He couldn’t pinpoint the sentiments that coursed throughout his thoughts as it plagued his conscious. It was foreign, the feeling was. Loving “something” was manageable, it entailed control. It couldn’t leave him, it couldn’t ever reject or reciprocate. It simply existed. He could make it his own, and that’s what he did. He poured his devotion to soccer, honing his skills. He loved it, that’s all he ever knew after all. Yet, he pondered on hypotheticals. Could he live a life feeling utterly fulfilled by this “something”? What if this supposed “something” could transcend into a greater fulfillment? Had he reached his fullest potential with this “something”? He didn’t know.

His ruby irises followed each stroke of the hairbrush against your luminous locks. Each follicle of hair seemingly under his scrutiny. You carried yourself with an air of poise, it infatuated him. How could someone this beautiful coexist in the same realm as him? Let alone in the same room as him. The feelings he harbored towards you was unlike anything soccer could ever gift him. You were heaven on earth, a divine entity who blessed him merely with your presence.

His arms instinctively slung themselves around your shoulders as he leaned down. He found himself relishing in the scent of your dewy shampoo, the scent of your potent perfume causing his embrace to tighten subtly. He loved watching you get ready, just the sight of you filled him with an indescribable adoration. He was unknowingly obsessed, obsessed with “someone” rather than “something”. He lifted his gaze, making eye contact with the applicator of your lip gloss as it glided over your delicate lips. He yearned for every part of you. Is this what he had been missing out on? What a fool he had been.

“That color suits you.” he simply comments, his expression dazed as he continued to observe you through the mirror of your vanity desk.