Striker

Ethan wasn’t sure what he expected after that first shared practice, but it wasn’t this.

Three days had passed. No messages. No nods in the hallway. James hadn’t even looked at him during lunch. Maybe it had just been a one-off moment—two bored boys messing about with each other’s sport, killing time on a Tuesday afternoon. That sort of thing didn’t mean anything, not really.

Except it had meant something to Ethan. More than he was comfortable admitting.

He kept thinking about the way James had smiled, wide and easy, like talking to him wasn’t strange at all. Like Ethan wasn’t the quiet one who never quite fit in. He remembered the way James had tried to throw a rugby ball, clumsy and laughing the whole time, his hair sticking to his forehead and his shirt damp from effort.

Ethan had barely slept that night.

It wasn’t just nerves. It was… something else. Something that sat just under his skin, humming low and restless. Every time he caught himself replaying the moment, he’d shut it down fast, convincing himself he just missed being seen. That was all.

But even that felt like a half-truth.

Now it was Friday, and rain tapped against the classroom windows in that lazy, early-spring sort of way. Mr. Lindell was droning on about allegory and The Lord of the Flies, but Ethan’s mind was elsewhere—specifically, across the hall where the Year Ten footballers usually had English at this hour.

Someone nudged him. Amelia, sitting beside him, shot him a look.

“You’ve underlined the same sentence five times,” she whispered.

Ethan blinked. “Right.”

She gave him a slow grin. “Let me guess. Football boy?”

He froze. “What?”

“Oh, come on. I saw you on the field the other day,” she said, voice low but amused. “That was James Morgan, wasn’t it?”

Ethan didn’t answer. Amelia didn’t push. That was her thing—teasing, never cruel. But the silence after her comment made him squirm.

He didn’t like how easily her words had landed.

Football boy.

Not James, not some guy. Football boy. Like a crush. Like something you’d giggle about.

Was that what it looked like?

Was that what it was?

The bell rang, and the spell broke.

Ethan gathered his things slowly, dreading lunch. It wasn’t like he had much of a crowd. He usually sat with a few other rugby players—guys who talked a lot but didn’t expect him to. He liked the quiet between the noise. Still, today, the idea of sliding back into the same old seat felt heavier than usual.

He was halfway to the dining hall when he spotted him.

James, leaning against the side of the building with his bag slung over one shoulder, was alone. He was talking to no one. Just… standing there. Waiting?

Ethan slowed, heart thudding too loud for a school corridor.

James looked up. Their eyes met.

He nodded once. Just a little gesture. Nothing obvious.

But to Ethan, it felt like the entire hallway narrowed until there was just that look, and the quiet pull of something he couldn’t name.

He changed direction without thinking.

James said nothing as Ethan approached, just fell into step beside him like they’d been doing it for years.

“Field?” James said.

Ethan smiled, but it was tight. “Yeah.”

They walked out into the wet spring air without another word.

And behind his smile, Ethan couldn’t stop wondering—

Why did this feel so different from how it’s supposed to feel?

And in a classroom one building over, James was staring down at the desk he hadn’t left yet, wondering the exact same thing.