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“You’re amazing. If I could be half the player you are, then I’d impress Abbu.”

Sebastian tries to swallow the fact that he’s spent his childhood reading about heroes and here he is, a hero to Emir. His nervous hands rest on Emir’s hips. “You came to my games?”

Emir nods, sheepishly, but he’s not meeting Sebastian’s stare.

“Emi—”

“I never hated you, but seeing you move on—it was hard.”

Words are knotted in Sebastian’s throat. He’s never going to say the right thing, so he drops a kiss on the tip of Emir’s nose.

Emir’s eyes go freakishly wide; his eyebrows nearly touch his hairline. “Um, what?”

“What?”

“You just,” Emir pauses, choking with laughter. “The nose kiss?”

“What kiss?”

Emir’s mouth twists wryly, but he whispers, “Okay, Bastian,” in a tone that says he completely accepts Sebastian’s loser status, his inability to be smooth about anything.

Sebastian goes for broke, curls a finger under Emir’s chin, and angles his face so he can plant a soft peck on Emir’s mouth. Emir kisses back. They’re learning how to do this without fumbling.

Emir pulls back. “We can’t stay here forever,” he says.

“According to whom?”

More words almost make it out of Emir’s mouth, but Sebastian swoops in for another kiss. The water is turning cold, and Emir might be right.

After their shower, Sebastian is at his locker, unsuccessfully yanking out the things he wants, while Emir towels off. He’s been distracted by the hawk inked between the wings of Emir’s shoulders. He wants a tattoo. But the little voice in the back of his head screamspermanent, and he chickens out. And, he’s seen a YouTube video called “World’s Worst Tattoos,” and that led to a dark YouTube-video-vortex he hasn’t recovered from.

He finally pulls his team hoodie from his locker. “Here.” Sebastian shoves it at Emir. It’s wrinkled, but clean, unlike some of the other clothes in his locker.

“For me?”

Sebastian’s fingers clench in the soft cotton as he shakes his hoodie at Emir. “Just take it, dude,” he says, exasperated. He’s not sure if it’s an aesthetic kink or simply sentimental, but Sebastian wants to see Emir inhishoodie.

Emir slips on the hoodie. “It’s kind of big.” It’s true. The sleeves are too long; extra material puckers around his midsection. But Emir’s irresistible while biting his lower lip.

Across the back of the hoodie is HUGHES in blocky gold lettering. Sebastian likes it.

He gathers their smelly lake clothes and towels into his assigned laundry bag before dumping it in the cart near the entrance. Emir pulls on his sneakers, then fiddles with the hoodie’s sleeves, tugging them over his knuckles. He disrupts his perfectly messy hairstyle with a hand.

“Ready?” Sebastian asks.

“I guess.”

“We can’t stay here forever,” Sebastian tells him.

Emir rubs at his stubble. He says, “According to whom?” with his tongue caught between his white teeth.

They’re still damp from the shower. Sebastian wiggles his fingers at his side. He’s having a “should I or shouldn’t I” moment. Their hands brush. He sighs.

“Just do it,” says Emir. The world outside of the locker rooms is dark, but the sky is gray with moonlight.

Sebastian holds Emir’s hand.

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