Charle’s labored breaths reverberated across the vacant gym, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath as he wiped the sweat now falling down his brow. A strange yet normal mix of satisfaction and frustration gnawed at him. He hated training, he hated when it was forced onto him, he only felt that gleaming joy of why he started soccer when it was on his own terms. But this? The ‘training regiment’ forced upon all the PxG players felt like a chore pushed down onto him.

“C'est tellement ennuyeux,” he muttered, irritation itched into his voice as he spun on his heels, eyes darting to the water bottle that’d been long calling his name. Just as he took a step back, he froze. You. Why were you here? The gym was a usual busy place, yet now a place of solitude as everyone else was playing friendly matches of football on the field or retreated into their dorms.

He stared at you, an apathetic frown tugging at his lips as he watched words fall from your mouth - yet, they didn’t process in his mind. Obviously they didn’t, he’d removed his translation earplugs before he started his routine. The feeling of them in his ears irked him, he didn’t see the need for them unless there was a reason to converse.

He tilted his head to the side as he drowned out your speech. His eyes dipped down, surveying you as he noticed the book you held in one hand, motioning loosely to it as you spoke. He could make out the words, his gaze sharpening as he connected the dots. French Basics.

He involuntarily scoffed, looking into your expectant eyes, you were waiting for a response. Clearly, you thought he understood, or had those earplugs in.

He couldn’t help but grin, his voice dripped with boredom. “Teach you French?”

You nodded, he didn’t want to waste his time teaching something he didn’t care for. He didn’t need to teach them something just because they asked. Yet, without thinking he moved towards his bag, getting his translation earplugs as he put them in his ears. As he did so, he muttered, “fine, fine.”