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The training session didn’t stop when the rain started. At first, it was a light drizzle, almost decorative, but on the French U-20 field, nobody seemed to consider that a valid reason to stop.
“We continue,” the coach ordered without changing his tone.
No one argued.
The ball rolled across the wet grass once again, every pass heavier, every sprint more demanding. The rain became steady, then relentless, until the entire field felt like a completely different surface, slower.
Loki didn’t complain. To him, weather was just another variable of the game. He maintained his usual composure: calm, precision, absolute control.
He corrected a teammate’s late movement without raising his voice, acknowledged a good pass with a slight nod accompanied by one of his small smiles.
Even under the rain, his confidence didn’t fluctuate.
There was no reason to doubt.
Hugo didn’t fall behind either. He continued training despite his reddish hair being completely soaked. Damp strands stuck to his forehead from the rain.
Even though the ball weighed much more because of the water, his passes remained perfect and precise, reaching Loki’s feet without forcing him to make much extra effort.
He had to prove that he could still assist his God despite the unstable conditions.
But Loki noticed the first change before he allowed himself to acknowledge it. It wasn’t exhaustion yet, it was… noise.
A faint pressure behind his nose, almost irrelevant. A biological detail with no importance within the system of the game, so he ignored it.
The ball reached his feet. He controlled it and passed it back to the redhead.
The logic between the two of them remained intact.
But the body does not always obey logic.
The second time, the air no longer entered the same way.
A mild irritation in his throat. Nothing that affected his performance, nothing that justified stopping yet.
Julian adjusted his breathing without thinking much about it. It wasn’t relevant at all.
Until he felt the first fracture.
A brief sneeze, only half-contained, betraying the perfect line of his control.
Hugo noticed it from the corner of his eye and stopped the ball beneath the sole of his foot.
“...I see,” he murmured.
The striker didn’t react. He simply wiped his nose discreetly.
“It’s nothing. Nothing’s wrong with me,” he answered automatically.
“Your body is suggesting otherwise.”
“Focus on giving me good passes,” he growled, turning his back to him.
Vivian frowned slightly when he heard him.
Training continued afterward as if nothing had happened, but the field no longer felt the same.
The rain had changed the texture of the grass, and now every step felt slightly heavier than usual, as though the ground itself reacted a second too late.
The ball didn’t sound the same when it bounced either. Everything was slower, denser, but nobody said it out loud.
The coach didn’t intervene again, and the group kept going.
Loki remained in his usual rhythm — no rush, no visible external disturbance. It was the same control as always: receive, adjust, return, advance. As if the body had no room to stray from the plan.
But something, very faintly, had begun to lag behind.
Not enough to become a problem.
Just enough to be felt.
Hugo noticed it without changing his expression.
It wasn’t visible concern, nor immediate judgment. It was more like a conclusion steadily confirming itself, second by second.
His eyes followed the striker’s movements with that strange calmness of his, barely blinking.
The training session ended shortly afterward. The group began to scatter between jokes, exhaustion, and soaked clothing.
Loki kept walking normally for a few more seconds.
Until he sneezed again.
This time, without full control.
Hugo didn’t comment on it immediately. He simply fixed his gaze on him once more.
As if confirming something he had already predicted from the very beginning of practice.
“Simple logic; your physical condition is progressively deteriorating.”
The dark-skinned man straightened completely upon hearing him.
“I’m fine.”
Vivian tilted his head slightly.
“Denial does not change the outcome.”
Julian clicked his tongue.
“It’s just an allergy, that’s all.” He looked away slightly, as though the conversation no longer deserved any more attention.
The rain continued striking the ground outside the field while the rest of the team gradually disappeared toward the locker rooms. Some laughter echoed in the distance, blending with the damp sound of shoes against the floor.
Loki walked inside without bringing up the subject again, while Hugo followed a few steps behind him, just as silent.
The atmosphere inside the locker room was warm, but heavy with humidity. Steam escaped from the showers, wet clothes abandoned across the benches, scattered conversations drifting between exhausted players.
Julian dropped his bag onto one of the benches and began taking out his things with the same calm precision as always.
Nothing about him seemed out of place.
Not even when he discreetly wiped his nose again with the back of his hand.
The midfielder noticed, but chose not to say anything yet.
He simply opened his own locker and slowly began putting his things away, listening to the constant sound of rain hammering against the roof of the building.
“Your body is progressively failing,” he finally spoke.
“You’re annoying,” Loki growled.
“And you’re catching a cold. And that is.. inefficient.”
Julian let out a tired sigh through his nose.
“I still think it’s just an allergy.”
Hugo closed his locker softly.
“Allergies do not worsen this quickly after prolonged exposure to cold and humidity.”
The other clicked his tongue again, clearly unwilling to keep arguing.
Because deep down, he knew Hugo was probably right.
That didn’t mean he wanted to hear it.
Time continued passing slowly inside the locker room.
The voices gradually disappeared until the place became far quieter than before. Only a few players remained, finishing gathering their things before leaving.
The striker finished changing and adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
The exhaustion was beginning to feel different now.
Not only in the muscles of his legs.
Throughout his entire body.
Vivian finished a few seconds later and picked his own bag up from the floor.
“Are you walking back?” he asked while adjusting the zipper of his jacket.
“Yes.”
“Inefficient.”
“I’ll survive.”
Hugo was about to reply with something else, but the sound interrupted him first.
Another sneeze.
This time stronger.
Harder to contain.
Julian remained still for a few seconds afterward, probably hoping the other wouldn’t say anything.
“You’re not leaving like this alone.”
“Hugo—”
“You’re coming with me.”
The striker let out a brief, tired laugh.
“Are you always this persistent?”
“Only when the logic is too obvious to ignore.”
Loki looked away again.
His nose was already bothering him too much to keep pretending he was comfortable, and the cold brought by the rain still clung to his body even after changing clothes.
“Let’s go before you get worse.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“Yes, it is.”
He stepped a little closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll take good care of you.”
“Tch, I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
The moment he finished speaking, he tried to inhale normally.
Bad idea.
The congestion blocked his breathing for a second, forcing him to swallow along with the mucus gathered in his throat. The sound was quiet, uncomfortable, involuntary.
Julian frowned immediately, clearly irritated with himself.
The silence afterward was worse.
Vivian continued looking at him with that strange calmness, motionless, as if he were simply watching a logical conclusion unfold right in front of him.
There was no mockery in his eyes.
No satisfaction.
Only certainty.
“...Your body has just verbally invalidated your argument,” he murmured at last.
The Frenchman let out a tired sigh through his nose, though the sound came out far more congested than before. That only worsened the annoying pressure building behind his eyes.
“How observant.”
“It’s difficult to ignore.”
The rain continued falling outside the sports complex, yet the cold still clung to his skin even after changing clothes.
Hugo kept his hand on the other’s shoulder for a few seconds longer. Not invasively, just firmly.
“Come with me,” he repeated. “There’s no point in going back alone in this condition.”
Loki was about to give another automatic refusal. He could already feel it forming in his mind before even opening his mouth.
“I don’t need help,” he said, but his nose burned, and his throat was beginning to feel rough.
And the exhaustion was no longer only in his legs; now it seemed lodged beneath his skin, slow and heavy.
Julian looked toward the building’s exit.
The rain. The cold. The thought of returning to his apartment like this.
He finally closed his eyes for a second before exhaling slowly.
“...Fine.”
The midfielder gave a small nod, as though that outcome had been the most logical one from the very beginning.
“Excellent.”
“Don’t start.”
When they finally arrived at the apartment, the change in temperature was immediate.
Perfect warmth, and none of the damp wind hitting their faces anymore.
The long-lashed man left his bag near the entrance before calmly taking off his soaked jacket.
Loki barely managed to take a couple of steps inside before he felt his entire body loosen all at once.
The warmth made everything worse — or maybe he simply no longer had to keep resisting it.
The moment he felt the change in temperature, his nose clogged up again. Once again, Hugo glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
“I’m going to prepare hot water for you.”
“I can do it myself.”
“I know.”
And even so, he opened the bathroom door and adjusted the shower first.
Steam slowly began filling the space while he checked the water temperature with his hand.
Julian watched him from the doorway, still too exhausted to seriously argue.
“You need to shower. Your body temperature needs to stabilize.”
“You don’t have to do this...” he murmured hoarsely, the steam from the hot water slipping into his nostrils.
“You are prone to worsening quickly under physical neglect. Shower before the residual cold worsens the congestion.”
Loki frowned and rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes for a few seconds.
“I’ll prepare ginger tea and comfortable clothes for you. Shower.”
“I heard you already...”
The congestion became far more obvious the moment the steam filled the room completely.
Hugo finally pulled his hand away from the water after making sure the temperature was pleasant.
Then he left the bathroom and headed toward the kitchen while the striker finally began showering.
Meanwhile, Hugo moved through the apartment with the same calm precision he carried on the field.
He turned on the heating, searched for dry clothes, and began warming water to make tea for Loki.
The kitchen remained silent, accompanied only by the soft sound of water heating and the rain striking the apartment windows in the distance.
Hugo opened one of the drawers and pulled out fresh ginger. He observed it for a few seconds before beginning to slice it into thin, exact pieces — almost too perfect for something so simple.
The aroma slowly spread the moment he dropped them into the hot water. Then he added honey and lemon.
Everything was carefully measured.
As if even preparing tea had to follow a specific logical structure.
Afterward, he placed the medicine on the table beside a glass of water and a folded blanket draped over the back of the couch.
Everything prepared before Loki had even finished showering.
Inside the bathroom, the heat was beginning to feel heavy.
Steam coated the mirrors and clouded the air around Julian while the hot water continued falling against his back.
The congestion weighed behind his nose, his throat burned slightly, and the exhaustion seemed to sink deeper and deeper into his muscles.
He rested one hand against the damp wall while lowering his head slightly.
He was definitely going to get sick.
When he finally shut off the water and pulled the shower curtain aside, the air outside the steam hit his damp back immediately.
The change in temperature traveled across his entire skin.
And the moment he stepped out of the shower, the sneeze came out stronger than the previous ones, forcing him to bend forward slightly.
The striker let out a congested sigh while drying his face with the towel.
At that moment, he heard soft knocks on the door.
“Julian.”
“What?”
The door opened just enough for Vivian to extend dry clothes toward him without really looking too far into the bathroom.
Comfortable pants and a sweatshirt slightly larger than normal.
“Change in there. The temperature contrast could still worsen your symptoms.”
Loki took the clothes slowly.
Without saying much else, the door closed softly again.
When he finally came out of the bathroom, already dressed in the dry clothes, the apartment felt completely different from when they had arrived.
The scent of tea filled the entire place. The midfielder sat by the table, absentmindedly flipping through one of his blank books while waiting.
He lifted his gaze slightly upon hearing him approach, his eyes lingering on him for a few seconds.
Hair still damp, cheeks slightly warmer, and a congested nose.
“Sit down.”
This time, Loki obeyed without arguing.
The warmth of the cup hit his hands the moment he held it between his fingers. The steam brushed against his face, slipping directly into his congested nose.
For a second, he could almost breathe properly again.
He took a small sip, and the ginger immediately warmed his throat.
“It’s good...” he murmured, his voice still hoarse.
“I’m glad you like it. Make sure to drink all of it.”
Julian let out a small tired laugh before continuing to drink.
And the other man kept looking at him for just a second longer than normal.
Because even like this — congested, exhausted, and obviously sick — he still looked ridiculously beautiful.
He looked away toward the book almost immediately.
Julian rested his cheek against one hand while continuing to hold the cup with the other.
“What?”
Vivian blinked slightly.
“Hm?”
“You were staring at me too much.”
“...I was evaluating your physical condition.”
“Liar,” he answered far too quickly. Then he lowered his gaze toward the tea, hiding a faint tired smile behind the cup.
“Remember to take the medicine beside you.”
“I heard you already...”
He swallowed the pills with a sip of water before sinking slightly deeper into the chair again.
The exhaustion was impossible to ignore now. His eyelids felt unbearably heavy, just like his head.
“Come to the couch. Ideally, you should rest.”
Hugo gently guided him by the hand.
The blanket was soft, and the heating was still on.
And the couch was warm enough to make the entire weight of the day suddenly collapse onto him all at once.
Vivian sat down first, settling back against the cushions. The other Frenchman copied him a few seconds later, though much more slowly.
First he simply dropped down beside him, then rested his head against his shoulder.
And eventually, without really realizing when it happened, he ended up half lying on top of him.
The redhead remained still. He could feel the warm weight of his God’s head resting against one of his shoulders, the slow breathing against the fabric of his clothes.
The striker let out a heavy exhale as he shifted a little closer almost instinctively.
He was completely exhausted, completely worn down. Completely... vulnerable.
“...You didn’t need to take care of me this much,” Julian said drowsily.
Vivian observed his tired expression for a few seconds. Then he rested a hand over the blanket, right on top of him.
“Yes, I did,” he murmured with a faint smile.
Because only a few seconds later, he finally fell asleep on top of him.