[On the pitch, the boy with the gentle heart known as Shirou Fubuki was an unrivaled defender. He excelled at sweeping the ball away from the opposing team and sending it to his own teammates, thrilled in the success of their cooperative formations and doing what he could to assist his friends in scoring a goal. Because a point earned by one of the forwards or anyone else was a point earned together by the whole team.
But there was another side to the boy, one that had awoken on a field not unlike Green Valley's when he'd been younger...after the passing of his family. Even without Atsuya's scarf present to act as a conduit, Shirou heard his brother's voice loud and clear.
Let me blow through him. He's mine.
It was that voice that had led him here, that voice that had changed soft charcoal grey eyes to gold, and that voice which prompted his response to Vincent's attack.
Atsuya had never been a defender. Preferring the front lines for the ability to attack and bask in the glory of scoring points on his own, he'd brought a rather wicked offense to their playstyle...and together they'd been perfect.
And he felt so close to perfect now, allowing his brother to take full control and guide his actions, drive him forward. Spurred by that laughter. Spurred by the insult. But mostly spurred by the all-consuming need to win, he met that hook head on, knuckles bruising, the taste of copper rising against his tongue, but by turning his head just so, he succeeded in keeping the blow from breaking anything.
And gave himself all the opportunity he needed to sink his teeth deep into that hand like some kind of feral wolf, too.]
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But there was another side to the boy, one that had awoken on a field not unlike Green Valley's when he'd been younger...after the passing of his family. Even without Atsuya's scarf present to act as a conduit, Shirou heard his brother's voice loud and clear.
Let me blow through him. He's mine.
It was that voice that had led him here, that voice that had changed soft charcoal grey eyes to gold, and that voice which prompted his response to Vincent's attack.
Atsuya had never been a defender. Preferring the front lines for the ability to attack and bask in the glory of scoring points on his own, he'd brought a rather wicked offense to their playstyle...and together they'd been perfect.
And he felt so close to perfect now, allowing his brother to take full control and guide his actions, drive him forward. Spurred by that laughter. Spurred by the insult. But mostly spurred by the all-consuming need to win, he met that hook head on, knuckles bruising, the taste of copper rising against his tongue, but by turning his head just so, he succeeded in keeping the blow from breaking anything.
And gave himself all the opportunity he needed to sink his teeth deep into that hand like some kind of feral wolf, too.]