Chapter Text
The afternoon sun's rays fell obliquely on the field, gilding the damp, sticky grass. The heat was oppressive, but the training showed no mercy. Duke had taken off his shirt a while ago, and his torso glistened with a thin layer of sweat. Sebastian, panting, tried to keep up with him, his knees trembling and his breathing unstable.
"Come on, man”, Duke said, his voice sounding like a mixture of scolding and encouragement. "If you don't learn to keep your balance with the ball, they'll knock you down five minutes into the game”.
Viola nodded, gritting her teeth. Her wig was itchy, the bandage was tight around her chest, and that wasn't the worst of it. The worst part was how Duke looked at her. How he approached her. How he sometimes touched her back or waist to correct her posture, and her skin bristled in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with soccer.
"Stand like this”, he ordered, positioning himself behind her. His large hands closed around her hips to align them. Don't lean so far, or you'll lose power in your supporting leg.
Viola swallowed. Her muscles were tense, and not just from the exercise. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. He was too close. She could smell him: sweat, deodorant, grass. Something clean and masculine that made her head spin more than any sprint.
"Relax”, Duke whispered, noticing the stiffness in her shoulders. "You're stiff as a board”.
"If only you knew why”, she thought, unable to stop herself from blushing under her wig.
She made a clumsy attempt to kick the ball, but tripped over her own foot and fell backward, straight into Duke's chest.
"Hey, be careful”, he caught her with quick reflexes, wrapping his arms around her waist. For a moment, they stood there, pressed together, panting.
Their eyes met. So close that Viola saw something different in his. A doubt. A slow blink. As if, for a second, he too felt that something was wrong... or too right.
"You're... very hot”, Duke murmured, without thinking. And then, aware of his words, he cleared his throat and let out a tense laugh. "I mean, sweaty. I meant you're... uh... sweaty. Normal. You know”.
Viola couldn't help but smile nervously. Her heart was pounding. If she stayed in those arms for another second, she was going to forget the performance.
"Thanks for catching me”, she said at last, pulling away. "You're... strong”.
Duke looked away, running his hand through the back of his neck. His mouth formed a brief, but not entirely relaxed, smile.
"Yeah... well. I try”.
They both fell silent. The ball was still at their feet, but no one seemed to remember that they were practicing. A bird crossed the sky. A couple of distant laughs could be heard from the locker room. The air between them grew heavy again, charged with something neither of them wanted to name.
"Do you want to... practice passing now?", he asked.
"Yes. Better", said Viola, still feeling the warmth of his ghostly hands on her waist.
And although they kicked the ball around for another twenty minutes, neither of them touched the other again by accident. But they didn't stop looking at each other, either, just out of the corner of their eyes. As if something had changed. As if something could never go back to the way it was.
(⚽️👠)
The cold shower had done little to cool the heat Viola felt beneath her skin. It wasn't just physical: a persistent buzzing ran down her back, as if her body still remembered Duke's hands holding her waist. Now she was on her side of the room, wearing a loose T-shirt—which barely touched her, as if any contact was too much—drying her wig in front of the fan. Later, she would dry her hair.
Duke came out of the bathroom with a towel draped around his neck. His hair, still wet, fell in messy strands across his forehead. He wore a gray T-shirt that clung to his chest and low-rise sweatpants that were loose, dangerously loose.
Viola avoided looking at him. But she couldn't.
«Ovulating makes me think silly things».
“Are you okay?", he asked suddenly, dropping his backpack on the floor.
She looked up, feigning surprise. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know. At practice... you seemed weird. I mean, weirder than usual. I thought you'd hurt yourself or something”.
Viola swallowed hard. She didn't want to look at him for too long. She was afraid her eyes would give her away.
"No. I was just... tired. Thanks for earlier”, she added, lowering her voice. "For catching me”.
Duke let out a soft laugh, one that seemed mocking but had a touch of tenderness.
"Yeah, well, you're skinny. Like catching a scarecrow. You almost broke yourself”.
Viola threw a pillow at him, without much force, as if to hide her smile. He caught it in midair, sat down on the bed, and held it in his hands for a second too long. Then, without looking at her, he said:
"Is there something wrong with me?"
The question fell like a broken glass between them. Viola blinked, frozen.
"What? No. Why do you say that?"
"Because sometimes I feel like you look at me...". He paused, thoughtfully. "Weird. And then you avoid me”. I don't know. Like you're uncomfortable with me, but also... no.
Silence settled like a thick blanket between them. Viola felt her pulse pounding in her ears. She couldn't keep lying, but she couldn't tell him the truth either. Not there. Not now. Not with that wet T-shirt and that steady, honest gaze that seemed to undress her without even knowing it.
Duke leaned back a little, resting on his elbows, with a crooked half-smile.
"Do you like me or what?"
Viola froze. She felt the color rising from her chest to her ears like an uncontrolled fire.
"What? No!" she almost shouted, with a nervous laugh. "What are you talking about? That's gross. I don't like guys”.
Duke laughed, raising his hands.
"Relax, I was joking. You were just looking at me weird. I thought you were going to confess your love or something”.
"Of course not," Viola repeated, too quickly. She turned toward the desk, her back to him. "You're too full of yourself".
"It's part of my charm”, he said, smiling, although something in his expression hardened. The joke hadn't gone over as he'd hoped. Sebastian had become so nervous that it was hard not to notice that something strange was going on.
Silence fell again, but this time it was different. More uncomfortable. Viola took a deep breath, her back to him, biting her lip.
Duke watched her for a moment. Then, more quietly, he murmured:
"I wouldn't mind... if you did”.
Viola turned halfway, confused.
"What?"
"If you liked someone. You know. Sometimes you can't control those things”.
She swallowed. She wanted to say something. Something to reassure him, or distract him, or perhaps bring him closer. But she couldn't find the words.
"I'm fine”, she said finally, in a low voice. "Just... tired”.
Duke nodded, though he didn't seem convinced.
That night, when they both got into their respective beds, the air was still heavy with what had been left unsaid. And although neither would admit it, they thought about what they had said. And also about what they hadn't.