#niewiara

he’s been getting an overwhelming amount of female clients recently. as a personal trainer with a body sculpted by the greek gods themselves (just him), women have been flocking to him in hoards. something tells you it’s not because they want to look like him. 

it all reminds you of the late nights where he does come home, immediately going on his phone, chuckling and smiling at the lit up screen as he types away way faster than he ever responds to you anymore. 

groaning, the thud echoing as your phone makes contact with the table startles your younger brother, yoichi. who jumps up from his seat on your living room couch across from you, “finally! i told you there’s a new coach, didn’t i? he doesn’t like it when people are late!”

“you’re awfully demanding for someone who could just as well go by bike,” you point out, gathering your stuff with a painful crack in the knee as you stand up. 

your normally sweet little brother sticks out his tongue at you, “this guy is the real deal, you know! he’s trained professionals!”

bouncing around you while you make your way outside and to your car, a fond smile ghosts over your lips. “what’s a guy like that doing in a high school? surely this isn’t nearly as lucrative.”

of course you know yoichi is hoping this will help him advance. to finally have his innate talent be recognized by someone whose opinion actually mattered. 

“well,” he sighs, slipping into the passenger seat, “i just feel like i’m at a dead end. nothing challenges me enough to improve anymore.”

that didn’t have to be the case, and you know that. chris promised to help yoichi train, as he himself is also an avid soccer player. 

however, ever since he’s started this whole personal trainer thing at his friend’s gym, he’s had little time for anyone who isn’t a hot girl drooling over him. something you wouldn’t even have known had this friend not been a kind of decent guy who thought of informing you of chris’ whereabouts after one of the first instances of him coming home late.

a pained expression is all you have to answer his concerns. hands tightening around the wheel, you force a chuckle, “well, this hotshot better put you through the wringer.”

“i’ve read so much about him! watched all his interviews, too,” yoichi yaps on animatedly. his excitement was unquestionable. 

some words manage to register, some don’t. the pressure on your chest, which has been a constant companion over the last few weeks, made it hard to focus. you still nod along, humming to signal you’re listening all while the guilt eats you up inside. if only you could’ve confronted chris earlier on his dodgy behavior, maybe your little brother wouldn't have to rely on the luck of some celebrity trainer coming in to save the day. 

and maybe, you wouldn’t have to wonder if chris is trying to wash someone else’s perfume out of his sheets right now.

as if this couldn’t get any worse, a traffic jam halts your journey. the classic teen sigh and whine next to you endearing enough to incite a smile, “just tell him it’s my fault.”

“oh, i will,” yoichi answers petulantly, “that was my plan all along, just in case.”

him valuing this new trainer so much already he disregards his usually loveable personality in favor of the irritable teen attitude is.. amusing at worst, and absolutely adorable at best. the laugh escaping you this time does not need any force. 

“you little brat-” you reach over to pinch his side, which makes him giggle in spite of himself. 

when the jam finally starts moving, it takes a mere fifteen minutes until the familiar field comes into view. a few players are already out and busy with warm-ups. somewhere in there you recognize the bee-haired boy yoichi always hangs out with. 

yoichi groans, “see! everyone’s already here, if only you weren’t on that damn phone-”

the engine stills as you worm your way into the last parking spot left. sighing, you follow after him, who’s already halfway onto the field. there’s a few parents sitting in the stands, probably there to meet the new coach their kids were raving about just like yoichi was to you. 

the sun shines incessantly into your eyes as it emerges from behind the clouds. momentarily blinded, you fail to notice the door of the cafeteria opening, your face knocking against something you initially thought was a wall. a grunt proves you otherwise mere milliseconds later. 

“careful,” a deep voice paired with large, steadying hands on your shoulders causes your heart to stop briefly. the clouds once again cover the sun, allowing you to see who you just walked into.

piercing yellow eyes and a monotone expression is not what you imagined would go with a voice that comforting, but it fits surprisingly well. short bleach-blond hair spiked up slightly from running his hand through it adds a certain charm to him. 

he’s long since let go of you, matching your staring-contest contending daze which is only interrupted by yoichi running over, introducing himself excitedly.

“hello, sir! i’m-”

“late. you’re late,” the man finishes for him, gaze flicking over.

the young boy flushes red, and immediately points at you, “her fault! and then we got stuck in traffic-”

interrupted again, the man holds up his hand. “go back to the field,” he simply answers.

nodding eagerly he runs off again, leaving you alone with the handsome stranger.

he looks back over to you, sticking out his hand. “noel. noel noa. this is your son, or..”

“brother! younger brother,” you quickly assure him. “i know we don’t look alike, i’m adopted, you see-”

you ramble on nervously, to your own surprise. you haven’t been this nervous talking to a man since you first developed a crush on chris. the t.m.i. makes you grimace, cringing at yourself. 

something akin to amusement flickers in his eyes, though it does nothing to alleviate your nerves. said amusement could very much be at your expense. “i see. do you usually bring him?”

your lip stings as you bite on it just a tad too hard, nodding. “yeah, he could just get his bicycle, but he insists on ‘saving energy’.”

noel crosses his arms, corner of his lip quirking up. “i’ve heard a lot about this kid.”

“that could very well be,” you cross your arms too, mirroring him, weight shifting from one leg onto another, “he’s surpassed pretty much everyone, no room to improve with the old coach.”

the sound of yoichi’s yelling mixed in with the other guys brings a smile to your face, gaze finding him amongst the colorful heads of hair. 

“he could go far,” you whisper, more to yourself than your conversation partner, “really far.”

your eyes snap back to noel, “he’s very excited to work with you, sir. please don’t disappoint him.”

a beat of silence passes, his eyes flicking over your face curiously. he then nods, “i’ll do my best.”

he soon excuses himself, training about to commence. it’s not long enough for it to be worth it to drive back home and then back again to get him, but the way your heart reacted to mr. noel was concerning enough for you to simply rely on yoichi asking bachira’s mom to drive him home.

sat back behind the wheel, surrounded by a much needed silence, you eye your phone. no notifications, as expected. though, no less disheartening. 

just as you’re about to drive off, it finally comes. a short and sweet message from your darling boyfriend.

‘won’t be home tonight.’

followed by a typical: 

‘i’ll make it up to you.’

yeah. he will. one day.

a/n: so excited for thisss

it’s as if the car just heated up by at least 10 whole degrees. embarrassment creeps up your neck, skin prickling. the engine hums as you drive off, eyes scattered across the pedestrian crossing ahead. “you can’t just say that.”

“why?” he immediately retorts, “honestly, i thought you guys would have broken up by now.”

your knuckles crack under the pressure you hold the steering wheel, lips pursing. you want to be scandalized, the reprimand itching to roll off your tongue. deep down, however, you know he’s right. a few days ago you may have denied it, but was there really a point to it now? that afternoon still lingers freshly in your mind. 

the scalding shower water burns your skin, stream merging with your tears you’ve stopped holding back however long ago. knees wobbly, you don’t dare close your legs. the hot water runs along and between your folds, washing away the remains of the scented soap you should most definitely not have put anywhere near there. and yet, the imminent itch and burn doesn’t hold a candle to the devastation your own lover’s touch just brought you. 

nothing about it could’ve been considered lovely. 

the annoyance is left for later, but for now the feeling of cleanliness and the freedom from his lingering touch is enough to power you through drying off. panties and a tanktop is all you manage before you faceplant onto your bed. forgoing the covers, the last few tears dribble down into the fabric before you’re encased in a dreamless sleep. 

a heavy sigh next to you brings you back just in time to avoid having to swerve out of the opposing lane. “it’s not my place sis, i know.”

“no,” you take a shaky breath, “i get it. i really do.”

he spares you any further conversation. 

the midday sun shines bright, which is deceiving given the chilly breeze you’re hit in the face with once you exit the car. yoichi is out and on the field immediately, leaving you to gather yourself before you’re faced with mister- no, noel again. the bleachers are empty this time around, most parents opting for the cafeteria to escape the chill. not you, though. 

right by the edge of the field is the man of the hour. 

he wouldn’t have treated me that way.

a heavy pit of remorse settles in your chest. regardless of how chris treated you, he’s still your boyfriend. whether it’s going to last doesn’t matter here. you’re not a single woman, thoughts of this kind towards your brother’s coach are inappropriate. your hand itches to slap yourself out of it. you don’t actually know this man. 

it seems, however, he’s very keen on changing that.

“good afternoon, miss,” he greets you warmly, that vague ghost of a smile he can’t seem to get past graces his features. “i’m glad to see you.”

something about him is unnervingly joyous. the first few encounters left you with a very stoic impression of him. that no longer seems to be the case. it suits him, you note.

he turns to you fully, arms crossed. your own arms follow, folded under your bust. 

“good afternoon,” you nod, a smile creeping onto your face in spite of yourself. 

the less-than-stellar weather momentarily forgotten, especially with his follow-up.

“do you have any plans this evening?” he asks, brows raising.

you can’t help the brief grimace fleeting over your face, before you shake your head, “just bringing yoichi home, is all.”

he nods, something you can’t decipher flashes in his eyes, “great. how about you join me for dinner? i’m sure yoichi won’t mind going with bachira. he usually ends up doing that anyway.”

huh? your brain freezes, like it’s been unplugged. 

wide eyes stare up at the increasingly amused noel, your lips form an endearing ‘o’ shape, one he can’t help glancing down towards before he refocuses on your eyes. instead of waving his hand in front of your face to get your attention again like a normal person, he opts for placing his hand on your shoulder as he leans closer. his voice drops an octave, his confidence suffocating, in the best possible way.

“i insist.”

what he also insisted on, is driving you. your car begrudgingly left at the training grounds parking lot, you have to admit that his seats are a whole lot more comfortable than your fiat 500 ones. his car is so clean you can barely bring yourself to touch the seatbelt. 

the awkward silence you never seem to escape is thick, blanketing the atmosphere inside the car and the same question keeps repeating inside your head. why? 

he knows you have a boyfriend, he knows chris personally, and you have a feeling he doesn’t invite other parents/caretakers on private dinners. the question seems to be written clear as day over your face as you’re graced with the first ever proper chuckle out of him.  “don’t look so down, i’ll think you don’t want to be here.”

“i do,” you quickly sit up straight, “i’m just wondering, y’know.. like, why did you invite me?”

“to get to know you better,” his answer is plain, matter-of-fact even.

it’s not surprising that his apartment is just as clean. show-room like. you eye the space in wonder, “woah, you sure know how to keep things pristine.”

“it’s more so a lack of use,” he explains, hanging up his jacket. “i’ll admit i’m ill-prepared, even if i did plan to ask you out in advance.”

“take-out is fine,” you assure him, “though it’s probably blasphemy for someone as fit as a celebrity soccer coach.”

the corner of his lip quirks up, “i think i’ll survive this time.”

a cup of tea steams on the coffee table, your legs tucked under you as you make yourself comfortable on his couch. finished ordering your dinner, he sits down as well. notably, his thigh is a mere centimeter from touching yours. your eyes briefly scan his proximity, face heating up. 

the sky outside has long since darkened into a purple-ish blue-black. in spite of his clean-cut decor, the warm light from a lamp in the corner of the room softens the look enough to feel almost cozy.

he makes no move to turn on his massive tv, his gaze fixated on you. his head leans on his hand, which is propped up on the couch’s backrest, face contorted in a relaxed smile. neither of you do anything to start a conversation, the awkwardness settling back in. at least for you, as he looks utterly unbothered by it all. 

“you look content,” you muster, more heat creeping up your neck.

he nods, “i am. i am also grateful you’re here.”

fuck, why does he do this?

you bite your lip before you force out a necessary, albeit painful, clarification. “you know i have a boyfriend. i.. i have a hard time believing you invite people over here so casually.”

“and you’d be right,” he sits up, shuffling closer. “i don’t invite people over so casually.”

“then why’d you invite me? chris-”

his hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb running over your bottom lip. his face is close, but not overwhelmingly so. probably trying not to scare you, which his earlier gesture might have already. 

if at all possible, his voice reaches lower than it did back on the field.

“we both know chris won’t stay in the picture for long,” noel whispers, “i’m just speeding up the process.”

“allow me to show you how a real man treats a sweetheart like you.”