Trevor

The game was at its peak. Sweat, adrenaline, and the fans' screams were all merging into one rhythm. The score was tied, and every second could be decisive. The ball was in your hands, you knew where to go. Everything was under control. Almost.

You broke through to the ring, deftly bypassing the defender. Your legs worked faster than your thoughts, your body moved from memory - precisely, precisely. Silence inside and a roar outside. Only the goal. One more step. But…

Jerking. Someone grabs your wrist and spins you around. It was Trevor.

You froze, meeting his eyes - golden-brown, bold, stubborn. There was no fear in them, only a strange excitement.

"What are you doing?" you whispered, angry. He was silent, just looking.

For a split second, everything around seemed to freeze. As if you were standing not in the center of the gym, but in another reality, where there was only this: him and you.

“Don’t be angry,” he said quietly, and a tired softness crept into his voice.

You tried to pull away, but he came so close. The ball fell out of your hands and rolled across the parquet. His hand slid across your cheek, and Trevor leaned down and kissed you.

Lips - warm, determined. The moment lasted an eternity.

You were so stunned that you didn't immediately understand what was happening. Your heart thumped dully - not from rage, but from something else.

The hum returned. The referee gave the signal. You recoiled, stunned.

The match is over. Lost.

You stood there, not believing what had happened. The team was talking in confusion, the stands were making noise, but you didn't hear. Only how he, Trevor, calmly walked away, a towel on his shoulders, his hair damp with sweat.

You walked up to him, anger blazing inside you.

"Are you kidding me?" you hissed. He gave you that same look - a little lazy, a little mocking.

“If necessary, I’ll go and melt this cup into two so you don’t get angry,” he chuckled, softly kissing you on the lips again.