gotta watch you walk in the room baby, gotta watch you walk out

Chapter One

(Don't ask me why I've named this song with Whitney Houston lyrics, blame it on the radio/Tin's inability to ignore Can. I regretted it when I had to cobble together a book cover to post on here!! Anyway, I hope, if you've made it this far, you enjoy the story.)

-o-

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Tin huffed, tentatively lowering himself down onto an uncomfortable looking concrete bleacher overlooking the university football pitch. "You're about to graduate in business management, not anthropology. Why must we mix with these...natives?" Below him on the field, like a swarm of insects, footballers everywhere... Worse, they were Thai Program footballers. They were just so noisy and the crowd that he now found himself part of were jeering and waving plastic implements of torture that overloaded his senses.

He shuddered, feeling suddenly out of his depth.

"Well, I think this is a perfectly pleasant way to spend an afternoon. Anyway, we graduate next week, and this our last chance to see a university game," Pete said happily, looking around with wide eyes, his handsome face alight. Tin had no idea how he always managed to look so sodding amiable. People always loved Pete. The opposite could be said of himself. He was permanently disagreeable and, even though he was usually good at hiding it, uncomfortable in social situations. He had no wish to be liked or admired. He'd long since learned that people only wanted him for what they could get from him, and he'd long since stopped caring. That was all people ever wanted – family, 'friends' and peers – it was all he was worth.

Pete was the only person alive that Tin gave a shit about, his best friend, who had been there for him when nobody else had. Pete had suffered a similar fate to Tin, being from a rich family as well, except he had a mother who loved him, something that Tin struggled to comprehend. Where Tin had built walls around himself, Pete was soft and that made it easier for people to take advantage of him. He was so nice and trusting.

'Pleasant' would be the last word Tin would use to describe what had to be at least the third depth of hell he currently found himself in. "If you say so," he said, loosening his tie as though that might make heat evaporate. "Why the sudden interest in football anyway? You hate sports."

"No, I don't. I like sport. I like football."

Tin raised an eyebrow. "Explain the offside rule." Tin had spent many years boarding at a school in England where many of his fellow pupils had been football crazy. Tin did not share their enthusiasm, but he had picked up many uninteresting facts about the game.

"The off— The what rule?" Pete's cheeks were turning an unflattering shade of red.

"What is your favourite team?" Tin allowed himself a little enjoyment at Pete's expense.

Pete frowned. "Um. Manchester?" He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Tin. "Fine. I kind of met a guy last week. In a university football uniform. In the elevator of our building."

"Alright, so which one is he?" Tin scanned the field, briefly assessing all of the players. It was fair to say that none of the Thai Programs had been at the front of the queue when good looks were being handed out, and there was certainly no one in Pete's league. He could concede that a couple of them were passable. Number 13 had a pleasant face, and number 10 might be alright if Tin squinted. He saw nothing worth giving up an afternoon for that was for sure.

"The one who has the ball, number 7."

The guy with the ball was short, average looking and one-hundred and ten percent Thai Program. Tin wouldn't go as far as to say he was ugly, but 'plain' definitely covered it. He watched as Seven passed the ball to a mud splattered and equally bland looking number 3. "Did you talk to him? In the elevator."