it's called football (miniminter)
prompt: (in honour of the sidemen match i thought i would try something football related.) in which y/n pesters simon with questions during a football game.
warnings: be prepared to be appalled by my ‘football’ knowledge, i am clearly an AFL fan
you were an aussie girl born and bred, but you were currently midway through your exchange program in england.
months prior to this very moment, you had signed yourself up for a two year program at the university of london where you would study psychology in some of the greatest facilities.
you never expected to enrich yourself in the life of the english as much as you had, and you definitely didn’t expect to make the friends that you had. one night you had been out at a bar and came in contact with a group of well known youtubers called the sidemen along with some of their friends, and ultimately you clicked. sarah had taken a particular liking to you and vowed to take you under her wing whilst you were here in her home country.
she wasn’t the only one you grew close to, simon expressed an interest in you that was somewhat different to everyone else’s. you couldn’t quite tell if you were best friends, or something more. either way, you both took enjoyment in annoying the absolute shit out of each other.
which leads us to right now. “i just don’t get it, why can’t the ball just touch your hand accidentally?” you question to simon as he watches intently on the television set in front of him.
simon was taking a day off from editing to sit down and watch the leeds game, and had invited you around to help ‘educate’ yourself on the world of british football before the annual charity match. it was fair to say, he was beginning to regret his decision.
“i’ll explain this once more. it’s called football, if it was suppose to touch you hand - whether it be an accident, or not - it would be called handball” he replied with a slight huff.
“football,” he corrects.
“whatever it’s called, it’s still such a low scoring game! don’t you get bored? at this rate you’d be lucky to even hit the score board!” you whine, as you too regret agreeing to simon’s offer.
simon laughs, tilting his head back while he shakes his head. he too agrees that leeds would be lucky ‘to hit the scoreboard at this rate’, but he doesn’t make the effort to comment so.
you had never taken much interest in the whole soccer fiasco. back home the 'APL’ was nothing in comparison to the likes of the 'AFL’, you had been raised to be a footy fan and that’s the way it always would be.
“i think it’s a bit unfair that you don’t get a point or something for hitting the crossbar or even the post” you comment after watching it be hit for what seems like the 5th time.
“y/n, it’s called a goal. you don’t get points” he explains whilst rolling his eyes. it’s clear by now that simon is getting a little bit agitated with all the questions.
“well i think it’s silly, in our ends if you hit the post you get a point, if it goes through you get a goal earning you 6 points. it’s like a reward either way” you remark, leaning back into the sofa.
“look, miss 'i own a kangaroo,’ that’s not how it works around here-” simon says before he cuts his sentence short, standing up from his seat and begin yelling excessively at the ref’s decision.
after some time he finally accepts that the decision is final and returns to the sofa next to you. you roll your eyes at his overdramatic behaviour before speaking again. “for your information i do not, and never have owned a kangaroo. australia isn’t as backwards as you claim it is.”
“yeah, yeah” he waves his hand at you to be quiet as his eyes skim over the screen, reading the stats displayed on the side.
you tried your very best to focus, but you couldn’t help but get bored. it was a 0-0 game after all. at this point in a game of footy there would have been about 7 or 8 goals scored by now.
you knew simon was trying to concentrate, but your need to ask a question was strong, no matter how hard you tried to suppress it.
“i don’t understand how you can be offside if there is no line there to tell you…” you wonder out loud.
simon was losing his patience. he was hoping you would just sit there quietly even if he would never dare to say so. he runs a hand through his hair simply stating, “the halfway line is your indication of being off side. if you are in your attacking half and you receive the ball with no defending player in front you are off side.”
“yeah but i still don’t-”
“y/n, please,” his voice, begging. “can we discuss this at half time? i’ll explain all the questions you have after the game.”
you nod in response not wanting to utter another word to anger simon further.
you sit in silence. occasionally fidgeting with the strings of the sidemen hoodie you were wearing every time the urge to comment, question or insult simon’s favourite sport cropped up.
finally half time arrived, taking its sweet ass time to do so.
“so?” simon asks in a voice kinder than the last time he spoke. “any dire questions you got before second half?”
you take a moment to think, you didn’t really pay attention past the point of simon getting frustrated at you. “no i don’t think so” you tell him shaking your head.
“oh?” he sounds surprised.
“i actually think i might go find vik and see if he wanted to go out somewhere,” you say moving from the couch.
“wait!” he grabs your wrist stopping you from going any further. “you don’t have to go, i’m sorry for snapping at you” he says sincerely.
“no, that’s okay. i was being annoying asking all those questions while you were just trying to enjoy your day off. i’m not mad i promise” you smile back at him to show you’re being genuine. “i’d rather you watch your game in peace, than me having to watch it all.”
he pulls you back towards his lap, with a grin plastered onto his face from your honesty. “i know, but that was no reason for me to get frustrated at you. i did invite you over to watch the game.”
“and this is me uninviting myself and salvaging the rest of my afternoon by asking vik to come get some ice cream with me,” you reply trying to escape his tight grip.
“how about this,” he responds putting an ultimatum in place. “you go hang out with vik upstairs until the game ends, and then when it’s over i’ll take you out for a nice dinner somewhere?”
“is this the simon minter, asking me out on a date? just so he can get rid of me?” you mock being appalled.
“i’m not trying to get rid of you, i was trying to save you of some boredom. i was planning on asking you out either way,” he adds with a wink.
shaking his hand, you agree; “you have yourself a deal minter.”
you remove yourself from his lap, unable to stop the smile spreading from your face at the very thought of yours and simon’s first date.
you make your way over to the bottom of the stairs just as the half time break comes to an end. “oh and simon, i still think you should get a point for hitting the crossbar.”
“how’s about i take you out one day and teach you how to play. you can give yourself as many points as you like?”
you laugh and shrug your shoulders, it’s not a bad idea.
“depends if i get fouled for being offside of that stupid fake line or not first!”
he laughs as well, “that’s cute, that you think you could get it past me in the first place for it to be in your attacking half!”
it can’t even be denied, because he’s right. but you fake being hurt anyways.
“i’m going to go spend time with someone who appreciates me,” you joke, making your way up the stairs.
“whatever you say. be ready in an hour’s time to leave!” he calls after you his laugh following you up the stairs.
you smile to yourself, knowing you’re no where ready to return home in a year’s time.
a/n: shout me a request or a message anytime 🙂🙂