The Last Wish - BoyxBoy

1. Tiziano's secret

Video meliora proboque, deteriora sequor.

I see a better way and approve it, but I follow the worse 

(Ovidio, Met. VII, 20-21)

—

The net swelled, and for a long instant a bizarre silence descended upon the field.

Tiziano stared at the ball, incredulou, as it fell into the back of the goal.

A defender uttered a deranged scream, and the cheer of the audience hit the playing field like a tsunami.

The player who had just screamed grabbed Tiziano by the shoulders and shook him, staring at him with shock mixed with joy before getting dragged by his teammates into a group hug.

Their jerseys had white and blue stripes. Tiziano's was garnet with light blue sleeves.

It had been two years and four months since Tiziano last scored. Many times he'd dreamed of the moment he would score again, but in his dreams, it was always at the opposing net.

The referee blew his whistle three times.

That was it. A.S. Castrum lost. And it was his fault.

Fans were applauding from the bleachers and the sidelines, and Tiziano picked up a "...fucking embarrassing" somewhere behind him.

Tiziano needed some reassurance. He needed something good. So he went in search of Simone's eyes.

But he didn't find the comfort he was looking for.

In those bright eyes, there wasn't hate, there wasn't anger. There was just compassion. A sad, unbearable compassion.

Tiziano felt his cheeks heat up and turned his head, overwhelmed.

How much better it would be, he thought, how much better, if you just hated me. Like everyone else.

Paralyzed by shame, he spent a few seconds brushing some dirt off his shorts, removed a tuft of grass stuck on his knee, and threw it away. The white-and-blue players hugged themselves cheerfully, while the garnet ones tiredly dragged themselves towards the exit.

It seemed so easy...

It had been two-all at the ninety-third minute, with the ball on the right side of the penalty area  and the goal frame reduced to a narrow rectangle. The rival striker had been running in from the left, and it had been a pivotal moment in the match. He had just wanted to clear the ball - a simple, almost stupid action. It would have been his chance to redeem himself, to earn his teammates' forgiveness for all the mistakes he had made during the game.

But his foot had hit the damn ball in the wrong spot, in the wrong way, making it bolting in a totally unpredictable direction, catching the goalkeeper out of position and leaving the defenders scrambling to mark the other forwards.

And to his horror, the ball had sailed into the net. 

Two-three.

Tiziano sighed, not even grasping what had gone wrong with his coordination, and then decided to head in direction of the exit.

He'd just made a few steps, when a shoulder push almost knocked him to the ground. "Thanks, asshole!" someone whispered in his ear as they passed him.

He saw the unmistakable grey jersey with the number one: it was Paolo. If he and his inseparable group of bullies were going to target him, Tiziano wouldn't have blamed them, this time. The betas, that was the nickname he gave them in his mind. Paolo, goalkeeper, Stefano, defensive midfielder, and Federico, centre back. Subordinates and devoted to the supreme bully alpha leader, as well as team captain: Claudio, centre forward.