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Ness doesn’t fall on the field.
That’s the first thing Kaiser notices.
The match ends in a roar—victory, dominance, Kaiser’s goal sealing everything exactly as it should. Bodies collide, hands clap shoulders, voices shout his name. Kaiser accepts it all like a king receiving tribute, already replaying the goal in his mind.
But Ness doesn’t drop.
He should.
Ness played himself raw. Ran until his legs trembled, passed through pressure that would’ve broken anyone else, adjusted every movement around Kaiser’s rhythm like a living extension of him. And yet—he stays standing. Smiling. Applauding.
Too upright. Too still.
Kaiser’s eyes narrow.
In the tunnel, Ness’s steps start to falter. Just barely. A hitch in his gait, a hand brushing the wall like he needs it to stay vertical. Kaiser slows without meaning to, watching him from behind.
By the time they reach the locker room, Ness’s smile is gone.
The door shuts. Noise explodes. Someone laughs. Someone shouts about drinks.
Ness sits.
Then he folds.
It’s subtle at first—his shoulders caving inward, his head dropping into his hands. Then his breath stutters. Once. Twice. And suddenly he’s shaking like the adrenaline finally realized it overstayed its welcome.
Kaiser is across the room before anyone else notices.
“Hey.” His voice cuts sharp through the noise.
The room quiets, instinctively. Kaiser crouches in front of Ness, grabs his wrists gently but firmly, pulling his hands away from his face.
Ness looks wrecked.
Eyes glassy, unfocused. Skin pale beneath the flush of exertion. His breathing is shallow, uneven, like he’s drowning on dry land.
“I—” Ness tries. Fails. His jaw clenches hard enough to ache. “I can’t—Kaiser, I—”
He breaks.
The words collapse into a choked sound, halfway between a sob and a gasp. Ness curls forward like his spine can’t support him anymore, fingers fisting in his jersey like it’s the only thing keeping him together.
Kaiser swears under his breath.
He stands abruptly. “Out,” he snaps at the room.
No one argues. They know better.
The locker room empties, leaving only the hum of the lights and Ness’s ragged breathing. Kaiser kneels again, closer this time, one hand steady on Ness’s back.
“Breathe,” he orders—low, controlled. “With me.”
Ness shakes his head. “I tried—I tried so hard not to mess up, I kept thinking if I slowed down even once you’d—” His voice cracks. “I couldn’t stop thinking.”
Kaiser grips his chin, forcing Ness to look at him.
“You didn’t mess up.”
Ness laughs weakly, hysterical. “I almost missed that last pass.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I was tired.”
“And you still didn’t.”
Tears spill over then, hot and silent. Ness looks ashamed of them, like he’s failed at something unforgivable. Kaiser feels something ugly twist in his chest.
“Listen to me,” Kaiser says, softer now. “You carried the game. You carried me.”
Ness’s breath stutters again. “I’m so tired.”
“I know.”
Kaiser doesn’t hesitate anymore. He pulls Ness forward, wraps an arm around his shoulders, anchoring him. Ness clutches at Kaiser’s jacket immediately, like his body decided before his mind could argue.
Kaiser lets him.
Ness’s forehead presses into Kaiser’s chest. His sobs come in waves now—deep, exhausted, wrung-out. Kaiser keeps one hand steady at the back of his head, the other firm between his shoulder blades.
“You don’t have to be perfect,” Kaiser murmurs. “You don’t have to hold everything together.”
“But if I stop—”
“You won’t fall,” Kaiser cuts in. “I’m right here.”
The words surprise them both.
Ness’s grip tightens, like he believes him.
Minutes pass. Ness’s breathing evens out, his body going slack with exhaustion. Kaiser stays perfectly still, a statue built to hold this moment.
Eventually, Ness speaks again, voice hoarse. “You didn’t leave.”
Kaiser exhales through his nose. “Why would I?”
Ness tilts his head just enough to look up at him. His eyes are red, vulnerable, bare in a way Kaiser doesn’t allow anyone to see him.
“Because I wasn’t useful anymore.”
Kaiser’s expression hardens—not with anger, but resolve.
“Alexis,” he says, deliberately using his name. “You are not a tool.”
Ness blinks. Fresh tears gather.
Kaiser rests his forehead against Ness’s. “You are mine,” he continues quietly. “And I take care of what’s mine.”
Ness nods, defeated in the best way. He sags fully into Kaiser’s hold, exhaustion finally claiming him.
For once, Kaiser doesn’t look forward.
He stays.
Holding Ness together until the world feels stable again.