jazaiah was wearing shorts. Shorts he didn't seem to even notice, which, to Lucas, made sense, since basketball players spend most of their lives in shorts anyway. On the top though, he had on a puffer coat that was at least two sizes too big in the shoulders and two inches too short in the arms, Jazaiah’s skinny wrists sticking sadly out of the sleeves.

Unless Jazaiah was suddenly into ill-fitting clothes (unlikely, Lucas had seen the way all his hoodies and sweatpants fit him like a tailored glove), the coat wasn't his.

And if Lucas had eyes, which he did, he could see the way that Apollo seemed to be pretty much the perfect size for the coat Jazaiah had on. Apollo was broad in the shoulders, and Lucas had seen enough of his chest and abs and biceps and thighs — he had really, really nice thighs — to know he worked out. Plus, he was around four or five inches shorter than Jazaiah.

Taking into account the fact that the red of the coat matched the exact red of Apollo’s Knuckles the Echidna inspired hair…

Lucas barely had time to wonder about how old timey detectives felt when they cracked a case before Jazaiah was practically dragging him into the bleachers, barely sparing breath in his tangent about something football-related to apologize to the people he kept bumping into on the way to what he had been taken to calling ‘the prime seats.’

“The game’s about to start!” Jazaiah hissed at Lucas, pulling him into the space between himself and Apollo, motioning with his head to the open field, where the players had begun to walk on into position.

“Okay, so,” Apollo began, before rattling off the names of the team and a quick description of them. “...and there's Danny fucking Feigle, the world's most cursed running back—”

“We hope,” Jazaiah interjected, doing the sign of the cross over his chest.

Apollo shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, “—and our beautiful baby boy, Jamari ‘the Goat’ Labeau.”

Jazaiah whooped and cheered at the mention of Jamari’s name, and Apollo yelled it at a volume that made Lucas physically wince.

Far away, on the field, Jamari turned to meet the cheers of his friends, scanning the crowd for their faces. When he caught notice of them, his face cracked open into a grin that Lucas was sure he’d never seen before.

“He’s here!” Jazaiah yelled, pointing at Lucas with so much gusto he may as well have turned into a neon sign. In response, Jamari put his hand up in a wave that Lucas knew was meant for him. Lucas felt his face flush.

He put his hand up in response, sure the awkwardness was radiating off him in waves. Jamari’s grin got impossibly wider as he pointed a finger at Lucas, before running off to join his team in a huddle.

Somehow, Lucas’ blush deepened even further. 

“Yo, dude,” Jazaiah said at a rational volume, sticking a finger into Lucas' cheek. “You’re crazy red. You okay?”

Lucas nodded quickly, tearing his attention from Jazaiah’s uncharacteristically intuitive gaze. 

Perceptive Jazaiah was the worst Jazaiah.

“Look,” Apollo murmured from his other side, trying not to break the hush that had suddenly settled over the field. He tipped his head to the field, where the captains of the teams had lined up opposite each other. Before Lucas could even ask what was happening, Apollo spoke again. “Coin toss.”

Lucas watched obediently as the coin was thrown, twisting and tumbling through the air like a practiced gymnast’s floor routine. 

Everyone held their breath.

The coin landed.

The referee stuck his arm out to the left, where the blue and red helmets of the Hawks glinted in the floodlights. “Heads! The East High Hawks have won the coin toss.”

Moments later, with a shout of “Hut, hut. Hike!”, the game finally began.

The moment the game started, the crowd erupted, and Lucas quickly realized that no matter how patient and simple Apollo made his commentary, he didn't understand what the fuck was going on.

All he knew is that this game was aggressive, the Hawks clearly gunning for an apparently unlikely win. It wasn't like the Wildebeests were playing nice either, but Lucas could see that their gameplay was touched with the cruel glint of arrogance, and for all Lucas had heard about this rivalry, he couldn't exactly blame them.

“Personal foul!” A gravelly voice yelled, the sound echoing.

The tension had boiled over already, and it was barely fifteen minutes in, when the Beests… tight end (Lucas wasn't sure about any of these positions), had shoved a guy from the Hawks’s defense with a smile on his face that left no room for an assumption of innocence.

The crowd roared like they were the audience of an Ancient Roman gladiator match, screaming vitriolic hatred and vaguely homicidal sentiment at the grinning player. He'd taken his helmet off, as if showing his mousy brown hair to the Hawks’ fans would have them stop their booing and consider his attractiveness as a good reason why he should be spared from what sounded like the crowd’s demand for immediate crucifixion.

“Ugh,” Apollo screwed up his face as if he'd just seen a rat, “That’s Joe Callahan. He's dating some cheerleader on our side, so he thinks he the shit. This is nowhere near the first time he's pulled something like this.”

The fifteen-yard penalty and a detention assigned to Callahan didn't stop the crowd’s surprisingly coherent chants for his execution, but the game continued anyway.

It was fast paced, no side getting very far up the field. The Hawks had the ball, then the Beests, then the Hawks — both sides' defenses bearing down on the other.

Lucas watched with a kind of detached wonder, seeing the events of the game through eyes untouched by the passion that seemed to haunt his classmates like a sport-obsessed poltergeist. The crowd's yells ebbed and flowed between a state of total supportive conviction and screaming brutal murder, but Lucas didn't get the game enough to join at the right times. He knew that when the guy with the ball passed the lines, it meant something, its meaning changing based on whether the guy's jersey was black or blue, and barely anything else.

All things considered, though, he was actually finding it fun.

It was still too loud, and he didn't understand half of what was going on, and the itch to pull his hair into his mouth and chew, or rock back and forth in his seat, was almost oppressive. And still he was having fun.

By the fourth quarter, the game was looking lost. It was 8 - 13, tight by all measures, and the best player on the field was the kicker. Only the Beests had scored a touchdown, and the crowd was oddly placid.

The coach subbed out Feigle.

He subbed in Jamari.

Lucas, Jazaiah and Apollo took a breath in unison, Apollo gripping Lucas' knee with so much force Lucas was sure that it was likely to dislocate.

The quarterback yelled something as Jamari settled into his spot.

His jersey number, 90, was clear from their angle, and some distant part of Lucas' brain made a note to ask him why he chose it.

It was still.

And then it wasn't.

Jamari was handed the ball, and from the moment it entered his hands, he was sprinting like his life depended on it.

Lucas finally got why Jazaiah and Apollo were so adamant that Feigle in Jamari's position was such a travesty.

He spun, dodged and weaved with elegance that rivalled a dancer, and Lucas hoped that there were college scouts in the audience watching what felt exactly like the crescendo of a ballet, leaps included.

30.

20.

15.

10.

5.

He was right on the line, less than a foot from the colored section at the end (“The end zone,” Apollo helpfully supplied) — so, so close.

Somebody slammed into his back.

All was quiet.

There were seconds left on the clock, as the referees looked over everything.

A sense of solemn understanding settled over the crowd as the minutes began to drag.

“This is what always happens,” Jazaiah mumbled, pulling the collar of the coat over his mouth.

Lucas barely heard him over the anxious ringing in his ears.

He prayed. He hoped. He held his breath.

“Touchdown!” A voice yelled, breaking the silence. “Touchdown, East High Hawks!”

For a moment, nothing moved.

Then, everything did.

The crowd jumped and whooped and hollered and cheered, but Lucas barely noticed.

All he could see was the gleam of Jamari’s shocked grin, before a roar of pride cracked his face open. Jamari's teammates jumping on his back, cheering as loud as the crowd was. Jamari's eyes scanning the crowd. Jamari's brown eyes gleaming with joy when they meet Lucas’s.

All he could see was Jamari yell something that looked like, “Did you see that? I did it!”

All Lucas could see was Jamari’s face, beautiful in its incandescent joy, crack open, like the sun’s rays bursting through the clouds, with a grin so wide that his eyes smushed closed with the force of it.

Lucas, his chest warm with mirrored pride, smiled back.

Oh. Something in him whispered. So that's how it's supposed to feel.