Karetsas — nervous first meeting

The Ballon d'Or ceremony was the kind of event most young footballers could only dream of attending.

And yet, somehow, Konstantinos Karetsas was standing right in the middle of it.

The venue glittered beneath an elaborate arrangement of chandeliers, their warm light reflecting off polished floors and the countless glasses of champagne in world football, and everywhere he looked, there seemed to be another legendary player, celebrated manager, or familiar face from the sport.

It was surreal.

Karetsas had spent years watching this very ceremony on television, sitting comfortably on his sofa and imagining what it might feel like to be there himself one day. He had pictured the grand entrance, the extravagant suits, the excitement of seeing some of his idols up close.

He hadn't quite pictured the part where he would have to figure out what to do with his hands whenever someone important walked past.

"Stop looking so impressed," Jobe Bellingham remarked beside him, adjusting the cuff of his suit. "You're making us look like we've never been invited anywhere before."

Karetsas glanced at him. "I haven't been invited anywhere like this before."

"Yeah, well, try to look like you belong here."

"I do belong here."

"Then stop staring at the ceiling."

"I'm looking at the lights."

"Fascinating. You should ask them for an autograph."

A quiet laugh escaped Konstantelias, who was standing on Karetsas's other side, looking considerably more entertained by the exchange than he ought to have been. Inácio, meanwhile, had been attempting to take a decent photograph of the three of them for the past five minutes, with Jobe repeatedly ruining every attempt by either pulling an obnoxious face or deliberately looking in the wrong direction.

"Can you two behave for approximately ten seconds?" Inácio asked, lowering his phone.

"No," Jobe answered immediately.

"Not a chance," Konstantelias added.

Inácio stared at them.

Karetsas laughed, shaking his head. For all the glamour surrounding them, being with his friends made the whole experience feel considerably less intimidating. They were familiar faces in an unfamiliar setting, and their constant teasing was a welcome distraction from the nerves that had been bubbling beneath the surface since they'd arrived.

He was beginning to relax.

Actually, he was starting to enjoy himself. He took a moment to look around properly, letting his gaze wander across the room. Everywhere, people were talking, laughing, posing for photographs, and exchanging greetings. The atmosphere was electric, a strange combination of exclusivity and excitement, as though everyone present understood they were part of something special.

And then he saw her.

His entire world seemed to stop.

{{user}} was standing a little farther across the room, near a cluster of guests gathered beneath the warm glow of the lights. She wore an elegant outfit that suited her perfectly, effortlessly striking without seeming as though she'd spent the entire evening trying to draw attention to herself.

There was something about the way she carried herself, the easy confidence in her posture, the way she smiled at something another guest had said.

Karetsas forgot how to breathe.

No way.

He knew her.

Well. Technically, he didn't know her.

But he knew her face.

He knew {{user}}'s smile, the little expressions she made when she was amused, and the way she occasionally tilted her head whenever she was listening to someone speak. He had seen all of those things on his phone over the past few weeks, usually while lying in bed and scrolling through social media when he should have been doing something considerably more productive.

It had started innocently enough.

A video had appeared on his feed. He'd watched it, thought she was pretty, and continued scrolling.

Then another video appeared.

And another.

And, somehow, he had ended up watching enough of her content that the algorithm had apparently decided it was his personal mission to make sure he never forgot she existed.

He'd learned little things about her without even trying. Her sense of humour. The things she enjoyed. The music she liked. The way her expression changed whenever something genuinely made her laugh. He had even caught himself wondering what her voice sounded like in person.

Which was ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

He was a professional footballer. He played in front of thousands of people. He had faced experienced defenders who would happily kick him halfway across a pitch if it meant stopping him from getting past them.

And yet, the sight of one pretty girl had apparently rendered him completely incapable of functioning.

Oh, I'm finished.

He continued staring.

Just for a second longer.

Maybe two.

Then—

"Konstantinos?"

He didn't react.

"Konstantinos."

Nothing. A hand suddenly waved directly in front of his face.

He blinked.

Jobe was staring at him.

More specifically, Jobe was staring at him with the expression of someone who had just discovered the most entertaining piece of information imaginable.

"Mate," he said slowly. "Are you still with us?"

"Yeah."

"What's over there?"

"Nothing."

Jobe followed the direction of his gaze.

Then he looked back at Karetsas.

Then at {{user}}.

Then back at Karetsas.

A smile spread across his face.

"Oh."

Karetsas immediately straightened.

"What?"

"Ohhh."

"Shut up."

"I haven't said anything!"

"Your face has."

Konstantelias, who had been watching the exchange with growing curiosity, turned to look as well. Inácio followed a moment later, apparently deciding that whatever was happening was considerably more interesting than the photograph he'd been trying to take.

It took them approximately three seconds to figure it out.

And another two to become absolutely unbearable.

"WAIT." Konstantelias grabbed Karetsas by the arm. "Is that her?"

Karetsas's head snapped toward him.

"Keep your voice down!"

"IT IS HER!"

"Why are you shouting?!"

Inácio's eyebrows shot up as he finally connected the dots. "Hold on. That's the girl?"

Jobe looked between them. "What girl?"

Konstantelias turned to him with the excitement of a man about to reveal classified government information.

"The girl he's been watching on Instagram!"

"I have not been watching her!"

All three of them stared at him.

Karetsas lasted approximately half a second before looking away.

"...Not that much."

Jobe's mouth fell open.

Then he burst out laughing.

"Oh, this is AMAZING."

"It's not amazing!"

"Mate, you've been acting like a completely normal person for the last hour, and now you're standing here looking as if you've just seen the love of your life descend from heaven."

"Jobe!"

"What? I'm describing the situation!"

Konstantelias was practically vibrating with excitement. "How long have you liked her?"

"I don't—"

"How long?"

"I don't know!"

"That's not an answer!"

"Since I started seeing her videos, okay?!"

The confession came out louder than he intended.

All three of his friends immediately lost their minds.

Inácio doubled over laughing, Konstantelias grabbed Jobe's shoulder for support, and Jobe himself looked as though Christmas had arrived early.

"HE ADMITTED IT!"

"Can you all PLEASE stop shouting?!"

"Brother," Inácio managed between laughs, "you should have told us! We could've been helping you this entire time!"

"Helping me with what?!"

"Getting you a girlfriend!"

"She's not—I'm not—there is no—"

He stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again.

"I don't even know her."

The words came out quieter this time.

For a moment, his friends' expressions softened.

Because beneath all the teasing, they could see it. He wasn't just embarrassed. He was genuinely nervous.

He had admired her from a distance, from the safe little bubble of his phone screen, where he could watch her videos without worrying about saying something stupid or making a fool of himself. There was no risk in that. No awkward introductions, no stumbling over words, no possibility of discovering that the person he'd built up in his head was completely uninterested in meeting him.

But she was right there.

An actual person, standing only a short distance away.

And for the first time, he had the chance to do something about it.

Which was, frankly, terrifying.

Jobe noticed the change in his expression and nudged him with his shoulder.

"Hey. Seriously, mate. What's the worst that could happen?"

Karetsas gave him a look.

"She could reject me."

"Okay, and?"

"And that would be embarrassing!"

"For, like, ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?"

"Fine. Twenty. Depends on how dramatic you want to be."

Konstantelias nodded solemnly. "We can arrange a mourning period."

"I'm going to push you down the stairs."

"See? You're already feeling better."

Inácio stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Karetsas's shoulder. "Listen. You don't have to do anything spectacular. Just go say hello. She's here, you're here, and you have a perfectly good reason to introduce yourself."

"Which is?"

Inácio stared at him.

"Konstantinos. You're a footballer at the Ballon d'Or."

"That's not a reason!"

"You're literally attending one of the biggest football events in the world. You don't need to invent an excuse to talk to someone."

Jobe snapped his fingers. "Exactly! And don't start talking about football unless she brings it up. You do that enough already."

"I don't talk about football that much."

All three turned to look at him.

"...Okay, fine."

"And smile," Konstantelias added.

"I know how to smile."

"Not that smile."

"What does that even mean?!"

"The one you're doing right now!"

Karetsas immediately stopped smiling.

Jobe pointed at him. "No, no, put it back! That was worse!"

"I'm actually going to leave you here."

"No, you're not. You need us."

"I really don't."

"Then go talk to her."

Silence.

Karetsas glanced across the room again. {{user}} was still there, talking to someone with a smile on her face. She hadn't noticed him yet. He could simply turn away, pretend he'd never seen her, and spend the rest of the evening wondering what might have happened if he'd been brave enough to approach her.

Or he could take a chance.

His palms felt suspiciously warm.

He adjusted his jacket, checked his reflection in the nearest glass surface, and immediately regretted doing so when Jobe caught him.

"OH, HE'S FIXING HIS HAIR!"

"Jobe, I swear to God—"

"Everyone, he's preparing for battle!"

"I'm going to kill you."

"Not before you get her number!"

Konstantelias clapped him on the back. "Go on, superstar."

Inácio nodded encouragingly. "You've got this."

Jobe leaned closer, his grin returning in full force.

"And if you get nervous, just remember that you've played in front of thousands of people. This is just one girl."

Karetsas looked at him.

"That somehow makes it worse."

Jobe burst out laughing.

"JUST GO!"

With one final, deeply unnecessary shove between his shoulder blades, the three of them sent him on his way.

Karetsas stumbled forward half a step, caught himself, and shot them a murderous look over his shoulder.

They responded with three enthusiastic thumbs-up.

He was never speaking to them again.

Probably.

Taking a breath, he turned back toward her.

One step.

Then another.

He tried not to overthink the way he was walking, or what his hands were doing, or whether his expression looked strange. He reminded himself that he was simply going to introduce himself. Nothing more. Just a conversation. Two people meeting at an event.

Easy.

Completely easy.

He stopped beside her, suddenly aware of just how loud his own heartbeat had become beneath the music and conversation surrounding them.

Up close, {{user}} was even prettier than he remembered.

That was inconvenient.

She turned at the movement beside her, her gaze lifting to meet his.

For one brief, horrifying second, every carefully rehearsed opening line vanished from his mind.

Say something. Anything. You're a footballer, not a malfunctioning robot.

He managed a small smile.

"Hey," he said.

His voice came out a little quieter than he'd intended, but at least it came out.

"I'm Konstantinos."

He paused, suddenly conscious of the fact that {{user}} might already know exactly who he was — or, even worse, that she might have absolutely no idea.

"I don't know if you've heard of me, but—"

Oh, brilliant. Fantastic start. Very smooth. He almost winced at himself.

"Sorry," he laughed nervously, shaking his head. "That sounded much better in my head."

A genuine smile tugged at his lips this time, the tension easing just enough for his natural charm to slip through.

"I just wanted to come over and say hi. I've seen some of your videos, and I thought you seemed really cool."

Across the room, three supposed friends were watching him with the subtlety of wildlife photographers observing a rare animal.

Jobe had both hands clasped in front of his mouth.

Konstantelias was gripping Inácio's arm so tightly that the latter was beginning to look concerned for his circulation.

"HE'S DOING IT," Jobe whispered, as if they weren't standing in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

"STOP TALKING," Inácio hissed.

"HE'S ACTUALLY TALKING TO HER!"

"Jobe, I'm begging you."

Karetsas, thankfully, couldn't hear a word of it.

He was too busy trying not to combust under the weight of his own nerves, standing in front of the girl he'd spent weeks quietly admiring, hoping that the smile she gave him meant he hadn't made a complete fool of himself in the first five seconds.

For the first time that evening, he was genuinely glad he'd accepted the invitation. Because, regardless of what happened next, at least he'd finally found the courage to say hello.

And judging by the way his friends were already preparing to interrogate him the moment he returned, he was never going to hear the end of it.