The air between us turns molten, quiet, charged.
By the time we leave, the group is buzzing with energy.
Clara and Adrian walk ahead. Genny and Maya fall behind them. Dante and Cole argue playfully about pool shots. Gio taps the door frame twice before exiting—some goalie superstitionhe absorbed from Declan–Zoë rolling her eyes at him as she follows.
And me?
I walk beside Declan.
Not touching.
Not speaking.
But completely aware of him.
And he is completely aware of me.
The cold air outside is sharp, but I barely feel it. I’m too focused on the warmth radiating from him, the way his stride matches mine without thought, the silent rhythm we seem to fall into automatically.
Clara glances back.
She sees everything.
She nudges Zoë.
Zoë smirks.
Adrian walks near us for a second, slow enough to catch the vibe. He says nothing, but he gives Declan a barely-there nod.
And Declan?
He keeps pace with me like it’s instinct.
Like being beside me is the only place his body knows how to be now.
We stop at the point where the paths split—one toward my dorm, one toward the players’ apartments.
Declan looks at me.
I look at him.
Something heavy and unsaid stretches between us—warm, dangerous, close enough to touch.
A breath away from something else entirely.
Clara’s voice carries from ahead. “Talia! C’mon!”
I swallow. “See you tomorrow?”
He nods once. “Yeah.”
His voice is low. Controlled. But warmed at the edges.
I turn toward the dorms, pulse hot in my throat.
I don’t look back until I reach the door.
He’s still there.
