Rookies First Ride

Xavier sat on the bus, his bag resting beside him. The vehicle hummed steadily beneath him, and the muted conversations and occasional laughter of the players filled the space.

His gaze wandered, taking in the scene: some players chatted animatedly, others scrolled through their phones, while a few stared out the windows at the blurred scenery rushing past.

Next to him, a man in his mid-twenties sat comfortably. His braided hair framed his sharp features as he focused intently on his phone, thumbs flying across the screen.

There was something calm yet commanding about him, as though he belonged here effortlessly—a stark contrast to how Xavier felt.

Curiosity tugged at Xavier. He leaned slightly to the side, just enough to catch a glimpse of the man's screen. The contact name My Pookie followed by a heart emoji caught his eye, making him pause. Girlfriend, maybe? he thought, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. The man was typing rapidly, and Xavier's curiosity grew.

But then, as if sensing the intrusion, the man's fingers paused. He turned his head, his sharp brown eyes locking onto Xavier. The words Typing,.. remained on the screen, and moments later, a reply popped up:

[Love you Boo. Bye, gotta go.]

The man chuckled softly. It wasn't for Xavier, though; the man's amusement stemmed from his girlfriend's reply. He then lifted his head, catching Xavier still staring at the screen.

Xavier's eyes remained fixed, yet his thoughts drifted far from the lighthearted moment beside him. A question surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome, tightening his chest.

Is this what it feels like to have someone who cares?

He swallowed hard, the ache in his throat almost as heavy as the one in his chest. He had no one. Not since he was six years old, when his world shattered in a single day.

His parents' plane crash had left him orphaned, and his uncle—a man he barely knew—became his guardian. Xavier remembered the day his uncle sent him to a football academy as if it had just happened. It was supposed to be an opportunity, a fresh start, but all he could recall was how cold the man had been, how quickly he'd handed Xavier off like an unwanted package. The visits that followed were few and far between, each one colder than the last. His uncle's disdain for him was palpable, like a frost that never thawed.

Lukechester had only accepted him under the condition that if the club ever decided to transfer him, he had no choice but to agree. It wasn't like other contracts where a player could leave when he wished. They controlled his future. At least now, having finally left his old team for Rochester, he could make his own choices. The contract he had signed here was different—one where he finally had a say.

At 24, the pain hadn't dulled. If anything, it had sharpened, cutting deeper with every passing year. His uncle only ever called when he needed money...

"Ahem."

The sound snapped Xavier out of his thoughts. Blinking rapidly, he turned to find the man next to him staring with a puzzled expression.

Caught red-handed, Xavier stammered, "My Pookie replied… uh, I mean your Pookie." He scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, realizing he'd been intruding on someone's privacy.

The man's laughter was deep and rich, filling the small space between them.

"Oh… I… uh…" Xavier's words faltered, and he trailed off, unsure how to recover.

The man shook his head, his braided hair swaying slightly as he grinned. "Name?" he asked, his tone casual but curious.

"Eh? Oh, it's Xavier. Xavier Blue." He extended his hand for a handshake but hesitated halfway and awkwardly pulled back.

The man didn't seem to mind. He reached out confidently, shaking Xavier's hand with a firm grip. "Zayn. Zayn."

Xavier blinked, confused. "Wait… your name is Zayn Zayn?"

Zayn raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Got a problem with that, Mr. Blue?" He dragged out the last part of Xavier's name.

Xavier chuckled nervously, scratching his neck. "Hehe… no, no, it's… unique."

Zayn leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "Eh, sorry about that… I, uh—" His voice trailed off. Instead, he gave Xavier a light punch on the shoulder and laughed. "No biggie, dude. Loosen up. Don't be so stiff—be free."

For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Xavier felt a weight lift off his shoulders at those words. His lips curved into a small, genuine smile—the first one in what felt like ages.

Maybe this was what he needed: a chance to let go, even if just for a moment.

"Thanks, man," he said.

Before Zayn could respond, a ripple of energy swept through the bus. Some of the players began standing, their voices rising in unison.

"Ohhh hey, ohhh hey, Ro Ro Rochester!"

The chant echoed, filling the space with infectious energy. Xavier hesitated for a moment, unsure of the words or the tune, but he quickly joined in. Even though some of the things he said were off and at times he mumbled through the lyrics, he didn't stop.

A phone was pointed in their direction, its camera lens glinting under the bus lights. The person filming seemed to be capturing the moment for posterity—or for something more public.

"That's for the club's channel," Zayn whispered, leaning in close. "They'll be posting it, so look your best."

Xavier straightened instinctively, subtly tightening his jawline as though it would somehow make him look more confident.

He sang along, though his voice wavered slightly off-key. Cameras were everywhere, and the last thing he wanted was to become an internet meme. But he pushed through, focusing instead on the camaraderie around him.

When the chanting finally ended, the camera switched off, signaling the end of the recording. Xavier let out a small breath of relief, sinking back into his seat.

"Follow our channel," Zayn said casually, pulling out his own phone.

Xavier nodded and fumbled for his device, quickly searching for the club's page on Hellogram.

From the back of the bus, a burst of laughter erupted, drawing everyone's attention.

"If I score, we're all coming to your house to play PS!" a player called out, his voice carrying easily over the din.

The target of his joke, a guy with curly, bouncy hair, smirked. "If I score, we're all staying at your place for the night. And everything's on you!"

Another wave of laughter swept through the group. Even Zayn chuckled, his grin widening as he nudged Xavier.

"What are they doing?" Xavier asked, his voice low.

Zayn shrugged nonchalantly. "It's called a D-deal. We make deals like this to motivate each other. It helps us win and push forward."

'D-deal'

Xavier nodded thoughtfully. There was something oddly endearing about it—a tradition built on trust and camaraderie. It was so different from what he had experienced in Lukechester.

Back there, bus rides were eerily silent, the atmosphere tense and sterile. Players focused only on themselves, headphones in, eyes glued to their phones. The coach would drone on endlessly about how the top three players needed to score, his words monotone and uninspiring. It had felt more like a job than a passion.

Here, everything was different.

Zayn's voice broke into his thoughts. "Once we get there, cameras will be everywhere. Remember—look your best, act your best. Actually, why am I saying this? You're not a newbie. My bad."

"No, no, that's all useful information," Xavier said sincerely.

Before Zayn could reply, a voice called from the back, loud and clear.

"Hey, you—Xavier!"

Startled, Xavier whipped his head to the side so fast a loud crack followed. Zayn doubled over in laughter, shaking his head.

"Calm down, dude," Zayn said between chuckles.

Xavier managed a sheepish grin.

"If I score, we're all spending the night at his house!" the curly-haired player announced, pointing directly at Xavier.

The bus erupted into cheers and laughter, the team's energy reaching a fever pitch.

Oh no, Xavier thought, dread creeping in like a cold wind. He opened his mouth to protest but stopped short, knowing the rules of the D-Deal. Refusing would mean breaking tradition, and the last thing he wanted was to be the spoiler.

Still, the thought of the entire team cramming into his small apartment made his stomach twist. They'd be packed like sardines—and even sardines might have more space.

Before Xavier could voice his concerns, the bus slowed, its engine's hum softening. The stadium loomed ahead, its towering lights cutting through the dusk like beacons.

They were finally here.

This was it.