moonkettl

Morning in Highgate

Dawn was breaking outside the window… The sun’s rays were just gilding grass and leaves.
Edgar was looking out the window, sitting on the windowsill. He leaned back on the pillows and closed his eyes, then habitually touched the ring on his right hand. Oh, it raised so many questions and disputes. The fans ran after him and wondered when the captain of the England national team had managed to find someone. Reporters also tried to catch Edgar and his crush.
But he hadn’t lied saying that he had met this man on FFI. Back then they were fifteen, with hormones raging. The cramped locker rooms, smell of sweat, narrow benches and heat of bodies would stay in his memory for a long time. At that time he thought it’s just a fling, foolishness of two teenagers always competing with each other.
Two years later, when they got into a showdown between the Lightning of Japan and angels and demons, Edgar realized that this was not foolishness anymore as he was watching in horror his special one getting bruised.
Right after that, in Edgar’s room, he confessed. The captain of the England national team, however, managed only to grumble that his favorite idiot had better not leave himself wide open so much. After all, Edgar would not always be there to treat abrasions and bruises.
Their alliance was something impossible: the icy gaze of an aristocrat and the hot blood of a Southerner; one did not tolerate the heat, another couldn’t stand the cold. And on the field, while one was pushing forward, another was barely moving, protecting his goalkeeper.
No, Edgar hadn’t lied to the press. He was only surprised that they had ignored the word “he”. And it was stupid to say directly that your crush was an Argentinian, who was twice your size and could accidentally break your leg with his huge hands, so you felt yourself a porcelain doll. And it was Teres’ idea…
– Hey, Neddy, – the Englishman was poked in the shoulder and brought back to reality.
– Huh? – Edgar jumped but relaxed as he saw Teres.
– Breakfast. What should I cook? I’ve been calling your name for five minutes, – and Teres put his hair in a ponytail and went back to the stove.
– Whatever you want, – Edgar slid to him in a cat-like manner, hugging him from behind.
Teres squeezed his husband in his arms, admiring the sun in his blue hair.

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Morning in Highgate