Archive of Our Own ^beta

There’s a palpable thrill running through the musty air of the locker room as Sapnap sits down on the bench next to Callahan. He looks at him and nods mutely, nerves clear in his face.

     Sapnap revels in the few moments of silence before the door slams open and George, Jack and Wilbur come spilling in, talking loudly. Dream trails behind them, eyes fixed on the back of George’s head, but he smiles when he sees Sapnap, jogging over to sit on his other side. Callahan seems to sense the oncoming change of volume because he disappears to his locker. George takes his place and throws an arm around Sapnap’s shoulder.

     “You nervous?” George asks. “It’s a big game.”

     “They’re all big games,” Dream says like he always does, giving George a stern look. “You start thinking any game’s small, then that’s when you start losing.”

      “Yes, Captain.” George mock-salutes and Dream laughs, his sternness turning fond.

     Sapnap rolls his eyes. “Stop making me third-wheel in my own locker room.” The door opens, Bad and Skeppy coming in with energy drinks, and Sapnap can briefly hear the cheering from the stadium. “Do we know if there any changes to the other team?”

     “Tommy is replacing Punz for this game,” Dream says. “Punz’s ankle is still fucked.”

     “Tommy?”

     “Tall, blonde, British,” Dream tells him. “Only a kid.”

    “The annoying one?” Dream nods and Sapnap hums absently. “Ranboo should probably go after him. They’re a similar build but Ranboo has the height advantage.”

     “I’ll tell him,” George says, getting up and heading over to Ranboo. He looks tiny compared to the giant teenager and Sapnap sees the ever-present concern on Dream’s face. No matter how many football games George is in – and wins – Dream’ll never stop worrying over him.

     “He’s fine,” Sapnap tells him, and Dream looks caught out, meeting Sapnap’s eyes guiltily.

     “He’s so small.” Dream sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know,” he adds when Sapnap shoots him a look. George might be only an inch taller than Sapnap and he’s slender, a dancer’s body rather than a football player’s, but he’s the fastest on the team and has a mean throw. Besides, him and Dream work perfectly together once they’re in the heat of the game and Dream’s too preoccupied to worry about him. “Oh, uh, there’s something else.” Dream looks sheepish all of a sudden. “Karl’s back.”

     “Fantastic,” Sapnap mutters.

The lights are bright as the camera pan over the team and Sapnap tries to look confidently into the lens. Beside him, George does his award-winning smile and Sapnap can already see the fancams on Twitter. George plays up to them – and gets a hell of a lot of money because of it. Sapnap, however, has always been conscious of the millions of eyes on them, and barely offers more than a smile when it comes to the televised events. He leaves the interviews to Dream, too.

     “Five minutes until game time,” Wilbur calls out then heads over to Niki, his favourite television reporter, for an exclusive pre-game interview. Sapnap considers following him but ends up doing what he usually does and hangs around with Dream and George. George is playing up to the cameras again, giggling and biting his lip as Dream talks to him. Sapnap can almost read the dozens of articles about the pair that come with every game.

     Dream and George – are they touching a different kind of ball? is Sapnap’s favourite recent headline.

     “You’re such an attention whore,” Sapnap says when Dream goes to say good luck to Quackity – the captain of the opposing team. George snorts. “Playing up to the internet.”

     “Brand deals, Nick.” George wanders over to the drinks table and Sapnap follows. “They’re paying for my holiday home in Brazil.”

     Sapnap can’t argue with that, grabbing a bottle of water and sipping at it. He scans the field; it’s good weather for a game, cold but clear. Then his eyes rest on a familiar figure, leaning over the barricade as he coos at a baby. Sapnap’s stomach churns with irritation at Karl Jacobs’ floppy hair and wide smile. He doesn’t even know why he hates the guy so much. He’s just—annoying. He’s not cut out for football. He’s too nice, too forgiving after every misplay, too easy to cry and shower his emotions all over the field. Sapnap plays football to get away from his real life, from his problems, and Karl just seems to drag all his in every game, in every post-match interview, and social media post.

     He’s just open, Dream had said once, when Sapnap was ranting about him. You could learn something from him.

     “Karl’s back,” George comments, his eyes following Sapnap’s stare. “That’s good.”

    “Is it?”

    “Yes.” George nudges into him. “He went through a hard time, Sapnap. You could do with being a little nicer to him.”

    “He’s the enemy!” Sapnap protests. Okay, maybe it was awful that Karl went on hiatus because of the slew of hate comments he got online after he did that photoshoot. It had been a good photoshoot. Artistically speaking. Sapnap had happened upon it on Twitter – photos of Karl in a white skirt, nails painted stark black in comparison, his long slender body sprawled out on a silk bed. But it was provocative in a way that most football fans didn’t understand. Sapnap had tweeted out his support for Karl but inside, he’d been…conflicted. Because was it so hard to just not be so—controversial? He’d inexplicably wanted to bundle Karl back up in his football uniform.

     “The enemy.” George rolls his eyes. “Like Punz is the enemy? Your drinking buddy?”

    “Shut up. That’s different.”

    George just rolls his eyes again and jogs over to talk to Quackity. Sapnap only has a moment to hope George doesn’t let their tactics slip before he’s distracted by Karl again. He’s gotten hold of the baby now, pulling faces as it giggles. A few cameras turn towards Karl, no doubt hoping to catch some footage they can use in their report about his miraculous return to the team, stronger than ever, and Karl practically puts on a show, doing something to make the baby laugh properly. Sapnap’s chest tightens in disgust. George might use some dirty tactics for media attention but using a baby had to be the lowest of the low.

     “What a douchebag,” Sapnap mutters to himself. Then the whistle blows and he focuses on the game at hand.

After the victory lap, Sapnap ends back near Karl’s team, out of breath and beaming. The game didn’t really win them any championships or anything but it’s put them in a good position on the league tables and morale’s high. Cameras are everywhere but for once, Sapnap doesn’t care about them, too busy drowning himself in a litre of cold water. It splashes over his face, wetting his hair and dampening his shirt enough to abate his sweating. Some of it drips down his face and he opens his mouth to gulp whatever he can down. He loves playing football but it’s after a game that he enjoys the most. When the adrenaline has left his body and he’s faced with the roaring of the crowd, the reporters all talking to their cameras about the game, his fellow team members cheering and congratulating each other. The sensory overload.

      It feels almost sexual in its gratification. Like the end of a very good hook-up.

     “That was such a good game,” a voice says and Sapnap opens his eyes to find Skeppy, Bad and Ranboo beside him. The former two are grinning, looking as satisfied as Sapnap feels, but Ranboo is searching the crowds.

     “I saw Tubbo over by Tommy,” Sapnap tells him and Ranboo lights up, running off to find his friends. Sapnap doesn’t have the energy to lecture about fraternizing with the enemy anymore. To be honest, he doesn’t really care. He goes out drinking with Punz whenever he’s in town. It’s just…well, it started as an excuse for him not having to say yes when Karl invited him out to karaoke with him and Quackity.

     Sapnap stands around as Skeppy and Bad chatter next to him, exchanging compliments and going over mistakes. Sapnap doesn’t think it matters. He never likes discussing the game after they’ve played it – Dream and Wilbur are the tactical ones, the ones they send to talk to the press.

     He’s almost zoned out, watching Jack and George playfully shove each other around, when he hears a familiar voice.

     “Congrats, guys!” Sapnap turns and suddenly Karl is there, all up in his space, grinning stupidly. His hair falls over his eyes and Sapnap resists the urge to push it back. Honestly, how can he even see half the time? He’s got a ear piercing, Sapnap notices. That’s new. Not that he keeps track of Karl’s appearance. But the glint of silver is difficult not to notice, shining under the stadium lights. “You played so well.”

     “I know we did,” Sapnap says before Bad can be nice and derail the conversation into asking what Karl and his team are doing this evening. The last thing Sapnap wants is to have to celebrate with them.

      Karl’s smile doesn’t waver. “George has a good arm,” he says. “I saw the pass he did to Callahan. A hell of an arm. So honking good.” Honking. It would be annoying coming from anyone else’s mouth but the fact that Karl pulls it off – makes it almost endearing – makes Sapnap’s skin hot with irritation. This whole good-boy-innocent thing has to be an act.

     “He’d have had a perfect game,” Bad says when it seems clear Sapnap isn’t responding. “If he hadn’t fallen over.”

      Sapnap remembers how George had gone flying a few metres across the ground, shoulder-barged by someone – he thinks Velvet – and winces. He’d landed on his knees, thankfully, using his hands to prop himself up, but it could have been a nasty injury if he’d landed on his neck or his back. Dream would have killed someone if George hadn’t gotten back up, shaking himself off and promising he was fine.

     “Nasty scrape on his knees, I bet,” Karl says.

     “Not the first time George has hurt his knees,” Sapnap says, all the innuendo in the world in his voice. It’s not his best joke – not even in the top fifty – and Bad rolls his eyes with a half-hearted Sapnap. But Karl laughs. A fully belly laugh that takes Sapnap by surprise. He glances at him and notes the crinkles by his eyes, the way he covers his mouth with his hands as he giggles. Because he does – giggle. Sapnap has never heard anyone laugh like that before. It’s so fucking cute.

      Karl’s laugh tapers out and for a second, Sapnap worries he’d voiced his errant thought but then Karl looks over at Quackity with a smile. “I should go,” Karl says. “Bye, guys. And congrats, again.” He nods at Bad and Skeppy then turns to look at Sapnap. Sapnap’s expecting a nod, a smile, but instead he’s surprised once again by Karl Jacobs. Karl touches a hand to his arm, just below his shoulder, and squeezes. Sapnap’s first thought is his hands are so small and the second is what the fuck. He feels himself blush as Karl runs off, looping an arm around Quackity’s neck and dragging him to the side. Quackity is whispering in his ear, smirking, and Sapnap looks away. He feels like he’s intruding.

     Bad is oblivious to the tension but Skeppy catches Sapnap’s eye. “Karl’s nice,” he says.

    “Shut up.”

The celebration leads to Sapnap’s head pounding and his mouth clogging up with cottony dryness when he wakes up the next morning but he doesn’t mind so much. He had a good night and it’s nothing a good breakfast can’t fix. He reaches for his water bottle by the side of the bed and hears a sleepy groan beside him.

     He freezes for a second before chancing a look over his shoulder. It’s just Wilbur, rubbing a hand over his face, and then Jack next to him, almost falling off the edge of the bed. “Do you two not have your own fucking rooms?” Sapnap mutters, shoving Wilbur aside as he chugs tepid water. It makes him feel a tad better – good enough to climb out of bed in search of a shirt. He ends up with what he assumes is Wilbur’s hoodie – the sleeves are too long – and pulls it on over his sweatpants.

      Wilbur and Jack stay motionless in his bed aside from Jack’s slight grasping of the sheets in an effort to not topple over the edge.

     “I’m grabbing breakfast,” Sapnap says then when they don’t respond, loudly adds, “hey, idiots!” The volume hurts his head but it’s worth it to see Jack fall off the bed, clutching his face and groaning.

      “Why couldn’t I wake up in Gogy’s bed?” Jack says before lying face-down in the carpet. Wilbur doesn’t stir and Sapnap leaves, making sure to slam the door behind him. He grins as he pads down the corridor, fishing his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. He’s got half a dozen notifications and texts his mom back as he goes down the elevator.

     The breakfast room is mostly empty, probably because the small hotel is filled with hungover football players who aren’t even conscious yet. Only Dream and George are sat at a corner table, oblivious to Sapnap’s entrance, as they chat over cereal. It’s so painfully domestic, reminiscent of the early mornings in their apartment, that Sapnap feels bad intruding like he usually does, choosing instead to tuck himself away at a table behind a potted plant. Once he’s claimed his table, he quickly grabs some bacon and a croissant, as well as enough coffee to supply their entire team.

     It’s peaceful as he eats, finishing his bacon before even touching his phone. There’s elevator music playing that would be unbearable in any other situation, but it soothes his hungover brain and he’s lulled into a false sense of security as he opens Twitter to—

     --a private message from Karl Jacobs.

     It’s the first message ever on the chat – the first time Karl has even said anything to him without at least one of their fellow team members being present. Sapnap returns to his feed without even reading it, panic rising high in his chest. Why is he so worried? It’s not like he’s done anything to Karl that’s suggestive or—it could just be a good game message or a business proposal. Sapnap’s slightly concerned that his mind had leapt straight to something sexual.

      He blames the hangover and gets lost in the scroll through Twitter. It’s mostly boring – team members retweeting articles about last night; congratulatory messages; Ranboo has posted photos of him, Tommy and Tubbo meeting some fans; Skeppy had Tweeted out a rating of the local Wendy’s. Then there’s the fan account. One of the few fan accounts he follows and he was reluctant enough to follow it because they’re football players, not some tween YouTuber, but Dream had insisted he ‘interact’ with the people. Normally, the account is neutral enough. Talking about plays and stats with the occasional thirst trap photo of one of them thrown in for good measure. But today it’s different. Today, it’s a photo of him and Karl with the caption have you guys seen this TikTok?

     The account doesn’t provide a link but one of the replies does and Sapnap clicks on it, dread weighing heavy in his stomach. It has almost a million views. Fuck.

     The video starts off fairly innocent – just a clip of him and Karl talking from last night then Sapnap sees himself make the George joke – the words thankfully unintelligible over the general noise of the stadium. Karl laughs in the clip like he did last night but Sapnap sees something he didn’t see before. Himself. Smiling at Karl with pure fondness in his eyes, a half-smile playing on his lips, looking perplexed but also, according to the comments, completely and utterly infatuated.

     The top comment is another linked video by the same account and to his relief, this one is less popular although its view count is still in the hundreds of thousands. This is an edit though and somehow more damning because someone had spent their time going through old interviews and games to pretend like Karl and Sapnap are in love.

     Sapnap doesn’t even remember half of it; he swears the moments are edited somehow. Because he did not smile at Karl like that two years ago when Karl scored the winning goal of a game. And last Christmas, at the charity event a load of people attended, Karl surely didn’t stare at him from across the room when he was talking to an interviewer. Another clip plays from a press conference where Karl says something and Sapnap is looking at him like he’s hung the fucking moon. Then last night – Karl playing with that stupid baby and Sapnap is watching him. The squeeze on his shoulder. Then Karl’s laugh again and Sapnap watching him giggle with a stupid smile.

     “Hey, buddy.” Sapnap almost jumps out of his skin as George and Dream sit on either side of him. George has a shit-eating grin on his face and he knows they know. “Been on Twitter?”

      “Yep.” Sapnap grimaces. “Seen the TikToks, too.”

     “Plural?” Dream eagerly snatches the phone out of Sapnap’s hands and watches over the video, delight clear on his face. “Oh wow, an edit, George!”

     George watches it over and an odd expression passes over his face, glancing up at Sapnap. “You know, you could have told us if you liked Karl. He’s a cool guy. We don’t mind.”

     “I know it’s hard being an out football player,” Dream adds in his serious I’m the dad of the team voice and Sapnap immediately feels like he’s being cornered by his parents at the kitchen table and asked nicely if he’s gay or not.

     “I’m not gay!” He protests then catches George’s expression. “There’s nothing wrong with it but I’m just not. And I don’t like Karl. Not like that. And not in any way. He’s annoying and…and stupid and—” He’s aware he sounds like a seven year old with a crush but he can’t stop himself. “He’s got a stupid face.”

     “Right – and me and Dream aren’t having sex.”

     “You guys aren’t having sex,” Sapnap points out and is met with grins from both sides. “Are you?”

     “I don’t know. Are we, Dream?”

     “I don’t know, George. Are we?” They both stand, giggling, and Dream ruffles Sapnap’s hair. He regrets ever befriending them. He should have let Dream rot in the playground they first met in aged eleven. “Message Karl. Say something or it looks weird.”

     “What am I meant to say?”

     “Tell him you’re not in love with him.” George shrugs. “Or tell him the truth.”

    “That is the truth!” Sapnap says but it falls on deaf ears as the two file out of the room. He eyes them up for a second longer until they disappear round the corner. Then he returns to his phone, presses the blinking notification waiting for him with Karl’s words on the other side.

Hey! This is rlly awkward but I don’t know if you’ve seen the stuff about us. Some account made a TikTok and it went viral and now everyone thinks we’re dating. Which we’re not. Obviously. Just wanted to apologise! Sorry!! Karl :)

     Sapnap is typing before he can stop himself, his eyes fixed on the screen. He can almost imagine Karl, bursting with nerves, painted nails tapping the screen in anticipation before pressing send. Or maybe Karl isn’t nervous. Maybe this is all normal for him, being accused of sleeping with the enemy. Or at least, having a crush on the enemy.

     It’s not your fault. No need to apologise. It’s just the internet, right?

     The reply is almost instant and Sapnap takes back what he thought about Karl not being nervous.

You sure? I feel really bad!! I’m sure you don’t want to be associated with me like that after everything. I don’t want it to ruin your career or anything. People suck.

     Karl, honestly, don’t worry about it. It’s just harmless fun. It’ll die down soon.

     Sapnap watches the three bubbles pop up then disappear then come back up again. Karl finally sends a heart emoji and Sapnap returns to his croissant, torn between irritation and an overwhelming feeling of something he can’t quite put his finger on.

To his horror and a deep struggle that plagues him every time he goes to type out a message, Sapnap maintains an ongoing conversation with Karl Jacobs. It starts with Karl sending him an update on the initial TikTok which has now garnered over two million views and then Sapnap responds with a drunken selfie of him and Callahan which Karl then replies to the next morning, teasing him.

     Sapnap tries to be blunt – he really does – because being friends with Karl isn’t something that he wants but the other man has a habit of burrowing his way under Sapnap’s skin and staying there, throughout practice and when he’s watching TV and even when he’s on dates.

     “Are you texting someone else?” The girl asks, her voice high-pitched and whiny, and Sapnap wants to visibly move away from her. Alas, he’s stuck sitting in a fancy restaurant, his soup starter cooling on the table in front of him. He can’t even remember what she’s called. It’s a blind date, set up by Skeppy, and he’s starting to think it’s some sort of practical joke.

     “No, no,” he tries to reassure her but she grabs the phone out of his hands.

     “Karl,” she says and her eyes scan over their most recent messages. Karl had sent him photos of his new shoot with Vanity Fair and he’d responded with the appropriate compliments. “What – are these some kind of nudes? Are you looking at nudes on a date with me?”

     “They’re not nudes!” Sapnap snatches his phone back. Karl’s photos are slightly…risqué. He’s shirtless, long legs clad in skin-tight leather, and he’s got fuck-me eyes trained on the camera. Sapnap had been careful to be nice but in all honesty, he feels the same about them as he did the others. He doesn’t understand why Karl feels the need to antagonise social media bullies. He wants to put Karl safely back in his football uniform, covered in a helmet and shin-pads for good measure. “It’s just—they’re photos.”

     “Jesus.” She rolls her eyes and grabs her purse. Sapnap can see where this is going and resigns himself to it. He gets to leave this god awful date anyway. “What are you—” She says, standing up, her lips pursed. “—fucking gay or something?”

     “No, what the fuck.” Sapnap feels heat climb up his neck in frustration but she’s already storming out of the restaurant, leaving him with a hefty bill.

“And she just left?” Punz asks.

     Sapnap grabs the hot sauce from the side and drowns his scrambled eggs in it, adding a few chilli flakes for good measure. He needs something to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth leftover from dinner. “Yeah.” He balances the phone on his shoulder, tucking it under his ear, as he makes his way into the living room. He slides into the seat next to George and rescues Punz from the static of his hoodie. “Dude, it was so fucking bad. She accused me of being gay.”

     “What? Why?” George turns to smirk at him. “Sapnap, were you being gay?”

     “He was looking at Karl’s nudes on the fucking date!” Punz calls and George looks ecstatic.

     “What? Sapnap, me and Dream were only joking about having a crush on him, you know? Jesus, the internet’s gonna freak the fuck out.” George goes on his phone and starts heavily typing.

     “He’s only in the other room, George. Just go fucking tell him in person,” Sapnap snaps, already knowing the recipient of George’s message. George pulls a face but jogs down the corridor. “What do I do if she tells someone?”

     “Deny, deny, deny, I guess.” Sapnap can hear Punz’s grin in the question that follows. “How often do you and Karl talk?”

     “A couple of times a week.” It’s not excessive – which Sapnap is thankful for because he still half-despises Karl’s annoying optimism and the fucking good he sees in everyone – but it’s more than Sapnap would like.

     “Oh, hey, did I tell you about the play Tommy came up with last week?” Punz says and Sapnap’s grateful for the conversation change. He lets Punz mindlessly chat through speaker as he checks his phone. Dream has messaged him.

Karl’s nudes?? Bro…

Not his nudes. Just a photoshoot. Dumbass.

Thought u didn’t like him.

I don’t.

     Although the effect of Sapnap’s statement is diminished slightly when he sees he has a notification from Karl and he ignores Punz revealing all of their team’s tactics in order to reassure Karl that his haircut is fine.

It’s been around two months since that disastrous date – and thankfully, nothing had come out about Sapnap looking at Karl Jacobs’ ‘nudes’ whilst at dinner with someone else. Skeppy apologised profusely for setting him up on the date, claiming that she was a friend of his sister’s who he’d thought was cool.

     Sapnap grabs his water bottle from the side before making his way out onto the field. He’d been late for practice, stuck in a too-hot Uber in a winding line of traffic since Dream and George had headed out for an early morning gym session without him. He really needs to buy a new car; he sorely regrets letting Wilbur drive his old truck into a tree when he was learning how to drive. Wilbur had apologised profusely and offered to pay but the truck was ancient anyway – and deemed a write-off by the mechanic.

     The sun beats down on him as he jogs to meet his teammates, already calling out his apologies when he realises they’re waiting for him. “Sorry! Traffic.” He gets closer and frowns when he sees no-one’s paying him much attention, all gathered in a circle around someone else. For a second, he assumes it’s George doing his usual thing where he flirts with Dream to get out of the training drills – then he sees George stood by Skeppy, arms folded over his chest. He doesn’t look happy and his frown deepens when he sees Sapnap approaching.

     “You won’t like this,” he says, stepping aside. Sapnap fills the gap he’s left in the team circle and is met with Dream, an arm flung around Karl’s shoulders with a triumphant grin on his face. Dream sees to be halfway through an explanation.

      “—and with Ranboo gone, we needed a new receiver.” Sapnap catches Dream’s eye and raises an eyebrow but Dream brushes him off in exchange for squeezing Karl’s shoulder. “They clearly weren’t paying him enough.”

     “It’s not just that,” Karl says quickly. His eyes sweep the team and rest on Sapnap, smiling slightly. Sapnap tries not to think of their last messages of Karl talking about his godson, only a few days ago. “You all know what happened with my photoshoot and me coming out. The team couldn’t have been more supportive – Alex is my best friend and as captain, he tried to make sure everything was fine but…he can’t control the management. They’ve been subtly trying to undermine and side-line me for months now. Alex knew I wasn’t happy and told me that you guys needed someone. So here I am.”

      “Our management is a lot more accepting,” Dream promises. George shifts behind Sapnap and when he turns to look at him, he sees an encouraging grin plastered on his face. Sapnap feels uneasy and he doesn’t know why. Is it just Karl’s presence here? Shouldering his way into Sapnap’s life when Sapnap had never wanted him in it in the first place. He’s reluctantly friendly with Karl, sure, but Karl just existing somehow sets off something in Sapnap.

     “Should we start the drills then?” Sapnap calls out.

     Dream shoots him an odd look but nods. “Bad, Skeppy, I want you to work with Karl for now. Show him the ropes and what we do around here. Then me, Techno and Wilbur will go over our game tactics with you later. The management pretty much let us do what we want – they know it works better than us being told what to do – so Callahan and George can go over the sponsorship and media stuff with you at some point.” He claps a solid hand on Karl’s back. “Welcome to the team.”

     “Thanks for having me.”

     Skeppy and Bad drag Karl off to do the usual preliminary run around the field and Sapnap approaches Dream, his heart thumping angrily in his chest. “You replaced Ranboo quickly,” he says, surprising even himself at the low roll of anger in his voice.

     The team disperses until it’s only him, Dream and George left standing around, watching the others run. Karl is fast, only just behind Jack. “I had to,” Dream says, turning to Sapnap with a firm look. “What – was I supposed to wait around? He made the decision to move to England, Sapnap. I’ll miss him but it’s been two weeks already and we’ve got games coming up.”

     “Not for another month.”

     “Karl needs to be trained up in how we do things.” Dream rolls his shoulders back and Sapnap knows he’s about to play the same card he always does. “I’m the captain, Sapnap.”

      “And I’m your co-captain, right? Your right-hand man? I could have been consulted.”

     “He’s right,” George pipes up. “He should have been asked, Dream.” Sapnap feels triumph rise in his throat but it’s quickly squashed by George adding: “but, Sapnap, you would have said no just because it’s Karl. And we need Karl. He’s good.” Sapnap scowls, turning away from them to watch the team run. Jack and Karl are battling for first place, playfully shoving each other and trying to trip each other up.

     “Focus!” Dream calls over and Jack flips him the bird before graciously slowing down to let Karl set the pace. Karl glances over and Sapnap feels himself flush. “Be nice,” Dream warns him then grins, a peek of the usual Dream sunshine poking through. “Or I’ll assign you to one on one drills with him.”

     “Shut up.” Sapnap groans as the team starts to head back over, Skeppy already very loudly complaining that George and Sapnap didn’t have to do the run.

     “Me and George already worked out an hour ago,” Dream says dismissively. George sticks his tongue out at Skeppy. “But Sapnap—go on.”

      Sapnap shoots him a murderous look and goes to set off. Before he can, George grabs his shoulder and whispers: “I’m looking forward to the showers after with our newest member.” Sapnap has only a second to process that – and the fact that he’s going to have to be in close steamy proximity to Karl’s lithe body – before George shoves his shoulder and sends him on his way with a wink.

Practices run smoothly for the next week or two; Karl fits seamlessly into their team, quickly befriending George. Sapnap’s suspicious of that move, watching George eat a sandwich in their kitchen ahead of his night out with Karl. It makes sense to befriend George, who lives with both the captain and the co-captain, and who probably has the most influence over the team’s press. Sapnap can’t help but remember Karl posing with the baby and his whole I help old ladies across the street thing makes Sapnap uneasy. No human being is that genuinely nice, especially not one who spends his days knocking people over on a football field. Even when the whole thing was going around about him and Sapnap – which has thankfully died down now – Karl kept asking how Sapnap was and not talking about how it would affect him, despite Karl obviously getting the brunt of the backlash.

     “Where are you two going?” Sapnap asks when George is sliding his dishes into the dishwasher. George turns to him, frowning, and Sapnap tries his best to look innocent.

     “We’re going to a gay bar downtown.”

     “I didn’t know there was a gay bar downtown.” Sapnap isn’t big on nightclubs, much preferring the smaller bars near their apartment where he knew he wouldn’t get photographed.

      “There’s a whole street of them. Called Rainbow Street.”

     “Really?”

     “No, not fucking really.” George rolls his eyes. “Rainbow Street – God.”

    “I don’t know!” Sapnap lifts his beer to his mouth, feeling defensive, but the liquid’s warm and it makes him feel a little sick to the stomach as he adds: “it’s not my scene.”

     “Well that’s good. Because I wasn’t asking you to come.” George grabs his phone off the side and sweeps past Sapnap then pauses to kiss him on the forehead, taking advantage of the height difference as Sapnap slouches on the kitchen stool. “You can if you want, you know?”

     “Like I said.” Sapnap shrugs. “Not my scene.”

    “You sure?” George’s gaze is careful as he scans Sapnap’s face, leaving him feeling oddly exposed. Why would he want to spend a night being grinded on by sweaty drunk people he’s not even attracted to? He wants to voice his question but worries that George will take it the wrong way. He’s always tentative to make gay jokes, even though the rest of the team good-naturedly teases George about the glitter they found once in George’s hair after a particularly harrowing night out and the fact that he had a crush on the water boy for a whole season.

    Before Sapnap can ask why George is still looking at him like that, Dream enters the kitchen, his eyes narrowed and a jacket in his hands. “Take this,” he says, thrusting it at George. George grabs it and Sapnap vaguely recognises it as one of Dream’s. It’s an obnoxiously green zip-up hoodie that does not go with George’s outift at all but George willingly pulls it on. “It’s cold out there,” he adds. Once George’s formerly exposed toned arms are covered, Dream looks happier and offers a bright smile. “Have fun.”

     “Will do. Don’t wait up for me, boys.” George blows them both a kiss before leaving the flat and Sapnap meets Dream’s eyes, amused.

    “Shut up,” Dream says. “You want to suck off Karl Jacobs.”

    “Fuck you,” Sapnap says but there’s no malice to it as he tries to grapple Dream into a headlock. Dream gets the upper hand and they end up on the floor, giggling, and the gnawing feeling in his stomach fades to a distant memory.

Dream is in a bad mood. Dream’s in a fucking awful mood and it’s rubbing off on the rest of the team.

     Rain pours and turns the field into a slip-and-slide of mud and the team is flying everywhere, all awkward tackles and fumbled catches. George is missing from practice, not answering his phone after spending another night out drinking with Quackity and Karl, and Sapnap has been on the receiving end of Dream’s anger all morning.

     Karl turns up half an hour late, apologising and shaking, presumably from the huge coffee he’s holding, but Dream doesn’t even seem to register his presence – only George’s absence. “Where the fuck is he?” Dream yells across the field and Karl pales. Sapnap almost feels bad for him, pausing in his warm-up drills to watch as Karl shrugs.

     “Last I saw, he was going home with Alex.”

    “Team – practice tackles!” Dream says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Sapnap, you’re in charge.” He storms off, phone already pressed to his ear, and Sapnap sighs.

    He issues out instructions and then heads over to Karl, taking his coffee from him. “Drills,” he says, unable to keep the harshness out of his voice. Dream’s moods are always infectious which is great when he’s happy but in times like these, it makes Sapnap a mean person. Karl gives him puppy eyes and Sapnap feels his throat close up at the sight. “Now, Karl,” he says, turning away. He tosses the coffee in the nearest trashcan and refuses to feel guilty when Karl makes a little pitiful noise.

     Sapnap alternates between watching Dream sat on the bleachers, his hands moving quickly as he angrily berates George on the other side of the phone, and the team practicing their tackles. As usual, when they’re missing team members and Dream’s in an awful mood, morale’s low. The rain doesn’t help – even Bad, usually the most cheerful, looks close to tears when he slips on the mud and Wilbur has to grab him for support.

     Callahan catches his eye and makes a little gesture and Sapnap sighs, jogging over. He supposes it is his responsibility to make sure everyone’s doing okay – besides, he should probably be practicing too. They’re playing against Schlatt’s team soon and they’re ruthless.

      He waits for a moment, keeping an eye on them, and then goes over to Karl, resignation heavy in his chest. He wouldn’t be a good co-captain if he avoided Karl’s obvious slip-ups just to make himself less uncomfortable. Besides, tackling Karl to the ground might get some of the usual irritation for the other boy off his chest.

     “Karl, with me,” he barks out and Karl gives up on trying to out-manoeuvre Wilbur to stand in front of Sapnap. He’s got the remnants of last night’s makeup still on his face – dark smudges around his eyes, the hint of a too bright blush on his cheeks – and the sight makes Sapnap feel even more irrationally angry. It was alright for them – for Karl and George – who could go out without repercussions. Sapnap and Dream had spent the entire night discussing tactics for the next game, terrified because their biggest sponsor was threatening to drop them if they didn’t place higher on the league tables.

   Sapnap doesn’t give Karl any time before he’s grabbing the ball from his hand and stepping backwards.

    “I’m the opposition,” he says. “There’s only thirty seconds left and you need to get the ball from me so your team can win. I have the strength advantage,” he adds, taking in Karl’s lithe form.

     “I’m taller,” Karl says, grinning, and Sapnap huffs out what definitely isn’t a laugh.

     “Use your height, then.”

     “You know, I am a professional football player already, Sapnap. I don’t need training up like I’m some sort of newbie.”

     “You guys ever play against Schlatt? We have. Three times. And we lost three times. We can’t lose this fucking game, Jacobs.” Karl’s smile grows at the intensity in Sapnap’s voice and he finds himself flushing. He knows he gets worked up about it but damnit, it’s his career that’s on the line. Who cares about Karl’s pride? “I’m gonna try and get to the halfway line over there.” He gestures to the white line painted in the field, half-hidden by mud and the grey fog of drizzle surrounding them. “On three?” Karl nods. “One, two…three. Go.”

    Sapnap moves forward at the same time as Karl moves backwards and for a second, he’s confused, then when he tries to run past, Karl practically jumps on him. He’s all long limbs, trying to push Sapnap to the ground, and Sapnap decides to push back. As he’d guessed, Karl’s height means nothing when his opponent’s stronger; Sapnap knocks him to the ground as easily as he would George. Then suddenly, Karl is pinned underneath Sapnap.

     Karl squirms underneath him, face red with exertion, a stray curl tucking out of his helmet, and Sapnap feels something tugging at his stomach. The feeling is sour, like bile rising in his throat, and he panics, wondering if he’s about to throw up all over Karl. He’s almost grateful when Karl takes advantage of his distraction and slips out from underneath Sapnap, taking the ball from his relaxed hands.

     “You okay?” Karl asks, a smile spreading over his face, and Sapnap wonders how he’s always so easy-going. “You look kinda pale.”

     “I’m fine.” Sapnap stands, wiping his muddy hands on his thighs. Dream has returned to the field, talking to Jack, but Sapnap catches his eyes on them. He doesn’t know why it unnerves him, Dream’s questioning gaze, but his blood boils under the silent accusation of it all. I know it’s hard being an out football player, Dream had said, voice so full of concern, after that stupid Tiktok edit of him and Karl had gone viral. “Let’s try it again.”

     He forces himself to look at Karl and tries to bring up all the bad feelings he has towards him. But for some reason, all he can focus on is the streak of mud on his left cheekbone, surrounded by a gentle pink blush. His hair falls into his face again and Karl sweeps it back under his helmet, adjusting it.

    “Is it too loose?” Sapnap asks and he’s surprised at the worry in his voice.

    “No.” Karl smiles softly. “It’s fine.”

    The unease comes again and Sapnap doesn’t even bother to count down this time. He slams into Karl and he senses the damage before Karl falls to the ground, letting out a little cry of protest.

     “SAPNAP.” Dream’s voice is thunder, worse than the storm in Sapnap’s chest or the look on Karl’s face – of surprise and a little anger that makes Sapnap feel better, as awful as that sounds. He’s not the only one with a temper. Skeppy is first to the scene, helping Karl up, and Sapnap has to look away when Karl fixes that accusing stare onto him. He finds Dream instead, the red flush hot on his cheeks, eyes dark with annoyance. “What the fuck is up with you lately?”

     “Me?” Sapnap scoffs. “I’m not the one who’s spent the last hour ratting us out because your precious George spent the night at some other guy’s house.”

     “You’re walking on a thin fucking line, Nick,” Dream says.

     “What you gonna do, Clay? Kick me off the team? You can’t bench me.”

     “I can – and I will, if your attitude doesn’t pick up.”

     “My attitude? George didn’t even show up! Why does he always get a free pass?”

     “I swear to—”

    “It’s not my fault he doesn’t love you back!”

    He immediately knows he’s over-stepped but, in the moment, he doesn’t care. He’s allowed to be mad, too. He’s allowed to have feelings and fucking opinions. He’s not just the side-character to Dream and George’s little dramas. It’s been a long morning already, plagued by Dream’s bad mood and Karl’s fucking infuriating face, and Sapnap needs to blow off a little steam. Clearly Dream does too.

    Dream swings for him and Karl gets caught in the cross-fire. Sapnap’s not sure why Karl had stepped in – maybe not predicting that Dream would hit out, just trying to stop the argument before it ruined their friendship – but Dream’s fist collides with his cheek, just below where that mud still lies, smeared across his now reddening and surely bruised face.

     “Fuck!” Dream exclaims, anger immediately vanishing. “I’m so, so sorry, Karl. Fuck. Are you okay?”

    “Better out than in, I guess,” Karl says and he chuckles even while he’s cradling his cheek. What had happened to the fury on his face when Sapnap had been the one knocking him to the ground? Maybe Sapnap did the same thing to Karl that Karl did to him. The kind of annoyance he’s never felt with anyone else, like Karl is itching at his brain.

     “Shit.” Dream shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Look – practice was a bust. We’ll try again after lunch, okay? It’s on me.”

    “Damn right it is.” Karl nudges Dream’s arm. “I’m fine. Promise. Come on – let’s go get food.”

     Dream glances at Sapnap but doesn’t say anything as he trudges into the locker rooms. The rest of the team soon follows but Sapnap stays out on the field, turning his face up to the sky. He welcomes the sudden downpour, washing away the mud from his body and the guilt he can’t quite shake when he pictures Karl on the floor.

Hot water splashes down his back, comforting the bruises he’s managed to receive from an afternoon full of being knocked down by an irate Dream. He can’t really complain that he’s been on bitch duty all day – picking up equipment, running more laps round the field than the others, being the target for Dream’s anger during the mini game they’d played. Especially not when George had arrived with a hickey and Dream had looked like a kicked puppy.

     The rest of the team seem to pick up on the shift in mood and the practice had gone a lot better than that morning. Sapnap’s even mildly confident that they’ll win this game.

     He rinses off the soap suds from his body and lets himself marinate in the steam for a moment longer before turning off the shower and heading out to the locker room, wrapping a towel loosely around his waist. He’d assumed everyone else had headed out already but Karl is sat on a bench, shirtless and slouched over his phone. His fingers move in a flurry on the keyboard, a frown set firmly into the presses of his mouth.

     “Hi,” Sapnap says, attempting a casual tone, but his voice slips into a question.

    “Hey.” Karl sighs, running a hand over his face. He locks his phone and stuffs it in his bag then his eyes lift and he seems to register Sapnap’s semi-nudity. “Oh, sorry, I—I’ll let you get dressed.” Karl starts to get his his t-shirt from the floor but Sapnap grabs his wrist before he can put it on.

    “No, it’s okay.” The words spill out of his mouth before he can register what he’s saying. “Uh, I wanted to talk to you actually.”

    “Oh. Okay.” Karl clears his throat and Sapnap struggles for something to say. Then his eyes rest on Karl’s shoulder. The bruise on his cheek is a pale yellow, almost already healed up after a few hours, but the wounds Sapnap had inflicted are a deep purple and Karl’s shoulder looks sore.

    “I’m sorry.” Sapnap feels all the hostility inside of him melt away and he slumps down to sit on the bench next to Karl. He buries his face in his hands, groaning. “I’ve messed up, haven’t I? With Dream—”

     “A little.”

     “—and with you.”

     There’s a silence and Sapnap peeks out from behind his fingers. Karl looks perplexed, his eyes on Sapnap’s. “You haven’t…messed up with me. What—you know I like you, right?” Terror grips Sapnap and Karl laughs. “Not like that,” he adds but there’s a little hesitation in his laughter that makes Sapnap frown.

     “What’s wrong?”

    “Nothing!” Karl laughs again – but there’s a slight panic underneath his giggles. “You looked so mad – when I said that.”

     “I’m not—” Not gay. Not into you. Not ready for this conversation. “—mad.”

    “You’re not?” Karl’s voice is breathy, quiet, and his eyes are wide, scanning Sapnap’s face. Sapnap’s not sure what’s happening now but he wants so desperately to avoid it. He loses eye contact and instead touches the bruises on Karl’s shoulder. Karl winces and Sapnap can’t help but look back at his face – at his soft eyes, at the way he’s worrying his bottom lip under a row of perfect teeth. “It’ll heal,” Karl says. “It’s a surface level injury.”

    “Right. I still did it.”

    The guilt swallows Sapnap again and he looks away. His eyes fixate at the obnoxious red of their lockers – the awful colour George has tried to get changed to blue – and he wonders why Karl had stayed. If he’d stayed for a reason. He thinks about the way Karl had lingered, so long ago, his hand on Sapnap’s arm, squeezing before he said goodbye after the game. And he can’t stop thinking – not when Karl moves to kneel in front of him, not when Karl places a hand on his chin to tilt his head up, and not when Karl smiles, wide and toothy.

     “I’m good, Nick,” he says. “You didn’t mess anything up.”

    “I did—”

    “With Dream?” Karl laughs a little and Sapnap’s enraptured by the dimple in Karl’s skin he’s never noticed before, just to the right of the pink bow of his mouth. “He’s your best friend. And you were right, you know? Dream has been in a mood all day because of George. He’s got no right to take it out on us.”

     “I worry – about them both. And about the team.” Sapnap doesn’t know why the thoughts won’t stop coming out of his mouth. It’s like an avalanche and it’s threatening to suffocate them both. “And about myself.” Karl’s silence is comforting. It seems like a quiet indication to carry on but Sapnap doesn’t want to say what’s lingering in the back of his mind. He knows, of course, what it is. Some part of him has always known. The part of him that watches George’s life with envy, that pored over the photoshoot Karl did last year and internalised every single awful comment. But the other part of him wins out. The part that denies and insults and protests. “I’m sorry for being mad at you all the time,” he says instead of saying what he wants to say. “You just—you get under my skin.”

       Karl presses his mouth to Sapnap’s and he finally stops thinking.

     Karl is warm and insistent, pressing hard, and Sapnap automatically opens his mouth. Karl’s tongue slips inside, stroking along his bottom lip, sliding along Sapnap’s own tongue and the roof of his mouth. The heat makes Sapnap desperate and he grips Karl’s shoulders, fingers pressing into the pale skin he finds there. It’s only when Karl whines a little, presses closer and rests his hand on Sapnap’s thigh, than Sapnap comes to his senses.

    His hands turn violent and he shoves at Karl, making him fall backwards onto the floor for the second time today. Karl is shocked, blinking up at him, but Sapnap doesn’t have time to feel bad. Anger flares in his stomach. “You can’t just fucking kiss people like that, Jacobs. Jesus. Fuck. I’m not even fucking—I’m not a fucking—”

     “A what?” They both twist round at George’s voice. He looks as calm and collected as always but there’s a heat simmering under his voice. Sapnap has never seen George mad before and he immediately never wants to see it again.

    “George, I didn’t mean—”

    “Dream’s waiting outside for you. We’ve been waiting for half an hour.” George ignores Sapnap and pulls Karl upwards, passing him his t-shirt. Karl’s face is red, shrugging the material on over his bruises. Karl glances at him then hurries out the door.

     “I’m coming,” Sapnap mutters and grabs his clothes, ducking back into the shower room to change. George is gone when he returns but Dream’s car is still in the parking lot, engine running and George and Dream talking inside. They fall silent when Sapnap slides into the back seat. He meets Dream’s eyes and starts to apologise but the words escape him as he lets out a loud sob.

     He covers his face as Dream and George climb into the backseat. Arms wrap around him from both directions, George’s face nuzzling into his chest, and Dream presses his mouth against Sapnap’s forehead. “Oh, Nick,” Dream whispers. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Practice over the next few days is miserable, painful in a way that Sapnap has never experienced before, not even in his lowest of moods. Dream and George and Sapnap have all made up and apologised to each other but there’s still a tension in the air. It’s a cross between pre-game jitters – less than a week away from the big game with Schlatt’s team – and the fact that Karl and Sapnap aren’t talking to each other.

     Dream’s intensity doesn’t help either and although they all want to win, Sapnap’s never seen Dream this anxious about a game before. He slopes out of his room at three in the morning, the night before the game, for a glass of water and finds Dream staring at the whiteboard he’d dragged into their living room. It’s covered in a scrawl of green marker, filled with tactics and positions, and diagrams of plays that Sapnap’s surprised Dream can even see in the dim light provided by the table lamp.

    “Have you slept?” He asks once he knows Dream has seen him and won’t scream George awake in shock.

    Dream shrugs. “A couple of hours. One or two, maybe. I just can’t—” He turns back to his board, frowning. “Every guy on that team is bigger and meaner than George and Jack.”

   “They can hold their own.”

   “What about Karl?”

   Sapnap pauses. Karl bruises easy. His shoulder’s still purple and blue from when Sapnap had shoved him last week although the bruise on his cheek had faded. He can’t even start to imagine how he must look after a game, red raw with exertion and bright blue with the results of being knocked to the ground over and over again. He’d look beautiful. Sapnap tries not to shy away from the thought; he’s been working on it. On the overwhelming feeling he gets when he sees or thinks about Karl.

     He’s been working on himself, too. On un-doing all the things he’s thought about himself in the past few years.

     He realises he’s been staring at the floor for too long but when he looks back up, Dream has returned to his board, pen in hand, muttering to himself. Sapnap knows he’s beyond his reach so grabs a water bottle and heads back to his bedroom but not before he taps on George’s bedroom door. George is a notoriously light sleeper – it’s why he spends half his days-off napping – so he answers almost immediately, scratching at his head with a yawn.

     “Sap?”

    “Your boyfriend’s talking himself into a state in there,” he says, nodding his head to where the light from the living room floods into the hallway. George sighs, wipes a hand over his face, then heads in to calm Dream down. Sapnap climbs into his own bed, grabbing his phone as he does.

     He hasn’t messaged Karl since before he joined the team. He’s had no need too. Their small conversations – more like life updates – have happened at practice instead and after the kiss…well, Sapnap hasn’t been in the mood to talk to the boy he’d shoved to the ground rather than admit his feelings for him.

      His fingers hover over the keyboard for what seems like an eternity, hearing George and Dream go to bed, a tap turn on and off, a dog bark from outside, before he makes his decision.

       Just wanted to say good luck for tomorrow. Ahead of our game.

     He doesn’t expect a reply until morning, not even then, but the three typing bubbles pop up within seconds.

That couldn’t wait for you to tell me tomorrow?

    No. Sapnap pauses, sends it, then sighs. i won’t have the courage, he adds. 3am does strange things to a guy.

No stranger than becoming a viral meme for being “in love” with a homophobic guy :)

    I’m not.

    Homophobic that is.

    Sapnap’s hands clench around his bed sheets at Karl’s reply. It’s just a laughing emoji. Is he being serious? Is this why he’s been ignoring Sapnap during practice? He think he’s some piece of shit? Sapnap can’t blame him but really – it stings a little to know that Karl’s optimism can extend to everything except him.

     Karl, I’m bi.

    It took me a while to realise. That’s why I acted out.

    Five minutes pass and Sapnap’s eyes burn from staring at his phone screen. He really should go to bed; they’ll be up for practice at eight before the 3pm game, and he’s going to struggle sleeping as it is. He’s resigned to the silence when his phone lights up again.

     You kissed me back. I wasn’t just imagining that.

     I kissed you back.

     Karl reads it but doesn’t reply.

Sapnap’s thankful for the sun when he gets out of Dream’s car, squinting up at the cloudless sky.  Good weather always boosts morale. And it stops George from whining about the mud.

     They head into the stadium through a back door, already spotting a winding queue of fans out front, and Sapnap tumbles straight into Quackity. “Woah!” Quackity grabs his elbow and keeps him upright with surprising strength. “Hey, you trying to knock yourself out instead this time?”

     Sapnap doesn’t miss the slight scolding in Quackity’s words – he can’t miss it, not when Quackity gives him that cross-eyed look of disquiet – and turns red. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking,” he mumbles. Dream and George have already left, turning the corner to the locker rooms, so he’s stuck in this awkward space, Quackity blocking the door. Sapnap’s pretty sure he could barge his way past but he doesn’t want Karl’s best friend to hate him anymore than he probably already does. “Are you here for Karl?”

     “Yeah. Me and the team got front row seats,” Quackity says. “Thought I’d come say good luck before the game, though.”

    Sapnap nods, trying to smile but it’s stuck in his throat. He feels like Quackity knows, curiosity sparking in his eyes as he looks over Sapnap. He must know. Dream and George know about the kiss – and about Sapnap’s current conflicted feelings. He wonders if Quackity approves, like George does – with encouraging smiles and soft words – or if he’s unsure, like Dream – too tested in the sinking sand of unrequited love. Although, it’s not. Unrequited. Karl had kissed him first, after all. Sapnap’s just not sure if there’s anything there still – or if Karl’s feelings had rightfully disappeared when Sapnap shoved him to the floor (twice) and had almost called him—

     Guilt overwhelms him and Quackity’s face, surprisingly, mirrors his emotions. “Hey, man,” Quackity says, voice quiet. It’s different from the persona he seems to put on for the press interviews and the winks he sends the cameras during games. “I’m sorry about—you know, I kind of—” He exhales slowly. “The other week – last week—” Panic clouds Sapnap’s system but Quackity is continuing before he can even think to run away. “I’m sorry if I messed up the team dynamic or whatever. Caused some arguments.”

     Sapnap frowns. He’s not even seen Quackity for months. “What do you mean?”

     “With Dream – and, uh, George.”

    “Oh.” With Karl’s kiss, the rest of the day had sort of slid away. Once he knew Dream didn’t hate him, he’d been more focused on himself than Dream and George’s bickering. “It’s fine, really. They seem good. And it takes a lot more than that to throw us off our game.” He ignores the memory of Karl’s warm insistent mouth.

     “You sure? Karl said they were—that Dream was tetchy and that it ruined practice. I felt bad, you know? Nothing happened with me and George.”

     “No, no, of course not.” To be honest, that’s news to Sapnap but he suspects George is putting up the ruse of having something with Quackity just to wind Dream up. Either way, he doesn’t care. Quackity doesn’t hate him, which is a good sign. “I actually wanted to ask,” he starts, gathering his courage, but the door opens behind them before he can finish his thought.

     Wilbur smacks him cheerfully on his back, his hair swept by the wind and a pen in his hand. “The fans are going wild,” he says. “We’re the favourites to win.”

    “Against Schlatt?” Quackity wrinkles his nose. “No offence but I wouldn’t bet on you.”

   “What happened to support?” Sapnap laughs. Wilbur’s arrival has erased all the tension, all the unanswered questions, and he feels happier to be escorted by the two through the winding corridors towards the locker room. The familiar red door does nothing to ease his nerves. He knows what’s waiting for him on the other side of it and it’s more terrifying than having to face half a million football fans and a team whose smallest player is still twice the size of George. Sure enough, his stomach flips when the door opens and he sees Karl, leaning against the wall, a large hoodie over his uniform.

     “Karl!” Quackity exclaims, launching himself forward, and Karl opens his arms automatically.

    “Q!” George yelps and makes his way into the hug. Sapnap meets Karl’s eyes from over George’s shoulder and for a second, he thinks he sees forgiveness. You kissed me back. Then Karl buries his face in Quackity’s chest and Sapnap is left with a cold feeling in his chest.

They’ve won.

     Sapnap’s not sure what happened – the game had blurred past in his mind and he’d felt almost blind. Even the cheering of the fans had faded away after a few minutes and he’d been left with nothing but the ball and his single-minded focus on winning. He’d understood how Dream always felt, the drive and determination that’s almost terrifying to witness.

     Dream scoops him off his feet, screaming unintelligible words into his back, and Sapnap laughs, shaking his head to rid himself of the static that’s plagued him since the game started. He can hear Jack and Technoblade celebrating; can see George, Wilbur and Callahan doing some elaborate dance; and Bad and Skeppy sweetly hugging. He scans the rest of the pitch and finds Karl alone, swiping his hair back from his forehead. He looks exhausted but his eyes are sparkling, head tilted back to capture the sunlight on his face.

     Sapnap wants him.

     “Dream, put me down.”

     Dream does as he asks, glancing at where Karl is stood before heading off to steal George from the others. George meets him halfway and wraps him in a tight hug, giggling at Dream’s soft words of praise over his performance. Sapnap ignores them but it aches in his chest. He’s always tried to not be jealous of them – mostly because their little situationship seems to cause them more trouble than happiness – but it’s hard now. Hard when all he wants is Karl to hug him like that.

     Sapnap makes his way over to Karl, smiling nervously, but he’s stopped by some jackass from the opposite team barging past him. He’s opened his mouth to yell obscenities at him but he gets distracted by someone stalking over to Karl. He’s shorter but built like a fucking bull, and his nostrils are flaring, face red. He jabs a finger into Karl’s chest and Karl steps backwards, annoyed. No-one’s looking over at them, too preoccupied by interviews and celebrations and the fans. Sapnap tries to step forward but a firm hand grips his shoulder.

     “You don’t want to get in the middle of their beef,” some guy from the other team says – Sapnap’s pretty sure he’s called Jackson.

    “Why? What’s Karl done wrong?” Sapnap tries to see over the guy’s shoulder but he’s taller and wider and Sapnap will not suffer the indignity of standing on the tips of his toes to look at Karl.

     “Well – he’s a fag, isn’t he? Thomason isn’t a big fan of that shit.”

    “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sapnap’s embarrassment is replaced by pure anger and he jumps a little to see Karl now in an argument with the guy. Sapnap shoves past Jackson and Dream seems to finally see something’s happening. He turns away from where he and George are talking to an interviewer, brow furrowed. Sapnap trudges over to Karl and the fucking asshole now slamming his hand into his chest. “Hey!”

    Karl turns to look at him but the distraction gives space for Thomason’s rage. He slams his shoulder into Karl and they’re on the floor before Sapnap can even blink. It reminds him so starkly of last week, when Sapnap had done the same, had bruised Karl’s shoulder in a rainbow of colours, that he freezes. Then Thomason’s fist raises and he jolts back into action, grabbing the back of Thomason’s shirt to try and haul him off. Instead, he’s knocked to the side and he sees stars, his head crashing against the hard ground.

     “Sapnap!” He hears Bad yelp as if from a distance then suddenly there are hands pulling him upwards, cameras shoved in his face, and he can hear Dream shouting at people. He holds unsteadily onto Bad as George checks his head, fingers softly dancing through his hair. When he’s sure there’s no blood, George breathes out in relief.

     “You’re good, you’re good,” George says.

    “Karl—”

     “The medics—”

     Panic blinds Sapnap and he pushes past Bad and George to find Karl on the ground, three medics kneeling beside him. Sapnap can barely see past the medics but even he can see the red of blood on the ground underneath Karl’s head, and the blood staining Thomason’s knuckles as he’s pulled away by a furious Schlatt. Schlatt seems to be suitably reaming him out but Sapnap feels anger climb up his spine. His skin flushes and he ignores George’s warning call from behind him as he heads towards Thomason. Schlatt sees him and steps aside, leaving Thomason an easy target.

     Sapnap’s fist crunches into Thomason’s nose and he’s aware of the cameras tracking his every move as he tackles Thomason to the ground. Unlike Karl, Thomason manages to spin them before his head catches the ground, leaving him conscious enough to hit back. Pain erupts along his jaw as Thomason slams his fist into him and Sapnap responds with a furious headbutt. He can barely see from the pain but he carries on wrestling and rolling along the ground with Thomason. Eventually, Sapnap gets the upper hand and tries to apply pressure onto Thomason’s arm but before he can break it like he wants, Sapnap is being thrown off him, Dream standing over him.

     “STOP IT.” Dream kneels beside him, pinning him down. Sapnap tries to blink away the black spots but he doesn’t feel good, trying to sit up. “Hey, no, stay down. Your fucking head, Sapnap.” He touches Sapnap’s mouth and it comes away wet with blood. “You need to lie down. You’ll have concussion.”

     Sapnap slumps against the ground again, covering his eyes against the bright light spilling in from a thousand cameras. He can’t even see what’s happening with Karl but if he moves, he thinks he’ll be sick. He feels a presence beside him and assumes it’s Dream but then George’s soft hands are stroking his hair back from his face. “You tried to break his arm, Sapnap,” George mutters. “Are you aware how much damage control I’m gonna have to do?”

     “Oh yeah, think about yourself, George.” Sapnap grimaces. “Not about my fucking face.”

    “Eh. You weren’t that pretty anyway.” George smiles down at him. “Karl’s gonna be fine. They’re taking him to hospital though because of his nose and…well, jaw and…and they’re worried about his head.”

     “Yeah, he sounds fine.” Sapnap tries to roll his eyes but it hurts too much. “Ow.”

      “He’ll be good, Sapnap. Promise.” Dream reappears, crouching next to George. “How’s your head?”

      “Fine. I’m fine.” Sapnap manages to carefully sit up and Dream places a hand on his shoulder. “Is Karl—”

     “They took him in the ambulance,” Dream says. Sapnap glances round and sees every camera still pointed on him, reporters talking enthusiastically into the ones that weren’t. After everything from a few months ago – about him and Karl – he wouldn’t be surprised if there were more edits circulating. Sapnap attempting to defend Karl’s honour. Hopefully this time, there’ll be a better outcome.

     “I can drive you,” Bad says, appearing above them. “If you want.”

     “You sure?”

    “Dream and George need to stay here to smooth things over.” Bad holds out his hand and Sapnap lets him lift him up again. He ignores Dream’s look of concern and George’s knowing smile as he limps out of the stadium to Bad’s car.

He hears Karl before he sees him.

     His giggle spills out from the room and Sapnap follows the sound, leaning against the doorframe to his private hospital room. Sunshine spills from the open windows, lighting up Karl’s injuries with gold. Karl’s lying in the bed, propped up by pillows, his jaw purple, his nose covered in plaster and bandages, and his lip split open. Quackity’s beside him, laughing, but he glances up and grins when he sees Sapnap.

    “Hey, lover boy,” Quackity says. Karl looks up, too, and Sapnap’s chest tightens at the look on his face. He looks hopeful, despite the injuries, his eyes warm. “I’ll leave you two to it,” Quackity adds and leaves, squeezing Sapnap’s shoulder as he goes. Sapnap approaches Karl’s bed nervously then sits on the very edge of the hospital bed.

    “’m sorry,” Sapnap mutters and Karl grabs his hand, running his thumb over the back of his hand.

    “You didn’t do anything, Sapnap. I didn’t get beat up because of you.”

   “No, no, I meant—about everything.” Sapnap sighs. “Sorry, I’m being selfish. This shouldn’t be about—” He fumbles for words but thankfully, Karl fills in the silence for them.

    “But it is, isn’t it? About us. You came to my defence, Q said.” Karl bats his eyelashes, a laugh bubbling out from his lips, and Sapnap is in awe of his good mood, even now confined to a hospital bed, surely in great pain.

      “What did he do to you?” Sapnap asks. He tries to relax a little, settling back on the bed. Karl inches his feet out of the way so Sapnap can sit more comfortably, playing with the edge of the cotton sheet.

     Karl’s smile fades a little as he gestures to his face. “My jaw should be fine; they had to, you know, jolt it back into place. My nose is broken but I’ve broken it before in a game so it’s fine. And my lip’s split open but that’ll heal within a week or so. And this—” He points at the band-aid on his forehead. “—is just a cut from where the metal of his glove caught me. It’s my ribs that are the worst.”

     “Your ribs.” Sapnap eyes up the expanse of Karl’s chest that’s hidden below a hospital gown and the sheets he has tucked up to his shoulders.

    “It’ll take six weeks for them to heal properly. And then the doctors advised not playing football for another month after that, maybe more.” Karl huffs. “Dream’s gonna be mad. I’ve only just joined the team.”

    “Dream won’t care, I promise. We’ve got subs – and worst case, we can drag Ranboo’s ass back from England.”

    Karl hums in agreement then turns his head so he’s looking out of the window. The sun brightens and he half-closes his eyes against the relenting rays. Sapnap doesn’t mind. It gives him more chance to stare without detection. He’s somehow memorised every crevice of Karl’s face. And he can remember what his lips feel like. Warm and soft, a hint of apple and the scent of his coconut body soap. He wonders if this is love. Maybe not. They still barely know each other, besides what Sapnap’s read about in the media or the small conversations they’d had over Twitter. He knows about Karl’s godson and his nice group of friends and his Monster energy drink addiction. But he doesn’t know what Karl listens to in the shower or what his favourite candle is or what he dressed up as for Halloween last year. And Karl doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know that Sapnap, Dream and George secretly play Minecraft in the downtime between seasons, having created their own world. He doesn’t know that Sapnap had spent so many nights awake feeling guilty for thinking about things he’d convinced himself he shouldn’t think about. Boys and sweet smiles and strong hands compared to girls and soft thighs and pretty eyes.

     Karl doesn’t know that Sapnap wishes he’d not been a coward that day. In the locker rooms.

    He opens his mouth to tell him but Karl beats him to it. “I’m sorry for kissing you,” Karl says. “I know you…you kissed me back…” Sapnap hears the hitch in Karl’s breath at the reminder. “…but I should have still asked.”

    “It’s fine, Karl, honestly. I—I’m glad you did because I was too much of a fucking pussy to kiss you first.”

    “Would you have ever—would you have kissed me? If I hadn’t—” Karl glances at Sapnap, lips pressed together. Sapnap wants to make them fall wide open, wants to lick into his mouth and kiss him until he moans Sapnap’s name.

     “I like to think I would have done.” Sapnap holds onto some semblance of courage by thinking of George. George would be unapologetic in his want. “I want to,” he adds and Karl’s eyes widen.

    “Now?”

    “If you—”

    Karl drags him down before Sapnap can finish his sentence. Numbly, he thinks that they’ve got to work on Karl’s patience, but right now, he doesn’t care. How could he care when Karl is kissing him like this, hard enough to bruise, angling his face so their noses settle against each other. They fit together perfectly, Sapnap’s hand threaded in Karl’s hair. Karl keeps his arms around Sapnap’s neck and as they kiss, slowing to a more pleasurable pace, his fingers scratch at the nape of his neck.

     Sapnap only pulls back when he feels wetness on his mouth and notices Karl’s lip is bleeding again.

   “Oh shit. Sorry.”

    Sapnap reaches over for the tissues on the bedside table and carefully dabs at Karl’s mouth until it’s clean again. Karl smiles blissfully up at him and Sapnap refuses to blush.

    “You’re blushing.”

   “Shut up.”

    “It’s cute.” Karl drags out the word then tugs his bottom lip under his teeth. Sapnap can barely stand to look at him but he also can’t bear looking away.

    “Apparently,” he starts, “the reason I’ve always been so mad at you is because you’re too darn cute.” Karl giggles. “Not that that excuses my behaviour at all. I’ve been fucking awful, Karl. Like I literally—beat you up.” Sapnap winces at the severity of his actions.

     “It was during practice. It doesn’t count. And it was only a tackle. If anything, Dream beat me up because he honking punched me.”

     “But that was my fault too.”

     “Nick.” Karl rests a hand on his face. It aches a little, still sore from the beating he received from Thomason, but Sapnap puts up with it just so he can feel the tenderness of Karl’s touch. “I forgive you.”

    “I haven’t even properly apologised.”

    “Then apologise.”

    “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Sapnap leans into Karl’s hand and kisses whatever skin he can reach. “I messed up and I was a dick to you. And I should have realised I liked you sooner – I mean, dude, we’ve known each other for years, even if we weren’t exactly friends. I’ve always thought you were good looking. And funny. And nice. And those fucking edits—” He groans at the thought that now the internet will be right. “I spent half my time staring at you in those clips.”

    “It’s embarrassing, really.”

    “Fuck off.” Karl snorts and drops his hand, playing with his fingers. Sapnap can tell he’s waiting for something but he doesn’t quite know what. More apologies? A better explanation? Sapnap doesn’t think he has one. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

    “Yeah.” The response is so fast that Sapnap can’t help but laugh. Karl groans, covering his red face. “I mean, suureee, if I have to.”

    “Yeah, yeah. Simp.”

    “At least I’m not a chad.”

    “You play football too!”

     “Sapnap’s more of a chad, I agree.” They both turn round and find Quackity, George, Dream and Bad at the door. Quackity and George both look at the one chair beside Karl’s bed and scramble to sit in. There’s some fighting then Quackity wins out, shoving George to the floor. It’s short-lived as Dream physically lifts Quackity out of the chair, much to his indignation, and George sits in it, sweetly smiling and crossing his legs.

    “Talking of simps,” Sapnap mutters and Karl giggles, falling against his shoulder. Sapnap grins, surprised, and then meets Dream’s eyes. Dream just smiles back and tilts his head in a way Sapnap recognises. It means good job. Sapnap settles into the pillows besides Karl so he can keep the older boy pressed against him as their friends start to chatter and laugh. Sapnap’s contentment is like cotton candy in his chest.

    Yeah, he thinks as Karl’s fingers wrap around his own. Good job.