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“Are you a bloody doctor now?”

“You don’t have to play tough.”

Emir takes another drag before he says, “It’s nothing, okay?” His voice is pleading, as if he already has enough of the world on his shoulders and Sebastian isn’t helping.

“Okay,” Sebastian says.

He turns and is greeted by the boy from his childhood, the one who hated losing to Sebastian at video games but could never stay angry. “Let’s play again and I’ll show you,” he’d demand until they were going at it again for hours. Sebastian hasn’t had a memory that amusing since he and Emir stopped being friends. It’s a punch to the throat.

“Shit happens.” Emir stubs his cigarette in the pine needles under their feet. He sniffs, crossing his arms. “What’s it to you?”

“It’s my job,” Sebastian feels compelled to say. Before he can explain, Emir snorts.

“That’s right. Captain, yeah?” He’s mocking Sebastian. He’s reverted to whatever screwed-up version of Sebastian’s ex-best friend he’s become.

“Teammates. And we take care of our own around here.”

“I’m not anyone’s teammate.”

Sebastian turns on the charm, smiling. “Youcouldbe.”

Emir glares, taking them right back to zero. “Do you honestly believe they want me around? We’re not friends.”

“I believe…” Sebastian takes his time because he’s walking a thin line. “You need to get to know them, and vice versa.”

Emir says, “That’s hard to do when I’m too busy sucking on the pitch to pay attention to any of them.” He pushes his beanie back. Soft hair falls over his brow. “I’m rubbish.”

“You’re not,” Sebastian says too quickly, caught staring at Emir’s pink, very kissable lips—

Whoa. Hell no. Absolutely not in a million freaking years.

“Mate?” Emir seems puzzled.

Sebastian, blushing feverishly, turns away. Searching for words, he coughs into his hand. “We used to be friends,” comes out, because his timing is atrocious.

“What?”

Sebastian wants to veto any other form of speech. “Sorry, I meant,” he says and then heaves in a deep breath. “Do you want to leave?” Sebastian stares at his shoes. The old, discolored laces are a temporary distraction.

Thick, sticky silence forces Sebastian to lift his chin. Around them, crickets sing an ode to his stupidity.

Emir, chewing his lip, replies, “No.”

Sebastian sags happily against the cabin. He blurts, “I can help,” like a teen excited over meeting Shawn Mendes. What the hell is he doing? “I mean, I’m not the best—”

Emir guffaws. “Bullshit.”

“I’d like to help you.”

“What for?”

Sebastian isn’t offended, especially since Emir’s eyes seem candid rather than agitated. “I dunno,” Sebastian replies. It’s obvious this isn’t like old times and Emir doesn’t want to rekindle their friendship. He’s doing this for the team.

“I’m not a charity case, mate.” Emir starts to walk away.

Sebastianshouldlet him go. Common sense isn’t his strong suit, though, and he grabs Emir’s wrist before he can get too far. “I’m sorry,” falls out of his mouth. He’s thankful Emir doesn’t yank away. All he wants is thirty whole seconds of Emir’s trust instead of the glaring. Sebastian says, “I want to help, okay?”

Emir’s throat makes a noise when he swallows. His eyes shine in the dark; his breaths are slow.