I'm Rooting for you

Part 1

The stadium lights dimmed, casting a heavy shadow over the field as the final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game. The deafening silence was only broken by heaving chests from heavy breaths, and distant cheers from the opposing team. Minho, a 22-year-old supposed college football star, trudged off the field, his shoulders slumped and his head hung low as he ripped his helmet off and chucked it onto the ground.

It was his fault.

Star, my ass.

As he reached the sidelines, he could feel the disappointment in the eyes of his teammates. The early, vibrant cheers of their side of the crowd now seemed like a distant echo as person after person grabbed their things and plodded their way out of the stadium.

Minho's mind replayed the crucial moment- a fumble that cost his team the victory. It wasn't just a loss on the scoreboard- it wasn't just an unfortunate comparison of numbers. It was a blow to his pride and a reflection of all the challenges he seemed to never stop facing, both on and off of the field.

The locker room was somehow more depressing than standing on the trampled field under the judgment of numerical figures lit up on a board.The sound of cleats against the cold floor reverberated just loud enough to share the team's collective frustration with Minho's ears. Minho, still in his sweat-soaked jersey, slumped onto the bench, his mind swirling with a storm of emotions as he tried to prepare for the long yelling session he'd receive from the coach, and the dirty looks he'd receive from the team for at least two weeks.

Each missed pass, every fumbled opportunity, it all compounded into a crushing defeat, which felt pretty on-par for his current state of mind and life.

As the team dispersed, Minho remained in the locker room, grappling with the weight of expectations and the now-visualized fear of failure. Alone, he sat in silence. No one had told him "It's okay." No one had said, "It could happen to anyone." His team didn't scream at him, either.

That was probably worse.

But again, it was his fault.

He, the star-athlete-apparent, had caused his team's defeat in one of the biggest games of the season.

Unable to escape the stale air of the room, Minho decided to take a solitary walk back onto the now-empty field. The night sky hung above, a canvas of stars that unfairly indifferent to his internal turmoil. In a moment of frustration, Minho attempted to untie his laces, a simple act that proved entirely too elusive in his agitated state. The knots seemed to tighten, and every emotion he'd been left alone with had boiled over as Minho let out a loud scream, a raw expression of the baseline of his feelings.

Amidst the scream bouncing off the metal of the stadium, a figure approached- the university mascot. He was new, and Minho hadn't seen him outside of the ridiculous costume he chose to wear for whatever god-forsaken reason. Quorus College Quokkas. Because the chipmunk-kangaroos were just oh-so-threatening.

The costumed person looked around before sitting on the grass beside Minho. In the silence and confusion that followed, the mascot broke the tension with a simple question.

"Rough game, huh?" His ridiculously oversized head tilted slightly as he observed the defeated football player. Minho, still caught in the whirlwind of frustration, glanced at the mascot with a mix of surprise and apprehension.

Most people avoided him. He'd never been great at conversation. Once, just once, the team had invited him out to drink with them. He was too awkward, though. Too shy. He ended up getting mostly ignored until he'd left early, which he was pretty sure no one had noticed. He could play the game well, which is all they cared about.