World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

4.0

THE TOURIST

“How did you even find me?” I ask him as I stare at him with no emotion. He just stands there, wearing that annoying smirk of his that never seems to fade away.

“I saw you a while ago but I didn’t want to start yelling Homo at you in front of everybody,” he explains but his focus is obviously on the game.

“Good call,” I decide to be nice to him. Everyone seems to be with someone and, even if it’s weird coming from me, I don’t want to be alone anymore. It makes me feel pathetic.

“I know,” he turns to me again, “Gayness is not so welcome on this events.”

“Shh,” I freak out because I don’t want people around us to hear what my sexual preferences are.

“God, you are so inside the closet, aren’t you? It’s weird because you look so confident but then again it seems like you are not,” he rambles.

“Whatever,” I try to look focused on the game as I finish my third barrel of beer, “Great, I ran out of beer again.”

“We could share mine,” he handles me his cup. His niceness is definitely kind of annoying. I don’t get nice people. I mean, it’s fine to be nice but you can’t just go around sharing cups with strangers, “Oh, do you have some kind of OCD with this stuff?” He laughs, “I should have seen it coming.”

“I’ll just get another one,” I fake a smile, “Where is your seat?”

“Over there,” he points to the left, “I tried everything to get your attention but nothing worked. It was kind of sad to see you here by yourself.”

“Aren’t you alone too?”

“I met some people,” he smirks again, “The perks of being nice. You should try it sometimes.”

“I am trying,” I let a smile out and this time it’s not a fake one.

“It would have been easier if I knew your name-”

“It’s Harry,” I cut him off.

“What?” He looks surprised.

“My name. It’s Harry.”

“Aw,” he starts to get annoying again, “I didn’t think you’d tell me your name. Are we like friends now?”

“Kind of,” I joke and I’m starting to surprise myself. I always try to escape from becoming friends with openly gay people.

“You don’t look like a Harry though,” the whole stadium goes wild when Neymar scores the first goal for Brazil. The tourist gets crazy too and I fake excitement. It looks like he is about to hug me but, luckily, he doesn’t. I hate it when random strangers hug each other during sports games, “Isn’t this awesome?” he yells to make me hear him.

“Yeah,” I don’t lie, it is kind of awesome, “Rooting for Brazil?”

“Of course,” he frowns at me, “They don’t deserve to lose at their own house.”

“How is it that I don’t look like a Harry?”

“Yeah,” he stares at me from my feet to my face, “Harries are supposed to look cute and nice. Like the prince,” he finishes the gayest sentence I have ever heard.

“I am cute though.”

“You are hot, there’s a difference,” he turns to me and back to the game. I can tell he enjoys my awkward reaction, “But I know there’s cuteness under those tattoos somewhere. Harries are always cute, no exceptions.”