we didn't win the game, but they won our hearts

It was seven o'clock when Yukihira poked his head into a quaint little bar. It was one that he often walked by on his way back from the library and he often went in to grab a quick drink before going home. Considering its size, it was a lot more packed than Yukihira had anticipated (packed meaning that there were twenty people rather than the three regulars who sat and downed cheap beer while talking about how they wanted nothing more than to meet cute girls). He'd originally wanted to grab a quick vodka and coke on the rocks before heading over back to his apartment, but on this specific night, he noticed a board hanging from a pillar inside.

Go Go Japan! Drinks half-price while Japan is playing!

Then, his eyes drifted up to the TV, where there was currently a football match playing.

"Oh," he murmured, "the World Cup?"

Yukihira had never really cared much about football — he himself preferred the mental battle that was cooking — and in all honesty, he didn't see what there was to like about it. When you boiled it down to its simplest components, it was nothing more than ninety minutes of grown men running on grass to get a singular ball inside a net. Add that with some diving, constant fouling and players arguing with the ref, and ta-dah! You had football.

Yukihira didn't like it.

But, even so, he was attracted by the half-price sign and ended up moving in anyway, ordering his usual vodka and coke on the rocks. The woman at the bar smiled and retrieved a tall, slender glass before placing crushed ice inside of it, pouring a shiny Smirnoff bottle in there, pouring the coke in and then finishing off the concoction with some football-shaped ice cubes. She even placed a football sticker on the cup before handing it to Yukihira, who nodded in thanks before taking a well-needed sip from his glass.

Today's shift at the library had been fairly tough. There was this skinhead who had tried to drag his motorcycle inside and when Yukihira had told him that no motorcycles were allowed inside the building, he proceeded to mount the motorcycle and ride all over the brand new carpets, staining them with wheel marks and old oil.

Yukihira's employers had taken money out of his pay check in order to compensate for the damage caused, considering that the skinhead had been a former classmate of Yukihira's. This classmate was a professional motorcyclist who even ran his own line of motorcycles — Subaru Motorcycles — and for some reason, he held a grudge against Yukihira. It was most likely due to the fact that Yukihira had once beat him in a motorcycle racing competition during their teenage years, and ever since then, he'd been holding it against Yukihira.

Either way, Yukihira was just glad that he was finally out of work so that he could have his drink. Considering their half-off deal, Yukihira had enough spare change left to order a second drink for himself. He could either go for his regular drink — vodka and coke on the rocks — or even better, he could try something new. He'd noticed that there was a lady to the side who was drinking some sort of strawberry concoction, complete with two strawberries on top. It was a pink cocktail which looked absolutely delicious underneath the soft lighting of the bar, and Yukihira was very much tempted to take one. But, his wallet could only take so much beating, so he fought away the temptation and sipped his drink once more, turning his attention to the screen. On the screen, he could see that Japan seemed to have the advantage.

"Hmm," Yukihira murmured to himself. "Who would've guessed we'd have a good football team?"

"They've been doing pretty well, actually."

Yukihira turned to face a pink-haired man, his hair the exact same shade as the drink of the woman who had been sitting nearby him, and he looked vaguely familiar. Yukihira couldn't quite place where he'd seen this guy though. He definitely wasn't a regular in this bar. He didn't seem to be related to anyone here — like Yukihira, he'd come on his own — and most of all, he was somewhat out of place. He was dressed head to toe in Gucci, not to mention, he had a singular gold chain hanging from his neck. He was definitely a wealthy man. But, if he was so wealthy, why was he drinking in a place like this?

"You watch football then?"

The man let out a low chuckle. "You could say that."

He momentarily turned on his bar seat to ask the bartender to prepare a special blend for him, and while Yukihira didn't catch all the ingredients he asked for, he heard 'passion fruit' and 'cranberry' in there. It was clear that this guy, along with being stylish, was also a perfectionist.

Yup, definitely out of place.

He turned back to the screen once more, watching the game in silence although when someone fell over, the man almost spilt his drink onto the ground as he gestured towards the screen in outrage. "That was a foul! What the hell is the ref doing?"

Yukihira blinked towards him in confusion. "It was?"

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're as much of a dunce as that ref," the man exclaimed, angrily slapping a hand to his upper thigh. "That's ridiculous. They'll let Hazard get away with anything just because he's Hazard."

"You know, I'm pretty sure that guy just fell over…"

"He didn't fall. He was fouled."

Yukihira rolled his eyes, not even bothering to argue the point. He wasn't a football fan, he barely knew the rules and he didn't make a habit of arguing with football fanatics like the guy next to him. It was a shame. The guy was kind of cute, but Yukihira couldn't quite understand how people could get so absorbed in a sport like football. It's just kicking a ball in a net, Yukihira wanted to yell, but he didn't. This guy seemed like the type to throw a drink in his face just for saying something insulting against football. Besides, it did look like Japan were doing an incredibly nifty job at keeping the ball in play.

However, right as he thought that, Japan's #19 sent the ball flying rather than passing as Yukihira had thought he would.

"Damnit!"

"Jeez," Yukihira said, holding one ear as he turned to face the guy, "you almost blew my ear out with that."

"Well, it's fine. Japan will take this match," he assured Yukihira. Yukihira decided not to point out that he didn't need any assurance. "They have to."

There was some mild discussion around the rest of the bar, mainly between a group of men who had Japan flags painted on their faces and 'GO JAPAN!' headbands around their foreheads. Yukihira thought that the guy next to him might've been able to seek more scintillating conversation from them rather than him, but still, the guy didn't make any moves to move away from him. He was focused on the TV hanging from the pillar, although he did turn to speak to Yukihira every now and again. He made remarks on countless players that Yukihira had never heard of in his life, and it had been about ten minutes of it when Yukihira tuned back into the conversation, hearing the last remark the guy had to make.

"If Haraguchi manages to get a goal, it's over for Belgium."

At last, Yukihira decided to tell this guy the truth. "You know, I have no idea what you've been talking about for the past ten minutes."

"Heh?"

"I've never watched football in my life."

The look of genuine and utter confusion on the man's face was so pure that Yukihira couldn't help but find it cute in a weird sort of way. "There's people that don't watch football? They actually exist?"

Yukihira laughed. "You're looking at one."

"Well, you're in for a treat," the man responded, lifting his glass to clink it with Yukihira's. "Our national team is an absolute gem. I have complete and utter faith that we'll win. Our goalkeeper's absolutely amazing. Look how many goals he's managed to deflect already."

"You have a France pin on your shirt," Yukihira pointed out.

"What? I can't support both now?"

Yukihira raised an eyebrow in interest. "Are you French?"

"Japanese," he responded. "Born and raised."

"Then…"

"I just like the French team," the man responded with a shrug of the shoulders. "That, and I spent quite a bit of time in France doing philanthropy work. I made a lot of French friends. I own property there. I've even gone to watch Marseille play in their home stadium."

"What's France like?"

"It's— oh shit shit shit he's going for goal, come on… shit. Kawashima, save it! Come on, come on, come on, ooh. Whew. Thank God," the man said, letting out a deep sigh of relief when the ball went flying out of play. "That's our goalkeeper. He's fucking amazing."

Yukihira nodded.

"You don't look excited," he pointed out. "You look like you're watching paint dry."

"I did say. I'm not a football person," Yukihira said, shrugging his shoulders. "You clearly are though. Wait, is that a football tattoo there?"

Yukihira had noticed a flash of a football at the nape of the man's neck when he had turned to order another drink for himself, raising an eyebrow in interest. No, this guy wasn't just a fanatic. He was beyond fanatic. He was obsessed.

"Yeah, yeah. It is," the man responded once he retrieved his drink. He had two in his hands, one of which was currently being handed in Yukihira's direction. "On me. It's better than that vodka trash you're drinking. I get that Russia's hosting the World Cup and all, but that doesn't mean you have to drink vodka."

"It's nice though," Yukihira muttered in protest, although he accepted the drink with a nod of the head. They'd been sitting here for a good half hour now, and still no-one had scored. "What is it about football that's good? Not to be mean, but… I'm genuinely curious."

"The passion," the man responded, pointing at the screen. "Look there. Look how our #10 is constantly pressuring opponents. Then look how #15's following up, just look at that. That teamwork. It's amazing. You can see it in their eyes. That drive to win. To succeed. You know, when you step onto the field, it's like stepping into a different world. You step through, and it's like you've crossed an invisible barrier. All eyes are on you. The pressure hikes up. And, in a stadium full of roaring fans, they're playing with all they've got. Throwing themselves on the ground just to stop goals from hitting their targets. Leaping into the air and risking head injuries just to win a header during a corner kick. And, running. When someone does a good run with the ball, like that #5, it gets your blood racing. Your heart beats faster. You're there with that player, rooting for them every single step of the way. It's when the goal finally lands that all that enjoyment is released. It comes out in bursts, and you can't help but punch the air and scream because your country's done it. Your country's scored a goal. It's… it's beautiful."

It wasn't just Yukihira who was shocked by the monologue that the guy had taken on. All the other people in the bar were staring at the guy to the point he began to blush, looking down at his lap rather than at everyone else around him. Yukihira smiled at that before looking over at the screen, where Belgium's #9 was currently doing a run towards the opposition goal.

"Belgium's getting close to the goal," Yukihira said.

"Shit," he said, gripping his glass so tight that Yukihira was surprised it didn't shatter in his hand. "Wait, wait. Look. Our #22's going for him… wait, what the hell is he doing? What the hell? That's the wrong goal—"

"It's fine, the goalkeeper stopped it from going in."

The man let out yet another deep sigh as he put a hand to his chest, breathing in and out deeply. "This game isn't good for my heart. I think I might have a stroke if Belgium score before we do."

Yukihira laughed. "Well, I don't know much about theory, but… you know, you never know. Just got to believe, I guess."

"Stats say that Belgium's doing better," he lamented, looking at the list of stats which had currently popped up. "Still… I think we've got a real chance. The first half will be over soon. It would be great if we could close it with a real banger."

"Yeah," Yukihira said, nodding as he finally took a sip of the drink which the guy had brought him. He felt his taste buds convulse with absolute pleasure as he took another sip, the taste of the passion fruit fresh and tangy in his mouth while the cranberry was smooth and sweet. Not to mention, the crushed ice made it all taste even more heavenly. "God, this drink is amazing…"

"There you go," the guy responded, nodding at Yukihira's obvious enthusiasm. "If you get to the bottom, there's a surprise."

Yukihira laughed. "What is it?"

"Not a surprise if I spill, is it?"

Yukihira pouted, but didn't push the issue. Instead, he continued to sip as the football game went on. By the time he got to the bottom, he learned that the surprise was that there was a singular cherry at the bottom. Yukihira eagerly slurped it down, setting the glass down with a smile on his face. The guy finished his second drink a few minutes after Yukihira, but didn't move to order another. His eyes were glued to the screen, where he was frequently muttering under his breath. Yukihira didn't catch the majority of it, although from what he could hear, he seemed to be analysing practically every move that the footballers were making. Then, there was yet another yell from him when one of the players was brought down, the ref bringing out a yellow card mere moments later.

"Oh, come on! Belgium's done worse than that," he insisted, irritation causing his eyebrows to knit together as he glared at the screen. "Fuck it, I should quit my job and become a ref. This is ridiculous. A yellow card for what?"

"Well, that did kind of look deliberate—"

"Oh, come on. He slipped, Hazard was in the way; it was Hazard's fault."

The guy grumbled to himself in irritation as the match continued on as normal. The last five minutes went by without any major events, and at last, the whistle went, calling all the players to come off the pitch for halftime. The guy turned away from the TV at last and turned to Yukihira, letting out a deep sigh.

"So, what do you think?"

After some hesitation, Yukihira responded. "Well, they're certainly dedicated. Both sides, I mean. Obviously I want Japan to win, but both sides deserve it. They've been playing to their fullest. I guess."

The guy nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I suppose. Especially Kompany. He's injured."

"Wait, the #4 for Belgium? He's been making so many good plays though…"

"Yup. Like I said," he began, "football gets your blood racing. You can't feel pain when your heart's really in it."

Yukihira raised an eyebrow. "Do you write football poetry or something?"

The guy rolled his eyes. "Well, if they'd made us study football in literature rather than Shakespeare, I might've been more motivated to pass that class."

"Oh, so you were a low achiever? Doesn't look like it."

"You know what they say. Wealth comes from doing the things you love," the guy responded with an easy smile on his face as he lifted his empty glass. "So, tell me. What do you do?"

"I'm a librarian," Yukihira responded.

When the guy stared at him expectantly, Yukihira raised an eyebrow in question. "What?"

"You really aren't a talker, huh?" The guy mirrored Yukihira's eyebrow raise. "Where? How long? Do you enjoy it?"

"You're too much of a talker," Yukihira pointed out. "But, fine. I work in a library like ten minutes off from here. I've been working there for the past year. I don't really enjoy it, but it's close to home and the pay's decent." At least, when they don't dock it, Yukihira added on in his head.

"So, what would you want to do?"

Yukihira shrugged. "Cooking. I usually save my cash so I can buy ingredients to make new dishes with."

"Hmm, cooking?" The guy hummed in interest. "That's nice."

"What about you?"

"Well, as you so rightly guessed, I'm a person who enjoys football."

Yukihira raised an eyebrow. "That's it? You must be a bore on dates."

A smirk phased its way onto the man's lips. "Hmm? How would you know?"

"Football, football, football. Can't imagine any lady who could stand listening to constant football talk all day," Yukihira remarked, rolling his eyes. "I mean, I'm a guy and even I'm starting to wonder if your brain's made out of pig leather."

"Well, luckily enough for me, I'm not a ladies' man."

Yukihira felt himself flush slightly, realising that the guy's gaze had become that little bit more intent. He had piercing eyes, he did. They were framed by his shining Gucci glasses, which suited the slim shape of his face and his chin which curved into a smooth point, where the beginnings of stubble had begun to form. It was as if he'd walked out of a piece of artwork and through a series of designer shops before stumbling into this bar.

The guy had turned back to the bartender and was requesting a drink for himself. Then, he turned to Yukihira and with a raised eyebrow, opened his mouth to ask a question.

"You want a blowjob?"

Yukihira felt his face flush bright red. "Uh… that's forward…"

When the guy realised that Yukihira had misinterpreted him entirely, he also flushed bright red. "I mean the drink," he corrected after some moments of awkward silence. "It's a drink. Whipped cream, some other shit which tastes good. Kind of like a tradition drink for halftime. But, you know, only if you want…"

"Yeah, sure. Why not," Yukihira said, a smile phasing onto his lips despite the way his heart had begun to beat rapidly against his ribcage. The guy nodded and turned to the bartender, ordering two blowjob shots. It was two minutes later when the two shots were placed in front of them, topped with a healthy helping of whipped cream. Yukihira lifted it up and was about to down it, but stopped when the guy held up a hand.

"That's not how you take it," he said with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I fail to see how else you're meant to drink a shot," Yukihira responded, although he set the shot glass back down. "What do I do, then?"

"Well… uh… it's hard to explain," the guy responded after some careful thought. "Just watch what I do."

The guy hopped off his bar stool and slid his shot glass to one side. He lowered his head, and slowly licked the cream off from the top with his tongue, the action slow and deliberate. Yukihira felt himself flushing bright red when he watched this — he somehow felt like he was intruding on something intimate despite having been told to watch — and he felt his heartbeat only beginning to quicken when the guy withdrew his lips at last, a small bit of cream at the side of his lip as he smirked in Yukihira's direction.

"That's the first step," he said. "And, secondly…"

He put his hands behind his back and leaned over, wrapping his lips around the shot glass before lifting it back up once more, head tipped towards the ceiling as the contents of the shot went straight down his throat, Yukihira watching in wonder at just how fluidly he'd done it. This man really was art. A masterpiece. Yukihira might as well ask if he was born in the Louvre, because that was what it felt like.

At last, he set his shot glass down, laughing to himself with a faint flush on his cheeks as he sidled back over to his seat. "It's been a while since I did that," he admitted, brushing his pink hair away from his forehead with one hand. "But, it's your turn. Try not to choke."

Yukihira moved to get out of his seat, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him from moving. "You don't have to get up. You're shorter than me, so you should be able to reach while sitting." The guy leaned over and lowered Yukihira's stool with the help of a lever, beaming at his handiwork when he'd managed to bring it down to the perfect height. "There."

"Alright, then. Let's go," Yukihira said, trying to push away any embarrassment as he bowed his head down, pressing his lips into the cream before licking it off his lips, feeling a bit silly as he began to lick the cream away from the top, much of it ending up on his lips rather than on his tongue. It was like he was a kid who had ended up with 70% food on his face and 30% food in his mouth where it actually belonged. Except, rather than food, it was cream.

By the time Yukihira raised his head to face the man next to him, it was to the sight of him chuckling. "It's really obvious you've never done this before," he said, although his tone didn't seem to be mocking. Or maybe it was. Yukihira had never been too good at interpreting people's emotions. "Do you always go drinking alone?"

"C—Course not! I have drinking friends," Yukihira insisted. He wasn't about to admit the contrary to this guy. No way. "Anyway, it's time for the second phase. Watch me."

"Don't worry," he responded, eyebrows lowering ever so slightly as he tilted his head to survey Yukihira's actions. "I'm not taking my eyes off you."

Yukihira bent his head down and secured the glass with his lips, although it kept slipping out of his lips rather than staying there. At last, after three attempts, he stuck his tongue in and opened his mouth as wide as he could, closing it quickly as he lifted his head to down the contents of the shot glass. He almost choked, but fortunately enough, he was able to get it all down without a fuss and in no time, the glass was back down on the bar and his eyes were back on the stranger's once more.

"That was actually pretty fun," Yukihira admitted.

"See? It's a great halftime tradition," the guy said, turning his attention to the screen at last. "Ooh, it's back on. Come on, Japan. Let's wreck this second half."

The second half started off like normal, but it wasn't long before Shibasaki (Yukihira only knew that name because the guy next to him was yelling 'Come on Shibasaki!' every five seconds while waving his empty glass with unbridled joy) was sprinting towards the Belgium goal, sending a through ball in #8's direction. Yukihira was no expert, but he could tell that the ball's placement was good, incredibly good.

"Hey, I think they're going to—"

"It's a goal! Yes, yes, yes!" The guy leaped out of his seat and fist pumped the air, pure excitement in his eyes as he watched the teammates celebrating the shot. It had been an absolutely amazing shot, one which had torn its way past any possible defences and driven itself into the far end of the net. Yukihira wasn't so excited that he leaped out of his seat, although he couldn't help but smile when he saw the men all running around and celebrating their goal with cheers and jumping, the stadium coming to life with loud roars in sync with it all. Now Yukihira really was smiling, and he didn't even realise it until the guy turned towards him, smirk pulling at his lips.

"Looks like you're starting to get into it," he commented.

"Their enthusiasm is infectious," Yukihira admitted.

"Alright, we need to celebrate that. We'll take two Sapporos," the guy said, turning his attention to the bartender. "Straight from the fridge. Or freezer, whatever it is."

The bartender nodded and grabbed the drinks as requested, handing them to the guy. One was placed in Yukihira's hand and then the two clinked bottles, the guy saying "To Japan!" before taking a sip, relishing in the fresh taste of it. They turned their attention back to the screen, where Japan's #10 was currently sending a ball in #14's direction… right by Belgium's goal.

When yet another goal landed in Belgium's net, it had been when the guy was about to take another sip from the beer. The beer slipped out of his hand and crashed onto the ground when Belgium scored, his eyes widening when he saw the ball crashing into the net, yet again at an impressive velocity. This time, both he and Yukihira yelled out a loud "Yes!" as they both fist-pumped, although Yukihira promptly lowered his fist in embarrassment. This guy's enthusiasm had begun to rub off on him, whether he liked it or not.

"Belgium are done for." The excitement was shining in the man's eyes as he clutched onto both thighs. "Done for. We have this in the bag, I'm sure of it. Just look. I wish I was there…"

For the next few minutes, the guy stared intently at the screen, not even bothering to make any comments underneath his breath. He instead watched intently, smiling and punching the air with excitement every so often when someone on the Japan side made a good play, got a good touch on the ball, made something happen. It was when Belgium made a double substitution that he raised his eyebrows in interest, finally opening his mouth to make a comment.

"It looks like they're trying to bringing in some game-changers," he pointed out. "We're in the 65th minute. If we can just hold on for half an hour and a bit, this game is ours."

As Yukihira watched the guys switch positions, some of them exchanging hugs or high-fives before leaving the football field, a question dawned on him. "Are those guys they're bringing on good?"

"Well, neither of them have scored or had any assists so far, so… meh. When I think of Belgium, I think of Hazard or Kompany or Lukaku. Not these guys. But, hey. Let's see what Martinez is planning." He turned his attention back to the screen, where play had begun once again, although when Yukihira tapped him on the shoulder, he returned his attention to the confused Yukihira once again.

"I have no idea what you just said."

The guy laughed, but right when he was about to explain it to Yukihira, his interest was piqued by a loud shout that came from the other group of guys who were watching the match.

"Agh," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Belgium got a corner. Not good. They've got the advantage with height."

The corner went, and while the ball bounced around a bit at first, it eventually went to a Belgium player who sent the ball flying on a perfect trajectory, over the heads of his opponents and teammates alike… and right past Kawashima, the goalkeeper who stretched for the ball desperately even as it sailed past his fingertips, gently settling on the bright patch of grass right inside the goal.

The roars from Belgium's side of the stadium were deafening. There were simultaneous groans from the viewers inside the bar, although Yukihira couldn't help but admire the trajectory on that goal. He had to admit, it was impressive. Really impressive.

"Shit," the guy muttered, a frown forming on his lips as he watched the score creep up from 1-2. "They're definitely game-changers. The mood changed when those two stepped on the field. Unless we do something, we're in danger."

And as it turned out, he was right.

Exactly five minutes later, Hazard sent an impressive cross in #8's direction — the guy they'd subbed on mere minutes ago — who proceeded to smash it into the net. He groaned once more, hands finding their way into his hair as he fought the urge to pull it out. "Fucking Hazard, I knew he'd do something. Ugh… it's 2-2 now."

"It's fine," Yukihira responded, trying to encourage him. "We can still come back."

"Not unless we make some subs," he responded. "Honestly, there should've been at least one sub after that first goal. If they bring on Honda, he'll be a game-changer for sure. He's a dependable player."

The game continued on as normal, both sides fighting desperately to make the score tip in their favour. The guy continued to down drinks as he watched intently, although he made sure to balance them out with water. He didn't usually drink this much, but it was the World Cup and Japan was playing. He could make an exception. It was ten minutes later when the subs for Japan came, a lot later than he would've liked, although he wasn't too fussed about the result.

"Finally, they got Honda on," he said, blowing out air through his lips as he thought to himself. "If only they'd kept Haraguchi as well. But, oh well. Yamaguchi's a nice choice too. Now… let's just get one more net so I can celebrate with a martini and go drunk walking."

"You've been drinking quite a bit, don't you think?"

"In the spirit of World Cup, of course," was his response.

Yukihira rolled his eyes. "Enjoy getting alcohol poisoning over the World Cup. At this rate, you'll miss Japan in the quarterfinals."

"I'll watch it from my hospital bed then. Either that, or I get treated for alcohol poisoning while flying from here to Russia," he said, sounding completely serious as he sipped on his glass of water. At least he was being a semi-responsible drinker, Yukihira thought. There was nothing worse than dealing with a drunk who was falling and pissing all over themselves, and that was a fact.

The match carried on in an ever-exciting fashion, many attempts at goal being made as both teams rushed up and down the field, passing and heading the ball with everything they had as the time ticked up into the nineties, the timer adding on four extra minutes.

"What happens if no-one scores after four minutes? Will they both go through?"

The guy laughed in response. "If only it were that easy. No, they don't. They'll have extra time for another half-hour, fifteen minutes for each half, and if no-one scores, then it goes to penalty shootouts. There were two yesterday."

"Two? So there were two ties?"

The man nodded. "This World Cup's been crazy so far. I'd say it's arguably one of the best World Cups we've ever had. I mean, look at this. The team spirit is really shining through. Favourites like Germany and Argentina are out, and now look. Japan and Belgium. Both teams, going against each other equally when the whole world expected us to be out in the group stages. It's amazing."

"You know… this is great," Yukihira said, taking a sip of his water. Shinomiya had ordered one without even bothering to ask this time, knowing that Yukihira could use a non-alcoholic drink. "Not the drink, I mean. Football. You know… I'm seeing it. It's exciting. It's not just about kicking a ball around. It's the work that goes into manoeuvring it. The clever moves that bring it that one step closer. Hey, look. It's our corner…"

"Come on," he said, hope shining in his eyes as he stared at the TV screen. "We need to end it here. We can do it. Come on…"

Yukihira nodded in agreement.

The ball went sailing into the air, only for Belgium's goalkeeper to snatch the ball from the air. But, from there, the man quickly sensed that something was wrong. The ball was rolled out towards De Bruyne, and from there, there was a mounting fear which built up inside of him as he realised that Belgium had kicked into full power. They were completely on the offense, two players flanking De Bruyne as he continued to run towards the opposite side of the football field, finally passing the ball to Meunier. Shinomiya's fists were clenched as he watched intensely, not wanting to distract himself by speaking. All he could do was hope that Kawashima would be able to pull off some saves like the amazing ones he'd pulled off earlier.

But, it was to no avail.

In the space of thirty seconds, De Bruyne had carried the ball right through the centre of the field and sent it off to Meunier before allowing Chadli to take the final shot, crushing both the net and the hearts of everyone in the bar as it sailed in, Shinomiya's fists unclenching as he stared at the screen in shock.

"We… we lost?"

"We lost," Yukihira repeated, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "But, don't be disappointed. That… for my first ever match, it was amazing. Thanks for explaining it all to me. I… you know, I think I might actually get into this sport."

He turned to face Yukihira, and while there was still disappointment lingering in his eyes — he'd been so confident that Japan would smash Belgium in the final moments — he seemed to be happy about Yukihira's newfound interest in football.

"Well, I'm glad I was able to be of assistance." He got up to his feet, although he was still facing Yukihira. "How do you feel?"

"Well, I want to see Belgium play again. Not just Belgium. Whatever team's on next," Yukihira admitted. "I've got some catching up to do."

"Say," he began, gesturing to the exit of the bar, "I know a place. Sweden and Switzerland are playing tomorrow, and this certain place has a TV, good champagne and amazing food. What do you say?"

"How can I date you when I don't even know your name after sitting with you for what… two hours?"

"Who said it's a date?"

"The blush on your cheeks," Yukihira quipped, laughing when the man slapped both hands to his cheeks in an attempt to hide the fact that he was blushing.

"I'm just hot."

Yukihira laughed. "No need to rub it in my face."

"Ugh… just say yes," he insisted. "I'll tell you my name if you do."

"Well, it's not like I've got anything to do. I'm quitting my job tomorrow," Yukihira said, shrugging his shoulders. "After that, I'm free for an indefinite period of time. So, sure. Why not."

"Great. In that case, I'm Shinomiya Kojirou and I'd like to treat you to a blowjob before we go our separate ways for the night."

It was then that the name finally rang a bell in Yukihira's head — Shinomiya Kojirou had appeared on the news at least a handful of times, and while Yukihira couldn't remember what exactly it was for, Shinomiya had the kind of voice that you couldn't forget. Slow, sensual, and whenever he laughed it sounded like the rich sound of an oboe or some other brass instrument. Yukihira wasn't sure. He wasn't too big on instruments.

"I'm Yukihira Souma, and you've had enough to drink tonight," he said, pushing Shinomiya away from the bar. "Come on. Where do you live? I'll walk you home. No more drinks. No more shots."

"Oh, no. I'm not talking about the shot this time. I mean an actual blowjob."

Yukihira's face turned the same shade of red as his hair.

"Well, Japan lost. I need to do something to distract myself," Shinomiya said, shrugging his shoulders. "Entertaining you sounds like fun. What do you say?"

"You're a football fanatic, a walking billboard for Gucci, and a huge flirt."

Yukihira decided to step alongside Shinomiya, having made the decision that he had nothing to lose. Shinomiya wasn't typically the kind of man that Yukihira would go for, but tonight, Yukihira had been doing all sorts of things he hadn't imagined he would do. Having enjoyable rapport with a stranger, actually enjoying football, and now he was actually taking him up on his offer despite only having met him two hours ago. It was crazy. But, as the French would say…

C'est la vie.

"Let's go, then," Yukihira said, grinning up at Shinomiya. "Your place or mine?"