Chapter Text
Dear diary,
Preseason started today. We ran drills for three hours straight.
Daniela says I play like I'm trying to prove something. She laughed when she said it, but she wasn't wrong. Daniela always knows when I'm lying, even to myself. She was in top form, every time she scored, she flashed me that crooked grin like we were still kids sneaking out of practice early.
Yoonchae is new and she's really quiet, but in a focused way, not a shy way. Like she's always thinking about what to do next. When she finally took a shot, everyone kind of stopped for a second because it was so clean. I think she's going to be really good. I hope she knows that.
I was nervous all day, even though I kept telling everyone I wasn't. I don't know why. Maybe it's just because a new season always feels like starting over, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be this time. I should be used to this by now. The whistles, the shouting, the way my heart beats faster when the ball is in my hands. But every season feels like standing at the edge of something.
Maybe that's why I keep thinking about
"Okay, I'm ready."
The voice cut through Lara's thoughts so suddenly that her pen slipped in her fingers, a thin line of ink streaking across the page. She was sitting on one of the wooden benches in the locker room, her bag open at her feet, her journal resting on her knees. Practice had ended a while ago, and the room that had once been loud with laughter, cleats, and shouting now felt hollow. Most of the girls had already left, taking the heat and noise with them. Lockers stood open, towels were draped over hooks, and the faint smell of sweat and disinfectant lingered in the air. It felt like a place that was waiting to be forgotten until tomorrow.
"I'm coming," Lara said softly, more to herself than anyone else. She smiled as she closed her journal, carefully sliding it into her bag like it was something fragile. She lifted one leg onto the bench and bent down to tighten the laces of her shoes, the familiar motion grounding her. Before she could stand, a hand appeared in front of her face, open and patient. Lara let out a small laugh under her breath as she took it, Daniela's grip warm and steady as she pulled her up to her feet.
They walked out of the locker room together, arms loosely linked. The hallway was quiet, the overhead lights buzzing faintly, their footsteps echoing as they moved toward the exit. Outside, the evening air was cool and smelled faintly of grass and rain, the sky already beginning to darken. The building behind them still hummed with the leftover energy of practice, but out here everything felt calmer, like the day was finally exhaling.
"You write in the locker room now, too?" Daniela teased, bumping Lara's shoulder with hers.
Lara rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Daniela had always been like this—playful, bold, impossible to ignore. She carried herself with a kind of easy confidence that made people feel lighter just by being around her. They had known each other since they were little, but their lives hadn't really overlapped back then. Still, even from a distance, Lara had always admired her. Daniela had been the girl who laughed the loudest, who played the hardest, who never seemed afraid of anything. Now she was Lara's best friend, her left winger, and the kind of person who would run headfirst into trouble if it meant protecting her team.
Lara, for her part, was the center back and the captain, and some days that still felt unreal. The weight of it thrilled her—the responsibility, the trust, the way everyone looked to her when things got difficult. She loved her team fiercely, every single one of them, and she was proud of what they were becoming, even in these early, uncertain days of preseason. Walking beside Daniela, feeling the quiet confidence of someone who believed in her without question, Lara felt that pride settle deeper in her chest, steady and warm, like something that would carry her through whatever was coming next.
"I need to write before I forget things, you know?" Lara said with a small laugh, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "Do you want to come over to my house? My parents miss you."
They had stopped on the front steps, the concrete still warm from the sun. Daniela was a few steps ahead when she turned around, slow and dramatic, a grin already tugging at her mouth.
"You know," she said, tilting her head, "memory loss at twenty-one is kind of serious. You might want to see a doctor."
"So you don't want to?" Lara asked, already smiling—she knew Daniela too well. "You always make jokes when you're trying to avoid answering."
She reached out and caught Daniela's hand, their fingers fitting together without either of them thinking about it.
"I do," Daniela said quietly, glancing down at their hands. "I really do—"
"But..." Lara finished for her, soft and teasing.
Daniela sighed, her smile turning apologetic. "I have plans."
"Boyfriend?" Lara asked, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated way.
Daniela smacked her arm, not hard, just enough to make them both laugh. "He wants to go see a movie. You should come with us! It's some boring action thing with explosions and spies and guns and cars and—"
"Sounds convincing," Lara said, grinning. "But no thanks. I'll just tell my parents you're too cool for us now."
"Tell them I love them!" Daniela called as she headed for her car. "Text me when you get home."
"See you tomorrow," Lara said, watching her go, her voice light even as something small and warm settled in her chest.
Lara waited a few seconds after Daniela drove off, watching the glow of her taillights disappear down the street before she finally turned toward the bus stop. The evening had fully settled now, the sky dark and heavy, the streetlight in front of the sports building casting a pale circle over the sidewalk. She reached for her phone to check the time—and felt nothing. Her stomach dropped. She had left it in her locker.
With a long, tired sigh, she turned back toward the building, irritation and exhaustion pressing down on her at once. She was just lifting her hand to pull the front door open when it suddenly swung outward.
A hand caught the edge from the other side, and before Lara could step back, the door knocked into her shoulder, sending a small jolt through her.
"Ow—"
"I'm sorry! Are you okay?" a familiar voice said quickly, rushed and sincere. Then, softer, almost careful, "Oh. Hi, Raj."
Lara's breath caught. For a split second, everything inside her seemed to go quiet, like her body was bracing for something it had been trying to avoid. She stared down at the concrete, at the toes of her shoes, as if not looking might make this moment pass.
"What the hell are you doing here, Bannerman?" she muttered, her voice sharp but unsteady, more defensive than angry.
She took a breath and lifted her gaze anyway, sharp and defiant, like a challenge she was daring Manon to meet. For a second, her expression almost slipped. Manon was standing right there, close enough to see the details Lara had tried so hard to forget. Her skin was clear and warm-toned under the streetlight, her brown eyes soft and almond-shaped, framed by calm, steady brows that always made her look like she knew more than she said. Her high cheekbones and gentle jaw gave her face a quiet elegance, and her lips—naturally full and pink—pressed together in a way that made Lara unreasonably aware of them. Her hair was pulled into neat cornrows on top, spilling into loose black curls over her shoulders, softening her whole presence in a way that was almost unfair.
"I was just talking to your coach," Manon said, her tone confident, like she was trying to keep control of the situation.
"My coach?" Lara frowned. "About what?"
"Our teams practicing together," Manon replied, rolling her eyes slightly. "I don't like it any more than you do, but you're the closest team to ours and it's practical. We're going to play against each other anyway. My coach made me come here. Plus, our players like yours, so—I guess it makes sense."
"So it's just decided?" Lara crossed her arms tightly, her frustration flaring. "I don't even get a say?"
"I didn't either," Manon said, a little more sharply now. "It's not like I wanted to—"
"You went over me," Lara interrupted, hurt rising fast. "You knew I would say no. Typical."
Manon let go of the door and stepped closer, and Lara stepped back on instinct, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. The air between them suddenly felt too small, too charged. "What's that supposed to mean?" Manon asked. "I didn't do anything. My coach asked me to talk to yours because I was nearby—"
"Why?" Lara cut in, her voice tight.
"Why what?"
"Why are you here?" Lara asked, and hated how the question slipped out, how it sounded too close to caring. "You don't live here."
Manon hesitated, drawing in a slow breath as if she were weighing every word. "I was taking Sophia home."
The name hit Lara like a quiet punch. Something twisted painfully in her chest, and before she realized it, she had taken a step forward, standing closer to Manon than she meant to, caught between anger and something much more vulnerable.
"She transferred," Manon continued softly, filling the silence. "You were going to find out anyway. I'm sorry. She transferred after you—"
"Yeah," Lara said quickly, swallowing the sudden tightness in her throat. "Thanks. For telling me. I need to go. I left my phone inside."
She brushed past Manon, deliberately slamming her shoulder into her as she went, the contact sharp and unnecessary, a small act of spite she couldn't stop herself from making. Manon let out a short, irritated scoff behind her, and Lara didn't turn around. She kept walking, jaw tight, the pale glow of the streetlight disappearing as the front doors swallowed her back into the building.
Inside, the hallway stretched long and empty, the motion sensors clicking the lights on above her one by one as she moved. Her footsteps echoed too loudly in the quiet. When she reached the locker room, she shoved the door open so hard it banged against the wall, the impact rattling through her body. She went straight to her locker, yanking it open and grabbing her phone with trembling fingers, her frustration still burning too hot to ignore.
She crossed to the sink and planted both hands on the edge, leaning forward as she stared at her reflection. Her face looked different like this—eyes sharp, jaw tense, anger written all over her in a way that felt almost unfamiliar. Lara wasn't usually this angry, but Manon had a way of pulling something ugly out of her, something that hurt just as much as it hated. She shut her eyes, breathed in slowly, and then out again, forcing herself to soften, to smooth the edges back into something she could recognize.
When she checked the time, her stomach dropped. The last bus was coming soon—too soon.
She bolted out of the locker room, sprinting down the hallway and slamming her shoulder against the front doors as she shoved them open. Cool night air rushed over her, and she was already preparing to run across the parking lot when a hand suddenly caught her arm, stopping her so abruptly she nearly stumbled backward. Another hand brushed against her back, steadying her, warm and solid in a way that made her heart jump painfully.
"What the fuck?" Lara snapped, yanking at her arm. "Let go of me. I'm late for the bus."
Manon's grip didn't loosen, but it wasn't rough either. "I was about to offer you a ride home," she said quietly, almost amused.
"No, I can still make it," Lara argued, checking her phone again. "I have five minutes. Let me go."
"Don't be stupid," Manon replied. "My car is right there. I'll take you."
Before Lara could properly refuse, Manon was already guiding her toward the car, her fingers still wrapped around Lara's wrist, right over her pulse. The touch was too intimate, too grounding, and after a moment Lara stopped fighting it, letting herself be led across the dimly lit lot.
Inside the car, the silence was thick and uncomfortable. The dashboard lights glowed softly, reflecting off the windshield as Manon drove, and neither of them spoke. Lara stared out the window, watching streetlights blur past, painfully aware of how close they were sitting, how she could feel the warmth of Manon's presence without even looking. It was only a ten-minute drive, but it felt much longer.
When Manon pulled up to the sidewalk outside Lara's building, Lara immediately reached for her bag.
"See?" Manon said awkwardly, a hint of smugness in her voice. "You'd still be waiting for the bus right now."
"Yeah. Thanks," Lara muttered, opening the door and stepping out.
"Wait—" Manon said suddenly.
Lara paused and turned back.
"I— uh... see you on Saturday," Manon added, almost uncertain.
"Yeah. See you," Lara replied, coughing slightly before closing the door.
She stood on the sidewalk for a moment, watching as Manon's car pulled away, taillights disappearing into the dark. Lara shook her head slowly, trying to shake off the strange mix of anger and something else curling in her chest, then turned and went inside.
Up in her apartment, the familiar warmth wrapped around her. Her parents called out hello from the living room, and her sister waved at her from the couch. Lara answered them automatically before heading down the hall to her bedroom. It was small and a little messy, walls covered in music posters and old movie prints, shelves crowded with books, plants trailing over the edges. There was art taped everywhere, bits of color and chaos, but it felt safe and lived-in. It felt like hers.
When she finally felt safe again, Lara let her body collapse onto her bed, arms hanging off the edge, the weight of the night pressing against her chest. She lazily reached for her bag, dragging it closer by the strap, and opened it with a soft sigh. Her chin rested on the mattress as she pulled out her journal and pen, propping herself on her elbows and flipping to the page she had left unfinished.
I was nervous all day, even though I kept telling everyone I wasn't. I don't know why. Maybe it's just because a new season always feels like starting over, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be this time. I should be used to this by now. The whistles, the shouting, the way my heart beats faster when the ball is in my hands. But every season feels like standing at the edge of something.
Maybe that's why I keep thinking about Manon.