the unnecessary cherry on top to the missed goal is loki scoring another one all by himself with what little time that was left. if earlier was a public humiliation ritual, then you're not sure what this is because it blows out of the water by more than a few magnitudes. you just know that the locker room is going to be screaming bloody murder from all corners.

the egregiously large scoreboard hammers in the final nail to the coffin of the match, a blaring JAPAN VS FRANCE 2 - 4 rubbing salt in the fresh wound. would it be unprofessional of you to run away into the tunnel before the teams did?

as entertaining as the thought is, you are glued to your spot to watch the teams wave their final goodbyes. or rather, france waving theirs while japan hangs in despair. you can see loki yawning while hugo trails behind him, unintelligible words exchanged between them, no doubt about blue lock's shortcomings. in this state, you're not one to disagree.

isagi stops hugo from behind, an all too familiar look on his face that tells you he's far from defeated. sometimes you really wonder where he gets the audacity from, but that's blue lock's and by extension japan's poster boy, you guess. whatever words are being said result in what looks like a smile from hugo, and something about it makes you feel like you're seeing the eighth wonder of the world. when he turns around to follow the rest of his team into the tunnel, his eyes immediately search for you.

even among the crowd of people, he spots you within seconds, locking eyes with you. he's bathed in the afterglow of a win, the smallest smile on his face. his eyes seem to sparkle in the stadium lights, and… was hugo always this… pretty?

he doesn't approach you, of course not in such a public setting, but you can faintly see the movement of his arm as if he was trying to reach out to you. the distance between you however isn't one that can be overcome by the length of an arm, so instead his smile speaks for him. right before he enters the tunnel and disappears from your sight, his lashes flutter and the quickest wink is sent your way.

now, your face isn't warm from embarrassment anymore, but still warm from something else…

(must be the summer heat, you try to reason, but when you remember that cheeky smile, your face warms all over again.)

for some reason, hugo feels free in a way that winning a match hasn't given him in a long time.

he shouldn't feel this way, at least not to the extent that he does, after losing to isagi in a one-on-one. blue lock imploded on itself at the end, this much was to be expected, but that wasn't what has hugo feeling so… happy, is that the word for this?

ah, it must be because you were watching him, just like he wanted you to. and this time, you didn't run away.

hugo wanted to speak to you, to ask if he impressed you. to hear your voice call him, to see himself reflected in your eyes, to feel your hand in his again. quietly, he laments that he didn't get your contact.

the locker room is loud with celebration, everyone patting each other on the back and cheering loki's last goal. normally, he would at least participate, but this time, hugo can only sulk to himself. you were just here, he could've asked for your number…

"why do you look like you're sulking?" charles's voice pulls him back to the present, wide eyes staring at him with a towel hanging on his head, head tilted a little like a curious dog.

"…i'm not."

"you tooootally are!" the blonde giggles. "lemme guess why! hmm… it's cause you didn't get her number, right?"

"…"

"i'm right!" charles grins, before waving his phone in front of hugo's face. "weeeeeell… lucky for you, i have it!"

it would be a lie to say that hugo didn't perk up even just a little bit at his words. however, something in him said that asking for it from another person didn't feel quite so right.

"and i can give it to you for the low price of —"

"no thanks." hugo stands from the bench, phone in his pocket, and towel around his neck. charles's face morphs into one of surprise, and hugo can just about see the gears in his head turning, and mouth forming into an 'o' shape.

"you're gonna ask her yourself?!"

the answer is clear from the moment hugo stood up, and for some reason, his heart is pounding faster than it ever did for the entire match. only when he walked through the locker room's doors and into the tunnel did he realise that he, of all people, did not have a plan. first, for how he was going to find you, second, how he was going to ask you. what if you were in the japan locker room? there was no way he was going to check there, even he knows it would be insanely crazy if not disrespectful to do that. should he just wait outside like a weirdo…?

but just as destiny had planned your first meeting, destiny had predetermined this meeting too.

right outside france's locker room hallway, there you stand, outside of japan's locker room hallway. you have yet to notice him, engrossed in writing something on your tablet, so hugo takes this moment to admire you in your element.

your brows furrow in concentration, unconsciously chewing your bottom lip while your hand grips the stylus in your hand. small sounds of confusion from you are like music to his ears, and hugo can't help but think, wow, i really am in love with her.

apparently, hugo doesn't know that the connection between his thoughts and his mouth are but one in the same, and so those very same words he was just thinking of echo through the hallway.

"je suis vraiment amoureux d'elle." the words spill out before hugo even realises, and for a brief second he wonders who managed to read his thoughts. when it registers that it was in fact his own voice, his face suddenly feels a little too warm.

you stare at him, mouth agape. oh, the earbuds must've translated what he said…

"um, i wasn't wearing my earbuds… what did you say?" you ask timidly in english, hugging the tablet to your chest.

oh. so you didn't know what he said…

"don't worry about it," hugo dismisses your question, choosing to keep his thoughts to himself as they should have been in the first place.

"in that case, i'll be going…!" you make a move to walk into the labyrinth of hallways, but before you can, hugo catches your hand.

"don't go yet," he very nearly pleads, voice breathless. when it comes down to it, hugo is just like any other person; shy, and afraid of rejection from the one he loves.

you stop in your tracks, turning to face him. a sense of deja vu washes over him, and he's reminded of your first meeting.

"is there something i can help you, mr hugo?" hugo shakes his head in a wordless reply, still trying to find the words to properly say what he means.

"call me vivien." he murmurs, closing his eyes briefly, finally finding the words to say.

"i want to know you, far more than just this. so… could we exchange contacts?"

in hugo's defence, he's never done this before. (please go easy on him.)

"ah, um… o-okay…" hugo reaches for his phone at lightning speed, the keypad already open. you take it with nervous hands, typing in your number and handing it back.

now, you're both staring at each other, unsure of where to go from here.

"i gotta go… i'll see you around, hu— vivien." you correct yourself and give him the tiniest of smiles, disappearing behind the hallway corner. only after you leave does hugo let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

on the screen, your numbers stare back at him like the beginnings of a victory.

(when hugo went back into the locker room, charles pounced on him and immediately asked what took him so long and how it went. if the pink on his cheeks weren't enough to speak, then the way he held his phone to his chest was enough of an answer.

while you hid behind the corner of the hallway, desperately trying to calm your beating heart, and trying to figure out how you went from being someone he disliked to… whatever this is.

is this what they call psychological warfare?)

either way, the tablet caught you up on everything you weren't there to witness. hugo scored a goal just before the half-time break, and while you can acknowledge that he's a very talented player, your impression of him is still that he absolutely despises you. oh, and that he has some penchant for physical contact considering how close he was to isagi for a good part of the match (you are acutely aware that football is a contact sport, but it wasn't put-your-chin-on-their-shoulder kind of contact!). you shudder at the thought. hang in there isagi…! maybe after the match, you and him could form a support group…

shaking your head at the thought, you sigh in relief as you finally locate loki's damn phone. the device sits on one of the benches unsuspectingly, and next to it lies a book. huh, loki didn't say he was missing a book. it wasn't charles's, that you were sure of, and you don't recall seeing anyone from blue lock bringing a book to training. hm… maybe it was someone from the french team?

you slipped the phone into your pocket and took the book, flipping it open to see if any name was written on it. instead, what you found was blank page upon blank page upon blank page, not a single drop of ink on the pristine white pages. maybe it was someone's new notebook? but even those would have names written on them somewhere…

with another, more exasperated sigh, you leave the training room and make your way back to the locker rooms. maybe if you were lucky, you would arrive after they leave and you wouldn't be in such terrifyingly close proximity to hugo. it was unlikely, you know that, but a girl can hope!

the walk wasn't long, the training rooms less than 10 minutes away from the pitch. you could hear some boots against the floor and muffled conversations as players and coaches entered their respective locker rooms. maybe you should just join the japan team room, and then head into the france locker room when the break ended…? ah, but you wouldn't be able to ask if anyone was missing an awfully blank book…

steeling your nerves, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths . you will be brave this one time and go into their locker room, regardless of hugo! but before you do… damn you loki for putting you in this position!!!

now, you were ready. well, not really, but sometimes in life, you don't get a choice. this was one of those times.

walking down the hallway, the doors at the end automatically slid open just as you arrived. immediately, probably over twenty pairs of eyes shot to you. this really is your worst nightmare!

"um, i'm really sorry to interrupt, but i have loki's phone…" you hold up the device as evidence, an apologetic tone to your voice. the coach nods in acknowledgement as you scurry to where loki was sat on the bench, a little too close to hugo to your liking. you could feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you tried your best to ignore it just like you did before the match.

loki nods at you in thanks when you hand him the phone, while charles waves at you enthusiastically. just as you were about to celebrate surviving this ordeal, you remembered the book in your hands. since you're already here, you might as well…

"and uh, does this book belong to anyone here? i found it in the same spot as loki's phone, if it helps…" you hold it up for everyone to see, and a wave of refusals makes you put it down. guess you'll just hope that someone comes looking—

"it's mine." the hairs on the back of your neck all rise, and your back straightens instinctively at the voice. you knew exactly who it belonged to, but you were praying that you were hearing things and he didn't say that.

to your misfortune, which you find to be becoming a pattern around him, the owner of the voice and the book magically appears in front of you and takes the book out of your hand. but that's not the only thing his hand grabs, no, because your poor hand holding the book also got taken hostage by hugo.

…is this the part where you beg for your life? because it really was starting to feel like it, if not some public humiliation ritual…

"thanks for finding it." hugo murmurs. you didn't even get the time to be baffled that he just has a completely blank book for no reason, because he was leaning a little too close to your face. any closer and his lashes would be touching your face! has he no concept of personal space?!

his other hand, hiding behind his back, places something in your arms. a first glance tells you it's something dark blue, the fabric soft. a second glance, and charles's loud gasp, tells you that it's a jersey. a third glance tells you that it's hugo's jersey, his name written in big capital letters. you were starting to feel really lightheaded.

"you should wear it, and watch only me." he all but demands, and maybe it's just because you're terrified, but it also feels like he's leaning in closer with every word. frantically shaking your hand free, you bow to the coach in apology and dash out of the room as fast as you can without fainting. the jersey is still clutched in your arms, a little too tightly for your own liking. you stand just outside of the japan locker room, trying to catch your breath and calm your poor heart that was beating a million miles a second.

what on god's green earth just happened?! and what are you supposed to do with his jersey?!

and once again, damn you julien loki!!!

hugo was extremely grateful to loki.

thanks to loki, his dream of winning the world cup four times will be realised, and so too will his dream of wedding you. if loki hadn't forgotten his phone, then you would've never found his book, nor would you have come into their locker room, and hugo wouldn't have been able to gift you his jersey.

the whole room is quiet, almost everyone except their coach staring at where you once were with a combination of wide eyes, open mouths, or hands on their faces. hugo pays them no mind, sitting back down on the bench, eyes trained on the book you held just a moment ago. his fingers brush the places yours were, feeling the lingering warmth from your hands. if he closed his eyes, he could feel your hand in his again…

"what just happened???" charles gawks, oddly reminiscent of the first time hugo met you, the cup in his hand having taken a skydive to the floor. the other players make similar sounds of surprise, having just witnessed perhaps the most shocking thing in all their time of playing in the team. hugo, mechanical and blunt and unfeeling and — you get the idea, hugo, trying to make a move on a person of the opposite gender?! and someone from the opposing team, no less!

they didn't even know hugo could do that!

their coach doesn't even bother to silence them. there was only a few more minutes left of the break anyway, so they might as well take some stress off (if they were even feeling any) by… freaking out over hugo's impossibly bad "rizz."

"their poor manager looked like she was about to collapse…" renoir mumbles, chapa nodding in agreement.

"she looked like she was going to file a restraining order against him…" camus mutters, taking another gulp of water.

"hugo, there's no way you're going to make her like you by acting like that!" leyden laughs, while most of the room nods in agreement.

"thanks for bringing her here, loki." hugo says sincerely, finally looking up from the book. loki only stares at him with a mix of exasperation and bewilderment, and mentally, he apologises to you for putting you in this position.

"you really are hopeless, hugo…"

when they make their way back to the pitch a few minutes later, hugo searches for your figure at the benches. to his dismay, you aren't looking at him, and you're not wearing his jersey.

(logically speaking, there was no way you would ever wear it during a match so long as you're on the opposing team, but a man can dream...)

the beginnings of a pout form, but he steels his expression. hugo glances at isagi through his lashes, when an idea pops into his head.

"hey, isagi yoichi…" hugo calls, seriousness in his voice and an intensity in his dark eyes. "what's your little manager's number?"

"…?"

(by the benches, you sneeze.)

Which was why, he'd been hunched over his desk with his infamous 'self-reading' book, concocting the most heinous and morally reprehensible plan known to man — one that certainly would put the devil's wits to shame with its wickedness — and all this meticulous and diligent effort just because he wanted you to slob all over him.

Of course, it went without having to say that you, cute and oblivious, would be none the wiser to his beguiled intentions.

And that was perfect.

It was just so perfect that you were the sweet soul you were, with the gentlest and most compassionate heart to boot, because that just meant he could easily achieve his goal.

Fuck, Hugo knew it was cruel to take advantage of your selfless kindness. But God— he was a man, every man had to take care of his selfish desires once in a while, right?

There was nothing inherently wrong with somebody fulfilling their sexual fantasies, right?

"Vivien…" Your voice stretched painfully, thin with feeble urgency. "Would you please, at the very least, look my way?"

You've been at this for a long while now, trying to catch his otherwise easily obtainable attention. Though, unfortunately, your great efforts to give him his evening dose of medication has been futile— in complete and utter vain.

"Please…?"

Alas, even when you begged so desperately and ardently for his regard, tone trembling with defeat and heartbreak, Hugo seemed adamant on refusing to meet your gaze, his back turned to you as he lay on your shared bed in deep need of 'rest' to improve his feverish health.

"My love..? Sweet angel?" You called out sweetly, hope hanging on by a thin thread as you tried to peek over his shoulder to get a sight of his concealed expression. "Vivi..?"

But again, he merely returned your concern with deafening silence, a noise that had your stomach lurch in itself.

"Have I…" Your hand hovered unsurely over him, before landing softly on his arm with the weight of a feather. "Have I done something to hurt you…?"

Oh, if only you knew the effect your words had on him right now.

It took every fucking cell in his body not to fold under your calls, and it took an even greater amount of self control to physically hold himself back from pulling you into his proximity. You were just so fucking adorable, weren't you? Trying to manipulate him with your sweet little words.

But Hugo needed to remain steadfast on his goal, there were greater benefits he could reap if he just remained patient and focused—

"If you don't drink the medicine, you— you're going to be even more ill, y'know?!"

And look at you now, trying to take charge despite the worried tremble in your voice. Once he got to you spit in his mouth, Hugo promised to return the favour tenfold.

"Don't want it…" He rasped, voice dry from having forced himself to scream earlier in the day so he could appear ill in front of you.

See, the thing with Hugo was that he was always thorough whenever he wanted something. It was a bad habit he had, because what fool intentionally let themselves be drenched in the rain to catch a fever just so they could be pampered with the warmth of their lover?

Only down-bad Mr. Hugo apparently.

"Why?" Despite your praise-worthy patience, your frustrations were beginning to bleed through your countenance.

And whilst other men would've seen this as a bothersome trait for their lover to have, Hugo could only clench his toes with unbridled excitement for what was to come.

"Cuz it tastes baaaad." He whined monotonously, making sure to drawl out each word like Charles did to Loki whenever he wanted to get out of training. It always ended with the former getting his ass handed to him by the latter, and smitten old Hugo wanted exactly that from you.

"Because it tastes bad?" Your eye twitched, clearly unamused with his petulant antics. "Vivien, stop being childish and just drink it already. Here."

"Nope." He made sure to pop the 'p' whilst refusing you with a boyish head-shake.

"Vivien." You called, voice clipped with poorly concealed irritation.

"Did you not hear me?" He retorted with sass, not particularly looking for an answer from you but rather a reaction. "I said I didn't want it."

"Please don't make this harder than it needs to be—"

"Don't. Want. It." He cut you off, enunciating each word with jarring impertinence.

Any moment now, and you were sure to lose it.

"…."

Silence ensued following his snarky comment, and Hugo wondered if he dug deep enough with his childish behaviour. But with the way you remained unmoving behind him, the weight of your hand on his arm faint in its presence, maybe that wasn't the case..?

"Vivien." You spat coldly, his name falling out of your mouth with veiled threat.

The sound was almost music to his ears, sending a kaleidoscopes of butterflies to his stomach and spiking his adrenaline into a frenzy of anticipation.

You spared no further moment, roughly grabbing his arm to pull him towards you and onto his back. He let out a noise of surprise from the sudden movement, but other than that, remained pathetically plaint as you threw a leg over his torso to trap him in place.

Then, with aggression you never knew existed within you, you forced his arms down onto the mattress and out of the way whilst the other hand held a spoon with the godforsaken medicine he refused to consume. You tried to nudge the spoon towards his mouth, but much to your dismay, he bit his lips shut to prevent you from succeeding.

"Open your fucking mouth."

Hugo damn nearly came in his pants from your sudden assertion, your furrowed expression not helping his growing situation.

"Tch—" you tutted under your breath, irate clawing up your throat when he remained unaffected with your imperative. "I said, open."

Bringing the spoon to your mouth, you quickly pouched a spoonful of the bitter medicine, before throwing the utensil across the room to God-knows-where. Not that you cared— not when you were too busy using your free hand to squeeze his cheeks together and forcibly pry his tight-lipped mouth open.

If he wouldn't consume the medicine like a normal person would, then you simply had no choice but to administer the panacea through unorthodox means.

And clearly, he wasn't against the idea, seeing as how he eagerly lifted his head up to meet your lips halfway.

You were mildly surprised with his abrupt compliance, but ultimately chose not to dwell on the thought for too long. Feeding him the medicine — forcibly and through mouth to mouth contact — took precedence over anything else.

Shutting your eyes close, you pushed the liquid you'd been pouching into his mouth, an action only possible with the way he hallowed his cheeks and very greedily welcomed the invasion of your tongue.

Finally, you got him to take the fucking medicine.

But before you could even revel in the joy of your success, Hugo's arm, now free from the confines of your hand, snaked around your waist and pulled you back into his proximity, a preventative measure prohibiting you from escape.

His hand wandered with intrigue over the arch of your waist, teasing the hemline of your shorts and lingering on the swell of your ass, before it quickly fell victim to innate desire and grabbed a handful of it. The action pulled a muffled yelp out of you, one that was happily swallowed by the man beneath you who groped at the flesh of your ass with fervour.

Hugo sucked on your tongue, ardent and desperate, his lust-glazed eyes growing half-lidded and hazy with twisted pleasure as he took in your contorting expression.

"Vivi, wait-! ngh—!"

You tried pull away, but Hugo chased after your retreating figure like a man possessed. And he was— Hugo could admit, without any shame or embarrassment, that he was hopelessly infatuated with you.

Ears flushing a pretty shade of red comparable to his hair, his hand wandered again, this time going beneath your shirt and tracing the dip of your spine whilst the other clamped around your neck to push you further down onto him.

You would've thought he was trying to fuse the two of you together, and maybe he was with how he was unwilling to detach himself from your lips.

"Mhm—!"

Whilst he would've loved to hear every bit of what your pleasure-induced self had to say, Hugo couldn't afford it this time. He didn't want you off of him, not under any circumstance. Even if it meant having to regrettably sacrifice hearing every one of your cute little mewls.

He shoved his tongue down your wet cavern, and with it, came the bitter taste of medicine. It was then, at that exact moment, that you realised what he was trying doing. He'd been pouching the medicine himself, and now, was quite literally returning to you what you were previously trying to shove down his throat!

The realisation filled you with vigour, urging your hands to push against his shoulders, an attempt to create some much needed distance between the two of you. Like he'd done before, Hugo tried to pursue your fleeing figure again, his teeth softly grazing your bottom lip with reverence, a desperate plea for more, but you pulled back with a furious expression.

A thin strand of saliva lewdly connected the both of you as you landed heavily on his crotch that was now housing a very grown problem.

"Hah…" He let out a soft whimper from the jolt of pleasure the sudden force of your weight sent across his navel, his lashes fluttering shut as heat grew like fire between his legs.

You didn't let the opportunity go to waste, not when he finally had his mouth opened for you, tongue sticking out like this had been his plan from the very beginning.

And it was.

One glance at his kiss drunken eyes and you could practically read his thoughts aloud.

Spit in my mouth. Spit in my mouth, Spit in it, please. Please, spit in my mouth.

What sort of doctor would you be, refusing your patient's most ardent wishes?

A bad one.

Gathering your spit in your mouth, you grabbed his chin and angled his head towards you, paying no mind to his breathless state as you spat out the wad of medicine onto his awaiting tongue, the mixture diluted with both of your saliva— probably containing no more beneficial components now that it had been contaminated with human spit.

"Twuh!"

And you watched, a pit of delight growing within you as his face contorted with pleasure. A soft noise of bliss leaving him in tandem as he quickly swallowed the sticky mess you'd both created.

"Now I'm going to be ill because of you." You huffed, no real bite to your complaint as you brought the back of your hand to wipe your mouth clean.

"I'll just… feed you the medicine…" He let out a shaky breath, dick aching for release beneath your heat.

There was also a reason why Hugo bought this specific brand of medicine rather than the less bitter ones, so that it could only be given through special means.

"You sick fuck…"

And what of it?

Hugo always got what he wanted in the end, he was a sick bastard after all.