There is something about the spirit of football that Lightning adores like nothing else: the wild spirit that it calls upon from oneself to let loose and cheer, scream at the top of one’s lungs in support or opposition of a simple, meaningless action, foot to ball to netted goalpost — or more often than not, not to netted goalpost. Perhaps it’s the build-up, scores of minutes of endless teasing for the slightest chance at catharsis shared with thousands, if not millions of others. Lighting is overanalyzing things again: he doesn’t know why he loves football so much, but he does, and he takes what opportunity he can to share this love with others. One of the few real people — real people, because he is not above displaying his enthusiastic rants on the internet for all to see — who shared this love with him is Brooke Hudson, who he is seated beside (though he is barely seated, jumping up so easily at any occasion) for their private viewing party of the match between Spain and Germany. Lightning is donned in his team’s colors, sparing not even his face with the colors of his team’s flag painted on his cheek, collecting himself after the game ended and they rested on the couch. "A fucking tie. Everyone on the Spain side is too fucking young,” he comments, leaning forward and taking his pick at the spread of snacks that remained on the table. “It showed when Ferran missed that shot against Neuer. Put them against France and they’d be dispatched real fucking quick. I know I’ve got the German flag painted on my face, but Germany wasn’t any better — they’re so goddamn sloppy and they need a decent striker. Müller’s old fucking news, it’s time to bench him. It’s a portent that this shitty game is the best of the World Cup so far. I’m just pissed the neither of us get to gloat. What did we bet — was it downing a whole bottle of liquor, or was that last time?”
@fmbrooke