—
Joshua
I dragged my palms over my face, elbows on my knees, trying not to snap at anyone else. They were all watching me like I might explode again, and maybe I would’ve, until my eyes caught something by my side.
A folded piece of paper.
At first, I thought one of the guys left it, but no, I didn’t see anyone walk over, but I was always feeling a presence move behind me. Her. It had to be her.
I picked it up, slow, careful, like it might vanish if I moved too fast. My chest went tight when I saw the messy handwriting, crooked but hers.
Don’t overwork :)
That was it. That was all she wrote.
But fuck me, it might as well have been a knife to the chest. Because she thought about me. She noticed. While I was too busy tearing everyone apart, she sat there watching, and instead of hating me for it, she was worried.
And the smiley face… Christ. It was uneven, drawn, as if she hesitated before finishing it, but it gutted me more than anything else. Nobody cared enough to tell me to take a breath, to rest. Nobody. But she did. And she added that stupid, crooked smile like she actually wanted me to believe it.
I pressed the note in my fist, holding it so tight that the paper crumpled. But I didn’t let go. Couldn’t. I turned, slowly, and there she was. Her hands fidgeted with the notebook that was lying flat on her lap. She looked pale, wide-eyed, panic all over her face like she thought I was about to tear the note in half, toss it, scream, or something. She didn’t get it. She had no fucking clue what this was doing to me.
I stood, not trusting myself to speak, and walked the few steps toward her. Her body tensed as if she were ready to bolt, but I didn’t even look at her. I reached down, grabbed my jacket off the bench beside her, and without a word shoved the note into the inside pocket. Safe. Close. Mine.
Only then did I sit back down, elbows on my knees, head hanging as if nothing had just happened. But I knew she saw. And maybe it wasn’t enough to calm her panic, but it was the only way I knew how to say it.How to tell her that I’ll do just that. I won’t overwork.
The whistle cut through the air, sharp, pulling me back. I shoved myself up, jogging onto the field with the others. My pulse was still high, but something in me… wasn’t boiling anymore.
The note. Her words. That stupid little smiley face. It sat in my jacket pocket like it weighed a thousand fucking pounds, dragging me down but keeping me steady all at once.
I didn’t bark orders at anyone anymore. My voice wasn’t clipped or sharp, just neutral. I called out names, made soft passes, eased the tempo. And the team felt it; they always did.
The tension that had wrapped around them like barbed wire started to loosen. Their shoulders weren’t so tight. Movements weren’t so stiff. They looked… relieved.
And when I glanced over at her. She was watching the field like she always did. But this time her posture wasn’t small, wasn’t curling in on itself. She had relaxed just a little. Like she’d been carrying their fear too, and when mine broke, hers did too.
I exhaled slowly, passing the ball off.This girl is taking over me, and I keep letting her. God, if only she knew how fucking weak I am for her and her stupid lopsided smiley face.
Minutes bled into drills, drills into hours, until sweat was stinging my eyes and my body moved on nothing but muscle memory. The whistle finally tore from my lips, sharp, final. Practice over. The sound should’ve settled me, but it didn’t. It only rattled inside my skull, bouncing around with the image I couldn’t seem to scrub away. Her.
She wasn’t even looking at me. She was looking somewhere else. I followed her gaze and felt the fire she had cooled two hours ago crawling back. It’s him. Miles. Himagain.
I watched his jog slow down into that easy saunter as he reached her. Thatsmile. Effortless, wide, patient. And worse? She gives it back. A shy one. Like his presence was her natural blush.
The others were stretching, laughing, and collapsing on the turf with sweat dripping down their faces. They were makingjokes and laughing among themselves while I was here, burning all by myself again.
Behind him were two more people. The Aly girl and Matthew Gray, another familiar face, another rich golden boy. They were talking about something, completely oblivious to how close Miles was to my fucking girl.
Why isn’t she next to her? Why isn’t she taking care of her friend? Aurora clearly finds it hard being around new people—for fuck's sake.
I watched their every movement. From Miles standing too close, to Matthew leaning down to her while introducing himself.
These fuckers are treating her as if she were deaf, always standing too fucking close, leaning down, breathing in her personal space.
My jaw ground. My vision narrowed. Every single sound—the players talking, cleats stomping, someone uncapping a water bottle—it all drowned out under one steady thrum:mine, mine, mine.
She didn’t know it, but she was mine. Always had been. Always would be. And now she was giving him…them,what she never gave me. Her voice. Her attention. Her soft fucking smile.
I couldn’t stop staring at Miles’s hand brushing hers as he pointed at something in her notebook. Couldn’t stop imagining his fingers sliding into hers, holding her. My chest burned. My lungs felt too tight. And then she looked at him. Really looked. Like he was someone safe. Someone she could… trust.
