It Begins With Us

1. It Begins

How many broken hearts do you think there are in the world?

Let's narrow it down.

How many broken hearts do you think there are in this stadium right here? More specifically how many do you think there are at tonight's Leafs versus Bruins game?

You don't know? Well, let me tell you.

There are thirty four to be exact, but we're not here for all of them.

We're only here for two of them.

Now, do you see him?

The man with the short cropped golden blond hair, wearing a black and yellow jersey?

He sits with smug elegance and complete confidence in his teams victory.

Do you see her?

The woman with a mane of black curls, wearing a bright blue and white jersey?

Her body barely resting in her seat as she cheers wildly for her trying team.

They both are distracting themselves from the shattered states of their hearts.

They sit two seats apart, on opposing teams, unaware of one another.

Their broken hearts will have to wait no longer for love.

True love.

It begins with them.

-

Ryle:

I cross my arms excitedly over my chest and a wild grin bubbles out of me. Hockey night, Bruins versus Leafs, three to zero. Victory, ladies and gentlemen, is ours. I feel a chuckle following close behind the grin, but just as it starts to trickle out a sulky voice interrupts me.

"Ridiculous!" The woman grumbles to herself two seats to my left. "Absolutely un-flipping-believable!"

I snort and snicker, staring at the blue clad players desperately trying and failing to obtain the ever moving puck.

"Excuse me?" I watch as she turns in her seat to face and fight me head on.

"Excuse me!" I counter cheekily. "I didn't mean to distract you from your loss. Please, don't mind me."

"Don't mind you?" She frowns distastefully. "How can I ignore you, when you're sitting there, being nasty?" She struggles to make me understand and I find it incredibly amusing.

I turn to face her in my own seat and I get a good look at her. She's cute. Narrowed green eyes, freckled tan skin. Long, dark, and curly hair. It's what stands out to me about her the most. I can't help but wonder what it would look like cascading over bedsheets. I shake the thought out of my head and raise an eyebrow at her. I watch, captured as she flushes a soft and cold pink to a deep and hot, blood red.

'This,' I think, my amusement on full display, 'is probably what a person looks like right before they pass out.'