Nash and Zayela walked through the crowded rooftop market in the Spires district, moving between stalls stacked with fresh fruits and hot street food.
Nash leaned over and tapped the cloth bag of pears hanging from Zayela’s hip.
"That thing is going to tear open any second now," he said, grinning as he gave the bag another poke.
She slapped his hand aside, laughing as her black hair swung with the movent. "Shut up. At least I am trying to make real als instead of eating street food every night like so stray dog."
Nash rolled his eyes and bumped his shoulder against hers. "Oh, co on. You just want an excuse to make sit still long enough for your ’bonding ti.’ Last ti you cooked, it was burnt sludge. I had to eat it just to make you feel better. And then you didn’t let sleep after."
Zayela shoved back harder, making him stumble a step. Her curves looked good in her fitted top and pants, n stealing glances at her, won side-eyeing Nash’s tall, muscular fra.
Neither cared, too wrapped up in their usual back-and-forth.
"That happened once," she shot back, voice warm and teasing, her eyes bright. "And you never get tired, so that’s on you. Anyway, I’m cooking tonight, and you’re staying from start to finish, including the part where you kiss the cook. Your life’s all ’training this, team that’ now, too busy to hang out with . So now cooking’s our thing. Deal with it."
Nash chuckled, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.
"Complicated? Nah, it’s good. But yeah, cooking sounds fine. Just don’t feed too much if you’re planning a long night."
She rolled her eyes, looping her arm through his for just a second.
"As if it would stop you."
They kept walking, shoulders nearly touching, easy and close like always. Around them, whispers trailed, people sneaking glances at Zayela’s ass in her tight hotpants, jiggling with each step, muttering stuff like "Damn, look at that bounce," and "Lucky bastard next to her, bet he’s hitting that every night."
Saya’s breath caught in her throat the mont she spotted them.
Her skewer slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground, but she barely noticed.
It’s him.
Her heart hamred against her ribs, a tangled ss of shock and that sick twist in her gut, was that regret? Another feeling mixed with the ss, a burning annoying sensation: anger.
And who’s that bitch with him? Hanging on his arm, laughing like she’s special. Who the hell is she?
Saya jerked back into the crowd, pressing behind a cluster of shoppers. Her eyes stayed glued to them. Nash nudged the girl’s shoulder bag, grinning as she mock-punched his arm, giggling.
They looked comfortable, too comfortable. Saya’s hands curled into fists.
Get off him, bitch. He’s mine,
Her jealousy burned through her chest, becoming more and more unbearable. She knew Nash had gotten popular, he had to, just because of his appearance. And she hated that, she hated that he was now surrounded by girls who would happily cling to him.
She hated that the girls from his team looked so into him, she hated that he could have such a beautiful girl at his sides, that he could act so... teasingly with her.
Look at her... pretty, confident, like she belonged there. Why her? Why are you with this bitch??
She started following them, keeping just enough distance to stay unnoticed. Weaving through the crowd, ducking behind stalls whenever they glanced around.
Her mind raced.
How do I even do this? How do I engage him? Just walk up?
He probably hated her. Resented her for what she’d said in the locker room back them, all that crap about him being weak, about his size, and worse, all the crap with Roam and the cheating.
The team had laughed. She had laughed. He wouldn’t forget that. He had every reason to hate her. She gnawed her lower lip.
Gotta be smart. Start with a complint. Tell him I saw his last match, how much he’d improved. Remind him of the good tis... the late nights, his stupid jokes. Yeah, we never fucked, but it was good tis to him, right? I just have to make him rember what we used to have.
In her mind, all she had to do, or rather, all she could do now, was to flirt a little, prove she still had it. He used to lt for her. Maybe he still would.
But still, she had her doubts clawing at her.
What if he doesn’t?
He wasn’t the sa guy anymore. It wasn’t the shrimp, but the next big thing. He was successful, happy, with...this girl. What if he told her to get lost? Or worse... what if he just ignored her like she was nothing?
Her footsteps quickened without her realizing.
Play it cool. Apologize subtly. Say I was confused, stupid. Roam manipulated . Test if he’s still soft on . If he resents too much... pivot. Say I just want to catch up, no strings. But get him alone. Away from her.
She was thinking so hard, replaying lines in her head "Nash, you look amazing," "I miss us", that she didn’t see she was following too close. Bumped a vendor’s cart, knocked over so fruits.
"Hey!" the vendor yelled, but she kept going, eyes on them.
Shit, she thought, but fixed her pace. Still too close.
As they walked, her eyes dropped to the girl’s ass, jiggling in those tight hotpants with each step. She groaned inside.
Look at that bounce. You beca a chick magnet, huh? Surrounded by hot girls now. Makes sense... you look too good now... No, wait, stop thinking like that! He’s mine to get back.
She drifted closer without aning to, her thoughts dragging her forward. Nash stiffened, that familiar prickle on the back of his neck.
He glanced over his shoulder, casual at first, then stopped dead, turning fully. Zayela, paused too, blinking in confusion, then followed his gaze.
And then, their eyes t.
Saya froze, her foot hovering mid-step as her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst through her chest.
Oh no. She thought.
It was too late, he had seen her, too soon, too close.
The bustling sounds of the market faded into white noise as they stared at each other, neither moving.
Nash’s expression shifted, first relaxed, then surprised, before settling into sothing cold and blank.
Saya swallowed. Yeah... this was the gaze aning never forgetting. But upon seeing him from so close, she couldn’t help but notice how different he looked than before.
Taller, broader. And those eyes... he rembered. He didn’t appear so hot in those reels.
What now? What do I do now??? What’s the plan???
Her stomach twisted. She forced herself to breathe. Stay calm. Smile. It wasn’t over until it was over.
The silence stretched, five seconds, ten, feeling like forever. Saya’s palms were damp, but she kept her smile in place, fake but steady.
Say sothing, anything. Don’t let him control this.
"Saya."
She gasped. The worst had happened, Nash spoke first, and his voice was flat.
He didn’t blink.
"What do you want?"
Her pulse spiked. No greeting? Just straight to the point? She let out a soft laugh, tilting her head, then her eyes widened in exaggerated surprise.
"Wait... Nash? Oh my god, is that really you?" She tilted her head, studying his face before letting out a soft laugh. "I did not even recognize you at first. You look so different. Stronger. Wow."
Her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh as she grinned.
"You spotted right away, huh? That is kind of flattering." She took a step forward, arms already lifting.
"But seriously, I can’t believe I’m bumping into you here, missed you so much..."
She moved without hesitation, closing the distance between them with a smile that said she expected him to step into her embrace.
But it wasn’t Nash, but his hand that moved.
He raised his hand sharply, palm facing her like a wall, stopping her mid-step before she could get any closer.
Saya swallowed hard, her arms slowly falling to her sides. The reaction spoke clearer than any rejection. There goes her hope of a warmth reconciliation.
He’s shutting out. Just like that? He used to pull into hugs without thinking. Now this?
Her smile stayed glued to her face, but the corners trembled.
He’s so cold. Oh shit... I’m screwed...
Zayela tilted her head toward Nash, fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve.
"Who’s that?" she murmured.
Nash didn’t look away from Saya.
"That girl from my first team," he said.
Saya flinched, her fingers twitching at her sides.
’That’... girl? He... He talked about ? To her? And like... ’that girl’?
Her eyes darted to Zayela.
Why tell her anything? What else did he say?
Nash folded his arms, his voice flat as a dead battery.
"What do you want, Saya?"
Zayela’s eyebrows knit together, her shoulder brushing Nash’s as she stepped closer.
"Your first team? You an the one that..." She trailed off, then her gaze snapped to Saya. "Wait... You—?!"
Saya didn’t even glance at her. She leveled her eyes at Nash, her voice dropping to sothing softer.
"Ah... Of course, you would rember that... But you know what? I think it’s better."
She stepped forward, her hands lifting, not reaching for him, but open, palms up, like she was holding her soul out for him to see.
No more gas, no more pretending. This was it. Everything rode on this mont. If he walked away now, she was finished. Her team, her life, all of it would fall apart.
Play the part. Make him believe. He always folded for weakness.
She let her throat tighten, eyes glazing over like she’d practiced in the mirror a thousand tis. A single tear pooled, clinging to her lashes, perfect.
"I’m done lying. To you. To myself." Her fingers trembled slightly. She swallowed hard, her voice rough now, barely above a whisper.
"Nash," she breathed. "I know you don’t owe anything. But just... listen. Please. Not for . For you."
She took a deep breath, then looked straight into his eyes.
"Nash... I want to put all the cards on the table. There’s stuff you need to know. I understand it’s hard to believe after... everything. But just this ti, please, trust . Can we talk for a mont?... Just the two of us."
A mont of silence followed. The air between them felt thick, charged. The noise of the market faded, like they were the only two people left in the world.
Saya’s pulse pounded in her ears, Was it working? Co on, that tear, the shake, this was her best performance yet. He used to crumble for this.
"Unbelievable." Zayela exhaled hard.
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