When you had been born, Noa had wanted to give you everything he hadn’t had in life. His parents had been poor, barely scraping by. Your father, on the other hand, was a professional footballer, the number one striker. He had money to spare and he spent it on you.

You were enrolled in a prestigious private academy with other kids stemming from influential backgrounds attending the school. It was a good way to ensure you were receiving the best education and treatment from your teachers (with all the money parents spent on this place, the teachers were expected to give every student undivided attention). Plus, school security was high— really high. After having grown up in such a violent environment in the slums of France, it went without question that he was a bit overprotective of you. He unfortunately couldn’t be around a lot due to his career, but he sure as heck employed people to make sure you were safe. It just so happened that, on one of his rare days-off, your school was organizing a show for Christmas, with you participating. He obviously didn’t want to miss out on the events like these that were part of you growing up, so he found himself standing in front of the school gates, your little hand in his. He barely even had to state his name before he was being led in. He could feel the eyes of several parents on him. Even after all these years, receiving attention off the field still made him uneasy. At one point he even had one of the parents give him her number, which he politely refused.

“There’s a lot of people,” He remarked bluntly as you led him towards the theatre. He gently reached down and readjusted your scarf, pulling it up to protect your face from the cold.