sigh sae sigh

The bell above the entrance chimed cheerfully, it was indeed not cheerful for you. You looked up from wiping down the counter and immediately froze.

Five familiar figures stepped through the door, and unfortunately, your eyes found him first. Of course they did.

The soccer team had clearly come straight from a match. The evidence was impossible to miss.

Seonghyeon looked like someone had stole all his money and kicked him in the stomach. Keonho had the thousand-yard stare of a man who had spent the last two hours running after a ball. Their jerseys were damp with sweat, socks pushed down around their calves, hair sticking up in random directions.

And he...

You frowned.

He looked miserable.

His shoulders seemed heavier somehow. His uniform was wrinkled. There was a faint streak of dirt near one knee. His hair looked like he'd run his hands through it fifty times on the ride over.

For some reason, seeing him like that made something uncomfortable tug inside your chest. Which was annoying.

You weren't supposed to feel bad for him, he hates the one thing you love.

Across the restaurant, Martin and Juhoon were already attempting emotional damage control. "It was one game," Martin was saying for what sounded like the fifteenth time.

"We lost."

"It was one game."

Juhoon nodded supportively. "Exactly. You guys are acting like the season ended."

"We needed that win."

"You need therapy."

"Probably." Honestly, that was the healthiest thing anyone at that table had said. You continued staring until your mother suddenly appeared beside you carrying a tray.

You nearly jumped. She looked entirely unimpressed. "You should go give them menus." You glanced back at the table, with a sigh, you grabbed a stack of menus and headed toward the table.

Professional. Calm. Classy. Bougie.

The second James noticed you approaching, something genuinely bizarre happened. The guy practically sat up like he'd just remembered his chiropractor scolding him about posture and whatnot. One moment he was slouched over the booth looking emotionally defeated.

The next he was sitting upright. Shoulders back. Hair pushed out of his face. Attempting— and failing— to look significantly more presentable than he actually was.

Which was funny because he was still visibly sweaty. There was literally grass stuck to one of his socks.

You stopped beside the table.

He stared. "...Prez?"

"Unfortunately."

"What are you doing here?"

You looked around slowly. At the tables, the kitchen, the restaurant your family had owned since before you were born. Thinking back of all the years studying and serving customers all at the same time. Then looked back at him. "I work here, ego brain."

"Oh."

You stare at him as the gears in his head are probably shifting around. "Wait I thought riki worked here."

You sigh, realizing there might be a chance him being here tonight was not just random coincidence, or you being punished by the fates. No just being punished for being friends with riki. "He does occassionally, likes to help my mom out when days are busy and when I can't."

Juhoon makes a shock gasping noise, as if he realized something after you mention riki's flexible work schedule.

James ignored him completely. "This is your family's place?"

"Last I checked."

"Huh." He sounded oddly pleased by that information, which was weird.

You decided not to investigate. "You guys ready to order?"

"No."

"K"

You walked away before James could say anything else.

-

The next twenty minutes were spent balancing trays, taking orders, and preventing a small child from drinking oil.

Normal restaurant activities.

Unfortunately, every time you glanced toward the soccer table, your eyes automatically found James. Not intentionally.

You hope.

The problem was he still looked sad, less sad than before, but still sad. And every time you noticed, that same irritating feeling returned.

Eventually their food was ready.

You grabbed the tray and headed over.

The second you set James' plate down, he immediately picked up his utensils and took a bite. You watch as his face slowly starts making some sort of facial expression- you couldn't pin point it as he had his mouth full and saucers for eyes.

You narrowed your eyes. "What?"

James looked up.

"Huh?"

"You made a face."

"It was a good face." Now you made a face, filled with confusion and judgement.

He pointed at the food. "This is amazing."

Now your facial expression turned to one that was offended. "Why do you sound surprised?"

"No, that's not what I meant." Across the table, Martin was visibly enjoying this.

James pointed his fork at you. "I'm complimenting the food."

"Poorly."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder." A smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth.

Then he looked down at his plate again. "Seriously though. Kisses to the chef."

The table went completely silent.

"James I don't think that is the correct expression." Keonho is the first to speak as he tries to hide his giggles.

Martin's elongated form immediately folded in half. Nex to him Seonghyeon physically put his face in his hands.

You have just been blinking rapidly as the whole interaction has been going on, maybe hoping all of this is just a dream and nothing close to reality.

You're pretty sure he tried to say 'compliments to the chef'. Either way, all the blinking you have done has not made you fly away from all this. So attempting to stifle a chuckle you speak up finally "...I'll tell my mom, I guess."

Martin was crying now.

You had to physically turn away because if James saw you laughing, he'd never recover.

-

The rest of dinner passed surprisingly quickly. The team seemed to recover little by little, not completely, but enough.

Enough for Seonghyeon to stop looking like he'd lost custody of his children. Martin has stopped giving motivational speeches. AndJames is smiling occasionally. Which was good, not that you cared.

Eventually they started paying.

One by one they headed toward the register. Each one left after paying, gathering near the entrance while waiting for the others. Until eventually only James remained.

The restaurant had gotten quieter, most of the dinner crowd had already gone home. Soft music drifted from somewhere overhead. For a moment, it was just the two of you.

James dug through his wallet while you rang up the bill.

And suddenly you remembered. "I heard you guys lost."

James mood shifted. Not dramatically, most people probably wouldn't have noticed. But you noticed, his smile faded slightly, his shoulders lowered. And for some reason, seeing it happen felt awful.

Which made no sense. He is like basically evil because he didn't like your favourite anime... sometimes you have to stop and realize you sound insane in your own head.

Right, he completely disregarded the chemistry lab once... once. and ever since then he hasn't shown up late- heck sometimes he starts the lab before you get the chance to.

Oh, right. For some reason this guy, who sometimes barely stays awake in class, is off doing whatever extracurriculars, has managed to beat you for the top grade sometimes. Right that is why he is the enemy in your head.

So why did seeing him upset feel different?

"Yeah," he said quietly.

The register beeped. "That sucks."

James laughed softly, a tired sound. "Little bit."

You crossed your arms. "You can still make playoffs."

"Probably." The answer came too quickly, like he wasn't really thinking about it. Like he'd already decided something.

You frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

James shrugged. "You know."

"No."

Another shrug. You wanted to hit him. "You have words. Use them."

That finally got a smile, small, then it faded again. "Everyone expects us to win."

You stayed quiet.

"Even when we do." His gaze dropped briefly toward the counter. "...nobody really says anything. Like the people we have squealing and all just talk about how good we look or whatever... I don't know what I'm saying. Besides teammates and coaches, I just want a simple congratulations, you know."

The words landed heavier than expected, because you understood. Not completely, but close enough. To recognize the loneliness underneath them, to realize that was probably why losing hurt so much.

You looked at him for a long moment, then said the first thing that came to mind. "Then win the next one."

James looks up at you. "Win the next one... and I will congratulate you" You pointed at him.

James is just staring at you now, face unmoving.

You immediately wanted to throw yourself into traffic. What kind of thing was that to say? You sounded sincere. Disgusting.

For a long second neither of you spoke.

James smiled.

And for reasons you absolutely refused to acknowledge that your heartbeat skipped.

"Oh." He says still with such a wide grin.

You pointed aggressively at the receipt. "Don't make it weird."

"I'm not."

"You look weird." That only made him laugh.

And somehow, when he grabbed his receipt and headed toward the door, he looked lighter than when he'd walked in, like some invisible weight had shifted.

Near the entrance, Martin immediately looked between the two of you.

"What happened?"

James just shook his head, still smiling.

And for the first time that night, he looked like someone who genuinely believed he could win the next game.