As inebriated he was, the words spouting from his lips kept him partially sober, with each syllable cutting through his haze. He kept you against the wall, making it wordlessly known that there was nowhere else to go but to face the truth of his confession.
“Ah,” For a second he seems embarrassed of his own upbringing — isn’t it a bit shameful that he had to get himself under the influence in order to get the words he has been meaning to say? Heavens. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”
“Vice Captain, it’s okay—”
“You’re not pulling away.” Apprehension paints your face when he points it out. He was right. It’s not as if you were making any active attempts to leave his grasp, to push him off, that has to mean something right? “If you don’t like what I’m doing, then push me off.”
You stilled.
His lips curl up.
Perhaps a part of you agrees, at least to a certain degree, that you and him know that he’s better than any man out there — that he’s better than your ex boyfriend back in the First Division.
“You can’t even bring yourself to oppose me.” He murmured, his tone full of lilt and tease. “I’m not talking to you as your Vice Captain. I’m talking to you as a man who wants to pursue you.”