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Hugo never believed in soulmates. It was illogical bullshit, some spiritual justification of the chemicals in a person’s brain. “The other half of the whole” or whatever, it was all hogwash. He did watch the occasional romance movie, if only for the cinematography. Every single time they made him sigh in disbelief. Being destined to meet? Matching souls? It was the story of people trying to justify their own choices.
Julian Loki arrived at PXG’s youth program in his last year of playing for a youth team. He was almost a full year younger than Hugo, shorter too. Julian’s older brother, Kyson, had just left the club half a season ago. His departure had left a “gaping hole” for the first team, as their coach had said. Julian was supposed to fill that hole.
Hugo had never interacted much with Kyson. Only brief handshakes and congratulatory pats on the back at award ceremonies or the such. Even still, Hugo saw clear as day that Julian was the polar opposite of his older brother. The younger Loki carried an aura of politeness to him, but had a tongue that didn’t quite match. He had confidence, and a tad of arrogance, but in a manner so blatantly different from his kin.
He intrigued Hugo.
And then he saw Julian play, and he felt as if he finally understood.
Julian was fast. Powerful. The epitome of football excellence in human form. And he was a striker. Hugo felt something. A tug in his being, something that whispered to him “You met your match,”
They didn’t talk much, not at first. Hugo observed instead, watched from a distance as Julian interacted with others in the youth teams, and even those on the first. He silently peered from a distance, watching little Charles Chevalier attach himself to Julian’s hip. Julian was always so mature, so collected with Charles. It was interesting to see, to silently stare at Julian rolling his eyes and scolding Charles for his latest prank. Julian was a paradox. The boy was simultaneously calm and mature, as well as petty and arrogant. It was the attitude befitting of a striker, Hugo often mused.
Hugo knew that Julian was aware of his staring. It’s not like he was trying to hide it. In some ways, Hugo often felt like Julian was performing under his gaze. He was an incredible striker, but when Hugo watched, his abilities turned into miraculous feats.
At moments, Hugo thought he could feel Julian’s eyes on him. He never turned to check, but the concept made him proud. He would almost puff up his chest when threading the ball though needle-hole gaps. Soaking in the invisible feeling of golden eyes swathing over him. It made him feel good. Too good. Hugo tried not to think to hard at this, at the fact that maybe, just maybe, they were watching each other.
Sometimes, Julian would hide. Hugo would perform excellently at practice, feeding the ball to his team members, training them of how to receive. Teaching them to work with him. Julian would participate. The moment Hugo focused on another striker, taking his eyes off Julian to work with the lesser skilled, the boy would vanish. Hugo tried not to mind it, try not to read into the message he felt he was receiving. He just continued passing the ball.
A part of Hugo knew that he had met his match. That Julian was the only striker could fully utilize his skills at their full potential. When they played together, Hugo would catch himself moving with such synchronization, such a push and pull with Julian, that he felt like the ocean.
If I am the ocean, then he is the moon.
Hugo scowled at himself, pausing as he untied his shoe.
Don’t go there. Don’t start that.
Eventually, they talked.
Julian was the one to initiate. He found Hugo on the bench, well after everyone else had gone to the lockers to end the day. The sun was setting, painting the field in a blanket of pink light.
Hugo was reading, engrossed in his poetry book. He wasn’t usually a fan of flowery works and the beautiful literature. Yet lately he couldn't help himself. He’d been indulging in beauty in his life anyway, his mind whispered.
Julian caught his attention halfway through the poem Hymn to the Moon by Mary Wortley Montagu. He looked up at the sound of footsteps on the soft ground to his left, expecting to see his coach. He blinked hard, staring at a beautiful set of golden eyes instead.
“Oh. I thought you had gone with the others,” Hugo stated, his mind trying to process a reason that could have brought Julian here.
“I showered already,” the boy responded. “I wanted to talk to you,”
His voice held that politeness, an amity to it. But Hugo knew there was something more. A vibrant tale of emotions hidden behind every word.
Hugo nodded, motioning to the seat by his side, his eyes glued to Julian’s lean profile —full of elegance— as he sat next to him. He couldn’t help it, his curiosity for this boy overwhelming any thoughts of manners.
“Why do you watch me?” Julian asked. The tone of his voice casual, but the question loaded. Hugo thought for a moment. Pondering through the sea of reasons his own mind had supplied to that very question.
“I watch you because you are beautiful,” Hugo responded.
Julian smiled, mirth filling his dimpled cheeks, and mischief in his eyes. “Me? Or my football?” he questioned, the obvious tease in his voice shining through.
Hugo shrugged, not ready to show all his cards. “Let’s say both.”
They fell into a silence after that, both taking time to watch the sun set. The warmness in the sky painted their entire view a romantic shade as the sun peeked its last glimpse of Paris before setting. Hugo was the one to shatter their quiet peace, his tongue unable to hold itself.
“Okay Loki. I have a question for you now,” Hugo began, refusing to make eye contact, instead firmly staring at the fresh cut grass of the field, hoping to feel Julian’s eyes on him. Take the bait. Instead, Julian calmly hummed a response, waiting for Hugo to ask his question.
“Why do you leave during practice sometimes?” Hugo questioned. He was met with silence for a moment, and then a light chuckle. It was fair, yet deep. Hugo willed himself to try and keep his nonchalance, to stare ahead unaffected. Instead, he turned his head, unable to bear the curiosity. He was met with the sight of a sly smile, full lips, and pretty dimples.
Maybe it was Hugo who took the bait instead. He certainly felt like it, glancing up from Julian’s smile to see navy blue irises staring back at him with a knowing gleam. Hugo felt a lump form in his throat. Julian tilted his head, his grin getting ever so wider.
“So you did notice,” the boy replied, eyes squinting ever so slightly.
Hugo almost felt like he’d been caught in a trap. No, it was more like he was the one who laid the pit, and Julian was the trickster fox that made him fall into it. He felt his heart race a little, but he kept his expression cool and neutral.
“It’s hard not to. Our star striker leaving in the middle of practice? It’s curious.” Hugo responded calmly. It was curious. And Hugo had no shame in pointing that out, even though he felt like he was in a losing game of cops and robbers. Julian chuckled slightly, that golden gleam crossing his eyes yet again.
“Charles does it too, though. And yet it appears you have yet to question him,” Julian replied. He was so polite and smart with his words, yet his tone felt as if it was stoking the flames, prodding the beast.
“Charles leaves because his feet hurt, or he’s hungry, or whatever reason he has at the moment. I don’t know why you leave,” Hugo parried. You know why he leaves, you just want him to say it, Hugo’s shoulder devil whispered. Maybe it was his angel, the two are pretty much the same.
Julian paused for a moment, making direct eye contact with Hugo, staring at him like Hugo was amusing him, of all things.
“I leave because you give your attention to other strikers.” Julian smiled again, an innocent one that would probably fool any other guy. Not Hugo. It took him a moment to process Julian’s words, to let it sink in that he had just spoken the quiet part out loud.
“Do you not like that?” Hugo questioned, tilting his head back, and keeping his eyes trained on Julian’s expression. Julian gave a slight roll of his eyes, but the quiet smile never left his face.
“You know Hugo, you and Charles are two of the most gifted midfielders I have met. You both occupy the field in a tactful yet important way, and your game tempos are on point. Charles may be a little behind you in terms of experience, but in truth you are on a very similar level of skill.” Julian stated. Hugo watched in silence, simply observing the way Julian spoke.
“But there is something different about you, and I haven’t quite found a name for it yet. Whatever it is though, it makes your skills incredibly compatible with mine.” he continued, shifting his gaze over to the twilight covered field.
“That doesn’t exactly answer my question,” Hugo raised a brow. It answer some, but not the one he had asked.
Instead of an immediate response, Julian stood from his spot next to Hugo. He stretched his arms out, giving a slight yawn. He turned to start walking back inside, but turned his head to give Hugo a final look.
“Didn’t it though?”
A week passed from that eventful evening, and Hugo’s sleep schedule was becoming imbalanced. He would go to bed, fall asleep, and start having a relatively pleasant dream. Usually it involved football. He would be holding the world cup trophy, or maybe a Ballon D’or. He would take photos with the fans, or watch his team score a winning goal from a one of his passes. No matter what, it would be night. He would look up to the sky, and see a full golden moon staring back at him. He would stare at it for what felt like an impossibly long time, and when he looked back down, he would be standing on a football field, overgrown and messy. And every time, without fail in these dreams, Julian Loki would be there. Standing silently in the grass, 15 feet away with that telltale grin.
Hugo would wake up, either slowly or with a start, and spend an hour or so looking at the moon out of his window.
He doesn't tell anyone this of course, just mentions how hes been having a rough time sleeping.
It’s early spring when Julian corners him. He’s in a one of his moods, one where his ego’s bruised and so he must “act like a brat” (as their teammates often would call it, well out of Julian’s earshot.)
His eyebrows are knit, and his eyes are staring daggers at anything in his path.
“Hugo.”
Hugo looks up from the book he’s reading. He keeps his face neutral, but his brain is busy etching every detail of this particular Julian expression into it’s surface.
“Start passing to me more. Ignore those other guys, I’m the only one who can match you.”
Julian says it with such an authority, such confidence, that Hugo finds himself nodding without hesitation.
“Understood.” he said. A small part of him wondered what it was that triggered this, and an evil smaller more selfish part of him thanked it for it’s service.
From that point forward, Hugo started focusing more of his passes towards Julian. And after every successful goal that spawned from doing so, Hugo would watch with rapt attention as Julian preened under the praise from their teammates. Hugo couldn’t help but hope it was from his eyes that Julian was puffing his feathers for, too.
Hugo is helping Charles with overdue literature homework when it first comes up in conversation. They had just finished editing his rough draft for a argumentive essay on Peppsi being better than Cola (a rather immature topic, but it was Charles’ choice.)
Hugo is checking off the grammar mistakes when he feels Charles eyes staring at him intently. He looks up, raising a brow. Charles smirks a shit-eating grin, his tooth gap and fang making their presence known.
“You like him don’t you?” Charles giggles. His eyes are squinting in the same way that Julian’s do.
Hugo sighs. “He’s the most talented striker in our generation, a marvel of football excellence,” Hugo responds, waving Charles off.
“Yeah but you like- like him!” Charles said, his voice high in a sing-song pitch.
Hugo ignored him. Instead highlighting the with misspelled version of “according”. Charles didn’t seem to mind, instead obnoxiously imitating Hugo and Julian’s voice and making over the top kissing sounds. Whatever.
Eventually, a while after Charles had stopped. Hugo couldn’t help but speak.
“He is the best of our generation 11. He’s probably going to be the best in the world, once hes older. And I plan to be right next to him, his number two.” Hugo says, staring hard at the paper in front of him.
Charles snorts, “Does he know that?”
The dreams start again, and Hugo decides that maybe Charles has a point. So one day, he sends a private message to Julian, with just an address and a coffee emoji.
When Hugo arrives, Julian is already at the cafe, sitting at a secluded booth by the rain soaked window.
“You know, it’s kind of rude to arrive before the guy who invites you out,” Hugo said as he pulled the sleek mahogany chair. Julian hums, setting his phone down and taking a sip of his cappuccino. It was half drunken, but Hugo knew it was a cappuccino because he had watched Julian order one for lunch one to many times.
“Well you didn’t set a time, Hugo. I just came here at the time you usually start responding in the group chat,” Julian responded calmly.
They settled in, Hugo ordering a croissant sandwich and a glass of iced matcha. After a long drag of comfortable silence, Hugo finally began to speak what he had been meaning to say for months.
“I want to be your right hand man,” he started. Julian looked at him with an smile full of an emotion Hugo didn’t dare name.
“You are the best of the best, a football prodigy like no other. The definition of a perfect striker. You are going to be number one, and when you are, I want to be the man lifting you there.” Hugo paused, trying to decipher the look Julian was giving him.
“I’m not built to be a striker, and I’m never going to be. But I think it would bring me the most satisfaction to see you win with me by your side. Every pass I send that you score off of is like magic. I want to keep that magic consistent.” Hugo knew he was rambling now, but he didn’t care.
“I meant it when I called you beautiful by the way,” He finished.
“Me? Or my football,” Julian teased, quoting himself.
“Everything.” Hugo replied.
Julian’s golden eyes glinted, shining like the moon at Hugo. “Then I accept, number two,”
Hugo felt as though he was falling into the trap again, except this time it was willingly. He gave the slightest smile to Julian, who took a last sip of his cappuccino.
Hugo still tells people he doesn’t believe in soulmates. But he’s lying. Ever since he met Julian Loki, it was like his entire being became a tide rising to meet to moon’s wax and wane. He quite enjoyed this game they had, one of them circling each other, watching. Hugo felt as if, on all levels, Julian was a match.
Hugo stood at the tunnel of the blue lock stadium, watching Julian with careful eyes as they prepared to face the Japan U-20 team. It had been a year and a half since he made that vow to him, but Hugo found himself bound to it more than ever. He would make Julian the number one, and be the man beside him every step of the way.
END