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He knows he looks like a fool, stood arms raised on a practice pitch, winter morning still biting cold even after the warm-up, yelling at the french under-twenties coach. But he's beyond caring, lost that inclination when their coach had started training with the idiotic, ridiculous, asinine suggestion of a false nine formation for their next match, so now he stands here arguing with him, keenly aware of the snickers behind him every time he throws another insult at the man opposite him.
His coach getting red in the face, talking about disrespect and children who think they know better, but Hugo does know better, knows how moronic the idea of dropping Loki back into midfield is when he is slated to become the worlds best striker. His number one's natural position is on the metaphorical front lines, and he won't have some senile coach trying to get clever about strategy mess that up.
He's about to launch off on another tirade, finger jabbing at the man's tracksuit, when he feels a hand clap on his shoulder and hears Loki's placating laugh past his ear. He pulls Hugo back a step and he follows willingly, taking his position on the right side of his striker.
"I think," he starts, "what Hugo is trying to say, is that our usual strategy works just fine, so why switch up now?"
That is absolutely, categorically, not what he was saying.
Coach scowls at him and flicks his eyes to Loki, "Italy's defence is good, we need an unexpected strategy to disrupt the flow of their-" Blah blah blah blah. Hugo squints at coach, tuning his nonsense out. Italy's defence is nothing, not compared to them, he opens his mouth to argue again, but Loki spots it out the corner of his eye where he is nodding along to the absolute drivel and clamps his hand where it rests on Hugo's shoulder, making him squirm and snap his mouth shut.
He's tugged back to the gathered crowd of the other players, Charles is grinning at him, mouth open, little fang flashing in the early sunlight, like this is some joke to him. Hugo huffs, turning to Loki, "You aren't playing false nine."
His voice leaves no room for argument, but Loki gives it a fair shot, quirking his eyebrow, "Am I not?"
Someone has taken the liberty of setting up a passing drill while the spat had been happening, Hugo gets a pass and pings it to Loki, who sends it to Charles, "I think we should listen to Coach," He's baiting him, Hugo can hear the inflection in his voice suppressing a wry smile. He spins round, facing the rest of the players, he's a head taller than most of them so it's easy to get their attention.
"Next week against Italy we play exactly as usual, you hear?"
He watches all of their wide eyes slide to Loki, following Number one loyally, as it to be expected. He laughs, shaking his head and affirms Hugo's command, "You heard him."
Most of them nod in nervous assent, and the few who look sceptical get the lovely surprise of Charles barking at them in his weird way of showing support for Hugo's instructions, little contrarian shit. Hugo pats his head as he turns back to Loki, tipping his head back, silently nodding, daring him to go back on his word.
He doesn't, lips pressed together in a poorly disguised smile. Smiling at him. He stays deadpan, but slots the mental image of Loki smiling next to all the rest of them he's collected over the years.
They play Italy as normal. Three goals up at half time. Still, their coach explodes at them in the locker room. And 'explodes at them' means he explodes at Hugo.
"I know you're the ringleader of this little rebellion, and I won't have this insolence from you," Flecks of spit fly at him, and he only leans back on the changing room bench, face flat.
He's yet again vindicated at full time when Loki has bagged another two goals and he another assist. "Whoosh," he deadpans, lifting Charles up into the air, spinning him round like he weighs nothing, Loki, ever a beacon of sportsmanship is shaking one of the players hands, smiling at him. The feeling of victory curdles in his gut, and his lips twist as he drops Charles back onto the grass, he springs up on nimble knees, running off to bother another player. Hugo stays watching his number one. Don't look at him, he wants to say, look at me again, I did this, I did this for you, I'm the reason you aren't playing a shitty False nine, look at me.
He keeps his mouth shut.
The only consolation is turning to see his coach, smiling with gritted teeth at a reporter asking him about the win. Take that, Idiot.
It's a terrible habit, really. Telling Loki what to do all the time, but he listens so easily, even when its accompanied by a teasing smirk, so it's impossible to stop.
"Get me some water," and he does.
"Watch this game," and he sits with him, eyes on some premier league game for ninety minutes to analyse a single play.
"Win the world cup with me," It's a work in progress but they're getting there.
He never listens to anyone else so easily, acts like he's above them, which Hugo can't fault. It's true after all. Except Charles maybe, but everything about that boy is an exception, he supposes.
It makes his heart flutter behind his impassive exterior, to think he is the one who can convince Loki to do anything, his true equal. It's why it's so easy to tell him, "Be my valentine."
Loki is sat back against his headboard as he says it, scrutinising the blurb of one of Hugo's books that lives permanently in Loki's dorm for when he barges in, His eyes widen as he hears it, hands going slack and dropping the book into his lap.
"Sorry?"
Hugo sighs, exaggerated and exasperated, pulling his knees up to his chest where he's perched on the end of Loki's bed, "Valentines is soon," he faces him, still dead-eyed as ever, "Go out with me."
He watches him blink rapidly, mouth flapping, almost tells him to stop so he can focus on his lips more, but he figures that's too forward and exercises a modicum of self restraint for once.
Finally, Loki finds his voice, squeaking, "Okay, where?"
Hugo shrugs, "You can pick, as long as it's with me."
The laugh that Loki releases is snickering and low, "I would think that would be a requirement."
Hugo tips his head to the side and blinks slowly at him, like a cat, absorbing every sound he makes an committing every twitch of muscle to memory, He's going to paint his walls the colour of the slight blush over the bridge of Loki's nose. "Just wanted to make sure," He murmurs, warms and contented down to his core.
Neither of them have ever been on a date before, as it turns out. Not for a lack of options, a whole flood of gifts had been sent to both of them this time last year, which they had then picked through together, laughing at every sappy message sent from people halfway across the country who only knew them through their games.
Point is, neither of them exactly knew what to do on a date, which is how they end up on the eternally romantic location that is the Parc des Princes football pitch, which they have access to courtesy of their New gen 11 titles and the fact theres no game here for a few days. This is why he tells Loki what to do, Hugo thinks as he dribbles the ball, given any options and he would always find his way back to football eventually. It's fine, it’s the best way to remain as number one, complete dedication. Still, next time he's picking where they go.
It's early in the evening, cold February air offset by the warm orange sky, same citrus colour as Loki's eyes, he thinks as he gazes up while the other boy retrieves the ball from the sideline where he had kicked it out. The floodlights in the stadium flicked on a few minutes ago, so the grass is blinding neon as they race across it. It's not a serious game, just passing energy between them, not even aiming for a goal, just Hugo trying to get him to work up a sweat so he can see the sheen of exertion on his body. It's not an ordinary date, But Loki isn't an ordinary man, so he writes it off.
When he calls it a day, flicking the ball up into his waiting arms with practised ease, he wanders over the grass to Hugo and throws a damp arm over his shoulders smiling close to his face, wider than he lets it get around their teammates. Satisfaction floods over him, at being the one who Loki can let go around for once. He thinks he's going to lean in for a moment, but instead he whispers, "Thank you, for this."
It's a cliffhanger at the end of one of his books, an unfulfilled story beat that he doesn't have Loki's lips on his as they walk to the players tunnel, arms still slung around eachother. That's what valentines is for, right?
"We're going back to my dorm," He commands, letting his arm slip down to Loki's hand and grabbing it, tugging him along so he's a step ahead, suddenly apprehensive about looking back at his face. Had he misread this? Surely Loki didn't think this was platonic?
But Loki doesn't argue, just squeezes his hand and he can hear the fondness in his voice as he agrees, steps a little quicker so they're level again, so Hugo can see where his cheeks are flushed in his peripheral vision, not from the football, so he's sure Loki knows what this is.
They walk into Hugo's dorm, hands still tentatively entwined. Past the threshold and Loki turns his back to him, leaning against the wall to pull his shoes off. Hugo turns on the light and meanders into the kitchenette, pushing himself up onto the counter. He follows, saying, "I was talking to Charles earlier and-"
He cuts him off, "I don't want to talk about Charles."
Loki flounders. It's a little funny, to see him widen his eyes, so far gone from the confident striker Hugo knows is in there, "Why not?" he asks carefully.
"Mood killer."
He nods slowly, eyes wider and cheeks deepening in colour.
"Loki."
Nods again.
"Get over here and kiss me."
His face cracks open like a walnut, the nervous apprehension making way for relief as he strides over to him, slotting in between his legs, still in the kit they had been playing in, still smelling of sweat and grass, "Aye aye captain."
Hugo wants to correct him, tell him he's his captain not the other way round, but Loki has a hand on his hipbone and is leaning in, amber eyes fixated on his lips, and for once that feels better than being right, so he lets it slide this time.
Loki kisses like the wind, a gentle breeze, barely there against his face, one hand cupping his jaw, only to pick up into a gale when Hugo tips forward, pressing into his body, own hands coming to reach round his back, he can feel his eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones as the push closer to eachother, Loki licking the seam of his mouth as his hands tighten on his face and waist. His stomach flips as his hands slide up under his kit, skin running over skin, friction feeling so hot he can imagine them melting into one, moulding round eachother untill they're always together, inseparable, two skeletons in one body, slotted next to eachother like a shattered window returning to it's original form, reunited with the soul he knows belongs to him, and he to it.
Loki retracts his tongue from his mouth and a thread of saliva stays connected, hanging off both of their lips, He flicks it away and Hugo almost whimpers at loosing a point of contact. He can probably see it in his face, the way his dazed panting seems dejected for a moment, because in apology he moves his hands from his cheek and waist and hooks them round his thighs, hoisting him up and pulling him closer still, until their bodies are flush with eachother.
He's panting, grinning, flashing his teeth bright white under Hugo's kitchen light as he rests his forehead against the other's, and breathes against his face, "Thank you, for everything."
He feels the weight behind the words, thanking him not just for today, for the kiss, but for every day before that, standing by his side, even as he barked orders at him, "Thank you," He mumbles back, "For being number one."
Loki snorts, drawing back from his face again, hands tightening round his legs as he lifts him fully now, swaying as he lifts him over to his bed, laying him on his back and crawling above him. He leans down again, mouth already open as he aims for Hugo's, but he brings up his own hand, slapping it over his mouth, mouth twisting into a smile at his affronted expression, "Wait."
"What," He huffs, muffled behind Hugo's hand.
"Be my boyfriend."
"So bossy," He sighs, but he's smiling affectionately again and reaching to grab his hand, to hold it as he kisses him again, so he's pretty sure the answer is yes, not like he would take any other option.