Chapter Text
It’s the start of the season, and Supa Strikas have won both games against Technicali. Everyone was struck with exhaustion after dealing with more of Toni Vern’s schemes, but all that tension melted away at the first mention of Rasta’s famous barbecue.
He had invited the team to celebrate at his house and watched over the flaming grill as Shakes and North pulled a lounging El Matador into the pool by his legs, the troublemakers laughing at his bewilderment. Blok daringly ran up to cannonball, and Rasta had to shield the grill against the tsunami that he unleashed. Thankfully, the food was just barely saved from being drenched. He heard a timid “Blrzgkl,” which Rasta assumes is an apology, and waved his hand at Blok. “No worries, mon.” Under the shouting of El Matador’s complaints about his ruined hair and almost being drowned, he can also hear the chattering of Coach and Big Bo on the sofas to his right. Klaus, Cool Joe, and Tiger must be inside the house up to their own antics.
Rasta took a deep, soothing breath, the barbecue’s aroma wafting through the air; it was almost done cooking. Watching the team he captains, a warm contentment swelled up inside him. He was glad that everyone seemed to be relaxing.
Rasta killed the flames on the grill and set the cooked meat on the long outdoor table. “Alright, everyone, grab a plate and let’s eat!” While everyone outside was excitedly clamoring to get their share—he’s pretty sure he heard the guys in the pool all shoving each other—Rasta went inside to tell the other three. When he opened the door to the living room, though, Klaus had come out on his own and moved right past him with his eyes glued to some magazine. He looked strangely focused, but Rasta brushed it off as another one of Klaus’ fixations. Who he did find when he walked into the living room was…nobody.
“Guys?” He called out and walked in deeper when no one answered. “Tiger, Cool Joe?” Again, no answer. Listening closely, he could hear a faint conversation happening in the kitchen. He crept up to the entrance and made out that the voices belonged to Tiger and Joe, but right before he could turn the corner to enter, Tiger walked out and nearly bumped into him. “There you are! Come on, mon, the meat’s done grilling.” Tiger appeared somewhat startled as he glanced between him and the kitchen. “Is Cool Joe in there? He ok?” Rasta asked, though Tiger didn’t look worried. “Yeah, he’s just...” His mouth quirked up into a grin, “Processing.” Rasta raised an eyebrow, but Tiger just patted him on the shoulder as he walked past him to go out. Rasta called out to him, “Better hurry! I think they already ate half of it.” Out of sight, he could hear the hurried steps of Tiger running.
Turning the corner, he finally got a look at Joe, who was leaning back against the kitchen island. His hands held tightly onto the edges, eyes staring intensely downcast, and while his brows were furrowed, he was still halfway into forming a smile. He looked wired up. Rasta knocked on the door frame, garnering Joe’s attention from whatever faraway distance he was looking at. “Hey man, what’s up?” Joe let out a small sigh on the last word, his frame losing some of the tension it had. Rasta went up to lean on the counter next to him. “Everyone’s enjoying the barbecue outside.”
“Oh, I’ll be out in a minute. I just need to—”
“Process?”
Joe rolled his eyes. “Is that what he said?” Rasta chuckled. Joe side-eyed him, that tension threatening to come back. “He didn’t say anything else, right?”
Rasta shook his head with an amused grin. “No, nothing.” He pointed at Joe, his hand motioning to point at his entire being. “You do seem a bit intense, though.”
Joe crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, I’m dealing with a little issue right now.”
Rasta nodded and hummed. “I see, and what might the issue be?” Joe didn’t answer right away, and Rasta let the pause settle between them. Trying to get someone stubborn to talk about their feelings is a sensitive process, and Cool Joe is no different, so he simply waited for a response.
“So, like, there’s this person I’m into.”
Ah.
Joe took a hurried glance at Rasta’s expression and grimaced. He quickly started, “Now that ain’t a problem for me. I’ve had plenty of flings before…w-why am I even talking about this with you?!” Joe suddenly moved off the counter, but before he could leave, Rasta stopped him with a steady hand on his shoulder. “Hey now, no need to be embarrassed.” Joe groaned. “I know you, King of Spin, you have experience. The flirting and dating, and then you part ways the next morning. But this is different, isn’t it?” Joe doesn’t say, but it’s obvious what the answer is. Instead, as he fidgets with his hands and rubs the back of his neck, he asks, “How are things with your ex-wife?”
“Good.” Rasta expects this to go somewhere. Joe follows up, “And there was no anger or bitterness with the divorce?” Rasta thinks about it, back to when he and she decided that married life wasn’t for them. It was mutual. “Nope. We’re both happy singles with great kids,” He says fondly, “Who I kick out to spend time with my other kids.” Rasta gestures in the direction of the backyard. That got a laugh out of Joe, and all the better for it, he’s finally looking more relaxed. Rasta laid back a reassuring hand on Joe’s shoulder and shook it. “What’s your worry, mon, huh? Come on.” Joe let out a deep sigh, “The commitment. This guy– the, uh, person I like,” A slip up, Rasta doesn’t react. “He’s just amazing. I mean, I’ve met a lot of wonderful people on dates before, but they didn’t last too long. Some of them got ugly. Man, I don’t even want the chance of that happening this time.” Rasta nodded, considering it all; this was the most sincere he’d heard Joe talk about anything that wasn’t soccer or music.
When he spoke next, it was in a soft tone he’d often use when his kids were troubled. “Do you know how he feels about you?”
Joe scoffed. “Yeah, he made it pretty clear.”
“And do you truly feel love for him?” Rasta squeezed his shoulder.
Joe contemplated it. He gazed out, imagining something, and nodded. “Yes, I really do.”
“Then there’s nothing to fear!” Rasta spread out his arms in exaggeration. “You know what to do.”
Joe gave him a wry smile before it inevitably leaned into a softer grin. He gave a particularly hard pat on Rasta’s back. “Thanks, brother. I was gonna do it anyway, though.” Rasta chuckled. He swung his arm over Cool Joe’s shoulders and led them outside. “Now, let’s hope they didn’t finish all the ribs.”
Fortunately, they were saved their share by the more responsible members of the team, mainly Coach. Cool Joe went to sit at the long table next to Tiger, who slid him his plate, while Rasta comfortably sat away on the sofa with his dish. North came up from the pool as soon as he saw Joe was back and slid into a seat across from him. The surfer had a shit-eating grin on, “Saw you came out with Captain, you got into trouble or something?” Joe shot him a poignant look. “No, I only just had the most awkward conversation in my life.” Rasta didn’t miss how Tiger stifled a laugh at that, and Joe elbowed him for it. North looked intrigued, but before he could ask any more questions, Blok got his attention and left the two in favor of the pool again.
Rasta watched as the two began their own conversation, though they spoke quietly enough that he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Joe said something that made Tiger laugh, and as he did, the King of Spin watched him with softness in his eyes. When the laughter died down and they properly faced each other, for just a moment, they simply stared at each other without saying anything at all.
...
Huh.