It was gym period, and Izumi, along with the rest of his class, was outside. It was slightly windy, nothing a pair of long shorts couldn't handle, and the sun was shining, the sky was still a clear blue.

Personally, Izumi didn't really enjoy gym. He was an athlete; you'd think that this would be his favorite class. But, in fact, he didn't like it. It was annoying and they only did minor things, such as running and ball sports. Never did the instructors have their classes do his sport of expertise: high jump.

Despite his dislike, Izumi was good at gym, so he had nothing to worry about.

Today, the class was out on the soccer fields. It was a free-for-all, meaning that the males could do whatever they wanted. The instructors had taken out the soccer balls, footballs, Frisbees, a normal tennis ball for throwing-and-catching. Students were strewn all over the grass, in groups or in teams.

"Izumi! Why don't you come and play?" This came from Nakatsu, who was dribbling a black-and-white soccer ball between his feet out on the field, dodging his defenders with ease.

Izumi shook his head. Soccer? Not if he had anything to say about it. Soccer was one of his worst sports, actually. "No, thanks. I'm good."

"Really? You're just standing there." Nakatsu headed towards the goal. He stopped for a split second, aiming, then pulled his leg back and let it right into the ball, sending it spiraling over the goalie's head and into the net. He grinned and his teammates cheered, clapping him on the back or slapping his butt.

He was good, Izumi knew. He'd seen Nakatsu play at practice, scrimmages, and during games many times, and he knew the blonde's skills. They were talented. He could go into Nationals, that's how good he was. Nakatsu was the striker for a reason.

A smaller person came up on Izumi's side. "Mind if I join you?" said the male, smiling up at him.

It was ( Name). He had changed into the gray gym T-shirt and long, red shorts that went past his knees. Izumi nodded in greeting. "Sure. Do what you'd like, it doesn't bother me."

"Great." (Name) went down on one knee, bending to lace up his sneakers. They were American-styled, with the brand NIKE on one side, their famous check on the other. The laces were off-colored and didn't match each other. Then the boy stood back up. "Not interested in any of the games?"

"Yeah. They aren't much fun to me, anyway. I just like high jumping. And running." Izumi thought for a moment. "I also like baseball."

(Name) laughed. "I love baseball. I'm not a good pitcher, or a good batter, but I'm really good at shortstop." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "I used to play it all the time back home, with my brother and his friends."

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts, looking around. "Soccer's not that bad. And Frisbee's sort of fun. But I really like baseball and tennis."

Izumi looked down at his roommate. The sun was directing its beams onto the crown of his head, making the reddish streaks stand out in sharp contrast to the chestnut coloring. Red hair suited (Name), he thought, flicking his eyes away when the boy turned back to him.

"So. You play a sport, right?" He was trying to make small talk with Izumi, instead of falling into the silence between them.

Izumi inwardly sighed. He didn't really like to talk about sports, actually, even though he was so good at his. It always led to the injury, which led to questions, and sympathy. He couldn't stand when people were sympathetic towards him. It made him feel vulnerable and useless. "Yeah."

He didn't bother to say anything else. (Name) looked at him. "Umm…what's the sport?" he asked.

"High jump."

"Oh, really?" The boy's voice rose, almost to the point where it was a squeak, but Izumi just gave him a look, and (Name) blushed. "You must be good, then. Do you still jump?"

"Yes." Izumi was perplexed. Being his roommate, (Name) already knew that he high jumped—that was why he sometimes arrived at the dorms later. Had he just suffered short-term memory loss or what? "Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" echoed (Name). "Not all of the time? What happened?"

"It was an injury." Izumi turned away from (Name), focusing on a circle of his classmates tossing a neon green Frisbee back and forth. He didn't want to see the pity form in (Name)'s eyes.

"What happened?"

"None of your business," he snapped. Then he instantly regretted it when a hurt look crossed over (Name)'s face.

"Oh…I'm sorry." The boy pulled back, the hurt drawing from his face. He hunched his shoulders against the slight wind, looking down at his shoes.

Izumi mentally smacked himself for being unkind. "No, I'm sorry; it's just a personal subject for me, all right?" He tried to smooth over the ruffles that had formed.

(Name) nodded. "I totally understand." But he still sounded wounded and he didn't meet Izumi's eyes.

Just then, Nakatsu bounded up to them, all cheerful and smiling. He had only just begun to sweat, unlike the others, many of whom were breathing hard and wiping sweat from pouring into their eyes. The only sign that Nakatsu was even the slightest bit tired was the beads of sweat on his upper lip and at the base of his neck. "Hey, (Name)," he said warmly. "You want to join our soccer game? We could use an extra player."

"Only if I get to be on your team," replied (Name), looking up and a smile started forming.

Nakatsu laughed. "I don't know. I'm totally kicking ass right now and the other team might need you…come on, then!" He held out his hand, and (Name) placed his in the other male's larger one, and they ran back onto the field.

Izumi leaned back, watching after them, feeling something in the pit of his stomach. He'd just made the brunette make a horrible face. He'd made (Name) feel hurt. And it had a bigger impact on him than he'd imagined.

"Damn," he muttered, digging his fingers into his palms. "I hope I never do that again." He didn't want to make (Name) show the same face ever again. His eyes had widened and his mouth had slightly opened, revealing the perfect teeth inside…but the pain was visible behind his eyes and it had just made Izumi feel guilty.

Then Izumi stopped his thoughts. What was it about (Name) that made him so overly cautious about whatever he said or did? Ever since he'd walking in on his roommate changing out of his pants, he'd been awkward and clumsy around him.

"What the hell?" he said to himself, under his breath so no one else heard. "He's a guy, I'm a guy. We're all guys. What's the big difference?"

He turned back to the game, watching (Name). The brunette had gotten hold of the soccer ball and broke away from the defenders, heading towards the opposite goal. He wasn't doing too bad a job of dribbling—the ball sort of slid between his feet, but it was working.

Izumi grinned slightly. He silently cheered (Name) on. It would be interesting to see what would happen if he scored. Izumi wanted to see what Nakatsu would do.

But speak of the Devil, and he shall appear.

Izumi watched as (Name) raised his head, looking to see that it was clear before aiming the ball, and Nakatsu got into his path. The blonde had his game face on. His expression had gone from open and friendly to deadly and competitive. He made a pass at (Name), meaning to brush him off to the side and take control of the ball, but instead of brushing into him, he barreled into (Name)'s chest with full force, knocking the poor boy to the ground.

(Name)'s arms pinwheeled as he tried to balance himself, and then he toppled backwards, landing flat on his back. The soccer game stopped and Nakatsu blinked, looking down at the boy, concern weaving its way onto his face. But before he could kneel down, Izumi was already at (Name)'s side.

"He's unconscious," Izumi said, examining the boy. He swept some of the chestnut hair aside. (Name)'s eyes were closed, his face turned to one side. "You knocked him out, Nakatsu."

"Sorry! I was totally into the game! I didn't stop and think that (Name) was such a smaller person than me!" cried the accused. He dropped to his knees, gently slapping one of (Name)'s cheeks. "Hey, (Name)! (Name)!"

But the boy didn't respond, and this only worsened Nakatsu's state of worry. "That's not good, is it?" He shook his head, answering his own obvious question. "All right, all right! I'll take him to Dr. Umeda's office!"

Izumi sighed. "No. I'll do it." He slid one arm underneath (Name)'s chest and the other under his legs, picking him up bridal-style. "I'll take him. I'm his roommate, and I've got nothing better to do—"

His words trailed off and he looked at the boy he was carrying, his eyes wide.

What the—? he thought.

But Nakatsu and the other soccer players were staring at him. One of them said, "Sano? You a'lright?"

Izumi shook his head, making sure his face was passive. "Yeah. I'm fine. Tell Coach I'm taking (Name) to Umeda's." Then he turned around and started across the grass, thoughts furiously running through his head.

Did I just—?

"Tell (Name) I'm sorry!" Nakatsu called behind him, obviously still guilt-stricken.

Izumi replied, "Sure."

You slowly regained consciousness. You peered out from half-lidded eyes, trying to see where you were. It looked like a doctor's office, more like the school nurse's. That would mean that you were in Umeda's office, as he was the school doctor. Oh, great. After he'd greeted you with "-chan", you'd steered clear of him, unsure of how much he really knew.

Then you were aware of a stinging pain in your chest. Ugh. What had happened?

Oh, right. You'd been playing soccer with Nakatsu and the others at gym, and Nakatsu had barreled into you to keep you from scoring. The guy was more powerful than he looked.

You exhaled and then sat up, wincing as your breath caught in your throat from the pain. There was nothing you wanted more than to get out of the vest underneath your gray T-shirt. But you couldn't do that; you looked around and saw Izumi leaning against the window, looking at you.

Umeda walked over to you, an ice-pack in one hand. "Good morning, (Name)," he said. "It's nice to see that you're awake. But should you really be sitting up?"

"It's painful," you admitted through clenched teeth, grateful when he pressed the ice pack into your hand. You laid it against the chest of your gray T-shirt.

Then Umeda narrowed his mesmerizing eyes at you. He leaned closer and murmured, "So, what's a girl doing at Osaka Gakuen?"