AN ODE TO YOUR DREAMS

( 十一 ) evanescent star

evanescent star.

WITH EACH MINUTE PASSING BY, the large ball of light in the sky slowly sinks down behind the subtle curve of the Earth from your perspective, and simultaneously, the spaces needed to be cleaned in the classroom grows smaller. The clean areas of the windows you've wiped allows you to see the orange emitted by the Sun. It seeps into the room, saturating each space, and the glass covered in dust are narrowed down with each wipe.

You accidentally drop the rag onto the floor when you hear the door slide open. Your body jolts and you immediately turn around to see your literature partner standing in all his exhausted glory; clad in black soccer gear and coated in sweat. Determination glinted in his eyes, or perhaps, it was just the bright setting Sun making him appear to you this certain way, nevertheless, it doesn't answer the question plaguing your mind.

You open your mouth to speak as you pick up the rag to finish up wiping the windows. "Bruh, you could've knocked or something? Seriously. You scared me."

He chooses to ignore your words, letting go of the handle of the door to trail towards where you are, eyes focused. "The deal. You said you'd help me train, right?"

You frown, not even drying the urge to groan. "Eh? Do I really have to right now? I'm kinda tired."

He stopped in front of you and reached a hand up to flick your forehead with middle finger and thumb. You body jolts from the pain and your hands fly up to hold the surface of your forehead, frowning at him unappreciatively.

"A deal's a deal, dumbass, now you better not be going back on your words."

"Are you gonna start saying 'dattebayo' and 'believe it!' now, too?" You mutter. Your eyes move to his face to see an unimpressed expression with his lips twitching downwards.

"You're not funny."

"Yeah, yeah, so I've heard." You mumble before raising the rag up to draw his attention to it. "Anyway, let me just put this back. I'm done cleaning anyways."

"Do it faster."

"That makes me want to not do it faster."

YOU STAND IN FRONT OF the goal, back facing the net with your body hunched forward. The artificial lights surround you, allowing you to clearly see the expanse of the field, with your classmate standing several meters away. There is a ball near his foot, and you aren't exactly sure as to how the set up turned out to be this way—with you serving as an amateur goal keeper and him as a striker with a league of his own. It's safe to say that the previous state of calmness and relative inactivity that you've led for most of your life ends this day. Spontaneously crossing the borderline between risk and safety happened to do that, apparently.

You prepare yourself for when his foot strikes forward. You can't tell when he's going to do it with his seemingly endless state of standing still. Reading his movements in itself with your severe lack of knowledge regarding soccer will prove to be useless especially against an individual of his skill and mighty prowess.

Your body tenses, arms spreading wide when you see his position shift. In a split second, the side of his foot comes in contact with the patterned ball, sending it flying towards you with a speed that your eyes can't seem to comprehend. Another moment passes and the ball falls within the goal's territory, with it hitting the very corner of the net.