When We Were Us [BxB]

Soccer

The sun hung high over São João, casting a golden haze over the soccer field and the crowd gathered for the annual tournament. It was one of the summer's biggest events, drawing families and friends from all over the town. Makeshift tents dotted the sidelines, shielding spectators from the heat, while vendors sold fresh coconut water and grilled meats, their smoky scents mixing with the salty breeze drifting in from the ocean. The air was alive with energy—laughter, excitement, and the occasional cheer as teams warmed up on the field, the whole town wrapped in a feeling of celebration.

Lucas stood at the edge of the field, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of him. Matheus was already in the thick of it, running drills with his teammates, his easy confidence on full display. The sun caught the sweat on Matheus's skin, making him glow as he moved across the field with effortless grace. Watching him, Lucas felt the familiar mix of emotions—pride, admiration, and that quiet ache that never seemed to fade.

Matheus always seemed born for this, for the movement, for the game. His body flowed with each kick and pass as if he were part of the soccer ball itself, his energy infectious as he laughed with his teammates. Nearby, Isadora stood at the front of the crowd, her voice rising above the noise as she cheered Matheus on, her gaze fixed on him with a kind of glowing adoration that made Lucas's stomach tighten.

Lucas felt like an outsider, standing on the sidelines. The excitement of the crowd only amplified the distance he felt, not just from Matheus, but from everything. It was as if the whole town was swept up in the joy of the tournament while Lucas stood alone, unseen. The weight of being a spectator—not just in the game, but in his own life—pressed down on him, a silent ache that he couldn't shake.

The sharp blast of a whistle echoed across the field, signaling the start of the match. The crowd erupted into cheers, people jostling for better views as they crowded the edges of the field. Lucas stepped back, finding a quieter spot further from the crowd, where he could watch without being caught up in the noise and chaos. His eyes remained locked on Matheus.

The game unfolded with intensity. Matheus led his team with the same fierce determination he brought to everything. He was everywhere—charging down the field, dodging defenders, sending the ball flying with power and precision. Every time he touched the ball, the crowd roared, and Lucas could hear Isadora's voice rising above it all, her cheers a constant, fervent support.

But Lucas stood silent, his heart thudding in his chest for reasons that had nothing to do with the game. Matheus looked so alive out there, so in his element, but something felt off. Something between them had shifted, something that had once been easy and natural was now slipping away, no matter how hard Lucas tried to hold on.

As the game wore on, the tension on the field thickened. The opposing team was skilled, matching Matheus's team step for step, and with only a few minutes left, the score remained tied. The energy in the crowd grew electric, and Lucas could see the strain on Matheus's face, the determination in his every move as he pushed himself harder, faster, his focus laser-sharp.

Then it happened.

Matheus made a break for the ball, weaving between defenders with his usual agility. But just as he lined up the final kick, a player from the other team barreled into him, sending him crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. The crowd gasped, a collective intake of breath as the tension peaked.

Without thinking, Lucas sprinted across the field, his heart in his throat. The world around him blurred, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. All that mattered was reaching Matheus.

He dropped to his knees beside him, panic tight in his chest. "Matheus," Lucas breathed, his voice trembling. "Are you okay?"

Matheus winced, trying to sit up, his hand gripping his ankle. "Shit," he muttered, pain clear in his voice. "That guy hit me hard."

Lucas's hands moved instinctively, supporting Matheus as he shifted, his touch gentle and careful. The crowd murmured around them, but all Lucas could focus on was Matheus—his friend, his constant, the person who had always been there, the person he couldn't bear to see hurt.

"I'm fine," Matheus muttered, though his voice wavered. He leaned into Lucas, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "Just... give me a second."

Lucas nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. The world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them—Matheus leaning against him, the weight of his body familiar yet disorienting. He glanced around, barely registering the crowd, but he caught sight of Isadora pushing her way through, her face etched with concern.

She reached them quickly, kneeling beside Matheus, her voice soft and worried. "Matheus, are you okay?"

Matheus let out a shaky laugh, trying to brush off the concern. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just need a minute." He glanced at Lucas, his voice quieter, more intimate. "You always take care of me, huh?"

Lucas's chest tightened, the vulnerability in Matheus's words cutting through him like a knife. He wanted to respond, to say something that would match the weight of the moment, but the words stuck in his throat. The warmth of Matheus's body, the closeness, it was all too much—too confusing.

Isadora's hand rested gently on Matheus's shoulder, her presence suddenly breaking the fragile connection Lucas felt. The moment shattered. Matheus sat up, wincing as he moved, his earlier vulnerability replaced by the familiar, confident front he always wore.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Matheus said, his voice stronger now, brushing off the concern. "Just need to walk it off."

Lucas felt a pang as Matheus pulled away, the brief closeness between them slipping from his grasp. He stood up, his hands falling to his sides, and watched as Matheus waved off the murmurs from the crowd, his swagger returning as he tried to downplay the injury.

But Lucas had seen it. He had felt the weight of Matheus leaning on him, the trust, the vulnerability, even if only for a fleeting moment. It was a glimpse of something deeper, something Lucas had always longed for but had never quite reached. And now it was gone, hidden behind the confident mask Matheus always wore.

As the game resumed, Lucas stood back, his heart heavy. He watched as Matheus limped back onto the field, his movements slower, more cautious, the pain visible in every step. Isadora stood beside Lucas, her eyes fixed on Matheus, her expression unreadable.

"You're a good friend," she said quietly, her voice carrying a note of something Lucas couldn't quite identify. "He's lucky to have you."

Lucas swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling over him. He wanted to respond, to say something, but all he could think about was Matheus—the way he had looked at him, the way he had leaned into him, the way Lucas always seemed to be reaching for something that was just out of his grasp.

The game went on, but Lucas barely noticed. He stood there, caught in the ache of everything left unsaid, watching Matheus from the sidelines, knowing that no matter how close they were, there would always be a distance between them.