My first love wasn't like any other first loves.
Now, I know what you're probably thinking: everyone's first love is different, and none of them are the same, so how could yours possibly stand out? But, trust me. Even though everyone's first love may be different, the general gist of it is the same. Everyone else's first love had something in common with one another. Now, I'm not saying that my first love would be the kind of story that would stick out in your mind when someone asked you to tell a story—although, that could happen— nor would it be the first time a story like this had happened. It just wasn't normal for me to fall in love with someone like that.
Get to the point, you're probably nagging me, probably even as we speak, to continue the story. Why my first love was so different from everyone else's first love. Well, okay, okay. I'll get to the point.
I fell in love with a boy.
So? What's the big deal? you're probably thinking about that now. Well, to me, it is a big deal, because, I'm... well, I'm a guy.
That's right. You heard it here, folks, my first love was, in fact, a dude, and I also happened to be of the same gender. Now that caused complications. That caused legal problems because in Japan, men aren't allowed to get married— not that, uh, we'regonna get married. So, as you can see, right off the bat, you could tell right away that this wasn't going to be your average first love.
Of course not.
The sun felt unreasonably hot today, which sucked pretty bad. School had ended for the day, and the club activities were soon starting. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I headed out of my classroom, planning to play around with the soccer tryouts. To be honest, I wasn't looking to join that club, since, no matter what I did, I always mastered it in my first try. And it got boring because nobody was able to beat me.
Standing at the soccer field, I dropped my bag onto the neatly groomed grass and stepped onto the field, not bothering to change out of my uniform or into the proper shoes. Besides, I'll probably be done with soccer in less than ten minutes, so it would be a waste to change out of my clothes into something else for only a short amount of time. Adjusting my black tie that was starting to come undone, I stretched for a bit, making sure to stretch my calves, and other muscles. The next thing I know, I heard my name being shouted from the right of me, and I assumed that the coach had finally saw me.
My head swiveled to look at the coach who was anything but attractive. His hair was unkempt and most likely greasy from staying up late making up team plays to ensure his team win some games, and not to mention, grading his students' work, since he was also a teacher as well as a coach. He was way past the borderline overweight, with his fat spilling over his belt. I frowned, wondering why a man like him was a coach for something active. It made me snort internally. His face had obvious wrinkles that came with growing old, and his nose was bent at an odd angle which made me think that he was involved in some sort of accident, or a possible fist fight when he was younger.
"Kise! Are you here to try out for the soccer team?" The coach grinned happily, as if he were already expecting my answer to be yes. "The team could really use you, y'know!"
"Not that he needs to try out," the assistant coach muttered next to him. "Since it's oh-so-easy for him. Being a model, and a prodigy at every sport he does. Lucky bastard." I can hear you, I almost blurt out, but I hold my tongue, because if the media were to catch wind of me being rude, or being like a snot nosed brat, I would get in trouble with my agency, and not to mention my agent, and she is extremely scary when angered.
Ever since I entered the modeling agency back when I was in sixth grade, I had to learn to block out what I really felt and what I wanted to say quickly. They told me it would be bad for their sales if my image got ruined. So, I guess you could say I was living a double life. In truth, all I really am is someone who isn't real, so to speak. Someone who isn't real to themselves. I just wanted to tell them off or at least do something when they spoke badly of me when they didn't even know me, but I couldn't and had to hold it in.
People that I've encountered in my life have always been jealous of my ability to easily copy skills from others as soon as I see them, while others desperately tried to get close to me for the money and fame, not to mention bragging rights about being friends with a super popular model. Because of this, I had to be extremely weary of who I was friends with, and as of yet, I never actually found someone who would like me for me and not for what my job or ability was.
The assistant coach let out a cough, and I was snapped out of my thoughts. Smiling apologetically at the coach, I replied, "Sorry, I'm just here to kill some time."
"What?" he replied, disappointment evident in his voice and in his facial expressions, his brows furrowing. "That's such a waste, Kise. If we had you on our team, we could be unbeatable!" I chewed the inside of my cheek to keep myself from frowning. There goes someone else wanting to use me for their own personal gain. I gave him a sheepish smile.
"Like I said, I'm only here to kill some time, sorry coach." To make sure he didn't try to persuade me any further, I added, "Plus, with my modeling job, I probably wouldn't have any time to come to any of your practices, or maybe even to some of your games."
The coach's smile fell off of his face, and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "Oh... Is that so? Well, let me know if you ever want to 'kill some time' playing soccer competitively with us."
"I'll be sure to let you know." I sealed the deal with a thumbs up. I probably would never keep that promise. I shuffled over to where the nearest soccer ball is, and picked it up with my hands. Talking to the coach had dampened some of my mood to play soccer, but I might as well do something while I'm here. I ran my hand through my blond hair, feeling the silky strands between my fingers. I scoped out the field, watching several kids run back and forth with the ball.
My eyes landed on a kid who happened to have brown, disheveled hair. He had cowlicks everywhere, and it made me wonder if he literally just woke up five minutes ago. My agent would kill me if she found out I went to school like that, and she would probably brush my hair again— so hard that strands of my hair would be pulled out by force, which hurt like hell by the way. He had almond shaped brown eyes, and to be honest, nothing about him made him stand out. Average skills, average looks, hell, he probably had average grades too. I wouldn't be surprised if his name was Yamada Tarou¹.
He was bouncing the soccer ball on his head repeatedly, and I could tell that he was keeping count of how many times he bounced the ball on his head. It seemed like a fun and easy game to play, so I studied the way he bounced it on his head for a moment before balancing the soccer ball on my head and doing the same as well. It wasn't long before the kid noticed and thought I was trying to compete with him— which in my defense, I wasn't. I was playing an innocent game, and he happened to take it the wrong way. He puffed out his cheeks and started to concentrate even harder.
I raised an eyebrow; jeez, I can't do anything without people assuming otherwise. Still, if it was a challenge he wants, then a challenge he'll get. Who am I to deny him of his challenge? Eventually, the rest of the people who was also trying out for soccer crowded around us, waiting for one of us to fail and drop the ball. Of course, my pride would let me do anything but drop the ball before the other did, so the match continued for another minute or two, until I hear the other curse loudly and I glance down to see the soccer ball that he was using roll to my feet. I suppress a grin.
"Ah, as expected of the Golden Boy, Kise Ryouta, to outlast Yamada-san!" someone in the crowd boasted as if he owned me. So his surname was Yamada after all— but hold on a minute here, did he really just say that in that kind of tone? A chorus of claps and offers to join the soccer team overwhelmed me, and I shot them an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, sorry, I have to get going now!" I said, waving good-bye. The one called Yamada glared at me, and I furrowed my brows, wondering what I did to him. It wasn't my fault he wasn't able to beat me. It wasn't even that hard, to be honest. But then again, nothing was ever hard for me. Once I was out of sight, I sighed loudly.
"I'm just looking for a challenge, is that too hard to ask for?" Another sigh left my lips, and all of a sudden, I felt an impact hit the back of my head. I let out a yelp, gripping the back of my head. "What the heck?" I pivoted on my heel to glare at the person who just threw the solid object at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an orange ball— a basketball.
"Sorry," someone said as he rubbed the back of his neck. He stood by the doors that led to the gym. I furrowed my brows at his appearance. His skin looked way too tan for someone who lived in Japan, and almost immediately the thought of 'ganguro' popped up in my mind. From afar it looked like we were the same height or so, and he had short, blue hair that was swept to the left with blue eyes to match. "My, isn't it the famous and popular Kise-kun! Are you alright?" he asked as he jogged towards me.
It seemed that he was taller than me by a few inches seeing as we were face to face— it's been a while since I had met someone taller than me. Usually, everyone else were the short ones. The stranger bent down to pick up the basketball, and his mouth fell into a lopsided smile that was undeniably attractive. Definitely model material. If my agent took one look at him, she would try to recruit him as soon as possible.
"Uh, yeah," I reply, rubbing the place where the ball had hit me. Hopefully, that wouldn't leave a bruise, otherwise my agent would scold me for days about being so careless. In my defense, I don't have eyes on the back of my head— thankfully, otherwise I'm sure it would have hurt more if I did.
"Glad to hear that. Sorry about that though, I didn't think it'd fly out and actually hit you. Actually, I didn't think it would fly out at all, but still."
"Mm, it's not a big deal, really. You, uh, play basketball right?"
"Yeah, it's pretty fun." He shrugged, placing the ball between his midriff and arm. "I love playing basketball. It's a passion of mine."
"Sounds cool," I remarked, eyeing the ball. "And I'm surprised you've heard of me."
"Who hasn't?" he retorted. "I've seen you all over magazines and almost everyone talks about you. I'm Aomine Daiki, by the way."
"Oh, yeah, those," I reply flatly. I weren't too enthusiastic about the fact that he saw my centerfolds, because sometimes they made me dress up in embarrassing clothes and do embarrassing poses. Almost everyone I saw would either be holding a magazine that my centerfolds were featured in, or had seen them already. And I knew what they would say about me when they thought I wasn't listening. They would say rude things, and it would take every ounce of my willpower not to lash out at them for the sake of my image. I'd get a lot of compliments from girls, and sometimes even the occasional weird, creepy, stalking comment.
"Yep. Well, I have to get back to the gym or else Akashi's gonna get mad. See ya around." He waved before jogging back to where he came from. My eyes followed him back to the gym entrance where he stepped inside. Pursing my lips, I decided to walk after him, just to see what the basketball club was like for a moment. I heard that we had a strong basketball team, and it made me excited.
My feet reached the door, and I peer inside, scanning the gym. It was a very large gym, and if I weren't mistaken, this would be the D gym, since it was the largest. There were several net dividers in the gym, probably to allow the members to differentiate which side they were on and what they were doing in that specific area. The gym held many kids, and they were all running around, either chasing the orange ball or dribbling with it. I watched as someone tossed the basketball into the hoop. Eventually my eyes had managed to pick out someone that I recognized, which just happened to be Aomine Daiki. My eyes followed him actively, being acutely aware of how well he was playing.
I was completely mesmerized—the way that he laughs and smiles whenever he's playing, shouting encouraging words to the other players, and not to mention how his basketball style really stood out from all the rest. I had never seen anything like it before. I watched him steal the basketball from someone on the opposing team, and he positions himself into a shooting stance before letting the ball leave his fingers. The basketball goes in the net without ever touching the rim or backboard. I stare longingly at the game, itching to jump in.
The ball bounced several steps away from the hoop, and rolled under the net dividers. I heard a familiar voice shout a greeting that I think was directed towards me. "Oh, hey!" My head turns to face him, his body glistening with sweat. He must have been practicing really hard— along with the others too. Not one of them wasn't dripping sweat. His eyes hold mine for several beats, before he breaks the stare and looked elsewhere. "Do you need anything?"
My brain takes several moments to register his question, and I shake my head. For some reason, my voice came out in stutters. It's weird, because I'm usually not nervous. "Uh, I-I want to join the basketball club!" Aomine nods thoughtfully at me, an emotion that I couldn't detect on his face.
"You sure? It's a lot of hard work," he warns me. "It takes a lot of dedication."
I nod. "I'm really sure! I want to join the club!" He grins at me, happy to hear my affirmative. He throws the basketball at me, and before I had time to think, my instincts kicked in and I caught the ball between my hands so it wouldn't slam into my chest. The slight friction between my hands and the ball burn before fading away. I grin back at him, the same sort of smile I use for my photo shoots, and toss the ball back at him.
"C'mon, I'll introduce you to the coach, and he'll get you started." The blue haired male motioned with his hand for me to follow, and I jogged towards him, feeling ecstatic that I would be on the same team as Aomine. I wanted to see more of that basketball style he had.
¹ Yamada Tarou is the Japanese equivalent to John Smith.
First chapter done! This went through drafts, and a proofread by my English teacher which really helped. I'm almost certain that this is far from perfect, but I'm too excited about this idea that I want to get it out as soon as possible. I had this idea in my mind for about a couple months now, and now you guys get to read it. c: I hope you enjoy this chapter!