Nick

The court was quiet under the moonlight and the exterior floodlights. Nick sat on the bleachers, resting his elbows on his knees, still feeling the heat of the game coursing through his body. She was down below, in front of him, drinking water, with her hair slightly disheveled and her jersey clinging to the sweat of the match. Every movement she made, every sip, every breath, seemed to resonate directly with Nick.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. The way her muscles tensed as she stretched, how her jersey clung softly to her torso, even the way she tilted her head to drink water... it all awakened something primitive and visceral within him. It was impossible not to feel it: his heart was racing, his blood seemed to be flowing faster, and an unexpected warmth was building in his chest.

"Great..." Nick muttered to himself, with that mix of sarcasm and tension that characterized him. "This... this isn't fair." His eyes roamed over every detail, trying not to seem too obvious, but he couldn't help but look away. Every gesture she made was like a magnet, and Nick felt himself trapped in a silence that was almost complicit.

She looked up, smiling slightly, and Nick quickly looked away, taking a deep breath. He tried to calm down, but he couldn't help but feel the presence of her, the way she dominated the court even after the game, made him feel completely vulnerable and yet completely captivated.

"Damn it..." he whispered, resting his head in one hand. "This is... too much." The night was filled with a comfortable silence, only interrupted by the sound of breathing and the rustle of clothing as they wiped away sweat. Nick remained there, watching her, trapped between his desire and his usual inner sarcasm, knowing that no rational thought could compete with what he felt in that moment.

The afternoon light streamed through the window, casting golden lines across Nick's rumpled bed. He sat propped against the headboard, his backpack open beside him and notes scattered over the bedspread. His pencil moved back and forth over the page, focused, calculating figures and solving problems meticulously.

She, on the other hand, was curled up against him from one side, resting her head on his shoulder with her arms wrapped around his torso. She whispered inconsequential things, little phrases, some funny comment about the homework, about the show they'd watched earlier, about any silly thing that made Nick glance up for a second.

"Hey..." he murmured, not taking his eyes off the notes. "I need to concentrate."

"I know, I know," she replied, resting her cheek on his chest. "But don't look at me like that... I just want a little attention, that's all."

Nick sighed, tilting his head to brush his forehead softly against hers. The stress of school, the trainings, everything he carried on his shoulders disappeared for an instant in that hug.

"Just one minute," he said, smiling resignedly. "But then I go back to the numbers, okay?"

She laughed softly, happy with that minimal concession. She snuggled in closer to him, curling up a bit, and Nick closed his eyes, letting the silence fill with the everyday tranquility they shared.

Lucas would drop by later to claim some silly food or laughter, but for now, in that room, with the light fading and the notes scattered around, everything was perfect. A simple moment, routine, but full of warmth and familiarity.

The hospital hallway smelled of disinfectant and wilted flowers in the reception vases. Nick sat in the metal chairs, hunched over himself, his hands clasped together and his gaze lost on the floor. Fear pierced through him like a cold stab: the thought of his mother's cancer returning paralyzed him. Every sound of rolling carts and hurried footsteps brought back the worst moments from the previous years.

Suddenly, he saw her appear. Without thinking, he jumped up and walked towards her, as if drawn by an invisible magnet. When he reached her, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent.

Her hands rested on his back, holding him with all the strength she could muster. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of the hug calm him, even if only for a little while. The tension in his chest eased, and for a moment, the world became a safe place again.

The hospital was still filled with noise and movement, but in that instant, for Nick, only she existed, and the act of holding her.

Nick walked down the street that led to his mother’s house, tired after a week of training and classes, thinking how normal it would be to find her calm —maybe reading or resting. He wasn’t expecting any surprises... until he opened the door.

There she was, moving around the kitchen with a disarming naturalness, cooking something. Her clothes were casual yet elegant, her cup of white tea sat on the table, and the way she organized everything without even realizing she was being watched left him speechless.

“What... are you doing here?” Nick couldn’t help but mutter, his tone somewhere between sarcasm and confusion. “Didn’t expect to find you.”

His mother, sitting on the nearby couch, smiled brightly and nodded with enthusiasm:

“What a surprise to see you! And look who decided to cook for us today.”

Lucas was there too, sitting to the side, watching the scene with that usual mix of amusement and patience he always had with Nick. He didn’t say a word —just existed as part of the picture, a silent witness to Nick’s typical emotional chaos.

Nick took a deep breath and frowned, half annoyed, half amused:

“Great...” he said, walking closer to her. “Here I am, thinking I’d spend a quiet day with Mom, and you’re here... cooking like I don’t even exist. Didn’t warn me, huh?”

She stayed silent, moving between the stove and the table, and even though Nick couldn’t hear what she was saying, her presence alone was enough to make his sarcasm fade a little, replaced by an involuntary smile. Lucas let out a quiet sigh from his corner, and Nick murmured, amused and resigned:

“Perfect... the perfect chaos, once again.”_

Nick stepped into the apartment hallway with his arms crossed, lips pressed tight, and a frown that made it seem like the entire universe had just played a cruel joke on him. His plan had been to go pick her up, keep things calm and smooth... and yet, there she was —standing at the door with that effortlessly elegant air that always drove him crazy, holding her cup of white tea, and wearing that distracted smile that seemed to say, “I do what I want.”

Lucas stood behind her, silent as ever, perfectly dressed and ready to go out, but—as always—playing the quiet witness to Nick’s personal show.

“Seriously?!” Nick exclaimed, stepping forward only to step back again, throwing his hands up in exaggerated frustration. “I... I was going to pick you up, you know? That was my idea! My perfect plan! And you— you just show up by yourself like it’s no big deal!”

He took a deep breath, rolled his eyes, and let out a theatrical sigh that practically echoed through the hallway. Lucas simply shrugged, clearly amused by the mix of stress and drama radiating from Nick.

“Great...” Nick muttered, speaking more to himself than anyone else. “Exactly what I needed: being late to my own plan, with Lucas as a witness... and you smiling like nothing happened. Perfect, perfect, perfect...” His words sped up as he gestured wildly with his hands. “Absolute chaos!”

She just stood there, calm, adjusting her clothes and holding her tea, completely unfazed by the emotional storm Nick was throwing around. Every small movement she made felt like an unintentional provocation, and Nick—half frustrated, half mesmerized—felt his heart beating too fast even as he tried to stay in control.

“Fine...” he finally muttered, dragging out the words. “We’ll just go out... but this isn’t over, okay?”_

The smell of freshly baked pizza felt comforting. It was one of those places Nick knew by heart: the warm lights, the steady murmur of conversations, the clinking of glasses and plates in the background. He had a routine there —same table, same pizza, same company. And for a while, everything felt right.

Until she spoke.

“What are we?” she asked suddenly, without warning, without mercy.

Nick froze, the slice of pizza halfway between his plate and his mouth. His brain just... stopped. What are we? he repeated in his head, searching for a logical answer, but all he found was an uncomfortable buzz and the ticking of the clock marking the seconds.

He swallowed. Cleared his throat. Pretended he hadn’t heard. And instead of answering, he grabbed another slice of pizza and slid it toward her.

“Here, it’s still hot,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

It was his clumsy way of changing the subject, of pretending he was in control when, in reality, his heart was pounding in his chest. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to answer... it was that the question completely disarmed him. So while she looked at him in silence, waiting for something more, Nick hid behind the only things he knew how to do: eat, fake calm, and pretend that the taste of melted cheese could cover everything he wasn’t brave enough to say.

The night still smelled of wine and laughter when they reached the door. Nick walked her there, hands in his pockets, heart beating to a rhythm that didn’t match his steps.

She opened it, turned on a dim light, and silence slipped between them with that electric tension that only exists when everything has already been said without words.

“Your parents...” he murmured, more out of nerves than caution.

She shook her head with a smile —the kind that dismantled his self-control as easily as a spark on gunpowder. “They’re not here,” she said, her eyes glowing beneath the warm light of the hallway.

Nick hesitated for barely a second, but it was enough for her to gently pull on his shirt and guide him to the couch. The kiss came like a long-contained sigh —awkward at first, then more urgent, deeper. Nick held her by the waist, as if afraid that if he let go, the moment would vanish.

When they pulled apart, she looked at him with that dangerous calm —the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want. Nick swallowed hard, his pulse throbbing against his temples.

“We shouldn’t...” he whispered, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

She only smiled, and without breaking eye contact, leaned in slowly, her fingers grazing his jaw before disappearing beneath his gaze. Nick went still, air caught in his throat, heart pounding with every barely hinted movement.

His fingers trembled, his breath escaped in a stifled moan, and for a few seconds, the world seemed to stop.

The sun filtered through the trees on campus, giving noon that warm glow that Nick, at any other time, would’ve found pleasant. But not today. Today he was sitting across from Adrien —the damn French exchange student— and every word that came out of his mouth was like an irritating buzz he couldn’t shut off.

Adrien kept talking non-stop, smiling with that overconfident charm. “Ah, mon ami, you’re lucky to have such a beautiful girl with you.”

Nick looked up just enough, chewing with fake calm. “She’s not my girl,” he replied flatly.

Adrien smiled, tilting his head. “Oh? Then you won’t mind if I start winning her over, oui?”

Nick tightened his grip on the cup, feeling the ice crack inside. She, oblivious to the venom in the air, got up from the table with her usual energy, and he followed her with his eyes as she walked away to buy something. The moment she disappeared into the crowd, Nick let out a deep sigh.

Adrien leaned forward, wearing that smile that seemed designed to provoke. “Relax, mon pote. I’m just kidding... though I must say, she does seem happier with me.”

Nick slowly lifted his gaze, and that crooked, dangerously calm smile appeared effortlessly. “You know what, Adrien?” he said in a low, almost amused tone. “I don’t mind you talking to her... as long as you remember the joke ends when I stop laughing.”

The Frenchman hesitated slightly. “You’re very serious, my friend.”

Nick leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “No. I just don’t have much patience for clowns.”

Adrien forced out an empty laugh just as she returned, bringing with her that light air that seemed to erase any tension. Nick watched her for a moment; his expression softened slightly, his shoulders relaxing on instinct. Then, without taking his eyes off her, he murmured just loud enough for the Frenchman to hear:

“Some things just aren’t meant to be touched.”

The gym still smelled of sweat, rubber, and effort. The high lights flickered a little, and the echo of bouncing balls mixed with the laughter of players already heading out. Nick had arrived with a grin on his face, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hair still damp from a quick post-practice shower. He’d come to see her, to wait for her, to pull that stupid move of leaning against the wall and pretending he wasn’t really waiting at all.

But the first thing he saw was him.

A tall, lean guy still wearing his training uniform. He stood in front of her, smiling in a way that seemed a little too easy to Nick. She was laughing too, tilting her head to the side, wearing that smile he liked more than he’d ever admit.

Nick froze for a few seconds, his grip tightening on the strap of his backpack. He could feel his pulse rising up his neck. It wasn’t a dramatic scene —they weren’t holding hands or anything— but something about the familiarity of it lit a spark in his chest.

He walked toward them. He didn’t say anything at first, just stopped close enough for the other guy to notice. His voice came out a bit lower than usual, that almost casual tone that fooled no one.

“Done with practice?” he asked her, without even glancing at the other guy.

She nodded, surprised by his sudden appearance. Nick ran a hand through his hair, trying to hide the tension.

“Great,” he said, giving the guy a brief smile that wasn’t entirely friendly. “Thought I’d lost you among all the... motivated coaches.”

The other guy laughed awkwardly. She frowned, and Nick just raised an eyebrow, shrugging before adding with a fake sigh:

“Are we heading out? Or... are you staying with your new fan club?”

The comment came out more jealous than he meant, and he knew it by the way she looked at him. But it was too late —Nick turned his gaze away, trying to recover his laid-back demeanor, though inside he was thinking only one thing. He hated the way her laugh sounded with someone else.

The party was in full swing —laughter, warm lights, and the smell of freshly served food filled the air. Nick sat beside his mother and siblings, trying to enjoy the event, though his patience was starting to wear thin. Lucas was in the back, as usual, sneaking in with that expression that clearly said, “I hope I survive this.”

She stepped onto the small stage, microphone in hand, with that confidence that always disarmed him. She began to talk about everyone who had supported her, mentioning names and gestures with a tone full of warmth and emotion. Nick relaxed a little, ready to hear something sweet... until she smiled and said:

“And of course, I want to thank my boyfriend... Lucas.”

Nick felt the world stop for a second. His eyes widened, his hands tensed on the edge of his chair, and his heart skipped a beat. All his self-control evaporated in an instant.

“WHAT?!” he shouted, jumping to his feet and storming toward the stage, steps quick and voice carrying the perfect mix of anger and desperation. “Lucas is NOT your boyfriend! I’m your boyfriend!”

Lucas froze, adjusting his tie, eyes wide open, clearly wondering how he’d ended up in the middle of this madness.

The guests began to react: some covered their mouths, others let out nervous laughs, a few exchanged confused and astonished looks, and several murmured among themselves, trying to process the scene unfolding before them.