A/N: This was orignally written for SoMa Week - Day 7: First I love you. And since the world cup is still going strong (albeit without England, which is featured in the story), I thought it was the perfect moment to post this.

Title: Soccer vs Football

Summary: After graduating high school, Maka and her friends take a trip to Europe; their first stop is London where they meet a British guy named Soul and 50 more soccer—err, football(!) fans, and Black*Star is doing absolutely nothing to make their group likeable.

"Stop calling it soccer, it pissessss me off," Soul, yes, she believed his name to be that, slurred, and punched the table in front of him, his beer clutched in his other hand.

Black*Star cackled dumbly as he thrust his head forward, his face flushed with the alcohol in his blood, "Duuuude, it's soccer to me. Football is something else in America."

Soul gritted his unusually sharp teeth, his grip tightening on his beer glass so much that his knuckles turned white. "That's why you call it 'merican Football, you git. 'cuz it's not real football obviously. What do you even do with your feet in it, huh? Nothin'! Here you play football with your feet, thas why the name makes sense." He crossed his arms over his chest, accidentally spilling some of his beer in the process of detangling his fingers from the handle of the glass.

Black*Star just harrumphed and crossed his arms as well, his eye flickering with challenge. Maka turned her eyes away from them and rubbed her temple. They had been going at their childish banter since the halftime of the match had started. She let her head sag, eying her non-alcoholic beverage tiredly, and groaned.

Maka, Liz, Tsubaki and Black*Star had just graduated high school and had jointly decided to take this Europe trip as their last chance to spend some quality time together before they mostly went their separate ways to different colleges. Their first stop was London and from then on they would travel to France, to Germany, and to Sweden for a few days before they took a ship back to Germany to get to the Czech Republic from there (Maka definitely wanted to see Prague). Their next stops would be Austria and Italy and they'd take the plane from Rome back to New York.

It was their third day (out of five) in London, and she was wasting her precious time in this loud bar with half of her friends beyond the realm of consciousness. What they hadn't known prior to organizing their trip was that it coincided with the FIFA World Cup because it was a thing that was mentioned mostly in passing in the US, but was a big thing in Europe apparently. A very big thing.

Maka had seen grown men being driven to tears when their team was on the verge of losing, she had seen them being driven to tears when their team was winning! And she had seen men getting into disputes about the correct terminology of the sport. Soccer vs Football. Apparently, it was not a smart thing to refer to this sport as soccer here. At best you'd be adamantly corrected, at worst you'd be insulted as a stupid American (but that was really the rarest and worst case, usually coming from extremely drunken people who couldn't tell left from right).

Despite this world cup craze though, their trip had been very enjoyable so far, aside from the fact that she'd much rather be looking at landmarks of the city. They had yet to have a look at the Tower of London! Of course, Maka wasn't stupid and knew that aside from Tsubaki and her, the others didn't really care about the landmarks and other cultural destinations. They would be happy with spending their trip through Europe by hopping from bar to might have as well stayed home in that case. But Maka would have none of that! Consequently she had dragged all of her friends around a tour of the city. Even Black*Star had come after some minutes of bitching; it seemed like they it was really starting to dawn on them how they wouldn't be able to spend time together like this, and nobody wanted to have this trip go with them arguing all the time.

That was why Maka had grudgingly agreed to go to this bar after their trip to Big Ben, the Buckingham Palace and the Globe Theatre. Figures, they'd arrive there just in time for the match of England vs...she had no idea against what team England was playing, only that their opponents had managed to make a goal, much to the detriment of about 99 percent of the attendees, including Soul Evans.

All things considered Maka thought he was an okay guy (with a nice accent to boot), even if she didn't know how he and Black*Star had found each other. Soul had only briefly introduced himself with a wry grin and she had been the one to exchange some pleasantries to which he replied in curt, short answers. Just as Maka had thought she was going to have a deeper conversation with him, his attention had been all but gone and diverted to the large flat screen TV set up specifically for this match of the English soccer team.

As much as it had sucked to have lost the only person who was willing to have a normal conversation with her, it had annoyed her more how he had gotten progressively more obnoxious as the game had gone on with English players getting slower and losing their stamina. She thought he and Black*Star would cool off once half-time came up, but she had no such luck. For a moment, Maka wondered where Liz and Tsubaki had gone to and let gaze slide over the crowd of roaring men in their middle ages only to spot Liz and Tsubaki in the far corner of the bar, sitting at a round table with three other, much younger (than the average age seemed to be in this bar) men.

Maka shook her head, pouting grumpily. Maybe she should order a gin tonic or something. Perhaps that would make this whole ordeal more fun, or at least a little bit more bearable. Just as she was about to tap the bartender, who was engaged in a heated discussion with two other men, on the shoulder, everyone's attention simultaneously turned back to the screen. Someone made a slurred toast and maybe even tacked on a few cuss words against the referee, insulting his mother in a rather tasteless way, but without a doubt, everyone raised their glasses and bottles and cheered as the game commenced. She had to admit, it was kind of nice (minus the random mother insults) even if still didn't understand how they could get worked up over a sport like that.

She allowed herself a smile as, too, watched the screen in mild interest, but she couldn't exactly concentrate on the game what with Black*Star's obnoxious voice blaring in her ear.

"Why did that guy fall over like a little bitch? Get up, you pansy!" he yelled, waving his bottle agitatedly in the air.

Soul growled lowly, his eyes narrowed. "Because he was fouled, you bloody wanker!"

Black*Star let out a bark of laughter, the insult going unheard. "Pfft, what?! He just lightly pushed him! That's a foul? Bwahahaha, no wonder this game never caught on in the US."

Maka winced. That was the exact wrong thing to say.

"Ex-excuse me?! It didn't catch on because you suck at it. That's why you have that baseball and basketball and American football shit going on because you can't play real football."

"Tsk, as if! Your team is sucking really bad right now yo."

Soul brought his fists down on the table, rattling the few glasses that weren't being held by any drinkers and stared at Black*Star with such a murderous, deranged glint in his eyes that Maka nearly jumped out of her stool to drag her childhood friend out of this place.

"It's still better than yours," Soul bit out, his fingers digging into his palms forcefully. "England can take on the US anytime!"

Black*Star raised his chin haughtily, either oblivious or ignorant of the fury that was radiating off in waves from his new drinking buddy. Instead he just grinned that infuriating grin of his, and Maka wouldn't have blamed Soul if he decided to punch Black*Star right then, and said, "The last time England came at the US it didn't end well for you."

Soul blinked, slowly, his alcohol-addled brain trying to catch up with he was just told.

"Black*Star," Maka snapped, putting an appeasing hand on Soul's shoulder. She smiled up at him and hoped it was enough to still the bloodlust in his eyes. "Drop it okay." But Maka knew that Black*Star would never leave anything be, so she just looked back at Soul, her charming smile still in place. "Ignore him," she said, her voice dropping down to a conspiratorial whisper as she leaned in closer. "He has obviously no idea what he's talking about. I wish the English team the best of luck." She didn't really care, but it had the intended effect. Soul's shoulders relaxed as his lips curved into an easy grin.

"Heh, we won't need luck. The team is good enough to win without such a thing as luck," Soul said proudly.

Maka shrugged. "If you say so."

She threw Black*Star one last, reprimanding glance and shook her head, hoping it was enough to dissuade him from starting another fight. At this rate, they'd be bringing him back in a casket, and she really didn't want to explain to Sid and Mira how their son found his untimely end at the hands of hooligans (although deep down she doubted that a bunch of hooligans would be able to bring down Black*Star). With that, the tension in the air deflated somewhat and their attention was back on the screen, making Maka grimace.

She might not have much of a grasp on the rules, but she knew which the English team was and it was pretty clear that they were rather worn out, while the other team members were still quick on their feet. Soul was wrong. The English team needed a lot of luck to win this, but she was sensible enough not to point this out to him. Five minutes later, the other team scored their second goal, and Black*Star rose his feet, beer bottle in hand, and cheered like the idiot he was. Maka groaned into her palms and slapped her forehead right after. A cold shudder went down her spine as the whole bar grew deathly quiet. All eyes were directed at her childhood friend, who didn't let any nervousness slip out. Knowing him, he wasn't the least bit scared that about everyone in the room was ready to murder him for such insolence.

Shit. She had to do something.

"Oooh no, someone fell!" She pointed at the screen, feeling a little bad that was so relieved that someone had indeed fallen to the ground. It had looked really painful. Luckily, this was all what it took to make 50+ people look back at the screen and gasp in shock.

"I can't believe it! That was a bloody foul!"

"The ref is a biased arsehole!"

Maka slumped against the bar and breathed out in relief, shooting Black*Star a glare from the corner of her eyes, who shrugged sheepishly in return, completely unapologetic. Asshole. The people only grew more agitated as the game was coming closer to its end. There was an extended moment of cheering and hugging when the English team scored a goal, and even Maka found the whole thing a little contagious and found herself growing more and more nervous as the seconds ticked by.

It was in the 84th minute when England scored its equalizer and there was no stopping the roaring of the people. They jumped from their seats and hugged each other in joy, screamed in their glee and downed their beer even if they could barely stand on their feet. Even Black*Star had stood up fist-bumping Soul, who was looking very haggard with the top three buttons of his shirt undone and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. His face was a deep red, his fingers were trembling as he muttered under his breath how they still had a chance to win.

His nervousness seemed to catch her as well, and she felt herself holding her breath in the last minutes. Soul cursed under his breath as the referee gave one of the English players a yellow card, and the ball was given to the other team to shoot. He ran his hands through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut and muttered things under his breath Maka couldn't entirely make out. She wasn't sure, but it almost seemed like he was praying. Maka watched the screen in rapt attention, jumping when Soul clutched her elbow and cracked one eye open as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to see the predicament the English team got itself into.

Fortunately, the Czech player (she found that out after she paid attention to the scores at the top of the screen with the helpful abbreviations of the countries) hit the ball at an odd angle and did not manage to get close to scoring a goal. The entire pub seemed to breathe out at the same time as Soul's grip on her elbow grew tighter. The seconds ticked and the referee gave them three minutes of additional time to play. The entire air seemed to be sucked out of the room as everyone's eyes were glued on the TV (and Soul was definitely praying). Maka doubted that the English team could score the goal they needed to win this match, but then one of the small stockier defense players kicked the ball to the centre that wasn't being guarded at all by the other team, and a taller player got the ball in time and he was running at the goal of the other team!

Maka sucked in a deep breath, clutching her hand over her heart. This was getting far too exciting! Oh, the player almost fell, but-oh God, he was going to make it! He kicked the ball forcefully, making it bounce of the left corner of the goalpost only for it to hit the ground and jump back right into the goal, leaving the keeper confused and devastated.

There was a moment of silence, and all hell broke loose as even the announcer on TV couldn't contain his glee´, shouting in a high-pitched voice at the phenomenal goal. If Maka had thought the people had been enthusiastic and happy before, she had seen nothing yet. Bottles and glasses and chairs went flying, tears were streaming down people's faces as they sang and chanted their songs and danced on the tables. She had to laugh at them and even cheered a little bit herself, feeling kind of silly for getting so worked up over the game after all.

She turned to Soul with a small smile playing on her lips only for it to falter when she saw him sitting there unmoving on the stool.

"Congrats, your team won!" she tried and he warily blinked down at her, ruffling his hair. It took him a few seconds of looking around him, and staring back at the TV to affirm that his hopes weren't dashed, but that the English team had won against all odds. He broke out into a goofy grin, his eyes wide and warm and elated as he took her hand in his. He heaved a sigh as his grin became the gentlest of smiles, his eyes considerably droopy (oh yeah, he was very very drunk).

"Um, Soul-"

"I love you," he whispered lovingly and looked her deep in the eyes.

The next day began for Soul with a pounding headache, with Wes smirking at him as he dragged himself into the kitchen, and with the sudden, crashing painful realization of yesterday's happenings. It wasn't elation he felt, elation the English team had won against the Czech team. It was sheer embarrassment and he felt like drinking again just to forget about what he had told that cute American girl (whose name he had already forgotten, fuck him!). He rubbed his face frantically and groaned into his palm.

He could just hole himself up inside his flat all day and avoid everything because there was no way he was getting over his stupidity in just a week. No, he would carry this scene with him for months, cringe and slap himself whenever he remembered it. However, he had promised the Americans that he'd show them the nicer places of London that weren't festered with tourists and it wouldn't be right to just go back on his word. Urgh, he just hoped that the cute, small blonde didn't mention that he had basically declared his undying love for her. Fuck him, he would never drink this much again, World Cup or not.

Getting ready was a pain, but he had to look at least somewhat presentable. He took a quick shower, put on a casual pair of jeans and a simple shirt and made his way to the hostel he knew all too well.

She (Maka! Maka was her name!) was a fucking saint. She just smiled up at him and made no indication that basically a stranger had told her he loved her. Soul could almost forget the awkwardness because the rest of the group seemed their usual loud and raucous selves, taking pictures of things here and there and laughing at their jokes and making light smalltalk.

It was only when the others went into a cafe and Maka was still taking pictures of the Thames riverbanks that he stayed behind, feeling kind of responsible (what if she got lost!) and also because he really needed to get it out of his system or that moment in the pub would haunt him forever.

"I'm sorry," he said, averting his eyes to the ground.

Maka blinked and before she could say anything further, he quickly added, "I mean because of yesterday and what I said, it was bloody stupid and embarrassing. I'm sorry really."

Much to his surprise there were no scathing words or condescending remarks about how it was about time he apologized, instead she giggled and smiled up at him, her eyes glinting brilliantly in the sunlight.

"No worries," she said, practically beaming, "It was kind of endearing actually, and funny," she laughed.

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, as a blush crept up his cheeks. When the fuck was the last time he had been this bashful around a girl? She took a step towards him and rummaged through her small purse, pulling out a pen. He mutely let her take his hand and scribble something onto his palm.

"You know" she began, her eyes downcast, "We're going to be here only for today and tomorrow before we leave for France, and I really would have liked to get to know you better. Alas-" she sighed heavily and looked up again, her eyes sad.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest, but at the same time his stomach fluttered when he had a closer look at the finely curved letters written on his hand. He smiled.

"But you can email me, if that's okay with you," she mumbled shyly, her hands clasped together behind her back. His smile grew even wider. It was a pity that she was leaving so soon, and she lived across the Atlantic, but despite the distance between them, he was not going to say no to her offer.

"Hell yeah-I mean, uh, yes, it's cool."

She muffled her chuckles behind her hand and asked him with that adorable smile of hers if he'd like to lead the way.