World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

3.0

THE OPENING

After less than a day, I’m heading to the airport to go to Sao Paulo. I fell in love with Rio. Everything about it is amazing. If I could, I’d just stay here during my whole trip. Who even cares about the tournament anymore? I couldn’t feel happier about the fact that I’ll be back tomorrow.

Somehow I manage to not let my fear of flights ruin my mood like yesterday. I look around the passengers on the line just to check if the tourist isn’t there again. Luckily, he isn’t. That would have sucked.

As soon as I land on my seat, I fall asleep and wake up less than two hours later. I missed the service again.

“Hey,” I turn to the guy sitting next to me. He must be around my same age and I’m in love with his cologne. He is super blonde, not so sure if it’s natural or not but it looks damn good on him. He is so white and his eyes are blue. I find myself already fancying him.

“Hi,” he looks away from his book to stare at me, “What up?” I can sense a thick Irish accent.

“Guess I missed breakfast, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. You did, lad,” he goes back to stare at his book.

“Didn’t you ask them if I could get it later?” he stares at me with an annoyed frown, “Just wondering.”

“No?” he seems shocked, “I didn’t even know you were asleep.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I try to sound nice.

“I’m not worried,” he fakes a smile and goes back to his duty. How rude. What is he reading anyways? I try to see the cover but I can’t catch anything.

The only positive thing about travelling with the tourist was that he asked about my meal. He is caring I can tell. Too bad he is such an annoying fag. Without even noticing I start to laugh when I remember he called me the Grinch. The blond hottie turns to me and frowns again.

“What you laughing at?”

“Nothing, I just remembered something,” I start, decided to tell him the story, I don’t even know why, “Yesterday-”

“Just keep it down, please. I’m trying to focus here,” he cuts me off and I can finally see the cover of the book, he is reading something about economics. How boring and how rude, again. I don’t understand some people and their need to treat other like shit. Like if they were superior or something.

I decide to ignore him again but he smells so damn good. I see he forgets about his read and opens the window to stare at the skies, “So Irish, huh?”

“Yup,” he keeps his eyes focused on the view.

“I’m British.”

“Good,” is all he says and I start to feel the excitement running through my veins. Challenge accepted.

I decide to stay quiet after the second attempt to converse with him because I know how these things work. That’s what I’m good at. I spy his hands just to make sure there are no rings on his fingers. Rings complicate things, they don’t turn them impossible, just make them harder.

We land in Sao Paulo and the captain gives away the weather details. He mentions something about the World Cup and everyone starts to cheer. Guess we are all heading to the same place.

“Hey listen,” I say before the plane stops, “Are you here by yourself?”

“Nope, I’m meeting some mates at the airport,” he answers but this time he sounds nicer. Good.

“Nice, I’m here by myself,” I let that out there as I expect him to invite me to join them but he doesn’t, “Could I join you maybe?”

He stares at me leaving no expression for me to guess how he feels about my proposition, “Sure,” he fakes a smile.

We stand up and I reach for my carry on. The hottie doesn’t, he just puts on his sunglasses and heads to the gate. I’m about to follow him but a pregnant lady gets on my way.

“Honey,” she calls me, “Can you help me out with my luggage, please?” Shit.

I look at the hottie walking away, “Hey,” I call him but he doesn’t listen, “Sure I can,” I answer the lady as I grab her stuff.

As soon as I’m done, I rush to find the hottie but it doesn’t work. I can’t even spot him anymore. This sucks. He didn’t even care about waiting for me and I’m starting to get pissed. Last night I thought I was so close to score a French dude but then it didn’t happen. This was my second failure since I got here and, as I told you before, I can’t handle failure. Plus I’m hungry and that’s not helping anything. I hate this city and I can’t wait to go back to Rio.

Now I’m on my way to the stadium. The opening ceremony is supposed to be good I heard. JLo will be there and also this other guy, the Latin one.  He is a rapper or something. What was his name? I turn on my phone to Google it but my roaming service is not working. Could this day get any worse?

---

The opening ceremony sucks. I see all these weird looking people dressed as trees and they are dancing along a very stupid choreography. It all looks silly to me. I was expecting way more. Brazilians are supposed to be good at dancing, aren’t they?

“Pitbull!” a girl yells when something that looks like a flower gives birth to the three singers. Right, that’s what his name was. What the hell is he wearing though?

I’m still surprised at the fact that I was able to get beer inside the stadium. Everyone is starting to get wasted and the match hasn’t even started yet. I look round and I love to see how excited everyone is. My mood is already back to where it was always supposed to be.

My phone rings and I realize that it decided to work again. Good thing. I check on it and there’s a text from Liam, “Do something stupid so the camera catches you. We are watching it at Zayn’s. Oh and does JLo arse looks as good from close?”

They have no idea I’m gay but I come up with a nice answer anyways, “You probably have a better look at her junk than me. I’ll strip off my shirt and the camera will catch me, you’ll see.”

Brazil starts to play and the whole stadium explodes. I’m so happy I decided to come because this is seriously awesome. I made up my mind already; I’m going to attend every world cup until the day I die, even the one in Russia. I’ll probably masturbate a lot there because I’ve heard they burn gay people in public if they catch them. I’m too pretty to face that kind of death.

Speaking of hot things, I spot a brunette a few rows in front of me. He is the only person not staring at the game. Is he looking at me? He is wearing the Brazilian colors and I applaud his choice because they look so fine on him. Then he winks at me. Gay but he is so hot I’m willing to make an exception.

“Come!” he yells and I’m shocked. Are all Brazilians this forward? I can get used to that I guess.

“Just a second, I’m taking a selfie,” a girl’s voice replies and I turn around. She walks right by me and joins him in a hug. Of course she is as hot as fire and I’m so glad I didn’t answer back before I’ve heard her. I would have gotten punched. They are not even Brazilians anyways. Why the hell are they wearing the Brazilian jerseys?

Eleven minutes after the match started, Croatia scores the first goal and the whole stadium stay in silence. Shocking. I was already starting my third cup of beer so I was too much in the zone to feel sad about them. These cups are not even supposed to be called cups. They look like a beer barrel and it’s so cheap I can’t believe it.

I almost drop the thing when I feel two hands cover my eyes from behind, “Who is this?” I recognize a familiar voice but I can’t tell who it is because the crowd is too loud.

“What the hell?” I answer as I try to get rid of those hands but I can’t.

“Answer who am I and I’ll let you go.”

“Oh no,” I finally recognize the voice.

The tourist is back.

---