Sidemen Shots

Let Me Excel ~ Minishaw

1.

The first half of the charity football match is two thirds of the way through, and all three of Sidemen FC's goals were scored by the one and only Simon Minter. It took about three players on the opposite team to score just one goal!

Simon is absolutely on fire today. Nobody knows what he took before the game, but whatever he did, it's clearly working. More than working. The guy is going above and beyond every chance he gets, constantly racing from one end of the pitch to the other and blasting the ball with every ounce of power he holds inside his body, all channelled through his foot. (He nearly took poor TommyInnit's head off at one point, his kick contained that much raw strength.)

Harry watches in awe as his boyfriend continues to dominate the match, loving the way the older man's face lights up with interest and determination. He always has a good time when he knows that Simon is too.

"Harry," Ethan calls to him as he walks closer, the two of them lingering with nothing to do as Simon hogs the ball on the other side of the pitch. It's never very fun being on the defence when you're on the same team as Simon. There is an evil sort of twinkle in Ethan's eyes, a smirking grin spreading across his face. Here it goes, "Your boyfriend is making the pitch his bitch!"

This guy, man. A real character, that's for sure.

"I know," Harry agrees, purposely ignoring the cringey nature of his friend's jocular statement. "He always plays amazingly. I don't know what you expected."

"Not this... annihilation, that's for sure! I've never been more thankful for being part of the Sidemen."

"Gee, that sure makes me feel loved." Harry teases in a faux dejected tone. He goes to say more, but is temporarily silenced by the sudden scream of a whistle indicating the beginning of half time. The sound rings out loudly around the expansive stadium, calling out to Simon for a ceasefire on his passionate attack. A good performance, not coming to an end, but unfortunately postponed.

On their way across the football pitch, Ethan and Harry reconvene with the rest of their team. The others are all visibly (and audibly) lost for breath, huffing and puffing as they exit the field with large grins on their faces.

"You were great out there, Simon," Vik praises as they all enter the home team's changing room. "We'll definitely win if you keep that up."

"Ah, thanks, Vik," Simon turns away as he thanks the younger man, letting his shoulders shrug upwards just briefly. He reaches for his drink, chugging several mouthfuls rapidly before returning the branded bottle back to its previous position. "Just tryna keep the momentum going, you know?"

Vik nods with him enthusiastically, his face one of many of admiration.

"Genuinely, how are you such a good player?" Ethan asks, the question coming out brash and heavy. "Like, what the fuck are you not good at?"

Simon shrugs, his face heating up a blaring rose shade in embarrassment.

2.

"Mate, quit it!" Ethan randomly demands, his boisterous exclamation giving pause to the other occupants in the room. All heads turn as one to look at him, baffled by his outburst and seeking reasoning for it. When they notice his head turn, their gazes follow the movement.

"Look at 'em! You're on different teams, stop helping him." Ethan gestures pointedly as he talks, repeatedly jabbing an accusatory finger into the air. It takes a few more moments of his burning glare before Simon finally looks up from Harry's whiteboard.

"Are you talking to me?" He checks, poking a finger at his own chest.

"Yes, I'm talking to you! Stop helping him, you're on my team, help me instead." Ethan doesn't ask, he more so commands that Simon does as he says.