#losersagi

still, he’s determined. he wants to make a good impression.

so when the big day finally comes, he decides to meet you at the airport himself. he polishes his sneakers the night before and gets there an hour early, just in case. but your flight ends up delayed by two hours. not that he minds too much. 

he spends the time nervously scrolling through soccer news, his headphones in, eyes occasionally flicking to the arrival screens. he watches the world cup livestream to distract himself, trying not to think too hard about what you’ll be like. he doesn’t even remember your name off the top of his head. he’s sure he looked once, but it slipped right out of his brain somewhere between past participles and irregular verbs.

then suddenly - 

“hey!” he feels a light tap on his shoulder. “you’re yoichi, right? my exchange partner?”

his heart practically jumps out of his chest. he whirls around so fast his phone nearly goes flying. and standing there - right there, in front of him - is you.

and the only thought echoing through his brain, english vocabulary forgotten, is -

pretty girl.

he hadn’t expected this. not at all. not the way your smile curves up so easily or the way your eyes meet his without hesitation. you’ve got a small backpack slung over one shoulder and a suitcase rolling behind you, and you look completely unfazed by the hours-long flight. he, on the other hand, feels like he’s just been hit by a freight train of panic and hormones.

“h-hi,” he stammers, suddenly very aware of how sweaty his palms are. “it’s really great to meet you. your accent is very good.”

your laugh - light and warm - makes something flutter in his chest. it’s a sound he finds he could be addicted to already, rather embarrasingly. “you can be honest, yoichi! i’ve still got a long way to go.”

you glance down at his phone screen, where the livestream is still running. then your gaze shifts to the small collection of soccer keychains swinging from his bag.

“oh, do you like soccer?”

he exhales in relief. a safe topic. finally. “yeah. i play for my school’s soccer team.”

your eyes light up. “will i get to watch you play while i’m here?”

he nods, trying to play it cool even though he’s sure his face is still a hundred shades of red. “yeah, we have practice every other day, and there’s a big game on saturday. you could come watch, if… if you want. b-but only if you want.” 

he cringes internally. smooth, yoichi. real smooth.

“i’ll be there!” you smile sweetly, then go on to talk about how excited you are to meet his friends and family. or something along those lines. admittedly, he’s too focused on how your lips move to focus on what you’re actually saying.

the second your back is turned, he groans internally and runs a palm down his flushed face. it’s not even been five minutes, and he already knows one thing with absolute certainty: he’s completely and hopelessly done for. and it’s all your fault.

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