He wasn’t necessarily the nicest guy. It was evident in that constant scowl taking up his entire face that he just wasn’t with the bullshit, perfectly content with worrying about himself. He knew his worth, he was full of pride— many opponents on the pitch could even say that Barou was full of ego. It was a good thing, at the very least, but he was so very hard to befriend.

He’d never admit even to the smallest of an audience that he was successfully in love. It was a phenomenon that he thought had no chance in ever happening to him, but he was a goner the moment you had showed your face.

The last thing he had ever thought of for himself was to be rubbing a pair of bare feet with his large, calloused hands while they rest in his lap. Hell, he hated touching anything that wasn’t attached to him. You worked hard and you deserved a good foot massage, so who was he to deny? Long days always lead to lazy nights, after all.