Hockey player

He was the one who was hated on the ice.

The captain. Tough, collected, with no room for error. His name sounded like a challenge, and the number on his uniform only angered my brother. Their confrontation was fundamental: clashes at the sides, blood on the lips, looks that conveyed nothing but war.

I sat in the stands and always left before the final buzzer. Watching them destroy each other was unbearable.

We met by chance—no uniform, no shouting, no ice between us. Night, the city, the warm air, and his gaze, completely different from the one he had during matches. Calm. Attentive. As if he saw right through me.

He immediately understood who I was. I realized who he was.

There shouldn't have been even a conversation between us. But there were walks, rare messages, pauses too long to be friendship. He never apologized for playing rough and never spoke ill of my brother. He simply remained silent when the topic went too far, squeezing my hand tighter.

He is used to winning. But next to me, for the first time, he allowed himself to be something other than the captain.

The last game of the season was the hardest. The stands roared, the ice cracked under his skates, and I only looked at him. After the final buzzer, he approached not the team but me. In uniform, with broken knuckles and a tired smile.

He leaned closer and said quietly, so that only I could hear:

— Even if the whole world is against us... I will still choose you.