Chapter Text
You understand absolutely nothing. Truly, nothing at all.
To your left, a group of students are chanting “Defense! Defense!” in something that vaguely resembles a chorus, and to your right, half a pack of popcorn flies through the air from sheer excitement.
Almost everyone on your side of the stands is dressed in blue and white or has their face painted in those same colors, while you, in your black platform knee-high boots, look like you’ve completely missed the dress code memo. You’re also, apparently, the only one still sitting.
Dina, for example, is standing on the metal bleachers next to you, like many others, whistling wildly and full of enthusiasm, like she’s at a rock concert, not a home game of her university’s football team. She’s proudly wearing a Silver Lake Falcons jersey that says “Williams” on the back, naturally, and underneath, the number 13.
Before the game started, Dina explained to you that Ellie is the so-called “wild receiver.” Which, as far as you can tell, basically means she’s the one catching passes from Abby, the quarterback. And ideally, she then scores a touchdown. So, a point. Or something like that.
Dina was also the one who talked you into taking a break from your creeping to-do list for the gala and suggested tagging along to the game. You were only mildly enthusiastic, especially considering the fact that, on top of university stress, you really need to make progress on the decorations if you want to meet the inhuman deadline Abby threw at you a few days ago.
“But the theme of our gala is literally For Future Female Athletes,” Dina had argued. “You can’t seriously co-organize a gala for women in sports with our women’s football team if you’ve never even been to one of their games!”
And now you’ve been sitting here for over an hour on this cold metal bench, desperately trying to follow what’s happening on the field. It’s late afternoon, and the sky is overcast. A light drizzle has settled over Silver Lake, but it doesn’t seem to bother the fans or the players much.
“Second quarter! Third down! If they make this one, it’s a tie, oh my god!” Dina yells, whether at you or just into the crowd, you’re not sure. You don’t understand any of it anyway. Still, you nod at her words, pull your jacket tighter around yourself, and try to follow the game through the sea of students standing in front of you.
You spot Abby immediately. Even with the helmet and those funny, bulky pads the players wear under their jerseys, you’d recognize your roommate’s body language among all 22 players. And maybe also because her jersey says “Anderson, 17” across the back.
Abby shouts some kind of code you can’t make out, and then everything happens so fast you can’t keep up.
The reddish-brown ball, the “egg,” as you’ve learned, is tossed to her. Abby catches it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, dodges a defender from the Ridge Valley Tigers immediately.
You used to think all football players looked like Abby, tall and muscular. But there are lots of smaller, leaner girls on the field, and Abby’s build actually stands out a bit.
What a body looks like has nothing to do with what it can do, you realize, watching these players still running this fast and hard over an hour into the game. Impressive.
The game picks up speed again. Abby has the egg, dodges a defender, and then you see her. Ellie. Moving so fast she almost looks like a blur, already sprinting.
You don’t understand how she always knows when the ball is coming, but somehow, she just does. Abby throws it, fast, precise, like she’s been practicing it in her sleep, and the ball arcs perfectly through the cold evening air.
For a moment, it feels like the entire stadium holds its breath.
And then Ellie catches it.
Mid-sprint, without slowing down for a second, she reaches up, grabs the egg securely, and barrels through. Two Tigers players try to stop her, but she’s too fast. Too quick, too in her element, it sends a shiver down your spine, even if you barely understand what’s going on.
And then she’s in the end zone.
The crowd around you erupts. Dina screams so loud you think your eardrums might burst.
“Touchdown, baby! That’s my girlfriend!”
You can’t help but get swept up in the general excitement and clap your hands.
Whatever Abby and Ellie just pulled off, it looked pretty damn impressive.
“Last play! Thirty seconds on the clock!” the announcer yells through the loudspeakers, and the game picks up again immediately. Dina flails her arms around so much you have to duck to avoid getting smacked in the face.
“Oh my god, they’re really going for it,” Dina pants, and you’re starting to worry about her blood pressure. “A freaking flea flicker?! Silver Lake, what are you doing?”
You have no idea what a flea flicker is, but the ball’s with Abby, so you clap like you’ve learned to do. Only this time, something’s different. Abby doesn’t throw right away.
Instead, she hands the ball off. To Ellie? No, Ellie fakes it. Pretends to run. And suddenly, the ball’s back with Abby.
You are completely lost, and so is the Tigers’ defense, it seems. A couple of players turn too early, one stumbles, and then you see it: Abby’s running.
And how she runs.
Not like someone just killing the clock. She’s going for it. Dodging one opponent, tucking the ball tight to her chest, sending two Tigers sprawling into empty space.
You hear Dina yelling something, but you’re too focused on the blonde figure charging toward the end zone.
You’re on your feet now, completely locked in.
Ten yards. Five. Her braid flutters beneath her helmet.
Abby dives, right through a last desperate block, and hits the ground, the egg still firmly in her grasp.
Touchdown.
For a second, there’s nothing.
And then the stadium explodes.
“TOUCHDOOWN! ABBY ANDERSON! THE GAME IS OVER!” the announcer bellows through the loudspeakers, but you barely hear him.
Dina hugs you so tight you wheeze, students are jumping, pom-poms flying, and above all the chaos stands Abby, out of breath, hair full of grass, and grinning.
The marching band kicks into some repetitive tune, and the cheering doesn’t let up. The Falcons pull off their helmets and throw themselves into one another’s arms, but not before respectfully shaking hands with the Ridge Valley Tigers.
The Falcons have won. Their second victory of the season.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Dina’s bouncing up and down, pulling off her blue-and-white scarf and looping it around your neck.
“This has to be celebrated,” she yells.
You try to subtly shrug the scarf back off, it really doesn’t go with your outfit, but Dina already has you by the hand and is pulling you toward the exit.
It takes a while to push through the mass of students pouring from the stands all at once.
You glance over your shoulder for a last look at the field. The players are still patting each other on the back before briefly piling on top of their coach, then disappearing into the locker room to the last notes of the university anthem.
Once you make it off the bleachers, Dina pulls out her phone.
“I’ll text Ellie that we’re waiting for her and Abby outside the locker room,” she announces, fingers flying across the screen.
You head toward the building where the players are getting changed and showered. The large crowd flows in the opposite direction, away from the field and toward the main building, where the university’s own pubs and cafes are.
Dina pockets her phone and links arms with you as you stroll toward the locker room. The drizzle has picked up again, and the sky is still cloud-covered and growing darker.
Once you’ve made your way past the length of the field, you reach the entrance of the locker room building.
You take shelter under a narrow bike rack to keep out of the rain and silently pray you don’t catch a cold, that’s the last thing you need while organizing this gala.
You try to bury your red nose into the frankly hideous scarf and shuffle your feet to stay warm. “You are coming to the pub, right?” Dina suddenly asks, and you blink at her in surprise.
You had heard the team was heading to the university pub after the game, hoping to celebrate a win, but you didn’t think you were expected to join.
You figured you’d congratulate Ellie, give Abby a half-hearted side-eye, and then bounce.
“Um, I’m not so sure,” you mumble, shoving your cold hands deep into your coat pockets. The scarf is still draped over your shoulders.
“I don’t think I’d really fit in with all the football girls and stuff.”
Mentally, you’re already curled up under your blanket back home, relishing Abby’s absence and bingeing some Netflix show, but Dina has other plans.
“Oh come on, it’s gonna be fun!” she says, throwing an arm around you.
“It’s your first football game and our team won. That has to be celebrated!”
“They also have really good beer!” she adds.
You make a face.
It’s not that you hate beer. But if you had the choice, you’d pick a cold piña colada over any kind of lager in the world. “I don’t know anyone there,” you try again. “You know me,” Dina grins. “And you know Abby.” You roll your eyes at the mention of your roommate.
“And… ELLIE!” Dina suddenly screams, tearing herself away from you and running to greet her girlfriend, who’s just now exiting the locker room, Abby in tow.
You get the feeling you won’t be able to congratulate Ellie any time soon, since Dina is already all over her, kissing her enthusiastically. Ellie just laughs deeply in response.
Which leaves you, rather reluctantly, focusing on Abby.
Her hair is down and still damp, whether from the rain or the shower, you can’t say.
She’s swapped her jersey for her usual casual clothes, though her outfit is even more laid-back than what she usually wears around campus.
Loose linen pants that still strain slightly over her thick thighs, worn-out Converse, and a black hoodie that’s definitely seen better days.
Over it all, she’s wearing a black, oversized leather jacket that gives off the vibe she might hop onto a Harley any second and ride off dramatically into the rain.
Her sports bag is slung casually over one broad shoulder and she briefly smirks at the couple next to her before taking a few steps toward you. She stops just in front of you, judging by the size of the shelter, she couldn’t really have gone any farther anyway, but even so, your breath catches in your throat.
“Hi,” she grins, as if you were old friends. You are completely caught off guard. Abby tilts her head slightly, causing a damp strand of hair to fall into her face.
“G-Good game,” you finally manage to press out, and you’re proud of yourself. On-topic, even. And because you’ve never had a good sense of your own confidence, and because Abby’s presence is completely overwhelming, you keep talking.
“That was a crazy… flick-flack at the end,” you add, praising her, and now Abby looks confused. Like she has no idea what you’re talking about. But suddenly, she starts to laugh, and the sound crawls up your spine and settles in your stomach.
“You mean the flea-flicker,” she laughs. Abby must still be riding her winner’s high if her mood’s this good and she’s willingly talking to you, and you wish for nothing more than a hole to open beneath your feet.
“Whatever,” you mumble and bury your face in your scarf so she can’t see your undoubtedly flushed cheeks. But before Abby can say anything else, Dina suddenly appears behind her and jumps on her back. Since Abby is half wall, half human, she’s completely unfazed, and to distract yourself, you congratulate Ellie on the win.
“To the bar!” Dina grins from Abby’s back, raising a fist in the air. And just like that, your fate for the evening is sealed.
On the way, a few other players catch up with you, all of them in extremely good spirits, not surprising given their luck this season. It doesn’t take long to reach the pub, only a few minutes’ walk from the field. You’ve only been to Silver Lake Pub once before during your student life, some time in your first semester on a bar crawl.
Dina pushes open the wooden door hidden in an old stone wall, and then you all have to descend a ridiculously narrow spiral staircase made of stone before finally entering through a second wooden door. As soon as your best friend opens it, the pub’s noise hits you full force.
The place is packed. At nearly every wooden table sit students or older folks, drinking Guinness, playing cards, and laughing. At the bar, beer is being poured non-stop and bottle caps are being popped off. Premium liqueurs, whiskeys, and other spirits line the shelves above the bar and on high racks above the tables. Irish music plays in the background, and in one corner of the room, a few guys are throwing darts.
The atmosphere is lively, and your group squeezes through the crowd in search of your reserved tables. There are about fifteen of you, and the waiter was kind enough to reserve a corner where several large tables are pushed close together, almost like a banquet table. Dina pulls you cheerfully behind her and pushes you into a corner seat on the short side of the table next to a player you don’t know. She introduces herself kindly as Josephine, while Dina squeezes in on your other side.
Ellie plops down on the long side of the table right next to Dina, and Abby takes the seat next to her. So she’s almost sitting directly across from you. Great. You study the pictures on the stone walls intently, of Ireland or Scotland or whatever, just as a waitress shows up at your table.
“What’ll it be?” she asks. Abby turns to the group. “How many Guinness? And do you want a pitcher?” You glance questioningly at Dina.
“Don’t worry,” she grins. “I’ll order you a Despo.” You give her a grateful look, and once all the orders are in, the waitress disappears to relay them to the bar.
Josephine pulls a deck of cards out of her bag and grins. “Anyone up for a round of Crazy Eights?” The people sitting on your side of the table cheer in agreement, and by the time Josephine has dealt the cards, the drinks have already arrived.
Since it looks like tonight will be a continuous stream of you having no clue what’s going on, you team up with Dina. She’s also playing for the first time, but at least that way you’re not embarrassing yourself alone.
Ellie and Abby seem to be familiar with the game; they hold their cards confidently, and you get the feeling the football team visits this pub often. The game begins, beers are drained, and Abby and Ellie turn it into a challenge to drink perfectly down to the logo on the glass.
You’re incredibly thankful for your Desperados, especially after trying Abby’s Guinness and grimacing in disgust, prompting laughter from the whole table.
The alcohol starts to hit, the cards practically fly onto the table, and even though you still don’t fully understand the game, you begin to enjoy it.
You can’t help glancing at Abby again and again. The beer hasn’t left her unaffected either, her cheeks are slightly flushed, and she seems much more relaxed than usual. She’s laughing constantly and just seems… completely in her element. Her hair falls long over her shoulders, and her posture is casual.
She laughs when Ellie absolutely crushes another player and hides her face in her hands when she loses badly to you and Dina, which, honestly, is more luck than skill.
At some point during a game, she takes off her sweater, the heat in the pub is no joke, and you nearly choke on your Desperados when you see the gray tank top underneath. Her broad arms now rest against the table, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol in your system expanding your senses, but you catch yourself staring.
Holy hell, was she always that muscular? Is this some kind of post-win glow? You don’t know, and before you start drooling, you force yourself to focus back on the Crazy Eights game, which is nearing its end.
“I need a break,” Ellie slurs, leaning back in her chair. “I need some fresh air,” Dina laughs and gets up unsteadily, prompting her girlfriend to immediately stand and support her, even though she can barely stand herself.
A few others follow them out, either for fresh air or to smoke, or both. And so, only a handful of people remain at the table, including you and Abby, who suddenly looks at you and then at your empty bottle.
“Need another beer?” she asks, and you are definitely too drunk to fully grasp how odd that is, because in no sober universe would your roommate Abby Anderson give a single damn whether you had a drink or not.
“Yeah,” you slur. “Why not.” She nods and gets up, heading toward the bar. You can’t help but stare at her back before burying your face in your hands.
You don’t even want to know what your makeup looks like right now, but you couldn’t care less. “Get it together,” you whisper to yourself. “Stop staring at Abby, what’s wrong with you?”
You take a few deep breaths, blame all your chaotic thoughts on the alcohol, and even manage to smile at Abby when she comes back, with a Desperados in her hand, just for you. You thank her. “How much do I owe you?” you ask, but Abby just shakes her head before sitting down.
Only not in her previous seat. Not even the one next to it. No, right next to you.
She casually drapes her arm along the back of the bench behind you, and her upper body bumps into yours. You’re frozen, staring at her open-mouthed as she raises her glass toward you. Eventually, you realize she wants to toast, so you raise your bottle. But just before the glasses clink, Abby pulls hers back slightly.
“You´re supposed to look the other person in the eye,” she commands, and because you’re completely overwhelmed by her closeness, you meet her blue eyes.
“Good girl,” she purrs, and clinks glasses.
You think you might die, right here, right now.
At her words, a heat blooms in your stomach that you’ve never felt because of Abby before.
She takes a relaxed sip of her Guinness, and you chalk everything up to her buzz. And to yours. This isn’t really happening. And where the hell is Dina?
You quickly avert your gaze, and luckily, your attention is drawn away the next moment anyway, because everyone who had gone outside for fresh air is now returning.
Among them are more players and people from university, so you scoot over on the bench, which Abby does immediately as well. Unfortunately, that doesn’t increase the distance between you. If anything, it makes it worse.
Now that even more people need a seat, it feels like your roommate is pressed even closer against you. You try to adjust to the situation, when suddenly, your name is called.
“Oh my God, you’re here?” yells none other than Lindsey, while Jess waves at you excitedly behind her.
You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but for a second, you think you hear Abby sigh in annoyance next to you.
“Wanna come over?” Lindsey asks, pointing to the table directly across from yours. “We got a second table.”
Since your own table is already overcrowded and you seriously need to gather your thoughts, which is absolutely impossible with Abby sitting so close to you, her expensive perfume in your nose and her biceps on full display, you grab your beer and climb over your roommate and the others before hopping off the bench and falling into the arms of your two newly found friends.
You don’t notice Abby’s disappointed look.
You sit down with Jess and Lindsey at the table, where only a few other players are sitting with friends.
“Did you go to the game too?” you ask the girls, who shake their heads.
“We just heard the Falcons won and didn’t want to miss out on a spectacular pub night,” Lindsey grins and opens the menu.
You order another beer, and the conversation with Jess and Lindsey flows naturally. You laugh a lot and play a round of “Never Have I Ever” with the rest of the table. Every now and then, you glance over at Abby, who’s still perfectly in your line of sight thanks to her new seat, but you never catch her looking back. Something stirs inside you, a strange kind of dissatisfaction. Almost like you're disappointed that she’s not looking at you. Which makes absolutely no sense. Abby can keep her judgmental, annoying stares to herself, you think.
Time passes, and you excuse yourself for a moment to find the restroom. Your vision is already a little blurry around the edges and your steps are no longer the most stable, but you manage to make it to the women’s bathroom without issue. You wash your hands and look at yourself in the mirror. With a paper towel, you wipe away all the makeup that’s gathered under your eyes, then end up holding intense eye contact with yourself as you sway slightly in place. A very drunk phenomenon, as you laugh to yourself.
After fixing your hair, you turn toward the door to open it, but just as you step out of the bathroom, you collide with someone.
Two strong arms catch you by the upper arms, and a very familiar scent hits your nose.
Abby. Of course.
“I didn’t even see you,” you laugh. Sober-you definitely wouldn’t find anything funny about this. But your roommate seems just as wasted, so you really don’t care.
“No problem,” she replies, and the sound of her deep, warm voice makes your pulse speed up. You can’t help but stare at her face. Abby leans one arm against the doorframe, as if the bathroom entrance is the perfect place to start a long conversation.
You can’t stop your eyes from drifting to her upper arm, which looks especially defined in her current posture.
“Having fun?” she finally asks, and you’re forced to look her in the eyes so you don’t come off like a total creep. You nod.
“You?” you ask back.
“Yeah,” Abby answers. Then there’s a pause, like she’s carefully considering her next words. You can almost see them sitting on the tip of her tongue, but she’s still holding back. The alcohol in her system seems to make the decision for her, because there’s no other way to explain her next confession.
“It was more fun when you were still at our table.”
You’re speechless. In no world did you expect Abby to even notice your presence at her table, let alone measure her own enjoyment by whether or not you were there.
You swallow. “Lindsey and Jess are here,” you explain the obvious. “And our table was so full…”
“Lindsey, huh?” Abby asks, crossing her arms over her chest. You silently thank the gods, because now you don’t have to keep sneaking glances at her biceps, though even with her arms crossed, they’re still… yeah.
“Yeah,” you whisper. Abby takes a small step toward you. The fact that you’re both still standing in the bathroom doorway doesn’t seem to bother her. Her eyes travel over your face, then her tongue wets her lips, and you can’t help but watch.
“She’s pretty,” Abby whispers, and even though you don’t understand why you’re both suddenly whispering when the pub behind you is booming with noise, it somehow fits the moment.
“Yeah,” you say again, partly because she’s right and partly because you have no idea what else to say.
Abby keeps looking at you, the dim lighting of the pub somehow softening her usually tense features, making her look younger. But maybe that’s just the alcohol playing tricks on you, how else can you explain her stepping even closer? And why aren’t you stepping away?
She’s close enough now that you can smell her damn perfume again, and when she exhales, you feel her breath on your cheek.
Suddenly, your entire universe feels impossibly small and the pub impossibly far away. Your whole focus is on Abby’s glossy eyes, her blue irises and pupils dilated from the alcohol. You notice the freckles on her skin, her sharp nose, her lips, slightly parted under your gaze. You’re drunk, way too drunk. Drunk enough not to want to back away, in fact, the opposite.
Something inside you is pulling you toward her. Something so strong you can’t resist.
You exhale and take a tiny step closer. Abby drops her arms to her sides, her hands twitching as if she’s holding herself back from touching you, or doing something even more absurd.
She’s still looking down at you and you up at her, and never in your life has a height difference felt this goddamn attractive. Only a few centimeters separate you, and if it weren’t for how present her body feels in front of you, and the way you can feel her breath on your skin, you might think you were dreaming.
Abby’s hand twitches again at her side, but before she can give in to whatever is going through her mind, voices echo down the hallway, and suddenly, you’re very aware of your situation.
You’re still in the pub, in the bathroom entrance, and your roommate Abby Anderson, who you supposedly can’t stand, is standing so close it’s like she… like she wants to...
You don’t finish the thought.
Carefully, you take a step back, finally breaking the tension.
Two girls appear behind Abby, looking at her curiously.
“Are you in line?” one asks, snapping Abby back to reality.
“Uhm…” she stammers.
“Yeah,” she finally says and quickly slips past you into the bathroom.
“And you?” the other girl asks you now, and you look at her like she’s from another planet.
“No,” you mumble eventually. “I’ve already been.”
And with that, you slip out of the room, because the last thing you want is to be drunk and trapped in a tight space with Abby again.