Be proud - Part VII

The café was busy, but at their table by the window, time felt slow.
Martin sat in his usual sportswear — clean kicks, fitted joggers, a grey hoodie. Still relaxed, still guarded.
Across from him: Yu — boots planted wide, jeans tight, polo crisp, suspenders perfect, his smooth shaved head catching the afternoon light like a crown.

Yu stirred his coffee once, twice. Then leaned in.

Yu:
“I swear to you, Martin… giving in to it — to the fetish, to the truth — was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
He smiled. Calm. Proud.
“No more hiding. No more pretending I’m into something I’m not. I’m free. I’m proud. I’m real.”

Martin didn’t speak.
His eyes kept drifting to Yu’s boots. His jawline. His grin.
Then back to his own reflection in the café window — soft, hesitant, waiting.

Yu:
“You’ve always felt it too. I know you have.”
He tilted his head slightly, voice lower.
“So why not just do it? Why not just... stop faking?”

Martin looked up.

Yu (smiling wider):
“Why not start right now? I mean... why not just—”

The air smelled like new fabric, rubber, and something else… possibility.
Yu stood confidently, arms slightly wide in his boots and braces. His bald head gleamed under the shop lights.
Martin, still in his signature tank top and denim shorts, hesitated in front of a rack full of tight Adidas trackpants and clingy compression gear.

Yu (grinning):
“Come on, Martin. Sportswear isn’t even that kinky. You’re practically already there.”
He nodded at Martin’s tank top.
“Honestly? Compared to latex or boots, your thing’s cute.”

Martin (laughing, blushing slightly):
“It’s not a thing. I mean… okay. Maybe a bit.”
He picked up a pair of shiny black trackpants with white stripes.
Held them up.
Then looked at Yu.
Then back to the pants.

Yu (soft, but firm):
“You wanna know the secret?”
Martin raised an eyebrow.
Yu leaned in.
“It’s not about the fabric. It’s about letting go.”

Martin nodded. Slowly.
Martin:
“…Alright. I’ll try one on. Just to see.”

Martin sat in the chair, flushed with energy from head to toe.
The Barça kit hugged his frame, and he looked like he belonged in a post-match locker room.
Yu leaned casually against the mirror, boots crossed, arms folded.

Yu (grinning):
“Alright, you’ve got the gear. Now you need the look.”

Martin:
“The Ronaldo look?”

Yu:
“Exactly. But not the old Ronaldo. I mean Cristiano.
Sharp fade. Sculpted top. That arrogant striker energy.”
He smirked.
“The kind of hair that makes people stare. And submit.”

Martin laughed, but something flickered in his eyes. He looked in the mirror again — and nodded slowly.

Martin:
“Yeah… give me that.”

Yu:
“Say it properly.”

Martin (smirking):
“Give me the Cristiano.”

The barber turned on the clippers. The hum filled the room.

Yu (softly, proudly):
“Now you’re getting it.”

Martin was still running his fingers through his new cut — the tight, high fade blending seamlessly into a sleek, sharp top.
Razor part. Zero fluff. Maximum attitude.
Cristiano would’ve approved.

He looked up at Yu, who was standing just in front of the chair, boots planted, arms casually at his side, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

Martin:
“Okay. Wow. That’s… actually insane. I look—”
He paused, checked the mirror again.
“Like someone you wouldn’t mess with.”

Yu (grinning):
“You look like someone who knows who he is.”
He nodded, approvingly.
“And who probably benches more now, just from the haircut alone.”

Martin laughed, then leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees.

Martin:
“This changes things. Like, I don’t know why… but it really does.”

Yu just smiled.
“You get it now.”
He tapped Martin’s chest lightly, over the Barça crest.
“You’re not just wearing the look. You’re living it.”

Martin exhaled, slow. Smiling.
Maybe a little dangerous now.

Martin:
“So… what’s next?”

Yu raised an eyebrow.

Yu (teasing):
“Boots? Just kidding, let's enjoy some fresh air!"

The sun was high, the Castro flags fluttering overhead, and the pavement beneath their boots felt like a catwalk.
Yu and Martin were deep in animated banter when a voice called out behind them.

Jonas.

Dark navy suit, crimson tie, and that unmistakable ginger shine. He was just leaving a meeting — or pretending to — when he spotted them.

His eyes widened the moment he clocked Martin’s Barça kit and Yu’s tight Levi’s with yellow braces.

Jonas:
“Holy shit… You two look incredible.”

Martin grinned.
“You mean this?” He gestured to the full football fit.
“Yu made me do it. And I haven’t looked back since.”

Yu added with a smirk:
“He was ready. Just needed a little nudge.”

Jonas nodded slowly, smile softening, thoughtful.

Jonas:
“I’ve been thinking about that. About… I don’t know, just being real. I’ve always had a thing for leather caps and Adidas Gazelles. But—”
He stopped himself, embarrassed.

Martin clapped him on the back.

Martin:
“Dude. Say no more. You’re among brothers now.”

Yu leaned in, voice low and playful:

Yu:
“Then what are you waiting for, Jonas?”