"There's a word I found recently. Evanescence. It made me think of you. It made me think of us. Were we just a dream, Sebastian?"
TW : Key themes of suicide and trauma.
WARNING: This is Book Two. Please read "affluenza" first to avoid any spoilers...
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TW// Mention of suicide
"NO," ROMAN GRUMBLES, squinting in front of him underneath the bright sun of the mid-afternoon. It was a nice day out, sunny and warm but with a cool breeze that rippled through my shirt.
I glare up at Roman, nudging him with my shoulder. "Dude, you told me to pick out what we're doing today. I picked!"
Roman glances at me and then back at the huge soccer field in front of us. "I was inside of you less than eight hours ago; don't call me dude. And I am not doing this."
I sigh, picking up the soccer ball I'd grabbed from the bottom of Roman's closet. I wasn't entirely sure why he had a soccer ball if he hated soccer, but I was just glad it was there. "You are doing this because you like to make me happy," I retort. "Dude."
Roman's face is wounded, like a sad puppy who'd been kicked while he was down. "This isn't going to be good, Braylen. I'm telling you."
"That's the point. Soccer was one of my best sports in PE. It's the only one I didn't fake a stomachache for. I'm practically a professional and now," I say, tossing the ball over to him, "I'm going to make you one."
He catches it at the last moment, twisting the ball around in a way that has me staring at his ring-adorned fingers. "You're not a professional soccer player, Braylen."
I frown. "Hey, I really am good!"
"I've seen you trip over your own feet on the sidewalk," he remarks. "There's no way you can be good at a fast-paced, strategic sport. There's just no way."
I nod towards the ball. Roman purses his lips before placing them on the ground. I smirk at him as I run towards the ball, so quick that Roman can't even move as I side-sweep him and kick the ball to the left, making Roman fall flat on his bottom. He props himself up onto his elbows just in time to see me kick the ball into the net, waving my hands up in excitement. "Very funny," Roman deadpans. "Can you help me up, Ronaldo?"
I grin, rushing back over to him and locking our hands together to pull him up. "Is that hip replacement bothering you again, old man?" I joke and Roman glares at me.
"Hilarious. Truly," he mumbles, cheeks turning pink. "Okay, when do these lessons start?"
I tug at Roman's hand, pulling him up halfway before kicking his legs out from under him again. He falls flat on his back and I bark out a laugh, squeezing my eyes shut as tears threaten to spill. "Okay, lessons start now."
¥
Roman was absolutely awful at soccer.
I had never seen anyone look as uncoordinated as him, which was sort of unsettling. He'd seemed so fluid when boxing—none of that translated over to his soccer playing. Still, I couldn't remember smiling this much in a really long time. An impossibly long time.
