It's Just You And Me

Chapter 1

It had been one of those hot summer evenings where a yellow haze would linger in the air, splashing gold tones around the pitch. Gulf had been football training with his team, nothing competitive or particularly fast - the heat had put a halt to the excessive training they had been doing earlier that same week. They had been granted a break by the coach who looked as if he'd run a marathon. Gulf had made a dash to the benches, reaching for his water and gulping down the remainder of it while swatting away the hair that was sticking to his forehead. He merely gazed over the stands, mainly out of curiosity - there was always a few people dotted here and there, some were family members, others were fans of the team (which still felt foreign to Gulf; a fandom dedicated to a university football team) or in this case, a man dressed in business attire. He had sat towards the left of the pitch, some kind of book - Gulf initially assumed it to be a notebook but after squinting and watching his hand movements, he figured it out to be a sketchbook - across his lap. It was confusing to Gulf, everything about the man was confusing.

So then every week when they had training - Mondays and Thursdays - Gulf would scan the stands, hunting for the man in the suit and sketchbook. It had become a somewhat regular activity, Gulf spotting the man and flashing him a smile that was rarely reciprocated. Gulf put it down to the other not noticing him - he always seemed to look through Gulf rather than at him. Although every time this would happen, Gulf would feel an odd type of disappointment. He didn't understand it, he couldn't explain - he had no reason to feel this way, but the disregard of his looks seemed to cut Gulf deeper than it perhaps should, Gulf couldn't help but feel small, as if he had been reduced to nothing but an ant. The mysterious man would sit, hunched over the small sketchbook, the fabric of his shirt clinging to his body with the summer sweat, the first few buttons carelessly popped open and a blazer - either navy, black or on the odd occasion burgundy, discarded on the bench next to him along with a leather satchel bag. He always looked as if he had just gotten off the job - slightly messy hair, tired eyes and a frown that made him look far older than he probably was. Gulf wanted to approach him, wanted to question him, intrigued by the sketchbook but he could never do it. He didn't want to appear as if he were barging into the man's life; he looked stressed enough without the presence of a struggling university student who had nothing special to bring to the table other than his football skills. Gulf happily settled on observing him from the safety of the pitch.

One Thursday session the man had appeared before the game had even begun, Gulf had stared and stared, just watching him unpack his satchel, sharpen a pencil, flip the pages of his book - everything was done with such precision, such care as if every step had been meticulously planned. Gulf wondered if the rest of the man's life was lived in the same fashion; planning, organising, perfecting. Gulf knew he'd never be able to live a life like that, he couldn't afford to be perfect. The scenes of the 'businessman who had his shit together' played right before his eyes like a movie until his teammate, Mild, bumped his shoulder and almost sent Gulf into a different universe. "What are you looking at?" Mild stood in the same spot Gulf had positioned himself in, glaring in the direction of the man. "Oh?" Mild's eyebrows furrowed, accepting the view but not understanding why Gulf had been intensely staring at him until it suddenly clicked. "OH!" He exclaimed, turning to Gulf and pointing a finger at him. Mild's eyebrows jumped up and down suggesting something other than simple 'people-watching.' "Listen man, I'm not one to judge but-"

"It's not like that!" Gulf spoke back, pushing Mild's shoulder. It wasn't like that, at least not yet. Gulf couldn't ignore the slight buzz the man's appearance gave him. The butterflies that began to flutter in his stomach when he would drive a large, vein-driven, hand through neatly styled hair, or when he would undo another button of his shirt, revealing more of his toned chest, or when he walked down the steps with one hand in his trouser pocket, the other holding his bag. Gulf found himself to be unconsciously noticing these details and retaining them. Mild simply laughed, not believing him and wanting to make it blatantly obvious that he wasn't buying it.

"Are you sure? I mean Mew is very handsome and pretty high up in the business world. It'd take a fool not to think of him as an ideal partner." Mild explains while Gulf stares at him, a blank expression on his face.

"Mew? You know him?" Gulf's eyes jump between the two people. The mysterious man - Mew - entirely oblivious to the conversation at hand, his eyes are on the people sprinting across the field.

"I know of him. Mew Suppasit. He's the CEO of his company Mew Suppasit Studios...you know, big brands and all that business stuff. How do you not know him?" Gulf blinks, dumbfounded. He supposes that explains the formal clothes and exhausted look. They're not left to dwell on the conversation for long as they are dragged back into the game by their coach.

But as the weeks went by, the summer days becoming shorter and numbered, Mew would appear less and less until he practically disappeared from Gulf's life entirely - no, from the pitch. It was an unusual feeling, he missed seeing the man but with no more than a name, there was not really much he could miss. It wasn't as if they'd ever had a conversation or even shared a genuine glance that wasn't Mew frowning at Gulf for staring too long.

A/N: Hello!! It's been a while. How is everyone doing? I hope you enjoy this fic :))