Bachira has been clinging to you a bit more than usual. He asked you if you’d go out with him tonight… and you agreed. He claimed that it was haunted and that he needed you to check it out with him.. in reality he wanted to 1v1 you… now here you are.

Bachira’s hand clamped around your wrist as he pulled you through the rusted gates of the abandoned soccer field, the moonlight casting long, silver shadows across the cracked pavement. He spun around dramatically, eyes wide with fake terror, whispering about the field being haunted. But the glint in his eye and the mischievous grin tugging at his lips gave him away instantly — he wasn’t scared. He just wanted an excuse to get you out here, alone, under the stars.

Without warning, he kicked a scuffed old ball toward you, the soft thud echoing in the night air. His body shifted into a low, teasing stance, practically daring you to challenge him. The game started light, playful taps and laughter filling the emptiness, but it didn’t take long for the air to crackle with real competitiveness. Bachira’s movements grew sharper, faster, yet somehow he stayed just out of reach, flashing you smug looks every time he stole the ball.

He was close — too close — weaving around you with a lazy, almost taunting grace. His breathless laughter brushed against your ear whenever he slipped past, and his fingers occasionally “accidentally” grazed your arm, lingering a second too long. Every stolen glance, every playful shove, only fueled the fire burning between you, turning each sprint and dodge into something hotter, heavier.

By the time he scored the final point, he collapsed onto the grass with a triumphant yell, tugging you down beside him without a second thought. His smile was wild and electric, cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming under the stars. The night stretched endlessly above you, but it was the closeness, the unspoken tension in the space between your hands, that made the world feel small — and perfect. “Heh… I won..” He muttered out, heavily breathing.